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#but he’ll never forget his face
kaasjee · 6 months ago
When Taehoon plays “Spot The Difference”
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In the arcade where I used to frequent there are quiz games in which you have to spot the difference between two pictures in the shortest time. I bet Taehoon is the expert in that game.
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hisvillainess · 2 months ago
Have you done demon brothers and how they eat you out headcanons or face sitting ? If not, that could be something to write about. Don’t feel bad, the only UR card I have is asmo lol.
𖤐 ── 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖔𝖚𝖙 ── 𖤐
𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌. demon brothers x fem!bodied reader, lots and lots of cunnilingus, levi’s tail, mentions of edging, mentions of overstimulation, minors absolutely do not interact or i will bite. roughly 350 words for each brother.
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𖤐 𝖑𝖚𝖈𝖎𝖋𝖊𝖗
Lucifer’s the kind of man that’ll eat you out lovingly and does it for himself as much as he does it for you. He kisses your cunt, licks it, laps up your essence in all possible ways, and likes to watch every reaction that comes out of you. He carefully circles your clit with his tongue, casting it in every crevice, and gives you the occasional mmm. The way you unravel for him makes his dick incredibly hard and he’s most likely pumping his cock while he tastes you. He’s so persistent and determined to make you cum. He takes note of each sigh, choked moan, muscle clench and remembers it for next time. You don’t know how but he just gets better and better each time. He would absolutely eat you out in his office. He’d have your legs wide open, hanging off the edge of his desk as he devours his favourite pussy. Bonus adrenaline points if there are people just outside his door who might hear you moan. The way you taste is delicious, irresistible, and has a devastating effect on the man. He secretly (or not so secretly) loves how you cream on his face, the way your juices coat his mouth, and how it drips down to his chin. He feels so filthy but it’s that same filthiness that fuels that fire to keep him going. He constantly thinks about those moments just before you reach your orgasm, the way you tighten up, and the lewd squelching sounds that come from your pussy. When he can’t have you, it’s those memories that are concreted in his mind when he’s jerking off to you. You will also never forget the telltale grin he always has on his face after you cum, indicating that the Avatar of Pride has done his job. (Extra: Lucifer won’t be opposed to face-sitting but he enjoys the view of the ‘traditional’ position more. When you do face-sit him though, you can bet that his hands are firmly jiggling and squeezing your ass to help ‘balance’ you).
𖤐 𝖒𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓
Mammon LOVES when you face-sit him. He loves eating you out in general and does it almost every time you guys fuck but face-sitting EXCITES him. Mammon is down to be called your personal seat and having his head be framed by your knees is the perfect way for him to worship your body. He encourages you to slide your cunt up and down the bottom half of his face and he loves your little whines whenever your clit hits the tip of his nose. Mammon eats you impatiently, greedily, messily. God, he just can’t have enough of you. He’ll eat you so good that you won’t even be able to balance yourself because of how weak you get. Your hands would be ghosting whatever is in front of you, struggling to grab onto anything in an attempt to not collapse on top of him. One of his arms is always wrapped around one thigh to steady you while the other arm is down below, stroking his own cock. He desperately starts bucking his cock into his fists once he knows you’re close to cumming because he wants to cum with you and his grunts vibrate all the way up to your pussy. He’s also the King of tongue-fucking. Mammon doesn’t give a shit about the mess. He craves the way your gummy walls hug his tongue and just wants more and more. He loves the way your hands instinctively travel up to your plushy breasts to squeeze them as he does so, it’s such a turn-on for him even though he wishes he could be the one doing that instead. His abs are painted with his thick cum when you shudder and lose control over his face. (Extra: he’ll also give little pecks on your inner thighs just before lowering your hips after you’re both done).
𖤐 𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 (𝖈𝖜. overstimulation, his tail lol)
If you think Levi won’t use his tail to his advantage when he eats you out, you’re so wrong. He might be a little flustered when you guys do it for the first time but I know he’s played and read enough erotic games and manga to know what he’s doing. He’ll sit you in his gaming chair, snake his tail around your waist to hold you down, leaving just enough room for the tip of his tail to fall down and occupy your clit, while his mouth is taking care of your entrance. Your legs are propped over his shoulders and he’s got your juices leaking onto the base of his chair. His mouth is coated with so much of your viscous slick that some of the blue light from his room is reflected on it. His eyes are tightly shut, too focused on pleasing his MC, and too concentrated to think about the tight bulge in his pants (yes he would eat you out while he’s fully clothed). His tail is quite sensitive so Levi himself would be moaning from the friction. Levi basically dives into your pussy, he moves his face left and right and your folds completely engulf him. His mouth and tail move erratically in sync so you’ll most likely cum quickly. There’s a lot of overstimulation and you can barely move because he’s holding you in place. When you cum, he gets bold — he doesn’t stop. He means to be gentle with you but when you come undone so beautifully for him, he can’t help himself. Your thighs are basically hugging him at this point and he could cum untouched just because of this. Your body would convulse from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. You’ll start seeing stars, tears will form at the corners of your eyes and you’d be a panting mess. Yet he’ll still have the audacity to ask you, “Did I do okay?” (Extra: He kisses you right after so you can get a taste of yourself).
𖤐 𝖘𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖓 (𝖈𝖜. edging, ‘baby’ as a pet name)
Don’t even get me started with Satan. He’ll offer to eat you, play nice and do an INCREDIBLE job at it but he won’t hand it over to you that easily. It’ll be one and a half hours into it and you would have almost came twice. Once from his slender fingers and the other time from his wondrous tongue. Emphasis on almost. Both times he rudely came to a sudden stop, causing you to tremor out of frustration. He’ll lightly tap your desperate pussy with his hand and will be quite amused at how eager you are and praise you for being so good. He’ll press one thigh into the mattress while he makes his face comfortable between your legs, peppering you with kisses and love bites before lapping you up once again. He takes note of the nervous hitching in your voice when he begins and considers letting you cum this time. He’ll dip his tongue in your slit and his nose would be rubbing up against all the right places. He’d make use of his agile fingers and have his thumb playing with your sweet spot. He’ll specifically focus his tongue underneath the hood of your clit because he knows that spot drives you wild. The way he takes you in is deliberate and slow so he is quite the sadist for reeling you in at such an excruciating pace. He eats you so good, it’s grabbing-onto-the-bedsheets kind of good, whining-through-clenched-teeth kind of good, he eats you until there-are-no-thoughts-in-your-head-besides-him kind of good — all while he’s simultaneously fingering you. You’ll be moaning his name as if it’s the only word you know in your vocabulary and he will never forget your little yelps when he sucks hard on your clit. “You can cum, baby,” he’ll permit and you’ll obediently do so. (Extra: Sometimes he looks up to try and meet your gaze but you’re too caught up in your own pleasure to notice he’s looking at you).
𖤐 𝖆𝖘𝖒𝖔𝖉𝖊𝖚𝖘 (𝖈𝖜. ‘love’ and ‘sweetheart’ as a pet name)
Asmo is playful when it comes to eating you out. He’ll have you sit up against his headboard and pillows while he lays in the nude in front of you. When you look down at his nude body and see the aesthetic of his room, you can’t help but think about how much this reminds you of one of those old, beautiful oil paintings. If he sees your wandering eyes, he’ll furrow his brows and say “Hey… Focus on me, sweetheart,” through wet and reddened lips. Asmo takes you in with kitten licks, he enjoys taking his time with you. His tongue moves quickly but precisely and he hums joyously while doing so. He’ll shower you in compliments and tell you how much he appreciates your body; the heat of his hot breath against your cunt will send tingles up your spine. He knows how to make you melt as much as he knows how to make you cum. He’s so into it that it isn’t just your arousal that’s building up. The more you call out his name, the more you whimper and run your hands through his hair has him grinding his erection against the bedsheets, making a small pool of precum on the bed. Sometimes he’d wear red lipstick so you can see the mess that you made on his face. He’ll tell you that he’s never felt so pretty and it’s all because of you. He’ll occasionally bite the flesh on your thigh and kiss it right after. Asmo will make it known that you’re completely his from how evidently possessive he is even though you two are alone. He’ll bring your legs in to wrap them tighter around his head and mutter “Mine… Mine…” between each little suck and lick. The best thing is that Asmo will hold hands with you as he talks you through your high. “That’s it… Keep going, love,” he’ll coo into your pussy, his words almost muffled at this point. He’ll tell you how much his heart is racing from being able to explore you so intimately. (Extra: When he’s extra horny, sometimes he’ll really cum just from rutting into the bed).
𖤐 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖑𝖟𝖊𝖇𝖚𝖇 (𝖈𝖜. small mention of food play)
It’s an understatement to say Beel eats you good. I think everybody knows it at his point because I mean, he’s the Avatar of Gluttony. Beel eats your pussy like it’s his god-given right and that’s because it basically is. It doesn’t matter where you are, what position you’re in, he’d happily drown in your weeping core. He’s gentle with you though, unlike Mammon or Satan. He appreciates the act the same way he appreciates food. He likes to savour your sweet taste, feasts on you like it’s his last supper, and he thrives on your little mewls. He licks your clit the same way he makes out with you — slow and sensual. He might even nibble on it if he’s feeling daring. He’d effortlessly lift you up and put you in different positions. He will give you a light spank on your butt if he’s eating it from the back and pushes your cheeks together with both hands so they hug his face. If you’re sitting on his face, he’ll pull you down if you’re too far. He’d rather you sit on it than just hover aimlessly; the weight on his face makes his cock twitch so much. Sometimes he’ll guide your hand to his hair so you can lightly tug on it which earns you a delicious groan that vibrates up your pussy. He’s another one that closes his eyes in sheer concentration and pleasure when he devours you and his arms are usually tightly hooked around your thighs. Sometimes you can even feel his muscle tense since he’s got you in such a tight grip. “So good..” he’ll mumble before diving back in. “I could do this forever.” Beel would eat you anywhere if you tempted him, you’ve definitely done it on the kitchen counter. The only time he really goes feral is when food is involved so hide your whip cream and chocolate sauce unless you want demon form Beel feasting on you for hours. (Extra: he asks you if he can take pictures of you after he’s done because eating you out is mind-blowing for HIM and he wants to remember it).
𖤐 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖌𝖔𝖗
Belphie gets downright nasty with you. He loves to 69. He’ll loop his arms around your thighs, spread your cheeks apart with both hands, and use every part of his face to rub against your soaked pussy. He’d use his tongue, lips, chin, and nose to give you all the friction you need, making you moan while you’re choking on his cock. Your moans would vibrate down his shaft and you’ll hear constant gasps and pretty whines escaping lips. He may slip in a finger or two while he’s at it or rubs your clit which causes you to completely pop off his dick, arch your back, and call for his name. If he isn’t doing that, he’s literally eating your ass. Most times, you would 69 while he’s laying down (as one normally would) but there have been a few times that you’ve done it while he was sat on a chair. The angle helps you deepthroat his cock better but he cums a little too quickly so he’d rather not. If he’s eating you out in the traditional position, he’ll spread your folds open with his fingers and spit on your clit as a way to begin your heated session. He’d tease you with featherlight flicks of his tongue and giggles when you bite back a potential scream since the only sound you’re able to let out are strangled noises. The thought of his brothers hearing you is thrilling to him because he just wants everyone to know that you’re having a good time. The tip of his fringe is always trickling with your essence and he jokes about how he knows he’s done a good job if he sees that his hair is wet. He finds eating you out quite therapeutic because he gets to lay there and enjoy you to himself. He also likes when you lead him, when grab onto his hair and guide the direction he licks and when you praise him for hitting the right spot. More often than not, he would get wet dreams about you pressing his head down as you reach your sweet release. (Extra: he also likes to use the palm of his hand and slide it up it down your pussy. He thinks it’s cute when you’re desperately rolling your hips towards him).
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© Hisvillainess — all rights reserved. please do not modify, claim or repost.
tags: @hanmasin @matsunshine (this was random, pls let me know if you don’t want to be tagged)
if you’re interested, apply to my taglist HERE ♥️
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bluexiao · 4 months ago
#that is not my name, sweetheart.
—pranking them of calling them with another name.
CHARACTERS. Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Gorou, Kaeya, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Thoma/Tohma, Venti, Xiao, Zhongli
THEMES. fluff? has jealousy themes. kind of suggestive with kazuha’s if you look at it that way.
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ALBEDO would immediately say, “Darling, my name is not Kaeya.” with a straight face. He looks at you curiously and wonders what could have made you call him as someone else. “Have you two gotten close lately?” he’d ask in a different tone that he usually uses. “Or is this another prank of yours?” He’ll send a glance over your way, as if a warning for you to tell the truth. He wouldn’t let this go unless you’ve given it to him, sighing as a result before pulling you for a kiss on your temple and smiling softly at you, “Well, as long as you say my name again, I’ll forget this ever happened.”
“What?” CHILDE would instantly react, “Who are you calling Zhongli?” he’d awkwardly laugh when you reply “I called you Childe”
“I’m pretty sure you called me Zhongli, babe.” he insists.
“I didn’t.”
“You did.” By the time you face him, he has a small frown on his face and it was fairly obvious that he was wondering why you were playing such a game. Even if you laugh at him and the prank was evident, he wouldn’t stop pestering you until you admit the truth.
“See! I knew you did, now, what about a kiss as an apology? Hey, where are you going? Babe?”
DILUC looks in your direction at first. He’d do it even if it’s anyone else but- “Kaeya? I’m not Kaeya, Y/n.” would incur a different reaction from him. You’d certainly feel the tension in the air as he eyes you, waiting for your response. You’ll never feel this kind of air around you and him until this time, as if he had suddenly raised all of his walls and separated from you. I don’t personally recommend doing this to him but once the deed is done, you should do your best to console him and tell the truth.
GOROU’s brows furrow as his ears visibly twitch. “Did I… hear you correctly?” he’d hesitate. “You called me Kazuha, I am not-” he pauses. “I did not know you two were close.” He seems to be the type who would get fairly obviously jealous, although he won’t be admitting to it, the hesitant and embarrassed look on his face would say it all. Out of everyone, he’s actually the best person to prank on because he doesn’t get mad, he also doesn’t have a lack of reaction, just the average. He’s cute when he’s flustered too, just remember to tell the truth or he will pout at you the whole time.
KAEYA hums and raises a brow, not even wasting any second before questioning you. “I know me and him are brothers, but that is not my name, sweetheart.” If you refuse to look at him, he’d pull you gently by your chin, catching your attention as he gazes deeply in your eyes. The eyes are the reflection of a person, they say, and he believes that. He’ll smile and press a chaste kiss on your lips, saying, “You’re tugging on my heartstrings, Y/n. Don’t tease me again like this, okay?”
KAZUHA doesn’t seem bothered by it, but he is, thus he continually tests if you’ll say another name instead of his again. If you do for the next few times, he’d know it is a prank by now, there’s no fooling this guy. Chuckling, he’d say, “Calling me with the name of another man and yet you do not meet my eyes. Is this another trick of yours, perhaps?” just from his words, it’s obvious where this conversation was going. “If you keep this on, there should be a punishment for it, right?” you knew he was merely teasing you back but he does sound serious about it…
SCARAMOUCHE’s reaction is as scary as Diluc’s, but he is far more direct and shows more reaction. The moment the name leaves your lips, the atmosphere would change and his heavy presence looms in front of you “What’s that? I heard what you said.” he says, his chin up and eyes looking down on you, glaring at you, even. “This better be one of your pranks again, or else I will never forgive you for mistaking me for that carrothead again.”
A small pout appears on THOMA’s face as his hands went to his waist, looking at you curiously. “Ayato is not here, babe,” he contemplates to himself, “Are you sure this is not for the meal that I treated Yurika to? Come now, it was for-how about this, let me treat you to a meal-no, two?” he sighs, “Alright, I’ll treat you the whole week, okay? Don’t be mad at me anymore, please?” it’s hard to say no to this guy, especially with those eyes, seriously, why are his eyes like a pleading puppy??
VENTI fully pouts and crosses his arm. “My name is not Diluc, windblume.”
“What did you say, Zhongli?”
“Don’t call me that either!” he cries, latching himself on your arm. Even if he already knew that you’re just pranking him, it’s still not sitting right with him.
“Come on, say my name again, okay? Please? Please?” he’s a very persistent god… you can keep the act up but he won’t stop insisting you to stop unless his name leave your lips again.
XIAO looks at you expectantly, hoping you’d correct yourself the second the name leaves your lips. However, seeing that you didn’t and you even said it twice by now, he’s annoyed. “I’m not Zhongli.” he straight-up says, his eyes piercing its way towards you, as if it was his spear. However, there was a small, cute pout on his face that you’d barely figure out whether he was being serious or not. “Don’t call me Zhongli. I… would not be able to come to you if you do.” he reasons out, but really, all he wants is to hear you say his name again, so please??T-T
“Say, darling, you’ve been calling me that rascal-“ ZHONGLI pauses and clears his throat, “you’ve been calling me Childe since earlier, is there something the matter?” He is not the type to assume something immediately, however, the look on his eyes would make you instantly admit that you’re pranking him. He just looks… dense and commandeering at the same time—his eyes. It is difficult to figure him out sometimes.
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NOTES. this took awhile for me to finish because i’m watching anime hahah. anyway, i added the inazuma boys here i hope you guys don’t mind<333 also, is anyone interested in joining my taglist? i might release a form soon so do look forward for that!
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izuukii · 22 days ago
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𝐈𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞
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✩pairing Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader 
✩genre: hurt/comfort, smut
✩word count: 12.8k
✩warnings: reader is a grad student on summer break who works at Izuku’s greenhouse, cooking and eating together, idiots in love/mutual pining, size difference (Izuku is described at a foot taller than you, and twice your weight), size kink (slight), deku does not choke reader but holds her throat at one point, body worship, virginity loss, unprotected sex, fem!receiving oral, fingering, possessive sex, praise kink, reader is called “baby” and “my girl”, 
✩author’s note: for my dear sweet friend @/hawnks. happy late birthday my love. thanks for being my friend. shoutout to @/jirou-s , @/katsupeach ,and @/kodzucafe​ for beta reading this for me :’) some lines were inspired by endgame by samuel beckett. this takes place in the same world as Hold My Hand (So I Don’t Get Lost) No need to read it to understand! 
✩title credit: Lonely Eyes by The Front Bottoms. poems quoted are the orange by wendy cope and our beautiful life when it’s filled with shrieks by christopher citro.
Izuku is staring at you when he gets in the car, thinking to himself that there is not a single thing about you he’ll ever forget. He could never see you again, but he’d remember you as you are every Saturday morning when he sees you: eyes bright, smile lopsided with your laugh ringing out like a church bell as if you’re some sort of sanctuary that reminds him it’s time to worship, but he’s never stopped since last Saturday.
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You like summer and everything that comes with it. You like the feeling of the sun on your skin and how lemonade and ice cream and fruit just tend to taste better. You like sundresses and sandals and long days. You don’t even mind the sweat that rests on your brows or the way everything sticks together. But out of all of the things you like about summer, what you love most is the farmers market in the next town over.
It’s a massive space, taking place in a barn surrounded by cornfields and wildflowers. The fruit here is the best: a girl with long black hair sells peaches so juicy it dribbles down your chin and oranges unlike any other; a blonde man with fiery eyes sells corn that ruins everyone else’s for you; a girl with brown hair who tells you on the side of the milk carton you bought which cow it came from. Everyone here is kind. Thin lipped, polite smiles are given every time you walk past them; thank you’s uttered with every exchange of money; doors held open and samples offered with hands insistently outstretched.
Your favorite merchant has flowers that smell better than you ever thought they could. Begonias and dahlias and roses and sunflowers in colors brighter than you ever believed possible. Vibrant shades of blues and purples and pinks that remind you of sunsets. They’re all stunning, soft and subtle petals that you love to run your fingers over with an awestruck expression. If anyone asked for your personal definition of beauty, you would reply with a smile softer than the petals of flowers, “Midoriya’s flowers on a Saturday afternoon.”
The same man sells them every week out of a navy blue, rusted pickup truck and often by himself. He’s handsome; a smattering of freckles across a tanned face. Sharp and defined jawline with cheekbones that look like they were sculpted from marble. Striking viridescent eyes and curly green hair that always looks perfectly wind-blown. He greets you with a smile, frayed straw hat sitting on his head and a flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. You’ve been a regular here since it opened the first week of May, and now—mid June—Saturdays just aren’t complete without bringing home whatever colorful arrangement Midoriya picks for you.
“Oh, hey there!” He chirps to you from his stand; sitting on the beat up wooden chair behind a plastic table, chin resting in his calloused hands and a smile making the dimples on his cheeks appear. His grin seems to grow wider when you smile back at him. He tilts his head at you, his eyes crinkling around the edges with the brightness of his happiness. “Nice to see you!”
You smile at him, kind and bright. “Nice to see you too, Midoriya.” You watch him falter at the use of his name—mouth falling open slightly and red dusting his cheeks before he’s smiling so widely his eyes look like crinkled, crescent moons—before regaining his composure with a laugh accented by dimpled cheeks and freckles moving back to their original placement. You shift a bag of fruit that's hanging off your shoulder, fumbling with something else to hide the awkwardness you feel. “So, what do you have for me this week?”
“No lilies, right?”
His question makes you pause, because he always remembers these small things about you; that you don’t bring home lilies because of your cat. “No lilies,” you confirm for him, shifting on your feet. You think his hyperawareness is something to be admired; you like talking to someone that only has to be told something one time.
“Got any ideas?” he asks, laying out a turquoise sheet of tissue paper down on the table. He gestures at the loose buckets of flowers around his stand; bright greens and oranges and pinks. “I brought quite a few varieties today.”
“Hmmm,” you tilt your head at him, making a show of tapping your cheek as if you’re lost in thought.
“I can decide for you,” he offers, and you can’t help but think that it’s so… typical of him—and not in a bad way. Midoriya is ever the helpful type, and he has been since you’ve known him. He makes you think of those old romance movies—when the man lays his coat over a puddle so the woman can step over it without getting her shoes wet. You think Midoriya would do that unironically. “What about something summery?”
“Yeah..” the word trails off as you say it, wondering if it’s what you really want or if you just want to make Midoriya feel useful, but a summer arrangement sounds perfect, and you can’t deny that he just seems to know what's best as far as flowers are concerned. You look at him with eyes bright with eagerness, nodding your head at him. “Yeah, that sounds perfect actually.” You smile at him. “Thanks, Midoriya.”
“Yeah of course.” You watch him grab some flowers. Pink roses, blue hydrangeas, purple jasmine flowers, and something green you don’t recognize. He notices the question in your eyes before you even have to ask. “Viburnum,” he tells you, “used to be part of the honeysuckle family before they recategorized it.”
“That’s really cool,” you respond.
You hope it doesn’t sound patronizing with the way you say it. You’re just never sure what to say to him. Never want to make him feel that the things he says are worthless. Everything about him is interesting to you, but you often find yourself gaping at him and grasping at words when it comes down to responding to the idiosyncrasies of Midoriya Izuku. You watch him work: tongue sticking out slightly as thick fingers carefully arrange the flowers into place.
He wraps it up for you gently with a white ribbon keeping the tissue paper around it. He’s fast, has to be when he’s working like this, but wishes he could take his time. Wishes he could spend an entire Saturday afternoon showing you every flower there is and making you bouquets that make you smile so wide your cheeks hurt with the effort of it.
“Here ya go,” he grins at you, a blush creeping over his cheeks when fingers brush over yours.
“See you next week!” You call out to him, cradling the bouquet of flowers as if it’s a small child, close to your chest as if it needs protecting.
He brings up a hand scarred and calloused by years of lawn work, waves it at your fading figure gently. “Yeah,” he sighs as soft as dandelions moving in the breeze, “I’ll see you next week.”
Midoriya Izuku thinks the world of you, though he doesn’t have the courage to actually tell you that. Can’t really stand to look at you for longer than a few moments until he starts feeling his face heat up—red dusting his cheeks and nose. There’s just something about you, he can’t quite put his finger on it. Doesn’t really know the right words to describe it, but you give him the feeling he had as a child when he swallowed too many of those popping candies after Kacchan dared him to.
He remembers the second time he saw you. He wanted to tell you that you make his days brighter—but that would be cheesy, and he’s sure he would’ve lost you as a customer. He wanted to compliment your blouse—he thought the green color of it against your skin was wonderful—but he also thought it might come off as creepy, so he stayed silent as he shoved white dahlia’s in your arms.
The thing about Midoriya Izuku is that he notices everything about everyone, but has to hold the information back before he blurts it out at people. He’s often scared people with the endless knowledge he’s stored about them, so he’s since learned to keep that information close to his chest—tucking it next to his heart while he presses his lips together and smiles as people share bits of their life; nodding his head as he pretends he’s never heard this before, or caught on before they’ve decided to share.
He’s full of a strange, lovesick desire every time he sees you; rosebud colored fingertips itching to reach out and touch the softness of your cheeks. He wants to tell you he notices the way you purse your lips in thought before you decide what flowers you want; that you pop your knuckles when you’re nervous. That your head always tilts the direction of the wind as it blows.
You make him feel like he’s dressed in warm clothes on a cold day; you give him the strange sense of longing humans tend to be filled with as they stare at the stars. But every time he tries to build the courage to ask you out, he realizes his resolve is as flimsy as flower petals and ends up swallowing the question. He tries to hide how he’s really feeling, but love drips from his eyes every time he sees you, and he often ends up staring at his shoes—hoping you don’t notice the way it leaks.
Saturdays to Izuku are like Sundays for Catholics: he wakes up every Saturday morning to see what he can worship about you today. You’re the stained glass window the sun rises behind, as far as Izuku is concerned, and he eagerly awaits for you to come around and shine on him.
He’s so lost in his own head he doesn’t realize you’re standing in front of him until you wave your hand in his face; delicate fingers twirling around as if you could physically grab his attention; the loose ribbons of his mind that never quite seem to turn into solid thoughts.
“Earth to Midoriya,” you laugh, bending over slightly to meet his eyes from where he’s sitting at the table. “Anyone in there?”
He stands up so quickly he topples his chair over and almost knocks the table down along with it. You’re wearing a sundress—one of those long ones that brush up against the tops of your feet— in a dusty shade of pink. There’s a sunhat on your head—frayed around the edges. Just like mine, he thinks to himself.
“Sorry!” He smiles, rubbing the back of his head. “I just got lost in my own head I do that sometimes, since I was a kid actually but its—”
“Midoriya,” you laugh gently. “It’s okay. We all get lost in our own heads sometimes.”
He chuckles nervously. “Y-yeah, I supposed we all do.” He fumbles with the hem of his shirt, before clearing his throat, “So, what are you looking for today?”
“Something bright,” you respond after a moment of thought, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “You can take the lead. I trust you.”
He hums, grabbing flowers out of white buckets and laying them on tissue paper, trying to ignore the way I trust you makes his heart feel like a hummingbird's wings. He can feel your eyes on him, the slightly awestruck way you watch him. “So what do you do? For a living I mean.”
“I’m a grad student,” you inform him. “For creative writing.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” he tries to sound casual, tries to sound like he’s not storing all this information in the notebook of his mind. “At the local university?”
“Yup.” You smile. “I’ve been writing stories since I was a little kid. I always knew this was what I wanted to be.”
“My mom gardened growing up,” he adds some Queen Anne’s lace to the pile of flowers he’s arranging. He thinks the light color of it will make the pinks and reds of the dahlias and orchids stand out more. “I always liked helping her.”
“That's sweet,” you tell him. You say it so earnestly, like you’re genuinely happy he’s shared a part of himself with you.
“What have you been up to this summer?” he asks, trying to keep the small talk going as he wraps the flowers carefully in tissue paper.
You decide to be truthful with him—usually, you keep your woes to yourself. But with Izuku, you think you can be honest; there’s something about the way he looks at you—like you hung the moon in the sky with your own hands—that makes you feel like he wouldn’t pity you. “I’m on summer break and trying to find a job. It’s a bit hard to be honest, this town is small and there isn’t much around.”
“I can use some extra help,” he blurts before thinking. “I mean I can’t really pay you much, and the work’s kinda dirty, and you’ll have to be over early, and I’m not really sure if you know me well enough to be comfortable coming to my place, but I can assure you I’m not a serial killer—”
“Midoriya,” you interrupt calmly, placing a hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh. “I trust you. When do you want me there?”
“Tomorrow.” He swallows thickly. “6am?”
“Sounds good to me, I can do that.” You scribble your phone number down for him, handing it to him and hoping he doesn’t notice the way your hands shake.
“Oh, and can you call me Izuku?”
It’s been forever since he’s had someone call him by his last name—he practically begged Shouto to call him by his first name. He wants to be close to you. Wants to know what it would be like to share the intimacy of a first name basis with you.
“Yeah,” you laugh. “I can do that, too.”
The coffee hasn’t quite kicked in when you pull into Izuku’s driveway. You find yourself still rubbing sleep from your exhausted eyes, thinking about how this is the earliest you’ve been awake in months, and you’re doing it all for minimum wage and a morning with the green haired man that makes your stomach squeeze.
Izuku’s house is quaint, simple. It’s a single story yellow house with white shutters. The greenhouse next to it is bigger than the house itself, with glass walls and a tall ceiling. Steel beams that run up the sides of it. His porch is small and modest. There’s one rocking chair just outside the front door, and the thought makes you pause. You didn’t realize Izuku lives alone. You wonder if he’s lonely; Izuku seems to be such a social person that it’s strange for you to think of him spending his days sitting in silence.
“Hey there,” Izuku calls out to you from his front door, his smile bright despite how early in the morning it is.
“How are you smiling?” You ask him groggily. “It’s too early.”
He checks his watch. “It’s 6am. I’ve been up since 4am.”
You groan, take another sip of your coffee. “That’s disgusting.”
He says nothing, just laughs and motions with his head for you to follow him, and you find that you have to jog slightly to catch up with his long strides. You never realized that he’s that much taller than you, now that he’s no longer sitting behind a table. One stride for him is two for you, and you’re slightly breathless by the time he’s proudly staring at rows and rows of organized raised beds, hands on his hips and a cheeky grin on his face.
The site, even though your lungs are as tired as the rest of your body, makes your heart beat out of your chest. The fog rolls over the raised beds, making everything look slightly yellow as the sun starts to rise. You follow Izuku through the rows, listening to him point out different flowers.
Your gaze follows his hand as he points at a flower; a small pink cluster with delicate petals, “Rhododendron,” he tells you with a smile. “Rhododendron indicum, they’re actually related to azaleas—fun fact, they are poisonous to humans and animals because of the chemical they secrete to protect themselves from insects. Two hikers once got trapped in what they said was an impenetrable forest because they were surrounded by them.”
You hum, try to look interested in what he says, before you point at another flower. “What’s this one?”
“Peony.” He crouches down next to them. You follow behind, sitting on your haunches next to him as he brushes his fingers over the petals. “Paeonia lactiflora is the scientific name for them. For years people have used them to treat rheumatoid arthritis, and muscle cramping.” He gestures over to a smaller cluster across from it; with white and red stripes. “These are camellias.” He smiles at you again. He looks so bright, so eager. Like he could go on and on forever about all the things that fill his garden. “Camellia japonica. I’ll have to move this one soon because they can grow to be quite big. Probably will end up moving it to the side of the house that doesn’t get much sun since they only need partial light. Maybe next to the wisteria plant…” he starts muttering something under his breath before you touch him gently and snap him out of it.
“What kinda flower is that?” you ask. It’s pretty, with small white bulbs hanging off of it. They look like little bells, you think.
“Lily of the valley,” he responds, barely looking at the flower before he’s fixing forest colored eyes back on you. “The scientific name for it is Convallaria majalis. It’s incredibly poisonous, but people ask for it in wedding bouquets all the time, and honestly I think that’s really ironic.”
“What if I ate it?”
He turns and looks at you, mouth falling open and then closing, before he narrows his eyes at you. “Do not do that.This plant can kill a small child are you—”
“Izuku,” you laugh, holding your arms out to stop his tirade of information. “I’m kidding.”
You can almost see the lightbulb of understanding glow above his head, wiping the shock off his face before he decides to keep going. “I don’t trust you,” he tells you with mock finality. “Stay away from it.”
“Are we going to be tending all of these beds together?”
“No,” he says after a moment as he scratches the back of his neck, “Ah… I just wanted to show you these. This is my personal garden, nothing here gets sold. I haven’t had anyone out here in a while to tell all this to.”
“I like it,” you tell him. “It’s nice out here, and I can tell you put a lot of work into it.”
He smiles at you, red dusting his cheeks. “Thank you. I suppose um…. I should show you the greenhouse.”
“Lead the way,” you tell him.
The coffee is finally hitting you, just as the sun begins to glare against the windows of the greenhouse. He opens the door for you, and you step inside. There’s plants everywhere: viney ones hanging from the ceiling, walls lined with tables full of potted flowers and vegetables. A long table full of flowers runs down the middle of the space. It’s slightly humid, the air around you feels wet already despite the fact that it’s not even 8am yet.
“So,” he tells you, “now that it’s gettin’ to July and the hottest times of the year, I usually have to add shade cloths to the plants so they don’t burn in the sun. There’s fans too that we’ll turn on to keep it cool in here not only for us but for the planets.” He watches you walk around the greenhouse; looking carefully at all the flowers. “There’s an irrigation system in here too that I regularly check and make sure it’s working. It’d be an awful thing to learn that it broke by the time things are dyin’.”
“What are we doin today?” you ask.
“Nothing,” he chirps brightly. “I actually did it all.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly, staring at your hands.
“I’m sorry,” he rushes out. “I should’ve just waited to show you everything by doing it, but I guess I didn’t really think about that, and to be honest you’re the first person I’ve ever had work here with me, so I think I just got excited and wanted you to see what everything looks like when it’s done—”
You interrupt his tirade, grasping at the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you hungry?” you ask him.
“Uh.” He blinks at you owlishly, tilting his head slightly in thought before he gives a breathy laugh and nods. “Yeah I could eat.”
“Let me cook you breakfast.” You smile at him. “At least let me do something, ya know?”
He looks at you strangely then, and you watch some sort of internal debate go on in his head before he’s relenting, scratching the back of his head while his other hand gestures towards the exit of the greenhouse.
“Alright,” he sighs. “Lets go.”
You follow him outside, walking up the gravel driveway and to the entrance of his house. He looks slightly sheepish as he lets you in. You place your shoes next to his—a beat-up pair of red sneakers and his work boots—then look around.The living room has an antique red couch that sits in front of a modest TV with a small oakwood coffee table in between. The kitchen is also modest, and you notice there’s no dining table. Just an island with tall chairs pulled up to it.
“You live by yourself?” you ask him, meandering into the kitchen and digging through his cupboards for food.
“Y-yeah,” he responds, clearing his throat. You hear and chair drag out of place behind you, followed by the creaking of his weight being put on it. “I like it though, even if it is a bit lonely sometimes.”
“Mmm,” you hum, pulling out flour and baking powder from his cabinets.
 “Pancakes sound good?” You turn and look at him, a tilt in your head.
He brightens, impossibly so. “Yeah, actually,” he tells you, eagerly. “Pancakes sound great.”
“Eggs too?” You offer, turning the heat on for the griddle.
“Yeah,” he says again, nodding his head. You watch his hands fiddle idly as you sift flour, picking at the skin of his cuticles before he finds a crumpled up piece of paper to fidget with. You wonder if he’s always this nervous. If he’s always finding something for his hands to occupy, before he speaks up. “Ah, can I get them scrambled?”
“Scrambled?” you ask him incredulously, “When sunny side up is better?”
He pouts slightly, the sight is comical to you, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly with his eyes narrowed. “Don’t like the runny yolk.”
“I’m picking on you,” you laugh, waving the whisk covered in pancake batter at him. “Yeah I can do scrambled, but only for you.”
He turns a furious shade of red at your words before going back to fiddling with his fingers with a nervous laugh. “So uh… you’re in school for creative writing? Do you know what you wanna write? Like… What interests you?”
You nod as you ladle a spoonful of batter onto the griddle, listening to the way it hisses and fizzles. You turn the heat down, before moving on to cracking eggs in a bowl and adding a splash of milk.
“I like romance,” you tell him. “I’m most interested in writing that. Poetry is nice too but I think I’ll stick to romance. I’m a sucker for a cliche. I love the whole ‘You make me want to be better’ and 'it was always you’ and so on.”
He hums and starts playing with the keys on the kitchen island. “That’s really cool,” he tells you earnestly. “Do you have much longer left?”
“Nope.” You flip a pancake. “Just a year and I’m done, thank god.”
“You don’t like school?”
You turn to him and he’s staring at you intently, his head propped in his hands. You think for a moment before you finally speak, “I think… I think I just want to get on with my life already.”
He hums, “I think that’s a valid reason.”
You dig through his cupboards. Everything he has is mismatched, different colored shapes and plates with strange designs on it. Coffee mugs with different designs in shapes. Some in pristine condition, some chipped around the edges. All of them are incredibly loved though. You can tell by the faded colors of them all. 
You hand him a plate with pancakes and scrambled eggs on it, “Eat up,” you tell him, handing him a mug of coffee along with sugar and creamer. “Hope it's good.”
“How’d you get the eggs so fluffy?” He asks, dumping cream and sugar into his coffee by the spoonful.
“Cook them on low heat…” you look over at him. “You like your coffee sweet.”
“Yeah I can’t stand the bitter taste, but I need the energy. Really? That’s how you do it?” He says, shoving another fork full in his mouth. He swallows, chases it down with overly sweetened coffee. “I cook everything on high.”
You pause, “Why?”
“It’s faster…” he ponders for a moment. “Though I do end up having a lot of things burnt because of it.”
You snort, “Are you really the person that leaves everything on high and just walks away from the stove?”
“Maybe.” He looks bashful, but unoffended.
You laugh, genuinely. “Oh my god, Izuku you can’t do that.”
“I always wait to eat until I’m too hungry to be patient.” He persists. “I still end up eating it.”
“Okay,” you sigh, sitting down next to him and filling your own mug with coffee. “How about after work every day I come in and cook breakfast too?”
“That’s not what I’m paying you for.”
“I’m not asking to be paid,” you chide. “I’m offering. Besides, the work seems easy enough. I don't mind adding this to it.”
“Are you sure?’ He asks, head tilting at you.
You shrug, “I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t.”
He laughs quietly, pushing a slice of pancake around before he looks over at you. “Thank you,” he says softly. You smile back at him, giving him a nod as you sip on your mug of coffee. You both eat in silence together, save for the soft music playing on the radio in one of his shelves and the clink of silverware against your plates. Izuku asks for seconds, and you happily oblige him. You forgot how much you loved having someone eat your food.
It’s only mid June and you’re already thinking about how this will end. That Izuku only needs help until August and the thought is making you sad despite how premature the worry is. You push the thought away in your mind, reminding yourself that there is here and now and the rest will come later. August can wait.
He walks you out to your car at noon, his hands in his pockets as he kicks the rocks in his driveway nervously. You get the feeling he doesn’t want you to leave, but you have people to call and things to do. You like his company, you think, so you smile and tell him, “See you tomorrow!”
He likes yours too, so he gives you an eager nod and says, “I’ll be here!”
Izuku is staring at a flower pot when you come in today—his head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed—holding it in his hands, perplexed. Muttering something under his breath that you can’t quite make out.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a violet growing with this petunia.”
“Okay,” you say slowly. “And?”
“It’s cool, don’t you think?” He looks over you, eyes practically twinkling with unbridled excitement. “To land somewhere you’re not supposed to be? But thrive anyways?” He sighs softly, looks at the little flower poking through the dirt with something close to affection. “It’s wonderful. Makes it look so easy.”
You tug slightly on Izuku’s arm, motioning for him to lower it so you can see the pot better. Sure enough, there’s a small violet blooming on the other end of the pot, only a few inches away from the white color of the petunia. The contract is nice, you think. The white of the petunia is not too far away from the purple of the violet.
“Are you gonna replant the violet?” you ask.
“Not sure,” he muses. “I kinda like the symbolism of it.”
“You’re getting philosophical over flowers?” you snicker.
“Flourishing where you’re not planted,” he says again, looking down at you with verdant eyes. “It’s nice.”
You think of grad school, about being so far away from family. The bustle of the city. It’s a different kind of loneliness to be around so many people and still feel isolated. You think of the friends you’ve connected with, the memories you’ve made, and the students you’ve taught. Professors and their kind words and the high praise they’ve given you.
“Maybe you should keep it there then,” you tell him quietly, your eyes still focused on the plant in the pot. “I like it.”
“You think so?”
“It would be a good children's story,” you tell him.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No,” you tell him earnestly, your eyes lifting to meet his. “Think of it, a little flower in the garden trying to find where they belong, but it turns out they never needed to be in a specific spot. They’re gonna be fine wherever they decide to bloom.”
Izuku is silent for a moment staring at you with a strange look on his face. For a moment you think he’s gonna laugh, think he’s gonna look at you and tell you it’s strange to be able to make a story out of anything you hear. But he doesn’t. He just smiles at you in that quiet and reserved way he often does; something unsure and searching before he flicks his eyes over across the greenhouse.
“It’s gonna be hot today,” he says to you, clearing his throat and looking down at you through thick lashes. “Remind me to make sure I turn the fans on today.”
“Of course.” You smile.
He wants to tell you that you look brighter today; almost blinding. He can tell you’re getting used to working before the sun even rises, but all that comes out is, “Thank you.”
When you arrive at Izuku's house today, he’s already standing outside, leaning against his faded blue pick up truck, and scrolling through his phone. Today is going to be different. You know this before he tells you, because he looks at you almost excitedly—like he’s bursting at the seams.
“We gotta go into town today,” he chirps, crossing his arms over his broad chest and looking down at you through thick lashes. “I need some soil and some groceries, and Kacchan has some corn for me to grab. To be honest, I should’ve just told you to stay behind, so I’m really sorry about that, but I didn’t remember until late last night, and I was sure you’d be in bed by then but I can reimburse you for gas if—”
“Izuku,” you cut him off gently. Laughing softly at him. “I don’t mind at all.”
“I can at least pay you for the day,” he offers.
“No need,” you shrug. “I’m already out here.”
“I am so—”
“Stop apologizing,” you insist, laughing again. “It’s really not a big deal, and I like hanging out with you anyways.”
“Oh,” he breathes, then straightens up and blinks owlishly at you—like he finally absorbs what you said. “Oh! Well, o-okay then.”
He opens his passenger door for you, waits for you to sit down in the seat before he’s gently closing the door and runs to the driver's side. The truck rocks with the weight of him practically throwing himself into it, and he looks over at you as he buckles his seatbelt like he never expected you to stay. Like he can’t believe you’re actually here, in his truck, agreeing to run some mundane errands with him before the sun has fully risen.
You hold your warm mug of coffee in between your hands, feel the way the heat of it crawls across your palms and makes your own bones feel warm. The liquid sloshes around as Izuku pulls out of his gravel driveway. You watch him as he does: the way he places a large hand on the back of your headrest and turns his body to get a better view out of the back window. When his eyes meet yours, he gives you a small smile, then moves his hand and shifts the car into drive, pulling out of the driveway and heading to town.
You’ve never really looked at the area Izuku lives in. This early in the morning you’re usually more focused on keeping your eyes open than taking in the scenery. It’s beautiful here, you think, much prettier than the city—despite it only being an hour and a half away by train, it feels like you’re in a different world.
The countryside is nice: rolling hills littered with trees, grass the same shade as Izuku’s eyes, and wildflowers as bright as the ones he sells from his greenhouse. You lay your head against the window, listening to the sounds of Izuku fumbling with the knob of the radio in an attempt to get anything but static.
“You’re tired,” he muses. You almost didn’t hear it—probably wouldn’t have at all if the radio would work.
“Stayed up a bit too late last night reading,” you tell him, turning your head from the window to look at him. The sun is starting to peak over the hills, and it highlights the freckles across his tanned skin. You stretch, feeling your back pop. “It was worth it, though.”
“Was it good?”
“Yeah,” you hum. “Poetry collection from one of my favorite authors, Mary Oliver.”
He hisses between his teeth, shakes his head slightly. “She’s good,” he tells you. “I like Bukowski more, however.”
You snort, “You’re entitled to your opinion.”
He says nothing after that, just laughs lightly. You watch him adjust in his seat; leaning back to get more comfortable. One hand hangs from the top of the steering wheel while he uses the other to rest his chin. You think it’s nice like this, sitting in companionable silence together. You don’t feel the need to fill the empty space with words or conversation. It’s a wonderful thing, you think, to sit and enjoy someone’s company.
It’s not long before Izuku makes it into town. Most of the buildings are old, only a few stories tall with brick exteriors. Businesses are starting to come to life. People are switching on their open signs and opening their doors to let the summer breeze in. You glance over at Izuku. Both of his hands are on the steering wheel now, and he’s chewing his bottom lip as he moves through traffic. There’s plenty of people on the sidewalks—plenty of people cutting across streets that make Izuku hit his breaks just a touch too hard. This town isn’t as sleepy as you thought it would be. It’s not as busy as a city, but there’s more of a scattering of people than you expected. You suppose most people are awake early here; eager to begin working in the fields before the sun starts to beat down.
He pulls into a parking lot, turns his truck off with a shaky hand and looks over at you with a huff. “I hate driving in town. People don’t know where to walk.” You laugh at him quietly, snorting into your hand. It’s strange to see a look of genuine irritation on his face. “What’re you laughing at?”
“Nothing,” you giggle again. “You’re just funny.”
“Let me open the door for you,” he tells you as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “The passenger side door doesn’t open from the inside.” He looks away from you as he says it, his own hand fumbling with his door before he’s opening it and running over to open yours.
“Thank you,” you tell him brightly.
You watch red creep up his neck and cover his cheeks. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Of course. We ah… we gotta stop at the gardening store for soil.”
“Is that all?”
“And Kacchan’s house for corn…” he hums, rubbing his face in thought, “...maybe stop at the grocery store too. D’ya need anything?”
You click your tongue, shake your head slightly. “I’m just along for the ride, Izuku.”
He laughs and you follow him down the sidewalk, almost bumping into him when he stops at the crosswalk.
You never realize how big Izuku is until you stand next to him. He’s easily twice your weight and towers over you by a foot. You watch him press the button at the crosswalk, staring straight ahead for the moment the red hand turns into a white walking sign that allows you two to safely cross.
By some sort of instinct he grabs your hand, leading you across the street when the sign turns white and signals for you both to cross. The action is so simple to you, and he doesn’t even look phased by the feeling of it. Just grips your much smaller hand in his large one and leads you safely across the street.
He lets go of your hand as if suddenly realizing what he’s done. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he laughs, looking away from you. “I shouldn’t have done that! I didn’t even think about it, it really was a mindless gesture of me is it possible that we can just—”
“It’s okay,” You interrupt, your hand feeling strangely small without his fingers wrapped around it. You smile at him and bring it to your eyes as a shield so you can look at him better. The sun is cascading a light around his head; almost making it look like he has a halo. “I liked it,” you tell him truthfully.
He looks at you then, gives you one of those smiles that makes your heart squeeze in your chest. “My mom used to hold my hand when we crossed the street together,” he tells you quietly. “It always made me feel safe.”
Why do you stay with me? he wants to ask.
A different question burns in your mind at the same time, Why do you want to keep me?
You walk the rest of the way to the nursery in silence, your hand feeling strangely empty without his. You stare at the spaces between your fingers, thinking how nice it felt to have him fill the empty spaces. He opens the door to the shop for you, lets you step in before he’s following behind. You notice he has to duck his head under the awning of the shop. You step aside, letting Izuku lead the way into the shop.
“Hi, Fuyumi!” he grins at a girl behind the counter.
She’s pretty, mostly white hair with red streaks and tanned skin; there's a round wire framed set of glasses on her nose.Something about her radiates kindness, the gentle way she smiles at Izuku and how she clasps her hands together with joy when she sees him.
“Izuku!” she laughs. “How are you?”
“M’good. I’m just here for a few bags of soil.”
She looks over at you after she nods at Izuku. “Hi.” She grins. “I’m Todoroki Fuyumi!”
“Oh I’m so sorry,” he breathes thentells Fuyumi your name, and she smiles, complimenting how well it suits you. “She’s my assistant for the summer. She’s been a real big help, honestly I’m lucky to have her, she’s really good—” you touch his shoulder gently, hear him squeak before he gives you a breathy laugh. “Oh, I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” You say nothing, just nod your head gently at him while he turns a bright shade of red. He looks over at Fuyumi again with a chuckle. “I’m gonna be getting two bags of soil today.”
“Just two?” she confirms, typing into the old fashioned cash register on the counter.
“Yeah, just two.” He calls back to her, “It’s only for some mums.”
You stand there awkwardly, waiting for Izuku to come back.
“How long have you and Izuku been together?”
“Ah….” You think for a moment. “Since the end of June, so about two months now.”
“Oh.” She smiles knowingly. “So you’re still in the honeymoon phase?”
You choke slightly, “What? No I don’t—we’re not…” You shake your head. “We’re not together, we just work together.”
You laugh awkwardly. Fuyumi just hums, a knowing look flashing in her steel colored eyes. She opens her mouth to say something but is cut off when Izuku materializes next to you; red dusting his cheeks as he clears his throat.
“How much is that for today, Fuyumi?” he asks.
She brushes him off. “Don’t worry about it. You helped Shouto the other day with the calves, and he told me he’ll cover whatever you need the next time you come in.”
“Are you sure?”
She gives him a warning look, but there’s no venom to it. “You know how my brother can be. If I were you, I’d just let it happen.”
He chuckles nervously, scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, you’re right. Well thank you, Fuyumi. I’ll see ya later.” You wave goodbye to her, following behind Izuku back outside into the warmth.
He lugs both of the bags of soil over one shoulder; a strong arm wrapping around them. He looks both ways before crossing the street, holding your hand the entire way.
He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go, “When we step into the store I only need some sausages and milk,” he tells you. “I hope this doesn’t sound patronizing, but can you stick by me when we get to the store? The owner’s a nice guy n’ all but… he tends to lay it on thick with the women, if you know what I mean.”
“Jealous, are we?” you tease.
He looks over at you, unamused, and sucks on his teeth. “You’ll ah… you’ll see what I mean.”
You don't have time to ask him to elaborate before he opens the door to the grocery store. You shiver when you get inside, the shock of the cold compared to the warmth of outside causing goosebumps to pebble on your skin. A blonde man peeks out from one of the aisles. He grins when he sees Izuku and grins even wider when he sees you trailing behind him. You watch the hand that he has around the soil tighten for a brief moment before he gives the blonde a smile.
“Hi Keigo,” he says. “We’re just here for a few things.”
The man—Keigo—returns the smile, all teeth and sharp canines as he comes out from between the aisles. He’s of average height and build, blond locks that look perfectly windblown and a handsome, tanned face.
“Well hi there, Izuku and friend.”
You wave nervously at him, while one of Izuku’s palms finds its way to the small of your back, ushering you in the direction of the meat fridge.
“We’re in a bit of a hurry today, Kei,” he calls over his shoulder. “We’re just here for some sausages and milk.” He sounds a bit strained as he says it, and you find yourself slightly fascinated by the sight of Izuku who actually looks slightly irritated. It’s something you never thought you’d see.
“That’s all?” Keigo chuckles, suddenly right next to you. You gasp slightly, not expecting to see him there. “Sorry, dove.” His eyes are honey yellow. They remind you of the old, peeling paintings of the museum you like to visit when you’re in school. “I’m a bit too fast for m’own good.”
“It's fine,” you chirp, not sure why you’re accepting an apology that doesn’t even seem to be needed.
Izuku jerks his head towards the milk he wants, and you open the fridge to grab it, taking the packs of sausage out of his hands to free him up. Keigo follows behind you two quietly, following you to the front counter where he rings you both out.
“What are you guys up to today?” he asks.
“A little of this, a little of that,” Izuku responds, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and handing Keigo crisp bills. Keigo places the food in paper bags, scoots it across the counter where you pick it up gingerly. “We’re heading home now.”
“Hope to be seeing the both of you soon!” Keigo calls out while you two leave, you turn and smile at him but notice he’s only looking at you.
“See what I mean?” Izuku asks wryly, pressing the button at the crosswalk.
“Yes,” you giggle.
Izuku carries the soil, while you cradle the groceries. Since both of you have occupied hands, he can’t hold yours as you cross the street. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, but you’re hoping for other opportunities despite yourself.
Izuku throws the bags of soil into the bed of the truck, before taking the groceries out of your arms and placing them there too. You stretch your arms, listening to your elbows pop at the relief as you open the door to the truck.
“You’re old,” he teases, tongue poking out of his mouth slightly.
“You're two years older than me, Izuku.”
You laugh as you buckle your seatbelt. You like the way he smiles at you, and you like the way he waits for you to be buckled in before he moves the truck.
“Fair enough,” he says, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot. “Can’t wait to get out of here. Hate driving in town.”
“Mmm.” You nod. “You’ve made that known.”
He visibly relaxes when he exits the town's limits, one hand hanging off the steering wheel as he turns on cruise control and stretches his legs. He never found anything to play on the radio, so the truck is filled with silence. It’s nice however, quiet and companionable and somehow warm between you two.
Izuku pulls into the driveway of a home after some time. It’s simple, quaint. A white two story house with blue shutters. A blonde man sits on a porch swing with a woman. She’s pretty from what you can see, short brown hair and a round face. Petite and small next to the blonde's long and lithe figure.
“Kacchan,” Izuku calls out to him after opening the door for you. The man takes the stairs two at a time, hands in his pockets as he strides towards him. Izuku smiles at him, warm and bright while the stranger just glares at Izuku with garnet colored eyes. “We’re here for corn!” Izuku introduces you to him, tells you his name is Bakugou Katsuki, but it’s fine to call him Kacchan.
“Don’t call me Kacchan,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.
“I won’t.” You smile at him. “Nice to meet you, Katsuki. I think I’ve seen you at the farmers market.”
He hums in his chest, nodding. “M’usually there on Saturdays.” He juts his head towards Izuku. “A couple of booths down from this nerd.” Instinctually you brace yourself, not used to the idea of Izuku being talked to unkindly, but he just laughs. “M’gonna go grab corn for Deku, honey,” he calls to the woman on the porch. She looks up at him and smiles, waving delicate fingers at him. “Don’t you dare finish my crossword puzzle, though,” he barks, to which she responds with ringing laughter and a snort.
Izuku grabs your hand. It’s probably pure instinct at this point, but you don’t pull away—just interlace your fingers with his and follow behind. Katsuki looks over at you both, notices your hands interlocked together, but he doesn’t say anything. When he leads you both to the field, he falls into pace next to Izuku, and you hear quiet bickering. Teasing between friends. Katsuki only looks an inch or so taller next to Izuku, but their builds are different. Katsuki is lean and built like a cat: all taught muscle underneath a well fitted t-shirt. But Izuku is beefier, with thick muscles and rippling veins with thighs bigger than Katsuki’s waist.
He looks back at you, warm and bright as you both step into the cornfield. “Keep a hold of my hand, ‘kay?” He grins, tilting his head, and you watch green curls fall to one side. “Don't wanna lose you.”
You watch Katsuki twist and pull corn off the stalks, insisting that he’s the one that does it. “You’ll probably fuck it up,” he bites at Izuku, but there’s no venom to it as his tone turns teasing. “And your little hand looks occupied at the moment.”
“Kacchan,” Izuku squeaks, tone chastising as his face turns a deep shade of red. He doesn’t let go of your hand despite Katsuki’s remark, just grips it tighter.
Katsuki laughs at him, tearing corn off stalks and cradling them in his arms, “How many ya want? 10?”
Izuku nods. “10 is good. Do you want any?”
You shake your head. “No, thank you.”
Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement, layering ears of corn into his arms. You wonder how long he’s been on a farm, if he always knew he wanted to do this. The sun is high in the sky now, and you bring your other hand up to shield your eyes as you stare at the horizon—focusing your attention on white clouds that move lazily across a blue sky.
“Let’s go,” Katsuki says, leading you both out of the field without so much as a glance back towards the two of you.
Katsuki’s wife is still sitting on the porch when you get back, flipping through what looks like a well-loved book with tender fingers.
“M’gonna go and say hello to Kacchan’s wife okay?” he tells you. “She’s sweet, I sold her some flowers for the garden he has around back a year ago.”
He bounds up the stairs to her, plopping next to her on the swing. He watches him laugh with her, his hands gesturing excitedly as he talks animatedly to her.
Katsuki looks over at you, balancing back and forth on his shoes before he’s sighing through his nose. “He’s head over heels for ya, ya know that, right?”
His bluntness takes you by surprise, but you don’t flinch from it, just level him with your own gaze. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugs. “Known him all my life, so I can just tell. He’s excited around you—”
“He’s an excitable person,” you counter.
He sucks his teeth, “Not like this, though. This is different.”
You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing. You don’t know how to feel about the idea of Izuku loving you, but the thought makes you feel strangely warm. You look over at Katsuki, watch the way the sun reflects against his blonde hair. You wonder if falling in love was something he thought was hard to do, too; if the thought scared him as much as it scares you.
Izuku comes bounding over to you, telling Katsuki’s wife he’ll see her later. She laughs, says something along the lines of I know, to which he responds with a cheeky grin.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks you, taking the corn from Katsuki’s arms.
You smile at him. “Ready when you are.”
“Bye Kacchan!” Izuku waves at him, laughing at the way Katsuki brushes him off and walks away. You don’t have the stomach to look Katsuki in the eyes as you mutter goodbye, and the knowing look he gives you makes your gut feel strange.
Izuku is staring at you when he gets in the car, thinking to himself that there is not a single thing about you he’ll ever forget. He could never see you again, but he’d remember you as you are every Saturday morning when he sees you: eyes bright, smile lopsided with your laugh ringing out like a church bell as if you’re some sort of sanctuary that reminds him it’s time to worship, but he’s never stopped since last Saturday. Your face changes as he looks at you—like a cloud that moves and covers the sun. You’re clearly thinking about something: your eyebrows are pinched, and your lips are twisting together.
“What are you thinking about?” He asks, interrupting your thoughts.
“Nothing,” you tell him.
“Hmmm,” he hums and looks over at you. “That’s not true.”
“Izuku, what—”
“When you’re thinking really hard about something” —his finger reaches out towards you and pokes the space between your eyebrows, laughing slightly as he does a small circular motion there—“you get this little crinkle right there.”
A smile breaks across your face as you gently push his hand away, eyes bright until your thoughts catch back up to you again.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?” he asks again, quieter this time. Almost begging you. He’s so close to you now, so close you can see the flecks of hazel around his eyes, feel the warmth of his breath on your cheeks.
“It’s for me,” you mutter, tearing your gaze away from him. You ignore the heat that rises to your face. Your thoughts are your own. You’re not ready to share.
“Keep your secrets,” he mutters at you. You’ll tell him when you’re ready, he thinks.
You turn away from him completely—try to ignore that it might hurt his feelings—but you can’t stand to look at him. You think if you keep looking at him the truth of your own feelings will leak from your eyes like clouds too full of rain. Everything feels too much. Too complicated. You’re thinking strange thoughts you’ve never thought before. Like what it would be like to wake up next to him. How well his fingers fit into the empty spaces between yours. It’s odd, you think, to constantly feel like you’re drinking sunlight when you’re around him. You are overflowing with his rays. You think that if you look in the mirror you’ll be glowing too.
“I know we’ve had a busy day,” he starts. He sounds so shy, like a kid asking for candy when they’re half sure they’re going to be told no. “Do you still plan on coming in tomorrow? I was gonna say to take the day off, but I could use some help tomorrow. Which isn’t to say I’m helpless without you—”
“Yeah.” You smile. “I’m still coming in.”
Izuku smiles even brighter than you thought possible; eyes turning once again into tiny crescent moons, dimples showing. His foot taps the entire drive back to his place, unbridled excitement manifesting in the way he drums his fingers against the steering wheel.
It’s only a few minutes before he’s pulling back into the driveway. Instinctively, you reach for the door handle and open it, confused at the way it opens for you. You look over at Izuku, tilting your head at him in question.
“I thought it was broken?”
He looks embarrassed for a moment, his face is the same shade of red as strawberries. “I-I just wanted to open the door for you.”
“You could’ve just said that,” you laugh and watch him turn redder—something you didn’t even know was possible.
“You’re right,” he mutters, scratching at the back of his head. “But would you have let me?”
You smile at him, shutting the door to make a point. “Anything for your hero heart.”
He grins at you, cheeky and bright. Like he’s won some sort of prize. He’s rushing out of the truck and running over to you, practically bouncing on his feet when he opens the door and lets you out. His smile is so infectious—one of the things you’ve always liked about him—that it has you grinning too, and though your cheeks are hurting with it, you couldn’t possibly care less.
You want to tell him that he makes you feel warm and safe, but the only thing that comes out is, “Same time tomorrow?”
He swallows, wanting to tell you that he feels the same way you do, but the only thing he says is, “Yup! See you then!”
The end of summer means the end of the farmers market. And the end of the farmers market means you’re not helping Izuku anymore. This thought makes you sad, fills you with a strange feeling you can’t quite place. You’ve never liked the end of things, even having gone as far as leaving books and movies and tv shows unfinished just to avoid the feeling.
Work was easy today, but if you really want to be truthful, the last few months have hardly felt like work at all. But today—the last day of spending hours with Izuku in the sun as he tells you about flowers and their meanings while you admire the way the colors of them look against the green of his hair—fills you with some strange sense of finality that you’re too scared to bring up.
Can I come back, you want to ask, even though winter will come and dry up all the flowers?
Can I come back? Even though the frost that comes will surely be the one that ends the season?
Can I stay? Even though there’s no work to do? We can just sit on the porch and watch the leaves fall for all I care. I can tell you about the book I’m writing. You can tell me about the butterflies you saw in the garden today.
You’re sitting next to Izuku on the steps to his front porch, chin resting on your knees and arms around your calves. The wind feels nice against your warm skin, and you can see it rustling through the trees in Izuku’s yard.
He’s skilled with the knife; you’re sure you’d cut yourself if you were doing what he was with it. His thumb pushes against the blade effortlessly as he cuts off the tops of strawberries. He hands you one delicately, holding his hand flat with the berry in the center of his palm.
“Kacchan sells them down the road,” he informs you. “Grows ‘em himself with his wife. I think it was her idea, strawberries seem to be her favorite.” You hum in response as you pop it into your mouth, savoring the sweetness of it. You didn’t know Katsuki sold anything else besides corn. “She’s real good to him. He’s lucky to have her. I never thought he’d let anyone in until he met her.”
“What do you mean?” you ask.
We can sit on the couch, you think to yourself as you chew, I’ll show you the candles I bought and make you smell all of them. You’ll crinkle your nose at some, but that’s okay. I’ll just light those ones when you’re not around.
He shrugs, and looks away from you; pursing his lips in thought before speaking. “Ah... I mean, it does get lonely out here to be honest. Livin’ in the middle of nowhere. You saw it the other day. I mean, Kacchan’s just down the road, but he’s still 15 minutes away. You’ve noticed that, haven’t ya? That there’s not much around here?”
You could teach me how to make eggs, he thinks, they probably wouldn’t be good the first few times, but you’d smile at me all happy because I tried for you.
“I thought it was nice,” you answer simply. He hands you another strawberry. “I think this is nice.”
He tilts his head, curls falling over to one side. “What is?”
What is Heaven, he thinks, besides spending a Saturday afternoon with you?
You gesture vaguely, his eyes fall towards the open space of his front yard. The vacant road. “This.” You say more forcefully, hoping it’ll help him understand.
There’s something altogether beautiful and whimsical about quiet places; about the countryside and the quiet way it has of putting people together. There’s something beautiful about sitting in silence so deafening all the thoughts you’ve tried to keep at bay rear their head.
He says nothing, just nods like he understands then hands you another strawberry. “This reminds me of a poem I read a while ago,” he says quietly. “It’s about this person who splits an orange with their friends and how they romanticize the little things in their life and how much joy it brought to them.” You stay silent, listening to him speak. You turn the strawberry over in your palm, inspecting the color of it. He’s sitting closer to you now. You don’t remember when he got so close to you; his thigh is almost touching yours and you can feel heat coming off his body in waves. He smells like dirt and clean clothes and mint and you think to yourself that you really like it. He turns his body so that he’s facing you and rests his forehead against yours. He swallows thickly before speaking again. “Last lines are my favorite: I love you. I’m glad I exist.”
Your voice is barely louder than the wind that moves through the tall grass at the edge of his property. “Is that a confession?” you ask.
“Maybe,” he responds softly.
You put the strawberry that’s in your hand and place it in his; take his calloused fingers and wrap them around it. “Reminds me of another poem I read.” You watch his eyes snap to meet yours. “My favorite line is ‘I love you. I want us both to eat well.’”
It’s his turn to ask. “Is that a confession?” His voice is as soft as the skin of peaches.
You answer as softly as he had answered you, “Maybe.”
He looks at you strangely then; eyes full of curiosity and confusion and something else you can’t quite place. Then, he’s reaching his hand out to you, and you’re taking it eagerly. Part of you knows where he’s leading you, but the other part of you doesn’t care. You will follow Izuku anywhere, because you know he’d never lead you to harm.
He’s not in any rush when he leads you to his bedroom—just like how he’s never in a rush for you to leave at the end of the day. The space is nice. Clean and organized. Green eyes meet yours in a silent way of asking for consent. You nod ever so slightly, trying to swallow your nerves. You think of your classmates for a moment—all of you sitting together in a room writing symbols on your palms and pretending to swallow the words whole.
Can you write love on your palm? Swallow it whole to keep it from wracking your nerves? You’ve never done this before, but for some reason doing it with Izuku feels right. Feels like exactly where you’re supposed to be.
When he kisses you it doesn’t really feel like a kiss. More of him just pressing his lips against yours. It’s gentle. Innocent by nature. But then he keeps going, keeps planting soft kisses against your face until they grow into something more needy and fervent; each one lasting longer than the last. Pushing the boundaries Izuku has created in his mind, but truthfully you want to make yourself so entangled with his soul you can’t tell where he begins and you end.
He nips gently at your lower lip; tugs slightly at it before his tongue’s working into your mouth. Tentative and exploring. He takes his time with you; knowing you’re not going anywhere. Knowing you’re his to take from. Your heart is a meal he’s wanted to dine on since he first saw you. There’s no real art to it—no intent behind the way his tongue explores the cavern of your mouth—but he’s everywhere. Taking and taking and taking and your toes are curling against the carpet of his floor at the thought of finally being able to give to him.
“Stay,” he whimpers into your hair as his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs. “Please stay,” he asks more forcefully this time—practically begging— pulling away and cupping your face.
You look away from him for a moment and stare at your hands. There’s dirt under your fingernails and all you can think is that all of it—from visiting Izuku every Saturday, to working early mornings with him to running errands with him while your bones are still heavy with sleep—has been a labor of love. The dirt under your nails is just another way to say I love you, teaching him how to make scrambled eggs perfectly is another way of saying I want you to eat well, that bothering to learn the way he likes his coffee is another way of saying I want to know everything about you. He is the first thing you think of when your head raises from your pillow and that he is the only thought that plagues your mind before you toss and turn in your sleep.
You look at him then, look at his eyes that are lined with unshed tears and glossy with desperation. Pupils so blown out with love and adoration for you that all you can see is a thin ring of color. You twist a curl in your fingers before brushing it back. He leans into your touch; noses your palm before planting a kiss there. Your thumbs brush over his cheeks before moving to the bridge of his nose. He whines quietly—desperate and needy—catching your fingertips with his lips and placing kisses on them.
“Stay?” he asks again, more broken this time. Crystal tears threaten to leak from his eyes. You nod at him, eager and sure, not trusting your own voice.
He looks like the sun in that moment; a smile breaking across his face with a gentle laugh. He lays you down on the bed; his weight hovering over you as he begins kissing you again. There’s more purpose this time. He kisses you like he knows what he wants; kisses you like he’s not afraid you’re going to disappear right out from underneath him.
His hands are everywhere now: sliding up your shirt and grasping at your breasts; tweaking and tugging gently at your nipples while he mouths at your neck. His hands are tugging at your clothing, eager to shed the barriers that separate you two. Your fingers are in his hair, wanting him as close as possible and unable to let him go; you wish you could bottle the sounds he makes. The little gasps and broken thank you’s that escape from his lips. The way it sounds altogether broken and breaking. Healed and healing.
It’s a new experience to be naked in front of someone and still comfortable. You don’t wish to hide your body from him. The awestruck way he looks at you doesn’t make you want to curl in a hole in the ground. It just makes you all that eager to pull the cotton t-shirt over his head as his hands fumble with his belt. You place your fingers over his when you notice the way they shake and his eyes snap towards yours again. His own silent way of asking if you’re still okay to keep going. You nod again at him, subtlety, knowing he’s watching you closely. That he watches everything about you the way people hold fragile things: carefully.
Rough hands pry your legs apart, and you shiver at the feeling of calloused fingers rubbing small circles on the insides of your thighs. His other hand moves up your body; cupping your sex before he caresses the curve of your waist and then your breast. You gasp slightly as his hand moves to your neck, not choking you but holding you. He touches you like he has all the time in the world. Moves his hand from your neck to your shoulder blade. Trails the tips of his fingers down the knobs of your spine before it settles on the small of your back.
“Izuku, please,” you rasp, writhing against the sheets impatiently.
His eyes snap to yours, as if you broke him out of a trance. “Can you say it?”
You don’t even have to ask him what it is, and for a moment you wonder when you two became so close that words aren’t necessary.
“M’ yours, Izuku,” you whisper into the quiet of the room.
You feel him shudder against you as he moves thumb across your bottom lip, watch his eyes grow wide with shock as if he didn’t expect you to actually say it.
Something changes in him then, ever so slightly. Something that you think no one except you would notice. The subtle way his pupils constrict and then dilate. It’s like something just fell into place between you two. He’s pressing his lips against yours again, chaste and quick and moving lower down your body. Kissing your collarbones and chest and breasts and whispering mine into your skin. He settles between your legs after a moment, verdant eyes meeting yours in a silent request. You nod your head at him, fist the sheets with your hands at the feeling of hot breath on your pussy.
He’s tentative as he parts your folds; presses a kiss to your clit before he’s licking and sucking at it. Running tight and small circles around it. His hands have a bruising grasp on your waist, keeping you from wiggling away from the sensation of his wet muscle moving across your heat. There’s a strange heat building in your core; a coil that gets tighter and tighter with every swipe of his tongue. The feeling has you gripping the sheets underneath you; has your toes curling and your heels digging into the mattress. He plunges two fingers deep inside of you, coaxing a moan from your lips that makes the blood rush straight to his cock; makes him rut his hips desperately against the mattress. He could be forever intoxicated by the tears of pleasure that leak from the galaxies of your eyes. There is an entire universe behind your pupils and God does he want to be the one to discover all the stars that live there. When you cum undone for him it’s like the angels are singing; sweet moans escaping your lips that sound more beautiful than anything he’s ever heard.
He rides your high out perfectly, not stopping until the shocks of your orgasm slowed and you’re whining at the feeling of overstimulation. He kisses you again then, not giving you a moment to breathe. It's so strange to taste yourself on someone else's lips, but it’s not an experience you hate. It’s hot, you think: the way Izuku’s tongue is coated in your essence as it moves around your mouth. The way you can feel his cock eagerly humping into you, the thick head of it catching ever so slightly at your entrance.
“Please, Izuku,” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Need you.”
“Yeah,” he coos gently, pumping his cock with his fist and lining it up with your entrance. “S’okay baby. I got ya.”
He sinks into you with a hiss, goosebumps pebbling up his skin as he buries himself to the hilt in your cunt. You whimper into the space where his neck meets his shoulder, your fingernails digging into the back and leaving crescent moons behind. He gives you a moment to adjust, every one of his muscles on edge and bristling as he forces himself to stay still. It doesn’t hurt, not like you thought it would. Just feels like something is there, when there usually isn’t something there. You shift your hips ever so slightly, let him know it’s okay to start moving.
“Good girl,” he purrs, chest rumbling with approval. “Such a good girl f’me, yeah?”
You nod into his neck again, holding him impossibly close as he drags his cock against your walls, hitting your g-spot perfectly every time until you’re seeing stars.
“Y-you’re so big,” you whine, panting into his skin until it feels damp.
“I know,” he responds, thrusting into you again and watching the way your eyes screw together in pleasure. “S’okay, you’re my good girl. You can—ah, shit—take me. You’re doin’ so well f’me, baby. That’s my girl.” You feel his pace quicken, feel his hands grip you tighter. Pull you closer to him as if he’s trying to melt your body with his. “So pretty,” he whimpers into your hair, before he gently bites your earlobe. “All soft and—fuck—mine.”
You keen at his words, back arching off the mattress at his possessiveness. He brings a hand between your bodies, rubs carefully around the sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re pushed over the cliff of your orgasm. Your climax brings him closer to the edge, his thrusts getting harder and sloppier, whining louder and louder into your ear.
“Gonna—ngh, fuck—cum,” he gasps. “Is that okay?” You nod weakly, and he whines. “Baby,” he pants in your ear, listening to the way it sounds so thick in his mouth. “Feel so soft around me. So good.” He presses a kiss to your lips again, “Mine,” he says half forceful, half awestruck. “Mine, mine, mine.”
“Yours,” you whisper, confirming what he says.
Intertwining your fingers with his. He cums a few thrusts after; hot ropes of sticky cum lining your insides. He looks mesmerized for a moment, staring at the parts of your bodies still connected; watches the white ring of his cum around his dick as he thrusts in and out of you slowly, before he lowers his body on yours as if he’s a shield. As if he can protect you from anything the world might throw at you.
He pulls out of you after you both catch your breaths. Pats your head with a silent request to stay put before he’s ducking out of the room. He comes back with a glass of water and the remaining strawberries. There’s a towel over his shoulder, and you noticed he found a pair of boxers to put on. You sit up when he plops next to you on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest. Small hands reach out for the glass of water, but Izuku doesn’t let you grab it. Just holds it to your lips and tilts it gently. You attempt to reach for the glass when you’re done, but he pulls it away from you before you can.
“You like to take care of things,” you say quietly.
He doesn’t stutter or turn a furious shade of red at your observation. You think it’s because something fundamental has changed between you two. You think it’s because you both know you love each other. You both know you’ll be here in the morning. He takes the leaves off a strawberry and hands it to you.
“I take care of things I love. That’s how they last.” He reaches a thumb out and rubs excess strawberry off the corner of your lip. “Don’t you know that?”
“You’ll have to show me,” you tease.
He leans back on the bed, holds his arms out to you. “C’mere.”
You fold your body against his, tuck your head underneath his chin and lay there. He rubs circles into your back as he hums into your hair. Somewhere, deep in your mind, you recognize the song. You’re not sure where it’s from but it makes you feel warm. It’s nice. Comforting. Makes your eyes heavy against him.
Midoriya Izuku, however, holds you in his arms and thinks about how long he’s waited for this moment. He supposes this was always meant to be—why else would your body feel so nice against his?
Loving you feels as natural as breathing. Feels like something he was always meant to do. Everything was always meant to end up like this. He’s the moon, and you’re the sun: he was only ever made to reflect your light. You just wanted flowers to brighten up a room, and he just wanted to brighten someone's life just by being in it.
He sits up suddenly, remembering something. “There’s a frost tonight,” he curses under his breath, standing abruptly from the bed and grabbing his clothes off the floor. “I forgot to cover the plants in the garden. Will you—” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Will you still be here when I get back?” He knows you will be. Shouldn’t really have to ask these questions, but he can’t help that he wants to hear you say it.
“Don’t worry about it,” you respond, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of discarded sweats. “I’m coming with you, anyways.”
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sukirichi · 7 months ago
sweet angel
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With a heart of gold, sweet lips, and white lace all over your body — he’s pretty sure you’re his sweet angel.
REQUEST. lingerie under his white button up shirt for gojo + somnophilia + established relationship + oblivious reader
CONTENT/WARNINGS. smut, somnophilia, mentions of insecurity, very slight angst, creampie, cockwarming, body marking, UNEDITED
NOTES. I haven’t written Gojo for a while but I sure do missed it! We’re gonna have more Gojo content this week too! if i finish my wips anyway lmao
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The clock blinks back a painful three am to you, the time way past what Gojo’s promised. You don’t stop the sigh leaving your cherry red lips as you stare at the mirror, jaw clenching at the sight. Today’s supposed to be your second anniversary with Gojo, and instead of spending it on a skyscraper dinner like last year’s, you both insisted on staying at home for a more romantic date instead.
Him being the strongest sorcerer, it’s only a given that he’ll be busy, even to this day. He’s unable to take a day off, but he promised to come home on time.
The dinner’s gone cold, the candles melted and aroma of roses sticking hard to the walls. You’re wearing his favourite black dress paired with ankle boots, wrists clinking from the bangles and makeup done to perfection. Today’s supposed to be simple, quiet, and romantic – especially with your surprise for him – but he’s still not home.
Washing your face in the sink and covering the dishes, you blow out the candles, heading back to your shared room to call it a day. You swipe your dress with Gojo’s white button, wanting to feel that he’s still with you even with just his scent.
A blaring red that reads three forty-five is the last thing you see as you burrow deep into the covers, trying your best to ignore the panging in your heart.
He promised he’d be home soon.
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“Honey! I’m ho—” Gojo blinks at the darkness of your penthouse, hands patting the walls before flicking on the lights. He’s not surprised to see that it’s neat as usual, but then his gaze lands on the dining table, and that’s when he realizes he’s fucked up.
The candles are already melted halfway, one wine glass still and the other already washed in the sink. You must’ve taken a few sips as you waited for him; an image he can imagine already. He’s admired you long before dating you that Gojo’s used to your habits, like how you’d rotate the drink in your glass three times before you drink, tongue darting out to taste the wine mixing in with your lips.
He knows all this, mostly because it always drives him crazy when you do that, and he’s lost count of the times he’s pushed you up against the counter, shoving his tongue between your lips to find out what it is about wine and flavoured lipsticks you liked so much.
It’s a little hellish to him the more he thinks about it, even more so because you’re completely unaware of your effect on him.
But he’s not the only one, since no matter how perceptive Gojo could be, he’s scatterbrained more often than he likes to admit. And of fucking course he forgot tonight was your anniversary. He never set dates on his calendars, waving his hand and confidently stating he had an ultra memory and didn’t need reminders.
Well, now that ultra memory is reminding him of the last time he’s forgot to attend your work event, a time you needed him more than anything else, and you didn’t talk to him for a week straight.
He wishes you would shout at him, push or shove him even, call him names and tell him he’s horrible, but you’ve always been a sweet, little thing – you’re timid even in your frustration. You never glared at him, never scolded him, and it’s even more terrifying because you’re still so sweet to him – preparing him meals, giving him a kiss before he leaves for work – but Gojo isn’t entirely dumb. He notices how you turn away from him in your sleep, your arms that would usually be wrapped around his torso now hugging yourself in an attempt to make yourself small and invisible.
That’s how you felt every time Gojo doesn’t keep to his word.
Unseen. Unloved. Unheard. Unimportant. He’s no mind reader, but it’d be pushing it if he can’t even turn to your thoughts like that.
And even in your slumber, it’s written all over your face, evident in the way tears are staining your cheeks under the sheets. Gojo sighs upon seeing your crumpled form on the bed, your dress hanging neatly from the closet and your heels placed beneath it. He crouches down in front of the shoe, his hands crumpled into fists. This wasn’t just any shoe – it’s the one he made you get during that time you were debating whether you could pull it off, but he encouraged you that you looked gorgeous in anything. Despite having bought it a long time ago, you never wore it, only on this day because you trust your comfort and safety around him; one he’s so effortlessly crushed.
Gojo quickly changes into his pyjamas not long afterwards, sliding himself next to your body in slow, careful movements to not wake you up. Aside from a slight stir, you remain deep asleep, the frown permanent and deep on your face.
It breaks his heart to see you like this, especially because he knows he’s the one who caused it.
Gojo runs his hand across the apple of your cheeks, caressing your precious face on his palm before leaning forward to kiss your head. You smell amazing too, and yet, you’re uncomfortable with whatever’s playing in your head. He could take a good guess and assume it’s him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your skin, sliding his arm over your body to pull you close to him. “I didn’t mean to forget, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
He knows he should apologize when you’re awake, but he wants to say it now before his guilt eats up at him. Gojo’s eyes flutter close when his hands come into contact with something...lacey, and he pauses, lifting the sheets to inspect the material. He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting, but his breath stutters anyway, his aquamarine eyes zeroed in on his shirt draped over your form, the top three buttons left open and you’re not wearing shorts.
Gojo curses under his breath. His reaction is immediate; blood rushing to his groin and legs nudging yours apart. He doesn’t bother hiding under the sheets not anymore as he runs his hand over your body, his touch suddenly so cold in contrast to your warmth.
He’s fucked you a lot of times in different places and angles, so he shouldn’t be so nervous, yet he is, and his hands are fucking shaking.
His head snaps to your one more time, revelling in the way you open your legs just as he pries them apart. Even in your sleep, you’re still so trusting, so wanting – so perfect for him. Gojo situates himself between your thighs as he unbuttons your shirt one by one, his teeth clenched so hard it wouldn’t be anything surprising if he actually cracked his jaw.
You’re nothing short of looking like an angel; the thigh straps squeezing the flesh of your thighs and exuding such heavenly beauty he’s stunned.
You let out a sigh at his erection rubbing you through his boxers, completely unaware that Gojo’s fallen back on his thighs, eyes wide at the white lingerie set clad in your body. He licks at his lips, debating which land he should trudge on first.
The thigh straps he wants to rip with his fingers, the white lace panty that’s already nearly transparent with your arousal, or the frilly cups holding your breasts in place?
This is the first time Gojo’s gotten close to losing his mind, and lose his mind he did. Thoughts of making it up to you flies out the window, his emotions running turbulent with anger and regret in place. If he’d just gotten home, if he’d just killed the curses faster, he could’ve kissed you and heard you beg for him in your awakened state; he’d have the pleasure of seeing you squirm under him while he rips this pretty set apart.
His dick throbs harder at the fact you wore this for him, but you must’ve been so tired and sad to wear proper pyjamas. Should he be thankful? Angry at himself for making you feel this way?
He doesn’t fucking now, his mind is nothing but a mess as he sucks a wet spot into the juncture of your neck, large hands groping your breast. You mewl a little at the contact, neck arching to the side while you sigh, that slight dip in your brow a telltale you must be still in a sleepy daze.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters through pants as he cups your mound, only to be met with such astounding wetness. You look so innocent right now in comparison to your soft moans that it ruins him. You’re a good girl, such a sweet lover for him that you’re always letting him take in charge under the trust he’ll make you feel good. This trust is extended even in your wildest dreams, but you don’t need to worry about that. He’ll soon make it a reality.
Gojo is too needy that he doesn’t bother pulling your thong off anymore, pulling it to the side with two fingers before his thumb flicks at your clit. He’s rewarded with a sharp inhale, cheeks planted to the pillows and you look so pretty, so hauntingly oblivious that the only thing able to pull the strongest sorcerer limb by limb apart is through your needy wet cunt.
He aligns himself with your entrance, groaning when his tip is coated with your slick, the warmth of your pussy radiating off of him. It’s fucking stupid that Gojo shivers, and he knows it’s pathetic because he chuckles, lifting both your legs up before he hugs them to his chest.
You’re so wet that Gojo no longer finds the need to prepare you, his eyes falling down to where your bodies connect, breath taken away at how your lips eagerly spread apart to take him in. He’s a little too big for your tiny, sweet pussy that your lips pinch into a flat line, chest rasping up and down.
He wants to apologize, wants to caress your face and look you in the eyes as usual to tell you that you’re doing good, just breathe and the pain will be gone soon.
The situation deprives him of that privilege, so he’s left with no choice but to kiss your ankles affectionately before thrusting all the way in. A loud moan echoes around the room the moment he’s seated in, dick throbbing inside your heated pussy that’s so tight it’s nearly suffocating.
“Oh, my baby,” he thrusts in slowly, not wanting to completely wake you up despite the fact you’re unconsciously grabbing the sheets already. “My sweet, pretty angel – I’m so sorry daddy couldn’t fuck you tonight but look at you, you’re so wet,” he bites your calf at the last word to muffle his groans, the tight sucking in of your pussy to his length making his cock throb. “Did you touch yourself when I was gone, hm? You must be so unsatisfied, but I’m here now, I’ll take care of you.”
Gojo’s unable to keep his promise to you before, but he’ll definitely keep this promise now. He leaves little love marks at your skin, reaching forward to tug the cups of your bra down. He’s rewarded with the intoxicating luxury of watching your breasts bounce at his pace, your nipples the only thing stopping the material from completely falling.
You mewl at the pleasure he’s giving you, the constant friction of your hardened buds against the cups must be so heavenly by now, and you’re tightening around him, walls clamped down over his dick that Gojo never wants to let go.
He thrusts harder this time in response to your greedy sucking, his tip kissing your cervix. You throw your head back deeper into the pillows, hands patting every spot beside you. He knows that look all too well – mouth falling open, eyes shut tight, brows pinched together and that angelic little pant – it’s the face you always wear when you’re about to cum and Gojo wants to make it up to you, pushing your legs to the side before heaving his weight forward.
“Aw, baby,” he coos, “Coming already?”
The sudden stretch in your body only has your walls sucking him harder, his hips stuttering in its pace. Gojo kisses you flat on the lips as his hands thread to yours, squeezing it momentarily just as pleasure washes over him too. You come first, the spasms of your cunt similar to that one time you’ve accidentally gripped him too hard in your hand that Gojo’s cum suddenly landed on your eye. It’s tight, too fucking tight, that Gojo actually loses the ability to breathe.
His hips snap harder, dick driving deeper into your hole that’s already leaking out with cum. Your precious lingerie set is ruined, guaranteed to get him another pout that Gojo shakes his head, gripping hard at your hips while he chases his own high.
“I’ll get you another one, angel, I’ll buy you – fuck! – all the sets you need if it means dressing pretty for me like this,” he stutters in one breath, mouth latching around your nipple. He tugs at it in his need to reach his breaking point, no longer caring that you’ll wake up anytime soon, not when he’s so close and the squelching of your pussy sounds like heavenly music to his ears. Gojo thrusts in one last time hard enough that his balls make a loud slapping sound against your ass, but he doesn’t slide out, keeping himself right deep into your cunt in his orgasm.
Breathing heavily, Gojo falls on top of you, thankfully still strong enough to not crush you with his weight. He’s leaving fluttering kisses all over your face, your sweat slicking his skin.
He wants to pull out from the sensitivity, but you feel so warm and comfortable that Gojo plops down to the side, hugging your back and kissing your shoulder with panted breaths. You’re still recovering from the tremors of your orgasm that’s most likely still a dream to you, body trembling in his arms. Gojo does you a favour by throwing your bra to the side, his hands acting as a replacement for the missing piece.
He sighs onto your neck, barely managing to properly cover the both of your bodies in his exhaustion after a long day. He holds you close and tight in his arms, an I love you merely audible from his lips, followed by a regretful I’m sorry.
Gojo dreads tomorrow morning, in all honesty. There’s no easy way to explain that he “simply forgot” after all your efforts, his heart already darkening with the fear of seeing you pull away like you did the last time. His eyes droop down as he makes a mental note to just do whatever he can, but you’re stirring in his arms, lips puckered at the edge of his jaw.
“Satoru,” you whisper, hands tracing patterns on his chest. “You’re home. I’m glad.”
Soft snores follow after that, but Satoru is wide awake just as you’ve fallen asleep once more. He’s left speechless, and he doesn’t hold back in hugging you closer to his chest as a silent promise of never leaving you alone again. Even now, you’re still such a sweet angel, and how lucky is he to find someone like that?
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hanmine · 2 months ago
okay but have we considered waking up with rindou cause idk he's pretty and he's probably pretty when he sleeps and yeah i wanna kiss his face pls and ty
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you wake up to the bed shifting, rindou’s body turning to face you as he adjusts the sheets. shuffling closer, you grin, kissing his bare chest while his eyes stay closed. you know he’s shifted to block the sun from your eyes with his body—though he’ll never admit it—but now that you’re awake, you don’t think you want to fall back asleep.
not with the sight that’s greeting you.
“quit staring,” he says flatly, not even looking at you to know your eyes are fixed on him. pouting, you rest your chin on his pec as you look up. his jawline looks incredibly kissable from this angle, the sharpness and well defined slant making your stomach do somersaults. so you do, leaning up and pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw, trailing a few down until you reach his chin.
“why?” you murmur. “i could be admiring you, instead.”
“y/n, go to sleep,” he snaps, lifting the blanket up and covering your head with it. giggling, you poke your face out, meeting his irritated one as he stares down at you. his eyes are soft, though, staring at you with love that he hides behind his irises, the gentleness he keeps stowed away peeking through his orbs when you cup his cheek.
“can’t,” you grin. “you’re too pretty,” you whisper. moving up, you kiss his cheeks, then his nose, and lastly, his forehead. rindou’s utterly tired of you. each day there’s a new reason he adds to his list of why you’re much too troublesome for his time, but he can never seem to let you go. you hold his heart with a vice grip, you just keep coming even when he’s pushing, and you stay. when he comes home expecting you to be gone, just when he thinks he’s shaken you off, you’re waiting for him, latching on and holding tighter.
and try as he might, he can’t forget about you. not the way your hands cradle his face, not the way you gently tend to the wounds he comes home with, not the way you reach for his hand in your sleep with a smile on your face, and not the way your soft lips feel against his rough and chapped ones. everything about you is engraved into the smallest crevice of his heart and mind and soul, and he hates you—he can’t stand that you make him love you.
“i hate it when you open your mouth,” he grumbles. despite his words, his arm curls around your body and tugs it down against his chest. “and you missed a spot.” and when you tilt your head up, batting your eyelashes at him innocently, he purses his lips at you. you did it on purpose, he realizes, but he still leans down and kisses you softly on the lips—and it’s somewhat needy, even.
“you know what you are?” you hum, rubbing your thumb over the warm skin of his cheek. “a pretty boy,” you whisper. “you’re a really pretty boy, you know that?”
“great, thank you. now sleep,” he sighs. “it’s still early,” he adds, voice a bit softer.
“you’ll be gone by the time i wake up,” you pout, burying your face into his chest. his hand rubs circles into the small of your back, and in his head, rindou promises he’ll do everything he can to return to you by dinner time. he’ll sit and have it with you—because he knows you’ll wait to eat when he gets back, just like you always insist, and he hates the thought of you sitting with an empty stomach.
but you’re stubborn, he knows that. it’s why you’ve weaseled your way into his life in the first place.
“i’ll wake you before i go,” he mutters. “you can do my tie since you like doing it so much.” inwardly, he melts a little at the smile he feels against his skin.
“are you serious?”
“rin, come on,” you insist, poking his chest. he rolls his eyes at you, just like he always does. but he caves, just like he always does.
“fine. i promise.”
and the words mean more than that. i love you, they whisper, the meaning weaving into your mind the same way his fingers do with yours. i love you.
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nsfwsebbie · 19 days ago
need you, baby (like i breathe you, baby).
summary. | You both need each other so fucking much.
warnings. | DD/LG, smut, fluff, Daddy kink, punishment (ish), degradation, praise, (mildly) bratty!reader, soft!daddy!Steve, little space, mentions of time out, clinginess, holding hands, cockwarming, vaginal sex, rough sex, lecturing, reader is anti-vegetables, and more. 18+, MINORS DNI!
word count. | 5.7k
pairings. | Soft!Daddy!Steve Rogers (A1) x Little!Reader.
author’s note. | hope you enjoy, don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANYTHING from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked, reported, and i’ll let others know.
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Blond hair. Blue eyes. A pure soul.
Born free, born careless, born strong.
Steve Rogers. The First Avenger. Your Daddy.
“Daddy!” you squeal in happiness, your voice high-pitched and something to die for. You call his title like it’s the first time you’ve seen him in a few days, but it’s really just been a few minutes. Sweet like sugar, you’re absolutely insatiable. He emerges through the bathroom door, dressed in a new pair of clothes after drenched his previous outfit with sweat.
“Little one,” he hums in a low tone, though he’s marvellously energized from his workout. He smiles down at you, towering over you like he would with his victims. “Daddy…” you whisper, staring at him in awe like you always do. “Yeah, little one?” he questions, placing a small towel on your shared bed. “Missed you lots,” you admit shyly, digging your fingers between the strands of the carpet.
“I missed you too, little one, but I was just in the bathroom! I didn’t go that far,” he explains before grunting. Steve slowly sits down on the ground next to you, and you immediately jump into his lap. Steve wraps his broad arms around you and hugs you tightly. “Nuh-Uh, too far,” you whine, and he chuckles. His laugh reminds you of the jazz genre.
Lovely, calming, and deep.
“What’s gotten into you today, little one? Everything okay?” he wonders out loud, pressing his cheek against yours. Ever since you woke up, you’ve been on him like the nurses and agents were a year ago. “Hmm…” you hum, and you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. He smells of dahlia petals, crisp pears, and praline. It’s overwhelming at first but addictive after a few seconds.
“Closer,” you croak out, and he raises an eyebrow. “Hm?” Steve sings with his lips closed. “Come closer, Daddy,” you mumble, trying to shift in his lap. “Okay, little one. Just feeling cuddly today?” he questions as he adjusts you. Your legs wrap around his waist, and your ankles cross near the small of his back. “Hm…” you hum once more, and Steve is still puzzled.
You wear nothing but his clothes. His pants and his shirt. Red sweater and grey sweatpants, yet they still don’t match each other. “You lifted those big weights?” you question, reaching your hand up to his head. You flick the lobe of his ear gently, and he stifles a giggle. “Yep. I lifted the biggest, most heaviest weights in the whole building,” Steve exaggerates, but you’re too little to see through his act.
All he really did was break two punching bags. His favourite socks have sand in them, and he now knows that he’ll never go to the beach for this reason.
“Daddy’s so strong…” you say in awe, and he lets out a laugh. You move your hand away from his ear and bring it to his shoulder. You squeeze the skin, and it’s stiff with muscle. “Yeah, Daddy is strong. Want to know why Daddy’s so strong?” Steve asks, and you nod your head eagerly. “Because you lift the weights?” you innocently question.
“Well, yeah, but I also eat veggies!” he exclaims, but you just grimace. In big space, you’re okay with vegetables. But in little space, you loathe them. You prefer candies and junk food over the broccoli and brussel sprouts Steve always tries to feed you. “Yuck,” you express, keeping your face in a frown. “They’re not yucky, baby. They’re so good! Trust me. You just have too much of a sweet tooth,” Steve explains, but you don’t want to hear it.
“Nuh-uh. Veggies are yucky,” you persist, and he sighs heavily. “But that’s what I had planned for lunch!” he playfully cries out in sadness. You shake your head and pull away from him just so that he can adequately see your disapproval. “You gotta eat your vegetables, little one. Don’t you want to be strong like Daddy?” Steve questions, and you shake your head once more.
Steve clicks his tongue in disappointment. “It’s lunchtime, little one. I have to go get you something, but I’ll be really quick. I’ll be so fast, you won’t even realize I left!” he persuades, and you start to fuss. A loud whine leaves your mouth, and you toss your head back. “No, no, don’t be a fussy little baby! It’s okay. Daddy is right over there,” Steve reassures, pointing at the door.
“Hmph,” you begrudgingly sigh, jutting your bottom lip out. You pout in the utmost adorable way, and Steve fights the urge to squeeze your cheeks. He slowly stands up, holding onto you tightly so that you won’t slip from his arms and fall onto your knees. As much as you love your Avengers bandaids, you hate getting hurt. “You can hold onto your stuffie while you eat…?” Steve offers, though he is unsure of the idea himself.
You look at him in interest, and your ears perk up, too. “The big brown bear?” you ask him in a low yet soft tone. “Any stuffie you want, little one,” he smiles, even though he’s not sure which big brown bear you’re talking about. Steve turns his head and looks over to the corner of the room that’s clustered with a large pile of stuffed animals. Different colours, different sizes, and different species.
“The one from Ikea, Daddy,” you gently whisper in his ear. Almost as if this was all planned out, he makes eye contact with the bear you’re talking about. It stares at him intensely, and he soon finds his eyes watering as he challenges those beady orbs. “Djungelskog?” Steve questions, his pronunciation absolutely perfect. The paper in his pocket with all the names written down has trained him properly.
You nod your head firmly, and a bright smile is plastered on your face. You’ve forgotten all about the brussel sprouts. Steve walks you both over to the pile, and you stare at him dreamily. You’ve got this ditzy-sort of happy look to your face. It’s cute, and it matches perfectly with your cotton candy-coloured soul.
Steve grabs the stuffed animal, and he hands it to you. Gratefully, you take it from him. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper, holding onto both him and Djungelskog tightly. You haven’t named it, and you don’t want to. It’s fun to hear Steve pronounce his name. “You’re welcome, little one. Daddy’s going to leave you here, okay? And I’ll be right back,” Steve assures, and he slowly sits you in the rocking chair that he doesn’t trust you with entirely.
“Be careful, and be a good girl for me,” he requests, and you nod your head. You don’t make the move to touch your feet on the ground and slowly push yourself back and forth. Yet. Steve knows you’re waiting for him to leave, and he isn’t sure whether he should move you somewhere else or give you a warning. He chooses the latter. “Don’t swing too much, okay? We don’t want another set of boo-boos, do we?” he intones, raising his eyebrow.
Steve’s lips are turned upwards in a smirk. Pink, plump, and oh-so kissable.
“Mhm, won’t swing too much, Dada. No boo-boos, even though Dada will fix them with kisses,” you affirm, and you begin to kick your legs out of impatience. Steve chuckles, and he leans forward to press a kiss against your forehead. “Good girl,” Steve praises before turning around and walking out of the room. His arm reaches backwards, and he grabs onto the gold door knob that he recently had repaired.
The door shuts, and you’re all by yourself unless you count the stuffed animals as company. But you don’t, because big numbers like those are just too confusing for little babies like you. Daddy should always do the hard thinking for his baby.
Steve’s words, not yours.
The fridge opens, and you’re quickly reminded of the time you and Steve tried to find the chocolate milk he mistakenly misplaced. You can just imagine him standing in front of it, letting everything chill run through his body as he searches for the meal he prepared for you. In the glass Tupperware, looking as delicious as ever even though you’re not a fan of brussel sprouts.
“One… Two…” you slowly whisper to the brown bear who does nothing but stare. Each word is dragged out for at least a second or two. “Three… Four… Five…” you continue, slowly and gently rocking the chair. It’s nice and calming, but you’d much rather be sitting on Steve’s lap while he rocks you. “Six… Seven… Eight… Nine…” With each number, you move; once backwards, once forwards.
“Ten…” you say in a sing-song voice before standing up and letting the chair swing on its own. Your hand goes for the door, and you turn the knob gently. It doesn’t move any more, and so you begin to pull it in your direction. “C’mon!” you grunt, yanking at it as best as you can. It suddenly opens, and you quickly move out of its way to avoid getting hit in your pretty face.
“Daddy would be so proud, wouldn’t he?” you question your bear, but he stays silent. In your mind, he’s assuring you that Steve would be elated. “Thank you, Djungelskog,” you whisper, and you slowly begin to step out of the room.
The floorboards surprisingly don’t creak beneath your feet, and you carefully walk to the kitchen. You can hear Steve humming to himself, and the tune is all-too-familiar. The theme song of your favourite cartoon comes to life through Steve’s voice, and you’re gasping in shock. Though he has claimed to not be a fan of it to Tony, you now realize that he actually enjoys it just as much as you do.
“We can ask Daddy to watch cartoons!” you exclaim to your stuffie, who once again simply glares at you. “Y-Yeah, while we eat, we can watch the ‘toons with Daddy and cuddle him,” you further propose, “Daddy!” you squeal, and you run up to him, forgoing all stealthiness. Steve turns around in shock, kicking himself just a bit for not being more attentive.
You jump into his arms, and he catches you skillfully, though he still has that surprised look on his lovely face. “Little one…” he sighs, and you can’t tell whether it’s out of frustration or relief. “Daddy…” you whisper back, wrapping your legs around his waist again. “You didn’t listen to me,” Steve pouts, and you copy his action. “Why didn’t you listen to Daddy, little one? Tell Daddy. I won’t get mad, I promise,” he urges, and you give him a confident smile.
“You were gone for too long, and I missed you too much, Daddy!” you tell him, placing Djungelskog in the space between both of your chests. The teddy’s back touches Steve’s front. “Oh… But I was only gone for around five minutes!” he exclaims, wondering if he was genuinely taking too long. “That’s too much, Daddy! I wanna be close to you,” you protest, and Steve nods his head.
“Oh, baby… You know you broke a rule, though, right?” he questions, and his eyes dart to the piece of chart paper that hangs on the wall. In numerous different colours, your rules and punishments are written down. You go silent, and the smile on your face drops a bit. “...I know, Daddy. I’m sorry…” you softly say to him, looking down in shame. “It’s okay, little one, but you need to have a small punishment, okay? Just a small one!” he informs, and you quickly shake your head.
“No, please, Daddy. I just wanna cuddle you,” you beg him, even though you know he won’t be brutal. He‘s never brutal. “You can cuddle me once you’re done with the punishment, okay? You’ll be right near me! You just have to go stand by the window!” Steve explains as best as he can without upsetting you. “Time out?” you question, tilting your head to the side. “Kind of! And I won’t take a sticker off your chart. After you finish, we’ll forget it even happened!” he further urges.
“No!” you abruptly shout out, tossing your head back. “No?” Steve repeats, not sure what to do. “No. I want to be close to you, Daddy. I don’t want to go in time out. Just wanna be in your arms,” you protest, and Steve realizes that he’s definitely not going to win this disagreement. “You’re so cute and needy for Daddy today, aren’t you?” Steve queries, and you shyly nod your head.
“Daddy won’t put you in time out, but he still has to punish you,” he concludes after a few seconds of thinking. Your ears perk up, and Steve just knows you won’t refuse his idea. “But I can still be near you?” The question is something he could see from miles away. Steve happily nods his head, and the way your face lights up makes his hard thinking worth it.
The bowl of brussel sprouts has been forgotten. They cool off, and the steam that once rose has now disappeared. A spoiled little baby is what you are, spoiled but just not rotten. You always manage to get your way, and he always gives you whatever you ask for. No more veggies for lunch, and no more time out. Only closeness with Daddy.
“We have to put Djungelskog down, little one,” Steve tells you, and you obediently listen to him. You bid goodbye to the brown bear and watch as Steve sets him down on the countertop. His face is turned towards the window, and your stomach jumps in excitement. You know what that means, and you could never forget it. Steve bounces his body to get a better grip on you, and he carries you to the couch.
It was once white, but after a painting mishap, he had to swap it with the black version.
He sits down, and you’re now in his lap, his big thighs separating yours. “What kind of punishment, Daddy?” you ask him, looking at your caregiver with soft eyes. “The kind you’re going to love, little one. We’re going to be so close to each other, just like how you want us to be!” Steve cheers, and you’re overly eager. Steve’s hands drag you to sit in the middle of each thigh, and his hands go for his belt.
“Oh… I like that a lot, Daddy…” you admit cheekily, looking down at Steve’s groin. “I know you do, baby,” he grunts, pulling down the zipper and reaching into his boxers. His cock is half-hard, and your panties are already damp. “We’re gonna have playtime?” you question, and he shakes his head. “N- Well, kind of! You’ll see what Daddy’s going to do with that nice pussy of yours,” Steve says, and he strokes his cock a few times.
He stiffens up, and his tip is slightly sticky with the smallest drop of pre-cum. Steve’s left hand remains on his cock, while his right hand makes its way to your core. He lifts your sweater up, and he snaps the band of your sweatpants. You stand up and quickly shimmy the grey cloth down your legs. It rests at your ankles, and you’re not sure what to do.
But Steve simply places his foot in between your legs, and he presses down on the cloth. You lift your legs up until you’re freed of his pants. You quickly pull down your panties and retain your position on Steve’s lap. One of his hands is on your waist, and the other remains on his cock. “Good girl,” he praises, and he guides his cock to your slightly wet hole.
Your hands grip his firm biceps, and your fingers barely wrap about his muscles entirely. “Love you, Daddy,” you whisper to him, and you rest your head on his shoulder. Steve repeats the first two words of your sentence back to you, and he calls you his pretty baby like always.
The bulbous tip of his cock slowly pushes into you, and the stretch is a bit hard to get used to. But he’s fucked you so many damn times that you don’t mind the pain; you find it pleasurable. “You’re so tight, baby,” Steve groans, biting the inside of his cheek to control his tone. He doesn’t like being loud, but sometimes it just happens.
“You’re so big, Daddy,” you mewl in his ear, and Steve’s cock throbs at your words. He slowly sheathes himself into your pussy, letting your walls hug him tightly. Your wetness coats his cock with a thin sheen, and his balls rest against your ass. “Fu—oh, Daddy,” you choke out, catching yourself before accidentally breaking another rule. Steve chuckles at your words, and his hand leaves his cock to grip your hip.
“There. Now we’re really close, little one,” Steve whispers gently, ignoring the temptation in him to start fucking you stupid. His hips twitch around a bit, and so do his legs. He so badly desires to fuck up into you, and his mind doesn’t bother to convince him otherwise. The voice is an octave more profound than his, and he’s heard it every single time he’s wanted to do something.
Beat up a bully in a back alley, ask a dame out, sit on the fire escape. It’s been there for a while, and he just can’t seem to get rid of it.
“Do I bounce up and down, Daddy?” you question, pulling your head away from its hiding spot. Memories of Steve teaching you how to ride his cock come flooding in, and they all end with you giving up and him taking over. “N- No… This isn’t playtime, little one. Remember how you broke that rule? W- Well… this is the punishment!” he explains while trying to focus on something other than the fact that you’re gyrating your hips.
You tilt your head in confusion, but as the words sink you, you slowly begin to nod in understanding. “No playtime, little one. We’re just going to stay like this for a bit. But at least we’re really close to each other now!” Steve exclaims, and he knows he’s won this debate that was never declared. “Okay, Daddy!” you say after a while, and you go back to laying your head on his shoulder.
As soon as you look away, Steve bites down on his bottom lip harshly. He doesn’t care if he’s hurt or if a piece of thin skin is now loose. All he cares about is you, his precious little baby. The tip of Steve’s cock is right near your sweet spot, and he knows it because of the way you’re trying to stop yourself from grinding on him. But as much as you try, you don’t fully succeed.
Your hips shift around a bit as you stealthily try to get his cock to touch your g-spot and make you feel euphoric. “Little one…” Steve warns, and you quickly halt your movements. “Daddy…?” you call out in a similar tone. “Don’t move around, okay? This isn’t playtime,” he tells you sternly, and you nod your head slowly. “I- I know…” you whisper to him.
“But…! I have tingles, Daddy! And, and, I know you have tingles too because you’re making those sounds in my ear!” you explain to him as best as you can, tiptoeing the line of being on your best behaviour and being mischievous. “So… Can we have playtime, Daddy? Please!” you beg, shifting your hips around out of habit. As your words sink in, Steve’s face twists up just a bit in pleasure.
“Oh my fucking God,” he curses under his breath and the veins on his cock throb at your movements. “No, little one, we can’t have playtime,” he reminds you, trying his hardest to put his foot down for once. You jut your bottom lip out, and your mouth is shaped in the cutest frown Steve has ever seen. “This is supposed to be a punishment, okay, little one? Please listen to Daddy,” Steve pleads, even though that voice is starting to get louder.
“Hmph… Okay, daddy! I’m a good girl, I promise,”  you say to his surprise. Usually, you’d put up a bit of a fight. “I know, little one. My good little girl,” he praises. Steve’s cock remains inside you, hard as ever, and he finds himself actually considering the idea of fucking you despite his previous words.
“I love being close to you, Daddy! Needed you so badly,” you tell him, and he nods his head in agreement. “I love being close to you as well, little one,” Steve repeats before taking a deep breath. “Daddy needs you, baby,” he finally admits, husking in your ear as his hands grip your waist even tighter. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets, and your cunt drools at his words.
“But-” you start, and Steve cuts you off. “I know, little one. But Daddy’s a bit of a liar,” he jokes, and you giggle. “So… Playtime?” you question innocently, patiently yet also restlessly waiting for him to start fucking you. “Daddy’s going to fuck this sweet little pussy of yours, and you’re going to take it like a good girl, right?” he asks, and you eagerly nod your head.
You’re suddenly being lifted up and placed in a new position. Your back is against the seat of the couch, and Steve hovers over you. His eyebrows are knitted together in a mix of focus and attentiveness. Steve’s thick cock remains locked inside your pussy, and he doesn’t dare to slip out on his watch. You giggle in excitement as Steve grabs onto your wrists and pins them above your head.
“So needy and eager, hm? Guess that’s where I get it from,” he jokes before pressing a quick kiss on your forehead. The act has your mind all fuzzy and light, and you find yourself falling deeper into little space. “Want you to fuck me, Daddy,” you tell him in a slight whine, and Steve quickly shushes you. “I know, little one. Daddy’s gonna fuck you until you’re my drooly little baby,” Steve assures, and you let out a whimper at his words.
His left hand holds your wrists together, while his right hand braces him up properly. Steve shifts around, trying to find a decent position. “Daddy!” you whine out, dragging the last letter of his title. “You’re taking too long,” you add, running out of patience with your caregiver (even though it should really be the other way around). “I’m sorry, little one,” Steve sighs, hoping to avoid you having a tantrum.
Those are always the worst—he’s a terrible negotiator when it comes to what his baby wants. “S’okay, Daddy,” you whisper, and Steve gives you one of his softest smiles. Those grins are strictly reserved for you. “Finally adjusted,” he mutters, and your stomach jumps in excitement. “Daddy’s going to make you feel so good, little one,” he husks, and you tighten the legs that are around his waist.
Slowly, Steve begins to drag his cock out of you. He strokes your sensitive walls until he halts, and then he pushes back in. You let out small mewls and soft whimpers from the feeling. He moves his hips back and forth softly, almost as if he’s scared to break you into pieces. The tip of Steve’s cock lightly kisses your sweet spot, and your entire body shudders. “T- Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper, not forgetting your manners despite your bratty behaviour. “Such a good little girl,” Steve praises with that deep voice that only comes out when he’s hot and bothered. You let out a moan at his words and your pussy flutters. Steve’s long, thick cock drives in and out of you lazily, and his movements are just as soft as his words.
But it’s simply not enough for you.
You let out a whine, one that carries a tone of begging. Without words, you plead to Steve. Harder, faster, please. His eyebrows raise in surprise. Somedays, you give him whiplash. Your ever-changing feelings have him in wonder. One second, you’re the loveliest baby anyone could ever wish for. But the next, you’re a desperate little minx who is absolutely insatiable.
Steve continues to fuck you gently, though, and you can feel your body alight with the most minor yet most powerful amounts of pleasure. Your sopping wet pussy clenches down on his cock tightly, and Steve swears loudly. Suddenly, he’s a sailor facing the harshest of winds and largest of waves. His mouth is sinful and dirty, and he can no longer hold himself back.
You’re flipped over like you’re on a rollercoaster. This time, you’re actually able to enjoy yourself without worrying about any injuries that Daddy’s kisses can’t fix. Steve is on his back and lying down with his knees slightly bent. The heels of his feet dig into the couch. You’re on top of him, touching his chest with yours, and your head is tilted up to look at him.
Steve’s cock remains locked inside of you, throbbing with desperation and shiny with your arousal. “D- Daddy,” you whimper out quickly, desperate from him. “Wanna be close to you,” you promptly add, and your arms reach up to grab his face. Your fingers press down lightly on his cheeks, and Steve pulls them away. He laces his digits between yours, and you sigh in satisfaction.
“Like that, little one?” he questions, trying his best to make you happy. He doesn’t have to try too hard, though. You nod your head eagerly, and Steve smiles at you. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone could ever see in their life. Suddenly, his dominant hand leaves you alone, and he places it on your hip. Before you can let out one of your bratty sounds, Steve begins to roughly pound into you.
His feet dig further into the cushions of the couch for leverage. Steve’s hips buck upwards at a quick and rough pace, one that you can barely keep up with. You let out a loud whine as your eyes roll back into your head. “Daddy!” you cry out, each letter being cut in half by a piercing wail. Steve’s cock drives in and out of your wet pussy, and he grunts as it becomes easier for him to move.
“That’s right, baby, take Daddy’s cock like the good little slut you are,” Steve whispers in your ear, and his words have you grinding on him. He’s got you all riled up and desperate, perfect for him to make you feel good as well as use you to get himself off. “It’s so big, Daddy,” you mutter, and it’s your signature phrase whenever you have playtime with your Daddy.
And you’re not wrong. You hardly ever are.
“I know, baby. Daddy’s cock is just stuffing your princess parts full, right?” he taunts, knowing that with his thrusts, you believe his cock just goes deeper into your guts. “So full,” you nod, your eyes rolling back into your head. Steve’s balls slap against your ass as his hips buck upwards continuously. The sound of skin slapping against skin, as well as your mixed noises, fills the room.
“I love your cock so much, Daddy,” you whimper out through clenched teeth, watching as Steve’s face contorts in a similar manner. “I know you do, little one. That’s why you’re such a desperate whore; all for Daddy’s big cock,” he grunts, and your legs tremble with the way he repeatedly pounds against your sweet spot. Your hand squeezes Steve’s, and he just knows that your poor pussy can barely handle the way he’s fucking you.
“Y- Yeah, your little w- whore, Daddy. ‘M your little whore,” you repeat, and your words spur Steve on. He’s determined to fuck you until you’re babbling like a baby, maybe even drooling, too. Hot fire of the colour blue fills your body up. The flames lick at your nerves, and they dance around in your lower abdomen. Your eyes roll back, and your jaw falls open as Steve’s cock drives into you without relent.
“There she is, there’s Daddy’s dumb little baby,” your caregiver cooes, and his words make your pussy drool even more. You lock eyes with Steve for a split second, and the dark look that has taken him over makes you realize that all he wants right now is to make you come. “Tell Daddy how good his cock feels,” he orders, and you stare at his hand. It’s veiny, just like his cock, and it’s strong enough to do virtually anything.
“Your cock feels so good, Daddy. I love it so much,” you tell him, and he chuckles in satisfaction. “Good girl. You’re doing so good for me, such a good little baby,” Steve tells you, and his thrusts begin to become slower. Yet his roughness doesn’t falter at all. “D- Daddy…” you whimper to him, feeling that pressure in your stomach growing at a feverish pace.
“Are you going to come, pretty baby?” Steve questions, even though he already knows the answer. You repeatedly nod your head. “Uh-huh,” you say, and your voice has changed just a tiny bit. A mixture of strain from your pornographic moans, as well as that tiny slur that only shows up when you’re in little space. “Can I come, Daddy?” you politely request, not at all forgetting Steve’s most important rule during playtime.
“You wanna come all over Daddy’s cock? Hm? You want to make a mess for me?” he asks once more, and you’re unsure if you can hold it off for him. “Yes, Daddy! I wanna come all over your cock and make the biggest mess for you,” you quickly sputter out, and you watch as Steve smirks. “Go ahead, baby, come for Daddy. Do it, be a good girl,” he urges, and as if this is some sort of carefully thought out plan, you hit your climax on cue.
Your body squirms around as your cunt clamps down on Steve’s cock. You let out choked moans that are mixed with a slew of breathless thanks to Steve. More stickiness coats his member, and your skin is alight with heat. Your Daddy’s thrusts become more gentle, just so that you won’t be overstimulated beyond words. He knows you’re just a tad bit too sensitive for that today.
“Fuck, such a good girl,” Steve praises, absolutely adoring the way your pussy is wrapped around his cock so tightly. “Uh-huh, ‘m your good girl, Daddy! Just for you to use,” you repeat dumbly, and he smiles. So well-behaved, so obedient… All for him and nobody else. Pleasure still grips you like a strong fist, and you find yourself moaning even louder as Steve begins to speed up again.
“Daddy!” You cry out, realizing what he’s doing. He’s using you just like he wants. “You like it when Daddy uses that sweet little pussy to get off?” Steve questions and his thrusts become more desirous for his own pleasure. You don’t just like it; you love it. “Mhm, I love it when Daddy uses my pussy!” you exclaim just to egg him on.
You watch as the lovely Daddy you adore melts away into a man who has been fighting off his fervour for far too long. “God, you needed me so badly, didn’t you? Just can’t get enough of me even though I’m already so close to you,” he grunts, remembering the fact that he’s only in this position because of your clinginess. A proud Chesire cat smile spreads on your face, but it turns into a frown quickly.
“Are you going to come again already, pretty baby?” Steve questions and he’s not even surprised because he knows just how sensitive you are. You nod your head as that pressure quickly builds up once again. He chuckles, and it’s wicked and patronizing. “Such a fucking slut, wanting to come before your Daddy…” he mutters, knowing you can hear him clearly.
A groan rumbles in his chest, and you can hear his heart clamouring wildly. Yours does the exact same, and it’s almost synchronized to Steve’s. His eyebrows are knitted, and you can tell he’s now more focused on you rather than himself. While you appreciate it, you don’t want it. “Daddy, please come in my pussy, please!” you suddenly plead, and your words go straight to his cock.
Steve groans your name loudly before following it up with a jumbled curse word. “Desperate little baby… I know what you want,” he grunts, and both of your moans are louder than ever. “Go on, come for Daddy since you’ve been so good for me,” he orders, and your pussy spasms once he finishes speaking. As soon as he feels you clamp onto him tightly, Steve pushes his hips upwards and squeezes his eyes shut.
He holds your hand tightly, for both his sake and yours. While you coat his cock in your juices, white ribbons of cum paint your insides. Warmth envelopes your inner walls, and you can’t help but sigh at the feeling. He fills you up until you’re leaking, and you thank him so graciously because that’s what good little babies do. “T- Thank you, Dada, thank you so much,” you whimper out.
Steve smiles down at you, even though there’s a pang of guilt in his chest. You look up at him with that dumb yet lovesick smile on your face. He returns it with a comforting one, and that sick feeling disappears. “You’re welcome, my little baby,” Steve hums, and his grip leaves your hip. You’re confused, and you wonder if you’ve done something wrong. He grabs your other hand and holds it tightly.
You let out an exhale of relief and find yourself more than in love with your caregiver.
“I gotta clean you up, little one. Daddy made a big mess,” he says after a while, but you quickly shake your head instead of allowing him to take care of you. “What’s wrong?” he quickly asks in panic, wondering if you’re hurt. “Mmm… Don’t go, Daddy. I need you! I want to be close to you!” you exclaim, resuming the same tune you’ve been playing on repeat for the day.
Tousled hair. Dark eyes. A mildly tainted soul.
Born sinful. Born strong. Born yours.
Steve Rogers. Your Daddy. The man who needs you in return.
“I won’t leave, little one.”
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pupchiro · a month ago
What would happen if the bonten boys found out you faked an orgasm. Like would them make you into babbling mess or refuse to touch you until you begged for it 🤔.
-8am thoughts anon
Mmmm good question. I’m gonna spin this and do yandere bonten because I can.
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YANDERE! Bonten punishing you for faking an orgasm
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Tw: yandere. Noncon. Orgasm control. Orgasm denial. Humiliation. Degradation. Sir kink. Restraints. Exhibitionism. MINORS DONT INTERACT.
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You faked on a orgasm because you wanted him to get off of you as quickly as possible. These nights are always exhausting for you, tending to his needs. So when you figure out you can fake it to get it over quicker, that’s exactly what you do. But you forget that he’s perceptive and obsessed with you. He’s spent the past few months stalking you and tracking your every emotion. You’re a fool for thinking you’d be able to fake something as passionate as an orgasm. So, like the good boyfriend he is, he has no choice but to punish you for your poor decision: 
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He’s pissed that you’d have the audacity to fake on orgasm with him. So if it’s an orgasm that you’re avoiding, then it’s an orgasm he’ll give you. And oh boy does he give you an orgasm. Or many. 
He starts with tying you down on his bed, spread eagle so he has easy access to your cunt. He’ll fuck you with his tongue first. Spearing your pussy and then flicking back to your clit so quickly that it has you cumming all over his lips. He’s memorized everything about you so of course he’s memorized the quickest way to bring you pleasure. Then he’ll fuck you with his fingers, spreading you out and rubbing your warm, gummy walls. It has you desperately trying to push your hips into his hand, trying to get more friction. But the restraints are tight and you can only take what he gives. He chuckles at your desperate movements and brings you to yet another orgasm. 
You can’t be enjoying this, it’s punishment after all. So the last thing he does is secure a hitachi wand right up against your clit. He ties it securely and plugs it in and then just leaves it there for hours. You’re cumming over and over again, subjected to this relentless torture on your clit. Sometimes he’ll walk in with a glass of whisky in hand and sits in the corner to watch you. He just observes how your back arches off the bed when you’re close, your hands come up to grip at the rope burning as your palms tug it, the way you body flails as you’re pushed over the edge again, the cum that seeps out of your cunt and dribbles onto the sheets underneath you, the tears that trek down your face and ruin your poor makeup. He loves it all, and he watches it as if it’s entertainment made just for him. Then he’ll wander out of the bedroom for a bit, letting your pleas and sobs become background noise for whatever dull TV program he’s watching in the living room. 
After hours of this punishment, he comes back into the room and turns off the wand to witness your utterly fucked out figure. You’re shaking within the restraints and you curl up into a ball once he undo's them. He clicks his tongue in frustration “let me get a look at that pretty pussy, angel.” Grabbing your knees he spreads your legs apart and just chuckles at the sight. Your pussy lips are puffy and swollen. He lightly slaps your sensitive clit, and you snap your legs shut with a shriek. He laughs loudly at the reaction and then pulls you up into his arms whispering into your ear. 
“Your orgasms are your gift to me, and baby I’m gonna make you start giving more generously.”
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If you want to fake an orgasm with him, that’s fine. He’ll let you. But if you don’t want to get relief from him then he won’t give you any sort of relief ever. He keeps a close eye on you, not letting you touch yourself, keeping all toys away from you and he’s definitely never bringing you to release himself. 
But the worst part is that he still teases you. He’ll perch you on his lap and slide his fingers into your shorts. He’ll play with your clit till your mewling into his shoulder on the brink of release. Right before you’re about to cum he’ll withdraw his hand and then laughs at the cry you make from your ruined orgasm. It’s tortuous and sadistic because this little routine goes on for weeks. Constantly bringing you close to the edge of pleasure but never letting you fall over. You’re babbling at him and begging him to let you just cum, please. But this is the consequences of your actions, and he’d so much rather watch your cry for an orgasm instead of gifting it to you. 
Sometimes, he’ll even make it worse. Getting you to sink onto his cock, and fucking into you. He has to be careful because you’re so needy at this point, he suspects you could probably cum untouched. But again, he knows you’re body in and out, and he’ll pull out right before you cum and he’ll release all over your messy cunt. He has you follow him for weeks, making sure you’re never trying to sneak your own release. If he catches your hand sliding down to your clit, or your hips swiveling against the kitchen counter he’ll restrain you and add an extra day onto your punishment. 
Only when he has you delirious, and on your knees in front of him begging to let you cum just once, only then will he finally relent. He’ll have you strip in front of him and then cups your pussy with one hand, he’ll squeeze it tightly and say
 “This fucking belongs to me, understand?” 
Once he hears the small mewl of “yes sir” from you, then he’ll fuck you into oblivion, finally giving your release after weeks of pent up desire.
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Faking an orgasm around him not only makes him mad but he’s almost humiliated by it. Is he not good enough? Do you not desire him enough? Or are you just acting like a brat? He’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. If you don’t want to orgasm that’s fine, but your disobedience won’t last long, and he will humiliate you in return. 
Unlike with Kakucho and Kokonoi, He’ll refuse to touch you at all. And at first you’re fine with it. That’s actually a dream come to true. But he refuses to let you touch yourself too. And after a few days you start to get needy. He sets it up perfectly: acts as if he’s preoccupied working on something and he’ll leave you alone in the bedroom. Your hands slip into your panties and right when you’re about to start fingering yourself he’ll barge in. He rips your hand away from yourself and with an icy voice he’ll say 
“if you want to get off, you have have to prove to me you really want it this time. Make yourself cum, but you can’t use your fucking hands.” 
He’ll oh so graciously offers to help, and you’re unsure of what he means till he’s sitting on the couch and shoving you on to your knees in front of him, sticking the toe of his boot right under your cunt.
 “Fuck yourself on my shoe, princess.” 
You look up at him in shock. He’s never made you do something so degrading before, surely he’s kidding? But his face is impossibly serious and you realize that if you ever want release ever again, you have to follow what he says. The tip of his shoes catch your clit and it feels so good, that you start to hump his leg harder. He laughs at the pace of your hips but you don’t have the wherewithal to care. 
Right when you’re about to cum he pulls his shoe away, and you’re left thrusting embarrassingly against empty air. It’s no use. Your orgasm is ruined and you’re left at his foot, crying in desperation. 
“Didn’t think I’d make it that easy for you, princess huh?” His smug expression almost has you whimpering out pleas. 
He continues his punishment throughout the rest of the week, making you try to get yourself off. And always in the most embarrassing positions and places. After all, you humiliated him by faking an orgasm in the first place, it’s only fair he pays back that feeling tenfold. 
He’ll have you run your cunt against the arm of the couch while he finishes dinner and watches you desperately. He’ll have you on his lap during a meeting, rubbing against his thigh while the rest of Bonten has a clear view of your wet cunt rubbing up against his leg, pussy clenching around nothing. He’ll stop your ministrations right before you release all over his thigh, and you whimper and lightly sob into his neck. Trying to hide your face as it burns in embarrassment from the cackles of the men behind you. 
It’s only after numerous situations like these does he finally let you have your release. And he makes you beg for it, and then has you thank him after your brain is almost fucked out.  When you’re tuckered out in his arms he realizes how much he’s enjoyed this week, and how he’s kinda wishing you fake another orgasm again if that means he gets to see you humiliate yourself all over.
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luventi · 6 months ago
note. venti n scaramouche obviously not included because they haven’t debuted yet but please reblog if you enjoyed <3
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kaeya: he’ll playfully grab your ass, they start off as gentle taps whenever you come over and you’re blocking his way in the kitchen, he’ll lightly slap your ass to get you to move over. it shocks you but he just smirks it off and apologies. unsurprisingly they soon turn into kaeya’s preferred method of greeting. if he sees you going out for a walk and you past by him? expect for his fingers to pinch your butt when you stop to say hello to him, although as unbecoming as he is it’s a lot worse when you whimper out at the feeling of his hands on you and he does not plan on letting you forget it any time soon.
zhongli: he finds himself licking your fingers a lot, which is such an odd thing to do but you both spend a lot of time in the kitchen together (with your ingredients and never his own). baking and cooking is messy so zhongli takes it upon himself to help you out once or twice. the first time, he licked off chocolate frosting from the pad of your thumb. it was a moment of impulse and he apologized immediately afterwards but he couldn’t get himself to stop. it continued on and off until one day his warm mouth took in 2 of your fingers and sucked off the excess cream from your digits. he know what he was doing though, his eyes bore into yours as his tongue cleaned the surface of any and all substances.
diluc: he likes to hold your thigh while he drives you to and from work or even to the store. granted he knows he’s only just your neighbor and not your boyfriend but you don’t seem to mind? his large hard will rest on your thigh and sometimes give you a small squeeze, it’s a kind touch, nothing to worry about. but sometimes diluc rubs soft slow circles on your thigh, inching higher and higher, all the while focusing straight ahead on the road and not paying you any mind. there’s days when you’re 100% sure he’s just teasing you but you want more, you’re so close to speaking out but just then he pulls into his driveway and tears his hand away from you. sad :(
childe: as touchy and confident as childe is he’s not very used to you being the same way, sure you’re sly just like him but you never make too much of a move to hold him like he does to you. except for one early morning you offered to help him stretch before his run, he accepted (obviously) and guided you over to the grass in front of his place. laying on his back he lifted his right leg so you can press it down to his chest. “be careful sweetness.” he whispered to you “you wouldn’t want to hurt me.” you only smiled at his flirting and grabbed his right leg with both of your hands, his shorts were pushed up so it gave you access to his thighs. “i wouldn’t dream of it childe.” you replied to him caressing his pale skin while you leaned into him. his eyes widen a bit and he tries to laugh off your teasing but you only press down on his leg more, your body hovering over his, basically folding him. “this good sweetness?” you ask seeing if his ears would blush just the way you liked it. but childe has had enough of your games, grabbing your hand he lifts himself off the ground high enough to have you pinned down on the grass. “yes darling, that’s quite enough”. he growls at you, you may have gone just a tad bit too far. childe ditched his run that morning ;).
albedo: he sits so unbearably close to you during your study sessions, it’s not that you mind it’s the fact that you’re more focused on the warmth coming from his body than the chemistry lab in front of you. albedo is oblivious to the fact that you’re not paying attention to him because of him, he just sighs and snap his fingers in front of your face, urging you to pay more attention to the material or face your final as clueless as you were during your midterms (so mean omg) all you can do is nod and try your best to pay attention. sadly albedo scoots even closer to you, thinking that you’ll pay better attention to him if he was sat closer to you. he was very wrong, but having your knees touch his was sort of a good feeling for him. one that he wants to experience more.
xiao: sometimes when you bring over some food for him you’ll insist on feeding him yourself, xiao declines because it’s such a silly thing. he’s grown enough to feed himself but you won’t stop nagging him (or leave his house) until he lets you feed him. so he gives in and leans into your spoon, mouth slightly agape and pink tongue just barely peeking out. you get distracted at the sight to say the least and xiao notices. with red cheeks he somewhat forcefully grabs your wrist and moves it so the spoon is now in his mouth. “there, was that so hard.” he says to you after swallowing the almond tofu and ushering you out of his house. the least he has to see your adorable face the better for him.
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angrythingstarlight · 2 months ago
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What a nerd...I love him 🥺
Pairing: Beefy Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 700
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Bucky smiles wistfully at you, an intense longing in his blue eyes. He’s never asked for much, he’s never asked for anything in over seventy years. He hasn’t had a chance to or even a reason to want much.
But here, in this too small apartment cluttered with junk that he loves standing in front of a girl he loves even more, there’s only one thing he wants. You. The words sit on the edge of his tongue, run away with me, let’s go, forget the world and just be with me.
But he can’t ask that of you, he knows you’ll say yes without hesitation, that you would go anywhere with him. If he asked you to. He won’t though. He loves you too much to put you in any more danger.
Bucky glances around the room, in just a few months the two of you built a lifetime of memories in this small place. He’s been happy here, more than he imagined he could now that he has you. His gaze returns to you and his heart twists in his chest. It’s not fair. He’s doesn’t want much. Just you. His soft blue eyes linger on your face.
Bucky knew that this would happen one day, that they would come from him, try to keep him from you, but as he presses his lips to your forehead, he whispers a silent vow. The last time he’s going to leave you. One more fight stands between him and his future. He’s going to build a life with you. Just one more fight.
“We have to go.”
You hum in response, keeping your eyes focused on the thick straps. The corner of your lip twitches, a sudden burst of amusement breaking through your melancholy mood.
Only you would buy a deadly assassin a book bag with straps across the chest.
Only Bucky would let you put it on him, declaring that it was exactly what he needed. “It’s perfect, I love it.”
Only Bucky would utter such sweet words, his hand cupping your chin, his lips curling into a tender smile. Both of you know he’s not talking about the cheap, sturdy bag you got from the thrift store.
“I’m coming back for you.” He’s sure of it. The thought of a life with you is the only thing that’s keeping him from breaking down. From biting down on his fist and screaming that he’s so fucking tired, he’s doesn’t want to fight. Because of you, he knows he can be more than what everyone says he is. He’s not a weapon, even for the good guys.
“Bucky.” You tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s going to be okay,” you promise, kissing his soft, chapped lips. He melts into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. He’ll never understand how you recognize he’s about to teeter off the edge of a crumbling cliff into a deep abyss and pull him back each time.
Placing your hands on his chest, you stare at his red henley, blinking back tears. “You promised me you’re coming back for me and you better. You’ve never broken a promise yet. Don’t start now or else.”
“Or else what?” He retorts, his heart a heavy thud under your palm.
“You don’t want to find out.” You glare at him, eyes narrowed.
Bucky smiles in return, “Ești dragostea vieții mele.” After this battle, he’s going to ask you for something and he hopes you’ll say yes.
“What does that mean?”
His smile grows wider, you love the way his face changes, becomes younger, almost boyish when he smiles like that, you can picture the Bucky from the 40s, carefree and happy. “I’ll tell you when I come back.”
Unable to resist your lips, he dips his head for another taste, a languid, passionate kiss that he relishes, his hands grabbing your waist to bring you closer to him, he deepens the kiss, taking more and more. Time passes too quickly and soon he’s breaking away, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You adjust the bag over his shoulders, sliding the last strap into place, the soft click resounding between you.
“Let’s go.”
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kageyuji · 6 months ago
when someone asks your boyfriend if you’re single
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⤷ oikawa, suna, bokuto, iwaizumi, akaashi ; [gn!reader]
warnings/genre: fluff, a little jealousy as a treat
notes: reblogs help me tons!!
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━━ oikawa;
huh?????? what????????
he’s honestly so confused and can’t figure out if this is a prank or not
oikawa likes to flaunt his relationship with you, so the person has to be a complete stranger
either way, he quickly tells them that you’re taken, and he gets so smug and cocky whenever the person’s face falls
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oikawa could tell the guy sitting beside him was staring at you. he didn’t like it, but surely the guy had seen him talking to you before that, right?
he thought so until the guy started speaking at least.
“you’re friends with them, right?” the person asked, and then continued whenever oikawa looked over at him. “do they have a boyfriend?”
oikawa’s eyes narrowed a little, eyebrows furrowing and lips forming something like a frown. he crossed his arms over his chest in much the same way a dog would raise its hackles.
“yes, actually. and their boyfriend is super hot. strong too, he could probably beat your ass.”
“ah, too bad. kinda sounds like you want him if you think hes so hot, huh?”
oikawa just rolled his eyes. he was about to answer whenever you walked over to the two of them, hand reaching out to him. he grabbed it quickly, then stood and began to walk away with you.
however, he made a point to turn and flash a victorious smile at the stranger.
━━ suna;
he acts so calm but on the inside he’s gotten more jealous than he’s been in a long time
not that he doesn’t trust you, of course, but he didn’t like the idea of someone else picturing themself with you
rather, he didn’t like to picture you with someone else
he’ll be calm — cold and with a sinister edge to his voice, but calm
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“hey, are you listening to me?” suna asked, snapping to get the other’s attention.
your boyfriend was supposed to be showing a new member of the team around, but whenever suna followed the guy’s gaze, he found that the other guy was distracted by you.
“oh- yeah, sorry. that uh- that person over there, the one talking to atsumu. what’s their name?”
suna huffed, but answered, “y/n.”
“are they dating anyone right now?”
that got suna’s attention. he nodded despite how much he wanted to walk over and throw his arm around you, pull you close to him.
“yeah.” suna said, trying to keep his voice level but it just came out tense. “and both of them are committed, so you might as well forget it.”
“really? do you think if-”
“I said forget it.”
“oh- ok.”
━━ bokuto;
bokuto just,, shuts down
he goes kind of quiet — suddenly, the usual loud and hyper bokuto is gone, replaced with a meek and submissive version
he gets jealous, sure, but he mostly just gets insecure about himself
you know he loves you, and yet he doesn’t think he can ever tell you that enough
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“that person over there, what’s their name?”
bokuto turned to look at the person, then followed to where they were looking. he stared at you for a moment, trying to decide why a stranger would want to know that.
“c’mon, man, i saw you talking to them earlier.”
“y/n.” bokuto responded finally, smiling a little whenever you turned and gave him a small wave.
however, you’d turned away from him again whenever his face fell, whenever he heard the other guy’s next words.
“y/n, huh? that’s a nice name. but they don’t have a boyfriend, do they?”
again, bokuto was quiet for a moment. he felt his heart sink, felt the anxiety start to build and turn his stomach.
“they do, actually,” bokuto mumbled, and began to nervously play with his hands. he wasn’t really sure when he’d started that habit, but it was almost a relief from his anxieties at the time.
“ah, too bad.” the guy sighed, but walked away without another complaint.
it took bokuto another few minutes to walk over to you. normally, he wouldn’t mind, but he really didn’t want to bother you. you’d never seen him being insecure as annoying before, but still he was worried.
“hey, y/n?” he’d asked and was met with a small amount of relief whenever you walked away from your friends to talk to him.
“hey bo, what’s wrong?”
“uhm,” bokuto started talking, but he couldn’t look anywhere but down at the floor. “you love me, right? you don’t think i’m-”
“of course I love you! where is that coming from?”
he just smiled and shook his head, then wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. “no where. I love you too.”
━━ iwaizumi;
Protective Boyfriend Iwa™ activated
you know the “step the fuck up kyle” vine? that but it’s actually kind of intimidating
he’s trying to be calm but anyone can hear how tense his voice gets
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“hey, iwaizumi?”
iwaizumi recognized the voice as one of the new vbc members, so he was quick to look at them and ask what was wrong. however, he was a little confused when he say their eyes on you.
“does that person over there have a boyfriend?”
iwa stopped.
he blinked a few times before his face twisted into an expression somewhere between and annoyance and anger. “yes. why?”
the other person pouted. “i thought they were cute, and they seem nice. guess i should have figured they were already taken, huh?”
he stared at them for a while without saying a word. surely they were aware the two of you were dating, right? iwa knew that he wasn’t that much into PDA, but he also knew that he’s given you quick kisses in front of this guy before... hadn’t he?
“yeah, probably should have. i’m their boyfriend though, okay?”
“o- oh.”
━━ akaashi;
akaashi usually isn’t the jealous type, but he can’t deny the small feelings of jealousy that he gets whenever the question gets asked
he won’t be necessarily aggressive about it, but he’ll tell them that you’re happily taken
he might tell the guy you’re married just incase the guy wants to try something 💀
he’ll be a little insecure afterwards though, won’t tell you about it but he acts clingier then he usually is
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akaashi was probably the most approachable on the team. not that the others weren’t, but they tended to either be in a constant bad mood or they were rarely calm.
which is why akaashi thinks this person had asked him out of everyone on the team.
“you’re close with y/n, right?” the person started.
akaashi gave a confused look, but answered nonetheless, “yeah, why?”
“do you know if they have a boyfriend?”
akaashi took in a sharp breath; he honestly didn’t know why he was so taken aback by that, but then again it wasn’t as though either of you were hiding the relationship.
“actually, yeah, they’re engaged.” akaashi lied.
well, he didn’t know if it was a lie actually. he wanted to wait a little more and get your opinion on that type of thing, but he’d be more than happy to put a ring on your finger.
maybe then people wouldn’t ask him questions like that.
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kuroosweakness · 10 months ago
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domestic things the haikyuu boys do to show that they care
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 ↳ it all seems too good to be true. that’s because they’re not real :’ 
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━ sakusa kiyoomi 
- always let you shower first so you can get all the warm water. (but don’t too long, don’t leave him without any hot water at all :’) (or i guess u guys can shower together ... ) 
- puts your towel in the dryer before your shower. he has many, many reasons for this: 
your towel will be nice and cozy when you walk out the shower 🥺 
he’ll have to hand the towel to you, meaning he’ll have a reason to go inside the warm, steamy bathroom 
he’ll be able to wrap you tightly with the towel the moment you step out. sakusa can’t leave you abandoned with just a towel, so naturally, he’ll sit you on the bathroom counter (even with you sitting on the counter, he’s still taller <3) and dry your hair, comb your hair, pat your body dry, lotion your body, blow-dry your hair, and all the other steps of your skin-care routine 
imagine standing next to each other, staring into the mirror as you both brush your teeth, him softly side-butting you, you side-butting him back (except he moved to the side and now you just awkwardly side-butted the air ... there goes his satisfactory smirk 🙄<3) 
(just before drying your hair, he’ll rub strands of your hair between his palms to make it stick up, and stand back to admire the view. you’re adorable) 
(oh to be pampered by sakusa :’)) how does it feel to have won life?) 
(it hurts knowing we’ve never seen animated sakusa smile) 
━ kita shinsuke 
- he always walks on the outer side of the sidewalk when the two of you are walking side by side to keep you safe from the road. it’s a small, subtle gesture, but a gesture that doesn’t go overseen. this also means his left hand will always be holding your right hand 
- picks things up for you. on his way home, he’ll always call and ask if you want anything. if you have a delivery package you need to pick up, he’ll do it for you. if you want a cup of coffee from your favorite cafe, he’ll buy one for you :)
- he loves and cares for your family like his own. this goes a long way. it truly shows how important you are to him
(to those who doesn’t have a very ... good family or a family that wouldn’t be interested in caring for your partner, i’m sorry to hear about that babes :’( i can relate, we’re in this together!)
━ oikawa tōru 
- always talks in terms of “we” instead of “i”, “me”, and “you”. he always includes you in conversations so you never feel left out! whenever you are, he wants you to feel acknowledged and included. 
- defends you in every conversation. if someone were to talk badly or make unwanted remarks about you, oikawa will be right there to drag them down.  oikawa may talk a lot but it’s gotten him the advantage to be really good with his words. try winning an argument with him, you can’t (unless ur iwaizumi lol)   
- anyone that stares at you for too long, he’ll give his harshest glare. oikawa’s one of those people who can just sense bad vibes from people. he tells you all about his instincts so no “bad guys” can get to you
- relationship with oikawa = lots of pillowtalk 
━ miya atsumu 
- if you carry purses/bags around, he always offers to hold onto your purse/bag when you go to the bathroom. he’ll casually sling it over his shoulder like it’s his own, no awkwardness here! he’s proud to be your boyfriend and it shows. 
(guys who carries purses for their partners with confidence > other guys)
- if the two of you walk out of a store into pouring rain without an umbrella, atsumu will tell you to wait inside the store while he goes to start the car. he’ll drive to the front of the store so you won’t have to get wet from the rain 
(i just know atsumu’s one of those guys who looks so hot while driving without even trying- darn him <3) 
━ akaashi keiji 
- beings extra everything around for you. band-aids, hair-ties, gum, cash, an extra jacket in his trunk, a cup in case of stomach-emergencies, and even a pair of socks in case the rain seeps through your shoes. he has it all. feeling safe is one of the many good feelings you feel around akaashi 
- when you share a small umbrella, akaashi always makes sure it completely covers you, even if it means water is dripping down his shoulder. 
- when he comes across a good book, a good movie, good song, he’ll have that spark in his beautiful eyes when he tells you all about them. he wants you to also enjoy the good in his life :) (he also tells you about his past mistakes/incidents to warn you about the bad) 
━ bokuto kōtarō
- goes to bed before you, lying on your spot of the bed to warm it up. when you walk into the bedroom, you’ll see bo’s head sticking out of the covers with a huge grin. he’s so cute without even trying djkfldj 
- adores massaging you. he’ll regularly massage you, run his hand across your tummy, sit you in his lap, squeeze you with his biceps, play with your thighs, yeah it’s quite obvious how much he loves you. 
rough day? regular day? be prepared to lay on your tummy so bokuto can give you a massage :) don’t be too surprised when he attempts new massage moves that “our professional massager did on us! (msby)” 
you know what else he loves? when you massage him! he loves coming home with sore muscles to a home-made massage by the person who never fails to make him smile. not the best massage in the world, but you’re trying and he loves it more than explainable. 
- brings you the remote without complaint. puts your plate back to the kitchen without complaint. puts your clothes in the laundry basket without complaint. 
━ miya osamu 
- always offers to carry the grocery bags. even if he can barely see past the pile of bags in his arms, he’ll insist on carrying them. his competitive side comes out during times like these; he’ll try to impress you by carrying more and more each time. even with how heavy the groceries may be, he hasn’t dropped/broken anything ...yet! 
- leaves the last bit of food for you. last slice of pizza? yours. last bit of milk left? for your cereal. last piece of cake? yours. he never eats the last piece without checking with you first, no matter how hungry he is. eating food without leaving you any is like betrayal. 
- blocks the sunlight out of your eyes with his arm/hand. especially in the morning when the sunlight glares through the window. 
━ suna rintarō 
- charges your phone for you. sometimes, he’ll tap on your lockscreen to check your battery percentage when you go to sleep and charge it when the battery bar is low. you don’t have to worry about forgetting to charge your phone with suna around. 
- turns off his phone when you talk to him so you can have his full attention
- untangles your mess of cords. he always glares and heavily sighs whenever he sees tangled cords. no one knows how, but suna’s exceptionally good with untangling stuff 
━ kuroo tetsurō
- cleans the hair from your shower for you. he really doesn’t like it, but he knows you hate it more, which is why he does it for you. even though it’s not a favorite activity of his, he doesn’t really mind, it’s natural. 
- he’ll talk to the people/call the people you don’t want to. if you don’t want to say your drive-thru order, he’ll do it for you. if you want to know the price of a shirt but there isn’t a tag, he’ll talk to a store-worker for you. instead of being annoyed at you for “not being to do simple things”, he’ll help you out without a single word of complaint. there’ll be some teasing, but no harm done. he’s very understanding and patient
(my bias is showing. he’s my comfort person, what can i do :’) 
- he made up a code with you. four tugs on the hem of his shirt means you’re not feeling well/uncomfortable. (there are also many other signals and code words)
this is especially helpful when you’re out at parties, big events, malls, etc etc. as soon as he feels your tugs, he’ll whip around and study your face, leading you to a quieter place to ask how you’re feeling. if you want to go home, then home it is. 
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ringpop-poppy · 7 months ago
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Wc: 4k
Pairing: eren jaeger x reader
Cw: car sex, fingering, emphasis on reader being innocent and a virgin. reader is armins little sister. corruption kink
you're 6 years old when you first meet eren jaeger. apparently he'd run off some people that were bullying you big brother, armin. you admire him and mikasa immediately.
you're 8 and he's 11 when you get a scrape on your knee from playing tag. eren runs into your mothers bathroom to fish out the first aid-kit, you know he just doesn't want you to tattle, you never would anyway, but he pulls out a pink band-aid with little ariels all over it and places it gently over the cut. he stays there for a few beats, soothing the skin around the hurt area with his thumbs. his big bright green eyes look up at you, "better?" and that's the first time your heart skips for a boy.
you're 11 and he's 14 when armin starts becoming protective. "he's had like. 5 girlfriends in middle school, who knows what he's gonna be like in high-school"
it intrigue you, for some reason.
you're 13 and he's 16 when he taps furiously on your window at night, wild eyed and wearing a t-shirt and sweats. he falls ungracefully on his ass when you let him in, though he grins at you from the floor. "thanks, squirt"
you wince at the nickname, knowing it solidifies you as someone only platonic to him. armins little sister and nothing more. "what's this all about?"
he gets up and swipes imaginary dust off his sweats, looking around your room. its absurdly girly. he picks up one of your plushies and tosses it up, then catches it, peering over at you and grinning. "i hope you never change," he sighs and flops down onto your pink sheets. "girls my age are fucking psychos"
you creep closer to him, snatching your plush back. "im sure there's something you're leaving out there. im not completely dumb, you know"
he waves his hand, "yeah but you're....i don't know? innocent or whatever. you don't care about shit like boys and drama"
i do care about boys, you think, watching the way his shirt rides up to expose a hint of tan skin. you look away, squeezing your plush to your chest. "im gonna grow up eventually, ren"
he sighs and sits up, looking at you from under his ridiculously cute floppy brown hair. "Just promise me you won't go boy crazy"
you roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he leans in and licks a broad stripe against your cheek with his tongue, grinning "we have cooties"
you swat at him and wipe your cheek, groaning and calling him gross. "i know that. you and armin never let me forget how gross boys are", you side eye him. "what did you even do? really?"
he looks to the side, only now having it in him to look the least bit sheepish, "my girlfriend may have caught me with my hand down historias skirt..."
yeah, boys really are gross. but not eren, no he's beautiful and magical and makes you feel all the fluttery things. but he's also a player, a bad boy, dangerous and completely off limits. maybe your crush should have ended there, but of course it didn't.
You're 15 when you go on your first date with a boy. until now you haven’t allowed yourself to even think about men outside of the enigma that is eren jaeger, but that’s a lost cause, a stupid crush you need to let go of. and despite what eren thinks, you’re not that innocent. not in your head anyway. you’re a girl and you have fantasies. 
the guy is nice, armin likes him enough. big and tall and humble, reiner brought you flowers for your first date. the age difference is a little weird, he’s in erens grade, a senior, but you think its harmless. you’re turning 16 soon. the date goes well, you smile and giggle alot, and reiner seems smitten by the end of it. he even goes as far as to kiss your hand when he drops you back off at home, at 8pm sharp, just like he promised. he was kind and sweet, and you liked him, but you wonder what it means that there were no flutters in your belly, not like when you’re around him…
you’re still thinking about that when you open the door, and walk inside. the house is quiet, and you wonder where armin is, and eren. thinking they both must be in armins room, you go to the kitchen to get a glass of water, stopping on your path there when you see eren on the couch. he’s lounging back, hand idly wrapped around a gaming controller as he watches you.
you glance around him. “where’s mimmin?”
he doesn’t take his eyes off you. “annie called”, he leans forward a little, propping his chin in his palm as he observes you quietly for a moment.
you squirm in place, his eyes are too hot. “oh” and you make to start moving again but his voice stops you. 
“so. braun, huh?” his tone is hard to discern, the words coming out cool and detached, but his eyes are that intense green. 
“yeah” you say, shifting on your feet. “he was nice. kissed my hand and everything”
“sounds like a dream” and that is definitely said sarcastically. you bristle but eren is already turning away from you, facing the TV. “didn’t think he was your type though” 
because erens been your type since forever, you guess he’s right. reiner couldn’t be more different in both personality and looks, but maybe that’s a good thing. “maybe he can be” you say softly, looking at your feet. you dont see erens eyebrows jump, or his lips twist disdainfully. 
“If you wanna settle for missionary the rest of your life, then sure, go ahead” he sounds a little miffed and that confuses you. makes you look up. you don’t even know reiner that well, but you feel the need to defend him from erens usual snarky jabs. 
“not every guy that doesn’t live on Xbox and fuck half the school is a bland guy” you huff. you feel a little guilty for calling him out but he started it. eren hated preps, that was obvious, but its not like he was a model person either, if his long track record of promiscuity was anything to go by. reiner wasnt boring he just…..wasn’t eren. but that wasn’t a flaw. It shouldn’t be. 
“you been keeping tabs on me, princess?” eren asks wryly, smirking now. you just glare at him, quirking a brow and daring him to prove you wrong, to say he’s better. 
he doesn’t. he just looks at you, sets his controller down and does that tick he’d developed since he was young of jiggling his knee, tapping his finger on it. “don’t go on more dates with him” 
you squint your eyes, “and why not?”
“because i said so” 
“you’re not my boss” 
“because..” he scratches the stubble on his jaw, gaze looking far off as he stares at his bouncing leg. “guys shouldn't touch you” 
your mouth pops open. you get that, right now, you’re too young for stuff like sex, but being touched? everyone your age had boyfriends, why should you be any different?
It feels a bit like deja vu when you tell him, “m’not staying innocent forever. dating and s-sex are apart of life. you do it, why shouldn’t i?” 
you didn’t really get his whole overprotective bit, armin, who was your brother, wasn’t even this bad. he’d seen happy almost, when you told him about your date with reiner, even, so you really don’t see where eren is coming from. 
erens lip curls in a smirk and he points a finger at you. “that’s why” he says. “you can’t even say the word sex without stuttering. what’ll you do when you see a cock for the first time?” 
your skin heats, hating that he’s right. “I’ll grow out of it” you promise him. 
he huffs a laugh. “sure thing, dork” but then his face gets serious. “you don’t need to change though. sex is lame, i promise.” 
“you seem to have alot of it, so there must be something good about it” 
“for me, yeah” he grins. “but im selfish. most men are, and you deserve better than some highschool tumble with a guy who looks like he can’t find the clit to save his life” his eyes weigh you down. “just keep bein’ you. If i come back from college and hear that you’re the towns tramp stamp, m’ not gonna be happy” 
and that’s that. 
you’re 16 when eren leaves for college. you get to 18 without ever being touched. 
you’re 18 and you wish you hadn’t begged armin to let you come to this stupid bomfire party. it’s just the first time he’s been home in the 2 years since he’d left for college, and you know that means eren is back too, though you have yet to see him. he’s supposed to be at the party though.
you wonder if he’ll react to having seen you after not for awhile, if he’ll look at you different now that you’re grown. you’re wearing a simple pleated white skirt and a pink top, the picture of innocence you’ve always been, never changing. 
being around so many people makes you uncomfortable, you want to cling to armins side, but you don’t want to be annoying so you tell him its okay to leave you. your eyes scan the mass of people on the crowded beach as you nervously hold your solo cup to your chest. 
your eyes stop their nervous skittering when they land on someone familiar. 
college eren is completely different and yet wholly the same since you’d last seen him. he’s wearing a red bomber jacket, over a black t-shirt and skinny jeans, scuffed converse kicking in the sand as he shifts from one foot to the other. you peep tan skin, a hint of a tattoo peeking on his neck and….and black hair. he’d dyed his hair, and, is that jewelry on his ear? rings on his hand?
he’s smiling easily with a pretty blonde and...and reiner. talking to them like old friends as he tilts his head back and laughs, taking a swig from his cup. he’s still chuckling and shaking his head when his eyes flick distractedly over, rove over you and then stop. even from all the way where you are the green of his eyes pins you in place. the warm glow of the bonfire dances across his features, and you see the bastard has a lip ring as well. he takes his time cataloging you and you do him, before his lips tilt, he hands off his drink and he makes his way over to you. 
your whole body is tense with nerves as he gets closer and closer.
when he’s standing in front of you, the smell of his cologne wafts over you. his smile is small and genuine. “hey, pip” 
pip as in short for pipsqueak. you have to fight the urge to grin at him, your cheeks warming pleasantly, even though you groan out loud. “m’ not little anymore” 
“I can see that” eren eyes rake over you, linger on your bare legs before dragging slowly back up. his eyes feel like a caress and when they meet yours again, you’re already tingly. you’ve never been touched sexually, and just one look from eren has you wet between the legs like nothing. “still dress like you wanna be an extra in a Bratz commercial” 
the tension disputes as you swat his arm. “shut up!! Its a fashion choice, not like you’d know. dressed like a wannabe rockstar” 
“aw, c’mon. you’d be my groupie right?” 
you roll your eyes. “you wish, jaeger”
“mm” he hums softly. “s’cute though. always has been” 
before you can even register the compliment, he’s leaning forward to peek into your cup, swiping it easily from you. “underage drinking, are we? left you for a couple years and you go rebel barbie on me” 
you squawk as he chugs all of your drink back in one gulp, crushing the cup in his fist and tossing it behind him. “ren! I wasn’t even drinking it. It was..” you wave your hand around. “for the aesthetic”
“uh huh” he drones, but then he jerks his chin. “i’ll get you another one to stand around and look pretty with then. C’mon”
cute, pretty. the compliments are gonna make your heart fly out of your chest if he doesn’t let up. you follow him as he leads you to a keg, one that’s a little ways away from the bustle of the party, close to the parking lot where you came in. 
you shyly say ‘thank you’ when he fills you a cup and hands it to you, proceeding to lean back against a car as he goes back to observing you.
to distract yourself you mumble, “you can’t just lean on a strangers car for the sake of being cool” 
the grin is back. “you think im cool?” when you glare at him he rolls his eyes and slaps the hood of the car. “she’s mine, pip. you can untwist your panties” 
you blink at him, “since when did you get a new car? and when did you dye your hair?” 
he looks at you curiously, drumming his fingers. “do you not, like. follow me on instagram?”
you look away, kicking your feet in the sand. hesitantly you admit, “didn’t wanna miss you, so i didn’t look” 
he doesn’t say anything to that. the silence stretches between you, making you nervous. should you not have said that? you guessed it was weird, after all, but it was true. If you’d looked at how erens life was progressing without you there to see it, you’d have cried and been a total lovesick girl about it. 
he finally breaks the silence. “do you have a boyfriend?” 
you look back at him. “ do you?”
the smirk you wanted ghosts over his lips again, and your eyes are drawn to his lip ring when he tugs it between his teeth. “nah, you know me. unattainable” 
“yeah, i know” you say under your breath, thinking of how eren jaeger had been an unattainable fantasy for you for years. 
“so no current boyfriend or…?” 
“no boyfriends...ever” its embarrassing to admit, but less humiliating than admitting that the reason that was is because you’re in love with your brothers best friend, the very man standing before you now. 
“that’s kinda tragic, pip” eren hops up on the hood of his car and fishes a cigarette out of his pocket. he waves a hand at you, “you’re rockin’ a bod like that and no one’s bagged you? thought you’d be beating down options with a bat by now” 
you watch the smoke that plumes in the air, the way it coils and wisps, and really look at eren. he’s tragically beautiful. his no black hair is boyishly messy, tangled around his head in a dark halo. his face is sharp and tan, his eyes striking and making you feel like you’re sinking into the sand beneath your feet.
you’ve wanted him for so long, it makes you ache. years and years of pushing away men and declining confessions for this man in front of you. you’d never expected anything from him, but you couldn’t move past the fantasy in your head. couldn’t imagine giving any of your firsts to anyone but eren. 
“you told me to stay innocent” its out before you can stop the words, they just fumble out, spilling from your lips and into the air like the smoke.
eren stills, pauses from where he’d been about to take another drag. his expression is unreadable. he flicks the ashes from the cig on the sand, stumps it out under his foot as he hops down. the wind ruffles his dark hair as he just looks and looks and looks at you. 
“yeah?” and oh, jesus, if the rough gravel in his voice doesn’t make your cunt warm immediately. “and you listened?” 
you squeeze your thighs together, an action that draws erens gaze between your legs. to late to back down now, you think, and wet your lips. “y-yeah. I did” 
“you didn’t let any boys touch you while i was gone?” eren continues and he draws closer, creeping towards you.
you shake your head, silent as he comes in front of you. he reaches up to delicately push a strand of hair behind you ear with one of his ring fingers. he keeps it tucked behind your ear as he towers over you, staring you down. “you’re still my innocent little girl, huh?” 
you wonder if this is how it feels to be seduced, seduced by eren jaeger no less. his eyes are warm, and they make you feel warm from where the rest on your eyes, and then, your lips. they part under his gaze, on instinct. “I am, ren. always have been” 
his eyes darken, and the finger behind your ear becomes his whole hand sliding to cup the back of your head, slowly fisitng your hair in it. “shit” he tilts your head up. “you can’t say things like that, baby”
baby, baby, baby. your head swims. you’re on autopilot now, speaking without thinking and you think that’s good because if you were thinking clearly you wouldn't have the courage. “i’ve always been your good girl. no one elses” 
you have one second to hear his exhale before his lips are crashing against yours, and oh. oh, he’s good. you feel the metal of his lip ring against your bottom lip as he slides his tongue in your mouth, eating you up.
“god, you’re sweet” he nips your lip. “knew you would be”
you pant into his mouth, your hands curling on his chest, “y-you’ve thought about me?”
“‘course i did, im not blind” he pulls away. “I just really like my dick and didn’t want it chopped off. armin is scary” 
you know he can be when he wants to be, knows if he saw eren ravishing his little sister against his car right now, body parts would be strewn about. and that’s just from armins verbal warfare.
you look at eren demurely from under your lashes, “i don’t want anything to happen to your…” you trail off at the end.
erens eyebrows climb up his forehead, he presses close to you, tugs you to him. “my…” he prods, eyes glinting with mischief. 
you look away, pouting. “know i can’t say it” you mumble, hating that even now, saying vulgar words is embarrassing for you.
erens chest shakes with a laugh. “you just sucked my tongue down your throat, pip, and you can’t talk about my cock? you’re precious, c’mere.” he starts walking backwards, towards his car. “we gotta be sneaky about it but-” he dips down to kiss you again, once, twice. “i really wanna touch you” 
you gulp, and nod, let him pull you to his car and open the backseat for you, climbing in after you. he shuts and locks it behind him and then he’s facing you, eren jaeger giving you his full attention. looking at you like he wants you, like he’s seeing you, like he wants to do alot of bad things to you.
you place a shaking hand on his shoulder. “im- i dont know what to do..”
you want to impress him, but pretending you’re good at something you’re not won’t do that. eren doesn’t like liars anyway. 
he scoots close to you, pulling you halfway onto his lap until you’re sitting comfortably against him. you bite your lip when you feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your ass under your skirt. one of his hands settles on your bare thigh, scooting it up just barely.
“you ever watch porn, sweetheart?” erens breath puffs against your ear and you squirm on top of him. 
you push down your own embarrassment, resigning yourself to be a big girl and be honest. “s-sometimes” 
“yeah?” god, why does just that word turn you on so much? “tell me what kind of stuff you watch when you touch your little pussy” 
his vulgar words go straight to your cunt, at the same time his hand slides up your thighs and slips under your skirt. you close your eyes when you feel the tip of his finger trace over the band of your panties. “they’re always a couple..” you gasp when his hand dips inside, palm cupping over your pussy. “a-and the guy has dark hair..”
“Imagining anyone in particular?” eren teases, but you hear his breath catch at the same time yours does when he sinks one long finger inside. the folds around your slit part seamlessly around the intrusion, sucking his finger in like your pussy wants it there. “so wet, baby. keep talking for me?”
ever the good girl, you push through the tingles and the heat spreading down your legs, the slick sound of his finger fucking in and out of you filling the silent car as you struggle to find words. “s-shes always inexperienced. Its her first time and...and hes gentle” you moan a little when erens thumb comes to swirl around your clit, hips lips finding your neck. he’s teasing another finger at your tight entrance when you swallow another groan and try to keep talking like he’d asked. “he’s gentle but he takes. t-takes what he wants”
“mm” eren hums, tongue sliding against your skin. you gasp when the tip of his ring finger edges in beside the other one, stretching your tight passage around his digits in thorough little twists of his fingers. “that’s real good, baby. you like the sound of that, huh?” 
eren hooks his chin over your shoulder, bunches your skirt around your waist so he can see where your little pussy is clenching and squeezing around him, clit engorged and throbbing for attention. when you don’t answer, he continues, using the slick dripping down your slit, gathering it and then pushing back into you. “I bet” he says, low, husky. “In those videos, he eats her out real nice, yeah? makes sure her little virgin cunt is wet enough to take his cock”
“y-yeah” you pant, holding his wrist but not pulling it away, pushing him more towards you. you’re starting to grind down against the pleasure, walls rhythmically fluttering around his fingers, fucking yourself on them without even knowing it. he curls them, and your head thumps back against his shoulder as you cry out. 
“i’ll give that to you” eren promises, pumping his fingers faster, his other hand coming up to cup one of your tits over your blouse, giving it a squeeze. “gonna take you home after you cream around my fingers and lay you out on your bed” he kisses your cheek, holding you firm against him when you start to twitch and writhe. “lick this little flower open. wanna feel your thighs squeeze my face when i drink the cum from your pussy, get you all loose and wet and then i wanna feel you drip down my dick when i slide it inside”
“oh god, ren!” you jerk in his hold as you feel your orgasm crest over you, gushing down his palm, as you ride his hand, milking it as tingles shoot across your whole body. A milky, creamy film rests around his knuckles when he slides his fingers out of your weeping cunt, still pulsating and twitching from the come down. 
he rubs the excess slick around your folds and clit, rubbing it in. you whimper and he chuckles and kisses your cheek. 
you sag against him, fucked out. eren brushes some hair from your forehead and kisses it. “wannabe punk pounds sweet virgin pussy into her bed” 
you look at him, confused and dazed “huh?”
eren grins at you. “s’ gonna be the name of our porno” 
5K notes · View notes
chicoree · 3 months ago
three's a crowd
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Pairing: Bakugou x f!Reader x Kirishima
Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ aged up characters, impact play, spit kink, slight degradation, praise, filming, slight dubcon, creampie, face fucking, daddy kink, edging/orgasm denial, slight anal play
A/N: Written for Bakugou’s official owner @kingkatsuki . Jo, thank u for this lovely thirst post and letting me bounce off your and your follower's thoughts here. I hope y'all like this follow-up!
Thank you to @oneblonded​ @vanille--kiss​ and @lemonadencran​ for beta reading!
WC: 6.5K
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The mirror squeaks when you wipe your hand across it, clearing just enough of the fog to see your pleased grin. You’re glowing, still dewy from the water, still soft from the steam. The fan whirs above you as you hum, patting products into your face, massaging lotion into your limbs, and enjoying the slight ache between your legs, the still shivery sensation lingering in your joints. 
When you’re pampered and primped you wind your towel tight around yourself; give the clean, liquid silicone, 100% body-safe, Red Riot: Sturdy, Sexy, and Sinful dildo a nudge with your knee, and grin. It wobbles from side to side, barely clinging to the lip of the tub with its impressive silicone base, nestled beneath a pair of soft ‘realistic’ feeling balls the same vibrant red as Kirishima’s hair.
It's getting close to when Bakugou should be getting home, a thought that makes your grin grow a little wider as you opt to keep from getting dressed. You’re sure there are a million threatening messages from your lover on your phone, but the anticipation of what he’ll do to you when you get back is more than enough to make you drip between your legs once more. The only thing you have to worry about is his mouth and the fever-fueled lecture he’ll probably try to give you while he’s prying your legs apart, but you figure a dropped towel and a nice view will be more than enough to get him to forget what he’s saying.
The telltale sound of the key in the lock has you scampering towards the front door a little faster, your hands already working at the tight towel tuck as you angle your body as best you can. The lock clicks, the handle turns, and you give the slowly opening door your best pair of bedroom eyes.
“Welcome home, Kats—”
To his credit, ever the gentleman, Kirishima doesn’t look anywhere but your eyes when he greets you. Hair loose around his shoulders he shoots you a sunny smile, stare unwavering even when your towel slips a little low.
“Eijirou! I didn’t know you were coming over!” You scramble for the edges of your towel, pressing your legs together for a whole other reason as you try to inch backwards. “I’m so sorry, I just—uh. Well. Got out of the shower, and Katsuki never said anything about having guests.”
Your withering look is ignored, Bakugou scoffing as he looks you up and down, a familiar heat in the deep red of his eyes that has you tripping a little over your feet. “You didn’t get my messages?”
“I didn’t realize our plans had changed,” you bite out, willing your annoyance down to more manageable levels, trying to silently warn him that now of all times isn’t the time to try and eye-fuck you from across the room. There’d been no indication that you’d have a visitor today, not when he’d fucked your thighs this morning, not when he’d growled that you’d better be a good girl and wait for him tonight, not when he’d left you high and dry, ignoring your pouting and whimpering to get ready for work instead. “I’m so sorry, Eiji, just let me go get dressed—”
You’re stopped by a set of fingers pinching at the edge of your towel, Bakugou crossing the room in two seconds flat to tug at the terrycloth. He grins as he watches you scrabble to keep the towel up, as you look at him wide-eyed and confused, embarrassment tinging your features.
“You didn’t get my messages.”
The towel falls to the floor.
You curl in on yourself a little, trying to hide behind Bakugou’s broad bulk, peeking nervously around the swell of his biceps at your friend still lingering by the front door. Kirishima’s smile is still the same, warm and easy—friendly even, as if he isn’t a handful of feet away from his very naked best friend’s girlfriend. He shoots you a thumbs up, craning his head a little to get a better look, and you squeak.
“Why’re you bein’ so shy?” Bakugou’s hands grab at your shoulders to straighten you before drifting down your spine, arching your back and pushing your tits out as he shifts the two of you sideways. All you can do is cling to the front of his shirt, praying the soft grey jersey covers most of your tits, that the wide spread of his hands covers your ass. He smacks at it and you shiver, jolting against him, flushing hot at the sting. “Let him see.”
“’S not like he hasn’t seen it already.”
“He—” You peek over at Kirishima, lashes fluttering as you watch him unsubtly grab at his cock, palming the thick length of him down one thigh. “You showed him?”
“I didn’t show him shit,” Katsuki snorts, spanking you again, grabbing and lifting you onto your toes as he gropes meanly at your ass. “He’s too fuckin’ tall and you…” His mouth is hot when he bites at the edge of your ear, tongue sweeping along the shell of it as he chuckles. “You’re too much of a tease for your own damn good. Trust me, Princess. This is me bein’ nice.”
He punctuates the statement by shifting you around, wedging a thick thigh between yours, bouncing you a little on his leg to make you whimper. All you can do is hold onto him, hands grabbing at his arms, toes brushing along the floor as you whine and fight the urge to grind down. For a moment your eyes meet Kirishima’s, drifting up from the bulge in his pants to the heady look on his face. His eyes—red like Katsuki’s, warm like Katsuki’s—flick from your tits to your face, and he groans, loud and long, taking one big step closer to the two of you.
“Look at you,” he breathes, reverent, watching the slick smear along the top of Bakugou’s pants as you squirm.
“How is this nice?” You choke on your words when the rough pads of Kirishima’s fingers skim the underside of your tits, patting them to make them jiggle a little more as he hums. Gone is the trepidation of being too exposed in nothing but a towel, the fear of Kirishima finding the fire engine red dildo in the bathroom. You can’t help but stare at the outline of his cock again, at the way the fabric of his sweats pulls and puckers around the fat head pushing insistently at the fabric. 
“Figured you’d wanna fuck the real thing all night instead.” Bakugou’s mouth finds your ear again, trailing to your cheek, a low, pleased rumble escaping him when you tilt your head into the touch, when you dig your nails a little more into his muscles. “You really shoulda checked your phone. Missed out on some good shit, y’know?”
“Wha—” Your curiosity is crushed when Kirishima’s hand tickles just above the curve of your hip, dragging down to circle your belly button before sweeping just above your clit.
“Don’t be a dick, bro.” Kirishima laughs, delighted and husky when you try to catch the tip of his finger, try to get him to slide his fingers through the mess between your legs. “We’ve got plenty of time to show her.”
It’s a blur going to the bedroom, Bakugou all but carrying you there, his cock pressed tight against the swell of your ass as he bullies you down the hall. To add to the surrealistic fog in your head is the extra set of footsteps, heavy and steady behind the two of you, the lighthearted cheer in Kirishima’s voice even as he strips his clothes along the way and ignores Bakugou’s bark that he’s making a mess. It isn’t until they’re showing you your missed messages that it’s sinking in, and even then it’s less about the 30-second clip of Kirishima fisting his cock and more about the way Kirishima’s tongue is laving at your clit.
“F-fuck!” You can’t stop squirming, hips wriggling uselessly against the tight grip Kirishima has on you, your thighs pried apart by Bakugou’s hand as he sits behind you. The phone is shaking in your boyfriend’s hand, or maybe that’s just you and the amount of shivering and jolting you’re doing as Kirishima pulls you apart.
“Pay attention,” Bakugou growls, like he doesn’t have his hips rutting against you, like he isn’t letting out breathy little groans of his own. The two of you watch as on-screen, Kirishima’s hand slides down, slicking precum along the thick shaft down to the neatly trimmed thatch of black hair at the base. His hand sweeps under to cup his balls, rolling them with his fingers, abs flexing at the sensation as he sighs. “Look at that.”
His sentiment echoed in kind by the Bakugou behind the camera, both versions sounding equally wrecked, equally strained as Kirishima’s hand works its way back up to the tip, thumb sweeping along the weeping slit, hips languidly thrusting forward until his fist is at the base of his cock once more.
The clip ends, like it always does, with Bakugou walking a little closer, giving you the close-up of the veins that circle the length of Kiri’s cock, the gleam of precum that smears along the ring of his fingers. There’s the shift of Kiri’s hand, Bakugou’s hand, and then it freezes, nothing more than a smudged blur of Bakugou’s fingers a scant few inches away from Kirishima’s cock.
You whimper at the sight again, feeling the flex of Bakugou’s fingers along your thigh when you try to grind against Kirishima’s tongue a little more.
“Greedy fuckin’ brat,” Bakugou growls, playing the clip over again, ignoring the teary blink of your eyes to watch his best friend eat your pussy. “She’s got the real thing in front of her, but all she cares about is the fuckin’ video.”
“No, t-that’s not—”
The hand on your thighs shifts to your mouth, Bakugou’s fingers pressing insistently along the plane of your tongue as he gags you. 
“T-that’s not—” He smirks as he mocks you, massaging the slick pink muscle, toying with fucking his fingers in and out of your mouth, making you drool around them. “Not what, Princess? Not true? You’re a dirty fuckin’ liar. Look at this shit—”
It’s different being shown the video of you fucking yourself on the dildo. You know how it goes: you’d watched it a handful of times, dithering over if it really was the best thing to do, wondering if maybe it’d set Bakugou off in a different way. If it was too far, if it wasn’t as daring and delectable as it’d seemed in the moment. As it’d felt in the moment.
Bakugou’s hand keeps your face tilted towards the screen, keeps your teary eyes trained on the sight of you fucking yourself stupid on that bright red cock. Every lewd squelch of lube seems to echo a thousand times louder than before, every breathy pant of K-Katsuki fills the room. You watch as he tries to turn the volume up higher, as the little white bar at the side of the screen bounces in time with your hips as your miniature version keens, ‘m so full—
“Y’took it so well, Princess. Did such a good job fitting all that cock inside you,” Kirishima breathes, cheek pillowed against the inside of your thigh. He nips every once and a while at the soft skin there, blooming bruises along the tender flesh, mumbling half-hearted sorrys every time you whimper. He sucks along your clit again, groaning when your high quavering mewl melts into a sharp gasp when Bakugou palms at your tits. “Rode it like a fuckin champ, baby, sounded so sweet cumming all over it—”
He shivers and gives another firm lap to your folds, dragging his fingers along in wake of his tongue as Bakugou hisses at him to hurry the fuck up.
“I wonder if—” Kirishima answers his own question, pressing his fingers into you, still finding you soft, pliant, and stretched out. His pupils dilate as he looks up at you, his adoration cut with hunger as he pumps in and out of you. “You are. Fuck me, you’re still so fuckin’ tight—”
The stretch has you shivering as you watch him palm at his cock, watch him fuck up a little into his other hand. It looks wet, shiny, glistening with precum and an angry, flushed red. You want to taste him. You want the weight of it on your tongue, want to trace every single intricate vein along it until he’s begging to fuck your mouth. You can’t help but suckle a little more on Bakugou’s fingers, letting your eyes flutter shut when your boyfriend barks out a laugh and says, “You wanna show him, huh? Show him how fuckin’ pretty you look sucking cock?”
Kirishima’s hips jolt forward a little faster. “Dude—”
“Bet he doesn’t fit,” Bakugou muses, slapping at your tits, sneering when you cry out. “Bet he can’t even get halfway—” His fingers spread, stretching the sides of your mouth wide, letting spit and tears run down your face as your throat works desperately to swallow. “What d’you think?”
You’re making a mess, drooling all over, spit dripping down the curve of Bakugou’s palm and down his wrist and dotting your chest. That’s without considering how much you’re leaking between your legs, most of it clinging along Kiri’s tongue, the rest of it smeared along your skin and up his cheeks.
“I—uh—” Kirishima’s eyes are big, round, his eyebrows disappearing up beneath his hair as he darts his gaze from mouth to pussy then back again, looking stricken as he tries to figure out his next move. It doesn’t help that he keeps curling his fingers inside you, making you clamp your walls around him, making you whimper a little louder. It also probably doesn’t help that you’re not even resisting, just letting Bakugou spread you open from both ends for his best friend to see, like you’re used to it. Like you want him to. “Fuck, bro, I can’t decide—”
Bakugou all but cackles, reefing his hand from your mouth to smear spit along your cheeks as he squeezes them. “We can let her try.”
You slide to the floor with ease, tangling your fingers into Kirishima’s hair and tugging him eagerly towards you. It’s heaven feeling him kiss you, the difference in pressure, in technique, in attention making you shiver as you map the length of his tongue with your own. There’s an intensity to Bakugou that bleeds into everything he does; even the lazy mornings he fucks you slowly, the ones where he presses his forehead to yours and rocks into you sweetly, gently, seem to be riddled with fire. You can always feel him, on you, inside you, searing you to the bone. The drive, the intent behind his actions—everything culminates in a pressure that always threatens to tear you apart at the seams no matter how carefully he handles you, no matter how sweetly he calls your name.
Kirishima kisses like how you imagine he fucks. Diligent, thorough, a steady lap of his tongue along the roof of your mouth, the pulsing suck of his mouth on your tongue. His hands press firm along your skin, fingers kneading into muscle and working the tension from your body, leaving you pliant to his touch. Where Bakugou takes Kirishima cajoles, easing you into his touch instead of overwhelming. Easing you into touching him, letting your hands drift across the scarred plane of his chest, running over the hair that dusts his chest, that trails down his abs. Letting you clutch at his arms, feeling the unyielding, corded muscle press along your palms as Bakugou rises from the bed.
It doesn’t take long before Kirishima grows impatient, muscles twitching beneath your touch every time your hands drift a little lower before skirting back up to safer waters. You can feel him, the heat of his cock radiating through the air, the promise of him fucking you open hanging heavy between his legs. The bed squeaks again when Bakugou sits back on it, the warm, bare skin of his legs bracing on either side of your arms as he clicks his tongue.
“Stop being a fucking tease.” One big, calloused hand grabs yours and guides it to Kirishima’s cock, Bakugou’s dick brushing up against you as he leans forward. There’s no flinching, no swearing, no letting go on Bakugou’s end; he wraps his hand and yours around Kirishima’s cock with a surety that leaves your mind reeling, that has you imagining every single filthy thing that could’ve happened after the end of that video. “You feel how big he is?”
You part from Kirishima just far enough to look between you, to watch the sight before you. Yeah, you do.
“How fuckin’ hard he is?” There’s a groan caught in Bakugou’s growl, and it makes your pussy clench. “’S all for you.”
“Fuck—fuck, yeah it is.” Kirishima sounds breathless, slurred as he fucks up into your touch, as he watches the spread and curl of your fingers as they slide down to the thickest part of him, then back up towards the tip of his cock. “Can’t wait to give it to you, feel how good you—”
“Do it now.”
Your eyes snap wide open as you peer over your shoulder, as your voice catches in your throat at the open desire painted on Bakugou’s face. “Now? Now? Katsuki, I haven’t—”
“Haven’t what?”
Despite the challenge in his voice, you can’t help but give in to your nerves, to voice the concerns bubbling up inside you. “I thought I was gonna suck his cock—”
More precum dribbles over your fingers; Kirishima’s hips stutter. “Oh shit.”
Bakugou tsks, squeezing harshly at your waist. “Who said we’re doing what you want, huh?” 
“—and I haven’t—he hasn’t—you haven’t—”
“You’re still stretched out from earlier, aren’t you?” Bakugou’s forehead bumps against yours, the edge in his voice gone, the furrow of his brow growing shallower.
You can’t deny the tingle that races through you remembering just how full you’d been, about how it’d felt stretched out around all that girth. “Yeah.” You swallow again, sitting up a little taller, a little braver. “Yeah, I can take it.”
He bumps his forehead against yours again, pausing for a moment to brush a kiss across your mouth, gentle, fleeting. “If—”
“I know.” You kiss him before he can continue, cutting Kirishima’s own protest off with a deft twist of your hand. “I’ll say something.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The wicked gleam returns to Bakugou’s eye, his hand wrapping around your arm to drag you up and push you onto the bed. He lifts his phone and aims at your face, panning it down to your spread legs and wet cunt. “Brats and sluts are always ready to go.”
The benefit of silicone and solo play is that you can take your time. There’s a careful pace you can pick, the slow pump in and out of the toy into your body. When your nerves get too high you can pause; when your body winds too tight you can stop. You can remind yourself to breathe, collect your thoughts, and then fuck yourself a little more onto the cock.
Kirishima, for all his attentiveness, for all the gentle sweep of his hands along the curve of your waist, doesn’t have that same intuition you do. That, and the heat of it. You know he runs hot just like Bakugou, his skin searing yours whenever he slung an arm over your shoulders or wrapped you up in a friendly hug, but this? This is different. This holds a different kind of heat, a wet kind of heat that pulses and drools all over you as he ruts his shaft between your folds.
“You always—hah—get this wet?” Kirishima already sounds wrecked, eyes glued to your pussy and the desperate hug of it around his cock. “You’re soaked, baby. Think I could just slide right in.”
“Oi.” That’s all the warning you get before lube—cool and making you flinch—drizzles along the thick swell of Kiri’s cock, slipping down to the sheets and slicking along your puffy cunt. You watch as Kirishima shivers, as his hips stutter a little rocking up against you, the edge of the fat head catching along your clit. Bakugou clicks his tongue again, eyes narrowed, a pink flush along his cheeks as he watches. “Don’t just—cover your fuckin’ dick with it, shit for brains.”
He doesn’t give his best friend the chance to react before he’s reaching for Kirishima’s dick, flattening his palm along the top of it, petting the lube from tip to base and grinding it a little harder against your folds. You both keen, half of your involuntary babbling from the pressure between your legs, the other from the way Kirishima tosses his head back, the thick line of his throat bobbing as he swallows and ruts a little harder against you. The phone in Bakugou’s hand drifts a little closer to the sight; you wonder if it'll catch the low, pleased sound rumbling up from Bakugou’s chest.
“You’re both fuckin’ animals,” Bakugou sneers, voice cracked, eyes wild as he gives Kiri’s cock another little squeeze before lining it up with your greedy hole. “You gonna fuck her yet or what?”
“Yeah—yeah, I’m gonna.” It takes a moment for Kirishima to blink the haze from his eyes, to settle the rapid pace of his panting before he starts to press into you. It’s all for nothing; he grits his teeth, jaw clenching so tightly you’re almost afraid he’s going to strain something. His chest flexes, his grip tightens, and he surges forward a little more.
The heat—the stretch—the weight of it is too much. Maybe it's the fact that there’s a body attached to this weapon of a cock, maybe it’s the fact that Bakugou is muttering the filthiest things about how your pussy’s swallowin’ him up, about how you look so good spread out like this. Maybe it’s the fact that you swear you can feel him dripping more precum along your fluttering walls, can feel his heartbeat in the veins scattered along his shaft. It’s the desperate edge of anticipation and the thrum of nervous energy that has you wriggling up the bed, gasping as you fight to rein in your swirling thoughts.
“I—” You stare at the cock standing tall and shiny between Kiri’s legs, the lewd mixture of lube and slick stringing from the tip to your clit. “’S too big—”
“Why’re you running?” Bakugou grabs at your ankle, voice rough, amused as he drags you back across the mattress. “I thought you wanted to make a movie.”
“Wrong fuckin’ name.” That gets you another tug, has Kirishima’s cock kissing a little more keenly at your greedy hole with the movement.
Bakugou laughs at the look on Kirishima’s face, at the pout on yours. “Wrong person, Princess.”
“You can call me that.” The nonchalance Kirishima is trying for is ruined by the desperate glimmer in his eye, the soft part of his mouth as his teeth gleam sharp and dangerous. “You can call me whatever you want.”
The sight of him just as wanting, just as on edge has you relaxing a little under his touch, has you trailing your hands up the length of his arms to rest prettily along the wide set of his shoulders as he crowds you in.
“Eijirou,” you breathe, feeling a little smug at the way his eyes flutter at the breathy purr of your voice. “Be nice to me—”
“Hah?” Bakugou’s hand lands hard and swift on Kiri's ass, the crack of skin on skin making Kirishima’s hips jolt forward. “The fuck he is.”
Your stink eye is tempered by the feeling of Kiri slipping a little deeper inside you, choking the air from your lungs as your nails dig into his shoulders. Even wet, stretched, and leaking lube it still aches, the pressure of being filled to the point of too much making you go a little stupid as you squeal. Bakugou’s smirk gets a little bigger, and you scramble for what’s left of your self-control, for what little power you still hold when you’re pinned down and getting fucked open.
“Daddy—daddy, you’re so big—”
Kirishima’s pupils blow wide; his cock twitches inside you. You realize hazily that you might’ve fucked up saying what you did.
Big rough hands press your legs to your chest, squashing your tits, knocking the wind out of you, making you throw your head back in a soundless, wordless cry as Kirishima’s hips pump in then out. He drags that massive cock out of you just to bully it back in, a little deeper, a little harder every single time. 
“Fuck, ‘s tight. Still so tight and you’re taking me so…” He swallows, leaning back a little to look down, to soak in the sight of you stretched obscenely around his shaft. “So good, doing so good right now—”
“Holy shit.” The phone dips a little closer to your poor little hole, to your shaking legs and kicking feet. Bakugou swallows, giving his cock a few pumps, stretching the fabric of his boxer briefs along it as his hand tugs down. “Feels better when it’s the real thing, huh?”
It does. It does. Every single vein, every single ridge drags so sweetly against your walls, and every single roll of Kirishima’s hips hits something inside you that has you keening and gushing a little more around him. That and the feeling of being so helpless, of being held down and pressed flat into the mattress, of having the most intimate parts of you exposed to the two big, burly men before you…
“Ooh, fuck, Eiji—I c-can’t—”
“Liar,” Bakugou breathes again, bouncing you on the bed when he lands on the mattress, squishing your cheeks again and laughing at the glazed look in your eye. “Look. Look at how wet you are.”
He tilts your head and you whine, drooling at the sight before you. It should be impossible, the size of Kirishima fitting inside you, but it does. It does with ease, dragging slick and cream out with every draw back of his hips, pushing it back into you with every thrust forward. The muscles in Kirishima’s hips flex with every roll forward, the sharp cut of his abdomen rippling with every movement, veins popping as he growls and bears down on you a little more.
It's the weight behind each thrust, it’s the fact that he curves up perfectly to hit your g-spot. It’s the measured pace that hits hard and deep, slowly pushing you higher and higher as you struggle for air.
“God.” You’re all but sobbing, tears streaming down your face at the ecstasy building in your veins, the feeling of too sharp pleasure knifing from chest to cunt. “’M gonna—'s too—daddy, please.”
A thumb sweeps along the drool leaking out the corner of your mouth to slip back along your tongue. Bleary eyed and fucked out of your mind you roll your head to the side, watching Bakugou shimmy the waistband of his underwear down, cock bobbing angry and leaking in the air as he tucks the elastic below his balls.
“Open wide.” Bakugou’s eyes glimmer over the edge of his phone, the sharp curve of his smirk just visible beside his hand. Dutifully you part your lips and loll your tongue out, whining when all he does he rut against your mouth. “He fuckin’ you good? Fuckin’ you dumb?”
“Shit, she’s so tight—” Kirishima’s hand presses along your belly, thumb resting teasingly, meanly just above your clit. “Squeezing me so—feels like I’m gonna cum. F-fuck, I can’t—I can’t—”
He ruts into you and holds himself there, panting hard, moaning at the sound of your muffled squeal around the length of Bakugou’s cock.
“Such a good girl, such a good fucking girl fucking me, sucking him, and—” There’s another low groan accompanied with another desperate thrust out and in. “Could stay here forever—”
Finally, Kirishima’s fingers slip a little lower; finally, they slip and slide along the swollen button peeking from your folds. Lust races white hot through you, rolling your eyes back, lolling your tongue out a little more as your hips jerk and shake in Kiri’s hold.
Bakugou hisses, slapping the weight of his cock along your tongue, smearing your spit along your cheeks as he rocks his hips back and forth. “You gonna cum? Huh? You gonna cream all over his cock?”
“Stop touching her, Ei.”
You cry out when Kirishima listens, hand flying back to your hip, smearing your slick along your skin.
Bakugou snorts, grabbing at the thickest part of him to press the fat head of his cock into your mouth, nudging it against the inside of your cheek as you lick sloppy and needy along it. “Which one, Princess? Which daddy do you want?”
You sniffle, stuffed too full at both ends to figure out the best answer, to think past the buzzing need in your clit. Hazarding a guess, you meet eyes with Kirishima, pouting as best you can as you suckle on Bakugou’s cock. “Daddy, please.”
He groans, hips stuttering into you, hand drifting back between your thighs—
“The fuck?” Bakugou's hand pats at your clit once, twice, a little meanly, a little sharply. The sting feels good though, has you arching your back and choking a little more along the cock in your mouth as your boyfriend sneers and lowers the phone towards your face. “You forget whose pussy this is?”
He shifts back, dick popping from your mouth to lay heavy against your cheek as he waits.
“You think he’s gonna give you what you want? Look at him.” Both of you turn to the interloper in your bed, taking in the way he can’t stop fucking in and out of you, tiny little jerks of his hips that leaving you wanting and leave Kirishima groaning. “He likes seeing you like this. Likes hearing you beg.”
You flutter your lashes and pout a little more, trying to look as teary, as needy as you can. “Eiji?”
“Fuck—sweetheart, that’s not—” Kirishima’s words die in his throat when Bakugou shoves his cock back past your lips, gagging you around the thick swell of him. “Shit.”
“Trust me, Princess,” Bakugou grunts, shifting back once more, slapping his cock against your tongue when you stick it out and whine. “When he’s fucking his hand in the showers, he doesn’t give two shits if you cum or not. Probably just thinking about filling you up, seeing how much you can take, dreaming about how your filthy fuckin’ cunt looks covered in his cum—”
“Bakugou—bro, that’s—” Kirishima looks pained, looks a little ashamed, but it doesn’t stop him from pressing closer to you, the head of his cock hitting something so achingly good in you it has you squealing. “That’s not—”
“Bet she can’t take it all.” Bakugou grins, sharp, feral as he looks at the bewildered expression on his best friend’s face and the pinch of your brows. “Bet you it leaks out of her and makes a mess—”
“Fuck.” Kirishima jerks backward, cock slapping wet and messy up against his abs as he struggles for air. He’s staring, riveted at the slick, enticing apex of your thighs. “Dude—"
“What?” Bakugou grins, petting his knuckles down the curve of your cheek when he fucks your face a little harder. The phone tumbles to the bed, forgotten in favour of him thrusting into your mouth, in favour of him listening to your whimper and moan. “’S fine. She’ll clean it all up. Right, Princess?”
You nod as best you can, hollowing out your cheeks, one hand digging into the firm muscle of Bakugou’s ass to try and press him a little deeper down your throat. You can't help but whine when he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty, squirming around the sheets as you try to entice one of them to fill you again.
Bakugou chuckles, slapping at your cheek, purring at the way you gasp and melt as the pain flickers across your skin. “Now you gonna fuck her for real or what?”
The world spins as you’re flipped onto your stomach, hips held aloft by Kirishima’s powerful grip, head tugged upwards until your mouth is pressed against Bakugou’s cock.
“You ready?” It’s all the warning you get before you’re being fucked from both ends, every single ruthless rut from behind forcing you deeper onto Bakugou’s cock. It’s all you can do to stay propped up on your hands and knees, your arms wobbling with every shake of the bed. You’re jolted back and forth, slammed back onto Kirishima’s cock, pulled forward onto Bakugou’s. Rough hands grab and squeeze at your body, spanking your ass, smacking your tits, Bakugou’s thumb hooking along the inside of your cheek beside his shaft, Kirishima’s circling the tight ring of muscle sitting above your pussy.
It's almost too much, the overwhelming sensation of Kirishima hitting too deep and then not deep enough, of Bakugou’s cock nudging at the back of your throat and then slapping along your face.
“Fuck—fuck I’m gonna cum—I think I’m gonna—” Kirishima lets out a noise that sounds like it’s been punched out of him, the rapid smack smack smack of his hips against yours, of his balls against your clit making you arch. “Oh shit, your pussy’s too damn tight, pretty girl—"
“Me too—f-fuck, gonna cum. ‘M gonna cum, gonna paint this fithy fuckin’ mouth white—” Bakugou’s hand rests heavy along the back of your head, the sharp cut of his v drawing near than far as he pistons in and out of your mouth, as he growls at the feel of you sucking and licking sloppy along his cock. “You gonna swallow? Gonna take what I give you? Yeah, you are. Yeah, you are—”
Cum shoots hot along your tongue, the salty, earthy taste of it soothing some of the desperation brewing in your belly as you eagerly swallow it all, sucking every last drop from his twitching cock. Bakugou fucks lazily into your mouth a handful of times, chest heaving and glistening with sweat as he groans.
“Such a good fuckin’ girl—”
He lifts you effortlessly, pushes you back against Kirishima’s chest, panting and grinning as he watches his best friend paw at your tits. All the while Kirishima fucks up into you with a desperation that has you whining, that has your hand drifting between your thighs.
“Nice try, Princess.” Bakugou grins, clearly relishing the stricken expression on your face when he drawls, “Ei. Hands.”
Kirishima wraps a hand around one of your arms, then repeats it with the other, tugging you back, arching your back, leaving you helpless to do anything but take it.
“Sorry, sweetheart—so fuckin’—nn—fuck.” The pornographic squelch of him rutting against you gets a little louder, a little faster as he ups his pace, ups the force behind every single roll of his hips.
“Eiji—daddy, please.” You tip your head back but he’s not looking at you, his eyes narrowed, focused instead on the way Bakugou shamelessly gropes at your jiggling tits, strokes at the dripping folds between your legs, skimming the outside of Kiri’s cock and dancing over your neglected clit.
“Can’t wait to see it,” Bakugou growls, dragging his eyes slowly up the length of your body to meet yours. “Can’t wait to see you tryna keep all that fuckin’ cum in you.”
“’S not gonna happen. I know it, you know it, he knows it. You see how fuckin’ full you are, huh? Think there’s any room left inside this tight little—”
“Shit. O-oh, fuck, baby—don’t—‘s tight—” Kirishima sounds pained when he cries out, voice tight with raw desire as his hips drive into you. You couldn’t help it; the stutter of your walls was to be expected, what with the sinful drawl of Bakugou’s voice, the lewd suggestions he was breathing into your ear, the light slaps along your clit that weren’t enough to let you cum— “F-fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Bakugou is right. There isn’t enough room inside you. Every single rope of cum Kirishima lets out inside you is fucked out a handful of seconds later, the drip of his seed smearing sticky along the inside of your thighs as they shiver and try to clamp together. Every jolt of his hips has you lifting off the bed a little higher, the tip of his cock burying deep, hitting something so sweet and raw inside you that it makes you squeeze tighter. Makes his cum drip out a little faster.
“Look at that.” Bakugou sounds hoarse, as fucked out as you feel as he drags his fingers through the mess to slide it along your tongue, smirking at the wheezing noise Kiri makes out when he notices. “What’d you say earlier? Huh? When you were cummin’ on that fuckin’ toy?”
You shiver and clamp down a little harder, hips swaying from side to side as Kirishima lets out another pained groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he shivers.
“Well?” Bakugou’s fingers massage along the flat plane of your tongue, letting you mull over it, letting you feel the ache between your thighs, the desire to cum a little more keenly. You’re breathy, when you speak, voice wavering, eyes wet, lips swollen as you whisper,
“I made a mess.”
“Yeah.” Bakugou pulls you towards him, groaning at the cum spilling from you when Kirishima’s dick slips free, sliding down your legs hot and sticky. “Yeah, you fuckin’ did.”
He lets you grab at his wrist; lets you drag it between your thighs. Lets you press his fingers to your folds, and you sigh when he strokes along your slit, petting at the slow drool of your slick and Kiri’s cum still dribbling from you. When you feel Kirishima grabbing at your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers you keen, sinking into both sensations a little more until they both pull away, whatever silent conversation they’re holding over your shoulder making you pout as you eye the wide smiles on their faces.
Bakugou laughs, dark and deep, shifting back to splay on the bed, legs stretched out, thighs spread wide as he looks at you. Kirishima pats at your ass until you slip off the mattress to stand weak-kneed and wobbly beside the bed, pouting at the two heroes watching you with wicked grins and greedy eyes.
“What? You thought you got to cum after the shit you pulled?” Bakugou arches an eyebrow, licking at his lips, the pink of his tongue sliding obscenely along the swell of his lower lip. “Think again, Princess. You’re gonna have to work for that.”
Kirishima smiles, cheeks pink, voice eager as he tips forward a little, watching a glistening glob of cum wind its way down your leg. “Go grab the dildo. You’re gonna give us a little show.”
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rulaineyu · 2 months ago
Bathing With the Genshin Boys
Fandom: Genshin Impact
Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli, Xiao x gn!Reader
Type/Genre: Headcanons, fluff, comedic
Warnings: Some suggestive undertones but nothing explicit, not proofread
A/N: Self-indulgent fluff is my favourite uwu
Prefers showers over baths 
Carrying Mondstadt’s economy on his back while also protecting its citizens at night means there aren't enough hours in the day for him to be able to relax in a bath.
Always ends up accidentally slapping you with his hair. One moment you're enjoying the intimacy of showering with your lover, the next you’re slapped with his heavy long hair. 
Turns the water really hot but doesn’t feel it thanks to his pyro vision. You have walked out of the shower feeling like a boiled chicken on more than one occasion. 
When Diluc does take a bath, he doesn’t really understand how it works. He’s always focused on washing and getting out as quickly as possible. 
You’ll have to remind him to slow down and enjoy the moment.
Confused and a bit impatient, but relaxes when you lean your back against his chest
Very thorough when he helps wash your hair. His own hair is thick, so he knows how to get every spot without pulling at your scalp. 
It takes a long time, though, and you usually run out of patience before he’s done.
“Stay still, I’m almost done. I might accidentally pull your hair if you keep squirming like that.”
Enjoys his baths and tries to have one every day.
Uses the time to unwind and take care of himself. 
When he does take a shower, it's a very quick in-and-out. He’s a lil grumpy and tired afterwards, so please give him lots of kisses. 
While you’re running the bath, he may pretend to push you in while you still have your clothes on, but save you before you hit the water.
The next time he runs the bath, you actually push him in but don’t save him, letting him get soaked.
The two of you now do a power-stance whenever you run a bath so you don’t get pushed as easily
Never take a bubble bath with him. Concealed by the bubbles, he will randomly grab your leg to scare you.
Splashes water on your face and pours it over your head on purpose, laughing as you complain. When you reach over to give him a playful hit, he takes the opportunity to grab you and pull you closer to him
Kisses your bare shoulders, occasionally biting you.
“Mm...just a hint of shampoo and body wash. Pretty tasty, I’d say.”
Doesn’t have a preference between baths or showers 
Childe doesn’t sing often, but he likes to hum the songs of his childhood softly while bathing 
The words are barely audible, but it comes out as a comforting, low rumbling sound when you lean your ear against his back. 
Teases you if you stare at his body for too long, asking if you like what you see. 
Tries to escalate it further but you splash water into his eyes
Loves the feeling of your fingers against his skin, admiring the scars that litter his body. He’ll proudly tell you the story of each one.
Traces the patterns of the stars, the outline of the world onto your back.
When showering, he tends to forget you’re in there with him, which means he might accidently knock into you
You’ll never fall over, though, because his reflexes are fast enough to catch you before you slip.
“Ah, sorry, baby...but I guess you can say I swept you off your feet, huh?”
Zhongli goes all out when it comes to baths
Mixes some stress-relieving scented oils into the bath, scatters sweet-smelling flower petals on the surface of the water, lights candles, etc.
You tell him that he doesn’t need to put in so much work—it’s only to clean yourselves, after all—but he dismisses your worries. To him, bathtimes should be a romantic affair. And if his frivolous ways can make cleaning a more relaxing experience, then it is worth it. 
Like with Diluc, when Zhongli turns his head too fast, he ends up smacking you in the face with his long hair.
He’ll apologize profusely, washing your hair for you as apology 
Massages your shoulders as he helps you wash your back 
When the two of you are showering, he’ll flinch in surprise when he feels your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest.
Hugs you back for a moment but quickly lets go, reminding you that the two of you might slip and fall. 
“This is nice, darling, but we should save the hugs for after. It wouldn’t do if you fell and got hurt.”
Baths all the way. I can’t imagine him showering, only bathing in a rushing river, even when the water is freezing cold like a real man
Confused the first time you bring him inside to bathe. What’s the point of bathing in a tiny tub when there is a perfectly good river outside?
The first time he feels hot water, he flinches. You’ll have to turn the water slightly cold at first, slowly adjusting it until he gets used to the lukewarm temperature.
Shocked that he can sit down while bathing, but isn’t very used to it. Even though he’s had baths for thousands of years, he still prefers to stand, able to escape at a moment’s notice if needed.
Closes his eyes and stays perfectly still as you massage the shampoo into his scalp. If you stop your movements to check if he has fallen asleep, he’ll open his eyes, asking you to continue.
“Your touch is comforting. I...I like it.”
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punani · 3 months ago
i never learn (1)
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summary: two people meet at a jazz lounge; then again at burlesque performance. he let you slip away once, and he made sure to earn your time before you could even think to do something like that again. strangers to lovers with skeletons buried in the closet, the basement–but it’s all in the name of loyalty, intellect, and power.
pairing: mob!andy barber x woc!reader
word count: 21.5k (apologies, friends–self indulgent!!)
warnings: heavy!mafia/mob allusions, violence (mentions of blood, fluids, injuries), cursing, drinking, foreign languages (italian & spanish), nsfw smut 18+: two scenes, rough/desperate/needy sex, sex without a condom (numerous times), oral (f receiving), exhibitionism allusions (depends on how you look at it, just in case), praise kink, slight!degrading kink, slight!breeding kink, hair pulling, choking, sloppy kissing, slight!submissive/dominant roleplay allusions, slight!submissive/dominant space allusions, & spanking 
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Never forget that–above all–you’re one of the good ones, Andy.
Alcohol doesn’t make his head spin like it used to, and a whisper in his veins tells him that this reality will remain unchanging for the foreseeable future. Though this is true, he nurses the drink anyway; it’ll numb something within him to turn the charm on, forget about the dirty work he had to partake in not even an hour before he had to be here. 
You’re one of the good ones, Andy. 
Scoffing behind his glass, he tries to ignore his mother’s voice fluttering about his mind. Andy was a lot of things, but these days–good didn’t necessarily feel like one of them. However, he’s grown detached from the thought, because being good hasn’t done anything to get him this far. Being good wasn’t inside the legacy he was crafting after accepting his father’s torch. Being good was for when he retired. 
If he managed to make it there. 
Julian. He’s pretty sure the bartender’s name is Julian when looking at him. With eyebrows raised and a damp rag in his hands, he gestures to Andy’s near empty glass. 
Taking a glance at the racks of bottles behind the kid, Andy ponders whether or not the burn without the blissful high would be worth it. 
He needs to be sociable tonight–network to clarify and expand his territory. There was new money in town now, and he’d rather squash the bugs outside before they start infesting his home.
I love your father, but remember you’re not him, my sweet boy. 
So, he’s attending this event to make his face known; he’s seated at the bar instead of mingling of course, but he’s making his face known nonetheless. 
Attaching a face to a name means knowing what to expect: when passing by, when purposefully meeting, when one's dues need to be paid. Attaching the face to the name is the warning, so for what comes next–the chips must fall where they so choose. 
Andy didn’t want the anonymous mask–where a pseudonym makes someone shiver; he didn’t want to be his father. He was better than Big Bad Billy, smarter. 
“Yeah, sure, I’ll have another,” Andy mutters noncommittally, shifting in his seat to reach for his wallet but Julian simply shakes his head. On the house was something he doesn’t think he’ll get used to, and although he’s found confidence—Andy doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to his position in society despite working so relentlessly to get it. So, he says what he always says when his reputation grants him elite privileges, ones he despised when he watched his own father abuse them. “Thanks.”
“Anything for ya, Mr. Barber! Mr. Abrahms says so,” Julian smiles briefly, taking the glass and napkin away before leaving to get another drink; from the knowing look Andy received, he was sure the drink returned to him would be a double. 
Letting out a small scoff of a laugh at the familiar name, Andy shakes his head to himself and glances down at his watch to check the time. 11:03pm. It’s late enough that he wishes he were home, but not late enough to wonder why the main event of tonight hasn’t started yet. Criminals and their need for the late hour rendezvous. 
As he waits, he takes in his surroundings for what felt like the seventh time that night already. 
The lounge  was blanketed in a thin veil of smoke, dim lights keeping the seating area of the space comfortably lit until the grand act came on. He took note of the low murmur throughout the crowd, many of the East Coast’s Elite engaging in superficial conversation. 
Truthfully, he’s biding his time until he too will slip into the same type of dialogue that comes with the territory of reaching the top: smiles in the face with promises of future knives in serpent backs.
Forgive him for seeming like a brat, but he’s grown bored of the threats and the weak offers of building alliances. Andy didn’t do partnerships that weren’t fully vetted and with people he couldn’t trust. So, for now, he sits at the bar and observes the other people attending tonight’s exclusive opening of Nocturnal. 
All security, except for personal right hands, remained outside the premises for the most part. Weapons were checked at the threshold, but then again, it wasn’t as though blood could be shed in this territory anyway. The jazz lounge was in a neutral, sacred place–Belén’s land. 
As he scanned the crowd, there were only a few faces he didn’t recognize, and he mentally sighed in relief because this meant he wouldn’t have to stay till the dead of night. He’d rather be home, in his study, focusing on his business rather than having to play the no-nonsense schmooze so that people know where to stand when he enters a room. It gets boring, and it’s not what he signed up for. 
However, it isn’t until he’s turning back to the bar that his interest spikes. bc
Your shoes were the first thing he noticed: heeled boots that went up, up, up over the knee. It was only inevitable for him to then follow the softness of your thighs, one leg crossed over the other on the bar stool. Your white dress billows out a little, and had his distant, annoying cousin been there–he’d known you were wearing a short, layered milkmaid dress; alas, all he knew was that he’s already started having thoughts about pushing that pretty, white fabric up and off your body.
Next the notices are your wrists–one laden with a variety of expensive bracelets and the other sporting a watch. Rings, but none on the finger that matter to Andy. His eyes keep going, and he’s taking in your profile. 
Already, his fascination is growing when he catches you glancing at him from the corner of your eye. 
In another instance, Andy would’ve paid Julian, the bartender, more mind when receiving the refill, but you looked so pretty and soft only a few stools down from him. It was enticing necaise there was also something mischievous about you, like a nymphe swaying alone in a sun kissed garden–waiting for her next doomed lover.
It's been awhile since he's had something–someone to play with, and Andy's always been one to capitalize on a blooming opportunity before him.
"What's your poison?" He asks smoothly, sliding into the seat beside you as if he belonged there. Evidently, he ignored the glances two of his men gave him from their discreet posts in the lounge, simply not wanting to miss a single reaction from you as he pursued your conversation.
There's no hiding your amusement, brow quirking and eyes following his every movement as he settles next to you.
"Why...Planning on buying me another?" You run one manicured finger along the rim of your glass, shooting the question back while looking him up and down carefully.
From an outsider, it was growing hard to see who was the predator and who was the prey. Yet, that's what makes most things exciting–the unpredictability.
"I am if you tell me your name."
You seem bashful when you giggle at his quick response, turning away from him briefly before returning to your original position; that's when the bashfulness slips away and is replaced by something else.
"Is that your hook?"
All his life, Andy’s had a natural gift for reading people. Body language, speech pattern changing, the slightest of tells–he could read ten people in a room and adapt before even approaching them. It’s what he was good at and had a right to be cocky about. Yet, in this one exchange alone, something tells him he’ll have to ask in order to see into your mind. Fascinating. 
He could hear the amusement in your tone, and that spurred him on to see what kind of game he could play. 
“Nah,” He clears his throat, shaking his head and briefly looking down. You don’t know it, but his eyes flicker to the exposed skin between the softness of your dress and the peek-a-boo black fur of your crushed velvet boots; he wonders how warm you must be. “I don’t need a hook to know you’re leaving with me tonight.”
“Oh, wow. I find your confidence refreshing,” You squint at him, but your lips quirk at his blatant boldness. This kind of chase was different: the two of you laying cards out on the table, leaving the other person to figure out what to do with them in a limited time frame. 
“Haven’t met someone who doesn’t, so what’s your name?” He’s giving you a lazy, charming grin and you’d be dead lying if you said the sight didn’t make your stomach do a miniscule somersault at least. You go back to running one of your fingers against the rim of your glass as you maintain eye contact. It’s clear that both of you are entertained by this conversation, finding some kind of enjoyment in one another’s company as opposed to the mundane wealth embedded in everyone else. 
“You’re a persistent one aren’t you…” You trail off, and Andy makes a split second decision. 
"Andrew," He fills in the gap for you, simultaneously reaching his hand out as he formally introduces himself. The handshake is firm, warm, soft, and most definitely leaves the two of you lingering for a stolen touch; not that either of you would cave and admit that, for then this game of who jumps first will be over.
That's much too boring.
"Andrew," You repeat, trying the two syllables on your tongue like freshly picked, ripe fruit.
You're one of the good ones, Andy.
Andy may be considered a good man by another’s opinion, but he can't help the instinctual thought of what you would sound like whimpering his name as he had you beneath him. He wonders if you'd beg, if you'd plead for him to let you cum with those pretty eyes and tongue that's sharper than a Japanese knife.
Squinting your eyes just a bit, you stay silent for a moment before a small, knowing smile plays out on your mouth.
"You don't go by Andrew though...You don't look like an Andrew," You offer, twisting your mouth to the side as you think about your little teasing detective spiel.
"What gives you that impression?" Andy chuckles, placing his glass back down on the countertop. The rest of the lounge seems to turn into white noise as he speaks to you, getting lost in your way of being able to lure even the most cautious man into your damning meadow.
Raising an eyebrow at his question, you shift so that you're seated a bit straighter on your bar stool before you begin lifting off your reasoning.
"Sharp suit. Nice watch. Hair's well kept. Expensive drink. Cocky attitude...Nah...You're not an Andrew," Shaking your head, you put your fingers down back onto your lap and reach for your own glass to take a swig. You don't need the liquor in all honesty, his gaze during this conversation makes you warm enough. Humming appreciatively at the burn twinging your throat, you vaguely hear the sound of your own glass meeting the countertop once again. 
“So, your logic is that I can have nice things, but I can’t be named Andrew,” Andy teases carefully, wanting to see if he was understanding your logic fully. You look at him with an unwavering glint in your eyes, a small apple forming in your cheek as one side of your mouth lifts higher in a poorly masked smile. 
“Oh, you could be named Andrew on paper, I’m not doubting that,” You start out, only to lean forward a bit as if you were about to divulge a gateway into your mind. Subconsciously, Andy leans forward as well, and he doesn’t know if it’s a mistake that he’s caught whiff of how good you smell: the first scent he catches is cinnamon and it immediately reminds him of his grandmother’s infamous cinnamon rolls wafting through the kitchen. “You don’t dress like an Andrew, though. That’s my logic.”
“And how is an authentic ‘Andrew’ supposed to dress?” Andy feels nothing but  intrigue as he leans in closer. 
The smell of cinnamon becomes stronger, but it’s mixed with a warm perfume that makes Andy’s mind cloud for a moment. It’s dangerous that he’s already becoming addicted, and he hasn’t even had the pleasure of touching more than your hand.
“A schmuck,” You shrug, speaking matter of factly.
“A schmuck?” Andy chuckles, looking at you a bit incredulously even though you just give him a smile and a nod in return. You stand by what you said firmly, telling him that Andrew works nine to five and has a miserable wife with three kids at home. He was much too good looking to be some schmuck named Andrew, and he seemed much too interesting to go by that name as well. 
“Good looking, huh?” You roll your eyes at his teasing, picking up your glass to finish the rest of your drink without even flinching. Andy doesn’t even have time to be impressed.
“Don’t act all modest now, Andrew. You wouldn’t be so arrogant with approaching me if you didn’t have a clue,” You playfully accuse, and Andy watches you with an equally matched playfulness. He won’t deny it–he was attracted to you; this conversation was like foreplay to him, and now he felt like a man on a mission to make his earlier arrogance come to fruition–you were gonna leave with him tonight. “So, come on–what’s your real name?”
Your tone is still playful yet encouraging, and you’re propping one elbow up on the bar top while your fist presses against your resting cheek. Andy’s brows furrow, but he still looks at you with a twinkle of amusement and a smile that didn’t leave. 
“What do you mean? I may not be a schmuck, but my name is actually, Andrew,” He laughs, and you let your eyes roll a bit at his response. 
“Men are always hard of hearing…” You trail off, letting out a small sigh as your lashes flutter before opening slowly as if you were regaining your patience in order to start your explanation again. “I don’t doubt your name’s Andrew, I doubt that’s what you go by with the whole...let me intimidate you from a distance thing you’ve got going on.”
Lazily, you gesture to him, and Andy snorts. 
Somehow, you’re not totally wrong in your superficial reading of him, but he’s not going to stroke the go he’s sure rests beneath the tip of your iceberg. 
“Brooding at the bar in a jazz lounge? Doesn’t scream friendly, baby,” You tease, and Andy doesn’t have a retort because from an outside perspective–he’s sure that’s probably another accurate perception. However, the slip of the pet name from you has something stirring within him already. 
“Oh, really, and what are you doing then?” Andy quips, but you’re quicker than he is. 
“Enjoying the fact that my plan worked,” You muse, your head bobbing a bit as you speak with your cheek still pressed against your hand. 
“You sitting here flirting with me,” You put simply–still mischievously smiling a little, and something tells Andy that you’re a whirlwind of trouble, but one that is so worth it if experienced properly. Either way, your implied confession stuns Andy for a moment, and the only thing he can think to say is that you’re right–he doesn’t go by Andrew, he goes by Andy. 
This has you looking him up and down once again, only to shake your head and sit up straight. 
“Andy’s a boy next door...Andy’s the guy I’d take home if I wanted to settle for mundane and safe...Andy’s sweet, you’ know what–what’s your last name?” You ask without thinking, twisting your mouth to the side as you analyze his appearance only to lock eyes with him once again. Distantly, there’s the sound of soft instrumentals and the clinking of glasses being lost between words, but all Andy can focus on is how expressive your eyes are.
“You gonna stalk me, darlin’?” He asks in response to your question, deciding to gloss over your little rambling analysis. It’s clear that you have the tendency to let yourself wander, but you merely scoff and wave his question off. 
“You wish you were important enough for me to spend that much time on you.”
“At this point, I do,” Andy nods, only looking away from you to pick up his glass and let the burn glide down his throat: lava to a hill, no pleasure. You’re quiet when Andy looks back at you, and before he can let it sink in that his flirtatious retort threw you off course for a second you’re diverting the conversation.
“Last name, Andrew who goes by Andy,” You requested again, and Andy finds it hard to deny you when you look at him like that.
“S’Barber,” He slightly slurs after a moment, and like his first name–you’re repeating his last once again; it’s like trying out a new dessert, acclimating yourself with the new tastes coating your buds. 
“Mr. Barber, hmm? Now that could fit your little intimidating schtick,” You nod, only to then fully turn to the bar and press your palms into the bar top and lean over just a bit. The skirt of your dress falls slightly, bottom raising off the stool a little as you move to call for Julian. It’s only natural for Andy’s eyes to flicker towards the movement, but he’s quick to look back at your profile before imagining something that’ll make his pants tight. 
“JJ, will you be a doll and refill me please? ...Oh, and don’t forget to put everything on Mr. Barber’s tab...He was so gracious as to cover my drinks tonight.” 
Julian’s eyes flitter between you and Andy, damp rag in his hand as he stops from flipping it over his shoulder. He looks caught between a crossroads for a moment, and it’s clear that the kid is debating whether or not to follow through with that request. 
Andy’s nothing less than amused and absolutely intrigued by your antics. Expectantly watching Julian, a twinkle appears in your eyes that mirrors your unwavering confidence. 
“Uh, Mr. Barber doesn’t have a–”
“Nah, don’t worry about it, kid. You heard the woman…” Soft instrumentals continue to play in the murmur of the background, and Andy’s eyes move from your profile to Julian’s face. With a quirk at the corner of his mouth, he finishes his statement even though it’s unnecessary. “I insist.” 
The two words have you taking a glance at Andy, but you’re humming to yourself and happily sitting back in your chair with the remnants of an almost triumphant smile on your face; with jubilance, you push your empty glass and napkin towards Julian who seems much less hesitant thanks to the previous reassurance. Taking in your reaction to you getting what you want, Andy’s earlier suspicions of you being a brat are confirmed–but there’s something else mixed in with the ideology. 
Something that makes him want to give you any and everything, just so he can see how much gratitude he can possibly receive from you. 
All these thoughts in such a short span of interaction; it’s dangerous. 
“So, why are you here?” 
You’re not caught off guard by the question, but your posture shifts and you quirk a brow at him. There’s no defensiveness in your appearance, but perhaps you’re someone who could beat him at poker.
“Well, Mr. Barber. The same way that you’re here,” You tease, only to take your gaze away from him to thank Julian for the newly replenished drink. There’s a familiarity between your movements and the bartender’s, as if the two of you have had more than just over the countertop rapport. Had you not called Julian by a nickname, the encounter would’ve planted a seed of you seeming to be more involved than you’re letting on. Once again, intriguing. 
“How do you run in the same circles as Arthur Abrahms?” Andy asks with a lilt in his tone, his drink becoming an afterthought. It’s not the most becoming trait he has, but Andy loves to catch others in their web of lies. Whether it would be mid-spin, a finished product, or the beginning of the beauty spiders create–Andy relishes in the moment he’s able to catch the budding flaw on a silver tongue. Not a becoming trait, but it is a truth behind his character nonetheless. 
I love your father, but remember you’re not him, my sweet boy. 
Your tongue? Your tongue seemed like it could make a metaphorical werewolf nearly squeal in pain if you licked its wounds. 
He doesn’t show it, but he’s somewhat impressed by your ability to keep up the unphased look on your face. If anything, your nonchalance seemed to just grow as you held eye contact with him over the rim of your glass while taking a sip. 
Andy’s testing you for one simple reason: you stick out like a sore thumb in this exclusive opening of Nocturnal. Old and new money, people who have kill lists and literal bodies in their basement, corrupt state officials, and those who don’t know the meaning of trust over power–everyone in here was a ravenous coyote, traveling alone and wreaking havoc on those unfortunately deemed as fleshy prey. Though people had roots here–connected to the state of Massachusetts–everyone in here was a feral, rabid,  charlatan depiction of what they hoped to appear as: good citizens who are upholding different parts of their nation through their family businesses. 
You looked like you belonged somewhere else, somewhere brighter. You looked like you remained authentic, untouched by the disease of conning others to get ahead. You looked like trouble, but not the kind that would result in someone being handled quickly and quietly; it was the kind of trouble that made his pants tight, made him want to take you in the bathroom just so he could watch your face in the mirror as he took you from behind. 
“Maybe you just don’t know all of Artie’s circles, babe,” You muse playfully, not paying Andy’s shift in expression any mind as you drink once again. 
You may stick out like a sore thumb, but your answer made it clear that you had some kind of business here because you caught the slip up. 
Anyone who knew Arthur Abrahms knew that he hated being called Arthur by those he deemed as friends. Even after everything done to him, the love in the over-middle aged man’s heart still remained as full as ever. 
Artie Abrahms was a treasure, and anyone on the East Coast would stand by that statement tenfold; especially considering the history behind the man’s family. So, to be in one of his circles was commendable in one way, despite the sins that may linger on one’s soul. 
“Touché, sweetheart,” Andy huffs out a laugh, feeling a tad stumped by your ability to have a retort for everything he says to you. Humming at his subtle white flag, you cross one leg over the other and turn your body back to him; one of your elbows is propped on the bar countertop, hands clasped together as you lean your head on your shoulder. 
“So, you’ve had your question, is it my turn now?” You’re mocking him a little bit, he can see it in the way you smile and relax your posture just a bit. 
“Something tells me my answer doesn’t matter,” He theorizes, and your smile widens just a tad.
“You’re right, it doesn’t. Good boy for catching on,” Your voice drops slightly at the end, tone turning more sultry as you praise him; a foreign dryness threatens Andy’s throat, but he doesn’t have time to analyze the confusing, bodily response to your words. 
“Let’s see, let’s see, let’s see–mm, I know. I’ll do you one better...Why don’t we play a game?” 
It’s the first time that you touch him, your foot brushing up against his leg when you lean in close enough for him to notice the clear curl of your lashes in the dim lighting. He doesn’t lean back, instead moving a little forward as if trying to keep prying ears away from whatever you might suggest.
“A game?”
“Mm-hmm,” You nod. “One that keeps tonight interesting, because something tells me that you and JJ might be my only source of authentic entertainment tonight.”
He doesn’t know what you mean by that, but it’s foolish to think that you’d grant him an explanation. The two of you, despite the evident chemistry, are strangers at the end of the day. You’re strangers surrounded by people who don’t fall into the category of morally grey—they’re purely immoral. 
Never forget that–above all–you’re one of the good ones, Andy.
He waits for you to fill in the gaps of his confusion, divulge the details of whatever little game you apparently had planned for the two of you. 
“We’ll call it what’s your poison.”
Andy’s eyebrow quirks, and the corner of his mouth twitches. Evidently, you’re teasing him for the cliché attempt at starting a conversation.
By now, it’s safe to say the both of you have captured each others’ full attention, a daring energy lingering between the proximity of your respective postures. 
“Never heard of it–
“Let me finish,” You giggle, playfully chiding him but making it clear that he should keep his mouth shut until you’ve finished.
“It’s the classic game of: guess what I’m drinking,” You begin, even making a gesture to your glass that still has some of your drink of choice in it. Andy’s eyes follow, and you continue. “But there’s a catch...You gotta guess without asking JJ–Julian, and you can’t drink it yourself either.”
Having been in the arena of handling the family business, taking the torch and making it his own, Andy could tell when there was an ulterior motive behind someone’s proposal. Your small, sly grin confirms his suspicions. 
“Seems like you’re tryna set me up for failure,” Andy accuses, eyes narrowing playfully. At his statement, your expression only deepens.
The difference between predator and prey is cognizance.
“Me? Never, Mr. Barber,” You tease, leaning into him just enough to make him think that maybe you’ll let your hand graze against him. However, you simply run your eyes over his figure greedily, and Andy pretends to not notice the way you squeeze your thighs together just a little. When you meet his eyes again, there’s no denying the ideology behind you being trouble. 
“I always play fair,” You claim, an airy lilt to your tone.
“Oh, really? Then what’s in it for me if I get it right?” Andy’s blue eyes search your face, taking in the neat threading of your eyebrows to the cute pout of your cupid’s bow. At his question, you twist your mouth to the side, eyes fluttering up to the ceiling in a faux display of thinking. It ends nearly as soon as it began.
“I’ll tell you my name if you win,” You offer, and it’s then that he realizes you’ve circles around him. Your ability to evade questions, flip the script, and have someone eating out of your hand is impressive; it makes him think that perhaps you’d be a force if argued against in court. Ironic. 
“And if you win?” 
“Well, when I win, then it’s simple,” You sigh out, leaning back from him as you speak. Your warmth–your sweetness–was no longer the sole focal point of Andy’s attention, and the distance disappoints. Yet, your following actions don’t: taking one manicured finger along the rim of your glass, collecting the residual droplets that would soon no longer be safe from the confines of your mouth. A heat creeps up his neck when he watches you eventually pull your fingers away from your lips.
That look from before, the one that came just before you tried to hide your attempt of relieving some of your budding arousal–it’s back. A fire rests in your eyes this time, and Andy’s starting to have an inkling to whom the predator and prey are respectively in this situation. Still, he waits expectantly for you to finish. 
You don’t end up saying anything right away, instead studying him for a brief moment. He doesn’t know whether it’s the second hand smoke, the delirious fatigue that accompanies spending too much time with others, or simply you leaning forward to gently press your fingers against his tie that makes him start to feel a little light headed.
The last option seems most plausible, because you lean forward even more and let the soft fabric split between your fingers for a moment; Andy doesn’t even have time to realize what you’re doing before you tug him forward just a bit. He’s sure you can smell the alcohol on his breath, but he’s more focused on how misleading your presence is. From afar, you seem harmless–a beautiful flower budding the expanse of an untouched garden, but something about that way you look at him resembles something wolfish and mischievous: he was right to view you as a nymph in a white dress. 
“When I win,” You begin carefully, eyes staying locked on his own as you make sure all he can see, think, and pay attention to is you; eyes flicker to lips, and heartbeats try to decipher the attraction without giving too much away. “I get to have you tonight, and you can’t be clingy afterwards.” 
Andy’s breath hitches a tad, just enough for you to hear it thanks to your close proximity. 
Somehow, before you even allowed him the opportunity to sit by you–Andy was cast as the prey. He was your prey, and he finds this push and pull more exciting than he should–especially with someone not in his inner circle.
Many would not have gotten away with some of the shit you’ve done and said already tonight, but he’s entranced by you, put under your spell as you sway, dance, and lure him to the depths of your meadow. 
“What do you say, Mr. Barber?” Your breath fans his lips, and your nose is a mere tilt away from brushing against his. To anyone else, it would seem like you were about to kiss. However, you’re laying out the trap and waiting for him to fall in. “Think that’s a fair enough game for you?”
You seem to revel in making Andrew “Andy” Barber equally enraptured and intimated by you, smirking at the way he licks his lips and struggles to formulate an answer for a moment. His tie suddenly feels too tight, but it’s probably just a misdirection of the uncomfortable restriction growing in his slacks. 
“I don’t think you know the meaning of fair, forcing me to guess somethin’ an’hopefully get it right by the grace uh’God just so I can have your name?” 
Your eyes narrow, and suddenly you’re releasing him. No longer are you letting your high-heeled foot rub against his leg. No longer are you holding his tie, opting to tuck it back in and give it a quick pat. No longer are you a breath of a kiss away from him, leaning back so that you were at square one when he first sat next to you: no longer touching. 
It’s dangerous that he already doesn’t like that. 
“The only grace you should care about is the one I’m willing to give you, Andy.”
You say it matter of factly, nonchalantly, and he doesn't even have your full attention as you say it. Rather, your priority is on lifting your glass, taking a look at it before you finally glance at him again. Taking a drink, you notice the way he opens his mouth to speak–to question, but he’s soon interrupted by none other than Arthur “Artie” Abrahms making his voice heard over the dwindling instrumentals and muttering between criminals through the moderately sized stage. 
“Goodnight, everyone–thank you for coming. Know some of you elsewhere, but still thanks for comin’ anyway,” Artie laughs and earns a chorus of chuckles at his insinuation, and he too sports a playful grin from underneath the mellow spotlight shining on him. 
Despite his ability to remain a kid at heart, Artie Abrahms was not a kid–not by a long shot. He was in his late fifties, soft bodied and overflowing with a goodness that should be reserved for those who are deserving of such treatment. 
There’s a similarity between you and the man everyone adores: neither of you look like you belong in a den of ravenous monsters, but looks can be deceiving. 
Artie has a small spiel, simply saying that he hopes all of his friends here understand why he had to open this place in Belén’s Land. A silence falls amongst the crowd as he speaks, all–who are knowing of the suffering he’s endured–seem to understand that weight of his words. However, Andy, unfortunately cannot look away from your profile for long enough to make it seem like he was paying a shrivel of attention to Artie. 
“...But without further ado...Please welcome tonight’s entertainment–Ruby Lafé!”
There’s a fluttering of applause, and a thick woman soon takes the place that Artie once stood. Her dress glitters in the light, hugging wide hips and a very healthy display of cleavage. Hair pinned back in an old fashioned style, her face is free to be seen by everyone in here.
Ruby Lafé was beautiful–big and beautiful in every sense of the words. Anyone with eyes could see that, but for those who doubt this notion: when she opens her mouth to begin singing, the statement reigns as true as ever. 
Though he doesn’t have a clear view of your face, Andy can still see the way you subtly bite your bottom lip and scan over the woman who stands on stage. 
“So, in or out?”
You’re not looking at him when you ask the question, but he can still hear you clearly due to Ruby not beginning her set quite yet; people were still getting situated at various tables, and the show never begins until all attention is on the one who matters the most at that moment. Either way, Andy’s brows furrow briefly in confusion, only for him to understand what you were asking him: in or out of the proposed game. 
“I don’t know...Seems like you’re tryna trick me,” He muses playfully, and that’s when you turn back to him. Your glass is in your hand, and you quirk a brow at his statement. Yet, there’s still an airy tone to your presence and voice. 
“You know what...I’ll let you be the decider of that, Mr. Barber,” You banter, tipping your glass up to your lips as you take a healthy swig. You clear your throat after the first one, but you’re quick to take another and finish the rest of the drink off.
“How am I supposed to guess if you won’t let me have a taste?” 
There’s a residual drop on your lip when you place the glass back on the countertop; with ease, your tongue pokes out to collect it and it should be shameful that Andy has the cliché thought of wishing it were his own.
At his question, you look at him, and that familiar, lopsided smile graces your features as you look him up and down. Andy’s nose scrunches when you move to get off your barstool, giving Julian a soft glance and wave before looking back at him again. 
Predator or prey?
Stepping forward, you’re close enough that you’re able to look down and reach one hand out to smooth out his tie; subsequently, you’re able to feel the firmness of his chest beneath the layers of fabric and your hum of approval sparks a prideful burst within him. 
It feels like forever when you lock eyes with Andy again, staying close enough that your side brushes up against his leg and he can smell the sweetness that radiates off of you in delicious waves.
“I’m sure you can figure something out, Artie doesn’t have...incompetent friends,” You speak carefully, loud enough for him to be the only one who hears you; at least, he wants to believe that’s your intention. Your head’s tilted to the side a little before you’re standing up straight, patting his fixed tie twice, throwing him the same smile. “Try and do it before I turn into a pumpkin, yeah? I’m not the most patient woman.”
Your words leave no room for discussion, but it’s not as though that mattered anyway–you were turning and walking away from and into the pit of the lounge to comfortably listen to the beginnings of Ruby Lafé’s sweet timber coming through the amplifiers. 
One thing that’s never changing about this lifestyle: Andy’s never without company for too long. For instance, he can’t even begin to think of how he’s meant to win your game, ideas interrupted by one of his men checking in with him to confirm the hit that was currently happening across two towns.
Aforementioned, whenever an opportunity arises, Andy makes damn sure to capitalize. 
In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. 
“Just handle it,” Andy grunts, feeling a sense of frustration from having to partake in a conversation that shouldn’t even be happening; so, though it’s not the most respectful thing, Andy speaks to the man in question–Benji–without taking his eyes away from you. 
Standing close enough that the whispered conversation doesn’t interrupt the melodic hum of Ruby’s voice but far enough to show respect for Andy’s personal space, Benji presses on despite the three word dismissal. 
“But what about the leak? Aunt Nellie told us–”
“I already took care of the mole, Nell knows that,” Andy interrupts, finally looking away from you and at one of the younger members of the Barber family business. Watching the way Benji shifts slightly, trying to keep his face from betraying any anxious emotion, Andy keeps the same level tone with a soft narrowing of his blue eyes. “Like I said before, handle it. It’ll do ya some good to remember who to listen to, Benji.”
That’s as much of a dismissal as any, and Andy doesn’t spare him another glance before he’s looking over at you again. 
Truthfully, he didn’t enjoy being detached at times, putting on this mask of the stoic head to a lethal snake. He didn’t enjoy dismissing those who would die for him, those who have killed for him. He didn’t enjoy it, but it was the way it was meant to be at times. 
Though it wasn’t necessary in this instance, since Benji was simply covering all of the bases–being thorough, one thing Andy could never stand was others disrupting the path towards his goals. For instance, all he wanted to do was beat you at your own game, show you just how good he was–could be. He wanted to get inside of that pretty little head of yours, see what makes you so...enigmatic. 
“Got it, sir,” Benji says firmly, but at a low decibel. It doesn’t matter anyway, because Andy checked out of the conversation already. 
Now, he’s more focused on whether or not he wants to win or lose.
He wins, he gets your name. Names are worth something, and the fact that Andy can’t place who you are–who you’re associated with is more than intriguing; a name could answer a lot of questions with the amount of influence–hereditary and earned–he has in general. 
However, he loses, he gets to have you. Underneath? On top? Doesn’t matter. He’d get to have you in his bed, probably before then too. 
He wonders if you could feel his eyes on you, causing you to turn and lock eyes with him. Even with the distance, he can see the small smirk appear on your face as you subtly raise your finger to tap against your watch; the words ‘tick tock’ can be read clear as day on your lips, and he shifts in the barstool when you uncross your legs and move to stand. 
His eyes follow you as you seem to float toward a threshold located by the live band playing, disappearing between the deep coloured curtains as if vanishing between a sea of overgrown trees.
“Closing your tab, Mr. Barber?” Eyes still trained on the threshold beneath the soft glowing sign reading lavatories, Andy passively acknowledges the question but it ultimately falls on deaf ears when the beginnings of a plan start circulating his mind. 
They say where there’s a will, there’s a way, and Andy’s willpower to beat you at your game of what’s your poison simply grew with every smooth stride he took in the direction you ventured. 
You’ve gotta be smarter than all of them, Andy–including your father. 
“Took you long enough,” You look like the cat that ate the canary when you smile at him, leaning against the opposite wall while you play with the ring on your pointer finger. “Almost thought I’d have to remind you about my relationship with patience.”
You’re teasing him, but Andy doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind, because although this game feels like a double edged sword–the good kind–he’s grown to realize he’ll win either way. 
“Maybe that’s something you can improve on,” He muses, taking in the way you seem to analyze his every move. At his comment, you’re letting out the faintest of laughs, one that has him wondering if your moans would be even more breathless if he toyed with your body just right. 
“I see someone has jokes.”
“I have a lot of things,” He shrugs, the corners of his mouth quirking when he notices your eyes flicker up and down his form briefly. 
“So then I suppose you have an answer to the infamous question?” 
“Nah, not yet.”
Andy’s not surprised at the sight of your small frown–no doubt stemming from confusion at his answer. Good, that means you won’t have any inkling about his freshly formed plan on how to guess without trying or knowing the drink himself. 
“Well,” You sigh out, feigning disappointment as you ease up off of the wall slightly. Your bottom lip just out a tad–exhibiting a pout that he hesitates to classify as genuine. “Don’t wear your pretty little head out, I guess, Barber–we can’t all be clever.”
Now that causes him to let out a scoff of a laugh and shake his head, the remnants of a smile remaining even as he clicks his tongue at your not-so-subtle dig.
“What? Did I strike a nerve?” 
Your pout deepens, and rather than say anything–Andy takes slow steps towards you in the moderately sized corridor. 
“No,” He says carefully, impressed that you don’t step back at first; however, his head cocks to the side a bit as he takes his turn to give you a once over as he crowds your space but leaves enough room for you to leave if wanted. “I think you’re much too sweet for your brattiness to hurt.”
Ironically, it seems as though he’s the one who strikes a nerve, your breath seeming to hitch in surprise when he categorizes your behaviour.
“I’m not a brat–”
“And I’m not a schmuck,” He says simply, shrugging one shoulder as if saying ‘potato, potahto’ in this situation. You don’t move until he steps forward again, and Andy hums when your back presses against the wall once again. 
In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the notion that the two of you aren’t alone–not really. 
Of course, there’s the illusion of isolation from nearly everyone else in this corridor, but Andy knows better. At the drop of a hat, if something were to go left–his associates would have you dealt with in under five minutes; yet, looking at you, being close enough to smell the sweet scent lingering in your orbit, something tells Andy that you may be a predator who can easily spot prey–but you’re not reckless. 
“Do you have an answer, or are we going to be here all night?” You ask, but the bite in your tone is nowhere to be seen. If anything, it’s as though his blatantly close proximity has melted a layer of your resolve, allowing him to see what the upper hand might be like for a moment. 
“We don’t have to be here all night, s’long as you’re alright with my method of guessing,” Andy voices, erasing more space between the two of you as he takes one final step. 
There’s nowhere for either of you to go, and his eyes search your face for a multitude of reasons: asking for permission, gauging your reaction, taking you in for himself. It feels natural for him to slowly reach a hand up, giving you enough time to reject his touch and put this entire thing to bed; once again, you don’t move away. If anything, you slightly lean into cupping the side of your face, your eyes widening a tad when Andy brushes his thumb against your bottom lip before sliding his hand to the base of your skull so that you have no option but to look at him.
Your gaze is as unwavering as ever. 
“Be my guest, baby. I’m interested to see what you come up with.”
Your voice is soft, expectant. It’s like the two of you are teetering on the edge of something, both waiting for the other person to pounce since Andy’s intention was made clear. He hums again when you tilt your head back into his touch, and his tongue darts out to run over his lips in anticipation. 
Tick tock, as you said yourself. 
When the gap closes, his first thought pertains to him being right: you are sweet. 
Glossed lips soft against his own, Andy takes his time when it comes to exploring your mouth. He doesn’t kiss you hesitantly but deliberately, as if making a careful introduction to one of many to come. 
It’d be a lie to say that Andy hasn’t had his fair share of women, and it would be another lie to say this kiss was earth shattering–the kind that the romantic dramas glamorize with an orchestra and arranged lighting. However, Andy can’t deny the emerging thought of him being attracted to the way you taste, the way you respond to him. 
On the other side of the corridor, the slightly muffled sound of Ruby Lafé 
You moan when he deepens the kiss, tongue making its way into your mouth as his free hand slides to the small of your back while the other slightly tightens at the base of your skull. The two of you are sharing slivers of air, getting lost in the moment like teenagers with a slew of hormones that need to be dealt with. 
He almost forgot why he was kissing you for a second, almost.
“Mmmph,” You pout when he pulls away, subconsciously following his lips for a second before your lashes flutter open and you’re facing him. Through your dress, you can feel the warmth of where his hands touch you, keeping you steady as you unknowingly clutch onto the lapels of his suit jacket. 
“Funny, something told me you’d be a gin and tonic typa girl,” Andy drawls a little, taking in the way your eyes flicker to his mouth before finding his gaze again. 
“That the best you can do? Kinda a basic answer,” You lament, and Andy’s breathy chuckle fans across your face. If there was one thing you weren’t going to do, it was make it easy for him. 
Andy would have to work for everything he wants from you, and he had more than enough resilience to bear whatever necessary in this moment. 
“Mmm, s’that so? Ya askin’ me to be more thorough?” He teases quietly, and you look at him with a familiar glint in your darkened eyes. 
“I think highly encouraging is a better word.” 
He didn’t win the battle, but from where he stands–he’s adamant on winning the war. 
Andy firmly believed that when you whimpered into his mouth, moving your hips in attempts to press away from the wall and further into him.
Your skin is warm and soft against his hands while he holds you up, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs at first; it’s as though he doesn’t know if he wants to take you apart slowly or devour you for teasing him all night. 
When he presses you back into the bedroom wall, prominent bulge beginning to strain against his zipper and fingers skirting up to the juncture of your thigh, he makes his decision.
“This is what you wanted tonight? S’that why ya decided to be a tease with no panties?”
His breath hits the shell of your ear with amused condescension, and you absentmindedly still try to chase his increasingly addictive kiss. The moans you try to stifle are heard by him nonetheless, prompting him to roughly grind against your bare heat. He must’ve known it would’ve been more difficult for you to respond when he slid one of his hands up to your neck, gently squeezing his fingers to test your waters.
“Answer me, mio piccolo fuoco,” Andy grunts out, and your brain can’t register the name he calls you when he grasps your eye contact. 
Your coupled actions are brazen, classless, and near uncouth: the bedroom door is open, and you two verge on wanting to fuck with your clothes still on. 
No doubt, your slickening core is ruining the front of his pants, but he can’t bring himself to care; all he can focus on is the wave of defiance that flashes across your face when he attempts to prompt your submission. 
“Muérdeme, bello,” You grunt out with a smirk, causing Andy to falter his movements as you then swallow a breathy moan. 
“Stai giocando con me?” He teases, noticing the small tells hinting at you not fully understanding him. Either way, he continues to move his hand from your neck to your face, fingers splayed across your jaw before he presses his digits into the flesh of your cheeks to purse your lips for a brief moment. “Ti rovino.”
Everything seemingly temporary has a smattering of blurred moments, ones that lead to a larger, more fleeting picture. 
This was no different, and the main miracle rests in Andy shutting the door closed to shield the next events from the men who were further down the hall–hiding in the shadows and knowing when gazes should be averted. 
He’s on you just as soon as you hit the plush bed, making sure to keep the skirt of your dress hiked up high as he easily slots himself between your spread legs. 
Suddenly, it’s as though he’s wearing too much for your liking. Truthfully, he found it adorable in a way: how you still tried to bow your body into lips while pushing the blazer off his shoulders with minimal help from him. 
“So needy already,” He hums quietly, lips grazing your neck before pressing a wet kiss over one spot that has you rutting up into him.  
However, he has you mistaken to an extent, for you’re soon enough threading your fingers into the hair at the base of his skull and pulling him away from the cinnamon and cocoa butter smell of your skin. 
“You act like you don’t want to be inside me, Andrew,” You laugh out with a heavy breath, a fire in your eyes as you force him to look at you. 
Calling you an enigma wouldn’t do you justice, because it has been a long–maybe never–time since he’s felt stunned in such close quarters. You take note of this, and next thing Andy knows–his back hits the bed while your dress billowed out over your thighs as you straddle him. 
Leaning down so your mouth is by his ear, he struggles between focusing on the low purr of your words or or how he can feel your cunt pulse on top of him through his ruined fabric. 
“Don’t make this something it’s not, baby,” You whisper, practically verbalizing your pout; Andy feels the warmth creep up his neck when you reach between your bodies to untuck his now half buttoned shirt and begin undoing his slacks. “I told you the rules of the game, and you lost...I want my prize.”
The snide retort gets caught in the back of his throat, and he grabs your ass tightly when you slide your soft hand beneath the barriers to his skin; you merely hold him at first, letting the weight of him in your palm for a moment. 
Letting your free hand cradle his bearded cheek, you turn your head to press a chaste kiss to the side of his face before you’re moving so that your lips then brush against his. It isn’t until then that you swipe your thumb across his leaking tip, proceeding to rub the pad of the digit along the head and slit. 
“Be a good boy and play fair, hmm?”
In mere moments, you’ve turned the tables on him, throwing that same condescending tone back into his face; the cherry on top most certainly him subtly trying to rut into your hand. 
Your words set something off within him, and it’s a shame he wouldn’t have a token of ruined, discarded panties to remember the initial night he tangled himself with a nymphe who must have a sinister side for how easily you’ve been able to play him in return. It only adds to the inability for the two of you to fully undress; he’s roughly flipping you back over, keeping your legs spread wide for him as he pushes his pants and briefs down just enough to set himself free. 
Even with your knees pressed back into the mattress, your hole clenching around nothing and waiting, Andy had to work his girth inside of you until his balls pressed against the flesh of your ass. 
“Nngh–shit,” You yelp out, thighs slightly quivering beneath his hold as he holds himself within you only to pull out and once again push himself into your slippery walls. 
“Uh-uh, keep it open for me,” Andy lowly grunts, forcefully pushing your legs back as he makes sure to bottom out inside of you with deliberate thrusts; each time, your walls debated on suckling him in further or pushing him out for such a painfully delicious intrusion. “Mmm-hmm...Just like that...Just like that, ragazza avida.”
There’s no affection, no soft touches in the way the two of you fuck. It’s desperate, rough, and an evident display of two people refusing to succumb to the role of the prey–the biggest loser of this exhilarating battle. Hearing him call you something else 
Your fingers initially claw at his shoulders, dipping beneath the fabric of his shirt to abuse the warm flesh. You dig in, trying to ground yourself as Andy stretches you out for him; however, you feel yourself float just a tad further when his beard scratches against your cheek, the sinful bite at the juncture of your neck and shoulder follows soon after.
“Yessss...yesyesyes. So. fucking. Good,” You whine out between punctuated thrusts, seizing the opportunity to wrap your legs around his waist when Andy’s hands take on a different task than holding your quivering legs open: pulling down the neck of your dress enough for your tits to spill free.
With ease, you cradle his head to your chest as he mouths at the newly exposed flesh, continuing to grind into you with a vigor that has you coming closer to the edge faster than expected. 
This man will be the death of you in one way or another, you are more than sure of it. 
“Taking me so well in this tight little pussy, dolcezza, such a good girl,” He praises, slowing his thrusts down to work you open around him while still kneading your sensitive, now wet thanks to his generous kisses, chest. You feel the coil in your stomach tighten, eyes screwing shut when he angles his hips in a way that makes you want to merely lay out and be taken. 
“Ohhh...Fuck...A-Andy,” You mewl, fingers once again finding the hairs at the nape of his neck while your heeled boots dig into the curve of his back. He’s holding onto you tightly with one hand to hold you in place, the other fisting the sheet by your head as he hovers over you completely.
“What is it, amore?” He breathes playfully, stifling a moan when your walls ripple around him. “What do you need?”
You’re futile in trying to stave off an orgasm, trying to keep from being the first to get lost in the other person’s ministrations. However, it seems as though the man above you was intent on having that just happen, so when his hand slid up to the column of your neck again–you let the waves take you under and your eyes rolled to the back of your head with a flutter of your lashes. 
“I’m gonna cummm,” You drawl out, nails moving to dig into his ass after clawing at his shirt desperately. Andy doesn’t relent from thrusting into you, making sure his pelvis grinds against your clit in as steady a rhythm as him filling you.
“Askin’ or tellin’ me?” 
It was meant to be a grunt, but his words come out as another moan when you begin to clench around him–sucking his length even deeper into your wet, tight heat. Sinful isn’t even an accurate depiction, but Andy’s sure that this feeling alone is what will make him solidify the growing addiction of you.
“Telling...” You whine out, digging into his skin even deeper; he hisses at the action and at the consistent portrayal of defiance–of you not throwing in the towel, merely knowing when to let your opponent get the upper hand. 
He slowly fucks you through the high, and it takes the waning shrivels of his willpower to not blow his load; the slow kiss you desperately give him doesn’t help, but the taste of you is too consuming to pull away and keep you pliant for him. 
Perhaps he should’ve done that, should’ve pulled away, put his hand over your mouth and proceed to abuse your pussy for making him so insatiable for you in a matter of hours. Perhaps he should’ve done that instead of letting you cup his cheek with one hand, the other sliding up to the small of his back as you slightly pull back from his kiss with his plush bottom lip between your teeth. You’re slow to release it, and Andy noticeably twitches within your gushing heat at the action. 
“M’gonna ride you,” You say simply, albeit breathlessly. He can still feel you pulsing around him, can feel the new slick that’s now coating him due to your still growing arousal despite the cliff jump. 
For the umpteenth time tonight, Andy’s learning to not underestimate your position–to not assume that he’s got you just because you’ve shown a flash of vulnerability; you have him underneath you once again, both of you letting out a brief, leveled moan and whine of dissatisfaction when he slips out of you unintentionally at the maneuver. 
It doesn’t matter, for his hands find your clothed hips, thumbs massaging absentmindedly as you reach between the two of you–under your dress–to help guide him back inside of you after comfortably straddling his lap. 
“Mmmph,” You blurt out when you fully sit back on him, hands finding the warmth of his chest through the large opening of his shirt. Andy swallows a grunt at the back of his throat when he feels your walls flutter around him, and he’s deathly aware that he’s not going to last long–not when you feel like velvet, not when you’ve let him have you without anything in the way. 
You are a nymphe, one that’s destined to kill him in the end. It’s the only explanation suitable for how enraptured he is by how you look on top of him: head slightly thrown back, mouth ajar, eyes closed, sleeves of your dress pulled down to give him a scandalous view of your chest, nails digging into his skin, and body moving with a devilish agility that has him holding onto you with a vice grip.
“C-Così damn pretty for me,” Andy breathes, continuing to look up at you with awe. However, his hands wander to your ass, hiking up your dress roughly so he gains access to your bare skin. Your ass continues to clap back down onto a mix of his now sticky thighs and ruined trousers, making him wish that he took you from behind. 
He remembers he’ll have you more than just this once tonight, he’ll have you till–
“Coño,” You choke out, body bending forward a bit more just when Andy’s hand came down on your bare cheek. In return, he’s letting out his own groan from how you immediately clenched around him from the action, subconsciously trying to find some more stimulation for your aching clit. 
If you simply asked, he would’ve given it to you. He needs to hear and see every little thing he does and can do to you. 
“This is what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to fuck you like this–fill up this little cunt?” 
He meant to sound domineering, but his voice came out as strained instead. The truth is, he doesn’t need you to answer the question; it’s what he wants at the very least, but you’re slotting one hand to cup his jaw as your face now hovers over his and the two of you descend into a sloppy kind of fucking.
“You like my pussy, baby? I’m so wet for you,” You murmur softly, stifling a preen at him pressing you down to sheathe himself within you fully. From this angle, he’s sure you can feel him everywhere, but you take it so well. You take it so well, and the sound of your sweet voice saying such a filthy string of words has him throwing his head back into the bed and whining; of course, he’s completely oblivious to the diversion you created from answering his question. 
“Feel so good...already making me want to cum for you again, mi amor...Such a good boy for me.”
You’ve got him. You’ve got him in the palm of your hand, and he doesn’t even have the chance to give warning for the peak he’s hitting. 
Vaguely, he can register the small cry you let out from how firmly he holds you, blunt nails digging into your warm ass as he moves you to forcefully work yourself on him one, two, three, four times as he shoots rope after rope within your willing hole. It feels chilling to the point of hitting his bones, and he can’t even stop from wanting to continue to grind within you despite the sensitivity. 
You cling onto him as well though, your lips finding his own in a kiss that is equally lazy and needy. 
“Flip over, cara mia. I’m not done with you.”
There is an unspoken promise of how the rest of the night would go: everything but naked bodies would end up on the floor, no longer needed for marking unexplored planes of skin–no longer required for the filthy mess between strangers who happened upon each other’s existence hours ago. 
After things seemingly go right, a rude awakening must follow. Though there is no written law, it must count as an immeasurable truth. 
If only he knew you were a believer in the ideology of: if you want something–set it free, if it comes back–perhaps it’s yours. 
“Frank, could you remind mister...I’m sorry, wanna state that for the record one more time?” 
‘Screw you, Barber!’
It comes out muffled thanks to the soaked rag in Neal Logiudice’s mouth, but Andy could understand nonetheless for he’s learned how to decipher inhibited speech over the years. Plus, the guy couldn’t keep his mouth shut without the damn thing in, and honestly? Andy’s heard enough bullshit from Neal’s mouth to last a lifetime, especially given the unpredictability of this profession. 
“Anyway, Frank–remind Mr. Logiudice here of the promise I made if he didn’t handle the Mid-Atlantic account like I told him to,” Andy gestures to Neal, the man covered in grime, a noticeable layer of sweat, and blood that’s both new and old. Sometimes, Andy would use elongated violence as a last resort, opting to focus on handling things quietly and quickly so he could move onto his next task. Though it’s classified as a last resort, Neal is a special case. 
Franklin Costello—Frank or Frankie—looks over at Andy with a faint smirk on his angular face. A scar splits the hairs of his thick left  brow, causing the solidly built man to look even more intimidating than the crossed arms and stoic expression. Yet, that same expression morphs into a sly smile when And tells him to step in, might as well seeing as though the cleaning crew hasn’t hit this room yet; one can understand the drunken feeling of power that arises from this fact. 
“Well, I think ya mentioned a long life where breathin’ s’gonna take some more effort, Ace,” Frank responds, eyes moving back to Neal who looks like he’s about to add to the already embarrassing puddle of piss beneath his chair. Eyes running down the wet trail, Frank whistles low and shakes his head at the sight. “But it seems like we’ve nabbed two birds—guy’s practically incontinent at this point.”
Neal lets out an aggravated huff through the rag, tugging on his binds as if wanting to get up and fight Frank for the crude comment. 
Pissing yourself after talking such a big game for so long must’ve been so emasculating–dehumanizing, even. However, Andy couldn’t give less of a shit after Neal attempted to let a chunk of the Mid-Atlantic account fall through for his own selfish gain. From his point of view, one’s character is irredeemable after unjustifiable betrayal–it cannot go without punishment. 
“Ain’t that somethin’ though, Frankie?” Andy asks rhetorically, sparing a glance at his lifelong friend who hums in response. It’s a subtle encouragement for him to go ahead and elaborate. “I mean, of course there’s only one way tonight will end.” 
Beginning to take small steps around the dimly lit space, Andy revels in the way Neal attempts to follow his form with each slow stride. 
“But let’s take a moment to appreciate the irony of this situation.”
Standing behind the uncomfortable chair, Andy caught a stronger whiff of Neal’s odiferous scent. At this point, it’s clear that no one is keeping track of how long they’ve been down here; perhaps the men posted outside the soundproof door know, but it’s not vital information to the situation at hand–not vital to Andy in the slightest.
That much was clear by the head of the family not only handling this situation himself (rather than one of his associates), but taking his precious time like it is the most inexpensive thing in the world. 
“Our good, old friend here  took our family’s trust for weakness,” Andy claps both of his hands on Neal’s shoulders, a small, devilish grin on his face when the dilapidated man lets out an audible groan of pain from the harsh treatment. “And now he’s not even strong enough to me out here?”
“Shit the bed?” Frank jokes, and Andy points a finger as if remembering the right word after searching for decades. 
“That’s it...Y’gonna shit the bed, Neal? Thought you were a big man...isn’t that what you said?” Leaning down so he speaks right next to his face, Andy applies pressure to the wounds–in Neal’s shoulders–that no doubtedly need to be cleaned. However, kindness and hospitality are not awarded to those who say things like the following. “Didn’t you say that you’d have my body at the bottom of a river? You’d become the head of the family? I just find it funny...seeing as though you’re strapped to this chair like a bitch.” 
Neal tries to move out of Andy’s hold, groaning as his body protests the harsh movements. He’s battered, and his fighting is the definition of fruitless–but it’s still amusing to see him try. 
‘I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.’
At the pathetic claim, Andy stands at full height and wears a smirk when he catches Frank beginning to snort at the empty threat. 
“Glad you’ve still got some humour in ya, Logiudice. S’just another light to put out,” Andy muses, clapping his hands on the man’s shoulders one last time for good measure before moving from behind him. 
When he stands next to his second in command again, a familiar wave of disinterest washes over him. Neal Logiudice was nothing but a dog–one who was given too much slack on the leash until it snapped. It was a wasted investment, one that Andy vows to never make again when surmising that he can’t be bothered with this situation anymore.
“Think m’gonna let Benji have his fun with you, know the kid’s been itchin’ to try out that new stiletto knife he got for his birthday,'' Andy ponders, tilting his head to the head slightly as he looks Neal up and down with a blank expression on his face. In fact, he doesn’t react when he notices the shift in the battered man’s demeanor when the idea comes out into the open air. 
Had he not been so trained in reading people, Andy might’ve mistaken Neal’s briefly widened eyes and dissatisfied grunt for something other than it was: fear. 
Though Benji was one of the younger members of the family, always searching for Andy’s, Frank’s, or Aunt Nellie’s approval–it’d be a disservice to overlook the lethal nature embedded in his system. Growin up, Benji was the definition of a kid with a bad temper, always looking to fight because he was seen as the runt of the group; everyone knows the runts are the ones who present as the easiest target, but Benji made damn sure to break that stigma as soon as his growth spurt hit and he realized he could fight with more than just his hands. 
Giving Benji something to play with–torment, was like giving a lion a broken legged gazelle on a silver platter; he was one secret weapon of many, and he knew the definition of loyalty–he was a Costello man after all. 
‘Barber, you coward!’
Andy vaguely registers the insult, pausing his exit out of the door when he hears it. No one speaks for a moment, and it seems as though the tables might turn. Perhaps this is a moment where Andy will snap, breaking the cool, detached composure he exudes on a regular basis. However, to Frank’s disappointment, Andy doesn’t move from his position by the door, merely turns his head and begins speaking. 
“You ever hear about what they do to women and child abusers in prison? How it’d be merciful to just grant ‘em a quick death?” 
There’s a pause and it’s another rhetorical question, one that everyone knows the answer to. 
“Benji doesn’t know the meaning of mercy, and I intend to let him keep you for as long as he pleases.”
Neal’s shouts of protests go from heard to dead silent as soon as Andy and Frank leave the room, shutting the door closed. 
Betrayal cannot go unpunished, and Neal knew that. He brought this upon himself, so remorse is nonexistent when Andy tells one of his men to call for Benji and tell him the playpen is open. Remorse is nonexistent when Andy walks besides Frank in silence, mind somewhere else—on something else…someone else. 
His mind has been on someone else for the past two months, in fact. 
“Wanna grab a drink?”
It isn’t until they reach the office, at the end of the hall, that Frank breaks the silence first, closing the cherry wood door behind him with a soft click. The room isn’t small–it’s modest: enough space for a standing wardrobe, desk, and two chairs meant for guests. 
Nothing like his office at the estate, but then again, this was an off the books operation, so that meant using an unmarked safehouse; out in the near middle of nowhere, it took seclusion to another meaning. 
Neal knew he wouldn’t be leaving, not in the same lively state that he arrived in. 
“You drinkin’ again, buddy?” Andy lets out a small chuckle, opening up the wardrobe to grab a new shirt. 
“Nah, but I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t at least sit with ya,” Frank’s eyes don’t leave Andy’s form, watching his friend move about the room as if on autopilot. 
Andy’s throwing his dirty shirt on the seat of the chair, taking a new one off of the hanger just as smoothly. He’s done this more than enough times to do this blindfolded.
“I’m fine, Frankie,” Andy sighs, buttoning his shirt enough to his liking. Frank sits on the arm of one of the opposing chairs, remaining silent until Andy speaks again. “Seriously–I don’t need a therapist, alright?”
“Never said that, Andy...I’m just offering, as your only friend, to take you out for a drink. ‘Cause honestly–for the past couple of weeks, it seems like you’re hung up on somethin’ that was temporary.” 
Andy pauses for a moment, hand hovering before he’s grabbing his jacket from the back of the seat. It feels heavy in his hands, and it will probably add to the weight on his shoulders he ignores vehemently. 
“Don’t you have a wife to go home to, Costello?” 
It’s a deflection, but Frank plays anyway. 
“Don’t let Gio hear you implyin’ she’s a ball ‘n chain, Barber. She can be worse than Benji–”
“And you married her–”
“Damn right, I did,” Frank cuts off with a chuckle, and Andy shakes his head while chuckling in return. Readjusting his positioning on the chair’s arm, Frank watches his friend shrug on the jacket. 
Even after knowing him for so long, picking up on Andy’s hidden tells was still a struggle at times; sorting through the blank expressions, fluid movements, and whatever else was like sorting through black clothing in the dark. However, Frank could tell that he struck a nerve from his previous comment, but he doesn’t care.
Andy’s been distracted, and it’s lasted too long. 
“I’m serious though. If something’s happening–say something...or at least just let me into what’s goin’ on. We can’t afford you being elsewhere, but I think you know that already,” Frank explains calmly, readjusting his arms that remain crossed over his broad chest. Smoothing out his jacket, Andy rolls his head from one side to another in an attempt to crack some of the kinks.
“Nothin’s happening with me–you’ve been askin’ me the same questions for weeks now. If somethin’ were happening, don’t you think I would’ve ‘said something’ by now?” Andy sighs out, placing one hand on his hip while the other grips the back of his chair to brace some of his weight. 
“You’re the same kid that broke his ankle fallin’ out of my treehouse and tried to hide it from your dad. The epitome of suffering in silence.”
“I don’t suffer in silence,” Andy argues, drumming his fingers on the back of his chair; Frank merely scoffs in return before standing at his full height.
“Right...And you didn’t try to use your position to find information on a random woman either.”
Andy remains silent at that, knowing it’s the truth. Had anyone else spoken to him like this, had anyone else called him out in such a blunt way–Andy would’ve checked them before they could even think to step toward the door. 
However, this was Franklin Costello–Frankie. 
Though a little less than three years his senior, Frank and Andy somewhat grew up together. Seeing as though he was an only child, Frank was like the older brother Andy never had–causing trouble and keeping him out of it when the time permits. Frankie was the troubled kid with a good heart, and Andy was...something different. 
Either way, Frank wasn’t just anybody else. 
“Have a good night, Frankie,” Andy huffs, clapping a hand on his old friend’s shoulder as he walks past. They share a look, one that hints at opposite sides of the spectrum: this conversation is/isn’t over. 
“What about that drink, Ace?” Frank calls gently, turning his head to catch Andy before he can fully leave the run down office. 
“I’m gonna go ‘n get one,” Andy starts, turning the knob and only casting a glance when he’s stepping out of the door. “You’re gonna go home to your ball ‘n chain.”
It wasn’t lost on him that he was alone. 
He felt it when he’s had too close of encounters, on the brink of travelling over into whatever comes next, that he realized he didn’t have someone who loved him back home. He didn’t have someone to mourn him to the depths of their core, to care that his heart could stop beating in that moment. 
Andy had the family, but he no longer had a family–aside from his grand-aunt; he wanted it, but he didn’t have what Frank had at the very least. 
So, it wasn’t lost on him that he was alone, in that sense. In the literal one, he had someone with him nearly at all times–making sure he was guarded despite being the most trained out of all of them. 
For what is a king without a few pawns?
“I’ll take another–double, thanks,” Andy rasps, pushing forward the small square napkin with the freshly emptied glass on top. 
The truth is, he’s tired of being alone. It’s a pathetic feeling when he acknowledges it, letting a small feeling of dread wash over him. It’s even more pathetic that his mind wanders back to you, the way you seemed to wrap him around your finger in less than eighteen hours. 
“Drinking to get drunk or what?” 
Her voice is on the higher side, not enough to make one cringe but enough to not want to hear her pull a filibuster anytime soon.
The bartender slides over what Andy asked for, already knowing it was meant to be added to the nonexistent tab he won’t have to settle. Truthfully, he doesn’t know if he’s numb to the feeling or simply used to it by now. 
“Or what,” He replies, finally looking at her after he’s taken a generous sip. Even in the dim lighting, her hazel eyes seemed to pierce him. 
She has a cocktail in her hand, red painted nails wrapped around the glass as she leans against the bar. Her arms are placed in a manner to accentuate her cleavage, but Andy doesn’t pay it any mind. 
At his response, she hums with a slight upturn of her slender nose; a small smile ghosts her lips as she takes a step closer, and Andy catches a whiff of a perfume that’s much too sweet for his olfactory. 
“‘M guessin’ you’re not the bride to be,” He mumbles, scanning her frame up and down: heels, dress, sash, tiara–bridesmaid.
“I love an observant man,” She gushes teasingly, adding a little giggle at the end as she moves even closer to him. “Don’t worry, sugar–I most certainly am on the market when it comes to you.”
Her wink is accompanied with another giggle, and Andy wonders how many of those drinks she’s had. 
“What’s your name?” 
“It’s Carmen, but you can call me whatever,” She breathes out, trying to sound sultry even though her words are two sips away from slurring together. Flipping some hair over her shoulder, Andy watches her fiddle with the sash wrapped around her body as she speaks. 
It’s obvious to anyone in a ten mile radius that Carmen is trying to flirt with him; the key word is trying. 
Sure, he could admit that she was pretty: nice hair, nice legs, nice face, nice nearly everything. However, he didn’t feel tempted in the slightest, didn’t feel a need nor want to indulge in a conversation with her. To be frank, Andy has known her for less than three minutes, and he already finds her incredibly boring for some reason. 
Comparisons are never fair. 
“Ha! Right…” Andy trails off for a moment, giving himself more time to be silent by pretending to check her out. It was not his plan to lead her on, but he was trying to get rid of her without potential blowback in the form of a bruised ego; something tells him that Carmen isn’t used to rejection. 
“Where’s the rest of your entourage?” 
At his question, Carmen’s turning her head to see behind her, moving as though she’s searching for something or someone in particular. 
“Mmmm...Oh! My friends are right over there, see?” She explains, pointing towards an area that’s roped off next to the burlesque performance stage. 
Andy follows the direction of her finger, and he sees a small group of women sporting similar tiaras and sashes; they’re all sat around the table, some not facing him, as they seem to giggle and remain in their own world. He doesn’t look for long, blue eyes finding Carmen in a matter of moments. 
“Maybe you should go and join them before the show begins,” Andy suggests, nodding his head to the group that more than likely is stealing glances and stifling giggles from a sight that looks like flirting from a distance. 
“You gonna come with?” Carmen playfully taunts, and he finds it endearing that she thinks she can sway him with a simple toss of her hair and giggle that verges on a beat too long. 
He knows the game, and he plays it well. Truthfully, this woman isn’t a challenge, and can be played like a fiddle. This woman isn’t memorable in his mind, so he simply indulges in her little fantasy with an empty, hopeful proposition. 
Leaning forward and resting his body weight slightly on the bar, Andy looks her figure up and down before sporting a charming smirk. 
“Tell you what, if you get your cute little ass back to your friends in the next minute–I’ll cover your ladies’ drinks for the rest of the night.”
At the sound of free drinks, Carmen perks up a bit. Evidently she takes a moment to weigh her options: selfishly continue the fruitless quest of getting into his bed or share the wealth with the women she claims to be close with. 
Brownie points towards her character for taking the latter route instead of the former. 
You’ve always enjoyed the art of burlesque. 
Maybe it was the theatrics. Maybe it was the dynamic singing. Maybe it was the pretty pretty costumes that you debated wearing or ripping off. 
Maybe it was everything in between, the details. 
Either way, you’ve always enjoyed it, and you were more than self-indulgent to suggest the bachelorette party be held here. In your opinion, eye candy came in all forms, and you thoroughly believed Giovanna's was the perfect way to go out before the old ball and chain came into effect. 
“Thanks for joining us, Carm,” You call, jutting your chin out with a grin as she slides into the booth across from you. 
She rolls her eyes at your playful chide, readjusting her body position to get comfortable once again. Of course, there’s a round of cheers, giggles of excitement, and brief clapping when it’s revealed that your drinks are covered for the rest of the night. However, your interest doesn’t fully spike until your friend is searching for the mystery donor, only to distantly point at the figure who seemed to slink into one of the floor seats.
The gait is familiar, and your heart skips at the thought of your assumptions being right. If you are right, then tonight is about to become much more entertaining for you. 
“You get your sugar daddy’s number?” Beatriz teases her twin, enjoying the subtle flush that graces her face. 
“No...I got us drinks, and I’m pretty sure that guy is like celibate or something...I mean I threw out so many signs, and he didn’t take any of the bait,” Carmen all but whines, a small pout coming soon after as she twirls the umbrella in her new drink. 
You refrain from smirking, not wanting to seem like an asshole in response to her failed attempt of going home with someone, but you can’t deny the budding pride that’s about to bloom in your chest. Carmen’s always been the one to ditch the group any chance possible, finding male validation more important than solidarity. So, it was refreshing for a change to see the tables turn, especially when you consider her offhand comments about others being bitter towards her confident personality and unwavering looks. 
“You’ll get the next one, I’m sure, fish in the sea and all that,” You muse with the lackadaisical wave of a hand, just before the lights further dim in the burlesque lounge. Unintentionally, you miss the look Carmen gives you at your underlying sarcasm, but it isn’t as though you would’ve cared about it anyway. 
The stage is illuminated by a single, soft red light after the curtains are drawn; an hourglass silhouette awaits the attentive crowd, and the music is slow to begin. 
For once though, you’re not focused on the dancers and performers–not fully. Instead, your eyes are lingering on the man who seemed to settle into his chair comfortably, but there was a lingering hollowness in his presence that needed to be filled with something–or someone. 
What they say is true about the varying perspectives of predators and prey: cognizance. 
I wanna be loved by you, just you
And nobody else but you
“Think I might cash in on a drink,” You say quietly, just loud enough for your girls to hear without disrupting the performance. Fixing your plastic tiara and the sash around your form, you maneuver yourself out of the rounded booth with ease and slip into the shadowed area of Giovanna's. 
Out of your peripheral, you can see the woman mouth along to the soft voice of Marilyn Monroe while lustfully dancing. In any other instance, she would have your full attention without a doubt. Yet, in this instance, you’re a woman on a subtle mission–a hungry one. 
I couldn’t aspire, to anything higher
Than, to fill the desire to make you my own
A closer look, a confirmation of your assumptions, is why you’re acting on your impulses. If you’re completely frank with yourself, a part of you was hoping that you’d see him again. 
A firm believer in interconnectivity and if things were meant to be then they will be, you slipped away from him while he slept comfortably; though, it should be said that you felt reluctance this time, wondering if he pouts upon first waking up and if he enjoys fingers through his soft tendrils to help rouse him. 
A closer look turns into you glossing over the increased pounding in your chest. Even in the indirect lighting, you recognize the long slope of his lashes and the plush bottom lip that holds a small pout in his profile. You also recognize the distant shadow, someone who must be a protector of some sorts.
However, prey can only stay protected for so long. 
I wanna be loved by you, alone
Many would shrink back at the thought of engaging in something so bold, but you weren’t like many; the beat of your own drum should’ve been carved on your forehead when you were first born. At least, that’s what your father likes to joke about when your difference from your older siblings comes into play. Let it be known that it was never said out of maliciousness but pride. 
You know it’s him: Andrew Barber. 
The universe has a funny way of speaking to you, letting you know that some people are destined to cross your path and add something to your life. It wouldn’t be far off for you to take this occurrence as a sign–right place, right time, right circumstances. Too many things seem right for you to ignore the opportunity in front of you, one telling you that one night truly wouldn’t be enough to satiate whatever was left. 
To make you my own
Again, many wouldn’t think to move so boldly, but you viewed life as too short to not simply be impulsive from time to time. Also, having a one up on Carmen would be an additional bonus. 
So, before he could even think to see you, you’re moving out of his line of vision fully; you take calculated steps in a natural pattern, but the hook, line, and beautiful sinker is you gently dragging your middle and ring fingers across the expanse of his shoulders. There’s no doubt that he felt your touch, his body becoming highly alert the minute your nail grazed his blazer. However, you don’t look back after your fingers fall from his frame, you simply keep on walking towards the bar and explaining to the bartender that your drink is meant to go on someone else’s tab. 
You order a round of shots for your table, and as you wait for your specific drink to be made–the thin hairs on your back feel like they’re on edge from someone looking at you for an extended period of time. 
It doesn’t take much thought for you to know it’s him looking at you from afar, but you pretend to throw all of your interest into the woman on stage for a moment. Although, you’re soon thanking the bartender for your drink while readjusting your tiara once again; the drink burns going down your throat, but it doesn’t phase you.
I wanna be loved by you
It’s too tempting to not glance over, to not see if the potential for a repeat affair was in the cards. When you do, though, steal a glance, your heart slows at the sight of him not looking at you; at this revelation, you don’t feel disappointed–if anything, you feel challenged. 
“Would you mind taking these to my table? I’ve gotta run to the powder room,” You request with a hint of sweetness, the kind that’s nearly impossible to decline. Though there’s some hesitancy, the bartender ends up looking over at her coworker before turning back to you and nodding with a shy smile. 
The kiss you blow is simply for good measure and not because you wanted to fluster her a bit more, of course. 
One thing you’ve always prided yourself on is being ahead of the game, any semblance of the curve. When others were getting their footing, you were already cutting the ribbon at the finish line. Reading people for whom they were, whom they tried to be, and whom they weren’t was a natural skill that you had no problem boasting about when the appropriate moment arose. 
So, in your gut, you believed that if you presented some of the same variables–then Mr. Barber would fall right into the equation. For example, the dimly lit lounge, the bustle of a main act, you slinking off into the offshoot corridor where the bathrooms were located–same variables, similar equation. 
You believed he’d follow you, but that never stops the small nagging voice of you embarrassing yourself coming to life.
Him being an attractive man wasn’t lost on you–hell, it couldn’t be lost on anyone with the way that he carries himself. It wasn’t lost on you, but it didn’t deter you from your confidence because you knew that you were more than attractive yourself. 
Game recognizes game, and your gut is nearly never wrong. 
“Now, it could just be me, but m’feelin’ some deja vu here. I might even call it fate.”
The words don’t slip out until you’ve pretty much caught him red handed, confirming your multilayered assumptions and suspicions. Still, he slips into the space across from you with a confident ease, as if he belonged there all along–mirroring your bold personality with an energy once inexperienced. 
Andy doesn’t say anything at first, merely looks you over. Blue eyes trail up your fresh pedicure, strappy heels, bare legs, flattering dress, the cheesy bachelorette wear, and so on; truthfully, that one action was enough to make you feel warm all over, and you find yourself refraining from shifting your weight from one heeled foot to another. 
“Hello, cara mia,” He hums warmly, taking a step forward that prompts you to take a step back; the distance between you and the wall is much shorter than you originally anticipated. 
Not that you’d visibly admit it to him, his presence makes you feel a sense of nervousness–or perhaps it’s excitement of the unknown. Either way, this instance was thrilling to you, something that you didn’t realize you were missing until just now. 
There’s something different this time around, a shift in the dynamic. 
However, all you can really do is await his next move, attempt to figure out what kind of game the two of you will no doubtedly play this time around. 
“So, you can speak Italian,” You decipher gently, acknowledging the name he called you in the foreign language. It makes you somewhat nervous, coupled with the lustfully analytic look he’s currently giving you. “Pleasant surprise, Mr. Barber.”
The lame attempt at filling the silence surprises you–a stark contrast to the wit you naturally possess. However, you’re nonetheless thankful Andy doesn’t comment on it–doesn’t tease you. Rather, he simply takes another careful step forwards and settles on something more interesting. 
“Mmm, good memory, but I think the surprise is seeing you in a place like this,” He accuses playfully, voice sounding like warm honey by the fire. The whole situation is dangerous–this alone reigning as enough to have you caving for him again; you want to remember how it felt to be underneath or on top–to remember the damn lightshow he set off within you. 
He’s dangerous, but you are as well.
“Now, why’s that?” 
Sounding just as playful, you slide your hands against the wall to rest behind your back; subsequently, your body bows into his just a bit, and you enjoy the way his mouth quirks at the pet name. His face doesn’t betray any other emotion.
Another careful step, and he’s a hair away from slotting a thigh between your legs. It’d be so easy for him, and you’re running warm already. 
“Tell me why you’re here,” Andy says, slightly nodding his head towards you in suspense of your answer. There’s no room for you to question his avoidance of your own curiosity, but still you somewhat comply. 
“Bachelorette party,” You shrug, leaning into the wall and creating some distance. 
“Mmm...That doesn’t sound like the whole truth,” He analyzes, and it’s then you notice his hands are tucked in the pockets of his tailored slacks. Andy can dress, and his stance is intimidating; it should make you cower and fess up whatever information to appease him, but you were never one to throw in the towel and raise a flag so easily. 
“What can I say…” You start carefully, now moving your hands to fiddle with your sash. Even in the dim lighting, you don’t miss the way his blue eyes flicker to you catching your bottom lip between your teeth briefly. “Maybe I just like it when pretty girls dance for me.” 
You weren’t lying in the slightest, but something tells you that Andy is–or was–hoping to hear something else. In this regard, you have nothing left to spare, but it seems like the moment passes when he lets out another hum at your comment before verging on crowding your space.
“You weren’t going to say hello if your little friend, Cameron, didn’t give it a try, huh?”
Another accusation, but this one has you letting out a slight scoff.
“First, it’s Carmen, which I’m sure you know. Second, I’m not jealous,” You huff, unknowingly easing up off the wall so your chest grazes against his. The outburst is small, but Andy’s smirk is devilish and wider than the sunset horizon. 
Predator. Prey. Cat catching the canary. Cognizance.
“Who said anything about you being jealous, cara mia?”
He set a trap, and like a fool, you walked into it with zero resistance. Of course, you’re only realizing this after the fact, but you choose to feign ignorance and deflect. 
“Perhaps I should go back to my little friends if you’re going to be boring and arrogant tonight,” You sigh out with faux disappointment. 
Up until this point, it’s clear the two of you are skirting around something akin to an elephant lingering in the room. Up until this point, neither of you have purposefully revealed the cards clutched tightly to respective chests. 
The truth is, you were testing him with your next move, and your heart catapults to your throat when he surpasses your expectations. 
Barely three steps are taken before he’s halting your movements and firmly pressing your back into the wall. The gasp you let out is small, but he hears it above the muffled swoon of the speakers surrounding the stage. Suddenly, to you at least, it feels much warmer in this hallway.
“No need to run off,” He starts, looking from your eyes down the slope of your nose. It’s only natural for your tongue to briefly dart out when his eyes drift a bit further. “Not when you have nowhere else to be.”
Had it been anyone else, the certainty in his words would’ve set off about five red flags in your mind; then there’d be a bonus flag for the grim convenience of the tucked away space. However, the look he gave you, the warm hand on your hip, and the blood coursing through your veins highlights a blatant ideology: you are not the predator.
“What am I? Your prisoner?” 
There’s a subtle clench in his jaw beneath the well groomed beard.
“I’d have your name by now if I wanted you as a prisoner,” He muses lowly, and you wish you could squeeze your legs together to alleviate some of the growing ache. There’s some truth in what he said, and his claim makes you realize the oddity of this situation. 
The two of you met at an exclusive jazz opening–one by hand picked invitation from Artie Abrahms only. You placed a bet, went home with him, and had sex–one for the books sex. You slipped out of his bed, his home, his orbit miraculously undetected. Then the two of you haven’t had contact again until now.
Through all of that, he still didn’t know your name.
A testament to his patience perhaps.
You only think to wane it a bit more. 
“Not sure if you’ve earned clearance to that sensitive information, hermoso,” You silently huff, an airiness of harmless teasing lingering in your tone. In response, Andy lets out a small laugh, but your smirk falters when he presses himself further into your body. 
“Challengin’ me?” 
Something about the way he speaks is alluring. 
Fading into an accented drawl, dropping terms of endearment in a language you’re more than rusty in–he ran circles around you in his own way. 
The hand on your hip gives you a gentle squeeze before he’s rubbing small circles in your side with his thumb. Scanning your face, he attempts to search for an answer in the initial silence you give him. 
Were you challenging him?
The two of you barely know each other, but–
“Amore,” He murmurs, grasping your full attention quietly. His free hand moves to cup your face, and you only melt into his touch more when he runs the pad of his thumb across your glossed lower lip. Little do you know the doe eyes you give him will be one of the weapons he will never fail to surrender to. “Be honest with me, hmm?” 
His request isn’t condescending, but it’s evident that you are not the one with the wolfish teeth; the reality thrills you more than it should. 
“Mmkay,” You hum back, refraining from taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking. 
The time will come eventually, you’re sure.
“You want to come home with me, do you not?”
A question portrayed as a fact; the only way you can describe his delivery of the seven words. Beats of silence pass, and you ponder while mirroring his actions of analyzing features.
“I’m here with my girlfriends, sir. It’d be rude of me to ditch them for someone I barely know.”
Your voice is soft, wrapping around your carefully stated words nicely. However, Andy doesn’t seem to care about what you’ve said, reading through your woefully poor excuse with an almost trained ease. 
“Thought I told you to be honest with me,” He says, an amused lilt in his tone as he pulls you a little closer to him. Your hands grasp onto his jacket, and it’s odd that his gaze makes you feel more royal than the plastic tiara sitting atop your head. Fitting that Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend begins echoing through the stage speakers, no doubt being performed by a woman that deserves her photo as a headline. 
“I am being honest, Mr. Barber.”
The French are glad to die for love
They delight in fighting duels
But I prefer a man who lives, and gives expensive jewels
You wonder how long you’ve been tucked away back here with Andy. Time and space seem to float away with him; it could be your salvation or your doom. 
“Your friend didn’t seem to to mind leaving your entourage–”
“I’d like to think I’m better than Carmen,” You cut him off, already hating being compared to the woman you put up with for the sake of her beloved twin, Beatriz. Bea was perhaps your best friend, the one that would break your heart irreparably if any form of betrayal occurred. 
A kiss on the hand, may be quite continental 
“In more ways than one,” He agrees easily, tilting your head back just a bit to get you to get a clever look at your face. “I’m just letting you know it’s alright to be selfish, mio piccolo fuoco.”
His words resonate with you instantly, and your grip on him tightens a tad before you’re melting into him; the somewhat familiar pet name should not have made you feel such a large wave of weakness. 
But diamonds are a girl’s best friend
“Come home with me,” Andy says softly, drawing you in like a snake in the grass. It’s strange that you’re willing for his venom to take residence in your veins, prompting you to succumb to his will in exchange for prizes you couldn’t once think of. “Let me earn your name.”
Perhaps it was the dry spell, or the underlying truth of him never leaving your mind since the last time he worked you open for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to deny yourself the overwhelming amount of pleasure that you could potentially receive. There’s no denying that you want him–want to have him indulge in something you’ve been craving since you slipped away from him the first time; it was one time too many. 
Your girlfriends are too caught up in going to another strip club to feel bummed about your subtraction of presence, most of them blowing you a kiss of good luck while Carmen looks you over with skeptical eyes when you don’t spare any more of the specified details. 
Though you’ve had a couple in you tonight, it’d be an exaggeration to say that you were drunk. Coherency and clear-headedness still rested in your palm, so in your case–it was easy for you to recognize the familiar aspects of the home he’s brought you back to tonight. 
If you sat back and thought about it, Andy’s presence has never felt imposing to you, never felt unsafe. However, that doesn’t sway your mind from recognizing this scenario as evidently different from the last. 
“You’re staring,” You call out playfully, keeping your gaze forward as you remain barefoot on the balcony; you didn’t have the chance to enjoy it last time, too caught up in other activities. A small chill crawls up your neck at his huff of a laugh, the sound of his footsteps joining you outside follows soon after. 
“So sure of yourself,” He lilts, and you can feel his warmth from how close he is to you. Subsequently, you can also smell the same woodsy cologne that made your head spin from the last time; you’re thankful he doesn’t tease you for already leaning into his touch when he first gives it.
“Notice how you didn’t deny it.”
He doesn’t respond to that, hands instead finding space on your now tiara and sash free body to pull you back into him. The curve of your ass molds into his front easily, and Andy’s humming in content before dipping his head to press a kiss to the free space just behind your ear. 
Like always, you smell of cinnamon and cocoa butter, skin smooth and sweet when touched by his mouth. If he planned on keeping you here for a while, touching you like this might make you compliant in that plan. 
“Did you think of me?” Andy murmurs along the shell of your ear, and you let your own hand rest over his on the juncture of your hip and thigh–his fingers dip into the crevice of your bikini line over your dress. His other hand creeps up to cup your breast, making sure you were flush against him. 
“Once or twice,” You whisper the lie, leaning your head to the side to give him more access to your neck. His mouth alone crossed your mind more than a few times in the couple of months since your last encounter. 
“Are you going to tell me your name, mio piccolo fuoco?” He asks just as low, this time dipping his hand down to touch the bare skin underneath your dress; the action is enough to pull you impossibly closer to him, and you’re vigilant in making sure your leg doesn’t tremble underneath his touch. You bite your lip at the feeling of him gently grasping at your breast, your own hand covering his own as you start to back yourself up into him.
“I thought I told you to earn it, hermoso.”
Still resilient, even when he’s about to have you so vulnerable for him. 
Once again, Andy lets out a huff of a chuckle, but it’s clear that he’s verging on no longer letting you play this frivolous game of acting like you don’t want him–don’t crave him just as badly as he craves you. He’s verging on no longer letting you play the game of acting like you don’t–
“Oh, I plan on doing so,” He starts, and you can feel him smirk against your neck at the sudden gasp you let out from him pushing you forward into the solid structure of the balustrade, balcony railing. Immediately your hands shoot out to brace yourself, but it wasn’t as though he would’ve let you fall–his hands find your waist as his chest presses into your back again. 
Your legs are now spread open slightly, his own fitting between yours with ease as he continues:
“But will you open yourself up for me?”
You can’t stifle the pitiful whimper as he lowly drawls in your ear, cementing the notion of the intentional double meaning of his words as he sinks to his knees. 
The awareness of exactly where you are doesn’t dawn on you until he’s roughly pushed the fabric of your dress over your ass, exposing your already aching heat to the chill of the nighttime air. You’ve never been overly shy about your body, but the fact that you’re so willing to have this man touch you out in the open like this is new; the fact that his comment about you not wearing any panties again makes your cheeks warm is new. It’s new, and the thought of someone potentially catching or watching Andy prove himself sets off an unfamiliar wave of arousal–one that you can’t remember experiencing with someone else.
Andy’s hands smooth up the back of your thighs, resting at the natural line where your ass starts until they creep a bit further; your nails gently scrape against the expansive railing at the feeling of his thumbs digging into your crevice before he’s spreading your most intimate parts open for him.
You clench around nothing after a moment, and the tightening of his grip on your flesh is the only warning you receive for what he plans on doing to you. 
“Andy,” You breathe out, voice starting to shake from how easily he dragged his tongue along the entire length of your slit; it doesn’t surprise you that he doesn’t respond, but you’re still letting out another breath from him wrapping his lips around your clit in a sloppy kiss. 
When he initially sank to his knees, you were already wet for him, but he was making sure to leave a mess between your thighs anyway. You’re sure of it from the way he gives you no warning when delving his stiffened tongue into your hole, making sure to not leave your clit neglected by reaching a thumb up to rub deliberate circles into the bundle of nerves. 
Andy eats you as if he hasn’t been blessed with the taste of pussy in years, moans into your folds and just lets his tongue and overall mouth explore the nectar between your soft thighs. 
“Baby, oh fuck yes–don’t-don’t stop,” You choke out, a squeak of a moan breaking through your words in response to a particular harsh swipe of his thumb against your clit just as he wriggled his tongue as deep as he could within you. It causes you to moan and whine out into the night, holding onto the balcony railing for dear life as you start to move your stance to the balls of your bare feet.
Your knees buckle soon after at the sound of a blatant crack, and for a moment–you feel overheated from the warmth that floods your body and ends in you leaking even more for the man behind you.  
“Don’t run from me, bella,” It’s nothing short of a growl, and he keeps you stable by kneading the flesh he planned on spanking again–unbeknownst to you. “Take what I give you.”
Something tells you it’s the only time he plans on formally warning you, because he proceeds to tongue down your slick folds as if you were honey dripping from a ripe strawberry. 
The circles are now tighter against your clit, and you’ve begun to subconsciously nudge your ass back into his face in hopes of chasing your inevitable high quicker. Andy only groans into your pussy, tongue laving over your hole before diving back into you once again. You’re openly trembling, the coil within your stomach tightening as he moves with your desperate motions. 
“S’good s’good, así así así, m’gonna c-cum…” Your voice dies into a mewl, and he decides to use the ball of his hand to push against your clit while his fingers splayed across your exposed mound. The small squeal that leaves you echoes throughout the vastness of the balcony, and Andy’s deep tone reverberates against your pussy.
“Go ahead, the night is young.”
He uses his free hand to keep you spread for him whilst burying his face between your folds, sloppily leaving no part of your cavern explored. His actions have the coil in your stomach tightening to the point of snapping, and you’re reaching back with one finger to tangle your manicured fingers into his styled hair. 
Your thighs quiver, and you’re sure to let him know how good he’s making you feel through the string of curses that easily leave your mouth. 
The orgasm isn’t earth shattering, doesn’t fog your mind to the point of utter exhaustion, but it’s definitely enough to make it hard for you to stay standing when Andy spares you no reprieve. 
“A-Andy...mmph,” You grunt out in a gasp, slamming both of your hands down onto the balcony railing when he lays another spank to your warm cheek and continues to eat you out. He grunts into your heat, and it feels like the only way you haven’t fallen is by the grace of him keeping you upright so that he could proceed to ravish you the way he desires. “Oh God.”
You feel sensitive, so very sensitive, and it’s like he uses that to his advantage. 
His tongue was dangerous on its own, but your eyes roll to the back of your head with a silent whine when he slips his finger into you with ease. Tongue and bottom lip still paying attention to your clit in a sucking motion, Andy explores your walls as they tremble around the digit .
“B-Baby, hold on...hold on–”
Your whispers are cut off with your audible whine, body bowing at Andy spanking you, pushing your body forward into the balcony, and slipping another finger into you.
“Such a nice pussy, dolcezza...So wet for me,” He praises while you clench around his fingers at the pet name, and all you can think to do is fuck yourself back onto his digits. You need it, need to reach that peak once again; distantly, a part of you feels frustration from slipping away while he was sleeping, for playing another game of fate because some things seem much too good to be true in your opinion. 
“Yeah,” You sigh sweetly, slightly and absentmindedly nodding your head in response as he curls his fingers and rubs against that one spot that has you holding back the beginnings of tears. 
“Gonna cum again?” He coos, noticing the space you were floating into was going to be fun to play with. Truthfully, you’re sure that he’s aware from the way you shudder, at him slipping a third finger in, that you are teetering on the edge quite embarrassingly. You look so pretty while you do it, look like a dream: legs flexing as you take his fingers, soft moans overpowering the sound of your arousal, dress bunched up to expose sheen layers of sweat, and your legs open for his touch alone.
“Yeah,” You sigh again, knees starting to cave as the truth of your condition was starting to physically manifest.
“Do you deserve it?”
He slows the pace of his fingers, words spoken against your bare thigh as he turns his head to press his cheek against you and look up to gauge your reaction. You hesitate, a hiccup of a gasp slipping out when he presses his fingers in deeper and works you open.
“Yes, hermoso..I–I deserve it,” You say softly, nodding as your eyes screw shut underneath the moonlight. 
He doesn’t say anything, but you take your response in the form of him dipping his lips between your thighs to suckle your clit into his mouth. You take your response in the form of him managing to maneuver your body to bend farther forward so your body went into the railing but your cunt couldn’t escape his tongue and fingers. 
“I deserve it I deserve it I deserve it I deserve it,” You pathetically whine under your breath, grinding yourself back into him as you fell over the edge without shame. His name left your mouth in a sob, for he devours you like a man who hasn’t been blessed with pussy for decades. He doesn’t stop until the delicious, awakening high melted into an ember that caused you to float. 
He’s slow to stand up, and you openly welcome him turning your head so you could easily taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into it, reaching back to tug on his roots and ground yourself into him due to the lack of faith in your already wobbly legs. 
Two orgasms and you’re still hungry for more, for something more filling. 
It’s a wonder the man seems to read you without needing the exact paragraph from your book, because your loss in the kiss made you blissfully unaware of him undoing his slacks and freeing himself so he rests neatly against your ass. 
“Stay still,” He grunts, hands shooting to still your moving hips in hopes to gain some friction to your weeping slit. He already feels heavy against you, and you feel excitement for the stretch you’ve forgotten. You’d never admit, but you didn’t have the time to have someone else since him. 
Your head lolls to his shoulder as you breathe out your discontent, wanting to feel more than him gripping himself to drag his leaking tip between the folds of your slit. You don’t want it at this point, you need it; he needs it too.
“Shit, that’s it...relax for me...just–” 
Andy’s initial thrust into you is the slowest one for the evening, your walls greedily massaging every vein, ridge, and inch of his girth while he makes sure to keep you bent and spread over the railing. You’re speechless from how good the stretch feels, feeling like a new level compared to the first time he had you. 
“Look at how well you’ve taken me, such a good girl,” He muses, massaging your ass comfortingly before he begins to pull out. Your whine of protest was cut off by a large huff, the air feeling like it was knocked out of you when he bottomed out inside of you without warning. 
The most you can muster are breathless pants as Andy starts fucking into you, pelvis bumping against your ass with each thrust. He’s impossibly hard, and you wonder if part of it stems from having you fall apart on his tongue and fingers. The same fingers that make their way into your mouth when you let out an especially loud chirp when he grinds himself into you. 
Your nails shine in the outside light as your fingers wrap around his wrist, mouth salivating around his digits when you happily suck yourself off of hin, 
“See how good I can make you feel? Taste it?” He says low in your ear, setting a deliberate pace that has you remembering just how sensitive he made you before slipping into your cunt. 
You breathe through your nose as he shoves his fingers further down your throat, starting to rut into you even harder when you let out a guttural whimper that comes out as an affirmative to his question. It all feels so good, so very very good and it’s inevitable that you wouldn't be able to stave off the itch. 
“Unph–mmph! ...Mmmm,” You mewl as you gush around him, the orgasm hitting you without remorse when the pain of your hip bumping into the balcony perfectly collides with his tip giving a generous kiss to your g-spot and the cervix. You can distantly hear him through the pounding in your ears, but you’re soon focused sputtering around his invasive fingers and clawing at the railing as he doesn’t stop carrying you through the high.
“M-More,” You blurt out, and that’s what causes him to falter his thrusts.
“I don’t give you enough? You need more like the little slut you are?” 
It’d be a disservice to yourself to now play the role of coy; you were if it meant you got what you wanted–more. You want to say that you had the upper hand, since he complied with your request after slipping out of you–shrugging off the rest of his pants, and turning you around to face him. It’s a flurry of motions when he manages to hoist you up on the balcony, guiding himself into you with one hand as the other roughly grabs the back of your neck. 
“Fuck you’re so–yesss,” You hiss out the words, hand clutching onto his bare forearm just before you can touch the rolled up sleeve. A storm races in his eyes, and you know that your own must be just as dilated when you look back at him. “Feel so–good.”
Andy’s hold around the back of your neck tightens every time he fully slides into you this time, brows furrowing in near disbelief from how your gooey warmth seems to mold to him like a sleeve while also squeezing in protest as if he was never meant to leave. Quite literally, it felt like he was digging you out, and you felt your head roll back as your free hand shot back to brace your body as you took his slow thrusts. 
Your legs tightened around him, and he was evidently struggling with keeping his breathing in check. 
“Mmm, s’deep, mi amor–s’deep inside me,” You speak airily when you finally look at him again, moving your hand from his forearm to his chest; you whimper from a deep thrust, and your fingers in turn clutch the metal chain resting beneath his open shirt briefly. 
“Fucking me so good out here, hermoso. Making me feel so good,” You hum with a pout, slightly bucking your hips up into his thrusts in hopes to get even more friction. 
Your words seem to entrance him like he’s done to you, because his look turns slightly dazed as you speak, up until he’s moving you from the balcony into his arms and moving the two of you back into the threshold of the french double doors–back into his room where he can lay you out beneath him on his bed.
You don’t know if it’s just as soft as the last time, because Andy’s mouthing at the newly exposed skin of your tits while swirling his hips between your spread open thighs. It feels like he’s everywhere and nowhere at once, like he’s desperate to make you insatiable for him yet so–
“It’s okay, I know you need to cum...Let me feel you again, pretty girl.”
It’s too much: his breath ghosting over your taut nipples, his pelvis grinding against your throbbing clit, how he manages to reach parts of you forgot existed, and the baritone of his voice telling you to simply release.
You do so with great pleasure. 
He lets out a low cry at your nails finding the bare globes of his ass whilst he fucks you, but you’re merely holding him close to you as you dissolve into the fog that was destined to take you. You can’t bring yourself to feel bashful as you cream around him, the sound of how filthy you were starting to echo about the large room with every generous thrust Andy gives you.
“That’s it, there you go...doing so well making such a mess all over me...such a good hole to fuck,” He coos, holding himself deep within you as you spasm around him just a bit and a couple tears leak from the corner of your eye as you look back up at him. You can only muster breathless whimpers as he still thrusts slowly into you, letting you feel everything. 
You moan a little louder when you look down and catch a glimpse of him disappearing inside of you. He’s still hard. 
Your throat feels dry, but you don’t care. You don’t care when the sight of him above you–hair now tousled with rogue strands hanging in his face, eyes wild as he debates on seeing your expressions or how deep he was inside of you, and body flush with a crimson that makes you want to mark him up. Andy was a sight and you wanted to reward him, you wanted to show him that you could give as good as you got. 
This time though, it feels like he’s challenging you to try and take him in your delicate state. Part of you wants to just let him fuck you into the mattress like you know he can, but other part wants to wipe that smirk off his face when he manages to settle your quivering body into his lap before you’re blowing out a low groan when he enters you again.
“Wow, mio piccolo fuoco, look at that,” He grunts out appreciatively, making you moan out with a huff at the feeling of him rutting his hips up one time. You hold onto his shoulders and hold his gaze, waiting for him to finish his thought already. “So willing for someone you barely know.”
You have no retort, only the response to start working yourself on him after he lays a hand on your tender ass. From this position, it feels like he’s even deeper, like he’s going to breach your stomach and kiss your ribcage eventually. You love it either way. 
Andy looks up at you with awe in his eyes, mouth agape, hands roughly grabbing you while you ride him for all he is worth and then some. Grunts, curses, and moans echo throughout the room, and your grinding only adds the sound of the headboard sliding and hitting the wall from time to time. 
The two of you descend into an animalistic kind of fucking, one that is nasty and leaves those involved without the feeling of being ruined for others to explore. You hold onto him like he’s your lifeline, unknowing of which cliff he’s going to push you over–only cognizant of him pulling you closer and subconsciously starting to fuck up into your thrusts. 
“Such a greedy cunt, just giving it up so easy, huh?” He grunts, and you shudder when your swollen clit meets his sinful grind. His question goes verbally unanswered, but your drooling moan is more than enough for him. “Just letting me ruin it how I want?”
You can feel his lips on the column of your neck, tender for a moment before his kiss turns into a bite and you’re clenching around him like a vice.
‘Yes, baby! Please please please please please!’
You sound fucked–ruined. Little do you know he loves it. 
“Fuuuuuck, m’gonna cum in this pretty little pussy,” He’s starting to sound like he’s out of breath. “Wanna...Gonna make you so damn full of me.” 
You’re holding on by a thread and your willpower alone as you continue to work your abused hole onto his length over and over again. 
“I want it...Please give it to me, hermoso,” You whine, and suddenly, Andy’s anchoring you down into him. 
His lips wrap around your nipple, and he releases himself within you with a long groan. The warmth blooming sets off an orgasm that results in you milking him, causing the two of you to continue chasing the high of peaked pleasure. 
Time seems like a distant construct even after the two of you have calmed down, bodies wrung out from how much you’ve taken from and given to one another. There’s no need to wonder if he felt just as needy as you did, the reluctance of him having to remove himself from you (so that he could attempt to get the two of you a small percentage of clean) was evident. 
“Shh, shh...I know, cara mia, but I have to get you clean,” Andy murmurs softly when he’s finally dragging the warm, wet cloth between your messy thighs as you mewl from the oversensitivity in the faintest of touches. Your dress was now discarded elsewhere, perhaps closer to the location of your long forgotten shoes. 
The fog still clouds your mind somewhat, but you realize that you need to tell him something. It, of course, comes out slightly slurred, but you feel certain that he heard you when his actions pause.
Had you not been so tired, perhaps you would’ve repeated yourself right then and laughed at how boyish he seemed at that moment. Hell, you didn’t know a lot about him, but something told you this easier side was not known by many. You don’t dwell on it though, simply melting into the side of the bed that wasn’t messy with Andy. 
As you move to curl into him, settling into the natural heat his body provides, you let the word slip out of your swollen and pouty lips again. The thing that Andy didn’t know until now, even though you already had him hooked on you in one way or another. 
Your name. 
Just like that, everything soon dissolved into Pandora and the box.
come and talk to me about this?
1K notes · View notes
hanmine · a month ago
[ 𝟗:𝟒𝟖 𝐀𝐌 ] — 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐉𝐈
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“so, did you get me a present?” hanma bats his eyelashes at you, making you roll your eyes. sliding a pancake onto his plate, you pinch his nose.
“no, shuji. i am your present,” you smirk. you should know by now that even if you think you’re winning the game, hanma’s the one who invented it, after all.
it’s always ruled in his favor.
“aww, baby,” he says smugly, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “you shouldn’t have. does that mean you’re mine for the day?”
“oh, absolutely,” you play along. his eyes glint, and you realize now that you’ve set yourself up.
“well then in that case, i’ve got a new desk in my office that needs testing out. how ‘bout we fu—”
“no, shuji,” you hiss. “we are not hooking up in your office. not for people to walk in on,” you shoot him a glare, and he pouts at you, holding back a grin at how you try to hide how flustered you are.
it’s not even ten in the morning, yet somehow, hanma always has the energy to push your buttons. and you shouldn’t be here, making him pancakes in the little kiss the cook apron he insists you wear—though he’d wanted to get one printed with make out instead, but you’d shot down the idea rather quickly. but hanma shuji is unshakable, and the worst part is that you don’t want to shake him off.
“but baby,” he insists. “you’re supposed to be my present.” you stop him before he can pour the syrup on his pancakes, making him raise a brow. “not gonna give me a proper present or let me eat? some start to my special day,” he sighs dramatically.
you roll your eyes at his theatrics, pulling out a single candle and planting it into his pile of pancakes, grabbing a lighter to light the wick. his expression softens.
hanma’s never blown out candles for his birthday, not until he met you. and he’d scoffed the first time you’d insisted he do it, but a small part of him—the part of him that’s still aching to be a little boy and enjoy his childhood like normal kids do—had been elated.
you push the plate with the lit candle towards him.
“make a wish, birthday boy,” you whisper, smiling down at him gently. his heart skips a beat, and even in a plain white t-shirt and messy hair, hanma looks as dashing as ever.
“wish i had a present.” snorting, you shake your head, moving to flick his forehead, but he catches your hand in the process. there’s a genuine smile on his face, and even if he has to spend this birthday present less just like most of his birthdays growing up, hanma thinks this is one he’ll never forget. he presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand.
“you’ll get your damn present,” you chuckle. “got you plenty of them.”
“are you included?”
“yes, but that’s not until later,” you narrow your eyes, and he gives you a faux pout, making your thumb swipe over his jutted lip as you move to cradle his face.
and even if he’d never grown up thinking his birthday was a big deal, even if he tells himself he’s too old for ‘bullshit’ like this now, each year, without fail, hanma wakes up on his birthday with a giddiness spreading across his chest.
because now he has you, and you find every part of him, every flaw and every unconventional piece that makes him up, worth celebrating.
“you didn’t have to get me anything,” he mumbles almost shyly as he looks down. “‘m a grown man, you know.”
“but you’re my baby,” you insist. “and my baby needs his birthday kisses. but first, make your wish,” you gesture at the still burning candle, making him roll his eyes and turn his attention to it.
“i wish—”
“shuji! you can’t say it out loud or it won’t come true. we have to go over this every year,” you groan, and he scowls at you, huffing out a small fine before closing his eyes and thinking of a wish like you always insist he does. he blows out the candle, meeting your eyes as the flame dies out.
your eyes lock on each other for a moment, and neither of you want to pull away.
“made my wish,” he winks.
“what’d you wish for?”
“can’t say, otherwise it won’t come true. i believe those were your words if i remember correctly.” you pout, making him chuckle as he pulls you closer by your waist. burying his face into your stomach, he hugs you tightly. “love you,” he whispers.
“love you too,” you murmur. “now i can give you birthday kisses.”
“i’m not ten, but fine—” and he’s cut off by kiss after kiss after god damn kiss. and slowly, soft chuckles bubble past hanma’s throat, becoming louder as you pepper sweet pecks all across his face.
he’s spent his last few birthdays with you by his side, and he can’t ever imagine spending one without you now. he hopes for a million more, each one where he gets to wake up and feel the weight of you in his arms.
“there, one for each birthday ever,” you grin.
“you missed a spot,” he raises a brow.
“maybe next year,” you tease. “you’re not old enough.”
“well, fuck next year. i want it now.” and with a swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap, his lips molding perfectly against yours as you both grin in between shared kisses.
suddenly, hanma thinks he loves his birthday, and he wishes to spend the rest of them just like this.
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1K notes · View notes
nsfwsebbie · 6 months ago
baby, but you.
summary. | He hopes you can feel it, because nobody else can heal it but you. Baby, but you.
warnings. | smut, hate fucking (ish), enemies to lover, slight angst, birthdays, degradation, praise, spitting, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, yearning, crushing, riding, couch sex, breeding, possessiveness, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI AND DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES.
word count. | 3.6k
pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader.
a/n. | happy birthday @asadmarveltrashbag ilysm!!! thank you so much for being there for me since like day one, for being such a good role model and for just being amazing. thank you so much for listening to me rant and giving me advice, i’m so grateful for you. i hope your birthday is amazing today, i love you so much!! don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know.
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He stands afar from you. A cold, calculated stare that you’re almost tempted to challenge with your killer one. There are only about two and a half meters of space separating you two, and even that’s not enough. You’re like a cat and a dog, constantly fighting about God knows what. Sometimes it’s the stupidest of things; other times, it’s the most reasonable. Either he has the television on too loud, or you come home too late. The other neighbours… Well, frankly, they don’t live here anymore.
It’s because they can’t handle his screaming when he has nightmares. You scoffed when you first heard it from your landlord, finding it absolutely insane that nobody is used to the sounds of a nightmare. As if they’re any better. You handle it like a champion, simply just putting on earbuds and your favourite songs at the lowest volume until you fall asleep. You almost feel bad for him when you see him with deep bags under his eyes.
But one short, snarky remark from him has the sympathy in you draining. Almost like the way his hands are the palest colour ever, and his skin doesn’t have the redness it should have. Almost as if the colours on a painting have been scraped off. You shouldn’t be noticing these things, really, but you just can’t help it. He’s almost a shell of the man he once was, at least in his words, but you believe that with some care (not from your hands, ew), he’ll be back to normal.
He shouldn’t notice the way you sigh every time you get home. The way you drag yourself through the carpeted hallway, out from the metal box that Bucky doesn’t trust. He doesn’t charge anything that has to do with heights, so that’s why he’s settled for the second floor. The drop in his stomach brings back so many memories that he can’t bear to remember.
Sometimes, he picks up the rumble of your stomach that he knows you’re embarrassed about, only because when it happens, you become the most fearful sailor to ever cross the shore. You always arrive right before Bucky falls asleep, leaving him at peace. ...No, no, no. It’s not like that. He totally doesn’t wait up until you come home safely before he can actually fall asleep so he can have a sense of calm. No, that’s absurd. Another absurd thing is the ungodly hour that you arrive home.
“Listen, you’re the one who bumped into me, okay? Let’s just leave it at that,” you huff, swinging your keychain between your fingers. Your digits are so soft, only ever coarse when you touch the skin between them. His hands, however, are almost the opposite. They’re rough and dry, but the crevices are a bit damp with sweat from pure nervousness. “No, no, you bumped into me, and we’re going to leave it at that, okay? Okay,” he nods, even though he’s talking to you.
“No, you bumped into me, and that’s that. Goodbye, Mr. Barnes,” you finish, throwing your bag over your shoulder and stomping down the hallways. You don’t look back once, simply just strutting your way to that darned elevator that you loathe. Suddenly, a hand wraps around your arm and turns you around. “I didn’t say you could go; we’re not done until I say we’re done,” he growls, gripping your arm tight enough to have you whimpering.
“No, fuck you. I’m tired of constantly listening to you bitch and moan about things that aren’t even my fault. God, it’s like you’re twenty fucking years old with no maturity, it’s fucking pathetic,” you spit, trying to yank your arm away. But compared to a supersoldier, your strength is equal to a cool spring breeze hitting a concrete building—basically nothing. Bucky’s chest heaves, and for a moment, you’re scared.
But even though he has a temper, he could never hurt you. He’s not the Winter Soldier; you’re sure of it.
His jaw clenches, and you stare at him intensely. Work is long forgotten, just like the fact that today is your birthday. That nervous, jittery feeling that would pool in the pits of your soul isn’t there. You wonder if it’s because you’re all grown up now, or maybe it’s because you’ve been so busy that your birthday seems like any other day in your eyes. Your eyes fall to his lips, almost on instinct. They’re pink and plump, slightly damp from the wetness on his tongue.
He gently pushes you inside his home, and you stumble back in shock. “I have to go to work–” you start, but he cuts you off. “I don’t give a shit. I need to teach you a lesson,” he snaps, pulling off his leather jacket. It has blue hues to it, sometimes grey if shone under the correct lighting. It’s overall black, suiting that dark soul of his that some people claim he has. You keep your mouth shut, clutching onto the strap of your backpack that rests on your right shoulder.
Suddenly, that fiery haze of yours has faded out, and you just watch him dumbfounded. Your jaw is slightly slack, but your eyes aren’t bulging out. Bucky pulls off the unusual leather gloves that always seemed to be a little too big on him. The space between his fingers and the cloth is always too much, and you even contemplated ‘accidentally’ giving him a new, better-fitting pair.
They flop onto the floor with an almost laughable sound, but you know you shouldn’t even dare to crack a smile. “Always going on and on about something. You just need to be shut up for once, don’t you?” Bucky questions, snapping his head towards you. “N- No…” you whisper, looking down to the ground. Suddenly, you prefer looking at wood floors to handsome men such as Bucky.
“Oh… Right, I forgot. You don’t know what’s good for you, that’s why you go to work and come home so late in the night. Bet you don’t have any time to fuck around with those pathetic twenty-year-old douchebags. That’s why you touch that little pussy of yours before you head to work, right?” he questions, and you gulp thickly.
Did he really hear it all?
“Please, I heard the way you finger fuck yourself in the shower all the way here. You really need to learn how to properly lock your door. You’re lucky those old ladies were here when I heard you, or else I would’ve come all the way over there and taught you a real good lesson,” he snaps, and you genuinely feel like doubting every little thing you do. “And you know what’s so funny, doll? I even hear the way you moan my name when you’re about to come,” he whispers, standing so close to you, and you wonder how he even managed to get here.
Your faces are inches away, His warm breath fans against your skin, and Bucky can feel the nervousness seeping through your pores. “Need a refresher? Or are you just going to stay quiet?” he questions, raising his eyebrows. He has a stupid smile on his face, and you’re not sure whether you want to kiss him or slap him. Both seem very appealing, but God, that devil on your shoulder always did have a loud voice.
Your bag joins his gloves on the floor, and you tilt your head upwards to kiss him. Your lips slowly slot against his, the taste of stale coffee immediately fills your mouth as Bucky shoves his tongue past your lips. He cups the side on your face, and your hands remain bent in the air. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you place them on his shoulders, hoping for the best. He tenses up for a bit, and you start to pull away.
He doesn’t let you go too far. His hands keep you near him, and he stares into your eyes. Blue, blown-out orbs give Bucky an even darker look, and you’re practically sailing the same ship. “Don’t… Don’t go,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours. “I won’t, but-” you begin, but he cuts you off with an open-mouthed kiss. It’s so rough, so passionate. Teeth and tongues clash at each other, and you whimper against him as his hands move from your face.
They run down your body before gripping your hips and pulling you closer to him. His front presses against yours, and you can feel his defined muscles through that black t-shirt of his. You wrap your arms around his neck, such a simple act and yet he’s swooning like the lovesick fool he is. No, no, no, he’s not lovesick, and he’s not swooning. He’s just wanting, and that is all, just like you are.
You roll your hips for friction, desperate for something. The faint feeling of Bucky’s hard cock sends shivers down your spine, and you just know he’s huge. He could probably split you in two if he really wants to, and maybe it’s what you want as well. God, just the mental image of his cock sliding in and out of you is so pleasurable. Wetness soaks your panties, and you moan into his mouth.
“Say ‘ah,’ slut,” he mumbles before pulling away from the kiss again. You quickly do so and watch as Bucky puckers his bruised, red lips. You’re not sure what to expect; a stupid, silly kiss or something else. Your tongue is stretched out inside your mouth, and you wait for him as your chest rises and falls. Your eyes watch him as he spits into your mouth, a wad of spit dripping onto your tongue and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets.
You quickly swallow it as if it’s some sort of antidote to an incurable disease. “Oh, you’re such a dirty fucking girl, aren’t you? I bet you’d let me do anything to you, right? Let me fuck you silly, throw you around, treat you like the spoiled brat you are,” Bucky growls with a fierce smirk on his stupidly gorgeous face. Sculpted by the Gods themselves, you wonder why the world has been so mean to him.
No, no, no, you don’t. You’re just desperate and needy.
“You really are stupid, and I haven’t even touched that little pussy of yours yet, and you can’t even answer a simple li’l question,” Bucky says out loud, expressing pure shame and disgrace. You shake your head before placing your hands back on his hard, defined chest. There’s a specific spot on his chest where the fabric is too sheer. You can see the way his soft hair has been shaved down to a mere stubble, and you wonder what he’d look like if it was grown out.
“I- I’m a dirty girl, I’d let you do anything to me, James,” you whisper to him, looking up at him with unintentional doe eyes. “I know, baby, I know,” he smirks before pushing you backwards. You expect to collide with the wooden floors harshly and startle the downstairs residents, or maybe even on a carpet that would try to break your fall but would end up failing.
You don’t expect to fall back onto a soft, cushioned couch. It’s more so an armchair that is a greyish-blue colour, one that you’d see and Ikea and want so bad, but you’d quickly change your mind once you see the whopping price it’s set at. Bucky towers over you, and you tilt your head up, still watching has the features of his face twitch a bit. His hands run down to your thighs, smoothing over the fabric of your jeans before his nimble yet strong, thick fingers reach to the button and zipper.
He makes quick work of stripping your clothes off for you, and you try your hardest to do the same for him. But flying, clashing hands that are oh so desperate can’t really do much. So as he pulls your wet panties down your feet, you hurriedly kick them to the floor. Bucky pulls his shirt over his head, and you’re not sure if you’ve lost it or if time truly has slowed down. You’re able to memorize each freckle, each scar, each mole and each muscle of his upper body.
He’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Though everyone has their measly little flaws that can be so bothersome, in your eyes, he has no flaws. “Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” he breathlessly tells you, making you struggle to fight the cheerful smile that forces its way onto your face. “You’re pretty too, James,” you tell him, reaching backwards to unclasp your bra.
Now, there’s nothing special about it, really. It’s plain black, and in some areas, it physically pains you, leaving branded marks behind that feel good when you gently run your hands over them. Nonetheless, you look gorgeous with it on. But when it’s on the floor, treated like nothing, you’re even more beautiful. Your slick has stained your inner thighs with stickiness, and your clit throbs with need.
Bucky parts your legs, watching as strings of wetness pull apart from each other. “Fucking hell, is that all because of me, slut? Say it, tell me who you’re so wet for,” he demands, and your breathing hitches. “S’all for you, James, I’m so wet because of you,” you whisper to him, and he smirks devilishly. You clench around nothing but air, desperate for his cock to be inside you. “I want you so bad, James, please fuck me,” you beg to him desperately, and he chuckles.
Bucky goes to start taking off his pants, unbuckling his belt and pulling down the zipper that sometimes gets caught onto the fabric of his boxers a little too much. The black fabric slips off his skin like an extra layer of skin, and the sight of his hard cock beneath his briefs is so sexy. You let out a shaky breath, and you can just see how fucking huge he is. Impossibly long with a thickness that’ll leave you limping for at least a week or two.
“You know what’s so fucking hilarious, baby? Just moments ago, you were cursing me out, fuming at me and calling me pathetic, but look at you; you’re the pathetic one here. Practically drooling for my cock, so needy as soon as I put my hands on you,” Bucky scoffs, and you know he’s so right. He pulls down his boxers, and you watch as his cock springs out, slapping his lower abdomen and near his pretty Adonis bone.
He roughly pulls you up and sits down on the couch before dragging you onto his lap. You straddle the sides of his thick thighs, and his big cock presses right next to your pussy, between your legs. Beads of precum drip down the shaft of his cock, and some of it even sticks to your skin. “You want my cock, baby? Well, go ahead, you can have it,” he tells you, resting his hands on your hips.
You exhale nervously, knowing that his cock is gonna stretch you out so much, it’ll be borderline painful and pleasurable. You lift your hips up a bit, and Bucky’s hand grasps the base of his cock. He’s sticky and pulsating, a raging red that is almost purple if you squint your eyes enough. He drags it from your swollen little pearl all the way down to your drooling hole. The mild friction is absolutely amazing, making you moan softly.
Bucky shudders as he slowly pushes the tip of his cock inside of you. He almost wants to tease you so badly, make you beg for it until you’re sobbing and going all ditzy for him. But he’s not all the mean, and he can’t possibly be so cruel to the birthday girl. In one swift motion, Bucky pulls you down onto his cock, burying himself inside of you. You toss your head back and cry out as he stretches you painfully. The wet squelching pounds of your pussy are loud, but your moans are much louder.
He curses and bites down on his bottom lip, falling in love with the way your pussy hugs him tightly and the velvet feeling of your walls. No, no, no, he is not falling in love. He’s just desperate, that’s all. It takes you both a few seconds to adjust, and the painful stretch dulls down to immense pleasure. You struggle to control your breathing, though, because you’ve never taken anyone or anything as big and him. Months of wanting and needing him have finally come down to this, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.
He hopes you can feel it because nobody can heal it but you. Every single day he thinks about you, and his heart hurts. His heart hurts when he watches you leave and come home, it hurts when you both fight, and it hurts when he believes you could never love him. His mind still tells him that, and yet here you are, riding his cock on your birthday. He notices the way your bottom lip wobbles a bit, and he pities you.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good. Ride my cock, birthday girl, I know you can do it,” Bucky praises with the most innocent smile ever. You nod your head and slowly begin to rock your hips, moving them up and down his cock. Bucky is torn; he doesn’t know whether he should stare at your pretty face or at where you’re both connected. Your slick coats his cock and leaves it glistening, and he watches as it disappears and reappears over and over.
His hand returns back onto your hips, and he gently guides you up and down his cock. Your pained whimpers soon turn to loud, slutty, desperate moans, and Bucky begins to fuck up into your cunt, meeting you at every thrust. “Fuck, yeah, that’s my good girl. Riding my cock so fucking good,” Bucky coos, and you can’t help but giggle. Warmth fills your chest, and pleasure blooms immensely in your core, and it’s the exact same for Bucky.
His balls slap against your ass, and his cock drives in and out of you. You ride him at a quicker pace, moaning loudly, and he nudges against your sweet spot. “You look so fucking sexy riding my cock, baby. Could watch you forever an’ ever,” Bucky purrs, gripping your hips even tighter. Electricity crackles up your spine, almost like a burning wire in a destroyed fuse box. Everything is so sensitive, and the searing pleasure builds up inside the two of you.
Beads of sweat drip down your neck, and it is the same for Bucky. His skin shines just like his cock does, and the veins on the side of it throb with every movement. The wet noises and the sound of skin on skin fills the room almost impressively. The neighbours would’ve already filed noise complaints if they still lived here, but they don’t. So Bucky’ll fuck your brains out until you can’t make a sound.
“Fuck, you’re close, aren’t you? Can feel the way that nice little cunt is squeezin’ my cock,” he groans, staring up at you with his jaw slightly slacked. Your eyes have glazed over, and you stare at Bucky’s face. You ride him using his dick for all your needs and wants. It’s just like you’ve imagined, even down to the pleasure you’re feeling. “Mhm, gonna come all over your big cock,” you whimper at a specific thrust.
And he’s close too. Though the serum should make him last longer, your pussy just defies those rules. He fucks into you faster and rougher, and your legs have turned to jelly. You collapse onto his chest and let him pound your pussy into oblivion. Bucky’s chest rumbles with a chain of moan and curses, and you look up at him. His metal arm is icy cold, just like his eyes. But his orbs are darker than regular ice. They resemble black ice more than anything.
The elastic band in your stomach twists up tightly until it can’t do anything but snap. And so it does. The dam breaks, and you’re suddenly coming around Bucky’s cock. Your cum coats his cock and drips down his balls as your body seizes up. Your jaw falls open, and your eyes roll back while you moan loudly. “Fuck, you look so pretty when you come,” Bucky breathes, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck.
You cry out loudly as Bucky sloppily fucks you through your orgasm and chases his own. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, knock you up with my kids. Fuck, you’d look so hot with a bump, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of your body,” he moans deeply, feeling his balls tighten up. He tosses his head back and curses, hitting his release. Ropes of cum shoot inside your cunt, painting your walls and even leaking out a bit. Somewhere, deep down inside Bucky, he truly hopes it sticks.
He moans loudly as his hips give a few shallow thrusts, prolonging his orgasm. You both sigh, slick with sweat and other bodily fluids that neither of you cares about. “Happy birthday…” Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss on the side of your head. “T- Thank you… How’d you know, though?” you question, even though his cock is still inside you. “Just did… Listen, I’m sorry–” he starts, but you cut him off. “Shh, I don’t care about anything but you, baby,” you tell him, whispering gently.
“Baby, but you.”
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cantalouupe · 2 months ago
nsfw !!! diluc x f!reader
(sort of) sub!diluc, puppy!diluc, he is so horny poor guy, knots, a lot of cum, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, light praise kink
Diluc is different. Not in a bad way or a good way, or in any “way” at all. It was simply a fact. Diluc was not the same as you or the Knights or Sara at The Good Hunter or any other human in Teyvat - that wasn’t also a hybrid.
You often forget about this; not because it’s not noticeable - the floppy ears and constantly wagging tail make it very obvious - but because that really seemed to be the full extent. He didn’t chase after cats or bark at squirrels, he walked and talked and ate and acted as a normal human would.
You’re aware that Teyvat is full of a lot of unique creatures and you’re also aware that most people don’t consider Diluc to one of those unique creatures - there was a whole group of hybrids in Springvale, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.
Since everyone seems to forget that Diluc is, in fact, different, no one expects it when he acts it.
“What’s wrong with Master Diluc today?”
Your gaze shoots over to the person speaking to you and you shake your head. There was nothing up with him. You’d seen him this morning, a little tired but the same as always. Sweet and quiet with his hair messy from sleep - he’d kissed you before he left and told you he loved you, which was nothing out of the ordinary. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ve never seen him look sick before, but you should probably bring him some soup,” they tell you, turning before leaving to add, “and maybe keep him on a leash. Heard he almost got into a fight.”
When you finally got to the Winery - panicked and expecting him to greet you with bruised knuckles and a split lip - you see him, flushed and sweaty, with watery eyes and red strands of hair sweat slicked down to his face, you agreed that he looked sick.
He wasn’t, though. Not really.
When he spots you he races over, grabbing onto you and running his nose along your skin, from your cheek down to your collarbones.
“Sweetie,” you grab his face, moving him away from your throat so you can look him in the eyes. His pupils were blown out, dark with only a slim sliver of iris visible. “What happened?”
“They wanted to change the bedding.” Diluc mentions, gripping onto the clothes you were wearing. “But I didn’t let them.”
“No, Diluc,” he just wants to take you to bed, you know. “Someone told me you were acting weird.”
“I wasn’t,” he insists. “I was just looking for you.”
“You should have stayed here. What do you think you’re doing picking fights with the state you’re in?”
“I just wanted to find you.”
There’s no room to be mad at him, not when he’s looking at you the way he is, crowding close as if there was some force pulling him to you.
You pause, for barely a second before Diluc takes it upon himself to try to lead you inside. Without any trouble, because you don’t put up a fight - why would you?
Before you know it your clothes and his are being tugged off, he’s pushing you onto the bed and crawling on top of you. He’s hard, cock hanging heavily between his legs. Precum drips from the head like a broken faucet.
“Can I fuck you now?”
His hand grips around himself, pushing the head right against your cunt. Your hand comes to his shoulder, hoping that he’ll pause for just a minute.
“Have you come today?” He’s probably been hard for a few hours now - he doesn’t like getting off if it’s not inside of you.
“Never, never,” he shakes his head. “Not without you.”
You spread your legs a little, to accompany his body, and laugh - a little breathlessly - at his neediness. “You must have to come really bad, huh.”
He whines low. “Please let me fuck you. I’ll be good.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be so good. ‘M always good, your good boy.”
“Honey, you need to relax.”
“Can’t,” he pants against your cheek, breath hot where it hits your skin. “Can’t, need to fuck.”
He finds your hole easily, slipping all the way in until his hips sit flush against yours. He wastes no time in waiting for you to adjust to the intrusion, immediately beginning a sloppy, uncoordinated series of thrusts.
“It feels good, right?” He asks, watching your head fall back with the feeling of him. “Do you love it when I fuck you?”
His words are hurried, spewing out like water out of a broken dam - he speaks so much, not necessarily because he wants to but because he can’t help it. The pleasure of you wrapped around his dick is like a drug, intoxicating him and making words slip from his mouth with each push inside of you.
Unlike him, you are rendered speechless for the majority of this. He’s impossibly big, cock reaching far within you
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” you gush around him in response, walls hugging him with a soaked warmth. “So perfect for breeding.”
He’s dirty, spewing vulgar words while angling his hips so his dick feels even deeper inside. It makes your back arch, a high punched out moan sounding from you.
It spurs him on, tail wagging with each sound you make. “You sound so good,” his hips make a wet slap each time they meet yours, the room filling with repeated squelching sound that you’re sure could be heard from outside with how hard he was fucking you. “I cant wait to breed you full of my cum.”
His own words worked him up, the idea of breeding you the only thought in his mind. “Yeah, gonna fill you up, and- ‘nd you’re gonna have my puppies, right? G’nna have my puppies.”
“I will,” you answer in broken, high pitched cries, “I will, I will.”
“Fuck, so good,” he moans out, hands coming to your thighs, pushing them so you were in a new position. No matter how many times you did this, you would almost always end up in a mating press, Diluc pressed all close gasping about how this is better, you’ll be able to take all his loads like this.
You know, once he changes position and grips you tight, that the first round is almost over, and his knot will start to form.
Just like clockwork, it does.
The base of his cock swelled, knot taking shape and spreading your hole wide each time Diluc forced it inside. Soon - too soon - it is so big that he can’t thrust it in and out of you. It locks the two of you together, keeping a tight seal so nothing leaks out when he comes inside.
With how worked up he is, how backed up from not coming all day, it takes no time for him to release.
His dick pulsed, as if it had its own heartbeat, twitching inside of you with his release. Each pulse would send a rush of cum inside of you, continuing until you felt like you were going to burst. He always gave the most when he knotted.
You get a few minutes of rest to wait for his knot to go down, but by the way he’s sucking at the side of your neck, you know its only a matter of time before his hips start moving.
He hotly murmurs about how good your cunt is, telling you that he wants to fuck another knot into it while you gush wetness onto his cock.
Once his cock is no longer swollen at the base, he keeps his word, pounding you into the mattress and fucking his cum into your womb - thats what he had told you he wanted, to cum so deep that your would get filled. The two of you spend multiple hours trying to achieve this, with Diluc’s hips on overdrive and you boneless against the damp sheets.
This will continue, with hours of fucking that last several long days until the primal need to fuck has finally subsided.
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kkusuka · 7 months ago
haikyuu and jjk pussy pounders <3
(i’m sorry for mixing them but i had this thought and just couldn’t stop form writing)
toji fushiguro
he’s an absolute tank. he also hates half assing things, and bratty bitches get the shit fucked out of them, it’s a simple motto. and good little cum dumps don’t touch their pretty pussy’s when their daddy’s away, so how had he happened to come home to that exact situation?
not only did you try to touch his pussy but you tried to fight him about it! now he had to fuck you back into his perfect hole. slamming his body weight into your weeping hole, keeping your back nice and arched for his cock to his all those places that mark you sputter al those pretty sounds.
geto suguru
a non purposeful pussy pounder. because it’s not really him doing it, he doesn’t need to when you look so cute bouncing on his cock. but eventually you’ll get tired, that pretty sheen covering your body, small tears pouring down your cheeks, legs failing to pick yourself back up and slam back down, only thinking with your hungry cunt.
it’s ok, suguru will help his hopeless cum dump out a bit. giving your hips a little raise all the way to the tip of his cock, letting gravity take its reign. poor baby was already fucked out weren’t you? that’s too bad, he just loves watching you lose your mind on his cock too well.
nanami kento
stress is a maneater. and nanami has a boatload of stress weighing his shoulders, and what better way to combat that then using his desperate whore to their pull potential. always talking about how well you take his cock and how much you love his dick; so prove it.
take his load round after round with losing yourself on his cock, but lord knows he loves when you drool on him like a wanton whore. he doesn’t care about how overstimulated you are; take it like the slut he knows you are.
sukuna ryomen
he’s a literal monster. and an asshole, he wants you to lose any thought except for how his cock carves it’s way into your slutty pussy. he loves ho tiny you look, letting tears run down your face as your hands try to cling to him anywhere you can grab.
he’ll pound into you until your eyes roll back into your head and your cum sprays all around your room and him. hopefully he’ll fuck you so stupid that you never come back and you can be his hole for the rest of eternity, either way as long as your pussy clings to him so nicely; he has no issue.
shugo meian
an official 6’5 dilf who would wreck you for the rest of the week. who cares if you can’t walk for work tomorrow, he’ll just stay home with you and fuck you immobile. he can carry you around so he isn’t worried about how your legs give out while he pounds your poor little hole, and he really doesn’t are that you’ll have to walk around the hotel the next morning.
he wants them to see, that’s why he let them. it was an ‘accident’ the locker room door wasn’t closed, can’t to anything now that your bouncing on his cock! it’s an honest mistake, that he filmed it and just might send it to the group chat if enough of them ask, and he knows they will. not like they won’t know what happened when he carried you out to the car.
ushijima wakatoshi
a natural pussy pounder. his cock fucks you out before he’s even started. and that’s not good when all he wants to do is watch those old tapes of retired people play volleyball. but he wants to be near you, so the only option is to have you cock warm him.
now hush up and watch the tv, don’t try and move those pretty hips around him, he has to focus so don’t beg him to fuck your cunt. you know he will but he has to get this done, if you don’t be quite he fuck you dumb and keep you on his cock before he’s done. and now that he says it, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
sakusa kiyoomi
kiyoomi doesn’t half ass anything, it’s insult that you think any taunts would make him lose his cool around the imbeciles. but they can’t help you once you’ve stepped through your apartment door. it’s clear he has to put you back into your place, and fucking you on the floor seems fitting.
not once did the man take pity on your poor cunt, he fucked for himself and himself only, you were there to aid him in that. you’re a hole, a pretty little whore who lets him use you like one, never forget that you’re his slut, his cum dump for whenever he pleases.
iwaizumi hajime
anger is a breeder for lust, and iwaizumi has a lot of both. he doesn’t mean to take it all out on you but in the moment he can’t help but want you drunk off his dick. and if that means fucking you like he hates you than that’s what he’ll do.
a hand on the head board and another pressing you in place as he wrecks your pussy like he meant to. how can he not when you clench so nicely around him and tell his name like a prayer, he’ll have to keep you high on his cock all the time, not that you’ll care, all you can think about is the next time you fuck him anyway.
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