#I know half of these will return to bite me

[littlelittlebear]

streamer!fan!ellie x stand up comedian!reader

u just told me

want me to fuck u! (wc 4.5k)

you're her favorite, she finds out the feelings mutual.

fem!reader, butch!ellie. this is biblically accurate ellie yall, so shes a big dork. maybe i made her horny. maybe she was already horny. ellie worships the ground you walk on, wants your boobs in her mouth asap

major fluff with tension + eventual smut within this series of one shots!

disclaimer author tried to be funny (if youre funnier im so sorry) and knows nothing of twitch dot com (is it a website ??) (researched for this) also, forgot the us drinking age is 21… just pretend it’s at 18 lol. imagine your comedic delivery to be exactly like uh aubrey plaza meets john mulaney. this becomes very apparent as I straight up mention him

It wasn't a viral gem clip of crowdwork on tiktok that got you here. You were a slow burned sensation, a real, man-made star.

Since performing throughout your early teens, you built a bigger and bigger audience through word of mouth and phone booth posters. Old fuckin’ school!

Known for your dry wit comedy, understated delivery, and deserted social media presence, audiences young and old loved you; laughed with you. Big fucking publications– GQ, Wallstreet, the Times– credited you, amongst a couple of other trending talents, for Gen Z’s rising appreciation for stage performance.

You're adamant against the spotlight, you’re in it for the moment. The thrill. The writing and the payoff of a crowd. But because of your lack of content, fans started posting their favorite clips of your sets, which only widened your viewership. Eventually they started editing you. Just you. Cause baby, you’re hot. A handful of edits blew up and you were Tiktok’s fem of the month.

You caught everyone’s eye, including one @SmellieWilliams, fortified Twitch legend, Ellie.

☆

A feral scream interrupted her stream. Halfway through a Baldur’s Gate playthrough, someone in the chat asked if she’s heard of you.

Ellie held her reddening face in her hands. Her manspread legs, clad in checkered boxers, bounced on their heels as she jokingly sobbed. “No guys, you don’t understand, she’s so fucking hot. Yes, I’m pausing the fuckin’ game! It’s show and tell!” She got up, off screen, and returned with a big glossy poster of you biting your red painted lip with gleaming eyes, mic in hand.

visthirdleg BRUH Y/N DOESNT HAVE MERCH???😭😭

jonathansmirnoff ellie has access to a printer

She cackled at the chat. "I had pinterest and a dream. Look, look! Isn’t she pretty? She's so fuh-lipping pretty, can you believe she’s my age? See, y’all, more evidence that that’s my woman.” She left the frame again– and came back with her phone pulled up and held right up to the camera. Her lockscreen was a photo of her horse, Shimmer (a recurring feature on ellie’s streams). Then, she held her thumb down.

The lockscreen morphed into a very different scene: a tiktok edit. “Shut– shut up and watch. Take notes.” She pseudo-ordered.

The video teased a remix of a sexy R&B song as your eyes prawled over the crowd. Applause quieted. “Thank you everybody... hope y’all liked me tonight.” You drawled, purred. A series of slowed moments of you on stage followed – you throwing your head back in laughter like the rebirth of venus; you biting your lip like the poster; you tossing your hair up. The audio volume lowered back down to the first clip of you. “...because I liked y’all.”

“She’s so–” ellie cut herself off with a guttural moan-scream. The chatbox flew by with reactions. Suddenly, half the screen was obstructed by an audience member’s gift.

yournicknameohbaby

Cheered with $500

yournicknameohbaby feeling’s mutual, big secret tell no one

Ellie choked on her breath. “Hol– holy shit. Oh my God?” She scrambled back onto her gaming chair to get a better look, scrolling through the chat to find your comment. The strings of her black NASA hoodie were tugged tight. “yournicknameohbaby. Thank you. Oh my god, thank you. That is so huge I– guys, I know we do the dino dance for every big gift but I genuinely think it’s not enough–” Ellie stopped, reading. “Feeling’s mutual big se–” She chuckled under her breath at the comment, but that stopped too. yournickname… there’s no way, right? “Wait. Fuckin’ wait.” She raised an exaggerated eyebrow. The chat flew by some more.

sturniowannabe WAIT

lanadeladdisonrae NAAAH AINT NO WAY

porkupiggie fan acc

yournicknameohbaby 🤷‍♀️

Ellie reddened ferociously. “Okay! Haha, I’m gonna go with you being a loaded fan account ‘cause if you're actually her, I will jump out my window! The dino dance is definitely not enough for five hundred gyatt-damn dollars– woah you better not be y/n because I can’t be saying gyatt in front of fine shyt like that, um, so you get to pick what I do, yournicknameohbaby!”

The comments flurried between variations of “TELL HER TO TAKE HER SHIRT OFF” and “PLAY TAKE ON ME!!”

Ellie tsked “Guys, its yournicknameohbaby’s pick.” She turned the chat on slow mode so she could catch your comment.

yournicknameohbaby uhhh free of charge

wait no. tell me your favorite joke of y/n’s

and also! tell me what you like ab her :)) gimme like 5 reasons

Ellie read your comments outloud, chewing on her hoodie string. “But what if she sees this? I'm so freaking scared I’d look so freaky.”

yournicknameohbaby booooooooo

i promise you wouldnt

but okay okay

10 pushups rn

(pussy)

(kidding)

The chat erupted in keyboard smashes and onomatopoeia. Ellie sniggered. “Pfft, okay. I can do that. You made the masses happy.” She took off her hoodie by the back to reveal a white tank top. Re-angling the camera lower, she hunkered down and got into position. Palms and toes parallel to the floor. A glance, a wink, a smile. Then she lowered and lifted herself with ease, counting each one.

Towards the last five she spoke up. “Thank–” A push up. “you,” Another. “yournickname,” A whimper. “oh,” A grunt. “baby.” And a biiiig sigh.

She flopped back onto her gaming chair with a big grin. “Sucker, I would’ve done a hundred push ups for that!”

The chat had been business as usual: rapid fire pace with haha’s, omg’s, and the occasional bark.

yournicknameohbaby yay!! good job

yes and i am the most kind for requiring so few!

Ellie felt giddy. Five-hundred dollars was a lot for her scholar student budget, it meant the world. In her frenzy she’d already texted Joel a screenshot with the caption ‘!!!??!?!?:O :O’.

To which, Joel hearted. Probably busy with his shift at the plant. “Man, you know what, yournickname? I’ma follow you back real quick. Thank you. Can’t say it enough.” Her mouse clicked on your profile, then the follow button.

yournicknameohbaby OH WOAH

COOL YAY

HIII

Ellie turned her hands into a heart. “Cool-yay-hi to you, too! I can’t stop saying thank you. Gosh. Thanks a bunch. So many bunches.” She ran a tattooed hand through her auburn hair, then checked her watch. “Oh fuck, I’ve got class tomorrow, guys. I’ll end here. Get my zees. Love y’all, smell ya later!” She clicked her teeth as she winked with her sign off phrase, and the stream went black.

On her phone, Ellie opened her Paypal app and blinked away surprise as an extra five hundred was in-fucking-deed added to her account.

Whispers

smelliewilliams:

dude. thank u. fuck.

yournicknameohbaby:

hiya. you’re super welcome. shit.

smelliewilliams:

im so sorry i didnt do ur first ask yournickname

AAA I FEEL GUILTY BRO YOU SPENT SM MONEY

ITS JUST THAT THE STREAMS HAVE BEEN A LITTLE TOO FUCKIN LARGE LATELY

so scared someone clips it and it reaches wifey’s feed somehow thats so scawy ong

yournicknameohbaby:

ITS OKAY I PROMISE😭😭😭

uh i get it

so no guilt allowed

ive been a fan like since we were 14 (mb we’re the same age btw)

and ive got Adult Money now so im gonna spend it wisely

on the internet strangers who play games for me.

smelliewilliams:

JFHHFJSBDNSBFBA

ur fun-knee

and cool we’re both 19!!

was lowk worried u were a 4490 year old mega oldie

yournicknameohbaby:

only in spirit

the plot of nosferatu

you’re fun knee too

and hugh moris

smelliewilliams:

wait sorry what

yournicknameohbaby:

fun knee like funny and hugh moris like humorous!!

smelliewilliams:

OOOHHHHHA

HAHSHSHBSHSBAH

SYBAU WHY DIDNT I THINK OF THAT

yournicknameohbaby:

im just too good

youre meant to be sleeping ma’am!

smelliewilliams:

EIGHT I FORGOT

right**

night ohbaby!

yournicknameohbaby:

hah

sleep well!

Ellie was filled with bliss, the bigger number in her bank account shone on her like the sun. Instead of bed, though, she opened Tiktok. Lucky her, the first video on her For You Page was a long clip from your last show. Her jaw dropped, tongue pooled with unswallowed spit.

She’d never seen you in something so overtly hot. For all your shows, you’ve dressed more casually. A loud baby tee and blue jeans, hair down and real pretty. In this clip, though, you were in a tight black tank top, daisy dukes, pink kitten heels, and a Pamela Anderson up-do. Ellie bit her lip. “Fuck.” She muttered, and hastily favorited the Tiktok under a private folder called ‘let me do you y/n l/n'. You stood on stage with a mic, soaking up the spotlight. You barely had to muster energy to rack up stage presence. It eminated from you. Every set was like a casual, albeit one sided conversation. A knee rested atop the tall, black stool all stand up comedians seemed to be supplied with. Laughter from the last joke died down.

“My comedic hero is John Mulaney, because I’m nineteen years old. If I were twenty-nine, my comedic hero would be John Mulaney– because that's still not old enough to be good yet.” Laughter seemed to pour from the audience with every sentence.

“No, no. He's a brilliant comedian and, like everyone, I have also adopted him as my scraggly, misplaced, but ultimately very loving father.” The hint of a smirk grazed your glossed lips.

“Like him, I have a weird audience. I target none of you, yet many has flocked.” You raised a graceful hand toward the diverse, chuckling audience.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way! A specific audience calls for specific jokes. Now I may go on, undefined and independent. Sexualized by the free man instead of a Netflix producer–” The crowd gave a mixed cacophany of ooh’s and guffaws. You grinned like the cat who caught the canar-Ellie. “My career is as liberated as the act of getting out of a one piece, a body suit, in the bathroom. Am I technically free? … Yes. But I am also very vulnerable and cold.” Your genuine, underdone delivery made Ellie snicker.

“I respect a good body suit the way you respect that one guy who's really good at being an asshole? Body suits were clearly invented by someone with no genitals. A Ken doll. Because they always put the snap right where your dignity is meant. You look so good, but you are so mad, as there are three metal prongs trying super hard to be inside you.” Ellie choked on her lip. Thoughts of inside and you ran her brain through.

"Despite this, it's so cool to easily pee. The quick release. Like the little car in Cars who works the pit stop at speed ultimus. The short moments before and after the gate in front of a bullrider’s bull is unlocked. The body suit’s got the ethics of a catch and release program. The cunt is barred and freed! Is what the body suit says. It's also what my girl says when she opens the door for me.” The audience howled but Ellie’s smile vanished. She hit the share button for her group chat with Dina and Jessie so she could express her anguish. “I’m kidding, I dont have a girlfriend–” Ellie sighed in relief and deleted her unintelligible ‘whhwwyy”?!?!’ texts. “--I am in fact a total loser, I get zero vagina. Except I’m a pillow princess, so zero vagina gets me. This is not what was promised. Growing up beautiful and heterosexual, I was constantly told boys would be crawling all over me in college. Except I’m gay now. so that’s not ideal–”

The clip ended, cutting you off, and started to replay. A shocked face, lips parted, eyes wide, reflected back at Ellie from her dimly lit screen.

She texted her groupchat a barrage with the tiktok attached.

stinky 1:48 AM

several things: shes single. im single. so that means we’re literallt married

2nd. loser???? her??? fucking never

a pillow princess. guys wym she has sex without me. please plelslslsls lemme p-low that princess

(get it its like pillow but also plow bc smash hahahah)

ANS. SHES. GAY. GUYS SHE SGAY DGEHS D GAY AAAAA

dina’s wife 1:48 AM

sleep

diznuts 1:48 AM

SHES GAAAYAYAYYAYAY

GO ELS GO

stinky 1:48 AM

FYM GO??

I CANT DO ANTHING W THIS INFORMATION😔

dina’s wife 1:49 AM

sleep

diznuts 1:49 AM

DM HER DUMMY

stinky 1:49 AM

she has nothing to dm :(

diznuts 1:49 AM

go to her show.

dina’s wife 1:49 AM

this is enabling

stinky 1:50 AM

i CANT go to her show

diznuts 1:50 AM

PUSSIO

stinky 1:50 AM

THATS WEIRD DINA

dina’s wife 1:50 AM

s

stinky 1:50 AM

leep

night guys 🩶

Two days flew by, meshing into one, singular study session. Since exams season started, Ellie limited her streams to once a week instead of her usual, every other-other day set up. Ellie left her essay writing daze with triple the amount of notifications as usual. Brows furrowed, she consulted Twitter, then her tags. Hundreds of mentions under posts with the same thumbnail. You. Specifically, you on a Youtuber’s talk show.

“Now, girl, you’ve been outed.” Said the interviewer, Ellie wasn’t sure what her name was exactly.

“I know. I’m a gay.” You tsked and whined with joking rapor. Your interviewer pouted with you, and giggled.

“I’m interested. Who’s your celebrity need-me-some-a-that?”

You chuckled, a little shocked. “Oh, I like that. Fuck.” You paused to think. Ellie was on the edge of her seat, as far as laying down on her couch goes, antsy for context. “Okay, I don’t like celebrities, actually. I like athletes and streamers.” Ellie’s brow raised. She didn’t dare check the comments.

The interviewer popped her tongue. “Ooh! Tea.”

“Crumpets,” You added with full seriousness. the interviewer cackled. “Erm, man. God this is embarrassing because she’s… like… a fan of me too?” The interviewer and you gabbed and squealed. Ellie didn’t catch it, her ears began to ring.

“Ellie Williams, from Twitch. My actual fucking wife, She was kind of my gay awakening? Especially when she got more, um, butch–”

The clip ended. Then, Ellie’s phone was launched across the room.

☆

dinosellie’s Latest Tweets

deleting everything

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my body can be found floating in the seattle aquarium, thanks

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imsososlrry im such. a simpfor youbon main y/nWHATTGF

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She paced around her tiny, tidy, dorm with her hands on her head, using it as a bongo drum.

“You’re not going insane.” She murmured. “This is just… very awesome and terrifying. Oh baby this is fucked–’ A violent gasp shook through her.

That username, yournickname, is too similar to y/n. The timing. The money. The insane amount of money. The ‘feeling is mutual’.

Whispers

smelliewilliams:

so

yournicknameohbaby:

oh hey!

smelliewilliams:

hooldd on there ohbaby

yournicknameohbaby:

okok im holding

smelliewilliams:

this is weird

ok

OK THIS IS WEIRD

hey.

yournicknameohbaby:

hiya.

smellingwilliams:

are u y/n?

im sorry thats fuckin weird as balls to ask

yournicknameohbaby:

oh

shoot

smelliewilliams:

shoot??!?!??@@?!?!

yournicknameohbaby:

OK FUCK YOU SAW THE CLIP

smelliewilliams:

the clip saw me.

yournicknameohbaby:

hugh moris

smelliewilliams:

DUDE ARE U??

im sorry for calling u dude

im

ner vous ?

yournicknameohbaby:

it felt weird asf to ask right?

imagine how weird it feels to say yes i am

uh

her

me

y/n

smelliewilliams:

jesus wait

ARE U FUCKING W ME🤨

u are.

yournicknameohbaby:

time and place (Ellie found herself forgetting how to breathe.)

oh right

um

we cant send pics on here huh

smelliewilliams:

i dont think so

yournicknameohbaby:

add me on discord

if you wanna

ill turn my cam on and show you

heres my handle

firebuttershoefly

The blood in her veins achieved a strange temperature: both boiling hot and ice cold. On the one hand, she’s meeting you. Seeing your face. Your gorgeous fucking face and your focus all on her. Seeing you after you told the whole internet you want her. On the other hand, she’s fucking meeting you. Speaking to you after she told you (and the other hundred thousand in chat) that she wants you and then some.

Without responding, she added you on discord. After hey and hi were exchanged, the bubbly ringtone spooked her. Without collecting her breath, Ellie clicked answer.

Your camera was already on. You sat comfortably on your desk chair, knees up and covered in–lord have mercy– wooly high socks. A thin, grey t-shirt with a long scooping neckline had fallen off your shoulder. No bra strap obstructed your skin. Black glasses with big lenses sat pristine on your nose. Your mouth broke into a smile. “Ellie?” You asked, sweet voice stripped of comedic timing. You were unlike any state of yourself she’s seen online, comfortable and in sleepwear, but one hundred, billion percent you. Ellie was genuinely shaking. this was worse than stark struck, this was a disease.

“He-ey,” She stammered. “Yeah you’re definitely you.”

You giggled. “u-uh yeah, I am.” In the corner of the frame, she saw your hand tremble and fidget with itself. You were as nervous as she was, Ellie realized. “It’s okay if you don’t want to turn your camera on but I’d, um, like to see you too! We could hangout, maybe. If you’d like. I’d like to. Your profile picture of Shimmer eating pizza is cool too.”

Ellie wiped her sweaty palms on the couch seat. “Hah, yeah we can totally hangout. By the way, If I ever try to be funny, I’m so sorry.” You giggled, then before Ellie could think twice or check how she looked, she clicked camera on.

She saw the shift on your face when you saw her. Lips wetted. Eyes shone. “Woah! Hey there, Smellie!”

Ellie quickly covered her face with a hand. “Oh my God, no– you and Joel are the only people who aren’t allowed to call me that!” She groaned bashfully. “Sorry, Joel’s my–”

“I know who Joel is, silly. I’ve watched almost every stream since you started. I think my favorite one ever is from years ago when you two went to that big NASA exhibit. It’s a total comfort watch.” You tucked that same shaking hand behind your neck, massaging it. Ellie made impish noises internally. She almost wishes this was a clip pulled online so she could find edits of it, but then your shirt fell the teensiest more. “Ellie?” you asked, head tilted. Nope, No. a real conversation with you blows edits out of the water.

“Sorry, I’m here! I… lagged. That’s crazy, wow. I’m just wrapping my head around you knowing who I am at all.”

“Me too!” You nearly squealed. “Ellie, you’re fucking huge–” To which ellie shook her head, about to protest. “Zip it hombre. You’re easily bigger than I am, y’know? And definitely, uh, more thirst trapped.”

She grinned. “Like em?” Ellie sucked in a breath. Oh, she would beat her own ass if she could. “Sorry I– didn’t mean to like–” She could see your surprise. Your discomfort, your pure hatred of ellie and you’re definitely going to hang up and block her–

“Fuckin’ love em.” You said. It was quiet but with that on stage confidence she loves you in. Ellie reddened, her stomach dropping to her loins. Come on now, Williams. Don’t fuck this up. This is only what you’ve thought about every single night for months.

Ellie held two thumbs up at the screen.

You chuckled and copied her. “Anyways, wanna take one of those call-selfies? Everyone’ll go batshit.” You suggested.

“Oh sure! What do you mean though?” Ellie’d been offline since that forty second clip invaded her senses. As far as she knows, you said you had a thing for Ellie, and everyone on the damm platform let her know like Paul Revere.

Your eyes widened in amusement. “You haven’t seen them?” Ellie shook her head. “Oh my gosh, okay.” You interrupted yourself with a laugh as you pulled out your phone, tapping it as you spoke. “I’ll send you some stuff.”

firebuttershoefly sent 6 files.

Ellie eagerly clicked on the first link. It sent her to Tiktok and the lyrics “You just told me, want me to fuck you!” blasted out her phone full volume. Her eyes widened “Fuck, sorry.” she chuckled.

You laughed. “Keep watching!” It was the edit of the two of you, basically, looking hot in your separate fields. Clips of you she’s seen a billion times, transitioning into clips of her on her stream with the line “baby I will ‘cause I really want to.”

Ellie found herself hiding in the neck of her hoodie. “Oh!” She choked out.

“I know right? The rest of the files are screenshots, it’s so, so crazy.” One, a text-heavy Tiktok ranting about what this means for the girl kissing community. Another, a trending hashtag of #y/nllie. The last one was a screenshot of a Tweet by Twtch itself:

bringing lesbians together since 2011.

Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes. “Holy shit, yes let’s take that photo.” Grinning, she pulled out her phone, since you still had no public social media presence. You threw devil horned hand and bit your smiling lip, Ellie smouldered into her phone camera, aiming it at the Discord call. Click! “Should I post it right now?”

“Hmm, you know what? Yeah. Make the caption something like ‘what if we’ve been fucking this whole time.’” Then you laughed in her face like you weren’t little miss blasé.

Ellie sputtered. “Su-ure. I like that–” she cringed. “Not like– not like I like that. Fucking. I mean I do, but I didn’t say it–”

You were cracking up. “Breathe, Ellie.” She might be breathing a little too much, so she slowed it. “I knew what you meant. But we should u-um, talk about it! Shouldn’t we? Because I’m going kind of crazy here.”

“You?”

“Yes me!” Now, she noticed the pink creeping up to your forehead wasn’t makeup. “I’ve had the biggest fucking crush on you for five years. When people ask who my celebrity crush is I have always said Ellie Williams from Twitch.” You rambled.

Why are you so cute? Gone was that confident chick with the world at your feet, somehow, from a tiny pub stage. Drenched in wit and getting bigger laughs than today’s SNL. Now, you’re just a pretty girl who likes her back.

“Woah.” Whe muttered after a while, eyes blown out. “Okay… you might have me beat.”

You quirked a brow. “I know I do. Your turn. Talk about me now.”

She braced herself. “Well… my friend went to your show; sent me pics. Course I wanted your socials right a-fuckin’-way, but you’re like a ghost. so I looked you up and never left the damn rabbit hole.” She scratched the back of her neck, chuckling.

“And you think I’m super hot.”

“Uh-huh. Yep, yeah.”

“And I’m your wallpaper.” You preened.

“Ye-yeah, that too. I can change it if you want!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Okay okay!”

With the ice broken, Ellie's study materials and Google Scholar tabs went forgotten. You talked for ages, but it felt more like catching up.

☆

“Wait, you’re a gun chick?” You asked, beaming. Elie loved that smile on you. And she’s only seen it on this call, like it’s a secret kept precious away from a show. Dug up treasure.

Your call was moved from the living room to the kitchen counter as Ellie cooked dinner. “I love archery! It just felt archery-adjacent. Plus Joel’s crazy good at that sort of thing. He was a hunter for a while.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that!”

☆

You were pointing your laptop around your room, giving Ellie a tour. It was like letting her into your brain. Evidence of you and your passions sprawled every square inch. Posters of your favorite artists and movies, shelves packed with books, a shirt signed by Andy Samberg, who you met at a show in LA. You showed your collection of CDs you burned yourself, because you’re a firm believer of physical copies.

“I hate that you’re so cool.” Ellie grumbled, mouthful of instant noodles.

☆

Both of you wound up in bed, calling from your phones instead, talking the night away. The air eased into something so comfortable and fun. But the tension never ebbed. The chemistry lit you on fire.

“Hey, ohbaby.” Ellie said suddenly, looking a little nervous.

You smirked. “We're back to usernames, Smellie?”

She chuckled. “What did i say about calling me that?”

“Not to.” You faux-pouted. Ellie’s confidence grew.

“Mhm,” She drawled. God, you couldn’t help but stare. The barely there light over Ellie’s face was doing things for you. “You’re based in New York, right?” You nodded. “Let me come see you.”

“Y-you want to?” You asked, trying to control your quickening heart.

“‘Course I want to. I really want to.” She said. “What’s a three hour drive from Boston?” Your jaw dropped.

“A three hour drive– Ellie! I don’t want to be a bother,” You fidgeted. Ellie rolled her eyes playfully.

“What you want is to see me too!” She teased, before her smile melted into something more earnest. “I don’t just, like, lust after you or something. Especially now.”

“Me too, Ellie.” You said softly.

“Something can really happen here, y/n.” Ellie muttered, loud enough for the mic to pick it up.

You took a second to bathe in the moment. You’ve dreamed of exactly this for years. You never want to hang up.

With great resolve, you nodded. “Come see me.”

The smile you shared outshone the growing daylight peering through the blinds.

You hung up eventually. Too late in the evening became ungodly early, and you both had class the next day. Numbers were exchanged, like people who actually knew each other, for reals, and the bones of a plan for Ellie to drive those one hundred and eighty worth it minutes to come see you started to form.

Once again, instead of bed, Ellie checked her phone. It’s just for a second to check out the reactions to her post!

Your rock n’ roll pose and glowy lamp lighting, Ellie’s slightly grainy Macbook camera and smirking pink lips. “but what if we’ve been fucking the whole time” read the caption. Hundreds of thousands of likes, and the most comments she’s ever had on a post. She was too tired to react, but she quickly typed out her own comment. As always, replies piled up in no time.

smellie Creator

kiddingnm no fucking yet

Hide replies

caulfieldcam

get on it?!?!?!?!

renee

hurry

jessie’s girl

yet 😩

But one – and maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but one glowed brighter than the others. A blank but verified account. The profile picture: the photo of you on her poster.

yousername

sleep now, fucking later

Ellie didn’t have the time to process that.

yousername

sleep now, fucking later

Liked by Creator

---

thoughts??? THOTS?????

[hedwig221b]

I recently realized that I’ve literally never read a teen wolf ff despite being a huge fan of the show and sterek. So now I’m on the hunt for a rlly good one to start with but I’m having a bit of trouble finding one that not only fits what I’m looking for but actually has good writing (no offense to the authors I just want my first one to be a good one that hooks me like Crimson Rivers hooked me into the marauders fandom😅)

so could you recommend me some that aren’t aus, not necessarily canon but canon is okay, werewolf or human stiles, with sterek (I do love a slow burn but doesn’t have to be), maybe some of your favorites?

What an honor to introduce you to sterek fanfiction omg! Here is a list of what I consider sterek classics (the canon kind), my beloved 💖

Hide Of A Life War by Etharei

“We have received confirmation that there is a hostage situation in progress at a warehouse compound two hours out of Los Angeles, following a multiple-vehicle pileup on Highway 101 this morning...” The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows by owlpostagain

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “You have me. You’ve always had me, you absolute moron, how many physically impossible feats of life-saving heroics do I have to perform before you get it?”

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void. It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death. The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was. So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles finds a baby on the porch. It looks exactly like him. Well, this is awkward.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf. Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks. Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody. And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Pale Horses by Jana_C 

Being bitten had never been on his to-do list, but he could deal with that. Helping Derek Hale become a competent Alpha, though, that was so not in his job description.

Truth and Consequences by KouriArashi

“The place you give the Bite has meaning," Derek says. "Biting someone on the side is to make them your beta. It makes them your subordinate, but it also invites them into the pack with the full protection of the alpha. Biting someone on the legs indicates that you’re turning them to an omega. And biting someone on the arm, particularly the wrist, turns someone as your equal. It’s a mating ritual.” Stiles nearly chokes on a mouthful of granola. “A what?”

A Similar String by snarkatthemoon 

Strong bonds made for a strong pack, and he needed a strong pack. They spent a long time in silence, Derek thinking hard about how he was going to cement the bonds. It needed to be done, and not just because they had the threat of the witch hanging over them, but for the good of the pack. It felt like hours had passed by the time he came around; he had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Stiles moving around on the couch so that his head was resting on Derek’s thigh, his long legs hanging over the arm on the far end. He wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and his heartbeat wasn’t as fast as it usually was, as if he was just on the edge of sleep. It should have felt weird, having Stiles in such close contact, but Derek found that it really didn’t feel weird at all. His head was a comforting weight in Derek’s lap, another anchor tethering him and keeping him calm and in control. . Or, the one where Derek meets a witch, gets his betas back, and seemingly develops a sense of humour. Also, Stiles is totally magic, manages to accidentally join a werewolf pack, and asks too many goddamn questions. What could possibly go wrong?

The One You Choose by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Hold Me Close (I'm Falling Apart) by ajeepandleather

“Wolves without an emissary are naturally turbulent because their instincts are wild. Subconsciously, you’ve been balancing them, but you aren’t tied to the pack so you aren’t getting a balance in return.” “So, they’re bleeding me dry. Always knew they were parasites.” Stiles smiled dryly. “You’ll need to attach yourself to an alpha soon. There are risks for an unbalanced druid.” “Like?” “Well, a disruption in balance may show itself in several ways. It’s a disruption in nature, so nature will twist and alter in an attempt to right itself.” “What does that mean?” Stiles was getting anxious. The vet was avoiding giving direct answers and that never meant anything good. “You’re magic is heavily entwined with your will, and your will is parallel to your mind.” “I’ll go insane.”

Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

spiderweb of lies by pineneedlepants

Derek gets a chance to gain his alpha powers back. The only one throwing a wrench in those plans is Scott.

Sparks and shadows by Nival_Vixen 

Stiles has to figure out a way to maintain a balance between his spark and the darkness inside of him.

The Roads Not Followed by SylvieW

Scott decides to leave Beacon HIlls with Allison and her father. Stiles is left alone to deal with the supernatural troubles of his home town, so he turns to Derek. Years later, Scott’s new pack is threatened, and the only ones who can help them are the Hale pack and Derek’s powerful mate.

It’s Not Pretend When It’s Real by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“At least we got this far,” Stiles argued. “Could’ve been worse. For now, they know he’s taken by someone in the pack.” “Mm hm,” Lydia said, giving him a look. “You realize that you are now going to have to pretend to date Derek, right?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh no, what a hardship. That sucks, boo hoo.” He motioned Derek emphatically. “He’s like, my best friend.” “Hey!” Scott insisted. “He’s like, my second best friend,” Stiles amended. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out. Right?” He turned to grin at Derek, who was scowling at him.

Running Up That Hill by maypoison

“Even before the pack joined together, Scott was trying to protect you. And he still is trying to protect you, even if it means leaving you out of all this.” Stiles does roll his eyes at that. “Yeah, but it didn’t work did it. I was still involved, and so was my Dad. We were nearly killed by Matt, and then Gerard.” “My point is, people change. Relationships aren’t always perfect. Scott's tried to kill me before." Stiles raises an eyebrow. "So, you’re saying that someone trying to kill you is just a small flaw in a relationship?" “We’re werewolves.” Derek answers with a shrug, as if that was a perfectly good explanation.

It Was a Wednesday by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?” Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping. Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death. “Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least. “Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?” “Yes.” “Why?” “How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

The More That I Know You (the more I want to) by LadySlytherin

When death, in the form of hunters, comes for a family of Kelpies seeking refuge in the Preserve - in Hale territory - the Hale Pack is too late to save them. Before he dies, the male Kelpie presses a precious bundle into Stiles’ arms and begs the Emissary to take responsibility for it, which an initially reluctant Stiles does. When he agreed, Stiles had no idea what the sight of him with a baby would do to his esteemed Alpha, Derek. If he’d known, he might not have been so reluctant to agree.

Wolf Cub by moodwriter

A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

Thanks for Thumper, But I Prefer Cheeseburgers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The wolf’s head whipped around so fast, Stiles felt like he was watching The Exorcist. Stiles wondered if he could just stand still enough to make the wolf think he was a tree. A very bright red and jean-clad tree. He doubted it, but one could hope. He knew it was a lost cause when the wolf turned fully, lips pulled back from its sharp teeth—so very sharp, good fucking Lord!—and began walking towards Stiles. “I didn’t see anything!” Stiles shouted, both hands out in front of himself and sweat instantly breaking out across his skin. “I swear to you! I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone! I won’t! I’ll keep this to myself, until the day I die! I promise! I promise!”

I know you mentioned no aus, but it would be a crime for me not to mention these absolute treasures that are staples in sterek fanfiction experience. The characters are on point, and the writing is magnificent

Don't Savage The Messenger by exclamation

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange. Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn't expect and aren't sure they approve of....

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more. “You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?” “It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.” Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes. “I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

Cloaked in Gold by kaistrex (weishen)

Stiles' world tilts, the bed dipping as a weight settles over him, caging him in. Growling. His eyes flutter open in distant confusion as hot air sweeps over his throat and he stares up at twin beams of gold shining inches from his face. Werewolf. Stiles does the only thing he can. “DAD!” The werewolf jumps at the sudden shout, blanketing him tighter, and it’s only seconds until his dad is in his bedroom doorway with Melissa close behind, flicking on the light. Stiles' mouth drops open as he stares up at the thick eyebrows, sharp nose and perfectly groomed stubble of a golden-eyed and fanged Derek Hale. - When son of the Alpha, Derek Hale, ends up in his bed in heat, Stiles decides to use it to his advantage and secure the Bite for his sick stepbrother. As he and his family are welcomed into the Hale pack, Stiles grows closer to Derek than he'd ever dreamed he'd get, but with the fanged Soulbite of a born wolf on Derek's neck, he knows he's just setting himself up for heartbreak. Derek has a Soulmate out there, and it definitely isn't Stiles.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth. “Not too close, he bites.” Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting. “He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton. The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.” “Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek. He looked extremely displeased.

The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis (dsudis)

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

[masterlist link]

[houndofllove]

SAY YOU WILL — guilty pleasure

cw. explicit (18+). situationship. simon x f!reader.

i know this one took a while, thank you for waiting.

#04 crossed wires | masterlist | #06

Simon taps his foot on the floor a total of three times before he stops.

A nervous habit that he can’t break these days, his self control slowly waning. He’s already knocked on the door, now left waiting in the fluorescent light of your complex’s hallway wishing that someone would just dim the lights for a moment.

Beyond the door he can hear the shuffle of your slippers over the wooden floors, scuttling about from what he can only guess to be from sofa to table to kitchen on repeat, trying to clean up at the last minute.

He imagines you swiping crumbs off the pillows, putting plates in the sink that have been sitting around since last night. You’re always something of a whirlwind around him, energy bursting in flames like you’ve had nowhere else to put it since you met him. It’s strange that you like him so much when he’s more like water, itching to put out any flame it comes across.

Simon is grateful for the moment that your own panic gives him. A moment to collect himself. He imagines the things he’ll say when you open the door, if you ask about what he’s been doing. Nothing much. Missing you. Things that aren’t real answers.

When he considers that maybe nothing he says to you will ever be true, that he’ll always be covering up the festering welts of flesh sitting under his skin waiting to take him, he grips the bag of takeout so hard he hears the paper tear. 

“Simon!”

The door bursts open and you’re a beautiful fluster, giving a sheepish smile while he only has seconds to school his furrowed expression.

In front of him there’s something he can only see as a dream. You’re a softer version of yourself tonight, stripped down to the more intimate layers he’s yet to see of you. Because while he has seen you without makeup, in nothing but his own t-shirt, when it’s your own things, your own home and your own timings it all feels different. 

A pair of joggers sit low on your hips and the shirt you wear is so stretched out at the neck that it hangs off of one shoulder. In your hurry to get to the door on time a faint sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and your eyes have got this low, heavy but sparkling look in them which Simon recognises only appears when you’ve had a few drinks.

“Hey, love.” 

He leans down to kiss your cheek, slowly shuffling forward to close the door behind him as you tuck yourself into his body. Your face nuzzles into his chest, something akin to a puppy or kitten, and then your hands are reaching for the food in his hand, unbothered by the wrinkled and torn paper.

“You smell nice,” you giggle, and then when you take a step back to give him space to take his shoes off you look him up and down, biting your lip. “And look very handsome. Were you out before you called?”

Turning away to take the food to the table, Simon physically feels his lips turn, his brows creasing. Then the lump in his throat returns and he swallows hard before he musters up a vague response: “Yeah, kinda.”

“Well,” you start, your face hidden by the open cupboard as you reach up for plates. “Must not have been fun if you’re here with me.”

When your eye catches Simon’s it’s full of humour, your teeth showing from the cover of your lips, half a laugh already formed there. It nearly hurts him how infectious your laugh is; how even though just walking down the street felt like years of emotional torment you can easily pick up the pieces he wasn’t even aware he was leaving behind.

First you’ll start with your smile, which has him folding no matter what, and then he knows where the night will end. And it will feel good.

Already a little tipsy and his head slightly throbbing, the light from your cooker hood casts a strange halo of light around you as you get the food ready to dish up. Simon knows that it's fitting that you look like an angel tonight.

An angel. Him. Where does he stand? Does he even deserve to?

“Simon?” The concern on your face when he finally focuses is entirely undeserved. All of this is undeserved, but he takes it anyway. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. Repeats the phrase in some desperate attempt to soothe himself. 

“You look really pale.”

“I’m okay,” he insists, offering a small but flat smile, waving a hand. Unconvincing but he tries anyway.

“Don’t wait up then,” you say instead of pressing him further. “What do you want? Rice or noodles?”

Don’t wait up. Don’t wait. Don’t.

An hour later and the TV speakers roar with explosions, colours of brown and yellow and red splashing over where you sit curled into Simon's chest. Colours of war. Somehow, when Simon tilts his chin down to check that you’re still awake, the flutter of your eyelids suggesting that you’re more tired than you’ll let on, he sees that they look good on you. A dichotomy. The softness of your palms doesn’t hint at these things; they don’t even make space for the violence that has dictated his life. There is nowhere for the dirt to get trapped between the cracks.

But you look good. And maybe it means that he can stay, in all his filth and drowning guilt, without spreading it any further.

On the small chipped wooden table in front of the sofa the licked-clean plates sit in waiting to be taken to the sink, next to them the beer bottles now empty, condensation peeling at the corners of the labels. There’s one loosely in his grip too, his thumb brushing over the lifted slip again and again, slowly scraping it away as he fidgets uselessly as the movie drones on.

A war film—almost like you chose it on purpose. Historical events retold in modern movie sets with fake paint splattered over soldiers faces, events misconstrued for the sake of ease. Simon’s never been one to nitpick; he’s never even been the person to sit down for once and actually watch these kinds of things with his full attention to pick out the inaccuracies.

The scene changes, and when Simon sees it his breath hitches, a strangled sigh which he fails to keep down. Your head lifts up from his chest, eyes low as you peak up at him.

“You okay?”

His mouth goes dry. “Yeah.”

You poke your tongue into your cheek, trying to make out his expression and then eventually with an amused huff you laugh. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, you so are.” Sitting up now, your hair scruffier than when you’d first laid down you stare at him with wild confusion. “What is it? Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” he tries, but nothing about it successfully draws your attention back to the screen. He thinks he could say it now: risk the ending of this arrangement with a few simple words. There’s no way to predict or map out your answer, no use for military strategy when he doesn’t know you yet. Which direction you’ll take is a mystery. Simon himself can’t even understand what it is that’s bothering him more: his incredible fuck up or the fact no one in the movie is holiding a gun correctly or even wearing the right uniform.

Anxiety makes him stiffen and eventually he nods towards the TV. “It's–” He points a finger from where the rest hold the bottle, and then drops his hand. “He’s not holding it right.”

You swivel your head back to the screen where soldiers are moving through a forest. “Not holding what right?”

“The gun.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. “And you would know, because?”

Simon clears his throat awkwardly, scrambles for reasoning. “I’m interested in history.”

“Oh,” your mouth drops into a perfect ‘o’, one that Simon quickly wishes he could place his own over. Swallowing all your sounds. A good distraction, maybe even the best one. Or the easiest. “You’re one of those guys?”

He nods even though he doesn’t quite understand, watching as you look him up and down.

Then you lick your lips, something in your eyes growing brighter. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Before he can explain himself you're crawling onto his lap, the glass plucked from his grasp, discarded somewhere behind you. Your hands brace on his shoulders as you bracket the spread of his thighs with your own, your smile cunning. He doesn’t try to suppress the shudder, sinking further into the cushions instead, tipping his head back on the lip of the sofa.

You hum, your face the closest it's been to him all night. “I think that's really hot.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re into nerds?”

“I’m into you,” you laugh, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and finally dipping to connect your lips together. He sighs into it, something too soft for him, softer than what he could ever deserve but he lets himself take it anyways. That’s what his arrangement is between you anyway: for him to take and you to give for as long as you can keep the other happy. It doesn’t matter here if he’s a good man. If he deserves the comfort and passions of someone else. Pretending, ignoring, living. That is enough for now.

Snaking a hand around behind your back he trails his fingers up through your hair, tugging at the scalp gently. The moan you release into his mouth has him doing the same, swallowing it up greedily as you shift your hips trying to find some leverage–

“God.” Simon curses when you grind down onto his lap, cock already pushing at the zipper of his jeans as his hand keeps you pressed to his lips. The word is enough to set you off like a trigger, no sign of you holding back as your hands wander over his body. Up his chest, smoothing on his neck and back down, reaching at the hem of his sweater and shirt at the bottom. A desperate yank as you try to hike them up and off of him.

“Simon,” you gasp, as if you’ve just come up for air from under the water. Hungry for life. “Simon–”

His name said as a mantra is the only motivation he needs from then on. Hands on yours, a brief aching pause where your mouths part and you’re clawing his clothes off, then him doing the same to yours. It’s entirely messy, a tangle of limbs as you rush through it, trying to sneak kisses in between. You manage to get his jeans down to his shins, and Simon has you in nothing but your panties.

Bare, your fingers trail over the hot skin of his stomach, tracing over the rough ridges of scars and muscle. It has him tensing, his grip on you tight, a hot, tightening coil threatening to finish him off then and there.

“Wha’d ya want, love,” he says against your lips, stealing another desperate, biting kiss before you can murmur your reply.

“You,” you groan. “You, just you. Fuck–”

Simon releases the grip in your hair and moves to your chin instead, fingers pinched at either side of your cheek to keep you in place while his other hand snakes down your body, nails dragging down your skin until he slips down your underwear.

All he finds is slick. Your cunt pulsing at his touch, your hips already trying to grind down and find sweet relief.

“Yer so wet f’me already.” He looks down at where part of his hand is obscured by the flimsy fabric and then back up at where your eyes have gone darker. Your breath wet and hot and heavy as he holds you, controls you. “Y’like this? Like me touchin’ you?”

“Yeah, ah–” You whine when he sinks a finger into you and he watches in strange delight as your brows crease and eyes shut. “Yes.”

The way you rock against his hand is addictive, each brush and jolt moving over his hardness as you chase your high. He adds another finger while you’re kissing again, tactfully moving his thumb towards your clit as he feels you tightening around him.

“Oh,” you cry. “Oh, I’m–”

“Close, swee’eart. I know,” he coos.

Any response from you gets cut off when the orgasm pulls you under the water, gasping as your pussy grips around his fingers so tightly, Simon fighting against it to keep working you up, keeping you high off your feet for as long as possible.

His mouth swallows up all your noises. His fingers cup your cunt as you buck against his hand, the dregs of your release fading.

“Fuck,” you murmur, your forehead sweaty as you rest it against his, catching your breath, panting into his mouth. His hands smooth over your sides, fingertips dragging, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You feeling okay?” He checks, meeting your heavy gaze halfway.

“Uh-huh,” you nod slowly, hands settling on his shoulders as he lifts his hips up, tugging his boxers down enough for his cock to free itself. There’s no words exchanged when you take him into the sweat-slick palm of your hand, stroking him patiently.

His hand finds your cheek, thumb tracing over the wrinkles at the corner of your eyes, ignoring the way he pulses into the warmth of you for the sight of your relaxed face.

“Si,” you whisper, your breath lingering over his skin.

“Yeah?”

Your wishes are easy to fulfil. Moving on instinct, lifting you until your back meets the couch cushions, hair in knots, bashful, turning your cheek to press into a pillow as Simon hovers over you. Hands planted at each side of your head, lips moving down to kiss your cheek as he fits inside. A sweet mewl. A throaty groan. Ankles digging into his sides, his hips, tightening and in turn forcing him to slow. Too caught up in the moment, trying to chase a meditative high.

He hears it better like this, when he’s laving over the dip of your collarbone, salt on his tongue, the way your breath comes short. The almost silent desperation of your desire. Please, he hears. Oh, please. Please. Moves again, changes the angle and feels the way your body grips onto that feeling for dear life. 

Louder now, sinking deeper into waters he’s dragged you into, one of your own itching fingers reaching down to where he connects, drawing quick circles over your clit until your back is bowing. He plummets down there with you, buried face in your neck as he spills over your stomach, fingers coated in his own spend as he tugs himself to completion.

The weight on his chest lifts as he keeps you beneath him, both gasping for breath, both searching for light. Oh, sighed by both of you. Then a small laugh from you which makes him untangle himself from the heat of your skin, looking down confusedly until the laughter catches him, and he’s chuckling lightly in the amber glow of your living room.

“That was good,” you nod happily, a finger between your teeth as you grin up at him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not one to lie,” you huff, looking down at where he rests, spent at your mound, come splattered over your stomach. “Care for a shower?”

Simon presses another kiss, this time into the hollow at the base of your neck before getting off the sofa, knee popping as he does. His arms wrap around your body, and then he’s hauling you up, hands on the globe of your ass as he carries you into the bathroom.

Easy things. Carrying you. Giving into your desires. Taking the clothes off your body and washing the sweat off your skin. These things are as easy as lying right now. Things he’s happy to do.

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

Slow Dancing Shadows

Nanami Kento x Reader | MDNI 18+ "Do you think we'll ever return to how it used to be, again?"

It's been just minutes before, that you two had been relaxing post afternoon romp – the aftermath of which sees you lying on the couch together in the small shared apartment. The both of you naked as the day you were born save the sheet you wrapped around yourself for warmth.

Soft music plays from your phone. The old speaker making a tinny sound as the singer croons something about love and loss. Purple splotches are starting to bloom on your skin, and the red welts on his back have only just begun to cool with the applied lotion. It's nice this way. Peaceful. It almost feels like how things were before.

"I was thinking," Nanami begins, "we could do down to the old man's diner later. It's been a while since we visited, hasn't it."

"That sounds agreeable, yes…" you drawl, pulling yourself up to be able to lay on Nanami's chest better.

"I'm glad you're still in love with me."

He says it so quietly... Silent enough that if you hadn't been right up against him you might have missed it. Half a whisper, half swallowed. Eaten at the last moment in fear and shame.

You look up at him from the tightened pecs you lay on – a chest covered in bumps and ridges of scar tissue, strengthened from years of training, healed through miraculous effort. You look up at his face – a face that now makes children cry and forces the poor man into hiding it from society that he nearly lost his life protecting. Yet, society are just strangers. They don't know…

"You, didn't give me any choice. Loving you, it's as natural as breathing… How could I— How could anyone who knows you, say no?" It's an assurance, wrapped in joviality. A slight smile plays on your lips.

The song playing on your phone ends. A familiar note rings out in the gap of silence.

Does it smell like a school gymnasium in here? It's funny how they're all the same…

The man under you stirs, starting to sit up.

You frown, "Where are you going?" you whine. "Don't leave me!"

He chuckles, "I'm not leaving, rather, I'm taking you with me.

You're lifted off the couch with ease. Your sheet clad form pressed against his au naturel. His fingers slip into the spaces between yours, and his arm encircles your waist, pulling you into him.

A moment's pause, then he moves. Slowly – each step synced to the gentle notes of the piano as he twirls you out and into his embrace again.

The setting sun casts it's glow over your figures, bathing you in her amber light.

It would be a hundred times easier If we were young again…

You can feel his heart beating, a soft, steady rhythm, harmonising with your own.

"You wanted to dance?" you giggle into his arm.

He nods his head. You can hear him start to hum the tune of the song. His voice – a deep rumble – is comforting, almost lulling you to sleep. You don't care that the space between your legs is sticky and messy. You aren't concerned that night is falling and its getting chilly. Right now, here in this moment, everything is fine.

And then you say it…

"Do you think we'll ever return to how it used to be, again?"

The question slips out before you have a chance to cage it. You bite your tongue realising what you said. The months of work. The therapy. Did you fuck it up with that one careless comment…

And the ground has been slowly pulling us back down You see it on both our skin.

Nanami rests his chin on the top of your head. His movements slow further, to the point that neither of you are moving and your heart beats in your ears— or maybe it's his. Maybe, you're just one… Or none… Or two—

To think that we could stay the same To think that we could stay the same To think that we could stay the same But we're two slow dancers, last ones out.

"No."

The song comes to a close. The last whispering note floats in the air until it finds its way and lands on your tongue.

"I'm just glad it's you in the end." In the darkness of your flat, Nanami feels you take the lead now, gently swaying with him, as you sing.

We're two slow dancers, last ones out Two slow dancers, last ones out

[fairykingjing]

Supernovas x F Reader- They ask you to join their crew

Summary: Post Wano, Kid, Law, and Luffy ask you to join their crew. It is 3 separate stories, on the shorter side.

Warnings: none

Got some Sanji up next since people seemed to like him!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never planned on teaming up with pirates, or going to Wano, or helping to defeat a Yonko, or really any of the events of the past month and a half, but here you were. Standing in the streets of Onigashima, watching the people of Wano celebrate their new shogun. You saw Kid, Luffy, and Law, celebrating with their crews, and thought back to your journey with them. Now that it was all over, you didn’t know where to go. You had no crew of your own, nowhere you really belonged. Deciding it best to not make things awkward, you turned to leave quietly, accepting your fate as a loner, when you thought you heard a familiar voice call out to you.

Luffy:

Heyyy! Where are you going? We gotta celebrate!” It was Luffy, stopping you in your tracks.

You froze, unsure what he meant. Surely he didn’t mean for you to celebrate with them?

“Don’t just stand there!” He exclaimed. “C’mon!”

He stretched his arm out and grabbed you, pulling you back into the mix. A drink was put in your hand, by who you couldn’t say, and the party carried on.

“You should join my crew!” Luffy exclaimed between bites of meat. “You really kicked ass with us!”

“Surely you don’t mean that?” You gasped. “I’m a nobody. You don’t want me…”

Luffy stopped eating and got a serious look on his face. “Don’t say that. You’re my friend! Of course I want you on my crew!”

You looked to the rest of the crew, who were all nodding in approval.

“Once he’s decided you’re on the crew, that’s it,” Usopp shrugged. “You might as well give in.”

“Please come with us!” Chopper begged. “You’re so nice and you smell like candy!”

“Ok, ok, fine. I’ll come with you all,” you decided.

“Oh how wonderful! I shall make you your favorite foods, my darling!” Sanji gushed.

You laughed along with their antics. You could get used to this.

Law:

You whipped your head back to see who called you, but it didn’t appear to be anyone. Figures. Why would they want you to stay?

Slipping through the crowd, you made your way to the outskirts of town, not really sure where you were going. It wasn’t until you were just past the city borders that someone else called out to you. This time when you looked, you saw Law chasing after you.

“Where are you going?” He asked sternly.

“I… don’t know yet. Still figuring that out.” You answered nervously.

“Why leave so soon?” He asked.

“Why stay?” You answered coolly.

He didn’t have an answer for a moment, instead looking at you like he was deep in thought.

“You could stay,” he finally replied. “With me. And my crew.”

You were taken aback, certainly not expecting this. “Why?” You whispered.

“I like you,” he said after a pause. “You’re calm and levelheaded, unlike a lot of my crew. I could use someone like you.”

“Do you mean it?” You asked.

“I didn’t follow you to the edge of town for nothing,” he answered.

You thought it over for a minute. Being a pirate, having a home, and friends, it sounded nice.

“Ok,” you decided. “I’ll stay.”

You could have sworn the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile, but it didn’t last long. He led you back to the rest of the group, and they cheered upon seeing your return.

“You came back!” Bepo wailed. “I missed you!”

“I wasn’t even gone an hour,” you explained.

“Still,” he sniffled.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to stay,” you said, and comforted him with a hug. As the rest of the crew rallied around you, you felt a warmth spreading in your chest. You could get used to this.

Kid:

You turned around to see Eustass Kid marching towards you.

“Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” He spat.

“I… um… I don’t know. Somewhere.” You answered.

“So that’s it huh? You kick ass with my crew and now you’re just gonna bounce?” He asked.

“I didn’t know… you wanted me to stay…” you replied softly.

He laughed at that response. “We’re all here celebrating, why wouldn’t you be included? Couldn’t do it without you.”

He led you back to the party and that was that.

Later, as everybody was packing up their ships, you stood idly by and watched.

“Don’t just stand there!” Kid barked. “Help load up the ship, we gotta get going!”

“Why would I-?” You started, but he quickly cut you off.

“I already told you that you’re staying, so hurry up and let’s go.” He interrupted.

“Oh, uh ok. I mean, yes captain?” You stammered.

“Lighten up,” Wire said as he passed by you.

“I’ll try,” you said.

As the ship embarked, you sat around with your new family, laughing and telling stories. Kid wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. You could get used to this.

[annwe24]

ACCIDENTAL TENDER

simon riley x reader

hookups have consequences.

a/n: gawd i caved. price fic soon promise

cw: mentions of sex, masturbation, bad english

Simon thought he fell asleep in a construction site last night when the first ray of consciousness hit him. A whirlwind of sensory overload accompanied by a banging headache. Never again. He has to learn to say no to that stupid Scot next time the bastard dragged him to the bar and fixed up a bird for him. 

“Yer gonna die alone at this point, Lt.”

Yeah. Right. 

His eyes dart over next to him on the bed, half expectant to find nothing, the other half hopes it’s still nothing. The cold pillow and hollow space greet him in delight. Except the whirring sound of his washing machine snaps him out of his hungover daze. It’s not laundry day yet. His pillow hits the ground with a thud as Simon rolls out of bed with an annoyed sigh. Did someone really lose their mind to try to break into his house this early? Even the neighbors follow the silent rules to let the man do whatever he wants around here, eyes and mouth shut tight. Never get invited to community dinner. Simon expects that much. He sighs again when he stumbles into the kitchen, mid-way to the laundry. There is no thief. Well, not the bad kind at least. 

“Um, good morning…I made pancakes.”

A screech of the chair and dishes clashing. Soft delicate fingers brush against his calloused one when she presses the plate with a heavy stack of pancakes in it. She steps back a bit to look at him, trying to gauge his emotion. Simon stares at the plate for a bit. The bits are a bit burnt, there are uneven and rough edges, like someone flipped them too clumsily. He hasn’t even commented on how she unashamedly took one of his shirts and wears it so pretty like that. So much for a hookup.

Words flow smoothly with a full stomach. It’s as smooth as it gets for Simon at least.

“ ‘S that my shirt?”

“I kind of uh… My dress got funny stains on it y’know… and it reeks of alcohol so I um…”

“Oh alrigh’.”

“If you want me to return it-”

“Nah, shit’s too old anyways. Been sittin’ in the closet.”

“I also used your washing machine-”

‘Mkay.”

Simon takes a fat bite out of the very last pancake.

“And I might use up your shampoo…”

“Don’t mind it.”

Half a cup of coffee gone. 

“What’s your name by the way?”

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Simon knows his dick is one of his many talents. Something he thought about every so often and gives himself a pat on the shoulder. But surely it must not be that good. Not good enough for emotional attachment. He hopes it’s not the case because you’re still lazing around the house, finding all sorts of things to do constantly.

“I need to wait to get my dress out of the washer.”

An answer to a question he didn’t even ask. You mumble as you wash his mug. Eyes drifting everywhere but him. Simon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to call you out just yet. Sundays are boring anyways. Either smoke in the yard or rewatch that football match yet again. Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous with himself, he’ll drag Johnny to go fishing in the lake that is an hour drive away. This time, however, he doesn’t even have to change out of his worn out sweats.

“So where’s your butler? Is he on leave? It’s hard to cook so early in the morning.”

Simon cocks his head, eyes finally bother to leave the newspaper. Is she mentally ill too? Where the hell did Johnny even get one like this?

“What butler?”

“Huh? The one who cooks and cleans so you don’t have to do it yourself?”

“I didn’t ask for a definition.”

This time you really turn around and look at him for the first time in the morning. Hands gripped the sink behind, eyes wide:

“You don’t have one?”

Simon lets out a mean snort.

“The hell are you on about?”

“I mean… I thought it’s a necessity? My mum told me that.”

Simon is about to reply with something equally mean and equally ludicrous if his eyes didn’t drift back to the half open page of his newspaper. “CEO OF TOP #3 OIL COMPANY THROWS BIG PUBLIC PARTY FOR DAUGHTER’S 20TH BIRTHDAY IN ITALY.” There she is. Expensive pearl necklace wrapped around the neck that his very own hands choked last night. Hair all shiny, eyes full of glitter, one hand holding a purse with a logo that he can’t identify, the other a glass of champagne. All giddy and spoiled. He’s about to read the line of text underneath the bold printed picture if strands of hair didn’t obscure his view. You have taken the liberty to rest your elbows on the arm of the sofa to lean over to peek into what he’s reading, seeing that he stopped responding. 

“Yeah, I had a blast there last month. Too many people though. But I would have invited you.”

Simon gets flashed with your toothy grin when you turn your face around to look at him, eyes crinkle slightly. He didn’t really pay much attention to what you’re blabbering next, too busy comparing your face with the one in the picture. One hand reaches out to brush out a stubborn strand of hair that covers bits of your eyes, making it hard for him to continue his silent quest. It doesn’t take long for Simon to decide which one is better.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

He finds it eerie that you turn silent when you open the washing machine door to take out your dress along with the rest of his clothes. You’re even more silent as you start to hang them up.

“Didn’t ask ya to do it. Just leave ‘em.”

Simon leans against the wall, trying to create some sense of normalcy. 

“It’s okay. I probably bother you too much at this point.”

The sudden awareness caught him a bit off guard. You’re not as clueless as he’d like to think. 

“Daddy kicked you out or something?”

That makes you slow down your movements, shoulders tensed.

“It’s not like that…”

“How so? Hard to imagine a thing like you go sleeping ‘round with men like me.”

“It is not.”

Your pout makes him stop. Simon is not that close to press on that much anyways. Not yet. 

A similar pout appears on your face when he pulls up at your house - mansion. At some point, he swore a guy just scrunched his face in discomfort just from the sight of his car driving in this neighborhood alone. You, however, claimed the passenger seat full of glory. Simon is used to the sight of rowdy men (sometimes injured) occupying this seat. He never thought it could look so good with your pink dress, pretty heels dangle on your fingers as you hold them by their courier. 

“Thank you for everything. Really.”

You say as you hastily strap the heels back on. With one last smile at him, you push the door open. The grand black metal gate swallows you in but your scent lingers in his car. Simon lets out a chuckle. Look at him in his 30s, gets played by a spoiled rich brat who is probably as fresh as a fawn. Soap is right after all. He takes a deep breathe, taking in all that leftover sweets.

Simon has never felt so frustrated in his life. Usually, he gets it done pretty swift and fast. For some reason, even with the shirt that you borrowed that morning on his nose, your scent mixed with expensive perfumes blocks out all the other senses, his cock never softens. Simon even generously puts on a video and nothing happens. His rough hand goes languished, tired and desperate. Maybe that's the problem. His hand. Not yours. Even his ears begin to find the moaning coupled with wet slaps more annoying than arousing. Then his phone vibrates, temporarily putting the video in the background of his attention. Your name flashes on the screen. 

Fuck. 

Relief floods over him in an instant. Thick white spurts land on his stomach. And Simon has yet to read the text.

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“But where do you park your second car?”

“Sweets, for fuck’s sake-”

“Oh god, I didn't-”

“Nevermind.”

It has been your fifth trip to his house and your questions only grow. He supposed it's fair since you never stepped on anything but fine marbles. A hand squeezes his bicep. 

“But I really wanna try.”

“You sure ‘bout that? Never take you for that type.”

“Well, I don't have to be a specific type to go on a fishing trip.”

“Fine. Just don't whine too much.”

Your fingers curl around his bicep again, failing to wrap them all the way around. You tend to do that a lot. Excited or anxious. His cock chubs from the sight alone but he can't force you into another round. Instead, Simon pulls the blanket higher, trying to distract himself. It's silent for a while before he gives in and asks the question he had been mulling over since the news came crashing down.

“Has your old man talked to you again?”

A nail digs into his bicep.

“Not yet… He’s still in shock. I don't blame him but what did he think was gonna happen?

“I suppose you're right.”

Simon can't think of a better ending anyways. If that night you didn't yield before your bodyguard's insistent request to meet up with his “typical military” best friend, he is sure you wouldn't be lying here but probably somewhere in Hawaii on a honeymoon with your newly wed husband. 

“I mean I get to marry whoever the hell I want right? Even if I did decide not to run off and meet that bloke, divorce would be certain in less than a year.”

“Heh.”

   ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

It is a miracle that he manages to find a hotdog stand still opened past 2 am. All the other vendors are starting to pack up and calling it a day. Simon supposed when you're a daughter of a billionaire, everything naturally goes your way. Because he never would have agreed to being woken up to abandon his sleep and “quench the gut wrenching hunger that eats at the soul”. It is also raining hard. He forgot his umbrella. But the way your legs are skipping when they walk back to his car makes it all worth it in the end. You don't seem too bothered by your wet hair and coat.

“These are so nice! My dad never lets me eat these stuff.”

The way you look at the hotdog in your palm is exactly how one would look at their newborn.

“Mm. They sell it ‘round here a lot.”

You halt your steps and plant a kiss on his cheek. Simon ruffles your hair when you pull away to smile at him cheekily. He hopes you would do the same when he slips a ring on your finger.

[midnightquips]

Warmth

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time.

Themes: slow burn, sexual tension, mutual attraction, cute flirting, JAKE WITH A DOG (yes, that's a theme within itself)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: Y'all know I'm not going to end this week without ending Chapter 1!!!! Thank you for all the love for this ❤︎❤︎❤︎

💫 Warmth Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1

Part IV– Abort Mission

Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“So what’s Bob got?” Jake tried. He really did. 

He didn’t want to sound insecure—especially not about Bob of all people—but damn if his curiosity wasn’t burning a hole through his chest.

You’ve been avoiding him ever since the billiards game. And yet, each time Bob returned to the table, your smile reappeared like it had been waiting for him. It made Jake grind his teeth, drink faster, and try not to glare every time Bob opened his mouth near you.

So when you excused yourself to get some air, he waited exactly two minutes before following.

He found you leaning against the outer wall of the bar, taking slow breaths, your face tilted slightly toward the ocean breeze. You didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“So what’s Bob got?”

You blink, startled, turning toward him. “I’m sorry?”

Jake steps closer, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Hate to say this, darlin’, but when girls like you ignore me for Bob, can’t help but my ego gets a little bruised.”

You cock your head. “Girls like me?”

“Pretty girls.”

You raise a brow, stunned more by the casual way he said it than the compliment itself.

Jake leans one shoulder against the wall, taking the chance to look at you unabashedly. Your dress flutters slightly in the breeze, and you look like a sin he didn’t know how to repent for.

“What’s wrong with Bob?” you ask, lips twitching.

“Not a damn thing. But when I’ve been trying to catch your eye all night, I’d like to think I’d get a reaction of some sort.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “I wasn’t aware you were trying to.”

He stares at you, clearly taken aback. “Not every day I have to try, sweetheart.”

You study him, that unreadable smile still lingering. Girls probably melt under those pet names and that swagger. But you? You aren’t letting him win so easy.

Jake straightens up and steps closer, his voice dropping. “So I’m telling you now. I want your attention. What’s next?”

His own words feel too honest. Too real. Why the fuck did he sound nervous?

You take a slow breath, your tone steady. “I don’t bother with guys like you.”

“Darlin’, there are no guys like me.”

You break into a smile that hits him like a sucker punch. “There are always guys like you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jake Seresin feels like the one getting played.

You lean back against the wall now, mirroring him, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his eyes. “Does my answer even matter?”

Jake’s voice was rougher now. “It always matters.”

Your lips part, then hesitate. You bite your bottom lip without realizing, until his eyes drop to the movement.

“You keep doing that with your lips, darlin’, and I won’t even bother asking questions anymore.”

“Huh?” you blink, only half-aware.

God, she has no idea what she’s doing to me. The thought slams into him, his restraint fraying.

He takes a step forward. His fingers grazes the hem of your dress, voice low, slow. “I really like this dress.”

You swallow. “I like it too.”

“Something we have in common.”

Trying to push back control, you hit back, “Probably one of the few.”

Jake grins, sharp and sure. “You gotta give me more credit than that.”

“So sure of yourself,” you murmur.

“I ain’t Top Gun for nothin’, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, then give in. “Honestly... I thought you were eyeing Chesca.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “She’s a pretty little thing. But…” He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Can I be honest with you?”

You barely nod. “Mhmm.”

“Since you walked in, all I’ve thought about is what you’d look like with this dress bunched around your waist, legs wrapped around me…”

You gasp, quietly. Your pulse skyrockets.

Jake’s smile darkens. “Now, that sound I really like.”

His fingers skims up your thighs. Slow. Possessive.

You find yourself rooted to where you’re standing. Every nerve burning. Your brain couldn’t catch up with your body.

His hand comes up, fingers curling around your jaw. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to him. “If you don’t want this,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips, “better say it now. Because I’m about to make it crystal clear I’m interested in you.”

You open your mouth to try and speak but conclude that Jake has indeed rendered you speechless.

He smirks one last time at your gaping mouth before bringing his lips to yours. Instead of a heated one, he kisses you gently, as if waiting for you to come to your senses that this was happening, the tip of his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, nibbling gently.

The softness surprises you, more so when you find yourself kissing him back. Your mouth moving against his on it’s own accord, while one of your arms automatically wraps around his neck.

What the fuck happened to abort? You gasp at the entire situation unfolding.

Jake takes the gasp as an opportunity to slide his tongue in your open mouth, drawing yours out. You taste like cinnamon from the Fireball you’ve been drinking all night and it’s so fucking delicious. He gently bites your lower lip, something he’s been imagining since he saw you, when he feels your grip on his uniform get tighter.

He gently pulls your head back by your hair to gain better access to your mouth and it makes you whimper softly. The sound going straight to his cock. If he wasn’t so aware that you’re both standing outside the Hard Deck, he would have wrapped your legs around his waist already and slid inside you.

Your head is spinning. Jesus Christ this man could kiss. You feel his lips pulling away from your mouth, allowing you to finally breathe but making you suck in again as he attaches his lips to your jaw.

You don’t know whether to cry or kiss him again.

“I—uh—thank you,” you whisper, dazed.

Jake let out a breathy chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. “God, you’re adorable.”

That’s when you feel it. That sudden sting in your chest.

His words are sweet. His touch is careful. His kiss had cracked something inside you wide open. And all you could think about is—

This is how it starts—he kisses you like that, and for a second you forget that this is what he does. That he's practiced. That he probably knows exactly what to say and how to touch to make someone feel like they matter. But you’re not interested in being someone’s high-score.

Jake’s thumb brushes your cheek, noticing the shift in your eyes. “Hey. You okay?”

That tiny question, spoken with so much softness, shatters you.

You step back slowly, easing out of his hold like it never happened. You give him a practiced smile. Closed-lipped. Smooth.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “That was... lovely.”

His brow furrows. “Lovely?”

He steps forward, but you retreat just enough to keep the line drawn.

Jake frowns. “Darlin’, I don’t know what just went through your head, but that kiss was anything but lovely.”

You shrug, unsure of what else to say, before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, voice light. “Goodnight, Jake.”

Then you turn around and walk back inside.

Jake stands there, mouth slightly open, like he was still waiting for the punchline.

Strike three.

Taglist: @lunatygerqueen @read-just-cant-stop @itsdarchik @writergirl28 @malindacath @ghiodmbd @unsure-but-trying @Lynnevanss @khouse712 @midnighttithe @daggersquaddoll @primadonnasdream @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime

[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ THE MAN AT THE MARKET

𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ bucky barnes x fem. reader. ~1.5k words. relearn me ch 1.

❚ ❙ ❘ angst, comfort, war mentions, fluff, beginning of a relationship, slow burn.

: ̗̀➛ He came for apples. You offered a conversation... In a quiet corner of the city’s weekend market, you meet a man who watches the world like it might break beneath his touch. He doesn’t say much -- doesn’t seem to know how -- but something about him keeps pulling you back. You weren’t looking for anything. Neither was he.

| masterlist. | marvel masterlist. | relearn me main. | relearn me ch 2. |

The first time you saw him, he was hovering in front of the apples like they were ticking bombs.

It was early, mist still clinging to the corners of the stalls, the sky a hesitant shade of gray that threatened rain without committing. You were thumbing through the day’s bread selection when you noticed him -- tall, broad, hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, shoulders stiff as rebar. Something about him seemed off, but not in a dangerous way. He looked like a soldier who’d wandered onto a movie set for something too gentle.

You watched him hesitate over the produce crates, eyes flickering over Gala, Fuji, Honeycrisp, as if he didn’t trust any of them not to betray him. His hair, half-tucked beneath a dark cap, was longer than you expected for a man who stood like that. Military, maybe.. or ex-military. He didn’t reach for anything, didn’t even shift his weight... he just stood there, staring like the apples were going to move first.

You turned back to your bread, tucked a sourdough under your arm, and thought that was the end of it.

But when you circled toward the flower stall, you found him still there completely unchanged. And before you could talk yourself out of it, your feet made the choice for you.

"Fuji’s the safest bet," you said, voice casual as you stepped beside him. "Crisp, not too sweet. Good for slicing or baking."

He blinked slowly. It was like he hadn’t expected to be spoken to. His jaw tensed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I-... " he started, then stopped. He looked down at the crate, then back at you. “I don’t know the difference.”

You offered a small shrug with a bit of a smile. “Most people fake it. You’re already ahead by admitting it.”

Something softened just a touch in his posture. It wasn't relaxed, exactly, but it softened in the way someone might ease their grip on a trigger.

“You cook a lot?” he asked.

You held up your bread. “Enough to know that bad apples make terrible impressions.”

A pause. Then -- just barely -- his mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile, but more of a twitch of acknowledgment like he was someone remembering how to smile.

“Fuji, then.” He reached for one with his left hand. You immediately noticed the singular glove.. it was thin, well-worn leather, and ultimately a strange choice for spring. Still, you didn’t comment.

He held the apple like it might bite. You took a step back, sensing he’d had about enough interaction for the day.

“Hope it’s the right kind,” he said quietly.

You gave him a small smile as you turned. “You’ll know next week if you come back for more.” You said, it was a bit of a teasing statement because you didn’t expect to see him again, but you made sure that playfulness was hidden beneath her tone.

The market was routine for you on Saturday mornings.. the rhythm of bread, flowers, and something sweet you didn’t need but always bought anyway. You had your vendors, your usuals, your spot on the corner bench where you sipped lukewarm coffee and watched the neighborhood unfurl.

But he showed up again. Two weeks later. Same time, different jacket. Same wary eyes. This time, he stood near the pastries.

You passed by him with a nod. He didn’t return it, but his gaze flicked toward you and stayed there half a second too long. That was enough.

You bought your bread. Your flowers. Your unnecessary sweet. And then, impulsively, you doubled back. He was still there, staring down a tray of danishes like they might ask for his résumé.

"Strawberry’s good," you said, stepping up next to him as you forced yourself not to grab another sweet.

His head turned slightly. “I remember your voice.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows, “That’s not creepy at all.”

He didn’t apologize. Just studied you like you’d surprised him by staying human.

“I didn’t think you’d talk to me again,” he admitted.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you replied, before gently continuing “Besides, you looked like you could use a second chance at the apple aisle.”

This time, he really did smile. It was a slight slip in the cold demeanor, but ti was real.

You bought the strawberry danish and handed it to him without giving him time to protest.

“Next time,” you said, “you get the coffee.”

He stared down at the paper-wrapped pastry in his hands like it had been handed to him in another language.

The third time you saw him, it was raining.

Not heavily but just enough to soak through your cuffs and make the world smell like wet concrete and dirt. He was standing beneath the awning of a nearby shop, not at the market this time. You almost passed him, umbrella tilted just enough to obscure your view, but something about his stance caught your eye.

He wasn’t watching the rain... he was watching people. His gaze held a kind of quiet and vigilant weight to it.

You debated whether or not to stop. Maybe you’d imagined the comfort of the last exchange. Maybe he’d pulled back. Maybe that was all it was—three odd, disconnected moments in the middle of busy city noise.

But then his eyes met yours. And it was like something clicked into place that neither of you had the words for.

You stepped under the awning beside him. The rain tapped out a steady rhythm over your heads.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “Wasn’t sure you’d show up today.”

“I could say the same.” You smiled while shaking off your umbrella cautiously so you didn't douse him -- or yourself -- in the rain you were so diligently avoiding.

“I don’t like rain.” He grumbled with a slight shrug.

“Because it’s wet?”

He huffed out something like a laugh. “Because it reminds me.”

You nodded once, even though you were beyond curious.. you didn’t ask what it reminded him of because he didn’t offer. There was a stillness between you, but not an uncomfortable one. It was like you were both waiting for something to arrive without knowing what.

“I’m Bucky,” he said eventually, quiet enough you almost missed it beneath the pounding of the rain.

You turned slightly to face him, head tilting a bit so your eyes could meet his from beneath the bill of his cap. “Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

He looked down and his mouth twitched. “Yeah. You too.”

After that, it became a pattern.

He’d show up at the market -- sometimes earlier than you, sometimes after -- but he never hovered as long, never stared quite as hard. He asked more questions.. about jam, about how to tell if a tomato was ripe, about whether fresh thyme was worth the trouble. You started to walk the stalls together, not close enough to brush shoulders, but not too far, either.

He didn’t talk much about himself, but he listened. And when he asked things, they were careful, specific, and showed the interest of a man who was genuinely interested.

You learned his coffee order by accident when you brought him one and he said, “This is exactly right.”

You never asked what he did for work. He never asked what kept you up at night. That was the unspoken rule between you.. surface details and soft things only, nothing that risked collapse.

Until the day you forgot the rule.

You were sitting on the edge of the market fountain, sipping your coffee, when you gently asked, “Were you in the military?”

He froze, it wasn't a dramatic movie-worthy freeze, just a tiny stilling of the hand that held his cup and a subtle shifting of weight like he was bracing for something.

“Yes.”

You waited, letting the silence stretch like thread between you.

“Do you miss it?” you asked.

He didn’t answer.

You thought maybe that would be the last time you would see him. But two weeks later, you came to the market early. The sky was bright for once, clear and bluer than usual. You bought your bread. Your flowers. Your unnecessary sweet. And you waited.

And he came.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood beside you in the bread line. Finally, without looking at you, he said, “I don’t miss it. But sometimes I miss who I was supposed to be.”

You turned toward him slowly, you weren't expecting an answer two weeks later... but you were happy that he was willing to share one regardless.

He added, softer, “Before everything.”

The air between you changed. It didn't become charged, but honest.

“I don’t know who that version is,” he said. “Or if he ever existed.”

You didn’t pretend to have answers. You just said, “Maybe you get to relearn him. One piece at a time.”

He looked at you then -- really looked -- and for the first time, he nodded. Not like someone agreeing, but like someone accepting the possibility.

[writinginatree]

Ice Cream for Breakfast

Relationship(s): Imogen Cardulo/Riorson!reader, Bodhi Durran & Xaden Riorson & Riorson!reader, Xaden Riorson/Violet Sorrengail

Summary: Being back home in Aretia means no one can stop you from having ice cream for breakfast — though your girlfriend might judge you a little.

For my Imogen anon 🩷 (This isn't the longer idea I mentioned, just a silly little thing that's been sitting on my idea list since last summer. I'll still write that one too eventually, but for now have this!)

Trudging into the small private kitchen in the family wing of Riorson House, your brother raises his scarred brow at you. "Are you seriously having ice cream for breakfast?"

"Mornin', Xay," you mumble around a mouthful of the aforementioned treat. "Do you wan' some too?"

Silence stretches as he debates it for a second, two; then, "Yes."

A grin spreads on your face. You love being a bad influence. Xaden can call you a feral little gremlin for it all he wants, you both know that sometimes, he needs his favorite little sibling's encouragement to put his responsibility aside and just live a little.

You jump up from your seat at the table to grab a glass bowl for Xaden, heaping ice cream into it as he makes for the pot of coffee on the stove. Though you're not a fan of the bitter stuff yourself, it had been your duty as the first person to enter the kitchen this morning to prepare it.

Xaden pours himself a cup and slides into his usual seat next to yours. You top his bowl of chocolate ice cream with a handful of cherries, just like you had your own, and grab him a spoon.

"Thanks, bubs," he says as you set both in front of him and sit down.

Xaden has taken no more than a couple of bites when footsteps sound in the hall again and Bodhi appears in the doorway, fully dressed in his uniform but still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He blinks at the both of you, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin. "Are you two seriously having ice cream for breakfast?"

Xaden points his spoon at him, and orders, "Have some too or shut up."

Your cousin shrugs and makes a beeline for the icebox; a minute later, he sits opposite you and Xaden with his own dish of ice cream.

Soon, the comfortable silence is interrupted once again as Imogen and Violet return from their morning run. They take one glance at what is sitting on the table for breakfast, and share a look that seems to say Can you believe these heathens?

Violet walks up behind your brother, dropping a kiss to the top of his head, and says, "Please tell me you had some real food already."

"Afraid I can't do that, love," he mumbles with a sheepish little smile few people ever get to see. "Unless you'd like me to lie."

Violet smiles back and shakes her head. "You're weird."

"Clearly, this whole family is weird," Imogen adds as she comes to your side, throwing a pointed glance at the three bowls of half-eaten ice cream on the table.

Violet nods, but despite her talk, she doesn't hesitate to accept the spoonful of ice cream Xaden offers her.

"How was your run?" you ask, cocking your head to glance up at your girlfriend.

"Good. You should join us some time."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," you answer. "If I have to get up any earlier than I already do, I'd have to go the bed straight after dinner to get enough sleep."

"Alright, sleepy beauty," Imogen laughs.

You dip your spoon into the pool of melting ice cream slowly forming before you. "Would you like some?"

"No offense, babe, but I'd really prefer to eat a proper meal." The look on her face borders between amusement and exasperation. "So should you, by the way. You have flight maneuvers and two hours of gym today. If all you have in your stomach for that is ice cream, you're going to be miserable the whole time."

You take another spoonful, waving her concerns aside. "If I get hungry, I can just have a banana or something between classes."

"You're incorrigible," Imogen sighs. "And you have ice cream on your lip."

You stick out your tongue to lick first your upper, then your lower lip, but your girlfriend shakes her head.

"Come here."

She places a hand under your chin and pushes slightly, tipping back your head. Then she leans over you and slots her lips against your own. Her tongue swipes over the corner of your mouth.

Pulling back, she rubs her thumb over the same spot, ensuring any traces of ice cream are gone. "Are those cherries I taste?"

"Yep. I put a whole handful in my ice."

"Well, at least you're getting your vitamins."

"You know what, if you give me another kiss, I'll even come down to the mess hall with you and have some proper breakfast, as you call it."

Not that you wouldn't do that anyway — sit with her, at least, and probably snatch a few bites off her plate. She knows it, too; after all, that's why she always takes an extra sausage or egg to share with you, regardless of what your own breakfast consists of that day.

Imogen clicks her tongue. "So you want me to resort to bribery now?"

"You're the one who wants me to eat a balanced diet."

"You should."

"I know." You grin. "So, are you going to make me?"

"Oh, yes. I most definitely will."

Her lips meet yours again, and you think to yourself that for this, you could be convinced to do just about anything, including getting proper nutrition.

From the corner of your eye, you note Xaden pulling Violet onto his lap, deepening the kiss they seem to have been locked in for a while. You quickly shut your eyes against the sight and focus on the feeling of your own girlfriend's lips against yours.

As one kiss turns to many, Bodhi looks left, to you and Imogen making out, then right, to Xaden and Violet doing the same, and gives a long-suffering sigh. "Really, guys? Right in front of my ice cream?"

"Sorry," you break apart just long enough to say. "Just, uh, look away for a moment?"

Then you're distracted by Imogen's lips once more. The next time you glance over, you realize Bodhi used the moment of you looking away to snatch the remains of your forgotten ice cream for himself.

He puts the empty bowls in the sink, smirking when he notices the offended look you give him.

You blow a raspberry at him in response; Bodhi returns the gesture.

Rolling your eyes, you ask, "You sure you don't want us to find you a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" You wave your hand around. "A whatever-friend to distract you from stealing my ice cream?"

Bodhi snorts, shaking his head. "No, thanks. I like stealing your ice cream. Besides, I don't think I'm interested in that sort of thing."

"Alright then," you shrug, and turn back to Imogen. "But don't think that means I'll let you get away with eating my breakfast."

Ignoring the threat, Bodhi grabs himself some fruit from the counter and heads for the door with a glance at the clock. "If you three don't want to be late for class, you might want to save the rest of your make out sessions for later."

Violet curses, and gives Xaden one more peck on the lips before rushing to get a quick breakfast of her own, and Imogen groans in annoyance, following with you in tow.

[nshtn]

Now what if we bit Wesker’s neck…

I hope you weren't working with acidic chemicals. It'd be a shame if you had to strip your coat and shirt as a result of your hubris...

705 words, tags: Chemical Burns / Lab Incident, Stripping, Wesker Being a Little Mean, TRICELL - Suggestive / Albert Wesker & Researcher Reader. i'm laughing at you 🫵

The second your lips hit his skin, teeth bared, tongue laving, Wesker turns rapidly and pushes you against the table by your wrists. It's a move practiced to pin enemies, not friendlies; it's half instinct and half irritation, maybe even a little surprise.

It's all spectacularly unfortunate timing, though — your elbow knocks over a series of clattering tubes filled almost-to-tipping with trichloroacetic acid you'd been working with. Before he can reach past you, the TCA within has spilled across your lab coat, colorless white liquid seeping in past fabric and onto delicate skin.

You suck a breath in past your teeth as a sharp stinging sensation blooms, biting at your upper arm. "Ow! ... fuck."

Wesker rumbles a clipped scoff as his grip eases, a 'hmph' under his breath as he draws back from your little game. You're so fragile, so human - sometimes he forgets. "You shouldn't have tried to sneak up on me like that. See what happens?"

Immediately, you disrobe your coat, peeling your undershirt off as quickly as you can without responding. He watches the scene unfold with folded arms, tapping his foot, arched brow of impatience as you scurry off towards your sink.

The second the water is on, he's decided to forego his brooding to sidle back up against you. He grips your arms and angles your body over the sink with sheer strength, a stiff, forceful motion. You thrash for a second, squirming — "H-Hey!" — but you go still as cool water begins to wash away the acid nibbling at your composure.

He's only helping.

"Oh." Relief...

He crowds himself far too close to your back, though, pressing you further against the sink, forced to hunch against him the way he's grappling you - to an outsider, you'd look apprehended. You're vulnerable, the back of you flush with his abdomen. In response, you twist around as much as your neck will allow to try to peek an eyeful of his intention. "Al, what are you doing?"

Wesker tuts in response, humming innocently as he nudges his thighs against yours with more of that intention. It keeps you pinned beneath him. You swear he takes the open opportunity to lean in far enough to appreciate your cologne as rivulets relieve your skin — "You looked like you could use a little direction," he offers, a lame & wholly unnecessary excuse; his tone reverberates through your back.

His immunity does prove useful, though, sparing your hands the same fate.

There is a few tense minutes of rinsing and a little bit of pressing & nudging before he finally lets you rise, having been rather keen on keeping you. Your cheeks have splotched in pops of shameful, revealing red. He dries you off wordlessly with a spare towel like a prized object before he disappears just as quickly to fetch a fresh lab coat.

You're getting tonal whiplash.

You sigh, crossing your arms over yourself as goosebumps rise across the surface of your cooled skin. Your upper arm is red and itchy, now, and it'll be a while before the sensation passes. All for a little nibble. Not even a successful one.

Wesker returns within the minute, proffered coat spread wide. "Turn around." Not a question, an order.

You obey, embarrassed, arms spreading. "I could've—"

"Ah ah ah," he chides, "You were reckless. I'm simply ameliorating."

You cave with a huff and he slips the coat in one arm and then the other, delicate like you're porcelain, circling to your front to adjust the collar himself. You'll have to do without an undershirt for the rest of your shift, though the way his head tilts is all you need to know his gaze lingers lower than your face, shameless in the indulgence of your consequences.

"Consider time and place in your future avenues," he remarks, finally backing off to circle around to nursing the platters he'd abandoned in pursuit of you. You'd commanded his attention for an impressive amount of time, now - he's lucky nothing was particularly time-sensitive. "perhaps outside of our lab."

You feel your face burn at the casual claim levied in 'our', returning to your own bench with a heavy heave.

It's going to be a long rest of your shift, isn't it?

[robinvomit]

[ lil preview for "Add To Cart." // sugar baby hal. ]

"...so is this where i find out i'm being sold for parts, or am i supposed to start stripping?"

you grinned, lifting your glass to take a sip of something he was positive he couldn't afford. "depends.. what's the refund policy on emotionally unavailable pilots?"

hal choked, not expecting such a direct response. "okay," he mused. "damn."

"sit, sweetheart," you said, and gestured to the empty seat across from you, shifting to cross one let over the other. "it's not a lot of fun havin' to look up at you the whole time."

he hesitated, for obvious reasons, and looked at you and then really looked at you. all pretty lips and sweet perfume and jewlery that said yes, i can afford to waste my time on someone like you.

"wait," he said, slowly sitting, eyes narrowing. "you're the one who sent that guy down?"

"mhm." you nodded, head tilting as you tapped your nail against the glass. "i saw you trip and decided i wanted to know what kind of man does that in a leather jacket with that much confidence."

"you saw me fall and thought that one's sexy?" he couldn't help but laugh, already wondering the hell he just walked into.

"i saw you fall," you corrected, "and then smile like you meant to. never said i liked a man with a brain."

"ouch," he started, nodding slow. "well. now i am scared."

"don't be. i don't bite."

"that sounds exactly like something a biter would say."

you leaned in with a sigh and set your glass down, reaching to touch his knee. it was a same touch, thumb brushing over the bone, but it clearly held intent. "i'm offering you time, attention, maybe some presents," you began, patting his knee. "you offer me something entertaining in return. dinner, banter - cute, maybe a little heated. unwarranted confidence. let me parade you around a bit."

"wow," he muttered, eyes flicking down to your hand, then body and back up with a half smile. "so, you just wanna pay me to be hot and dumb, yeah?"

straightening up, you nodded, flashing a little smile. "if you're a real good boy, i can throw in some health insurance if you're in need."

he barked a laugh. loud, genuine but you could tell he was nervous. "lady, i don't know what the hell kind of bored fantasy you're living, but i'm not exactly-"

"stop." you raised a hand, your tone velvet soft but sharp. "don't ruin this with modesty, that's so.. annoying. you're hot, hal jordan. you know it. you walk like it. you flirt like it's a birthright. and i'm rich, bored, and very, very good at getting what i want. there's no shame in living a better lifestyle in exchange for some entertainment."

"are you saying i don't live a-" he stopped and blinked a few times, slow. "wait… how do you know my name?"

you smirked. "sugar, i have a staff. you think i'd throw money at a man without at least getting his name first?"

he stared for a moment and brought a hand up to push through his hair, debating whether that was attractive or if he needed to find the closest exit and a new identity.

"now," you said, sitting back like royalty on a throne, "you have two options."

he raised a brow, gesturing for you to continue.

"one: you finish that beer and go back to your little friends, and we never speak again.. two: you come with me after this, let me buy you something ridiculously expensive, whatever you want, and see where this goes. no expectations. just… fun. don't even have to kiss me."

you could see the gears turning as he thought it over, glancing around the room. he wondered if anyone else knew of the odd transaction he was currently facing, wondered if this was just normal socialite behavior. then he shrugged, waving a hand.

"alright, to hell with it. sure," he said, then paused. "…do i have to call you ‘mommy' or something?"

"oh, goody." you got up from your chair and smoothed over your clothes before offering your hand to him. "only if you want a bonus."

[clumsydolly]

can I get some Hisoka x reader fluff? I’m so happy to find someone who’s taking hxh requests! 😊

“A Quiet Kind of Magic” | Hisoka x reader - fluff - 1k words

Thank you for the request! Sorry I have been late with responses I have been sent a few things so I'm working on it all it's just taking a while! My apologies, my loves!

Warnings!⚠️: Blood, Murder, literally Hisoka

You weren’t quite sure when it started, when the infamous Hisoka Morow began treating you like something soft. Like something he didn’t want to break. He never said it out loud, and you never asked. But there were signs.

Like how he stopped vanishing without a word.

Now, when he left, he always returned with something small. A strange trinket. A glittering rock. Pastries in a paper box from a town you didn’t know existed. “Thought of you,” he’d murmur as he dropped it in your lap, then act like he hadn’t said anything at all. You knew better than to ask what he had been doing. There was always blood somewhere, even if he’d cleaned up.

Tonight, he came back while you were already curled in bed with a book. You didn’t hear the door open, only felt the sudden shift of the air, the electric hum of his aura announcing itself like a whisper in your spine.

“Mon trésor,” he greeted with that silky voice. “Did you miss me?”

You didn’t even look up. “You were gone for two days.”

“That’s not a no~”

He dropped something onto your blanket, a little box wrapped in crinkled blue paper, sealed with a waxy red sticker shaped like a heart.

You opened it slowly. Inside were two delicate macarons, one pink and the other a strange pearlescent white. They looked expensive. Imported. The kind of thing you didn’t ask how he’d gotten.

“Macarons?” you blinked. “What, no knives this time?”

He grinned, slipping into bed beside you without asking. “You prefer my softer side, don’t you?” His head rested on your shoulder, red hair mussed and damp from a recent shower. He smelled faintly of citrus and something darker, like cedarwood or burnt sugar.

“I prefer not waking up to blood on my floor,” you muttered, offering him the white one. He took it with long fingers, biting it in half.

Crumbs dusted his lips, and without thinking, you brushed them off with your thumb.

Hisoka paused.

His eyes glowed faintly, golden and glassy under the low light, gaze pinned to you like you’d cast a spell. Then his lips parted, and he caught your thumb in his mouth.

You squeaked. “Hisoka!”

He chuckled lazily and released you. “Mmm. Still sweet.”

You wanted to be annoyed, but you weren’t. Because no matter how theatrical he was, there was a softness in his presence now. A steadiness.

He didn’t hover, didn’t loom, didn’t press. He just laid there beside you as you read your book, his head now resting in your lap, humming tunelessly to himself. His fingers played idly with the hem of your shirt like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

After a while, he spoke again, voice quieter this time.

“I had a dream about you.”

You turned a page. “Was I alive in it?”

He chuckled. “Very. You were… running from something. But you weren’t scared. You were laughing.”

That made you pause.

You glanced down at him. Hisoka’s gaze had gone far away, eyes half-lidded.

“I like seeing you happy,” he murmured. “It’s rare in people like us.”

“People like us?” you asked, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“People who live in the dark,” he said simply. “We don’t get softness. We take what we can before it’s stolen.”

His honesty caught you off guard. For a moment, he wasn’t a magician or a killer or a flirt. Just a man lying in your lap, quietly trying to make sense of how he’d ended up here with you.

You didn’t know what to say, so you kept brushing his hair.

Eventually, he fell asleep.

It surprised you. Hisoka wasn’t the type to sleep easily, or trust anyone enough to rest with them. But there he was, breathing soft and even, lips slightly parted.

You watched him for a while.

In sleep, he looked younger. Softer. Not quite innocent, but not dangerous either. You wondered how long it had been since anyone looked at him without fear. Or since anyone touched him without expecting something in return.

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

His fingers twitched in his sleep. Then a breathy sigh.

“…mine…” he whispered.

Your heart skipped.

The next morning, he acted like nothing had happened. He teased you about your hair, asked for your last macaron, and put on that same infuriatingly smug smile. But when you reached for the comb to brush your hair, he took it from you and guided you to sit between his knees.

“I’ll do it,” he said, surprisingly serious.

“You?” you raised a brow.

“Mmm. Trust me.”

He was surprisingly gentle.

Not perfect, he tugged too hard once and you yelped, but he muttered a quiet “sorry” before continuing. When he finished, he tied your hair back with one of his ribbons, deep red, silky, probably stolen. He admired his work like a cat admiring a caught butterfly.

“You look stunning,” he said, voice low and warm.

You stared at him.

He smiled.

And for a fleeting moment, you forgot he was dangerous. You forgot the blood and the games and the chaos. All you saw was a man who remembered your favorite sweets, who brushed your hair, who dreamed of you laughing.

You didn’t say “I love you.” That would’ve broken the spell.

But Hisoka didn’t need to hear it.

He already knew.

Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! As usual Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated!🩷

[squidsinashirt]

If you could be a pro at any sport, what would it be?

How do you relax after a stressful day?

What does being a man mean to you?

 Would you describe yourself as more of an introvert or an extrovert?

 Do you want kids? Why or why not?

What's your biggest phobia?

If you had the day off with nothing to do, how would you spend it?

There’s a real mix here Anon, I’ll give it to you.

If you could be a pro at any sport, what would it be?

Ohhhh, I don’t know, couldn’t imagine it at all…

Okay, I kinda was. Sort of. Little bit. Olympics little bit.

There’s a huge amount of pressure at that level of any sport - you’ve gotta love it to survive. Sometimes I really miss it. I’d love to be able to compete in the pool like I used to, although I’m pretty sure I’d get my tail handed to me by the new gang of teenagers on the block these days.

How do you relax after a stressful day?

In a totally surprising answer given the previous, the pool. That’s my first port of call to burn off steam. Something to be said for the burn of lactic acid in making everything seem a little better…

We are really good at coming together for a bit of a team debrief when there’s been a harder rescue, or one that hasn’t quite gone to plan. Family movie nights are good for this too!

What does being a man mean to you?

Philosophical bomb thrown right in the middle of an ask, I see.

For clarity, I’m not a big fan of societal pressure to be ‘x’ on anybody. I’m not really sure this is ‘being a man’ and not just ‘being a good human’ but… I guess it’s something and if my Kansas starts showing, somebody smack me.

I guess this comes from my family, and it’s easy to sum up with two words, one from each of parents - kindness and integrity.

Having kindness, compassion, empathy for everything around you, especially other people but also the rest of the planet. Helping others, without judgement. Protecting people and things more vulnerable than you are, in any way, and putting others’ needs before your own when you need to. You can be big and strong and tough and brave… but being gentle, soft hearted, caring and not being afraid of showing how you feel is just as important.

Also spreading a little happiness where you can. Finding the silver linings and the bright sides, making people laugh, lifting the mood.

Integrity - knowing who you are, and what that means. The weight of your word, and the importance of keeping it. Taking responsibility for your actions, being honest, not being afraid to speak up for what you know is right. Doing the right thing, even when it’s the hard thing and especially when no one is looking. Having the courage to face your fears, and to face yourself.

(Straight out of the school of Scott Tracy at the end there, definitely Kansas showing)

Would you describe yourself as more of an introvert or an extrovert?

100% an introvert. Shyest person you’ll ever meet. Your regular wallflower at social events. Good luck getting a word out of me, I’m a total recluse and a functional mute at gatherings.

this is sarcasm, in case anyone was unaware

Do you want kids? Why or why not?

People really love this question, huh? This is like the sixth one…

I think the expected ‘Tracy boy’ answer here is five sons, right? Not my answer, before I get quoted. We’re gonna need a lot of Thunderbirds if that’s the case for us all.

Given that, thanks to the roll of the universe’s dice, it isn’t me doing the difficult part of having said children, I don’t really think the final word rests with me. It’s a decision you make together, right?

But sure, yeah to kids one day (maybe five, maybe not). Why? Eh, why would I not want to continue my reign of terror by procuring smaller versions of myself to spread only more chaos around the world?

Okay, okay, that’s the flippant answer. The real answer’s selfish (I think most answers to this probably are though, right?). My family is everything to me, and I guess it would be nice to get to pass all that love on. Having this little soul that’s a piece of you and a piece of the person you love the most, and getting to nurture them and love them and watching them turn into their own amazing person, and everything that comes with that, sounds like my sort of adventure.

Plus an excuse to be a big kid and tell dad jokes forever more? Bingo, Gordon’s sold.

(For the clarity, Mr H Harbuckle from Just About! Magazine - ten year plan, quite a lot on the list before that. Do not send me any media requests or so help me…)

What's your biggest phobia?

Those ridiculously intelligent and caring people that work at hospitals (also included in the fear) and all the crazy things they do (like save lives, but does it need to be with sharp pointy things?)

Also giant lizards. Yes, those ones. Nope, no thanks. I can love the planet and all her inhabitants from a distance. A big one.

If you had the day off with nothing to do, how would you spend it?

Pool then beach. Lying in a hammock. Drinking pineapple juice. Topping up my tan. Catching a wave or ten. Diving a reef. World’s most perfect sandwich. Hope that my favourite people are around to bother for a while for a hug or ten. Long night-time, starlit, Tracy Island beach walk with one of them in particular.

[marc--chilton]

(mgv) house and wilson display courting behaviors and don't even realize it. granted, courting in that sense is out of style and traditionalist so even if they did believe they were doing it, they'd wrinkle their noses (house especially). but like.... house buying them expensive tickets to a thing is an opportunity to grow closer, wilson letting his food get stolen isn't just a show of patience but proof he can be a good provider, etc etc. the amount of times they get mistaken for a couple in omegaverse is, in turn, much greater than it already is in canon

[forcedhesitation]

stop fucking flirting with me, you rancid little man

[kurooh]

❤︎ LOVE POTIONS ! — MY HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. VALENTINE’S DAY 2025 — aphrodisiacs are both a curse and a blessing. / midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, todoroki shoto, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki, & takami keigo.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, aphrodisiacs / sex pollen, dirty talk, edging, brattiness, overstimulation, squirting, threesome, sickness but it’s sexy, breeding kink, unprotected sex.

xoxo, juno. everyone pretend it’s v-day 💘

MIDORIYA IZUKU.

⟡ getting hit by a villain’s quirk right before valentine’s day was not something you’d planned to do. somehow, the effects of the quirk end up being an early gift and also a curse.

fat tears race down izuku’s face, his hands grasping weakly at the sheets with each dizzying bounce of your ass onto his thighs. an hour has passed, spent in different positions around the house with less than five minute breaks in between—but no matter how many times you cum, the glowy pink ring around your irises doesn’t go away.

“too much, ‘s too much,” he slurs, words running into each other and becoming jumbled nonsense. “baby, i can’t, not anymore—shit! ‘m empty now, and it h-hurts so bad.”

“hurts?” you parrot disbelievingly, too deep under the spell to feel the burn in your thighs. “‘zuku, know what hurts?”

“no, i know,” he sobs, balls squeezing painfully as the familiar pressure returns to his cock. it’s familiar, but it’s not the same; there’s no cum involved, he’s been drained too dry to give you anything. “l-last time, please. i need a minute to, ngh, relax.”

it hurts. izuku’s cock is practically purple with overstimulation, but he’s too entranced to pull you off himself. when you’d arrived home, tugging at his belt and babbling about what had happened, izuku took a moment to consider if he had any notes on something like this.

villains with these types of quirks have always been rare, and it’s just his luck that one popped up before valentine’s day.

the couch groans from the combination of movement and weight on it, yawning with wear. izuku has never underestimated your strength or sex drive, but this . . you’re bouncy, and he’s wondering if the villain’s quirk enhanced your stamina too.

in a startling display of affection, you grab at his jaw and kiss away his tears, cooing sweet, sensual nothings into his ear. your voice is smooth when you tell him how good he’s doing, how sexy he looks when he’s whining so sweetly. just when he’s thinking it can’t get any better, you hit him where he’s weakest with a sultry murmur of want you to put a baby in me, izuku.

flustered, he can’t help but let out a squeal when you nip at his neck, kissing over previous bites and smatterings of freckles.

“do what you want with me,” he surrenders, verdant green eyes meeting your own. “hah, if that’s what you want, jus’ use me. fuck me, baby.”

BAKUGO KATSUKI.

⟡ you have the misfortune of tracking a villain with japan’s number one hero, the all too explosive dynamight. everything completely unravels during the confrontation, when katsuki’s rushing forward to deliver the final blow. the dastardly villain releases a thick, noxious smoke that fills the air with a sickening sweetness — despite all the coughing and hacking, he manages to subdue the villain until the police arrive, but you never make it back to the agency to regroup.

ridiculous, is all you can think as you’re being folded in half in the back of a company car that’s sneakily wedged in an alleyway. katsuki’s not-so-gentle teeth nip at the tender skin of your thighs, and he doesn’t think twice about the marks that are sure to show up by tomorrow.

“d-deeper, katsuki,” you writhe against the seats, too handsy for his liking. “please, it’s not deep eno—”

“shut it,” he grunts, scowling down at you. his usual expression doesn’t quite have the same effect it usually does, since it’s been mellowed out by the villain’s aphrodisiac like quirk. “don’t you dare tell me how to fuck, got it?”

a bratty huff escapes you, and you make a show of rolling your eyes at him, seemingly unimpressed. “i wouldn’t have to if you’d just do it right. oh, but who am i to judge the number one?”

a vein bulges from his forehead as he listens, crimson eyes seething silently while you continue to lay it on thick. “i guess dynamight can fuck however he wants, even if it’s subpar—”

in an instant, katsuki’s hand is on your throat and applying just enough pressure to force out a gasp from you. that teasing and talking back worked—now he’s really about to come undone, show you just how strong the number one pro can really be.

“can’t take that back now, can you? if you think you can insult me and order me around, oh,” katsuki grinds his teeth, pressing your knees into your chest without taking a moment to appreciate the pretty moan that leaves you. “fuck, you’ve got another thing coming. shut your mouth.”

“make me.”

he can’t seem to recall a time where he’s ever been this turned on—that aphrodisiac quirk’s got nothing on the way you talk to him, challenge him in a way that nobody has before.

katsuki draws his hips back, slow and deliberate in each movement. you were right, he wasn’t giving you his all; but now, he will, and he won’t stop until you eat your words. deeper? harder? faster? if that’s what you’re asking for, he’ll give it to you.

you watch breathlessly, mesmerized by the frustrated scrunch of his face, all because he can’t stop replaying your words in his head. a harsh slap to your clit snaps you out of your daze the moment it lands, stinging terribly.

“let’s work up to that, alright? you’re going to—”

“what if i don’t, katsuki?” you tip your chin up at him, looking down your nose at him. “then what?”

another slap, this time with a little more strength behind it. he disregards everything you just said, getting ready to give you an explosive orgasm you’ll have to work hard for.

“that’s what. now, let’s try that again—you’ll be good and count each slap, unless you want me to spank this slutty pussy raw,” satisfied by the responding clench of your cunt, he arches a brow and smirks. “your choice, brat.”

TODOROKI SHOTO.

⟡ with a new, unstable virus spreading rapidly through japan, scientists are racing to develop a cure. it seems to act like the standard flu, but it affects quirk users differently—shoto ends up with an unusual kind of fever.

“ah, ‘m cumming, sho,” cum squirts from your pussy like a waterfall, and everything’s so overwhelming that you unintentionally push his cock out. “good, ‘s so fucking good.”

sweat coats his face, clinging to the rough scar on shoto’s left side. panting, he sucks in a breath, grasping around for his swollen cock.

“i’m sorry,” his voice cracks once his tip slides through your sticky folds and makes your back jolt off the bed, “it’s just—shit, it’s not enough.”

“a-again? i, hah, don’t know if that’s a good—”

shoto shakes his head, shivering as a thin layer of frost appears on his right cheek; it sparkles brilliantly before melting into droplets of water that drip from his jaw. “i’m still burning up,” it’s completely out of bounds, but the low rasp of his sickly voice scratches an itch in your brain. “see, lovey? can’t even use my quirk to fix it.”

a sigh escapes you, and you spread your trembly thighs one more time. “i might be too tired to drive you to the hospital after this,” you warn.

“i know, but baby,” gratefully, shoto pushes forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside you. his warm hand settles on your lower belly to add some pressure, gearing you up for another explosive orgasm. “i don’t wanna be like this when we go to the hospital.”

he flushes darkly with embarrassment, and the mental image of a tortured shoto rutting into a hospital bed as waves of the fever’s severe effects overwhelm him is enough to make you soften.

once he starts to thrust, developing a rhythm that would put your own fingers to shame, his mouth drops open and he’s babbling incoherently. “ . . always so fucking hot around you, baby. i-it’s not my fault you’re so—haa, shit—so perfect, making me burn up whenever you’re not looking.”

and because being this deep inside you is as close as he can get to heaven, shoto sees no reason to hold back on the honest praise. he’s always been a little shy to express himself during sex, mouth drying up whenever he tries to say something rather dirty, but not now. since his brain is being fried by the heat at the moment, he won’t feel any embarrassment.

“sho, right there,” a breath is punched out of your lungs, and your nails scratch at his shoulders each time his tip kisses your sweet spot. “oh god, ‘m gonna make a mess again!”

his cock twitches and he moans your name, only egging you on. “can’t wait to taste it, darling.”

you fall off the edge, his words serving as the final push. euphoria curls through you, cresting like a wave until the sensitivity becomes too much, bringing you back to earth. abs clenching, shoto pulls out to cover your stomach in white.

in an instant, shoto’s temperature drops. quietly, he shivers against you, huffing into your neck.

“i want to stay like this before we leave.”

“you’ve got ice forming rapidly on your back, sho.”

“it’ll melt if i’m cuddling with you . . could you also rub my back? maybe i just need to sleep it off.”

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU.

⟡ eijirou listened to you specifically tell him NOT to eat the wrapped cookies you had in the fridge and when you left, he did exactly that.

“babe, baby, you feel so good,” cum races down his fingers in creamy rivulets, puddling at the base of his cock. caught up in his fantasy, eijirou flicks his wrist faster, hoping with all his heart to imitate the hot squeeze of your cunt. “s-so pretty when you take me, always so fuckin’ beautiful.”

his voice cracks just as the door opens, and your purse falls to the floor. your boyfriend is spread out on the bed, flushed feverishly and gasping out your name like he’s delirious—it would be the perfect scene to come home to if you didn’t spot two torn cookie wrappers near him.

“eijirou,” you speak his name lowly, catching his eyes and raising a brow. he’s not sure if he should feel awkward or turned on because of your scolding tone, so he just swallows dryly and looks toward you with hooded eyes. “already forgot the speech i gave you? why’d you eat the cookies?”

shame creeps up his neck and makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. grasping for a response, eijirou decides to question you right back. “why’d you have sex cookies in the fridge?”

“they were a surprise for valentine’s!”

oh.

now he really feels dumb for spoiling your plans. perhaps if he hadn’t been so hungry, so greedy, he wouldn’t be embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

but the feeling doesn’t last long—your tough face drops into something more sultry: doe eyes and an upturned quirk of your lips that’s sure to finish him.

the mattress sinks under your weight, and you scoot beside him with a self satisfied smile. it’s small and quiet, but a voice in the back of his head tells him maybe you wanted this to happen; you certainly don’t look too upset about it.

“no way, baby,” a hiss escapes him when you slap his cum-stained hand away from his cock, instead choosing to replace them with your own. “am i dreaming? mrs. red riot, are you—”

his narration throws you off, and you choke just kissing his tip. you know eijirou’s surprised and eternally grateful, but damn. “mr. red riot, you’d be quiet if you wanted me to.”

“sorry,” he says earnestly, tensing up to hide the fact that he’s shaking like a leaf when you finally take him in your mouth. “i’ve just—” he inhales sharply as you slowly, torturously take him inch by inch. “i’ve been waiting s-so long for you to come home, babe.”

you swallow, throat squeezing tight around his cock, and eijirou’s clean hand flies to the back of your head, hovering precariously. “i’m crazy about you, all day every day, and the cookies made it worse. ‘m sorry for spoiling the surprise, i didn’t mean to—haa, w-what’re you doing to me? oh, you’re gonna make me—”

it doesn’t take long for obscene slurps and occasional gags to fill the room as you suck eijirou’s cock, spoiling him with each languid bob of your head. it’s too much, and the tension grows thicker in his gut, setting his insides ablaze with anticipation.

he’s hurtling toward his high, jerking his hips up and shamelessly preparing to fill up your throat this quickly—but then, you push yourself off of him. a shudder ripples through his body, and he throws you a pained, wide eyed look.

“why’d you..? baby?”

you motion for him to lay on his back, and he can see the gears in your head turning behind a wicked smile. “might as well draw it out, hm?”

“you’re gonna milk me?”

he’s so cute . .

you want to see him crying.

you hum, “only until you’re begging for me to stop.”

KAMINARI DENKI, ft. SERO HANTA

⟡ an undercover sting at a mysterious village with your work partners doesn’t go as smoothly as planned. the village, out in the far country, has been reported as the one place with the highest levels of quirk activity in japan. little did you know about the fact that this place is home to infectious pollen that makes its way into people via the air, or about its temporary effects on people . .

“what the fuck,” you moan, vision blurry between their faces and intermittent flashes of light. “there’s no way it’s from a plant, it can’t be—”

hanta’s tongue darts out to lick the salt away from his upper lip, and he points a finger toward a passage in the encyclopedia. “the symptoms are, ngh, the same.”

one of your hands works denki’s cock while the other shakily flips through an encyclopedia of germs and the like; hanta’s buried to the hilt inside of you, tan cheeks flushed with exertion.

“can’t you just read after?” denki unhelpfully suggests, blinking back a few tears while sparks of electricity fly off from his blond hair. “let’s just fix—yeah, baby, jus’ like that—fix the problem now and figure it out later.”

“shut it, denks,” hanta rolls his eyes, rocking his hips into you. despite the fact that the three of you are totally naked and in the middle of some kind of threesome, you’re researching what apparently caused this surge of uncontrollable arousal.

things began not long after you arrived in the village, where everything had looked unsuspecting and normal. surely there was a villain lurking around somewhere . . ? why else would there be so much unusual activity, enough to alert the authorities?

“look, they f-found something similar in america,” hanta’s voice wavers uncharacteristically, his own high racing through him with such intensity he doubles over.

“forget about the book,” denki’s begging while pressing dazed kisses to your tits, one hand tossing the book aside and slipping between your trembling thighs. “c’mon, babe. show us what you look like when you cum.”

perhaps this is something to be selfish about — when will an opportunity to fuck your hot coworkers come around again? hanta’s everything you’ve been daydreaming about, with a muscular physique sharp enough to have been cut from stone. denki’s just as attractive, though his features are softer, the result of his constant snacking while on the job or in the agency.

hanta nods in assent, already trailing over the edge. “want you to gush all over me, baby.”

thrashing under denki’s fingers, it momentarily occurs to you that maybe they’re a little too experienced. neither of them were concerned with a threesome when it was suggested, and there’s no mistakes in their almost synchronized movements.

just watching your eyes flutter and roll back is enough to make denki cum with a moan of your name as his cock sprays white. hanta’s pupils probably dilate a hundred times their size at the erotic sight, and his hips begin to stutter as heat races up his spine.

denki, shaking profusely, musters his voice and maintains his hurried pace. “g-good girl, go on ‘n let it out.”

since stepping foot into the village and inhaling that damn pollen, the pro hero’s been getting realistic flashes of thoughts he’s kept locked away for some time. you, on your knees, looking up at him like you’re ready to do more than just please. you, with your pretty eyes full of tears as you lose your mind beneath him.

an orgasm stronger than the lustful effects of any aphrodisiac tears through you, and your cunt bears down so hard it forces out hanta’s own high as well. with all his might, he tries to resist the surge of weakness that hits him and fails—he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely and burying his face in your neck.

loosely, your jaw hangs open and breathy gasps leave your mouth. denki’s sparking with electricity beside you and simultaneously struggling to get it under control. a single yellow spark flies off his body and mildly electrocutes hanta, snapping him back to reality. he jerks against you, sounding exhausted.

“uh. so, um, what’re we supposed to report when we get back?”

TAKAMI KEIGO.

⟡ bless his heart. for valentine’s, he decides to be a silk heart-shaped box of japan’s most expensive chocolate for you. he’d been so focused on finding your favorite flavors along with new ones that he didn’t even realize that he’d purchased sex chocolate.

“it hurts, dovey. it’s s-so painful.”

since sharing the box of chocolates with you, keigo’s been reduced to a pathetic mess who can’t seem to stop shaking when you just barely touch him. vermilion feathers puff up and out at his back, his messy wings conveying the way he’s crumbling inside.

you’re just as hot, skin crawling with a lustful itch only keigo can scratch for you. the frenetic beating of his wings whips up cold gusts of wind stronger than any ceiling fan, and not a single goosebump rises on your skin.

“right there, kei,” you moan, tears gathering in your eyes as he continuously hits your sweet spot. “oh my god, don’t stop.”

as if he’d ever plan to.

he hiccups, face flushed and hair tousled like he’s just returned from some mission out in the wild. softly, with the barest note of urgency, keigo whines out your name and a request.

“dovey, c’mon,” his voice cracks halfway through his sentence, shattered with unmistakable pleasure. “just tell me what you want, and i’ll, ah, i’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

keigo’s entire body thrums with the need, the purpose, to please you, and his own pleasure hinges on you and your praise. sure enough, you cry out to him, words saccharine and addicting.

“make me cum, kei,” and he doesn’t need any further instruction, not when he knows your body this well. smooth fingers slip between your thighs and work your clit, causing your back to arch when he applies just enough pressure to send electricity through your nerves.

you’re wrapping around keigo’s waist, drawing him in and breaking down his self control easily.

“want me to fill up this pussy, baby? i can do it again and again—” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts that amplify the clap of skin against skin almost as much as a quirk could, “while you take it like you were made to.”

quaking beneath him, you nod frantically, as if those are the words you’ve been waiting to hear. while he was so vividly illustrating the scene, his wings unconsciously began to wrap around your bodies, a sign of how much he wants it too.

you gasp, eyes squeezing shut with the last image being keigo’s face, twisted in ecstasy and scrunched with concentration. “gonna—‘m gonna cum, kei!”

“with me, dovey, please,” sweat pours down the sides of his face as the heated bliss tightens in his gut, applying an unbearable pressure to his cock. “let me feel you cum around me, ughhh.”

sloppily, keigo presses open mouthed kisses to your lips, and a delighted moan escapes him when you kiss back. your lips are soft against his, and your tongue carries the sweet taste of valentine’s chocolates, the expensive ones he’d come home with earlier.

with his orgasm creeping up on him and dulling his surroundings, a brief thought occurs to him about those chocolates. the sales lady had raised a brow when he filled up the customizable box with many pink chocolates that had been sitting in a case separate from the rest.. no, that can’t be right. surely this is the common valentine’s day effect on couples—it can’t be from the chocolate, can it?