#and with something else that is big and long and THICK but it's too early to talk about that 😌

[oopsiedaisydeer]

guys with short hair ...add up my looooove!!! honey, was it enough?

fluff, kissing, maybe a tad superficial, cute/affectionate, friends to lovers, very minor angst word count - 1.2k

You knew Chris didn’t like people commenting on what his hair looked like. He’d complain about it from time to time (scratch that, most of the time), but it wasn’t like he was asking for anyone’s opinion… except maybe he was.

Chris and you had been friends through thick and thin, and you’d seen many phases to his haircuts. Going from buzzcuts to long hair, mohawks to middle parts, you loved how adventurous he was with his appearance.

He’d never really asked your opinion before, mostly just because you’d grin and compliment and tease him no matter what he looked like. One day though, you were scrolling on your phone and an edit popped up. Chris noticed out of the corner of his eye how your pupils dilated, focusing your stare on the clips playing. Looked like some actor you liked from what he could see.

“I love guys with short hair,” you mumbled then. Chris blinked, biting his lip but trying to pretend as if he hadn’t heard you.

But it just so happened he had a hair appointment a couple days later.

He’d been complaining lately about how long his hair was, how he’d had the same haircut for the past three years, and you’d been encouraging him to try something new. You didn’t realise though that you had encouraged him to get this particular style.

He knew how much you loved actors from the late 90s and early 2000s, how their middle part fanned over their forehead but was still relatively short on the sides. He couldn’t believe he was going through it, especially when he was almost 100% certain he was going to be endlessly compared to his brothers even more now. His barber side-eyed him when he showed him the photos, and he could practically hear the question, “Is this for a girl?” with the way the man’s eyebrows were positioned.

Well fuck it, it was. Chris didn’t know why, but something about getting to you, in this way, someone who had always been such a constant pillar of equal support and teasing, was important to him all of a sudden.

Maybe it was the way he had seen your eyes dance at the figure on your screen, in a way they had never once looked like when you looked at him. Maybe it was the way your lips parted ever so slightly, inhaling a sharp breath not meant for anyone else’s ears. Or maybe he just wanted to be someone you loved—one of those guys with short hair. Maybe it was just something superficial like that.

As the barber finished the haircut, Chris couldn’t help but notice how lightheaded he felt—it was a big change, after all—and he was more surprised than he thought he would be by how much more he looked like his brothers all of a sudden.

Fuck, he thought. Maybe this was the wrong move if he wanted you to notice him more. But then again, why did he want you to notice him at all?

When he did see you again a couple days later, his hair freshly shampooed and styled to his best efforts—he almost looked up a tutorial. Almost. The whole drive over to your place, he was panicking. Chris could feel his stomach turning, his hands and armpits weirdly sweaty as he fought the urge to put the hat, the one he’d brought just in case, on his head. 

When he finally pulled up, you were sitting out the front of your house, enjoying the sun as you waited by the curb.

Chris got out of the car before you even noticed he was there, and you placed your hand over your eyes, shielding them from the sun as you gazed up at him. He stared down at you too, although his eyes darted all around the place, never quite settling in one spot.

“You got a haircut,” you said, the question barely evident in your tone.

Chris nodded, not quite bringing himself to say anything yet.

That’s when a bright smile lit up your entire face, and maybe it was the sun, which, from your perspective, gave Chris a halo, or maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t the sun. You were just blushing.

“Got it for you,” he managed to spit out.

Chris didn’t think he’d ever seen you blush before, or at least he hadn’t paid enough attention to notice. But the tint of your cheeks made it obvious, and if he never got any other sign of affection from you, that look, as you looked up at him, might just have been enough for him to carry on for the rest of his days.

The spell wasn’t even broken when you stood up, brushing off your denim-clothed ass—and, oh, how Chris wished he could help you with such a simple, intimate act. You were standing quite close to him, closer than you both had probably ever been, and you were still smiling. How was it possible that you were looking at him like that still?

Then, you reached out your hand, and took the tips which fell near his eyes between your fingers.

“It looks good,” you said, still smiling, and Chris watched as your eyes darted across his face now. He wondered whether you too didn’t know quite where to look now. 

He wished you’d look at his lips.

“Yeah?” he responded hoarsely, and the sound of his voice seemed to startle you out of whatever trance you’d been in. You dropped your hand from Chris’s face, and your eyes now seemed stuck to the ground.

Gently, without trying to force you, he picked up both your hands, his thumbs brushing over the back of them mindlessly. You glanced down as he moved your arms, following each limb’s movement. Chris placed your left forearm on his shoulder, so that your left hand naturally drifted down, hanging behind his neck. Then he let go of your right wrist, and you moved it by yourself, continuing to trace the strands of hair which fanned his face like you had before.

And then finally, your eyes met.

“I really like guys with short hair,” you told him, biting back a grin.

“I know,” Chris said, a smirk creeping onto his face. His eyes dipped to your bottom lip, before finding your eyes again. He did this several times, until he finally leant in, capturing your mouth with his own.

You sighed softly into the kiss, and Chris felt your hands tugging on the back and front of his head. The subtle pulls hurt his scalp in the best way, and he allowed himself to be pushed by you against his car. The kiss deepened then, and Chris felt it, how everything was shifting between you, and how you held him like you’d missed him.

When you finally pulled back, your breath catching, neither of you said anything at first. The air between you was still humming. Chris ran a hand through his hair out of habit—and your eyes followed the movement, soft and lingering.

“Was that okay?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, thumb brushing his jaw. “More than okay.”

Chris smiled, quiet and full. “Let me get a redo, then,” he said, leaning in again.

dividers by @uzmacchiato ꨄ

a/n: kinda mid but enjoy lyric spam regardless: DO U MISS MY HANDS HANGING ON THE BACK OF YOUR NECK??? IT'S JUST SOMETHING I'M INTOOOOOO + YOU LOOKED AT ME DIFFERENT (IN THE MIDDLE OF, IN THE MIDDLE OF)~

thanks so much for reading!!!! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated 💌

[heyimkana]

hiii 💸 anon here just popping in with more jinwoo thoughts (shocker i know)

what iiff we, the gf/wife/reader started talking like Beru does for a day? solely just to see how long it takes for jinwoo to crack. maybe she'll even get the other shadows in on it, drive him nuts.

(and maybe he'd snap enough to show her physically–)

have a nice morning/afternoon/evening!!! •ᴗ•

STOPPP THAT'S SO FUNNY I CAN IMAGINE HOW ANNOYING THEY WOULD BE

in the kitchen

jinwoo: "jagiya, what do you want to have for dinner?"

wife, tossing imaginary flower petals in the air: "O my sweetest lord and husband, how noble of thee to inquire so tenderly! Thou art ever so thoughtful, ever so heedful of mine humble needs. Whatso’er thou shalt place before me—be it but plain rice with salt—I shall feast upon it with joy, aye, to the very last grain! For I know ‘tis thy love that hath seasoned the pot, and no spice in all the world may match the savour of a husband's steadfast, deathless affection!"

jinwoo: "🧍🏻"

jinwoo: "what"

----

in the living room

jinwoo: "jagi, have you seen my black tie with the silver stripes on it? i swear i put it in the drawer last—"

wife, sighing dramatically: "Prithee, not again! How oft must thou misplace thy trifles, and call upon me as though I were thy keeper of all things lost? Ever the same—‘Sweeting, where be my hose?’ ‘Beloved, hast thou seen my timepiece?’ Art thou Dora the Explorer, my love? Nay! I am not thy map nor thy compass! By my troth, thy forgetful ways do wear upon my soul. I do beseech thee—no more! For truly, I am near undone by thine eternal game of hide and seek!"

jinwoo: "🧍🏻🧍🏻🧍🏻🧍🏻🧍🏻"

jinwoo: "did you just call me dora the explorer🧍🏻"

----

in the bedroom

jinwoo, slipping under the sheets: "i just put our princess to bed. she's dreaming now, which means... 😏 we get to have some time for ourselves 😏😏😏" *places hand on thigh* "what do you say, angel😏"

wife, smirking: "Ah! So thou wouldst have me toil and tumble with thee this very night, aye? To sweat and writhe in passion’s sport? Wouldst have me part thy legs as though we staged a play most lustful? To make sweet, wanton love ‘til cockcrow, and spill thy seed within me whilst I cry thy name so loud, our slumbering babe in yonder chamber might rise in fright and think the heavens cracking?"

jinwoo: "i do not understand any word you just said 💀"

wife: "O yes, my dearest husband, come ravish me with thy tender affections! Let the moon gape wide and the stars blush with shame as they behold our love-making—"

jinwoo: "can you stop—"

wife:" May the heavens cover their eyes, for what we do this night is not for angels, but for sinners most blissfully wed—"

jinwoo: "jagi, i swear to god—"

wife: "Come, good sir, and part these trembling limbs—plant thy noble seed within me and—"

jinwoo: "that's it, come here"

then he silences her with a kiss 😌

[tonycries]

Bat(man) Romance - T.F.

Synopsis. Running into Batman AKA your ex-husband, Toji, after a heist? Could this night get any worse? Well, there’s also one tiny problem…you’re both covered in séx pollen.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Catwoman! reader, Batman! Toji, BATMAN AU, exes-to-Iovers, PlNING, séx pollen, he goes FÉRAL, manhandIing, dúmbifícation, he’s BIG, making it fit, tummy buIges, overstím, chokíng, p sIapping, making him cúm early, creampíes, cúmplay, he’s RUlNED, bickering during it, latex, cervíx kíssing, bréeding, pússydrúnk Toji, pheromones, spítting, praise, fíngering, proposals, he’s also rich, L bómbs, Megumi cameo, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.0k

A/N. CAUGHT IN BAAAD ROMANCE!!

“Too slow~” You’re snickering to yourself, latex-covered legs swinging in the air as you eye the scattered pinpricks of red n’ blue police lights below. Scouring every road and lane in Gotham City for you - while you gazed with amusement atop a nearby rooftop.

You guess that’s part of being the resident Catwoman. Never to be caught.

Well, never to be caught by anyone other than him. 

You shake off the unwanted memories of your now ex-husband, the billionaire vigilante you were supposed to have happily spent the rest of your life with. And it really didn’t help that the skyscraper you’d found refuge on just-so-happened to be part of his sprawling Fushiguro Enterprises. 

Oh well…

Breathing in the sweet, crispy night air; you turn to what had gotten you in trouble in the first place.

That brilliant - almost glowing - pink flower you’d just stolen from the depths of a ministry vault, now clutched tightly in your cunning hands. “I like something that gives me a lil’ fight.”

“Then you’re gonna love me.”

It was a voice you could recognize anywhere, anytime-– that low, drawling growl that seeped his baritone words with just a bit of danger. 

And you’d forgotten how fast Toji Fushiguro was. 

Because just as soon as the realization hits your startled brain, your front hits the frigid rooftop tile. Tackled down. Face smushing into the smooth marble, chest panting out murked clouds when a heavy weight settles on your sinfully arched back.

Toji slouches sexily on top of you so that his scarred maw tickles your tender earlobe, weight fully rested to pin you down on the ground. Big, beefy arms holding you like a vice, “Heya, wifey.”

“Hello, ex-husband.”

“So- s’it a coincidence that both you and the police are visitin’ me or–?”

Ah- he was just as infuriatingly cocky as ever. Fuck having a happily ever after, you two were more likely to kill each other before that.

You snarl, more so because you’re unsure what else to do than anything. “Oh you know- just missing my favorite ex.” No matter how much you kick and scratch, Toji’s restraint stays firm. Trying to focus your widened peripherals on the ground instead, “I thought they killed you.”

“Not yet.”

And oh, you can’t deny that having his familiar hands on you after so long had you a little…electrified.

Shit– fine, on those lonely nights you’d even dreamt of having his thick, doughy fingertips tracing your simmering skin this way. All over. Drawing sloooow hearts near the nape of your neck - that lecherous bastard - before dipping down, down, down to lock both your wrangling wrists with only one of his oversized ones. 

Your fists clench tightly, still grappling onto that priceless exotic flower. The curved fringes of his digits caress the metallic zipper running down your spine, “Hiding something, mama?”

“Meow, tiger—” You’re purring out, “If you wanted to feel me up then you only had to ask~”

“Down, kitty.” His free hand tugs on your cute spiked collar to strangle those jabs, and then immediately unravels your hands to pluck the pretty stem from between your fingerpads. He twirls the blossom casually in his hands, “So this is it, huh? I should hand you to the Gotham police right this second.”

Your nose wrinkles at the sudden waft of syrupy pheromones that puff out from the flower in shimmery pink vapors. Hissing, “No! Give that back-”

Only for the words to tighten themselves into speechless knots at your throat because you’d finally, finally gotten your first good look at Toji Fushiguro since the divorce. 

Ever since you two had decided, after only a few months of marriage, that perhaps love wasn’t enough to keep you two from tying each other down to your own opposing ideologies and purposes. You ruled a crime empire, he was a death-defying hero.

And he was also…hot. 

Had he grown even more handsome than the last time you saw him? Because, fuck, you don’t remember his rugged jawline being quite as sharp. Or his shaggy Stygian bangs curtaining oh-so-intense of a gaze.

And his suit - oh, his suit. Toji was still donning that dark, skin-tight batsuit as you remembered - only right now, his Adonis-like muscles were practically ripping through the elastic material. Illuminated by the yolky moonlight overhead to carve out every dip and curve, every bob of his prominent Adam’s apple.

Slightly horned mask pulled over his head, he doesn’t even bother to hide the sultry roaming of his mossy eyes.

Toji Fushiguro was like sex personified, and that makes you stir impatiently on the polished tile. 

He’s shifting his bulky heft to stop your pathetic motions, straddling now. Lips twisting into a sleazy leer as his silken cape drapes over your body. “Cat got your tongue, wifey?”

“That’s my line, Batman.” You’re huffing out, lower lip jutting out in a way you already knew he loved. Ignoring his murmured rasp of ‘you look good’, you plead for the spoils of your heist once more. God, you could sense the scented perfume already saturating the heady air. “Give that back…p-please-”

“Oho?” Toji raises a sleek black brow, chuckles spouting off in gusts of scorched breath. He inches even closer, letting out a loooow whistle between his surprised lips, “The great Catwoman usin’ her manners? Ohh, say that again.”

“...please?”

“How cute.”

“Fuck off.”

“S’this lil’ flower really that important then?” You hear grumbling from above you - and you really should’ve predicted what would happen next. You really shouldn’t have been surprised when Toji promptly touches the straight bridge of his nose between it’s velvety petals and steals a deep sniff—

“You imbecile!”

And if Toji was swift, you were swifter. 

“Oh, shit- sugar.”

He barely even registers that it’d taken two bats of his long eyelashes for you to break out of his heroic stronghold and slam! his towering body to the ground. Your legs latched onto either side of his toned v-line like glue, one hand of yours clawing onto the unmistakable bat logo on his broad chest. 

“Reminds me of our honeymoon.” Toji cocks a grin from underneath, slender waist bucking - and failing - to throw you off. You were fucking determined. 

“I have never- met a more-” You spit through your clenched teeth, so hard you could taste the raw poison coating your tone. Through each pant of your chest, you swipe for your prize like the cat that was yearning for the cream. “-stubborn- hard-headed- moronic bat-”

Over and over.

And then with a final reach of your free set of fingers, you entrap Toji’s wrist, grab the delicate flower, and–

-crush it.

Only, this was no regular bloom.

The moment its glowy pink petals collide with your fingertips, softened fibre smashing into your eager flesh, the blossom bursts. Bursts. Into a thick, cloudy smog of microscopic pollen that glitters and spreads in front of your eyes. 

The sight was so mesmerizing that by the time you’re trudging your head out of the saccharine-smelling distraction, and crying out a frantic “Don’t breathe it in!”– it’s already too late.

Toji himself can’t see any reason why you’re practically sputtering n’ fraught - he certainly isn’t.

Sure, he was not the one who’d just lost what was likely a few million dollars worth of a rare plant. But when he had you like this? How could he ever even think of- actually, how could he ever even think?

Your chest heaving deliciously in that glossy latex catsuit, cute lips spit-slicked and parted with a never-ending train of complaints, fiery eyes he missed so much locked on him - and sat prettily on top of him, to boot! Oh, how he’d dreamt of this.

“Heh, always did like havin’ you on top of me, mama.” He inches his lolling head carnally closer to steal a few inhales of that sweet, sweet perfume you were wearing. It wasn’t your usual - but damn, did it leave him drunk on you.

And he sounded so gone.

Shit. 

“Oh no, it’s working already.” You bemoan, massaging the looming headache throbbing at your temples.

“What’s workin’?”

“The sex pollen.” You jeer, your heart racing with a slight inkling of satisfaction at the way you’d finally managed to render your taunting ex-husband speechless. Or was it from…something else? You didn’t want to consider that just yet. You’re dragging your hips on top of his and you almost moan.

Instead, stabbing a rigid index right between the cushy valleys of his pecs, lingering. “Which you- would have known if you’d just listened to me. Honestly- this is why we divorced-”

“Sex…”

“Sex pollen.”

And then it’s silence. Tense, deafening silence. 

Not even the sounds of the distantly-blaring police sirens are enough to make the panic set into your shivering body. Because right now it was bubbling with something feverish.

Needy. 

But did you really forget who you were dealing with? Of course, Toji would never let the uncomfortable quiet linger on for too long before he shatters the night stillness with a sharp bark of husked laughter. 

“S-so you’re sayin’...” He starts, and you definitely don’t like that particular tone of his. One which never boded well for you. With a hand squishing either side of your cheeks embarrassingly together, he ogles you dead-on into your hazed irises as he asks, “-you want to fuck me right here, right now, my wife?”

“I-I don’t-”

“I can tell when you lie, sugar.”

“Fuck you.”

His willowy eyes flutter shut with the image - and Toji feels so hot. He feels like he’s burning straight from the inside out, so many degrees higher in temperature at your sexy, sexy glare that told him you wanted murder him in cold blood and dance on his grave. Inhaling deeply, “S’that a request, mama~?”

And it was meant to be a joke - seriously. It was meant to be something stupid that would make you scoff and shove off of his burly body, disappearing into the night as he so often admired. 

But you always did surprise him.

And so did the next word spilling shyly from your mouth– “Yes.”

If Toji thought he was burning before then he was simply aflame with fire right now.

All he can do to steady his dizzy head, all he can do to stagger his greatly heaving chest into choking out a guttural, “Fine- come on.” 

Before you know it, your entire world tilts upside down - and not just because your ex-husband is throwing you over his meaty shoulders, your stomach laid over his rippling muscles. The slinky whoosh! of his grapple gun darting out and hooking onto the side of his building. Firmly. Your ass held high in the air, you swear you feel him give your right cheek a solid spank. “You wanna lose control, wifey? Let’s lose control.”

Fuck.

It takes two seconds for Toji to stride to the edge of the high skyscraper and projectile swing the both of you over to launch inside a conveniently-open window on the highest floor. Pulling himself inside. 

And only one second for you to realize that he’d just line-launched you straight into his fucking bed.

Honestly, your scream had barely had the time to formulate within your throat before you’re being thrown straight onto a plush, dark-blanketed king sized mattress. 

Glassy eyes looking ‘round – you’re realizing that you’d been transported right inside one of his many looming Gotham penthouses. Hell, he’d even fucked you right here in this exact bed a few times before.

Just your luck to choose to hideout in your ex-husband’s fucking house of all places.

“You- you little-” Your shrilling voice cuts out with every springing bounce, which makes the glare thrown in Toji’s direction immensely useless. Thighs emanating a stretchy screech of latex as they press together, you intake deep gulps of his musky cologne. “-you know how I always h-hated that thing.”

And oh, landed only a few feet away from the bed, Toji laughs - he laughs.

Breathy noises coming out in a thick tone, part of his face was obscured with the shadows spilling from outside. But the partial expression you could see made Toji Fushiguro look ruined - sharp, honed canines lifted into a snarl, sage eyes halfway through glowing. Desperate.

He looked at you like he wanted to devour you - and spoke of just the very thing. Gritting out, “And I’ve always hated that damn catsuit, mama.”

Heavy stepfalls thud! thud! thud! closer. And Toji’s sculptured body prowls like a predator closing in on his prey. Closed in on you. 

“L-liar. You know you liked it.”

And closer.

“I did.”

Until it was too close.

And suddenly Toji had two meaty palms loops around your helpless ankles to draaaag you all the way down his decadent bed, your hips flailing until they find purchase somewhere near the very edge. 

Ending off- “And I couldn’t wait to fuckin’ rip it off every time I saw it.”

Your skin feels so hot it’s like it’s melting, parched heat wafting off of you like the damn Sahara as his rude fingers pinch the rubbery material between your legs and riiiiips—! Exposing you for just how soaked n’ pretty you were.

Oh. 

So drenched that just tearing your latex had you forming a damn puddle. Toji isn’t sure whether it’s the sex pollen or just fucking you that makes his heart race faster when he’s watching the slimy globs trickle from between your dewy, swollen folds. 

Throbbing so depravedly that he counts one, two, three adorable quivers of your pussy before finally speaking. 

“Fuck, I missed ‘er.” Toji’s seething between his teeth, already on fucking edge for letting himself go the what– seven months? without his only lady. He breathes in - gulping in that sugary smell of your cunt, and it’s so much. Too much, he’s nibbling on your sleek mask. “Fuck-”

“Y-you’re-”

You’re dazed, your puffy pouted lips glueing together with stupid drool and flapping wildly after the hero lowers himself to gift a wet, smacking kiss on your dripping outer pussy. “A kiss for her, aaaand-” 

Toji tastes you and he flinches. Just for a split-second before the creamy stickiness clinging to his lips presses onto yours-

“-a kiss for her.” Toji’s lapping the scratchy buds of his tongue to slither across your pouted lower lip, sloshing out beaded wads of your own sap. Sweet. “Mmmm- really did miss this hah- pretty mouth, sugar.”

“You’re damn filthy.” You kiss through barren glares, and Toji’s grasping at the crown of your mask to tilt your head back. To swat your throat with a weighty splosh! of saliva. 

“And you’re damn likin’ it. See?”

Fuck- you didn’t know if you even wanted to. Knowing damn well that it would be something enough to drive you into madness.

But, alas, for how relentless of a criminal you were - good always did win in the end, after all. 

Though, as Toji slaps his swollen fingertips over your slick-filled hole to watch the ribbons of slick leak and ooze a glittery gloss over his wrist, you really wondered whether this would have been more evil than good. 

You watched through cracked eyelids at the way Toji was certainly smirking like it was. Your watery eyes can’t look away– “T-Toji.”

“Mhmm–?” He’s gnawing on your sting-buzzed lips like a gummy, itching the top of your wobbly bottom lip with his sultry scar. You really did miss that textured feeling. 

“Want- want you.”

“Are you begging, wifey?”

And right now you couldn’t even bring yourself to correct him - only blubbering with your desperate tongue, incoherent soft gasps about ‘please’. Wrapping your arms unstably around his broad shoulders, you thumb at the sweat-dampened black curls hanging on the nape of his neck. 

Making sure to lock your heart-eyes deeply with his - Toji feels his entire body shudder. He feels his entire body wrack with vulgar shivers from head to toe when your dilated pupils come in direct contact with his own.

It isn’t even that damn sex pollen that makes his heavy tongue wash over with a simmering wave of spit just from the way you tilt your head n’ whine “Baby…”

Now you’ve done it– you’ve used that top secret weakness of his. Pet names. 

The moment the airy syllables leave your cunning lips, you watch as your ex-husband’s darkened eyes flap shut. As if he was holding himself back this entire time. A tick in his jaw growing, a blush on his face burning, and his response has you wondering whether this was really the Toji Fushiguro.

Whether it was really him with his usual bass so hoarse, higher. Wild. “E-evil.”

And it’s like the heat is hitting him tenfold, curdling inside him and culminating in an ultimate, big dollop of syrupy saliva that Toji’s meandering down between your folds. Saturating your pussy with yet another layer of slicked sap, he’s rubbing one of his globed thumbs riiight over the mess. 

“Count f’me, mama.” SMACK! He’s granting a tough pawprint of his fingers on the hood of your clit, grinning sleazily down at you. “Count.”

You feel your skin heat, swamping out a proper pool between your thighs at this point. “F-fuck y-youu- ngh!”

“What was that?” Toji hums, darkly. The cushioned bed dips and creaks! when he’s shifting sloooowly down the bed, closer to where you needed him the most. But so painfully slow. He finds himself snickering at the way your huffs grow louder in impatience. 

“O-one…”

Another filthy thwack, and another cracking whine departing from your slobbery lips. It reaches Toji’s ears like his favorite song and compels him to reward you with another. 

“Two- three.”

And another. 

“Four.”

And another. 

“Hck! Five- five five five-” You’re bucking your hips wildly into his clashing hand, and the slightest smear of his mountainous palm on your pussymound makes your legs twitch animalistically. You arch upwards in repeated grinds- Practically sobbing, from both ends, “Please, Toji- please.”

And it takes him exactly one more sullen spank on your fluttery nub to render you just starstruck enough for him to strike his knees against the floor without yourself noticing. The aching thud! reverberating Toji’s mahogany bedframe with just how urgent he was.

Rapid.

Desperate. 

Toji spends a good chunk of time simply admiring your body, his nostrils flaring with great gusto as he drinks in your fragrance. Like caramel candy. Dripping wet. You were so fucking pretty, and that was something that would never change. 

You’re feeling a sweltering sigh hit the very outside of your cunt, washing over you like a summer breeze right as Toji’s hollowed baritone rings out. “Missed me, kitty?”

Scrambling up onto your elbows with all and any remaining strength, the last thing you manage to see is fucking Toji Fushiguro - the dark knight, still in his snug suit - kneeling at the bedside as if he was worshipping you. 

His pinkish tongue flopped out to smear a little wetspot where your inner thighs were, peeking at you through his dark lashes. Drunken.

Before your head throws back and all you can hear is the plopping squelch! of Toji prying apart your adhesive-slicked folds. Stray snapped strands of sap hitting his plunging lips, he circles your sloppy hole exactly once ahead of bullying inside.

“O-oh my- oh my god.” You’re hiccuping out, white-hot stars of pleasure bursting behind your weighted lids at the sheer stretch.

Toji’s lecherous tongue laps at your entrance and reminds you of just how big he is – how loooong. You swear you feel like his wet muscle is never-ending when he’s smearing your pussylips widely agape to push n’ push n’ push.

Mazing his slobbery way through your mushy walls until the tip of his tastebuds prickled almost near your sweet spots. And he’s just as mean as you never got used to, thrusting in and out of your cunt before you can utter a word.

“Please…oh please-” You’re thrashing back into the slight hill of expensive velveteen bedsheets that had collected underneath your surging hips. 

Hands scrambling anywhere - everywhere - from the plush of his mattress, to clenching into fists, to creeping onto Toji’s bulky deltoids and reeling him in deeper-

“Oi, mind ya manners, wifey.” He’s stretching his tongue out wiiiide, swabbing the flattened fringes in a massage down your raw walls. It’s a scissoring sensation that leaves you sobbing for mercy, your cheek bitten in a desperate attempt to keep your composure. Failing. 

“But- but I want more.”

“More, huh?” Shit, he’s humping his hips ferally into the smooth bedstead, rolling his throb-throb-throbbing bulge into it so hard that his words start veering into a…growl. “My wife wants more- more more more.”

The invisible pollen sticks to you like gum, leaving you insatiable. 

A few steamy wads of drool trickle down your pussylips, and Toji makes sure to keep your fattened folds open so that he can slouch back for a second and watch the wads seep inside your hole. One beefy arm is all it takes to keep your legs open when you try to shut them cutely closed. 

You’re both holding direct eye-contact as he bites down on a snagged edge of his glossy gloves and draaaags it slowly off. Displaying your unfocused eyes with rugged, tannish skin. 

“How ‘bout a lil’ ‘thank you’, huh?” 

“Sh-shut up…”

“Spit in my mouth then-”

And when you reach over to, he’s slurping it allll up. Every translucent speckle. “Ungrateful girl.” He’s moaning into your pussy, and you gasp at the sensation of his honed fangs sinking around your pulsating clit and biting. “She’s h-happy to see me though, riiiight?”

And it was true. Your diveling pussy was on overdrive, pulse after pulse that let out the most conversational noises Toji would nod and hum along to. “Damn, mama- ya sure yer my ngh- ex-wife? Fuckin’ missed how wet she got.” Sopping out so many more luscious splotches of slick - raining, fountaining out and he still couldn’t get enough. 

You’re letting off whiny babbling mewls as you’re feeling Toji ladle out the clingy residue onto the capped tops of two fingertips. Pecking your quivering hole with a loud sluuuuurp, before he’s thickly stretching his way inside.

“Fuck- fuuuuuuck–!” You’re squealing, your cheek lolling further into the moist puddle of drool that was constantly escaping your poor maw. Insatiable. 

And it was safe to say that your pathetic pussy hadn’t experienced anyone as staggeringly big n’ girthy as Toji. Ever. Because all that solid fucking length on his fingers and he only had to slip inside the very sensory pads to get you to feel like the world was spinning.

“They’re- they’re so big–” You’re hiccuping out through the leaden ball stuck in your throat, and it’s hard enough to pitch your words up to an audible level over all the waterlogged squelches. 

So filthy, every damp inch inside of you curls up deliciously. He’s plugging your overspilling cunt up all the way to his knobbly knuckles, “S’that a compliment? From you?”

The bed shakes as Toji’s gyrating his hips even deeper, the plummy crown of his tip streaming out wet, syrupy smears of pre all across his overpriced mahogany.

You’re sinking deeper into the humid bed when he slaps his manicured crescents of fingernails right over the orifice of your g-spot. Oh. Pushing. Pleasing.

Delving purposefully deep to set you off maddeningly, “C’mon, sugar—-” Toji croons out, trawling his greedy tongue all over from the drenched crevices of your thighs to where your clit was all plump n’ perky. 

Delicately outlining the cutest of wet hearts on your leaky pussy, he swabs a targeted whack right into your g-spot and makes you cry– “Yeah- tha’s right. Tha’s right.” Breathy tone hurried, rough. “Heh- meow f’me, kitty.”

You swear you were about to open your stupid maw and teach him a thing or two - maybe about how you wanted more - you swear. But right at that very moment, Toji’s third finger eases in past your gushing walls and toys with the buttons of your g-spot just right.

Rendering your jaw permanently slack, your cunt smeared wide open - sap waterfalling out like it was nonstop. 

And all this time whilst Toji had been driving you to insanity with his right hand - oh, the man himself is fucking slobbering out viscid pearls of slobber as he brushes over the cold, cold wedding ring on his left hand over your clit and makes you arch—

He still had it?

“Please–” Your eyes moisten with big, salty tears, streaking down your face and making it so fucking difficult for Toji to keep himself from reaching over and licking them clean off. “M’not gonna last- fuck! M’not gonna…”

Ahhh, how cute. 

Unruly locks of his hair plastered onto his perspired head, you’re just barely able to make out the sassy roll of Toji’s eyes. “Where’s that stamina of yours- ngh- wifey?”

“Where are those fuuuuck! d-divorce papers–?”

“Ooooo, fuck- I’ve missed that damn mouth.” He almost fucking whines, bloated cock twitching. And thereafter every wet slap! of his lips is followed by a pained grunt, every thud of his fingers deep into your goopy pussy crazed. Toji’s taking all of you - everything he can. 

Making up for how many nights he’s fucking missed you, he twinges his frigid ring over your sensitive nub and pinches. All the way until your fleshy clit scorches with heat, painful n’ yet so good. “Mmm– seems like heh- someone’s gonna cum–” 

And, shit, it might just be the both of you right about now — but your pretty self didn’t have to know that right now.

Every sloppy clench of your soft insides squeezing instinctively ‘round him only made Toji’s fat balls even tighter. Fuller. And the completely primal sounds ripping out of you are nothing if not sexy.

Only growing louder. Faster. 

Your tight ring stings with the ramming slams of his rounded knuckles hitting again and again.

Toji wheezes out a slurring few mumbles over your clit and your toes curl. Pushing your hips back to glue your oversaturated folds lecherously against his scarred lips. Itching yeeeearningly over n’ over your shaky pussy. Your tummy flutters carnally as he rasps, “Go on then. C-cum f’me, mama- cum goddammit.”

The pollen was scorching him– making him starved. 

And the sheer bliss that overtakes your body and makes you shake is ridiculous. Like something buried deep inside of you snaps–

“Cumming—” You trill out shrillingly, “Cumming cumming cumming– fuuuck, baby–!”

“I already know, kitty.”

Toji’s already crushing the massive bulge tenting his pants against the polished bedframe, hungrily lapping up every spurt, every twitch, every ounce of sappy slick that angrily swashed out of you. And ohhhh, this was heaven on Earth.

His lips were stinging at this point, drinking up all the ribbons of translucent juices that slipped down his tongue like a lacquer. He was so thoroughly at home, making out away between your pretty tremblin’ legs.

The edges of his pearly whites getting caught on your tender clit and sopping out your large splashes of sap even more feverishly. “So fuckin’ sweeeet, my wife.”

Toji lets his pointed chin droop open to smear over the very base of your treacly pussy, creaming all out into his steaming hot mouth. He’s drifting the metallic band of his ring over your hole - soaked with a thin layer of perspiration and smooching your clit with the buttony tip of his nose. 

Spitting, just to watch the drenched way in which it spills out of your flooded entrance, Toji’s dark lashes shutter as it sprays a glittery sheen all over his sexy features.

“H-heh- clean your act up, mama.” Toji husks out, his clenched teeth gleaming with so many multiple laminations of dripping wet slick. Your sweet cunt was so filthy, and he can’t help but let out a wild, unrestrained laugh– “Should punish ya for this fuckin’ mess.”

And you’re barely even done with the Earth-shattering highs of your orgasm, toes still curling every time the teasing tip of his tongue flickers in and out of your hole a few recurring times. 

Thighs tremoring as you shake out an unsteady, “Y-you made it.”

“That I did.” Another swopping slap, and Toji pulls himself off with a wet plop! It’s so fuckin’ loud, because that’s just how drenched you were, he hisses at the vicious spanks of stranded slick hitting his face. Grunting out - because oh, he missed you already.

Couldn’t stop himself from departing a throaty groan and kissing your dripping cunt again. And again. And again. Snog after slippery snog. 

He’s panting out in scorched syllables, “Really fuckin’ missed my hah- wife’s pretty pussy.”

“I’m not-”

“After this?” His smile was so smug as he finally – finally, managed to reel in ‘nough self-control to actually pull away. Making such an exaggerated show of sucking his thick, sopping wet digits all the way from his knuckles to the very tip. Satisfied, “You sure…wifey?”

Your needy hips twitch from the last few dredges of your high, “M’your ex- oh.”

And yet, you can’t even defend your honor - not when Toji starts shedding that stupid hero suit of his and he looks like that.

Ohhh, all the way from head-to-toe. One by one. The yellowish oval of his Batman logo almost splitting straight in half when it snags on one of his ridged obliques. And fuck– you certainly did miss this - maybe you wouldn’t really mind his renewal of your titles…

Your eyes rovered all greeeedily to take in the swole puff of his broad pecs, spine curved deliciously in a slight ‘S’ from his muscular back to his sinful waistline. 

Shit, he wasn’t even wearing much underneath his suit. 

Nothing other than a tight, stuffed underwear that didn’t hide much- anything, actually. You’re ogling unblinkingly at the raven curls that stick out in a rugged happy trail. Bumpin’ up and down his exact eight washboard abs and tufting out at his swollen base.

Taking his sticky boxers off.

Fuck…

The bed dips and sings out creaking praises as Toji splays his bulky, capped knees on either side and meets you somewhere in the middle. Close. 

Manspread so vulgarly that you can count the precise number of times his biiiig cock bobs up n’ down, you’re gasping at the sheer way he seems to have grown. Because surely Toji Fushiguro wasn’t always this massive, right? 

Swollen. All proudly near damn ten or eleven inches and covered in decorative zig-zags of veins, he was so fucking hard that his glistening shaft was twitching with every pounding ba-dump–! of his pulse. 

Your mouth waters as you take in the overwhelming streams of warm, see-through pre that was frosting his reddish crownhead in a thickly cap. Aching to be inside you. So fucking hot. Burning. 

Toji was as bloated as a ripe strawberry and just as pink, you’re licking your lips at the lewd wonderment of whether or not his firm, mushroomed tip would taste like it, too. And before you know it, you’re crawling slyly to where he was kneeled on the bed. 

Your kiss-bruised lips just flopping on top of his curvaceous head to give a sweltering, steamy smooch before–

“Fuh-fuuuuck! Nuh uh, mama…” Sparkly dewdrops of sweat swing to and fro as Toji shakes his head vehemently. Curling a soft hand at your throat and manhandling you to lay out flat on the puffy mattress, “Now.”

It’s all that’s said – it’s all that has to be said.

And by the grating, gone tonality sticking to his words, your husband meant it. 

Not even soon enough.

Especially once he’s getting his hands on the glossy fabric of your catsuit and teeearing it all down into unapologetic tatters. Thrown all over his messy floor, Toji can’t help but admire that gorgeous body he’s thought about night after night after night.

“T-Toji–” You’re whimpering impatiently, and it takes only the slightest buck of your hips for him to lug over a meaty knee and press it down on your slobbering pussymound. 

Your silvery slit slopping out a glistening splotch right where his capped limb was pinning you down with pressure. Hard. Though, honestly, it doesn’t even take much of his ripped muscles to hold you still.

“Eeeasy. Easy there, sugar.” He spits into your saggingly ajar mouth. And only nanosecond later you’re stung with the striking clap! of his ballooned-up length falling on your dribbling pussylips. Rubbing over the tender flesh with his wiry, tamed hairs, “Jus’ wanna nghh- admire my wife a lil’.”

Shit, you almost forgot what a complete tease he was.

Sandwiching his cylindrical length between your raw folds - he’s almost warming his vicious hips up. Sliding loooong drags of his blushing tip up and down your teary slit, you were so helplessly needy underneath him. 

Smack! Smack! Smack! There he went spanking your nubbed clit with a few prodding veins of his, one after the other. 

And he’s skimming a fat thumb to watch your frothing hole even better, slabbing your cunt with another slab of spittle through titters. Taking a countless deep inhale of your sweet, sweet scent.

Pure heat.

“Ad-admire me later—” You’re sounding out your complaints so prettily, droplets of tears starting to accumulate by the edges of your droopy gaze. Just simply soaked through, your mouth overspills with saccharine water to catch up to the rest. Needed it. You needed this.

“So you admit it?”

“Wh-ngh- what?”

“Admit that you’re m-my…” You almost don’t have the privilege of hearing the rest of Toji’s smug grumbles because of the way he promptly aligns himself on the target of your dripping cunt. Of the way he slouches forward, your ears popping once he sinks in– “-wife.”

And oh, for how full Toji was leaving you with only his sheer size - cramming n’ cramming his solid fucking length desperately - the hero was stuffing you only fuller when he eases a red, swollen inch and cums.

You’re hearing it before you register it - that sickly sweet sluuuurp of being filled to the utter brim. Your poor, gummy walls ram with so many knotted wads of cum that you feel dizzy. Stretching, stretching, stretching until the tautness pulled by his snaggling veins bloats even further with the splosh of thick seed. Filling you up. 

He was ruthless on a normal day, but with the pollen he was merciless. Leaving none alive. 

“T-Tooooji–!” You yowl out at the poke of his fattened, bludgeoning tip scraping your insides deeply. He wasn’t going easy on you. At all. No, you were going to take it. 

Your eyes widen a fraction at the scalding trickle of goopy seed that was pouring out of you, buttering your lips with frosty white icing. One of your fingers twitch to smear a mess of the puddle, “Did- did you just c-”

“Move that damn hand.”

“Wha-”

“I said-” Toji leans in close enough that you can count every strand of gold in his jade eyes, dark brows furrowing. And you’re not quite sure that the fire in his gaze is solely because of the pollen, “-move that damn hand.”

Before you can make a singular motion, his calloused hand dips down and rudely swats away your curious fingers. 

And then Toji thumbs your pussy open to spit– once on your gaping pussy, once in your mouth. Tilting your stupid mouth shut with a flick to your chin and bottoming out. 

Loooong and slow so that you can feel your dribbling nooks and crannies massage all down with the lightning bolts of his prodding veins. Such deep, magical spots he’s discovering just by hitting the juts of his hip bones to your front - just trying to fit his thick cock inside. 

Smacking and smacking. 

And was so fucking big. You can’t stop the tiny whimpers that leave you every time he’s funneling your pretty lil’ cunt with such a large, barreling length. Just the feeling of his hefty weight sagging your walls had your knees buckling, his tip reaching scorched insides only known to him.

Oh, it was all so familiar having his fat breeder balls nuzzling your sensitive lips, and with a content hum Toji rests the weight of his sweat-glossed abs down onto your front. 

His spit-sheened lips hovering over the heated curve of your ear, whispering. “We’re gonna have the ngh- cutest kids, wifey.”

Toji claws one of his engulfing hands on the matted, bedraggled mess of your scalp, and you gasp at the twitch of his big, bulging biceps pushing you down. Fitted all the way to his fat hilt, and he’s still bucking and bucking. 

“Oh- ohhhh fuck!” You wail with every plump pinprick of his geysering divot streaking out long lines of precum along your dewy wet walls. Wobbly legs pushing off the bed, “You’re so big- nghhh you’re so big.”

He’s cracking a lewd smile at the way you’re already running away from his rummaging stretches - and he hasn’t even started putting his back into it yet, seriously. 

“C’mere, kitty kitty~” As if you could even think about running away from him. His own bloated cock stiffens at the way that lil’ nickname makes your glassy eyes widen, using the diversion swiftly to grip your throat and pull.

Spearheading your sap-soaked channel open until the four walls reverberated like an orchestra of your carnal squeals.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuck–! You’re in s-sooo deep–”

“Ya think that’s deep?”

Shit, your gaping drenched hole is gulping down so many barreling inches and he’s still pounding in more. More and more and more squeezing in past your tight muscle, and batting at the bullseye of your cute g-spot.

Trailing a hand over to poke where his bumpy tip was pressing pretty pecks on your sweetest spots, the crest of his shaft slips n’ slides until it reaches your spongy cervix to give a good, long prod. 

“Ya loooove it here, huh?” He’s huffing, hips slamming into yours so hard that you could feel the ridden heat. You could see the blushing red stains where his fleshy mounds were papping against yours. Red n’ raw. “Can practically hear that k-kitty ngh- purring, mama.”

And Toji’s version of “purring” were those slimy wet splashes that emanated non-stop from your pussy. Ringing up and out so roughly that you couldn’t even wrap your cottony mind ‘round just how hard Toji was fucking you.

Like he hated you.

When it was anything but. 

With a dark, quirked brow at the way your maw unfastens when he picks up speed. “Yeah? Yeah? Louder, mama, louder.”

Every hit was a homerun, precisely. Toji’s knees part your legs to crumble open so far apart that the muscles of your inner thighs burned. With both friction and stretch.

He looks down at you with a lipstick-stained smile, sexy even when he isn’t even trying to be. “Maaan, I m-missed this sight, my wife.” Huskily, he grips his way to your hips and manhandles you to thrust even deeper. “Missed this pussy— never been the s-same hck! without ya, sugar.”

Toji’s tenderly leaving the wholly bruising marks of his thickened digits all over your throat, making sure to pivot his hips so that your throbbing clit catches on his textured happy trail. Swervin’ to and fro right as he buries himself to the entire base. Pounding you open spaciously. 

You’re molded oh-so-voluminously spread to take his exact hits that your jaw hangs agape, eyes woozily criss-crossing - and it wasn’t even the sex pollen that had you like this. 

“Sh-shooo good—” You’re bawling out, and it’s so cute how your pussy dribbles even wetter when Toji bends his plank position to massage you with his washboard abs.

Juuust the way he knew you liked it.

A sheened layer of sweat transfers from Toji’s sultry, sliiiiding muscles to yours. Making those raggedly-run vocals of yours pitch into something broken while you ached out more n’ more of that deeply carnal scratch of his puffy bubble-gum pink nipples massaging your own tits. His toned pelvis batter-ramming away as he pleased. 

He hits perfectly at your g-spot once more, honing in on it over and over until you’re left sputtering on the hammered glazes of drool that coats your dry mouth. “M-missed you- ngh! toooo–!” 

One of your eager hands tug on one of his smooth, sensitive nub and Toji damn near cums. His mouth - oh, his scarred mouth was curving into the most accomplished smile. 

Splotching your own sloppy lips - missing the gasping cavern of your mouth, purposefully. Just so Toji could watch the showy way his glob of spit splatters the ends of your twitchy maw, while he counted every plap plap plap. 

“H-heh–” Though, the tips of Toji’s ears blush primally red. “Knew it. Knew ya missed- missed me…Probably couldn’t go a haaaah- second without thinkin’ of me, hmmm?”

Grumbling out something incoherent as he kisses the tender side of your neck, something along the lines of a pathetically pitched “C-cocky bast…ard.”

“Wha’s that now?” Free hand toying over your clit, other tightening on your neck.

“Fuh-f–”

“Fuuuuh–?” Toji’s naturally chiseled chest ripples as he keeps mocking you from above. And even the ridged curve of his heavy cock was drowning out your thoughts with utterly fuzzy cockdrunkenness. 

It takes you a long while - and a vulgar few plaps of achingly hard, gloss-dribbling cock - for you to finally manage out. “F-fuck you.”

And ohhh, Toji Fushiguro isn’t a masochistic man - but hearing those rude words come out of your beautiful lips always did make his overworked hips shiver dangerously. Closely. 

“I’m fucking you, mama.”

He was hot.

Soooo hot. Scalding you. Drilling into you like he was out of control— so hard that one-two-three slaps strike you in sloppy succession, almost every nanosecond. Pushing you further and further up the rickety headboard, swashing around the thick, milky cum snugly pumped inside you until you were dripping from the inside out. 

Stupid enough to murmur out a thick, “Then c-cum- cum inside me–”

“Ohhh now you’re talkin’ outta ya fuuuck- pussy?” He’s gritting out, tense abdomen pinning you down further so all the chatty gusts of air leave your throat. “Shut up n’ cum f’me, wifey.”

And shit- Toji himself didn’t think that would fucking work like it used to.

Your poor, infatuated pussy still so deeply in love with him that they’re basically melding into the perfect heart shape inside when you reach your high. 

Toji feels it first with the way your gluey-like walls cling onto his sensitive, plunging shaft like never before. Slouching forwards to sniff in your candied scent with a groan, “Atta girl. Aaaatta girl, jus’ like- like that- cum allll for your ngh! husband.”

You’re already so sensitive from your last high that this one hits you like five semi-trucks at once, and your head tumbles uselessly backwards into the silk-covered pillows. Vision blacking out near the edges - and all you can concentrate on was Toji Toji Toji.

This wasn’t even the sex pollen’s fault - you just needed him so bad. 

“Inside- inside-”

“H-heh, my cockdrunk wife. If I c-cum ngh! inside m’reeeally gonna wife ya up.”

“T-Tooooji–!” It falls from your mouth as if a sinful mantra, and you’re hiccuping with every prominent vein of his cock rubbing the insides of your tense spots. Ramming. Pulsing. “Look- look at me.”

Toji could barely even flap his eyes open but oh, was he looking at you.

Through predatory, half-lidded eyes that devoured you. “Mhm— Toji’s here, Toji’s here. Your husband’s here, sugar.”

One of your hands slithers up to the sweat-wetted locks of his black hair, other caressing Toji’s left pectoral. To thumb your thick fingerpad over his rosy nipples, and to also feel the ba-dump–! of his rapidly increasing heartbeat. You’re mumbling into his plump lips, “You’re catnip to a g-girl like me. Wan’ you inside.” Nuzzling his flush scorched cheek, “I still hngh! love you, y’know-”

Fuck. 

The syllables are barely dangling off of your slimy tastebuds before Toji’s finally finishing - inside you. 

And it’s so sloppy.

If you thought that Toji was making a mess before, then this made you realize that he was - in fact - holding back. The strawberry end of his red, red shaft roaming your sodden walls until he knocks against the door to your womb and cums.

Straight As for his aim, a great dollop of buttery seed starts piling up right where your g-spot is. And your cute cunt is stretched out wiiide on the slathers of ribbony sap he pumps you full with.

Your walls spreeeead.

All the way to the brim. Your head starts spiralling at just how full you felt - you didn’t know it was even possible, and yet, here you were. The tummy bulge Toji was fucking from the inside only inflating bigger by the second, cute lil’ knots of cum swirled ‘round and ‘round by his swollen tip.

With a face burying right into the clammy crook of your neck, he’s hiding away the cherry blush on his cheekbones. 

But you could already feel the thin trickle of drool spilling from either side of his parted mouth, feel Toji’s Adam’s apple rip with a whimper–

“S-still love you- too, mama.” He’s kneeing open your legs further to make sure you take every last drop. Breathless at the glued-together skin of your thighs, stained all creamy white with his seed. His own bulky thighs twitch whilst he bucked, all milking himself out. “Always- always have. Always will.”

You find the wet insides of your mouth sizzling by the time Toji’s wrung his tender, twitching balls free from every teensy tiny drop of cum he had to give your starving pussy. 

Though, still rolling his hips lazily into yours, still pressing the damp skin of his forehead into your own– his calloused fingertips break apart from your neck to give the pearly dewdrops of juices pouring from your slit a lil’ smear. 

Languidly trailing up, up, up until he cups that protruding bumpy outline - drawing an adorable heart out of his warmly slicked mess. 

“N’- m’gonna- ngh- gonna love our d-daughter j-jus’ as much.” He’s whispering through a low, almost reverent tone. So sure it’s going to be a girl. His girl. His daughter. Both of yours. “She could be our Robin.”

Your heart swells, and you’re just about to breathe in Toji’s piney, sweetened smell you loved so much - until he plugs his candy-glazed fingers in his mouth to suck, before promptly reaching underneath the very pillow you were laid out on. 

And within the blink of an eye, you’re staring at one of the biggest sparkly diamonds you’ve seen your entire life - your wedding ring. One to match his. 

“Always kept ya c-close ta me, my wife.” Toji murmurs. Gently grasping your hands to slide the cool band onto your finger, while he still fucked you through the last few lecherous throes of his high.

His emerald, half-open eyes stare deeply into yours as the ring sits rightfully in its home after so long. His shaggy bangs falling over your own eyes, Toji connects his forehead with yours. “Always will.”

And you already knew that the sex pollen wasn’t long-lasting, that it was firmly and happily fucked out of your system.

Yet, you still partially blame it for the way it takes you all of two split-seconds to push Toji from his shoulders until his back hits the back with a springy whoosh! A surprised gasp retreating from his scarred lips, turning into a growl once he catches sight of the thiiiick oodles of cum that gushed down your legs. Doubly full. 

“S’gonna hafta hah! take if we’re gonna have a daughter.” You’re musing, a greedy smirk playing on your lips. 

Seating yourself down slowly, slowly, sensually to do an experimental figure eight on his overstimulated, ruby-red cock. Still so hard, but hitting your cervix with a line of wispy cum - just from seeing you like this.

What was it he said–? Ah yes, he always did like having you on top of him.

Toji interlocks your trembly fingers with his so that he could leave a loving peck on your clinking wedding rings. And you’re purring, “Better not tap out now, Batman.”

Yeahhh, he’s marrying you again tomorrow first thing. If you two make it alive by then, that is. 

“W-wouldn’t dream of it, Catwoman.”

.

.

.

And then just about nine months later; when your darling baby boy, Megumi, is born- well, your overeager husband only sleazes that you try and try and try again. He always did want a big Bat Family.

A/N. TOLD Y’ALL I’D DO IT. Also my period started RIP send help.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[witchywithwhiskey]

hiiiii, it's asreadbyaj, wanting to participate in your sweethearts game. You know how much I'm obsessed with your toxic Bucky series so naturallyyyyy I had to pick Mr. Barnes and the sweetheart "Crazy 4 You." If that prompt's already picked, however, I'll go with "You Wish"

it's kind of a funny story

pairing: divorced neighbor!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you get back early from a work trip, happy to see your cat alpine, but a little sad to have no one else to come home to. things change, though, when you discover your neighbor in your bed doing something very inappropriate...

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), unspecified age gap, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), face-sitting, masturbation (m and f), cock warming, brief pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, accidental voyeurism, tit worship, nipple play, large cock, marking, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation kink, pet names (bunny, baby), aftercare, happy ending, both reader and bucky are big pervs

word count: 8.5k

a/n: ahh AJ, you were the first person to send in Bucky Barnes and i just knew i had to use this tweet as inspiration for the prompt. i also liked the idea of Alpine belonging to reader and Bucky coming to adopt the cat by getting together with reader. also sorry this is so long, i just had so much fun writing these two!! 🫣 anyway thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

A happy, chirping meow greeted you as soon as you pushed inside your apartment. The ball of white fluff lounging in a spot of golden, late afternoon sunshine rose and darted toward you, winding around your legs. 

Despite your exhaustion from your trip, a soft smile curved your lips. You dropped your bags and bent down to scratch between the ears of the white furball that lived in your apartment—also known as your cat, Alpine.

“Hello, sweet girl,” you cooed at her, scooping up her fluffy body and pressing kisses all over her furry face. Alpine’s expression was partly aggrieved, no doubt angry that you’d gone away again, and partly indulgent of your love.

Truthfully, you were just as aggravated about your time away as Alpine. Your job had you travelling more and more, despite the role purporting to be work-from-home, and each time you returned to your apartment, you couldn’t help but be reminded that Alpine was the only one there to greet you.

In the comfort of your own space, you could admit to yourself that it would’ve been nice to have a person to come home to—a man who’d happily shower you with just as much affection as you were showing Alpine. A man who’d help you with your bags and then wrap you up in his arms and kiss the exhaustion from your lips.

Of their own volition, and as they often did, your thoughts strayed to Bucky Barnes. 

The divorced man had moved into the apartment immediately below yours a little over two years ago, having split from his wife and needing his own space. He was older than you—too old for you to have anything so banal as a crush on him. And yet, you often found yourself thinking about Bucky Barnes. 

His brown hair was a little too long, and messily swept back from his face in the way of someone who frequently ran their hands through it. The scruff on his jaw was a little too thick, like he was constantly forgetting to shave but refused to commit to a full beard. His blue eyes were bright and sharp, but more often than not, they were framed with dark circles like he didn’t get enough sleep. 

Bucky Barnes was a bit of a mess, but he was handsome in a way that made your heart beat a little faster in your chest and a low warmth begin to simmer in your body whenever you passed him on the stairs and got a whiff of his cologne. It was spicy and earthy and you wanted to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, certain you’d be able to get high off it if you tried hard enough.

Shaking your head to free yourself from thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you scratched Alpine under the chin and cooed at her, “Did Mr. Bucky take good care of you while mama was away, sweetie?” 

Alpine let out another of her happy meows, butting her head against your cheek, as if to say she’d been very well taken care of, but still missed you. The edges of your mouth curled into a smile and you nuzzled the cat back, pressing a kiss between her ears.

Before Bucky had moved into your building, if you ever needed someone to feed Alpine while you were away, you’d gone to Mrs. Cabrera down the hall. But when your work trips had grown more frequent, she’d had to ask you to find someone else, unable to balance Alpine’s care with her active social life and visiting her grandchildren all over the city.

You’d been on the phone with your best friend in the lobby of the building, asking whether she’d be able to stop by and feed Alpine, when Bucky had been getting his mail. He’d offered to help you out, and you’d been so grateful, you hadn’t grilled him too much on what he knew about taking care of cats.

Bucky had turned out to be a surprising success as a catsitter. He sent you photos of Alpine a few times a day while you were out of town, and reported perfunctorily on how much she’d eaten, how many treats he’d given her and what toys he’d used to play with her. 

He was everything you’d ever hoped for in a sitter for Alpine, and the fact that he was so good with your cat only made your crush on him burn hotter. When you were on your work trips, you often fantasized about coming home to Bucky and Alpine, and the happy little family you’d make together. 

Your trip home that day had been no different. You’d been called to another city halfway across the country for the week and had originally intended to fly home the next day, but you managed to book an earlier flight that got you home on the evening of Valentine’s Day.

You refused to think about how pathetic you were—daydreaming about returning home to your divorced neighbor, and all the ways you wanted him to show you how happy he was to see you, while everyone else was going out on romantic dates with actual partners. 

If you thought about it too much, about how desperately you wanted someone to love you, it would’ve made you miserable. So you didn’t think about it.

Alpine squirmed in your arms, suddenly deciding she was done with your love fest, and you let her hop down, watching fondly as she shook out her fluffy white fur. The cat turned her big blue eyes up at you and meowed, then led you toward her food bowl in the kitchen.

“Did Mr. Bucky forget to feed you, sweet girl?” you asked with a frown, toeing out of your shoes and following her through the living room.

It wasn’t like Bucky to forget to feed her, and, sure enough, when you saw Alpine’s bowl, you could still see traces of the wet food he had given her that evening. It was even still a little wet, so you knew he’d been by pretty recently. 

You were inexplicably sad that you’d missed him. It would’ve been almost like your fantasies if you’d come home while he’d still been feeding Alpine, but you pushed the thoughts aside, refusing to dwell on them any longer.

Chuckling to yourself when Alpine meowed forlornly, you grabbed the bag of treats and fed her a few while you gave her even more pets and kisses, apologizing for being gone so much. 

As you were giving Alpine as much love as the cat could stomach, a soft sound came from the direction of your bedroom. 

You froze at the unfamiliar noise. It didn’t sound like any of the normal creaks and groans of the old Brooklyn building you called home. 

Your mind raced as you jumped to the most obvious—and unlikely—conclusion, that there was a murderer in your bedroom, lying in wait to stab you gruesomely. But just as quickly as the thought flitted across your mind, you pushed it aside, telling yourself to be realistic.

Alpine had just eaten, and there were no signs of your front door lock having been broken. It was probably just Bucky, who was the only other person to have a key to your apartment. Just like that, your heart started to race with excitement—he was still at your apartment.

He’d probably needed to use the bathroom. Or maybe he’d laid down on your bed and fallen asleep. 

You’d come home to find him like that once. He’d been sprawled across your bed, feet hanging over the side, mouth open and drooling a little on you comforter, one of Alpine’s cat toys dangling loosely in his hand like he’d fallen asleep playing with her. 

For a moment, you’d just looked at him, your heart beating fast against your sternum as dangerous thoughts flitted across your mind—thoughts about how good he looked in your bed, how soft his hair might feel if you ran your fingers through it and pushed it back from his face. 

You’d given yourself that moment to indulge in your wildest fantasies, and then you’d shaken his shoulder gently to wake him.

He’d apologized profusely, pushing his hair back from his face while a blush spread across his cheeks, and you’d been incapable of thinking it was creepy or weird. Bucky was a bit of a mess, and apparently that included falling asleep in his neighbor’s apartment while playing with her cat.

Another sound came from your bedroom, and you were comforted by how much it sounded like a snore. 

Confident it was Bucky, having accidentally fallen asleep on your bed again, you stepped softly toward your room, not wanting to wake him. You wanted another stolen moment to watch him sleep and imagine him spending more time in your bed—preferably naked.

But when you reached the doorway to your bedroom, you stopped short. Your breath caught sharply in your throat at the sight that greeted you.

Bucky Barnes lay on his back across the middle of your bed, his shirt off, revealing a broad golden chest with a generous dusting of dark hair. That was enough for your eyes to widen, to snag on the rise and fall of his pecs and the bulge of his bicep as he breathed heavily.

But then your gaze followed the line of his muscular arm down to where his belt buckle was undone, his jeans were unzipped and his hand was shoved into the black boxer briefs he wore. Out of sight, you could see Bucky’s hand moving, his knuckles brushed against the inside of the soft cotton of his briefs as they moved in an unmistakable stroking motion.

Between your thighs, your clit twitched. The bundle of nerves practically perked up like a desperate puppy as you watched Bucky’s hand move inside his briefs while he pleasured himself, his hips thrusting into his own touch like all he wanted to do was pound into his fist, but he was trying prolong it. 

He groaned softly, the sound drifting across your room and sending so much heat spiraling through your body that you squirmed where you stood. Still, you were transfixed—unable to look away or give Bucky some semblance of privacy, and unable to move forward and join him as your body so desperately wanted. 

Worried he might’ve sensed you watching him, your eyes flicked up to Bucky’s face, which was when you noticed he was holding something up to his mouth and nose. He took a deep breath, grunting softly again as his fist worked a little faster in his jeans.

The thing in Bucky’s hand was one of your sweaters, you realized dazedly. It was one that you’d tossed onto the chair in the corner before you’d left on your trip. It must’ve still smelled like you, like the barest hint of your perfume…

And Bucky was smelling it. He was inhaling the scent with deep breaths while he stroked his cock. On your bed.

On some level, you knew there was something deeply wrong about what Bucky was doing. You knew that he’d crossed so many boundaries—taking off his shirt, laying on your bed, smelling your sweater, stroking his cock in your room—that your trust in him should be broken irrevocably. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel horror or disgust or betrayal at his actions. Maybe it was the shock of finding your divorced neighbor in such an erotic state, or the fact that you were lonely and Bucky had been the object of your fantasies for so long, but all you felt was turned on. 

You were filled with a pleasant warmth that was burning hotter and hotter with every moment you stood in the doorway of your room, watching Bucky stroke himself in his jeans. A revealing wetness was growing between your thighs, your legs pressing together against the ache building in your core.

It had only been a few seconds since you’d discovered Bucky in your bed, stroking his cock while he smelled your sweater, but you were already so turned on, you were squirming in the doorway. Your fingers drifted to the juncture of your thighs and pressed into the seam of your leggings. 

A breathless whimper slipped from your lips as you rubbed your clit, the spark of pleasure having an incendiary effect on your body. What had been a simmering heat of desire was quickly growing into an inferno of need—a need that you suspected only Bucky, with his deft fingers and hard cock, would be able to sate.

You hadn’t thought the sound you’d made was loud enough to catch your neighbor’s attention, but Bucky froze for a beat before his head turned and he saw you in the doorway. Surprise and guilt flickered across his gaze, his arm moving as if to pull his hand from his pants.

But then Bucky seemed to take in the full sight of you, and his eyes snagged on the way your hand was pressed between your thighs, your fingers unmistakably rubbing your clit. His gaze darkened to a midnight blue, and a knowing smirk spread across his handsome face. 

Suddenly, you felt like you were the one who’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t and, inexplicably, that only made you feel hotter and squirmier. Snatching your hand away from your clit—ignoring the way your body protested—you twisted your fingers together uncertainly.

“I caught an earlier flight,” you blurted, feeling the need to explain your sudden appearance in your own apartment. 

Bucky’s smirk only seemed to deepen and for one, breathless moment, you simply stood there, staring deep into his eyes. There was no judgement in his gaze, no recrimination for touching yourself when you found him stroking his cock on your bed. There was only a desire that matched the feeling pulsing through your body.

Slowly, as if worrying he’d spook you if he moved too fast, Bucky pulled his hand from his pants and your eyes darted to it uncertainly, wondering what he was doing. 

He reached out to you, his hand open and welcoming—and you had the wild urge to press your face into his palm, to breathe in the scent of his cock, which surely lingered on his skin. You wanted to lick the taste from his palm and nuzzle into his hand, but his voice broke you free from those thoughts.

“C’mere, bunny,” Bucky rumbled, so much affection and lust dripping from his tone that the pet name felt like a sweet caress to your cheek. 

You could hardly think, your mind a twisted mess of what you should do and what you wanted to do. But your body didn’t seem the least bit confused. Your feet carried you forward, closing the short distance between the doorway and the bed, and you were sliding your fingers into Bucky’s palm by the time you’d admitted to yourself it was what you wanted.

Bucky helped you onto the bed, the older man showing his strength as he manhandled you into the position he wanted—your knees planted on either side of his torso, your clothed pussy hovering a few inches above his face.

“Sit on me, bunny, let me breathe you,” Bucky murmured gruffly from between your legs, his hands gently kneading your thighs. You could feel his harsh breaths against your sodden core, and it made you all the more eager to follow his command.

You lowered your hips until you felt Bucky’s nose against your slit and stopped, hovering above his face and fearing that you’d crush him with your weight—which would be a tragic thing to do when you’d only just found him shirtless in your bed. 

But Bucky didn’t like that. His hands wrapped around the tops of your thighs, fingers digging into the creases where your legs met your hips, and he yanked you down until your body settled on him entirely. 

He groaned loudly, the sound only slightly muffled by the way his hot mouth was pressed against your damp center, which sent shivers of delight dancing through your body.

A sudden, breathy moan tumbled from your lips and your whole body trembled with pleasure, your thighs quivering on either side of Bucky’s shoulders. It felt so good that you wanted more, so you pressed down harder on his face.

You could feel the hungry grin Bucky wore before he opened his mouth and you felt his tongue lick a searing line along your slit. You could feel him, hot and hungry, through your leggings and panties, the heat of him sending delicious sparks up your spine. 

Unable to keep holding yourself up, you curled forward, your cheek pressing against Bucky’s hip and getting a front row seat to the sight of his hand slipping into his boxer briefs. You watched the obscured view of his fingers curling around his hard, thick length, your mouth falling open with wonder as he stroked himself slowly. 

All the while, Bucky mouthed at your pussy, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue before licking deep into your slit and groaning obscenely at the taste of your arousal. It was mesmerizing, the way Bucky licked you through your clothes while he stroked his cock just out of sight. 

You could’ve stayed like that for hours, reveling in your euphoria and watching Bucky pleasure himself, but the longer his mouth worked your pussy, the more your need grew and grew. Between one breath and the next, you went from laying peacefully on Bucky to grinding your pussy shamelessly on his face, seeking your release. 

“That’s it, bunny, grind your needy little cunt on daddy’s face,” Bucky growled, his words half muffled by your heated flesh pressed to his mouth. “Knew you’d be a perfect little slut for me, be a good slut for daddy and make yourself feel good.”

Your pussy spasmed when Bucky called himself ‘daddy’, a lewd moan slipping from your lips that you tried to bury against the older man’s bulge. You’d never called anyone that before, even though you’d thought about it plenty, and it felt like a precious gift that Bucky seemed to want you to call him daddy.

You felt undone and laid bare by Bucky’s tongue and his words, your innermost fantasies exposed to the golden late afternoon light streaming into your bedroom. It was all you could do to spread your knees wider and hump against the older man’s face, giving in to all your basest desires.

“Daddy, it feels sooo good,” you whimpered, nuzzling mindlessly into Bucky’s cock while your hips worked harder against his face. “Your mouth feels so good, daddy, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Bucky pulled his hand from his pants and you immediately replaced it with your mouth, your lips curving around the thick ridge of his cock through his boxer briefs, sucking on the tip. You huffed a happy sound as his musky taste burst on your tongue. 

His hips bucked up off the bed, a muffled grunt coming from between your thighs and you smiled against his hardness. You secured your lips more tightly around him, letting your spit dampen the cotton of his briefs while you sucked lewdly on the crown of his cock. 

For a moment, Bucky must’ve been distracted by your mouth, but then he seemed to remember himself. His fingers slipped under your sweater and hooked in the back of your leggings, yanking them and your panties down over your ass until the cool air of the room brushed against your bare pussy. 

You barely had time to mewl, the sound full of blatant need, before Bucky was pulling you back down on his face, his hot mouth latching onto your pussy without anything in between. He took a deep breath, the sound of him sucking in the smell of you loud, even while it was muffled by your body. 

“Fuck, bunny, you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about getting my mouth on your sweet cunt,” Bucky groaned, pressing the flat of his tongue into your slit and licking greedily. He pushed deep into your hole, mouth sucking your juices straight from the source. “You taste better than I ever imagined, so fucking sweet—you’re such a good slut, creaming all over daddy’s tongue.”

“Daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasped, pleasure driving you as you pushed your hips down hard on Bucky’s face and began grinding against his mouth, feeling him smile between your thighs. It only drove your pleasure higher, pushing you closer to the edge. “Please, daddy—daddy, please make me cum, ‘m so close!” 

“Cum on my tongue, sweet bunny, cum like a perfect little slut for your daddy,” Bucky rumbled in a gruff, lust-soaked voice. Then his lips were closing around your clit and he sucked hard on the tight bundle of nerves, his tongue lashing at the tip until the coil of tension in your body snapped. 

Pleasure crashed through your body and you let out a sharp cry as you came. Burying your face against the base of Bucky’s cock, you sobbed through your release, wave after wave of pleasure sweeping through and devastating you while you moaned into the older man’s balls.

Between your thighs, Bucky groaned and lapped up your release hungrily, licking you through all the minor tremors and aftershocks of your release. He eased you down from your high gracefully, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy while your inner walls fluttered around nothing. 

“I’m gonna treat you so well, baby, gonna take such good care of you,” Bucky rumbled, talking to your body in such a way that you weren’t even sure if he was talking to you or your pussy. “Gonna fill you with my cock and so much cum, your belly will be bloated with it.”

At that, you moaned softly, enjoying the way Bucky’s cock twitched against your cheek. You nuzzled into his hard length, pressing soft kisses everywhere you could reach while you were still laying collapsed on top of him, sated from your orgasm. 

Bucky didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything but your pussy, though, as he used his fingers to spread you open, pushing his tongue deep into your hole like he was searching for the last drop of a sweet treat. When you moaned around his cock, he grunted hotly into your cunt.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna be craving my cock every second of the day,” he want on, his voice growing rougher with desire, using his nose to nudge against your clit and make it twitch for him. “Whenever I’m not inside you, you’re gonna be wishing I was, bunny—just like I spend every fucking minute of my day thinking about this sweet pussy.”

The warm haze of your release had mostly worn off, and it took you only a second to process Bucky’s words, a gasp slipping from your lips as your whole body clenched tight. A greedy, possessive side you never knew you had delighted in the idea of Bucky thinking about you so much—it seemed only fair when you’d thought about him nonstop for two years.

“Do it, daddy,” you murmured, a challenge in your tone that had Bucky going still. His fingers dug into the plush curves of your hips as if wordlessly telling you to continue. “I’ve wanted your cock for months,” you confessed, pressing a kiss to his hard length, still pushing against the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. “Show me what I’ve been missing, Bucky, show me what I’ve been craving—please, daddy.” 

Your voice was little more than a purr, and that final ‘daddy’ seemed to snap something in Bucky because his hands were shifting on your hips and he was lifting you up from his face, manhandling you onto your back on the bed. Bucky pushed between your thighs, covering your body with his own until his face was level with yours.

“Are you sure, bunny—tell me you’re sure,” Bucky asked urgently, a desperate rasp in his voice as his wild blue eyes raked over your face, as if searching for any trace of uncertainty. “Because I’ve thought about this for so long, you’ll break my heart if you’re not serious.”

Your hands cupped Bucky’s scruffy jaw and you looked at his face, really looked at him. He still had dark circles under his eyes, and weathered lines feathering out from the corners of his eyes. His hair was half sticking up and flopping to the side at the same time, the brown strands looking so soft and inviting, begging you to thread your fingers through it. 

Bucky Barnes was still a bit of a mess, but he was a mess you craved unequivocally. And, even though you’d found him pleasuring himself in your bed, after the intense orgasm he’d given you, there was no way you’d pass up a chance to find out what else your divorced neighbor had to offer. 

“I’m sure, Bucky,” you said, your voice calm and certain. “I want this—I want you.” You dragged him in close enough to brush your lips against his in the ghost of a kiss, tasting traces of yourself on his lips. “Fuck me, daddy, make me your slut and show your bunny who she belongs to.” 

Bucky groaned and slanted his mouth to yours, kissing you softly at first before deepening it by sliding his tongue along your plump lower lip. You opened for him readily, groaning into his mouth when he slid inside and you tasted your cum on his tongue. It was dirty and filthy and the perfect counterpoint to the sweet way it had started. 

As he kissed you, Bucky’s hands grew more and more bold, slipping beneath your sweater and groping your tits through your bra. When you pulled away to gasp for air, the older man made quick work of pulling off your sweater and then unclasping your bra, tossing both somewhere in your room. 

Then Bucky paused, his gaze transfixed by your tits. He watched, awe etched into his features, as his big hands cupped your soft mounds. His thumbs stroked over your nipples, the sparkling pleasure of his touch making your spine arch as a mewl spilled from your lips. 

Bucky closed his eyes, like he was overcome by the sight, which only made a new warmth bloom in your chest. It had been hot to see him jerking himself off while he smelled your sweater, but this—seeing Bucky nearly come undone just from watching your reaction to his thumb sweeping over your nipple was something else entirely. 

Your fingers wrapped around the strong muscle of Bucky’s forearms, just above his wrists, and you urged him on. “More, daddy, please,” you whimpered, catching his eye when his flew open, the blue of his gaze darkening into something smoldering and hot.

“You’re so soft, so fucking perfect, bunny,” Bucky grunted. The veins in his arms stood out in sharp relief as he groped you more roughly, spurred by the soft sounds of delight you were making, until you were squirming beneath him. “Always knew your tits would be perfect.”

“Daddy,” you moaned, arching your spine and pushing your tits into Bucky’s touch. You were giving yourself over to the pleasure of Bucky’s big hands on your body, sinking deeper into the pillows at your back as you babbled, “Feels so good, so good, daddy.” 

Another orgasm was building in your core by the time Bucky had his fill of your tits, moving his hands down your sides and pausing for a moment to grope your ass. The movement pulled your pussy lips apart, and you could feel how wet and messy you were from your earlier release and the new arousal he’d coaxed from you by playing with your tits. 

Bucky let out a growl of impatience when he tried to pull your leggings and panties down, finding himself in the way, and folded your body in half. He yanked them up your legs and off, tossing them off the bed and leaving you naked, bent in half with your knees pushed to your chest and your pussy on full display.

You watched Bucky’s gaze fall to the place where you were wet and aching and desperate for him, seeing his gaze grow dark and intense as he stared at your pussy. You were drenched in your own juices and a little swollen from the earlier attention of his mouth, and the sight seemed to drive Bucky wild.

His hands were rough as he pushed your legs together, his other hand shoving impatiently as his jeans and boxer briefs, pawing at his clothes almost like a feral dog. You took pity on him—and, truthfully, you wanted him to hurry up. You wrapped your arms around the backs of your knees to hold yourself in position so he could use both hands to free himself.

When Bucky’s cock finally, finally bounced free from his boxer briefs, you gasped in delight, the thick length of his dick looking perfect to your eyes. 

It had a slight curve to it, with a thick tip that was flushed an angry red and dripping precum onto the back of your thighs. Bucky’s fist curled around the base and your eyes raked up the length, drool gathering in your mouth at the sight of the veins protruding from the shaft. 

You wanted desperately to trace every single vein with your tongue, teasing Bucky mercilessly until his hips were bucking in a silent plea. And then you wanted to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, tasting his precum from the source, before letting him fuck your throat. 

But that would have to wait fore another time, because Bucky had other ideas. 

He used his grip on his cock to smack the heavy length against your soft, wet slit, fucking between your swollen folds in a way that made you light-headed with desire. You could feel the tip bullying against your tight little hole before sliding past and teasingly brushing your clit. 

“You want my cock, baby?” Bucky rasped, his tone dark and dangerous in a way you’d never heard before, like fucking you was a threat he had every intention of delivering on. “You want daddy’s cock to push into your tight cunt and fuck you hard, even after you caught me jerking off in your bed?”

Your breath caught in a gasp and your eyes flew to Bucky’s. He was looking directly at you, the hint of a deviant smirk in the curve of his lips. 

He’d looked guilty when you’d first found him that afternoon, but in that moment, he looked entirely too satisfied with himself—like a demon who’d already convinced you to sell your soul to him and all that was left was to have some fun. He looked hot.

A slightly unhinged smile spread across your face. Later, the two of you would talk about what you’d walked in on, but until then, you could accept the hand Bucky was reaching out to you and sink down into the filthy depravity of his actions. You could join him in reveling in it. 

“Yes—please, daddy!” you cried, one of your hands reaching for him. Your nails dug into his forearm, delighting in the feeling of his muscles and tendons shifting beneath your touch. “I don’t care what you did—I don’t care if you’re a dirty old man, I want your cock!”

Bucky’s reaction was immediate, his eyes darkening dramatically at your pronouncement, his pupils blowing so wide, they nearly blotted out all of the blue. A growl rumbled in his chest as he lowered himself over your body, his cock bullying more insistently at your hole, but never pushing inside, leaving you to squirm and whine beneath him.

“Tell me, bunny, did it turn you on to catch a dirty old pervert jerking off to the scent of your perfume in your bed?” he asked, his tone deep and dangerous, his eyes sparkling as they held your gaze without mercy. “Did your slutty pussy get wet catching me like that—be honest, tell daddy the truth.”

His hips were working insistently, fucking through your swollen folds, while the knuckles of his fist brushed against your greedy, achingly empty cunt. It was all you could do to huff an impatient sound, your hips bucking up against his cock, but Bucky didn’t give you what you truly wanted. He was waiting for your answer.

“My clit twitched and I got so wet,” you confessed, and you were so drunk on the desire pounding through your body that it loosened your tongue until you were spilling your every filthy thought. “It was so hot, seeing you like that, and I’ve thought about you so many times—I’ve touched myself in this bed thinking about your cock splitting me open—and you were stroking yourself and… I couldn’t help it!”

“Jesus, bunny,” Bucky groaned, dropping his head and closing his eyes. His hips stilled, his cock resting heavily on your messy, swollen cunt, and you whined, your body squirming at the lack of movement. 

Bucky’s eyes flew open a moment later, pinning you with a predatory stare that had you freezing, your breath catching in your throat. He looked at you as if through new eyes, eyes that finally, truly understood you. 

“You’re just as much of a pervert as I am, aren’t you, bunny?” he asked, his tone rough with affection bleeding into it. His big palm caressed your thigh, almost like he was trying to soothe you. 

You had to bite your lip to hold back your grin, which only made Bucky’s eyes flare with interest, his gaze falling to your mouth like he wanted to free your lip from your teeth and then sink his own into its plush softness. It would’ve made you giggle if it wasn’t for how hot and wet and aching you were for his cock.

“Yes, daddy,” you said sweetly, smiling up at Bucky while he leaned over you. “I’m just as much of a dirty pervert as you.” You dragged him down until his lips crashed against yours, the kiss filthy and messy, all nipping teeth and roaming tongues. When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but add, “I’m just not as old as you.”

A good-natured growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest, a playful grin curving his mouth. He looked like he’d taken the comment in stride, but you learned better a moment later when he pulled his cock out of the way before spanking your pussy sharply, your shrill squeal filling the room. 

“You’re not that young either, bunny,” Bucky said pointedly, sliding his cock back between your lower lips. “Not young enough to stop me from fantasizing about you every night, coming in my hand like a goddamn teenager,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

“Daddyyy,” you whined, when he seemed content to keep rubbing his cock against your pussy instead of pushing inside. It was driving you closer and closer to your second release, but you didn’t want to cum until you’d been filled and fucked hard, just like he’d promised. “Now that we’ve established we’re both gigantic perverts, will you fuck me already?” 

Your voice was a pleading, pitiful sound, and when Bucky finally dragged his gaze from your pussy, you pouted up at him. Your cunt was dripping and so empty, you just wanted him inside you already, which you tried to convey with your eyes. 

“Anything for my bunny,” Bucky growled, his words your only warning before he pulled his hips back and lined up the tip of his cock with your pussy. In the next breath, Bucky was shoving his considerable girth into your tight hole and you were crying out at the stretch.

“Too big, too big,” you whined, and Bucky paused immediately, but you didn’t want that. “Don’t stop,” you cried, your hands reaching for him, grabbing his hips and sinking your nails into golden skin as you dragged him closer. “Split me open, daddy, fuck me full.”

Bucky let out a grunt of acknowledgement and planted his hands on the backs of your thighs, pulling back before pushing in deeper. He split you open with merciless determination, working his cock deeper into your cunt with every thrust. 

When he was nearly there, he rearranged himself, leaning over your body and pressing you into the mattress, covering you with his larger form while his cock worked into your tight cunt. The position put his face level with yours and the corners of his mouth curled into a smirk when he took in the blissed out look on your face. 

“You’re so tight, has it been a while, bunny?” he asked teasingly, his eyes watching your expression closely, like he was looking for something more than his words implied. 

But if he was worried about whether there were any other men in your bed, he needn’t have. Bucky Barnes had been the star of all your fantasies since the day you’d met him two years ago. 

“Too long—three years,” you gasped, rocking your hips in time to his thrusts. You watched the worry drain from his expression, the emotion quickly replaced with an intoxicating mix of possessiveness and affection. You liked it so much, you wanted to drive your point home. “Not since before you moved into the building.”

You’d barely gotten the words out before Bucky’s mouth was crashing down on yours, his hands roughly pushing your thighs out of the way so he could press his chest against yours, skin to skin, getting as close as humanly possible while his hips drove his cock home.

“I’m crazy for you, bunny,” Bucky rumbled when he pulled away, his forehead pressed to yours, his cock buried fully in your cunt. “You’ve been under my skin since I met you, and I knew I should forget you—you’re too good for me—but I couldn’t.” 

His hips started rocking, fucking you in short, grinding thrusts that had the tip of him rubbing against a spot inside you that made your whole body clench tight. Your fingers sank into his messy, soft brown hair, threading through the soft strands. You pulled his mouth close to yours as he went on.

“I don’t know if I can let you go afer this, baby, I don’t think I can do a one-time thing,” he confessed, brushing kisses to your lips and cheeks and nose, everywhere he could reach. “Fuck, you feel like you were made for me, bunny.”

“I was,” you said, your voice vehement even as you exhaled a shuddering breath, fighting against the pleasure building in your core to keep your mind together long enough to say what you wanted to say. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, I don’t want you to let me go.” 

Using your grip on Bucky’s hair, you pushed him away, only far enough that you could look into his eye as you went on. You wanted him to see the honesty on your face and hear it in your words at the same time.

“I want to be your bunny—your girl, made to take your cock,” you confessed, your words coming out of you in a rush. “I want to be your perfect slut and let you drain your balls in my cunt whenever you want—I want it all, daddy.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Bucky bit out, his eyes closing as if he was overwhelmed by everything you’d just said. But they opened again a moment later, looking intense, the flicker of something deeper than affection sparking to life in the depth of his gaze. “You’re gonna be the death of me, bunny.”

You huffed a laugh at that, unable to hold back the smile his words set free.

“Silly daddy,” you teased, rocking your hips and digging your heels into the backs of his thighs, spurring him to move, to thrust into your pussy and bring you pleasure. “You’re not allowed to die,” you purred, arching your spine and bearing down on his cock. “Not before you make me cum again.”

It was Bucky’s turn to laugh, the sound coming out choked and dissolving into a groan when your bodies found a perfect rhythm together. He moved determinedly, working your body up until you were teetering on the edge of your second release.

“Cum inside me, daddy,” you murmured against Bucky’s scruffy cheek, nuzzling into the coarse hair and soft skin that smelled like earth and spice. “Fill up your bunny with all your cum, my pussy’s begging for it—I’m begging for it, daddy, please.”

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, bunny, such a good slut,” Bucky rumbled, his hips snapping against yours in deep, brutal thrusts that had you seeing stars. “Taking daddy’s cock so well and begging for daddy’s cum so sweetly—you’re such a perfect girl.”

You keened happily at Bucky’s praise, your knees climbing his sides until you were nearly folded in half again. His hips were pounding into yours so hard, you could hear the lewd smacking of his skin on yours, the wet sounds of your sticky, clingy pussy between you.

“I’m gonna give it to you, baby,” Bucky gritted through clenched teeth, changing the angle of his hips so his cock rubbed against your clit with every thrust. “Cum for me, bunny, cum for daddy so I can fill you up with my seed.”

His filthy words and the perfect way he was fucking you set you off, making you cum harder than you ever had before. A scream wrenched from your throat as you threw your head back into the pillows of your bed, your spine arching up off the mattress and your pussy clenching down hard on Bucky’s cock as waves of pleasure overwhelmed you.

Your release sparked Bucky’s, his hips rutting into your fluttering cunt before he came with a grunt muffled into the side of your head. His hard length twitched deep inside you as he spilled his seed, flooding your pussy with his cum. 

But he didn’t stop moving, Bucky’s hips kept working, fucking his cum deeper inside you while you clung to him, your skin slick with sweat. You buried your face in his neck and sucked a hickey into his skin, unable to stifle the possessive urge to mark him just as he was marking your insides with his cum.

When you were both finally sated, Bucky rolled over with his hand pressed to your lower back, keeping your bodies locked together and your hips pinned to him. His cock was still lodged deep in your pussy, plugging you full of his cum. He heaved a contented sigh with your body sprawled out on top of his.

It wasn’t until both of you had caught your breath that you lifted your head and met Bucky’s gaze, giving him a pointed look.

“So,” you started, drawing out the word and enjoying the way his eyes crinkled and looked to the side, as if he knew what was coming. “Do you want to tell me why I came home to find my divorced neighbor-slash-catsitter jerking off in my bed?” 

Your tone was light, even if the question was not, and you half expected Bucky to get defensive, but he just laughed a little awkwardly and ran his fingers through his hair. The move made his already messy hair even messier, so you tangled your fingers with his and trapped them beneath your chin, which was propped up on his chest.

“You know, it’s kind of a funny story,” Bucky began, darting his eyes to yours, as if making sure you were paying attention—and weren’t about to bludgeon him over the head. 

When you gestured for him to go on, he continued. 

“I’d picked up Alpine—for her post-dinner snuggle, of course,” he said, a slight pink blush in the apples of his cheeks. 

“Of course,” you echoed, the ghost of a smile flirting at the corners of your mouth. It sounded exactly like Alpine to demand cuddles after she’d just eaten. Not that you could blame her, you would have greedily taken cuddles from Bucky too.  

The older man smiled indulgently at your expression, like he knew it was for your cat and not necessarily for him. But it seemed to embolden him to continue on.

“I was just asking Alpine if she had any tips on how to tell her mama that I’m crazy about her,” he said, his voice warm with affection.

It was so sweet, you tilted your face down, biting into one of the knuckles on his hand. The older man didn’t even flinch. Bucky just laughed and went on speaking.

“Anyway, her claw got stuck in my sweater and it hurt, and she was yowling like she was going to die.” 

You lifted your head again and Bucky’s eyes were wide as he told this part of the story, his gaze staring off into the near distance like he was haunted by the memory, which you could understand. It wasn’t easy to keep your calm when you had a sharp nail digging into your skin and a cat that was freaking out. 

“I took my sweater off, and got her nail unstuck, but Alpine grabbed it and ran off.”

You laughed, wondering what would possess your cat to do such a thing, even as you nuzzled deeper into Bucky’s chest. Breathing in the scent of him, all earth and spice, you thought you might get it. You wanted to be surrounded by his scent and would’ve gladly stolen his sweater if you’d had the chance.

“I was looking for one of your sweaters to see if she’d let me trade it for mine,” Bucky explained, his voice starting to slow, as if he’d gotten to a part of the story he didn’t want to tell. “I caught a whiff of your perfume and I…” He ran his free hand down over his face.”Look, there’s no excuse for what I did—I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

Bucky caught your eye and he was so handsome, all you could do was stare. The sun was dipping low, slipping behind the buildings of Brooklyn. The light in your room was quickly turning from golden yellow to the tranquil blue of sunset, and everything felt just right. 

Your silence, however, seemed to make Bucky nervous, so he kept talking. 

“Have I mentioned that I’m crazy for you and I haven’t touched a woman in over two years and I forgot how fucking hard a woman’s perfume can make me?” he rambled, a pleading tone in his voice.

It was so cute and such a shock to hear him plead with you so genuinely that a surprised laugh burst from your lips. 

You couldn’t help yourself, you pushed yourself up and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s mouth. Maybe it was ridiculous or dumb, but you’d already forgiven Bucky. He’d made a mistake, had a moment of weakness, and you’d surprised him by coming home early. It wasn’t like he’d been trying to get caught, it had been an accident. Sort of.

Besides, it had led to the two of you getting together. You’d dreamed about Bucky for so long, fantasized about him in so much filthier situations than the one you’d found him in, that it only seemed right that he was just as much of a perv as you. 

“I’m crazy about you, too,” you murmured when you pulled away, only far enough to speak. “I forgive you.”

Bucky heaved a sigh of relief and dragged you in for another kiss, showing you his remorse with every sweep of his tongue. You sank into the kiss, letting him win back your trust, knowing the two of you were going to use the awkward start to build something real. 

You made out on your bed, your body keeping Bucky’s softening cock warm, until full dark had fallen. In between kisses, the two of you talked—about what came next (a proper date) and whether Bucky would keep the key you’d given him for catsitting (he would, after swearing never to use it without your permission). 

Eventually, you climbed off Bucky and took a shower—alone, despite his offers to help clean you up. You still felt a bit grungy from your trip home, and you wanted to take your time. So Bucky grabbed a shower at his own place, and came back, knocking on your door with a bottle of wine in hand, when you texted him you were done.

Bucky ordered dinner while you opened the wine, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the ease with which you’d fallen into a kind of domestic routine. Part of the reason you’d had a crush on Bucky was that you genuinely enjoyed his company, and you were glad to see that hadn’t changed.

When you brought the glasses out to the living room, Alpine was curled up on Bucky’s lap and he was stroking her softly, asking if she might want a papa. You bit back a smile and told him teasingly that it might be a bit soon for such a conversation with your furball daughter.

Bucky took the glasses from your hands and set them on the table before pulling you down onto the couch beside him. He made sure not to jostle Alpine as he manhandled both you and your cat into a comfortable group snuggle, with her laying across your lap while you sat in Bucky’s.

You laughed at him, but you were secretly very pleased, unable to stop grinning since Bucky was making your dreams come true without even realizing it. You’d longed for someone to snuggle with you and Alpine, to love you both, and it seemed like Bucky might be that man. 

For the rest of Valentine’s Day, you spent the holiday with your two favorite people in the world, Bucky and your cat, Alpine. 

Despite your teasing, you hoped it was only a matter of time before Bucky became her papa and moved in, becoming the person you could come home to and who would shower you with the affection you deserved.

Your divorced neighbor, Bucky Barnes, may have been a bit of a mess, but he turned out to be exactly what you needed—the perfect partner to come home to, one who shared your kinks and was just as much of a perv as you. He was a good papa to Alpine, and was happy to build your family together. 

It’s kind of a funny story how you got together—but it’s a story with a very happy ending.

sweethearts game masterlist

[onlypinkslut]

“just helping mama” your husband’s out of town. again. you call his best friend toji to help with the crib. a beer turns into something else. something warm. something wrong. and when your baby monitor blinks and your phone lights up with your husband’s name his mouth is still on your breast.

cw: nsfw 18+, infidelity, lactation kink, postpartum body worship, emotional cheating, nursing (adult), guilt, soft praise, oral fixation, angst

husband’s best friend!toji fushiguro x postpartum!f!reader

the phone felt heavy in your hand, the screen still lit with your husband’s name, his last message short and apologetic. “sorry babe, might be stuck at the site all week. maybe call toji?” you stared at it for a long second. then you sighed and tapped the next contact down.

the line barely rang before he picked up, voice low, rough around the edges like he’d just woken up or just didn’t care to hide it.

“hey.”

“hey. it’s me.” you tried to keep your voice steady, casual, like you hadn’t already thought too hard about what calling him might look like. “i, um… i need a favor.”

a pause. then that deep, familiar chuckle rumbled through the speaker.

“michael’s not home?”

you bit the inside of your cheek.

“yeah. he’s out of town again. said to call you if i needed anything.”

“of course he did.” there was a smile in his voice. something lazy. fond. maybe something else.

“what d’you need, princess?”

“just… some furniture. the crib came in early and i can’t lift it on my own. and there’s still the dresser for the guest room.”

another pause. longer this time. then a quiet sigh.

“i’ll be there in twenty.”

you ended the call and stood still for a second, the silence rushing in thick and low around you.

you weren’t wearing anything special just an grey tee and black leggings, your hair half-pulled up, skin bare but suddenly you felt every inch of yourself too clearly.

the weight in your chest. the softness around your stomach. the lingering ache behind your knees.

you hadn’t left the house in two days. you hadn’t slept properly in weeks. and now he was coming.

toji.

michael’s best friend since they were kids. the only one who never changed, never judged, never disappeared when things got hard.

big. quiet. always half-smirking like he knew things he shouldn’t.

he was there when you and michael got married. he was there when the baby came, standing awkward in the hallway with flowers and a cheap stuffed animal, pretending he hadn’t cried a little when he held her.

he always called you “mama” now. even when michael wasn’t around. especially when he wasn’t. and you hated how it made you feel. you tidied the living room without thinking, picking up stray toys, tossing a blanket over the laundry basket, tucking the edges of your shirt tighter around your chest.

the baby monitor blinked on the table. faint white noise crackling through it.

when the knock finally came, it wasn’t loud. just firm. casual. like he knew you’d already been waiting.

you opened the door, and there he was.

bigger than you remembered, shoulders stretching the black fabric of his tee, the line of his jaw rough with stubble, eyes scanning you slowly from head to toe.

he didn’t say anything at first. just stood there with one hand braced against the frame, head tilted slightly, mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile.

“you look tired,” he said finally, voice low and almost amused.

you rolled your eyes, stepping back.

“you always know how to greet a woman, huh?”

“just sayin’. you could’ve told me you needed more than just a crib built. looks like you haven’t slept in days.”

“i haven’t.” you shut the door behind him. “you want water or something before we start?”

“beer, if you got it.”

you grabbed one from the fridge and handed it to him without looking.

he cracked it open, took a long sip, then wandered to the boxes in the corner like he belonged there.

“crib first?”

you nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, watching as he crouched easily to rip the box open, muscles flexing under the sleeves as he pulled the pieces free.

“where’s the little one?”

“asleep. upstairs.”

he grunted softly. “good. don’t need her crying while i’m trying to figure out these bullshit instructions.”

you laughed a little, leaning against the wall. “thought you were good with your hands.”

he looked up, slow.

he smirked.

“i am. want me to prove it?”

you paused. blinked. flushed immediately.

his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“relax,” he muttered, chuckling. “just fucking with you.”

but he wasn’t.

not really.

and you both knew it.

you were sitting on the kitchen counter, legs crossed loosely, the hem of your cotton shorts brushing your thighs, still a little flushed from laughing too hard. your cheeks were pink, your eyes crinkled, your fingers curled around the neck of a beer bottle you had just handed him. condensation slipped down the sides, trailing over your knuckles, leaving a little puddle between your thighs where the bottle rested as you leaned forward. toji cracked the top without a word, twisting the cap off with a sharp flick, and his forearm flexed, the veins rising beneath skin still damp from sweat. he looked good like this casual, easy, muscles stretching under the sleeves of his faded shirt, his weight slouched into your kitchen like he had always belonged here.

he took a long sip, tilting the bottle, his throat bobbing slow as he swallowed. when he pulled away, his tongue darted out to catch a drop at the corner of his mouth, and the corner of his lip twitched like he knew you were watching. maybe he did. he always seemed to know when you were.

the air was warm, thick with the quiet scent of summer dusk and the lingering trace of effort. he had just finished dragging the dresser and crib into the baby’s room, arms flexed and shirt tugged high, your baby sleeping through it all in the other room. your husband had promised to do it two weeks ago but never followed through. just like he’d promised he’d be home early tonight, and every night before that.

but it was toji who had shown up. it was always him.

the conversation had slipped into something light, almost nostalgic. dumb stories about michael in college, about how reckless he used to be, how clueless he was around girls. you laughed more than you had in weeks, your body relaxing, the tightness in your shoulders fading as your voice softened. and he watched you the entire time. his gaze never wandered, never flinched. it was steady, grounding. different than how your husband looked at you now, if he looked at all.

he leaned against the other counter, elbow propped beside the sink, bottle resting in his palm like it belonged there. “so how you holdin’ up?” he asked eventually, and it came out quiet, sincere, the kind of question people usually forgot to ask. “with everything.”

you exhaled, slow and tired. your hand brushed your hair out of your face, fingers tangling briefly. “some days are okay,” you murmured, your voice a little smaller now, “some days i feel like i’m floating above my own life watching someone else live it.”

he didn’t laugh. didn’t try to fix it. he just sipped his beer again and let the silence hang there like he was making space for it.

you stared at the label on your bottle, fingers picking at the paper. “my body’s not mine anymore. i don’t sleep. i don’t think i’ve eaten a full meal in two weeks. and everything just… hurts. my boobs, especially.” your voice cracked a little at the end, and you almost laughed to cover it up. “they’re so fucking sore. like, even the shower water stings. they’re swollen and sensitive and just, like, way too big now.”

his eyes shifted then slow and heavy, dragging from your face down to your chest and back up again. he didn’t try to hide it.

“i noticed,” he said, and it should’ve sounded cocky, but it didn’t. it was quiet, maybe even reverent. “not in a bad way. they’re just… different. rounder. fuller.”

you felt the heat crawl up your neck immediately. you laughed, half-scandalized, half-flattered, shaking your head like you could brush it off. “yeah, well. that’s what breastfeeding does. turns you into a walking vending machine.”

he smiled, lazy, lifting the bottle to his lips again. “michael’s a lucky bastard,” he muttered, but the way he said it didn’t sound like admiration. it sounded like regret.

you looked at him then, really looked, and your stomach twisted. there was something heavy in his expression. something unreadable. and for a long second neither of you spoke.

then toji tilted his head slightly, voice dropping just a little lower, just enough to press against your skin like the edge of a blade. “can i see them?”

the words settled in the air with a weight you weren’t ready for. your fingers tightened around the glass instinctively, the room too still.

he raised his hands slowly, like he was joking, like it was harmless. “just look,” he added. “not touch. nothing bad. michael doesn’t need to know. it’s not cheating if it’s just… curiosity.”

you blinked. your thighs pressed a little tighter together. “toji…”

his smile widened, soft and coaxing, like he could unravel you with just the sound of your name. “you just said they’re sore, right? i’ve never actually seen tits like that before. i mean, it’s kind of fascinating. educational, even. come on. just a peek.”

you should have said no. you should’ve told him to leave.

but your heart was pounding. your chest was flushed. and your mouth wouldn’t move.

you stared down at your shirt, at the way it clung to your body. then you looked back at him.

he was waiting.

you reached up slowly, hesitant, fingers sliding under the collar, tugging it wide. you stopped halfway, hesitating.

his voice softened, low and warm. “just for a second, mama. promise.”

you exhaled shakily and pulled the fabric down, slipping the cup of your bra over one breast.

the air felt cold against your skin. your nipple was darker now, puffy, stiff with milk and sensitivity, the heavy swell of your breast dragging slightly under its own weight. your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

his expression shifted immediately. the smile faded. his gaze locked, dark and unblinking, and he stepped forward slowly, like something was pulling him. “fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself. “you weren’t kidding.”

you tried to laugh, but it came out breathless. “they’re ridiculous, right?”

he shook his head, eyes never leaving your chest. “no. they’re perfect. fuck, they’re…” he trailed off, jaw clenched. “they’re real.”

the silence stretched. you swallowed hard. “they’re heavy too. sometimes it just feels like my whole body’s dragging me down.”

his brows pulled together slightly. “can i… just feel it? not in a weird way. just i wanna know how heavy they really are.”

your breath caught in your throat. you looked at him, hesitated, heart thudding.

“just a little,” you whispered.

his palm was warm when it cupped you. fingers spread wide, curling under the fullness of your breast, cradling it gently like he was afraid to break it. his thumb brushed slowly across the curve, just under your nipple, and he groaned, the sound low and aching.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, breath hot against your cheek. “you’re so fucking soft. i didn’t think…” he squeezed gently, almost experimentally, testing the weight like he was learning you with every inch. “fuck. no one makes girls like you anymore.”

you exhaled, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

your fingers curled tighter in his shirt, cotton bunching in your fists, the fabric warm from the heat of his chest. you could feel his breath fanning across your face, slow and steady, the kind of calm that made your stomach twist because it didn’t match the way your heart was pounding. he hadn’t moved since he touched you. his palm still cupped around your swollen breast, thumb resting just under the curve, unmoving now, like he was afraid that if he shifted, the whole moment would collapse.

you were so close you could smell him, something clean under the musk, beer still lingering faint on his breath. his head dipped slightly, just a tilt, just enough that his nose brushed yours. your lips parted on instinct, a breath catching there, your pulse fluttering high in your throat like it wanted to climb out of your skin.

toji’s hand slid up from your chest, slow and deliberate, fingers grazing your collarbone as he cupped your jaw instead, thumb brushing soft across your cheek, not pushing. not pulling. just holding you there.

you could’ve pulled back.

you should’ve pulled back.

but you didn’t.

his lips met yours without warning just a breath between, just a shift, and then his mouth was on yours. warm. sure. devastating. there was no hesitation, no apology, no awkward stumble like you’d expected. he kissed you like he knew you already, like he had waited a long time to do this and wasn’t going to waste it now. his lips pressed firm, slow, coaxing yours open with just the barest pull, his thumb still stroking gently across your cheek like he was trying to memorize the way your skin felt while you unraveled for him.

your eyes fluttered shut. your grip in his shirt tightened. you made a small noise, soft, almost surprised at how much you felt it. like your chest cracked open and something raw was pouring out into his mouth. he didn’t push further. didn’t rush. his hand stayed on your cheek, steady and grounding, the kiss deepening only when you leaned into it, mouth parting wider for him, breath hitching when his tongue brushed yours.

you weren’t thinking anymore.

you weren’t anywhere except here, in the heat between his hands, in the silence between your gasps.

his lips were still on yours when his hand slipped around your waist, warm and steady, pulling you forward like it was the most natural thing in the world. he didn’t stop to ask, didn’t give you time to think just backed up a step, dragged the chair out from the counter, and eased down into it, tugging you into his lap like you belonged there.

you gasped softly when your thighs spread across his, your bare legs stretching over the denim of his jeans, his thick palm sliding low over your spine to steady you. your chest was pressed to his now, soft and full, one breast still pulled from your bra, skin flushed and exposed, your nipple grazed by the rough fabric of his shirt. your fingers curled into the collar instinctively, but he caught your wrist before you could cover yourself again.

“nah,” he whispered, eyes hooded, voice thick. “no hiding. not from me.”

you didn’t speak. couldn’t. your lips were still tingling, your thighs trembling slightly from where he held you firm. and then his hand slid back up, cupping your breast again, slower this time, more reverent, his thumb brushing the heavy swell with something close to awe. you felt your breath catch when he leaned in, dragging his lips over the curve, warm and soft, pressing gentle kisses along the top like it was something sacred.

“mama,” he murmured, his voice cracked, almost too soft to hear. “look at you.”

you blinked, your lashes damp, head tipping slightly as you looked down at him. he had his face buried against your chest now, kissing slowly, nuzzling the side, one arm wrapped low around your waist. the other hand slid to your belly, and you tensed, but he just rubbed it palming it gently, dragging his fingers over the curve, over the soft skin that stretched loose and warm beneath your shirt, down over the faint ridges of your stretch marks.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, mouth trailing kisses lower. “this belly… carried your baby. stretched open for her. you did that, mama. you gave life.” he kissed the space just below your breast, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat there, breathing heavier now. “your skin’s so soft. so warm. made to be touched.”

your hand slipped into his hair almost without thinking. you sighed, long and low, your fingers curling gently at the nape of his neck, rubbing slow. he groaned into your chest at the touch, his mouth open now, dragging hot against the underside of your breast as he shifted, adjusting your weight in his lap, tugging your legs wider so he could keep you steady.

“baby,” he breathed, “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

he leaned in again, lips closing around your nipple, soft and aching and sore. you gasped when his mouth sucked gently, the pressure sending a shiver down your spine. your milk beaded at the tip almost immediately, and his tongue lapped it up without hesitation, the sound wet and low between your bodies.

you whimpered. not from pain. from the overwhelming warmth of it. the relief. the worship.

toji moaned low in his chest, sucking deeper now, hand still rubbing your stomach, the other slipping under your thigh to grip it tighter, to rock you slightly in his lap as he nursed.

“so sweet,” he muttered between sucks. “so fuckin’ sweet, mama. like you were made for this.”

you giggled quietly, the sound light and breathless, still rubbing his hair, thumb brushing over the shell of his ear. “feels nice,” you whispered, eyes fluttering. “you’re helping.”

“mm,” he hummed against your breast, sucking a little harder now. “told you i would. i’ll help you anytime, baby. anything for my girl.”

he didn’t stop. he nursed slow and deep, tongue flicking over your nipple between sucks, palm splayed hot across your soft belly, fingers tracing the lines the baby left behind. your milk spilled into his mouth and he swallowed it down like it was the only thing he ever wanted, eyes fluttered shut, his breathing growing heavier.

your hips were grinding slightly now, unintentionally, the rhythm lazy, soft, seeking comfort in the pressure of his thigh beneath you. you felt safe like this, warm, loved, full, your head tilted back slightly as your fingers stroked through his hair, giggling softly when he murmured another praise against your chest.

“mama,” he said again, lips glossy with milk, “so fuckin’ perfect.”

the phone rang.

the shrill sound cut through the warmth like ice water down your spine.

you froze.

his mouth paused against your skin, your nipple still swollen and wet against his lips.

you looked down.

the name flashing across the counter glowed sharp and cruel.

michael.

your husband.

toji didn’t move.

your breath caught in your throat.

the guilt hit like a fist.

and you were still in his lap, bare, leaking, adored.

and now, completely ruined.

this one is really close to my heart. i’ve been thinking a lot.

i hope it wrecked you in the best way. thank you for reading, and if you felt something anything i’d love to hear it.💌

onlypinkslut

[mywhisperingwords]

baby, no attachments | fred g. weasley

summary: sneaking into fred weasley’s room was never meant to mean anything—until it suddenly did word count: 3.9k masterlist

The sun was barely peeking through the curtains when you stirred, tangled in a mess of warm sheets and Fred’s arm slung across your waist.

His dorm was quiet, save for his soft breathing and the occasional creak of wood as one of his dormmates shifted in their sleep.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Fred was warm behind you, his bare chest rising and falling against your back, his hand resting just under your ribs like he had every right to be there. It was easy to pretend, in moments like this, that the space you occupied in his bed was the same as the one you occupied in his life.

You turned your head, catching sight of his tousled hair and the faintest hint of a smile on his face, even as he dozed. There was a tenderness to him in sleep, a kind of softness you rarely got to see when he was fully awake and full of mischief. You let your gaze trail over the freckles scattered across his shoulder, letting yourself trace invisible constellations—quietly, foolishly hoping they might lead to something more certain.

It felt safe here—like nothing else existed but the two of you.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You flinched, caught, and his grin widened without even opening his eyes. “Was not,” you whispered back, careful not to wake anyone else.

“Was too,” he countered, finally cracking one eye open. His hand slid to your hip, fingers curling slightly as if to keep you there.

“I have to go,” you said, but you didn’t move, and he knew it.

Fred’s grip tightened. “Don’t.”

His voice carried a teasing lilt, but something in it made your breath hitch. You didn’t want to give it a name—but it wasn’t nothing.

“Fred,” you warned gently, trying not to laugh as his leg draped over yours, pinning you in place.

“Stay,” he whispered, leaning closer until his nose brushed against your temple. “What’s the worst that could happen? We get caught? Big deal. I’ll tell them you were helping me study.”

“This early? And for what, exactly?” you teased, finally turning to meet his gaze.

Fred smirked, mischief lighting up his features. “Advanced Wandwork. You’re an excellent teacher, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.” His hand skimmed down your arm, catching your wrist and tugging you closer. “Don’t go.”

Your resolve wavered. It always did when he looked at you like that—unguarded, open in a way that made it hard to breathe. Like maybe this meant more to him than you were allowed to believe. Like maybe the rules you told yourself not to break—don’t hope, don’t ask, don’t want too much—were already fraying at the edges.

“If I don’t leave now, Lee will wake up and start asking questions,” you whispered.

Fred groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “Fine, but only because I care about your reputation or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you echoed, sliding out from beneath the covers. The chill of the dormitory hit you immediately, and you shivered as you gathered your clothes from the floor.

He watched you, propped up on one elbow, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked absurd. He looked perfect. And you hated how much you wanted this to mean something more.

He didn’t say anything until you were pulling on your shoes, your back to him.

“Hey,” he called softly.

You turned, and he was watching you again—closely this time, like he might miss something important if he blinked.

He grinned, boyish and bright. “I’ll miss you.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you tried to hide your smile. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”

You rolled your eyes again, but your heart betrayed you, thudding a little harder in your chest. “Go back to sleep, Fred.”

“Come back tonight?” he asked, quieter now. Less playful. Like a question with layers.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, all you could do was nod.

“Good,” he said, sinking back into the pillows. “See you later.”

You slipped out the door, your steps careful and quiet, but your thoughts were loud. You told yourself not to read into it. Not to get carried away. But Fred’s voice lingered, soft and stubborn in your head.

⸻

The common room was eerily quiet, the hour so late it bordered on early. A chill hung in the air, and the last embers in the fireplace had died to ash. The silence felt heavier than usual, like the castle itself was holding its breath.

You glanced over your shoulder before ascending the boys’ staircase, your steps instinctively light, avoiding the creaky spots you’d learned to memorize through too many nights like this.

Fred’s door was slightly ajar. The moonlight spilled through the high windows, casting silver shadows across the floor and tracing the outlines of the beds. He was already awake—waiting—his head lifting from the pillow as you slipped inside and eased the door shut behind you.

“Took your time,” he whispered, voice rough and low, soft enough to blend into the quiet.

You rolled your eyes as you crossed the room, your movements fluid, familiar. “You try sneaking past Angelina without a plan. She’s like a human Secrecy Sensor.”

Fred smirked, his hair sticking up in every direction as he sat up. “Well, we wouldn’t want her catching you, would we?”

His tone had lightened, teasing as always, but his eyes lingered on you in a way that made your breath catch. There was something else behind his gaze tonight—something quieter, more watchful. A pause you didn’t quite know how to name.

“Come here,” he murmured.

You didn’t hesitate. The bed creaked softly beneath you as you slid in beside him, his arms winding around your waist like second nature. His lips found yours in a kiss that was brief but grounding, like an unspoken reassurance. You felt him smile against your mouth before he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you whispered back, matching his smile without even thinking.

His fingers traced lightly along the back of your neck, his touch feather-soft and easy. “You didn’t wake the others, did you?”

“Of course not,” you said, mock-offended. “I’m stealthy, remember?”

His eyes sparked with amusement. “Like a thestral in a china shop.”

“Would you rather I didn’t come?”

“Not a chance.”

The stillness returned, settling around the two of you like a blanket. He lay down beside you, and you curled into him, his arm pulling you close, your head tucked beneath his chin. It was a rhythm you’d grown used to—the way your bodies fit together, how his warmth filled the spaces the cold left behind.

But even as you relaxed into him, even as his fingers brushed gently along your arm, you still sometimes felt it—the hesitation, so slight it was nearly imperceptible. Like he wasn’t sure if he should hold you so tightly. Like he was always half-waiting for the moment you might pull away.

“Cold?” he asked, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of your sleeve.

You shook your head. “No. You’re warm.”

“Good.” His hand stilled, thumb brushing back and forth in slow, lazy arcs. You listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, willing yourself to sink into it, to let it lull you into sleep.

And for a while, it did.

But sometime later, you startled awake, breath caught in your throat, chest tight in a way that had no name. The room was dark, the world too quiet, and you felt unmoored.

“Hey.” Fred’s voice slipped into the quiet, groggy but alert. He stirred beside you, his arm tightening protectively around your waist. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” You paused, unsure. “I don’t know. A nightmare, I think.”

He was silent for a long beat. Then his hand moved to rub soothing circles over your back. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

Fred shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. Moonlight outlined his profile—his furrowed brow, the crease between his eyebrows, the softness in his eyes. “You want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, feeling suddenly small, the edges of the dream already fading but leaving something raw behind. “No. I’m fine.”

“Liar,” he said lightly, though his gaze didn’t waver. “You’re terrible at lying, you know.”

You gave a weak smile. “I’m not that bad.”

He hummed, unconvinced. “You always do this thing with your nose when you’re lying. It scrunches up, just a little.”

Your brow furrowed. “It does not.”

“It does.” He grinned and reached out to tap your nose. “See? There it is.”

You batted his hand away, the gesture soft and half-hearted. “You’re making that up.”

“Am I?”

His tone was warm, teasing—but gentler than usual. His hand ghosted over your shoulder, grounding you.

“Fred, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” His voice quieted. “Look, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But if I see your nose scrunch up again, I’m going to assume you’re secretly plotting against me.”

You laughed—a small, real sound that surprised even you. You buried your face in his shirt, muffling it.

“There it is,” he said again, softer now, brushing his knuckles along your cheek.

For the rest of the night, Fred didn’t fill the silence with jokes or mischief. Instead, he whispered half-thoughts and soft nonsense, his voice like a hand held out in the dark.

You didn’t sleep again, not really—but it didn’t matter. He stayed with you, the space between you full of warmth, and care, and the quiet ache of something too tender to name.

⸻

The corridor was unusually quiet for midday, the usual crowd thinned by lunch and looming N.E.W.T. panic. The air had that soft, golden glow of early spring—sunlight catching on dust motes and making even the dull stone floors feel a little warmer.

Fred was walking beside you, arms crossed behind his head like he hadn’t a care in the world. He nudged you lightly with his elbow every few steps, clearly enjoying himself. You’d been laughing for the last five minutes straight.

“And then he goes, ‘Fred, that’s not a Flobberworm, that’s my shoe!’”

You gasped, half-disbelieving, half-dying of laughter. “You didn’t.”

Fred looked smug. “In my defense, it was dark, and the shoe was moving.”

“No, it wasn’t!”

“Well, it could have been,” he said, grinning. “It might’ve been cursed.”

You shook your head, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “You’re an idiot.”

“Only for you,” he shot back, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Just that quick silence that hangs between two people who aren’t quite sure if something has shifted.

You looked away first, cheeks warm, smile lingering as you both rounded a corner.

“I was thinking,” he said after a beat, nudging your shoulder again. “About tonight.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

Fred looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes before he smirked again. “Come to the Astronomy Tower with me.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “So romantic. Gonna push me off?”

He laughed. “Nah. I was thinking something more subtle. Like poison.”

“Good to know you’ve been planning this.”

“Always.” His voice was warm, teasing, but then he added, more softly, “Just come. We won’t get caught. And it’s supposed to be clear out tonight. You like stars, right?”

You blinked, thrown by the sudden sincerity underneath the mischief. “I do.”

“Good. Then it’s a date.”

He said it easily, like he didn’t think about it too hard—but your stomach still fluttered.

“A date, huh?” you echoed.

But before he could answer, you heard a loud echo of footsteps behind you.

“Oi, Fred!”

The sound of running footsteps broke the moment as Lee and George rounded the corner, both slightly out of breath.

“There you are,” George said. “You’re gonna make us late.”

Fred gave you an apologetic smile. “Duty calls.”

“See you later,” you said, still smiling, a little dazed.

Fred started to walk backward again, that grin of his never fading. “You better.”

You turned, starting down the corridor in the opposite direction, his laughter still echoing faintly behind you. The smile stayed on your lips, light and warm.

Until—

“Wait, wait, hold on,” you heard Lee say, his voice drifting down the corridor. “Are you two—are you dating?”

Fred’s answer came a beat later, casual and light. “No. It’s nothing serious.”

The words landed like a slap—so casual. So thoughtless.

Your breath caught, your smile freezing in place before it slowly slid away. You kept your eyes forward, forcing yourself to keep walking, like the comment hadn’t lodged itself somewhere under your ribs.

Behind you, George or Lee said something else—maybe a joke, maybe nothing—but the words blurred in your ears, drowned out by the sudden quiet inside your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You just walked, his voice echoing in your mind.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Funny how everything could feel so serious only seconds before.

⸻

You didn’t go to the Astronomy Tower that night.

You meant to. You really did.

You sat on the edge of your bed with your shoes on and your jacket in hand, eyes trained on the clock as it ticked past each minute, slow and cruel. You imagined him waiting—hands shoved into his pockets, hair windblown, looking up at the stars and maybe even thinking of you.

But then you heard his voice again in your mind.

“It’s nothing serious.”

Casual. Effortless. Like it was obvious.

And suddenly, everything inside you curled up tight.

So you stayed in bed. Lights off. Eyes open.

⸻

The next morning, you skipped breakfast.

The morning after that, you took a different corridor to class. By the third day, you were running out of detours—Fred had a knack for showing up where you least expected, like the universe was conspiring against you.

But you were good at pretending. Better than you expected. You could laugh at jokes, nod at friends, sit through lessons without flinching. You could go an entire day without looking over your shoulder.

Still, you felt him everywhere.

In the way your chest tensed when you passed the Astronomy Tower.

In the way your fingers twitched every time someone said his name.

In the ache behind your ribs when you lay in bed alone, remembering how he used to say “stay” like it was the easiest thing in the world.

⸻

Fred cornered you four days later.

You’d nearly made it out of the library, arms full of books, head ducked, doing your best to blend into the late-evening crowd. But he was fast, stepping in front of you with no warning, like he’d been waiting for the exact moment you’d try to vanish again.

“Okay,” he said, voice tight, eyes sharp. “What the hell is going on?”

You blinked up at him, heart crashing against your ribs.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said quickly, the lie scraping against your tongue.

Fred narrowed his eyes. “Really? Because I haven’t seen you in days. You didn’t show up the other night. You’re avoiding me.”

You tried to step around him. He stepped with you.

“Talk to me,” he said, softer now. Pleading.

The dam cracked. Just a little.

“I’m busy,” you said. “That’s all.”

He scoffed, taking a step closer. “Busy avoiding me, maybe. Did I do something? Because if I did, just tell me. Don’t shut me out.”

Your jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” he insisted. “You’re acting like I—like I hurt you.”

That did it.

You laughed, bitter and breathless, the sound cracking down the middle. “Well, that’s funny.”

Fred’s expression faltered. “What?”

Your hands curled around the edges of your books, knuckles white. “You don’t get to act confused, Fred.”

He took a step back, like your words had physically shoved him. “I—I don’t understand.”

“No. You don’t,” you said, the anger bubbling up now, hot and sharp. “You don’t get to ask me what’s wrong after saying it wasn’t serious. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.”

Fred blinked. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“Your friends asked if we were dating,” you said. “And you just—just brushed it off. ‘It’s nothing serious.’ That’s what you said.”

Silence.

He stared at you, mouth slightly open, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Like it hadn’t even occurred to him.

And that hurt worst of all.

“You looked me in the eyes and made plans with me right before,” you went on, voice rising, cracking. “You kissed me. You asked me to stay. And then the second someone asked—you couldn’t deny it fast enough.”

Fred opened his mouth.

No words came out.

You shook your head, the ache in your chest swelling so big you could hardly breathe around it. “Why do you care if I disappeared? You made it pretty clear I’m just some secret you’re not willing to admit to.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, but it was too quiet. Too late.

You stepped back, throat tight, vision blurry around the edges. “Well, congratulations. Message received.”

And before he could find the words—or maybe just admit that he didn’t have them—you turned and walked away.

This time, he didn’t stop you.

And it was worse than if he had.

⸻

The days that followed passed like a slow bruise.

Nothing dramatic. No storm. No outbursts.

Just silence.

Fred didn’t try to talk to you again—not really. Not in the corridors, not in the common room. He looked, though. You felt it. In every hallway. Across every meal. Like he was watching from across some invisible line he didn’t know how to cross.

And you—well, you tried not to let it show.

You sat with your friends. You laughed at the right moments. You handed in assignments. You did everything you were supposed to do. And still, it felt like something inside you was holding its breath.

You didn’t cry. Not really. Just stared at the ceiling some nights with your chest hollowed out and your throat tight and told yourself this was better.

It was better, wasn’t it?

Because you’d known. Deep down, you’d always known. Fred Weasley didn’t do serious. Not with you. Not with anyone.

He never said forever. Never promised anything. Never used any of those words people use when they mean more. He was fun and warm and reckless, and it had been easy to believe—for a while—that maybe you were the exception. That maybe, just maybe, this was something real.

But now, you knew better.

And still, every time the door opened, some small, stupid part of you looked up. Hoping.

⸻

He found you again in the corridor outside the Charms classroom, just after the bell had rung and most students were still filtering out in clusters of noise and motion.

You hadn’t seen him coming.

He didn’t speak at first, just stepped into your path, not blocking you—just… there.

You froze.

Fred looked awful. Hair a little messier than usual. Circles under his eyes. And a strange kind of stillness that made you nervous, because Fred never stood still. Not like this.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please,” he said, softer now. “I—I don’t know how else to fix this.”

You looked away. “I don’t think you can.”

Fred’s mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

He tried again. “What I said. That day. About us not being serious. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You forced a laugh, bitter and quiet. “How else could you have meant it, Fred?”

“I panicked,” he admitted, eyes searching your face. “They asked, and I said the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t want them to start teasing or asking questions—I just didn’t think. I didn’t mean for it to sound like you don’t matter.”

“But that’s how it sounded,” you said, voice low. “And you didn’t come after me. You didn’t say anything until now.”

“I didn’t know how,” Fred said. “I didn’t know if I had the right to.”

You met his gaze then, and for once, he didn’t smile. Didn’t try to joke. Just looked at you like he’d run out of masks to wear.

“I like you,” he said, the words breaking open something in his chest. “I’ve liked you for a while. And I never said it because I didn’t want to mess it up. I thought if I just—if we kept things easy, it’d be enough. But it wasn’t. Not for me. And obviously not for you, either.”

You felt your throat tighten.

Fred stepped closer, careful, slow, like you might vanish again. “You matter to me. You’re not nothing. You’ve never been nothing. I didn’t know how to say that before, but I’m saying it now.”

You stared at him.

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But something inside you still bristled, still remembered how easily he’d brushed it off when someone else was listening.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you said, voice trembling. “I don’t want to feel like I’m waiting around for you to make up your mind.”

Fred shook his head. “I have made up my mind. I just made a mess of showing it. I get it if you need space. I get it if you don’t believe me. But I’d rather wait for you, even if it takes ages, than pretend I don’t care. Because I do. So much more than I’ve ever said out loud.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Because even now, you weren’t sure if letting him in again would break you all over. But you weren’t sure if walking away would hurt any less.

And yet… when you looked at him—really looked—you saw it.

Not the cocky grin. Not the easy charm. Just Fred, stripped down to something raw and honest. He wasn’t trying to win you back with clever words. He was just standing there, hoping you’d still let him try.

You swallowed hard, blinking past the tightness in your throat.

“I believe you,” you said softly.

Fred’s shoulders dropped, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it. He took a small step forward—and this time, he didn’t stop himself.

“I do,” you repeated, steadier now. “But if this is going to mean something—if we’re going to try—I need you to take it seriously. No more hiding. No more brushing it off when it gets inconvenient.”

Fred nodded immediately, eyes locked on yours like he didn’t want to miss a single word.

He hesitated, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Alright. No more hiding.”

A pause.

“Unless it’s you sneaking into my room again. I think we should keep that part.”

You tried not to smile. Failed completely. “Oh, do you?”

“Absolutely. It’s the only way I get any decent sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he stepped closer, you didn’t stop him. And when his arms slid around you, careful and warm, you let yourself lean into him.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. No dramatic declarations. Just the quiet press of his forehead against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the strange, wonderful feeling of finally being in the same place at the same time.

You closed your eyes for a moment, and for the first time, it didn’t feel uncertain.

It felt like a beginning. One you actually wanted.

[sunlightandprayers]

childhoodbsf!simon who eventually turns into fwb!simon and inevitably breaks your heart.

part two right here .ᐟ

warnings : angst(y), mentions of sex but not very detailed, written on iPhone and not proofread

──────────୨ৎ───────────

it happened so naturally.

ever since that blond-haired boy moved across the street from you, and helped you draw a princess maze with pink chalk on the asphalt of the quiet street.

ever since you’d giggled as he dragged you to the little forest at the back of your yard—offering you an entire-day adventure and granting him a respite from the smothering walls of his house.

ever since he’d decided to call you sunshine, because that’s simply what you were to him. his sacred light in the dark storm cloud of his childhood.

ever since then, simon riley had become your very best friend. platonic soulmates, you’d called it.

⸝⸝

it had stuck for a while.

until college and the military rolled around, and suddenly your eyes were yearning for him nearly as often as your fragile heart.

suddenly, it didn’t feel so platonic.

there was still this easiness, that was undeniable—you still trudged into the tattoo shop with him every other month or sometimes week, watching as the needle danced across his thick biceps the same way your fingers longed to.

you still let your head loll on simon’s lap as he forced yet another painfully boring movie on you.

he still pushed your thighs apart and muffled his face in your tummy when you rioted and a romcom ended up playing on his obnoxiously big flat screen.

the same boy from your childhood grunted if your fingers weren’t carding through his dirty-blond locks within the minute.

⸝⸝

and then one day, somehow, after yet another failed date—because all those boys were lacking something, some spark—you found yourself at his flat.

he’d opened the door, clad in just boxers and the gray, army-issued t-shirt with his last name plastered on the back. it made that familiar sizzle run up the length of your spine before tingling at the back of your skull like a firework.

he’d hugged you like he’d done a million times before.

had stroked the length of your hair, the way you liked.

had talked to you softly, the way you needed.

had kissed your temple, the way you craved.

it had happened naturally then too. the push up to your tiptoes and the search of your doe eyes with his whiskey ones. your own were pleading, that much you knew. his thumb had grazed your cheekbone tenderly, prompting a chain reaction that inevitably ended in a tangle of limbs and messy navy sheets.

after that initial detonation, it had happened again and again and again—though it was all as friends. a good arrangement really, if one wasn’t in love with the man who fucked them on the regular.

which you were currently admitting to yourself, while simon—your simon—was buried deep inside you. deeper than anyone else ever had or ever could. deeper than just physical.

“si- look at me.”

it was a futile ask. you knew it all too well. those whiskey eyes never met yours when he was taking you.

“hm. can’t pretty girl. y’feel too fuckin’ good, sunshine,” he grunted.

it was half a lie. because while you did feel like heaven clutching him, that wasn’t fully why he could never meet your glazed doe eyes.

the truth was lodged somewhere deep between his ribs, in that sensitive spot where he kept very few things—like his mom, his baby brother, and you.

and if he met your eyes when he was deep inside your velvet heat, not only would he finish too early, but he’d want to keep you forever. which is something he refused to do.

even if it broke his heart when—after you’d both reached your peaks in a slow, deep, long orgasm—your nimble fingers curled around his dog tags. so goddamn reverent, that touch of yours. it undid him.

your manicured thumb brushed the indentation of his name in the metal plate, and those three little words slipped out of you like you’d always said them with this much meaning. they’d grown too heavy, too real for your body to be able to hold them back anymore. it was the softest, most honest i love you you’d ever said.

simon had frozen, spine rigid even if he’d known—he’d known it was coming.

so when he’d bent down, gently sliding out of you as he pressed his shaking lips to your forehead, tears fell quietly from the corners of your eyes. the same ones he’d lifted so often before, whether it be with a stupid joke or a smug smirk.

you knew too, right then, that he wouldn’t say it back.

that this was the last time. that this was the most you’d get from him.

a single hiccup wracked your throat, which simon eased the only way he knew how—with a familiar, smoothing hand over your hair. he rolled off his bed shortly after, his rippling back to you as he walked into his en suite bathroom.

when he came back out, minutes or hours later he wasn’t sure, with his bare feet dragging across the cold tiles, you were gone.

prompted by sheer agony, simon had almost laughed.

because even if you’d left, you were still everywhere.

his pillows smelled of those expensive shampoo and conditioner you loved, the ones that made your hair all soft and silky. his sheets smelled of vanilla and coconut, same as his cotton t-shirts, which you’d been borrowing since your teenage years.

hell, even his ribs throbbed. right where the fine-line sunshine was inked permanently.

the worst is that he was okay with it. the ache. the pain. it was familiar. bitterly comfortable.

a part of him had always known—even when he’d picked up that pink chalk more than a decade ago—that the sweet girl across the street would haunt him forever.

but he’d suffer your absence a thousand lifetimes over, as long as it meant the ghosts of his own demons could never reach you. could never snuff out that golden light he’d fallen irrevocably in love with.

because that instinct—to protect his sunny girl no matter the cost—had always happened so naturally.

──────────୨ৎ───────────

ᝰ.ᐟ author’s note

hii! okay so this is my first simon riley drabble (and my first ever published piece really lol), so if it sucks please bear with me :*)

idk if this is anything—but i had a 3 hour road trip, 5 hours of sleep, and this wouldn’t leave my head so here it is!

[rueclfer]

Fake Dating // Bakugou

a/n: hi all, i am back from the dead with this shit that took me DAYS to finish bc my brain is def not used to writing anymore. pls enjoy and maybe keep a look out for PART 2 if people want it !

You stare at your phone in disbelief. The audacity he had to tell you where to go, how to dress, and to essentially perform in front of everyone for him. Of course this was a mutually beneficial agreement, but at least you only dragged him along to your family functions sparingly.

You two had come to this agreement early last Winter when family members kept pestering you about potentially finding a love interest at your new University, and for him when he couldn't shake off all of the romantic confessions from the students in the other classes.

No one else knew about your arrangement. What made it so much more unbearable was the fact that you shared the same cohort and friend group, so it was a constant facade whenever you're in each other's presence with the others around.

You felt a bit awkward coming to the party alone, and a few hours late. You could hear the bass thumping through the door from the front yard, and from the looks of it, there were far more people than you expected, but on the bright side, it'll be easier to be invisible within the crowd than have to hold up this facade all night.

You approached the front to see Jirou catching a breath of fresh air. She had a drink in one hand and her other interlocked with Momo's

"Are you guys already tapping out?" You asked, taking the steps up the porch.

"Y/N!! For a second I thought you weren't going to make it!" Jirou says, releasing Momo from her grasp and giving you a big hug. "I'm so happy you're here."

"Can't blame me for always being fashionably late” You embrace her back.

"Better now than never." She drunkenly chuckles “Bakugo’s been a moody bitch all night please go contain him”

“Are we surprised?” You roll your eyes and laugh. “Where are you two off to?”

"I'm gonna take Momo out for some air and to maybe vomit, but go inside and I'll find you later!"

“I love you Y/N!! Take a shot for me!!” Momo slurs and blows you a kiss as Jirou drags her away.

"I love you too, Mo! I'll catch you guys inside."

Once you stepped foot inside, it felt like the air from your lungs were instantly replaced with the thick fog of weed and cigarette smoke. It was suffocating, but all too familiar at the same time. You recognized many of the faces around from campus, but none of which were your close friends.

Before anything else, you decided to stop by the kitchen to pour yourself something to drink. To be honest, you weren't picky with your liquor. As long as it did its job, you weren't going to complain. You grabbed a red solo cup off of the stack and poured in a shot and some change worth of cheap vodka.

Mina has to have some red bull somewhere around here…

You quickly down it and refill another cup to carry around while you look for your ball and chain, Katsuki. You wander around the crowd for a few moments, waiting for someone you knew to catch your attention, but no one did. You decide to take a break to lean against a wall and to send Katsuki a text to see where he was hiding. Before you could even get your phone unlocked, you received a notification from him.

After he sent the last message, you looked up and searched for his meeting eyes. He said he was looking right at you, but for some reason you couldn't find those fiery eyes.

“Looking for someone?” A low voice breaks you from your search.

You turn to see Katsuki leaning up against the wall right beside you, almost shoulder to shoulder.

“Hmmm yeah I am, actually. Have you seen my boyfriend?” You turn to him fully. “He’s tall, messy blonde hair, kind of has a stupid look to his face, really hot though, trust me, and also like a medium build?”

You catch a glimpse of the smallest smirk on his face.

“Yeah? Well I’ll be sure to keep a lookout for him. In the meantime though, can you keep an eye out for my girlfriend? Angel faced, toothy smile, obnoxious ass laugh though, like if you hear honking, it's probably them.” He retaliates.

You both stare at each other in silence before you break character and playfully punch him in the arm. “Shut up, idiot. I don't honk.”

“You do. Like a goose.”

"You're so good at this flirting thing, Katsuki. Keep it up." You say sarcastically.

"It is my job, after all."

He stealthily wraps his arms around your shoulder, bringing himself in closer to you. He damn near was caging you in against the wall, blocking out the rest of the party with his back.

“So what's the game plan for tonight?” You peered up at his towering figure.

“Hang out for a couple hours, do all that lovey bullshit and then I’ll take you home. Don't get too messy tonight either. I’m not trying to babysit.”

“Worry about yourself, lightweight.” You roll your eyes.

“And is this straight vodka?" He looks into your cup with disgust. "Are you mentally ill?"

“I couldn't find the red bull.” You shrug.

“So it's either that or straight vodka?”

“Yeah and? You have a problem with that?”

“Yeah I actually do. It's fucking insan-” He starts.

“Bakugou!” A voice interrupts behind him. “There you are!”

You two lock eyes for a brief second. Just when you were actually starting to enjoy yourself with annoying Katsuki, you remember that you were only here for one reason. Katsuki's jaw clenched as he turned over to lean back against the wall beside you.

“Oh. Y/N you’re here too.” They say in a deflated tone. “I was just wondering if you could give us a second to chat?” They bat their eyelashes.

“I'm not in the mood to chat.” He says, pulling you closer by the waist.

“We’re actually about to go meet up with the others. Catch him next time.” You smile sweetly, interlocking your fingers with his and dragging him towards the backyard.

To your surprise, your friends were actually all there surrounding the firepit.

Denki was the first to spot you. He gasps and jumps up from his seat.

"You're here!" He nearly trips over his own feet trying to get over to you. He pulls you in a big hug, sweeping you off your feet. "Oh my god Y/N I missed you so much I could cry right now."

He was clearly a drink or two over his limit. His cheeks were bright red and he was already starting to sweat through his shirt.

“I missed you too, Denks.” You let yourself get twirled around by him.

“Finally you're back, I’m tired of holding onto your nasty drink.” Kirishima says, passing a red solo cup to Katsuki once he sat down.

You tried to take the empty seat next to him, but he immediately grabbed your wrist to pull you to share his chair. Your eyes widen at his own, as if you could telepathically curse him out. You clench your jaw as you feel a hot flash across your face.

“It’s cold. Stay close.” He simply says.

You nervously chuckle. “There's a fire right there, babe.”

“Do it for me then.” He smirks.

You silently groan to yourself as you lean back into his chest in defeat. Luckily, the chair had enough width to allow you to not have to fully sit on his lap, moreso just a leg slung over his own.

“Try this.” He lifts the solo cup to your lips.

You peer down at the dark red liquid in his cup. The smell burnt your nose. You shot him a weary glance before you downed his concoction, having to pinch your nose right after to subdue the burn. The shock of spicy and tangy residue left your throat burning with every inhale.

"What the fuck is that?" You choke out, continuing to pinch your nose.

"Fireball, lemon juice, and OJ." He smiled mischievously. "Thoughts?"

"The nerve you have to comment on my drink after sipping on this bullshit all night? It tastes like piss.”

He shrugs, wearing a lazy smile as he grips the softness of your inner thigh, with his other arm wrapped around your shoulder, fiddling with a lock of your hair.

You were internally screaming. Usually, there would be a hand holding or an arm around the waist or shoulder, but he was never this touchy whenever you had to act like a couple in front of your friends or even in front of the people trying to get at him.

You look around the firepit to see that all of your friends were in loud conversation with one another- laughing, arguing, and definitely not paying you two any attention.

“What are you doing?” You say low enough that only he could hear. “You're like, all up in my shit."

“5 o’clock, babe.” He simply says.

You slightly turn your head to your right to see the person from earlier, trying to not-so-obviously stare at you both.

“Tryna give them a show or something? You roll your eyes.

“Only if you'd let me.” He whispers.

You felt a chill crawl up your spine. God he's being gross. But you liked it. When you first made your little arrangement, you swore to yourself to not to catch any type of feelings for him, but the more time you spent charading around as a couple, the deeper you fell into this infatuation despite how hard you fought against it or played it off as a part of the bit.

“Don’t kill me, okay?” You whisper, meeting his eyes and forcing a smile.

You turned your head to fullyface his own and leaned in. Both of you were caught by surprise- his eyes widening right before you made contact. You two had never crossed this line before, let alone talked about it. It was only ever the unspoken rule of “don't catch feelings” and “no couple shit when we’re alone.”

His lips were soft and swollen as if he spent the last hour biting down on them. Once your lips crashed into his, it felt like your stomach was turning inside out, and a fire lit within.

It's fine, it's for show. It’s fine, you agreed to this. It’s fine, it’s not real.

You were fucked. You hated him, but you liked him. Maybe it was more than like. Maybe like isn't even the right word at all, but all you knew was that you needed to stop and take a second to reevaluate what you were doing with Katsuki.

In reality, the kiss lasted no more than 10 seconds, but it felt like you had fallen into the fire pit and laid in it for hours. Your body was on fire.

Once you broke away, you two stared at each other blankly, blinking away the realization of what had just happened. You didn't know whether to laugh and slap him on the shoulder, or start crying.

“I-I'm gonna go get another drink!” You suddenly exclaim, getting up and leaving him in his chair.

I'm so FUCKED.

You quickly snake your way through the large crowd that had filtered their way to the backyard. You stop by the kitchen to pour yourself a heaping cup of whatever liquor bottle was closest to you, down a large gulp, and take the rest with you to the bathroom.

Your head was starting to feel a bit hazy from the mix of second hand smoke as well as your drinks from earlier starting to settle in your stomach. Did you even eat anything before drinking like this? You weren't really expecting to have anything more than one drink, but after your kiss with Katsuki, you suddenly feel the need to forget it all.

You were sitting up against the bathtub, wallowing in your complicated mass of feelings, and now fully intoxicated. You let your head rest on top of your knees while you replayed every single interaction you've had with him tonight.

Your phone started buzzing on the floor next to you. You opened the screen, eyes squinting to adjust to the brightness.

Of course it was Katsuki.

You sat and stared at your feet for a few minutes until you heard pounding on the door. Judging from the force of it, it was either a fucking SWAT team or Katsuki.

You grab a hold of the side of the bathtub to hoist yourself up, stumbling a bit while doing so and unlocked the door. Of course behind it was the latter.

He lets himself in and shuts the door behind him, leaning back on it.

You were wildly embarrassed for a multitude of things. You were on the verge of messy drunk, your face was stupidly hot and flushed, you kissed your fake boyfriend and ran away, you're swallowing down your feelings, and now here he is to reprimand you for all of it.

"Water as per requested." He pops open the cap of a fresh water bottle and hands it over to you.

"Thanks." You mutter and drink the water in silence.

"So are you upset at me?" He finally asks.

"Yes."

"And why is that?" He cocks his head to the side.

You were drunk, no doubt about it, but this unserious playful tone in his voice that pissed you off was clear as day. Why were you the only one freaking out? Did he not care? It surely confirmed that he does not and never have felt the same as you and truly did think of your "relationship" as nothing more but a transaction.

You purse your lips and remained silent.

"Because... you kissed me?"

You nodded.

"So you're upset at ME... because YOU kissed ME..." He states once more.

You were on the verge of tears. He loved making you look stupid but this was tenfold now. Not that he was wrong, but you weren't in the mood for it.

"So what if I am?" You choke out, tears now brimming over.

Katsuki's eyes widened, clearly not expecting you to break down so easily after a couple of harmless questions. You steps towards you and grabs your shoulders, not quite sure what to do or how to react.

"Hey hey hey, what the fuck? Why are you crying all of the sudden? Seriously, Y/N it's not a big deal."

"It is." You whine. "It is and you don't even care!"

He finally pulls you into him, letting you sob into his shoulder. His hand caressing your back in comfort.

"You idiot." He says after a moment of silence. "You're such an emotional drunk. This is why I told you not to get messy." He scolds. "I do care. But I won't if you don't want me to."

"I do want you to care. I want you to like me. Not just like me, but like-like me." You confess.

You feel him stiffen under you. Clearly your drunken state had forced you to say the wrong thing, but you didn't care.

"But do you like-like me?" He asked back, pulling you back to look at your tear stained face. "Drink some more water and sober up a bit before you answer okay?" He brings the water up to your face.

"I don't want anymore water!" You push his hand away. "I like-like you and I hate being your fake girlfriend and lying to everyone and myself about it!"

His smile grew, but he shook his head. "Okay angel face, let's talk about it then." He moves his thumb up to your cheek to wipe away stray tears.

"You're so wasted, you may not even remember this for tomorrow. But I think you're the coolest person on this fucking block, okay? And I like being around you even though you annoy the shit out of me sometimes. So stop crying and feeling bad. We're fine."

"But we're not! I don't want you to be my fake boyfriend anymore. I think you're cool too and you make me laugh and feel stupid in the heart and I fucking hate you for that, so that's why we shouldn't do any of this anymore."

He doesn't reply, but instead looks down at your sad face, lip still quivering, makeup smudged around your eyes. His hand continued to cup you cheek, forcing you to look back up at him.

Katsuki leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger for a second longer.

"That's okay. We can do something about that when you're sober. If you even remember any of this, anyways. Let's get you home."

He grabs your hand and swiftly leads you out of the bathroom. You wonder what you had just done, whether it was going to blow up in your face (if you even remember the next day) or work itself out? Would it even matter?

[smutmind]

More ahyeon!

MONSTER ft. Ahyeon

The countryside stretched silent and wide beyond the dusty windows. Inside, the guesthouse smelled of aged wood and dried herbs. Ahyeon stood just inside the threshold, backpack slipping off one shoulder, staring at the shadowed hallway where her host had disappeared.

She’d barely set down her bag when he returned—older, unshaven, sun-darkened skin, barefoot, and with the kind of presence that made her shrink into herself.

"You really came early," he said, voice low and amused.

"The bus wasn’t stopping again. I thought I’d wait here."

He nodded, glancing at her shoes. "City girl. You stand out here."

She tried to smile politely. "I won’t be any trouble. Just staying until classes start."

"Mm." He stepped closer. "They send you all this way just to hide you out here, huh?"

Her fingers tightened on her strap. "I’ll stay in the room mostly. I don’t take up space."

"No. You don’t."

He looked her over openly, then turned toward the hallway. "End of the hall. Last room. Come on."

The walls creaked with every step. When he opened the door, it gave with a groan. A single bed, one wooden chair, and thick light filtering through moth-bitten curtains.

Ahyeon stepped in. The air was warm, still.

"Nice and private," he said.

She nodded. "Thank you."

She turned to say something else, but he was already behind her, fingers grazing the strap of her top.

"Pretty thing like you, all alone out here. You think that’s safe?"

She stepped away. "I—My aunt said—"

He touched her wrist. "She didn’t know what you’d grow into."

Ahyeon gasped as he caught her other wrist, backing her toward the bed. Her bag dropped to the floor.

"Wait, I didn’t—This isn’t—please don’t—"

He shoved her gently onto the bed. "Stop lying. You think I don’t see how you look at me?"

"I don’t—I’m not—Please, let go!"

He yanked her top over her head, quick and practiced. Her bra followed, baring her chest to the dim light.

"Goddamn. Look at these. Soft little things—"

She covered herself. "Don’t! Please, don’t touch me like that—"

He pushed her hands aside, cupping them, thumbing her nipples until they hardened.

"Even your skin knows better than your mouth."

She winced, trying to twist away. "Why are you doing this? Stop—this isn’t right."

He leaned down, licking a slow path up one breast before sucking deep.

"You taste like fucking honey."

Her head jerked away. "You’re disgusting—get off me!"

He grinned. "And you’re tight."

She gasped as he pulled her to her knees on the floor, undoing his fly.

"No—no, I won’t! Please, stop—"

He slid her hands behind her back. "Mouth open."

"Please, I don’t want to—don’t make me do this—"

"Too late for that."

He guided himself to her lips. She turned her head, but he held her firm.

"Open up. Now."

Tears welled as she parted her lips. He slid in, slow but unrelenting. Her body tensed as he filled her mouth.

"That’s it," he muttered. "Wrap your tongue—yeah—"

She choked softly. Spit gathered at the corners of her lips. He rocked forward, deeper.

"Keep those eyes on me."

She tried. Her mascara streaked. Her breaths grew quick.

He groaned low. "Gonna cum. Take it all."

She gagged as he spilled down her throat, held there until she swallowed.

"Let me see."

She opened her mouth slowly, tongue glistening, empty.

He pulled her up roughly. "Bed. On your back."

She stumbled. "No, please, I did what you wanted—don’t do this—"

He shoved her flat.

"This is what happens when no one can hear you scream."

Her eyes widened. Outside, only the birds chirped.

"Someone—someone might come, please—"

He yanked off the rest of her clothes. Her legs trembled.

He spread them and ran his fingers over her.

"Soaked. Didn’t take long."

"That’s not true—stop lying!" she cried, voice shaking. "I’ve never... this is my first—"

He paused only a moment, then smirked. "Even better."

She gasped again as he moved closer, positioning himself.

"No, you’re too big—it won’t fit, please!" she cried, struggling.

"It’ll fit. You’ll stretch."

He pushed into her in one hard thrust.

She screamed into her arm. The bed creaked.

He grabbed her thighs. "Tightest I’ve ever had."

"Please—don’t—this isn’t what I came here for—"

He thrust deeper. "Say it again."

She sobbed. "Please stop—"

"You’re going to feel this for days."

He pounded into her, rhythm sharp, her hands slipping on the sheets.

"Even the birds know who you belong to now."

He leaned over, kissed her neck hard, biting just above the collarbone.

She turned her head, crying openly. "I hate you—I hate this—please... it hurts."

"You think anyone’s listening out here? You’re mine until I’m done."

Her body shook beneath him.

He grabbed her waist, pulled her closer. His groans deepened.

"Cum with me, baby. Now."

She sobbed harder. He drove into her one last time, hips locking. He spilled inside her with a grunt.

She went still beneath him, breath broken.

"Monster...."

[transformation4life]

Big Ol' Gains

(Trade with: @bigwishes)

I never understood why my body just wouldn't grow. I've been going to the gym for months now and my body hasn't reflect that at all! My chest is flat, no abs to be seen, and twigs for arms! It's just not fair. I see the big guys around my local gym and I get so jealous... But that changes today! I found something that will most definitely change that. It's called... "Big Ol' Protein". I found an ad for it that promised results or my money back and I couldn't resist guaranteed gains. I even paid for express shipping so it arrived before my next workout. i waited patiently by the door until i heard a bell ring and the box arrived. I was so giddy that I unboxed it and looked at it in awe. The first thing in the box was some sort of warning and side effects of using the protein but like I care! I make a shake and put it in the fridge for tomorrow. I'm gonna get some gains!

The next morning I wake up bright and early and grab my workout bad along with my shake arriving at the gym soon after and dousing the shake in one sitting before getting on with my routine. Compared to my last gym session this time it felt amazing! Maybe this stuff actually worked! I was dripping in sweat and felt like I had the best pump of my life. I looked down and it looked like I've gained some bulk! It worked! I just need to consume more of this stuff and I'm set.

One week later...

God, this stuff really works... I've gained so much bulk in just a week. I even took a selfie to commemorate. The first I've taken since I've started working out!

I wasn't expecting to start growing facial hair but maybe it's the extra testosterone in my veins and I'm definitely not complaining. I could even fear my rear and "down there" growing... For the first time other gym goers have asked ME for advice and even seasoned gym goers want to talk to me! My life is finally coming around! Although I still need to get bigger... I'm not done yet...

Three weeks later...

I can't get enough of Big Ol' protein I've started putting it in my food and day to day drinks. A meal without Big Ol' protein is a meal not worth eating. I've gotten some friends who want to bulk up just like me and are happy to take progress photos for me. Don't I look even huger than last time?

Every part of my body has bulked immensely since I started. Just looking at anything is euphoric. My legs are like two thick trunks of pure beef.

Some of my workout buddies are getting concerned with how much Big Ol' protein I've been consuming, but they just don't understand the grind of getting big. My rear has also blossomed into two bouncy balloons of pure muscle. I can't help but give 'em a squeeze.

With that mind however I must do whatever it takes to get big. Nothing else matters. I must get bigger... I need to get BIGGER.

Three months later...

It's been so long since Big Ol' Protein changed my life. All my clothes are getting too small for and I couldn't be happier to find that out. I live, breathe, and of course eat Big Ol' Protein. Testosterone is flowing through my veins and it's exhilarating. I don't care if I'm addicted I love it almost as much as my gains. I'm even sponsored by the company now it's great! My workout buddies look at me in awe now and I'm basically the kind of my gym now. People fawn over to me asking for advice. All I say is start consuming Big Ol' protein. God I love my big Bulking body more than anything, but I'm not done. I will never will be done. I need to get bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger. And also a flex wouldn't hurt.

"Fuck yeah look at those biceps..."

[insomniac-dot-ink]

It's Raining in Portland

PART I

It rained in Portland for 45 days straight. They say this might still be normal—even for the off-season. I’ve gone out wandering, as I have every day of summer since I was a kid. My house was empty and the days dragged. I insisted on my green rain boots with frogs on them, showing them off was as good as a downhill bike ride. My bike was broken by then. The other kids were sometimes around, but the days grew longer. They went off to summer camps and vacation and YMCA soccer programs and it was still raining.

I began to bring the lady things on the tenth day. The puddles were turning into little lakes and I needed to make sure to move the car every five days–so I counted. I found her the day Liz left for camp. She was lying face down in the old Target parking lot. Target was supposed to come back to the building but it never did and the place was good for wandering. She was filthy. Hair tangled, coat an unnamable color, gnarled long skirt, and skin rash-y and fever-bright. She was also beautiful, like a fairy tale princess. A storybook face.

The woman had to be middle-aged at least, a weather-beaten kind look about her and silver hair; her high cheekbones and vivid dark eyes captured the soul as my dad might say. She moaned the first time thunder cracked across the sky. She dragged herself across the parking lot and rolled over into a puddle. I circled the area, pointy stick in hand, peeking out behind trees and heel-toe-ing around the cement.

I kept my distance during the first few visits, pretending we were strangers on the bus or like my childhood cat when she followed you into the same room. The woman remained like a corpse on the ground.

The first present I gave her was a can of soup. Everyone needed soup when the weather was bad. I placed it above her head, inching as close as I dare and pushing the can the rest of the way with my stick. Her liquid dark eyes flickered up, searching and wide. She returned to lying face down on the pavement. I frowned. Sure, I didn’t expect a thank you, but still.

The second day I brought her one of my mom’s old raincoats. Everyone needed a raincoat in the freaking rain. I placed it on top of the untouched soup can and didn’t wait to let her groan or moan or look at me with her spooky eyes. I ran off.

When I returned, the campbells can was standing proud and untouched but the lady was covered in my mom’s bright orange raincoat. I bounced on my heels.

“Is it a good fit?”

She didn’t answer. 

I thought of telling someone about the lady in the parking lot. Afterall, she probably needed help and if she took the coat, she might need more. But I stopped in the same breath. Bethany and Liz were at summer camp, the sleep-away kind, and they are the only ones I would trust to not start tattling immediately. If anyone else came, an adult or anyone with a badge, they might start asking questions about my situation. Why am I out wandering? What am I doing all the way out there on my own? You have to cross the big highway to reach the abandoned Target and really it was such a headache to explain the drainage ditch-crossing.

The lady might get in trouble too. What’s with all the headless pigeons in the parking lot? They’d say. That didn’t have to be my lady, though. She just didn’t like soup.

We were on day 20 of the rain and day 10 of me bringing her things. I had to move the car that morning and Miss Maudlin was giving me the stink eye the whole time. I arrived early, bird-early since that’s when I’m supposed to move the car, and didn't even bother to pick up the sharp stick. The mud was thick as honey and the lady dragged herself to a different spot face-down next to the biggest puddle.

“Hey!” I called out like I always do. “Don’t get up or anything. I brought you some socks . . . sorry they’re not shoes or boots or whatever, but they’re dry. I bet you’d like something dry.”

I set the pair of my mom’s good woollen socks next to the soup and backed up, still feeling bad I didn’t have boots. Good boots made a world of difference—my frog ones were testament to that. The lady didn’t even look up this time. She just lay there. I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Are you asleep?” My heart squeezed in my chest. I was going to feel awful if I didn’t tell Miss Maudlin about the corpse-like lady and she became an actual corpse on my watch. Though, Miss Maudlin would be impossible about the pigeon-thing, I already knew.

I sat cross-legged under my umbrella and started munching on my oreos, waiting for her to moan or groan or twitch. “Do you want, uh, something other than soup? I realize I didn’t even leave you a can opener.” The corpse-lady made a valiant effort of acting like a real corpse.

I scooched closer. “I won’t be able to come around every day soon so you’ll have to speak up. Want some Oreos of your own? Blanket? I’ve got some bottled water too, so much bottled water,” I chuckled, “but you’re probably sick of water by now.” The hand at her side appeared to twitch and a part of me relaxed. That was a good thing. I could leave now. But the thing was, I didn’t really want to go. Miss Maudlin wouldn’t even be on her porch giving me the stink eye and I’d already been to the grocery store twice yesterday. I brought out my book.

“I have this summer reading—did you ever do summer reading?—I’m already finished,” I puffed out my chest just a little bit, not enough for the lady to notice, but enough, “but the IB teacher grades like a motherfucker, I hear,” I giggled. The lady’s hand twitched at her side but she didn’t say anything about the swear word which was good of her. “So, I’m, like, reading this one again before term starts.” Which was not entirely true, we wouldn’t be reading One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich until the second semester. She didn’t have to know that. The book was short and punchy and made me say things like, “well, at least I’m not eating rocks in a gulag this fine morning,” which was something. I situated my umbrella, opened the book on my lap, and began reading. At first, I read silently to myself, but the lady had stopped so much as twitching and it worried me all over again.

I flipped to the beginning and read out loud. 

Her big dark eyes dragged up from the pavement. They were red-rimmed and wide as coins. My skin crawled and I cleared my throat. “Did you like it? It’s my favorite of the books.” She, of course, did not answer.

I decided to finish reading the first couple pages to her because I started this whole thing and I didn’t want to bail just because her eyes were big and weird and staring. We got through the opening sections. I left, like I always did, when I got bored.

I avoided the parking lot for the next few days. I wasn’t really in a place to keep bringing her stuff she didn’t want, I told myself, and it had to stop raining eventually. After nearly a month of rain, I went to our basement and knocked hard on the door. I had another note in my hand, this one mostly about the lady and how super done with my summer homework I was, but I found the last three notes still jammed under the door. I glared at the folded pieces of paper until I gave myself a headache and shoved the fourth one in after it. 

When I went back to the lady, I brought the book and a cushion to sit on. Let her find the damn house empty. I sat on the kitchen chair cushion, letting it sink into the soggy ground and not really caring, and cracked open the book. The lady rolled over onto her back and her big dark eyes were focused on the clouds.

“PAGE FOUR,” I said loudly and began reading. Her eyes dragged over to me in a molosess-drip and I offered her a tin of oreos.

Over the last few days, I stuck to my summer reading list, but by the time the weekend arrived I decided there were only so many pages of eating rocks and being mad at guards you can stand. The lady was already out in the rain. I switched over to one of my favorite books. My friends would have made fun of me for a baby book, but I was sure the lady had never read The Tale of Despereaux, and everyone needed to read that once in their life.

She liked it, I thought. I was sitting, as usual, doing what I was going to be doing at home anyway, and introducing the mouse that got me through a lot of boring classes in elementary school. Her hand jerked out in a blur. I jolted and the woman had a bird by the throat. My mouth fell open. The pigeon.

Her teeth were sharp as fish hooks and gently curved. They dug into the neck of the bird in the same way I imagine sharks dug into seals. My mouth fell open. The woman gobbled down the head and belly of the creature and it didn’t have time to make a sound.

“Woah,” I said. In a flash, she tossed aside her meal. You have to admire anything with that kind of efficiency. She scrubbed her face down with the back of her hand, moaned, and rolled over a second time. I scooted to the edge of my cushion.

“Um.” I gripped the book in both hands, raising it like a shield. “Do, uh, you only do that to, uh, birds?”

I didn’t really give her a chance to answer to be fair. I ran off so quick I imagine a little puff of dust came out of my heels. I spent the rest of the day with the curtains down and the door locked like my mom wanted. 

And I would have stayed gone too. However, the next day I got up, got dressed, put on my rainboots, and went to the door. It was another grocery day. My umbrella was missing. My one good umbrella–that also had a frog on it–was gone, and it was still raining. Thirty days of rain and no umbrella!

At least I knew a little more about the parking-lot lady. This time, I brought her a good cloth napkin. Everyone needs a napkin no matter where they live. I should admit I arrived late, very late since I had to spend most of the day talking myself in and out of going. She ate a bird right in front of me! Raw! And probably wasn’t too fond of mice, I had to bet, so The Tale of Despereaux was really not going to be her thing.

Birds cawed and the setting sun broke through the haze. Bits of orange light turned the puddles into watercolor splashes and set the misty air all to golden dust. Some things can be too beautiful–abandoned Targets and grungy puddles cast in orange.

I darted between the pine trees, keeping my head down and eyes wide. Crows, not knowing to fear for their lives, pecked at the ground. The Target stood unlit and empty, surrounded by piles of trash like a noble dying king. There was no one else in sight. I crept toward the largest puddle, eyeing the ground and wishing my lost umbrella wasn’t green. It could have flown off anywhere by now and blended in with the trees.

The light drained out of the world and the first meager stars popped out. I recounted my steps, one, two, three, and swept the area. At least, on the other side of the lot my umbrella was resting at the base of the Target. The top was weighed down by water, and the handle sticking up like a new plant growth. I sped into a run. Without breaking pace, I grabbed the handle, flung the water out, and sprinted into the foliage. My chest heaved and I glanced around, maybe also to check if anyone had seen that.

A shriek split the air. I dug my heels in and teetered to a halt, animal fear shoving its way into my higher functions. Apparently, I was a freeze kind of girl between the fight-flight kinds. My heart pounded dangerously close to being a medical problem and my ears rang. The shriek had the quality of stone against stone, grating and sharp. Sweat dripped down my temple and a long, dark shape dragged itself across the ground in the corner of my eye.

I swallowed a painful lump. She heaved herself across the space and I wished for the life of me that she remembered those wool socks fondly. The lady moved more quickly than I imagined, belly scraping the concrete and face contorted. I took a step back, she really didn’t need socks, actually.

Out from under the long skirt and dirty coat and much cleaner and nicer orange raincoat, was a thick black tail the color of oil spills. Dark as night and shiny, little rainbows catching the last of the light, a muscled tail whipped back and forth. The mermaid dragged herself across the cement and my mouth gaped.

She moved in the way of dreams: unearthly and fast–much faster than expected. A puddle the size of a small minivan pooled near the base of the Target. The mermaid planted her hands on either side, let out a fantastic shriek, and stuck her head into the water. You’d think she’d give herself a concussion, bonking on the ground, but she plunged her princess-pretty face up to the shoulders. She was gone for only a second and then back yowling like a stray cat.

I didn’t run this time. I took one wobbling step back and then another, clutching the handle of my umbrella like a sword. A mermaid! The brightest part of my brain said. You’re about to be alone in the pitch black out here, said the other part of my head. 

The mermaid was crying, I think, crying very hard, when I left her.

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

[honeydippedfiction]

I am a firm believer that J Herbo is a munch AND HE FUCKING LOVES IT. So with that being said can I get 'getting close? don't worry, i'll take care of you.' 'you want me to sit on your face?' 'don't just stand there, you tease. come here and let me taste.' and 'you have no idea how long i've thought about having you like this.'

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'getting close? don't worry, i'll take care of you.' 'you want me to sit on your face?' 'don't just stand there, you tease. come here and let me taste.' and 'you have no idea how long i've thought about having you like this.'

Justin Herbert x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The morning sunlight slipped through the gauzy white curtains, spilling across the hardwood floor in soft, golden ribbons. Outside, a gentle breeze stirred the trees, the rustling leaves whispering in the quiet suburban hush. But inside the bedroom, tucked beneath layers of white linen and soft gray blankets, the world felt perfectly still.

Justin stirred as his body adjusted to the day, but his mind wasn’t in any rush. He blinked slowly, momentarily disoriented, then let his gaze settle on the woman sleeping beside him. A soft smile played at his lips.

Y/N was curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting lightly on his chest. Her curls spilled across the pillow like silk. But what truly caught his eye—what never failed to catch his breath, honestly—was the shirt she wore.

His shirt.

Green and gold, faded from years of wear and countless washes, the University of Oregon "O" stretched across her chest. The fabric, oversized on her smaller frame, hung just off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbone. It was the same shirt he’d thrown on after practices back in college. The same one he'd slept in before big games, sweated through during workouts, and wore when dreaming of making it to the NFL.

Now it was draped over her like it had never belonged anywhere else.

He propped himself up on one elbow, brushing his fingers gently across the exposed skin of her shoulder. "You know," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep, "I'm never getting that shirt without a fight."

Y/N groaned quietly, her eyes still closed. “Too early for your threats, quarterback.”

He chuckled, the sound low and easy. “Not a threat. Just letting you know. That shirt is permanently yours now. You wear it better than I ever did.”

“Damn right I do,” she mumbled, cracking one eye open. “It’s soft. And it smells like you. Why would I ever give that up?”

He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Exactly my point.”

She turned her face toward him and smiled lazily. “You’re in a flirty mood this morning.”

“Hard not to be when you’re in my bed, in my shirt, looking like that,” he said, letting his hand trail down the curve of her hip beneath the blankets. “You’ve officially ruined it for every other piece of clothing I own.”

She laughed, eyes finally fluttering fully open. “You’re such a sap. I love it.”

“I love you,” he said, the words easy now, like breathing.

Y/N’s expression softened, her smile becoming something quieter, deeper. “I love you too, Justin.”

He settled back down beside her, pulling her against him until her head rested on his chest. They laid there in silence for a few moments, listening to the sound of their breathing, to the occasional chirp of a bird outside the window, and the distant hum of a lawnmower down the street. The world existed, but only faintly—just background noise to the slow rhythm they’d fallen into.

She reached up, tracing small circles on his chest with her fingertips. “You remember the first time I saw this shirt?” she asked.

He looked down at her, amused. “When you stole it?”

She grinned. “No, before that. You wore it on our second date. You were trying to play it cool, all casual, but you spent half the night tugging at the sleeves like you weren’t sure if it still fit right.”

He laughed, his cheeks flushing slightly at the memory. “Because it barely did. I hadn’t worn it in years. I was nervous.”

“You? Nervous? Please.” She raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

Justin shrugged, eyes twinkling. “You were out of my league.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth anyway. “You really need to stop saying that.”

“But it’s true.”

“You’re Justin Herbert. NFL quarterback. You’re literally in Madden.”

“And you’re Y/N. You’re... everything,” he said, his voice softening. “Smart, hilarious, gorgeous, grounded. I won on and off the field the day you said yes to me.”

She buried her face against his chest to hide her smile, cheeks warm. “Okay, that was smooth,” she admitted. “Fine. You get points for that.”

They both laughed, a shared warmth settling over them like a second blanket. Outside, the sun had climbed a little higher, casting golden rays across the bed. Justin turned slightly, pressing another kiss to her temple, then her jaw, trailing his lips down to her shoulder.

“So,” he murmured, lips brushing against her skin, “what’s the plan for today?”

She hummed, eyes fluttering closed again. “This. Just this.”

“No workouts, no meetings, no media. Just us?” he asked, already knowing the answer he wanted.

“Just us,” she confirmed. “And maybe pancakes later. But only if you make them.”

He groaned dramatically. “So I have to cook and look at you wearing my favorite shirt all day? Torture.”

She laughed, snuggling closer. “You’ll survive.”

They stayed like that for hours—talking, dozing, tangled up in each other with no urgency to move, no pressure to perform, no expectations except to just be. And for Justin, who lived a life of game clocks and press conferences, those quiet hours with Y/N were the kind of win he never saw coming.

As the morning turned to afternoon, and her laughter filled the room again over something ridiculous he said, he looked at her—really looked—and knew.

He wouldn’t trade this for anything. Not the fame. Not the spotlight. Not even for a Super Bowl ring.

The scent of maple syrup still lingered faintly in the air.

After a lazy morning in bed and a shared effort—read: Justin doing most of the work and Y/N flipping one very questionable pancake—they’d migrated to the couch, wrapped in an oversized throw blanket and the kind of warmth that came only from soft music, full stomachs, and the weight of being completely at ease with each other.

The TV played in the background, some documentary neither of them were really paying attention to, but neither seemed to mind. Justin sat in the corner of the sectional, legs stretched out and a hand resting lightly on Y/N’s thigh. She was curled against him, her cheek nestled against his shoulder, still wearing his Oregon shirt like a badge of honor.

Her legs were draped over his lap, one foot tucked under his knee. Every so often, his thumb traced idle circles against her skin, the kind of unconscious affection that came from knowing someone down to the quietest detail. No words were needed—there was something sacred in the silence between them.

Y/N shifted slightly, lifting her head to look at him. “You’ve been staring at me for like... the last ten minutes,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He didn’t look away. “You’re kind of hard not to stare at.”

She gave him a mock sigh. “Do you ever turn it off?”

“Nope.” He grinned and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. “You signed up for this.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t move away. Instead, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, letting them rest at the nape of his neck. “I must’ve been out of my mind.”

Justin feigned offense. “Excuse me?”

Y/N laughed, her thumb brushing just beneath his jaw. “You’re alright, Herbert.”

“Just alright?” he asked, leaning in a little closer.

“I mean... you do make good pancakes.”

“Ah, so I’m just here for my breakfast skills?”

“And the fact that you look very cute when you’re pouting,” she added, poking his cheek.

He caught her hand gently and pressed a kiss to her palm, lingering for a moment before meeting her gaze. His expression shifted, playful to something quieter, deeper. “You make everything better, Y/N.”

There was no smirk behind it. No teasing. Just truth, laid bare in the softness of his voice.

Her breath caught slightly. “You’re getting sappy again.”

“I know,” he murmured, inching closer. “Can’t help it. It’s a side effect of being in love.”

She smiled, wide and real. “Good. I love sappy.”

The afternoon settled in slow and lazy, like honey dripping down the side of a jar.

Sunlight spilled across the living room in long, drowsy beams, warming the hardwood floor and the sleepy energy between Justin and Y/N as they lay wrapped in each other on the couch. The remnants of their late breakfast—half-empty coffee mugs, a plate with two untouched pancakes, and a bottle of maple syrup with the cap left off—sat forgotten on the kitchen counter.

Neither of them had the energy or desire to clean up just yet. Not today. Not when everything in the world felt this still and safe.

Y/N was nestled in Justin’s lap, legs curled to the side, her body blanketed under one of the cozy throws his mom had gifted them last Christmas. She was still wearing his old Oregon shirt—stretched slightly at the neck now from being tugged over her curls that morning—and he hadn’t stopped admiring her in it since.

Her head rested against his chest as she idly scrolled through something on her phone, but even that had slowed in the last few minutes. Justin’s hand had found her thigh again, warm and absentminded, tracing slow, gentle patterns on her skin. He wasn't even sure he knew he was doing it, but she didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she leaned into it.

“This is officially the best Sunday we’ve ever had,” she said, voice quiet and a little raspy from lack of use.

He tilted his head down to look at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Mmm-hmm. Pancakes, cuddles, no media appearances, and I haven’t worn real pants all day.”

Justin grinned, fingers giving a playful squeeze to her thigh. “Big wins all around.”

“Very big wins,” she murmured, eyes closing briefly as she melted further into him. “Plus, I get to wear your shirt without you whining about it stretching.”

“I don’t whine.”

“You literally groaned when I put it on last week,” she reminded him, looking up with a smirk. “Said I was ‘messing with the integrity of the fabric.’”

Justin chuckled, head falling back against the couch cushion. “Okay, first of all, that shirt is from like… freshman year. That thing’s basically historic.”

“And now it’s mine,” Y/N said, sitting up just enough to tug at the hem teasingly. “And I look better in it than you ever did.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not arguing. “That’s… not inaccurate.”

She smiled in triumph, settling against him again, this time closer—her legs tucked under her body, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Her cheek pressed just beneath his collarbone. The scent of her lotion mixed with the faint trace of his own body wash still clinging to the shirt, and he couldn’t help but press a kiss into her curls.

It amazed him, how easily they fit. Even in the silence.

Especially in the silence.

The television continued to play in the background—some documentary neither of them had chosen, but had left running out of habit. Neither of them cared what it was about. It was just noise, something to fill the air between soft sighs and small smiles.

After a few minutes of quiet, Justin reached for the remote, clicking the volume down until the TV was just a whisper. He shifted beneath her, just enough to bring their faces closer.

She blinked up at him. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged, one hand moving up to brush a loose curl from her face. “I just… want to see you.”

Y/N smiled softly at the admission. “You see me all the time.”

“Not like this,” he said. His voice had lost its playfulness now—quieter, steadier. “Not when everything else goes quiet. When it’s just us.”

She searched his face for a moment, heart flipping the way it always did when he got like this—unguarded, vulnerable, honest. She knew he didn’t open up like this to many people. The spotlight of football demanded so much from him—stoicism, strength, perfection. But here, like this, he could just be Justin.

And she loved every part of him.

“What do you see?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at her like he was still trying to find the right words. “Everything. I see the girl who dances in the kitchen when she thinks I’m not looking. Who eats strawberries one at a time like it’s a whole ritual. Who watches horror movies but hides behind me for all the jump scares. I see the woman who makes me want to be better every day—on the field, off it… just all of it.”

Y/N felt her breath catch. She wasn’t used to this kind of raw, unfiltered affection. Not without walls. Not without fine print. But with Justin, there was never a catch. There was just… truth.

“I see the person who makes this house feel like a home,” he added.

She looked away, just for a second, like maybe the intensity of it all was too much to take in at once. Then she looked back, eyes shining. “You’re gonna make me cry on a Sunday,” she whispered, half-laughing, half-hiding against his chest again.

Justin wrapped his arms fully around her, pulling her close. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” she said, voice muffled. “It’s kind of perfect.”

And it was.

The couch had grown quieter around them. The soft hum of the television had faded into background noise, and the late afternoon sunlight painted lazy golden stripes across the living room floor. Y/N sat tucked against Justin’s side, her body warm beneath the blanket, her head resting against his chest, and his arm draped across her shoulders like second nature.

For a while, they said nothing. Just the kind of silence that only exists between people who are completely at ease with one another.

But Justin’s hand didn’t stop moving—his fingers brushing slow, thoughtful lines along her thigh, as if committing the texture of her skin to memory. His eyes weren’t on the TV. They were on her.

“I don’t know how you do that,” he said quietly.

She tilted her head to glance up at him. “Do what?”

“Make everything feel… still. Like nothing outside of right now matters.”

Y/N smiled, her fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. “Maybe because it doesn’t. Not today.”

Justin gave a small nod, eyes never leaving hers. And then, without another word, he shifted beneath the blanket and gently tugged her closer—his hand at her waist, guiding her with ease until she was seated fully in his lap.

Y/N let out a surprised but amused sound. “Wow. Bold move.”

“Hey,” he murmured with a lazy grin, his hands steady on her hips, “it’s a lazy Sunday. I’m just helping you claim your rightful and actual seat.”

She looped her arms around his neck as she adjusted to straddle him, the blanket falling around their sides like a cocoon. They were face to face now, close enough that their noses brushed and their shared warmth made the air between them feel thicker, sweeter.

“Hi,” she said softly, teasing.

“Hi,” he echoed, eyes searching hers. “Can I kiss you?”

She laughed gently, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “You really have to ask?”

He didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he leaned in—slowly, like he wanted her to feel every inch of space he closed between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was soft but sure, familiar but never boring. It was the kind of kiss that said I’m home, the kind that didn’t need to lead anywhere else to feel complete.

Y/N melted into it, her hands moving to the back of his neck, fingertips playing in his hair as he held her just a little tighter. One of his hands slid up to rest between her shoulder blades, anchoring her there, like if he let go, the moment might disappear.

They stayed like that for a while—kissing slowly, taking their time, pausing only to smile or breathe or brush noses. There was no rush. No need for more. Just the feeling of skin on skin, heart to heart, a quiet moment stretched out like something sacred.

Eventually, she rested her forehead against his, both of them still smiling.

“That was... very effective,” she whispered.

Justin gave a low laugh, his voice warm against her cheek. “Told you I needed my compensation for you wearing my shirt.”

Y/N’s body softened even more against him, like she was slowly melting into the curves of his frame, becoming part of the space they occupied together. Her fingers traced absent shapes on his chest, the rise and fall of it beneath her hand steady and familiar. The weight of his arm wrapped around her waist made her feel anchored, like nothing outside of this moment could touch them.

Justin tilted his head, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “You know,” he said, voice low and slow, “every time I kiss you, I forget what I was saying.”

Y/N looked up at him with a sly smile. “So you're saying I’m a distraction?”

“Like... the best kind,” he murmured, brushing his nose against hers.

She giggled, eyes fluttering shut just as his lips found hers.

The kiss started unhurried. Just a gentle meeting of mouths, like a question and its answer. Familiar, sweet, and soft—nothing rushed or hungry. It was the kind of kiss born from comfort, from knowing exactly where you belonged and who you belonged with.

Justin’s hand slid up her back, warm beneath the hem of the shirt, fingers tracing the shape of her spine through the thin cotton. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tugging lightly, guiding him as the kiss deepened—still tender, but fuller now. Like they were both silently agreeing to stretch this moment as long as it could go.

Their lips moved in sync, pausing only to breathe each other in—foreheads touching, noses brushing, small sighs shared in the quiet space between kisses. There was no need to say anything. Every touch, every slow press of his lips against hers, said everything he didn’t have to speak aloud.

She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against his as she adjusted herself to sit more fully in his lap. He welcomed it, hands steady at her hips now, grounding her. The blanket had slipped off them completely, pooling at their feet, but the room was warm enough—her body against his was warm enough.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look at him, her cheeks a little flushed, eyes still closed for a second longer than usual.

“That was… a lot for a lazy Sunday,” she whispered with a soft laugh.

Justin’s thumb brushed across her cheek, then traced down to her jaw, his eyes locked on hers. “We can be lazy and in love. It’s allowed.”

“Oh, we’re multitasking now?” she teased.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning in again to kiss her one more time—slower, more purposeful. “This is what bye weeks are for.”

She smiled into the kiss, letting herself sink into it once more, the rest of the world fading to background noise. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her palms was the only clock they followed, and the only plan for the day was right here, wrapped in warmth, kisses, and the quiet security of each other’s arms.

When they finally broke apart again—barely, just enough to breathe—Justin didn’t move far. His forehead rested against hers, their noses brushing, his thumb now tracing slow circles on the side of her neck.

They stayed like that, tangled and still, hearts beating in sync. Until he pulled back again—just enough to find her eyes.

He didn’t rush it. Didn’t try to charm it out. His hands rested on her waist now, steady, grounding. His gaze was steady, too—something behind it building like a tide.

“Y/N…” he began, his voice suddenly more careful, almost nervous. “Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head, sensing the change instantly. Her body stilled. The quiet around them deepened.

“Of course,” she said, brushing her fingers gently along the side of his neck. “What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated for the briefest second, searching her face—maybe for reassurance, maybe for courage.

Then, gently, he asked.

“Can you sit on my face?”

He muttered the words, the tips of his ears suddenly tinging the lightest shade of pink, his gaze slipping down from her eyes to her lips. And Y/N felt her heart stop for a beat, her brain scrambling to catch up. She blinked, pulling back a little, her fingers resting gently against his chest.

“What?”

His smile was instant, as if her confusion had been exactly what he’d wanted. He leaned into her, brushing his thumb along the curve of her lip.

“I want you to sit on my face, pretty.” he said, a little more confidently this time, as if he’d just needed that extra push to let his words free.

She couldn’t help but grow shy all of a sudden. She had never done something like that before, never had a boyfriend who was so open about his desires.

“You… you want me to sit on your face?” she said, incredulously, gesturing to herself.

“I mean, if you want to,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips, “but you can also just sit on my dick. It’s up to you, really.”

Her face went completely red, but she couldn’t deny the way her heart was racing. No one had ever made her feel so… wanted. Not like this. She found herself nodding slowly, biting her lip as she considered it.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered, his eyes darkening a little, “and let me worship every inch of you.”

She hesitated, but his words echoed in her mind. Every inch. Could she do this? Could she let go of all her inhibitions and just… let him?

Justin must have sensed her hesitation because he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

“Or we could just cuddle and watch Netflix, pretty. Whatever you want.”

She smiled at his earnestness, her heart melting a little. He always knew how to make her feel at ease.

“No... No we can try,” she said slowly, her cheeks flushing again. “And then see where it goes?”

He grinned, his dimple making an appearance as he scooped her up and headed for the bedroom.

“Whatever my girl wants,” he murmured against her lips. “Whatever she wants.”

Y/N could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as Justin laid her gently on the bed, his hands already wandering down her body. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, that she was about to let Justin eat her out while she was sitting on his face.

What had she gotten herself into? She couldn’t help but wonder.

But then Justin was kissing her again, slow and deep, and all her doubts seemed to melt away. He was so gentle, so caring, and she loved the way he made her feel—like she was the only woman in the world.

She felt herself relax, letting him take the lead. His hands were everywhere, teasing and caressing, making her gasp and moan. She was already wet, and she knew he could tell.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he murmured against her skin, nipping at her collarbone. “It’s driving me crazy.”

She couldn’t help but smile at his words, feeling a surge of pride. She loved knowing that she could affect him so much, that she could drive him wild with desire.

When he finally slipped her panties down her legs, she was already aching for him. Justin then switched their places with him laying on the bed and her straddling his lap. His hands rubbing up and down her thighs teasing her. "Whenever you're ready beautiful." he whispered. And he looked so handsome laying beneath her with his brown hair and eyes full of lust and love.

She was a little nervous, but mostly excited. She wanted to please him, to make him feel good. She wanted to be his good girl.

She reached down to remove her shirt, but Justin stopped her. “No, pretty. Keep it on,” he said, his voice husky. “Now come here.”

He tapped her ass, urging her forward. She began moving up, her heart pounding. Justin's mouth watered at the sight of her glistening pussy, so wet and ready for him.

She hovered above his face, her hands braced against the headboard. She was afraid to put her full weight on him, unsure of what to do. Justin, ever patient, traced his hands up her thighs. “Don’t just stand there, you tease,” he murmured. “Come here and let me taste.”

She bit her lip, hesitating. But Justin was insistent. He nipped at the inside of her thighs, his hands gripping her hips. “I won’t break, pretty girl. Let me have you.”

Finally, with a soft whimper, she gave in. Justin wrapped his arms around her thighs, pulling her down onto his awaiting mouth.

The sensation was overwhelming. His tongue was hot and wet against her sensitive flesh, and she couldn't help but cry out. Her hands gripped the headboard tighter, her knuckles turning white as she tried to steady herself.

Justin groaned, the sound vibrating against her clit. "Fuck, you taste so good," he muttered, his tongue swirling around her clit. "I could eat you out all day."

She couldn't respond, couldn't form words. All she could do was moan and gasp, her hips moving instinctively against his mouth. He licked and sucked, his tongue working its magic. Justin moaned as she began to grind down against his tongue, "You have no idea how long I've thought about having you like this."  he murmured, his words sending a thrill through her body.

She swore she wasn't coming back from this. She was growing addicted with each passing moment, with each pass of his tongue on her clit. “Fuck, Justin,” she moaned, her voice shaky.

She could feel him smile against her, the scratch of his beard on her thighs sending shivers through her. She closed her eyes, letting the pleasure wash over her. This was what she wanted, what she needed. To be lost in him, to be consumed by his touch.

As she rode his face, she couldn't help but feel a sense of power. He was completely at her mercy, his hands gripping her thighs as he devoured her. She ground down harder, feeling his tongue delve deeper.

"God, yes," she moaned, her head falling back. "Just like that."

Justin obliged, his tongue flicking rapidly over her clit before slipping down and teasing her entrance. Justin was always a generous and kind lover but when he was between her legs, he was relentless. It was one of her favorite things about him.

She gasped, her hips jerking. "Justin!"

She felt him chuckle, the sound reverberating through her. "What is it, pretty girl?" he asked, his voice muffled against her.

"So–mmph–so fucking good." she moaned. Justin lifted a hand tracing up her body until his fingers found her tits, squeezing before pinching her nipple. She cried out, arching into his touch.

Justin was relentless, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to drive her wild. She was a moaning, writhing mess, completely at his mercy.

“Yes, Justin, yes!” she gasped, her hips grinding down against his mouth. “Just like that!”

He growled against her, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through her. His tongue flicked rapidly over her clit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs.

He was insatiable, devouring her as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling back for a moment to catch his breath. His voice was thick with desire. “You taste so fucking good, baby. Just can't get enough of you.”

She whimpered at the loss of his mouth, her hips instinctively seeking out his touch. “Please, Justin,” she begged, her voice hoarse. “I need you.”

With a low growl, he dove back in, his tongue plunging deep into her core. She screamed, her back arching off the bed as he licked and sucked at her folds. His beard scraped against her thighs, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through her.

Her body was on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. She could feel her climax building, the pressure growing inside her. Justin must have sensed it too, because he redoubled his efforts, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drive her to the edge.

He could feel her walls flutter around his tongue, "Getting close? Don't worry, I'll take care of you." he said.

Justin continued eating her out as if she was his last meal and he was on death row. His tongue and fingers worked together in perfect harmony, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.  He moaned against her, sending vibrations straight to her clit. She gasped, her back arching as pleasure coursed through her.

“Justin, please,” she begged, not sure what she was asking for. More? Less? She just knew she needed him, needed this.

His response was to suck on her clit, hard, his tongue swirling around it. She cried out, her hands clenching in his hair as she rode his face. She couldn't believe how good this felt, how amazing Justin was making her feel. Her thighs were starting to tremble, the pleasure building to a fever pitch inside her.

She was close, so close.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted, her hips bucking wildly. Justin held on tight, his mouth never leaving her. He was groaning against her, the sound sending vibrations through her body.

“God, Justin,” she gasped, her voice shaky. “You’re going to make me come.”

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust. “That’s the idea, pretty girl,” he murmured before diving back in, his mouth working her over with renewed enthusiasm.

She whimpered, her hips moving frantically against his mouth. 

She was going to come, she realized. She was actually going to come from sitting on his face.

The knowledge sent her spiraling over the edge. She cried out his name, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Her pussy clenched around his tongue, and he groaned, licking her through her orgasm. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he continued to feast on her. It was too much, too intense, but she didn't want him to stop. She wanted this to go on forever. Her screams echoed off the walls, her body shaking and trembling. She didn't think she'd ever come like this before, so hard, so intense. It was all because of Justin, because of the way he was devouring her. “Good girl,” Justin murmured, his voice thick with pride. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

He didn't stop, even as she came. His tongue kept moving, drawing out her pleasure until she was whimpering with overstimulation.

“J-Justin,” she panted, tugging at his hair. “I can’t… It’s too much.”

Her legs felt like jelly, and she collapsed onto the bed beside him, gasping for breath.

Justin moved up her body, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it only made her want him more.

“Fuck,” she panted against his lips. “That was… wow.”

Justin grinned, his dimples making an appearance. “Told you I’d take care of you, pretty.”

She laughed breathlessly, her hand coming up to cup his

She looked over at Justin, who was grinning at her like a proud little boy. “Fuck, that was hot,” he breathed, his voice rough. “You’re so fucking sexy when you come.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, but before she could say anything, Justin was sitting up, his arms wrapping around her waist. He pulled her down, kissing her deeply, the taste of her own arousal on his lips. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, and she knew exactly what he wanted.

“Did you like it?” she asked, her voice breathy.

Justin chuckled, his fingers tracing her spine. “Like it? Fuck, Y/N, I loved it. You have no idea how hot it was to have you sitting on my face like that.”

She smiled, feeling a surge of confidence. “Yeah? How much?” she smirked. Justin kissed her again, “Well let me show you how much.” reaching down to push down his sweatpants.

[limerlove]

series masterlist | collab with the best ♡ @absfawn

dealer!abby who is having way too much fun with you the entire night. adrenaline pumps through her veins, the thrill of knowing there isn’t anything you can do to stop her. deliciously, the rope confines you to the railing of her bed frame as she sports a wide smirk. you’re stripped of everything, your bare and compliant body just begging to be used. the blunt rest in between her fingertips as she takes another hit, perky pierced nipples with a stainless steel barbell accentuating the pink nub. curious eyes meet her strong v-line, her blonde happy trail disappearing into her black boxers. 

dealer!abby who sits happily on your thighs while she finishes her blunt. you know better than to interrupt her. a long, strenuous day of handling half-wit idiots and this — you, she’s been looking forward to it all day. she can feel you trying to buck your hips up into her clothed pussy, but her strength presses you down. disappointingly so. her hand follows up your sternum until her hand decorates your neck, squeezing just enough as she serves you an initial warning. 

“Someone’s bratty today.” Abby takes her final hit, snuffing the blunt in the ashtray placed on the nightstand. The smoke blows in your face as Abby rubs her pussy against yours just enough to give you a little friction. 

Applying more pressure to your throat, she bites your jaw playfully, “M’not sure you deserve me just yet.” 

“Please? I’ll be good. I promise, m’good for you, please.” She goes to make sure the rope is tight, but still loose enough so it won’t harm you. “No.” 

Abby says nothing else as she disappears out the bedroom door, until she comes back with a blindfold and something else you can’t quite make out. Thick thighs make home as she straddles you by the waist. 

“Good, huh? Then you’ll let me do what I want then, yeah?” Eagerly, you nod causing her to chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.” 

The fluttering of the blonde’s clit is hard to ignore, words alone making nearly moan before she finds enough restraint to swallow it down. Even if she wants to fuck your pussy with her pierced tits, or fill the pretty, puckered hole until your mascara stains the sheets. Abby refrains. 

“Babygirl, sweet talk isn’t going to get you out of this.” The ivory, silk blindfold shields your eyes from her. Those gorgeous tits, the abs she lets you ride when you’re being good. 

But you haven’t been good. 

Abby releases some of her weight so your right leg lifts over her, your cunt directly pressed into hers. Rocking her hips slightly, just to give you enough pleasure for it to feel good but not early enough to get you off. 

“If you had behaved, you’d get to feel my cunt on yours without my boxers getting in the way. Stupid, stupid, girl.” Abby tweaks your nipples between her fingers, twisting them as you grunt. 

“What?” Abby rolls her hips faster, the headboard banging against the wall as a reminder of her pace. “Didn’t you want me to fuck you? Texting me, blowing up my phone all goddamn day.” 

“But I—” You gasp, impaired of your vision, but god she was still making you feel as she always does. “I just, shit, missed you.” She throws your leg over her shoulder, before you feel her weight shift forward. 

“Shut the fuck up and open that big mouth of yours.” Immediately, you obeyed. As you opened, Abby spit directly into, smirking as some of it misses as it dribbles down your chin. 

“Swallow.” You do as your told, words failing you as she keeps fucking your cunt with hers. The blunt of her nails drag down your chest, marking around your breasts with deliberate scratches. 

The headboard falls silent along with her thrusts, you can feel how damp and sticky you’ve made her boxers. “W-Why’d you stop?” Eyes concealed as your lips form a pathetic pout, knowing if you beg further you’ll only make it worse for yourself. 

“You think you’d get the satisfaction of knowing what I’m doing next? Think again.” Abby leans over, sinking her teeth into your next, biting at your sweet spot, sucking before her tongue soothes over the mark. 

“You should know me better than that.” Her pussy is against yours again as she maneuvers her body, straddling your hips, firm hands running up and down your body, drawing random circles along your hips. 

dealer!abby who lulls you into a fall sense of security, one where she won’t torture you. she makes you believe you'll get what you want, dangling in your face what abby knows you want more than anything. the continuous texts all day, you couldn’t stop telling her how bad you needed it. now? she’s gonna get you back for it. 

dealer!abby who has the small bowl in her hands resting it against your cool stomach, it’s chills against your skin causing your body to twitch. abby dips her fingers into the melted chocolate, wishing that you could watch her but she’ll still have her fun regardless. 

“I’ve been having a craving, but it’s not what you would expect.” With her chocolate covered finger, she prompts you to open your mouth. You do, immediately. You’re obnoxious as you suck on her finger, rolling your tongue around her two digits, imagine it’s her strap fucking your face instead. 

You moan, so exquisitely Abby can feel her soaking through her boxers. She can feel your slick wetting through, touching yours, almost making her give in. 

“Sweet like you, Ma’am.” You smirk as jerk your hips up, enjoying the sounds of Abby’s moan invading the space. 

“You’re pretty sweet too, baby.” Abby grabs the bowl, pouring the chocolate on your chest, your tits, and down your sternum. “Let it cool down just for this, you know? Right now, you’re gonna stay there, tied up, unable to fucking see me and let me enjoy my baby, yeah?” 

You squirm but her weight keeps you from throwing her off. 

“After all, disobedient sluts do get punished.” 

taglist: @nybueckers | @tlouloser

wanna be added?

[13atoms]

The Morning After the Night Before (Declan O'Hara x Reader)

My first Rivals fic! Big shoutout to @stellamarielu and @rivalsispunk, who’s work I wholeheartedly recommend and was, inevitably, inspired by when I decided to join in writing about Declan! <3

Summary:

Bff’s dad!Declan x Younger!Reader

As a friend of Taggie’s from college, you’re invited up to the Priory for the Venturer party. By the next day Taggie and Maud have both vanished, you don’t want to leave Declan alone in that big empty house. [5k words]

Contains: Exposition, feelings, then a bit of smut. Exhibitionist!Declan, big age gap, post!Maud rebound sex, lots of foreplay, Declan is a fiend, 90% exposition, priory!sex

The Priory was quiet the day after Maud left. It was the first day of a new era, of Venturer, rung in with hangovers and that bittersweet feeling of a moment to celebrate passing by unacknowledged.

You weren’t sure why you couldn’t go anywhere else. Taggie had invited you up from London for the party, and then promptly been distracted by an MP with a sharp jawline and foul jokes, only to disappear with Seb at the end of the night. With her departure Taggie left you with the sense you were living in a haunted house, filled with Maud’s books and earrings on sidetables and the leftovers from the party to snack on whenever you could bring yourself to eat. Patrick and Caitlin had found friends to crash with. You knew why they couldn’t come back. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t leave.

Sometime in the early afternoon you had heard movement upstairs, and made yourself scarce, hiding in the lounge, tidying what you could and drifting along the spines of the novels which lined the O’Hara’s huge bookshelves. You’d picked up something that could’ve been Maud’s or Declan’s – you weren’t sure. It didn’t look well-worn. You’d been meaning to read The Shining for years, now seemed as good a time as any to sit at the end of the O’Hara’s sofa, and try not to think about what you had seen the night before.

“I didn’t realise you’d be staying.”

A hundred pages had passed before you heard that thick Irish lilt, rich with that kind of blunt hospitality which had to be imported from Dublin. You knew it sometimes rubbed people the wrong way, particularly in this passive-aggressive pocket of privately-educated England. You liked it.

He looked startling similar to the Declan O’Hara you were used to watching on TV. Not much like the Declan O’Hara who would pick Taggie up from club nights and sleepovers, waving with a sly, knowing smile from the car and asking if you’d be able to get home safely.

“Taggie invited me for the long weekend, but…”

You gestured around with the book at his empty living room. His empty house. There were streamers stuck in the rafters, too high up for you to grab and shove into a bin liner.

“Apologies for my daughter’s lack of hospitality,” he sighed, and sat down heavily in the armchair adjacent to your sofa, face in his hands for a moment.

He rubbed the skin of his forehead aggressively, and when he looked away his face was marked red, his hair thrown into chaos.

“That’s okay, I’m sure she’ll be back. The quiet is nice, after last night.”

Declan hummed, and spread his arms along the back of the chair, reclining. For once, spreading out didn’t make him look any bigger. He was wearing jeans and a smart white shirt, but it obviously hadn’t been ironed.

“You’re reading Stephen King?”

“Oh,” you closed the book around your fingers, showing him the cover, though he already knew, “yeah. A borrowed copy, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all! Please, borrow or eat or steal whatever takes your fancy. It’s the least I can do to make up for this shitshow. And my daughter’s forgetfulness…”

You chuckled, and looked anywhere but Declan. He had such an intense gaze, you wondered how anyone stood their own against him across an interview stage.

“It’s really fine. I’m glad she seems happy, or at least excited…”

Declan huffed, stared at the ceiling, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. His hands came together and met his lips like a prayer.

“Have you read The Shining?” You asked quickly.

He was a master of awkwardness, and of silence and question evasion, but you didn’t want to pressure Declan in his own home. If he were one of your friends, you’d already be crushing him in your arms, letting him break down against you in the fiercest hug you could imagine. Instead, he was Taggie’s dad, who you’d never been able to bear to look at too closely, and watched obsessively whenever he appeared on television. You’d even watched him judge a pagent, for God’s sake, crammed around a kitchen table with your housemates complaining and a VHS Taggie had sent whirring away in the player.

You felt a swoop of pride when he perked up at your question, a glint of white teeth visible as he leaned forwards to take the book from your hands, your page number lost. You’d find it again later, in exchange for that dry brush of his fingers against yours. Declan flicked through the pages, eyes moving quickly.

“I have. That’s my copy, in fact. I don’t think the girls ever ended up reading it.”

Something on the page caught his attention, and he hummed as he skimmed the prose.

“Oh, room 217, gives me the shivers even now,” he raised his eyebrows expectantly, and you frowned, tilting your head.

“I don’t think I’ve read that far…”

“Ah, shit. Pretend I didn’t say anything. He has a lovely time in room 217.”

He was joking, and you laughed to be polite. Declan looked drained. Exhausted, hungover, sad.

“Can’t wait,” you replied dryly, as Declan dropped the book onto the coffee table between you.

“I had to stop reading it in bed,” he admitted, glancing from side to side, as though his secrets might be revealed to some unwanted intruder, “I started waking Maud up, talking in my sleep about a ghost in the room.”

You laughed, again it was because Declan wanted you to – wanted to keep the mood light – but you never quite found the right pitch and volume. Maud. He seemed to remember then, talking about her, what had happened.

“I’m sorry you had to see that fiasco yesterday,” he had shifted his voice, and become formal again, like he was introducing his show.

You remembered his falling face, Maud telling him to beg, bag in hand. You remembered Taggie, putting on a mask after the tears had fallen, and the hollow way she imitated the cheeky eyebrow raise you’d exchange over schoolgirl crushes and flirting in clubs, before she sought out a man old enough to be her father. She’d been crushed.

“No, it’s… don’t apologise for that. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t need to say what for. He shrugged, and stared up at the ceiling. The house was so, so quiet. Declan’s breathing was quiet, but you could see how laboured it was in the rise and fall of his chest.

“Do you think she’ll come back, after rehearsals?” you dared to ask.

“I don’t think she’ll come back after the run’s done, to be honest.”

There wasn’t anything to say. You looked up at the fireplace, ancient and beautiful. In the long centuries the house had stood, you wondered if it had seen any sadder sight than this.

“She’s a fucking star!” he announced, voice too loud and his hands flying up, up, before crashing back to his thighs.

You froze, watching him cautiously. He cleared his throat, and made fleeting eye contact as he glanced at you, suddenly appearing sheepish.

“Sorry, that was… sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

You murmured that it was fine, but in truth you had no idea if you actually said anything. Declan was panting. Tears or rage seemed equally likely, and he looked at you beseechingly. You wished there was anything you could do to answer him. To help him. The silence went on for longer than you wanted, but there was nothing to say. What could you offer?

Not that ‘there would be others.’

Not that ‘she never deserved him’, handsome and sharp and so, so damn principled it made you ashamed.

He was clenching and unclenching his jaw. You could see it, the muscles flaring and thinning. Your heart pounded in sympathy, something hot and nauseating darting around your stomach, and when his eyes met your sympathetic gaze, you couldn’t bear it. You watched the floor by his feet.

“I knew she was cheating on me. This time, I mean.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not fair.”

Declan sighed, and rolled his head, stretching out his neck. You wondered if he’d been drinking, if he was still drunk. You could smell him, aftershave and sweat, but no whiskey. His eyes were clear and sharp, there was something so controlled about him. He was always in control of the frantic chaos around him. Action and madness had always circled around Declan.

“I’m just sorry for the girls. They deserve better than a father who can’t keep their mother. Or a job. Or a house,” he laughed hollowly, and fell back into his sofa again, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Mr O’Hara…”

He smirked at you from where he was collapsed, a twitch of his upper lip hidden by his moustache. You could really see his amusement in his eyes, sparkling. You thought of evenings spent at their London house, Declan making the family roar with laughter over a takeaway while Maud was elsewhere. He was always doing something, when he was with his kids. Inventing clever games and telling stories and beating you all at cards. He was a man in control of every room he entered.

“Please don’t sound like you work for me.”

“Sorry,” you teased back, “but don’t half those people last night work for you now?”

He groaned, head in hands, but it was teasing this time. You knew he was joking. Declan kept his eyes uncovered, checking your reaction.

“Christ knows. I’ve no idea who does and doesn’t. Maybe I work for them? It’s all on my head if it goes tits up, though. That’s the main thing.”

“That doesn’t sound stressful at all,” you collapsed a bit in sympathy, pressing your face to your forearm, laying against the arm of the sofa.

“No,” he groaned, “selfish as it is to say, a runaway wife is the last thing I need right now.”

“At least she’ll be happy,” you ventured, and froze as his stare fixed on you, heart catching in your mouth.

“Sorry,” you rambled, “as in, she’s doing what she loves. Not… not that you made her…”

He stayed quiet, and watched you. It was a poor thing to say and a misstep and suddenly you froze. You’d overstepped, lying on his sofa and reading his books and joking with him like he wasn’t Taggie’s bad.

“I just meant, it might be easier, not worrying so much. That she’s making her own choices, and you’re not to blame for whether she’s happy.”

“Maybe I did make her unhappy.”

“Declan…”

He ignored your plea, his gaze fixed firmly on you, warm and intense and melted-chocolate brown. It was far too much, though you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

“I thought we were doing well. Not, well, per se, but well enough. Well enough that she wouldn’t leave me for London the first chance she got.”

You had no idea what to say. You let him speak.

“Everyone else in this fucking town seems to cheat at their heart’s content – God knows Corinium has herpes in the sofa cushions – and yet… I thought she wouldn’t. They all seem to pretend to be happily married, but my crime? Working too much? With the rate Maud burns through money, there’s no other choice. Venturer was all so I could finally stop being at someone else’s beck and call. She’d have supported that, back then. When we first met.”

When Declan stopped speaking, and let the room fall into uncomfortable silence, you realised you could hear your own heartbeat. It was pounding in your ears. Your pulse was thumping in your throat, and it hurt where your chin dug into your arm. The Priory was old and thick-walled and it absorbed all sound, so the quiet between you was absolute.

It wasn’t right, or any O’Hara home to be quiet. They were the loudest family you’d ever heard.

Finally, when it seemed like Declan was never going to speak again, you could bear to look at him again. He was still staring, but you weren’t sure he’d realised you were in the room. He looked so morose; you couldn’t bear it.

“I think Maud might never have been happy here. No matter what you did. If all she wanted was to be on-stage, what else can replace that?”

“She wants attention,” Declan sighed, “that’s what Maud’s always wanted. To be adored. Maybe she didn’t feel adored enough.”

“I think a lot of women would feel lucky, I mean, watching you with Maud… it was obvious how you felt for her.”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, and rest his head against the arm of the oversized armchair, mirroring you.

“I’ve often wondered if she needs too much for any one man to give,” he speculated, the gentle rhythm of light-hearted teasing was back in his voice.

You were surprised to realise how much you’d missed it. Still, you weren’t sure what to say.

“She needs hundreds,” he continued, “fawning over her every night, cheering and throwing flowers. And maybe someone to watch her in the odd play as well.”

You laughed, sincerely this time, and it made Declan laugh too.

“God, that’s terrible,” you played at scolding, but had no heart for it.

Declan was smiling, indulgently, watching you sideways with half of his face pressed into his armrest and forearm. He was flexing his hand out absentmindedly.

“True, though,” he scoffed, “I always wondered what you must have thought, when you girls got all dressed up to go out and Maud showed up, all miniskirts and cleavage. You must’ve thought she was a nutter, trying to outdress her own daughters.”

“I actually asked her if she wanted to come out with us once,” you remembered fondly, “I was sure Taggie was about to murder me with a curling iron.”

Declan chuckled. Lethargic and curled up on an armchair, the fierceness of two decades in entertainment melted off him. You could see his frownlines when he raised his eyebrows to listen to you, but they soon smoothed again. Was this how he had looked when Maud first met him, gentle, relaxed?

“I was always glad she had you,” Declan admitted, “I was glad to see you, on the nights you’d all go out together. Knew that meant there’d be someone to look out for her.”

Something had changed, and he was talking to you as a peer. Dissecting a time when you’d been younger, known less. Maybe seeing his wife walk out on him qualified you to speak on equal terms.

“I think Taggie’s the most sensible person I know, I’m not sure she ever needed me.”

Declan sighed, and gestured into thin air, and you remembered how the two of you had ended up alone in the house. The hours of tears over Rupert Campbell Black, a small fortune in phone bills that Declan had paid silently, as penance for bringing his family to the Cotswolds.

“She’s got a good heart. Not sure I’d say sensible.”

You wanted to argue, but you knew Declan adored his kids above all else.

“With their genetics, I’m afraid all of them were going to end up brash. Emotional.”

“Clever, though. And kind. Isn’t that what matters?” you weren’t talking about Maud, and Declan knew it.

“They’re already better people than we ever were,” was all he offered.

You had been completely enraptured by their new house when you visited, and privately fascinated by the ‘countryside’ version of Declan. You had hoped he’d be less stressed, but from what you’d gleaned about his business ventures, nothing could be further from the truth. Nonetheless, there was something different about him.

About how he watched you.

Something self-assured, despite Maud and his kids abandoning the house. Perhaps it was your imagination, but it looked as though Declan was trying to work something out.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked.

“Hang out with you, I suppose. If you don’t mind.”

You remained silent. Declan read people for a living, and he knew that wasn’t what you’d meant.

“I suppose I’m meant to wait for her to come back,” he sighed, “and beg again, perhaps. Try not to catch crabs off whatever actor she’s under.”

You couldn’t help it – you winced.

“Sorry – I shouldn’t say shit like that. Tag would tell me off. I just… I’m not sure how many more times I can take it. It’s humiliating. Pathetic.”

“You’re taking the high road, I suppose…”

“Ah, fuck the high road!” he interrupted you, and threw his head back against the back of the sofa, “I’m tired of the sodding high road. There’s no one there, at the end of it, saying ‘congratulations on keeping your wedding vows while your wife fucked another man’. I know Maud. She’ll fuck around in London, and if it goes badly she’ll crawl back, and mope until she finds another ‘casting agent’ to fuck. If it goes well, I’ll never see her again, and if Venturer ever makes a profit she’ll divorce me to get it.”

You weren’t sure what to say, and when Declan’s brown eyes met yours past the forearm he’d thrown over his face, you realised his eyes were glassy.

“Sorry, you didn’t ask to hear all that. Christ.”

“No, I… I’m glad you’ve got someone to talk to. Declan… I can’t imagine.”

“Do you know what isn’t fair? What really isn’t fair? For all that talk about being abandoned and lonely and bored, I’d come back after work, or sneak back on my lunch break, and it was always ‘not now, Declan’. Every single time. ‘Neglected’ my arse.”

When you froze, it felt like a prey instinct. Declan was talking about his sex life. To you. His lack of a sex life. Christ. The way Taggie complained about her parents, you’d imagined something very different from Declan. You’d imagined Declan a lot, in fact.

“What a fucking hypocrite.”

You weren’t sure if it was your swearing, or your sentiment, but Declan’s face cracked into a grin.

“You’re telling me!”

“God, if I had a man in my gorgeous house, sneaking back on his lunch breaks…” you broke off with a laugh, and looked anywhere but Declan.

“You’d what?”

Was he closer? Declan’s voice was serious, and you had to glance towards him to realise he’d leant forwards, elbows on his knees.

“I’d take every chance I could get,” you finished quietly, and the words seemed to linger in the room forever.

“Atta girl,” Declan murmured.

Fuck. You could hear the shifting of his clothes as he fidgeted in his seat.

For a long time, you remained in silence, wondering if the heat you felt would suddenly dissipate. The air had become molasses thick, and you couldn’t look at Declan. He wasn’t far away, a few feet, when he leant forwards. Finally he slumped back into his armchair, legs spread obscenely far apart.

“Do you have a boyfriend, back home?”

You wanted to laugh. In disbelief. In embarrassment. Your clothes felt too tight against your heated skin. Instead, you murmured a no.

“Good. Not a damn man in London good enough for ya.”

The silence played out a little longer. You wondered whether Declan cared about fidelity at all. If he was going to move at all. For a while you just watched him. Forced yourself not to look down, top see if he was as turned on as you felt. It was obscene, how exhaustion and stress and misery still couldn’t hamper his good looks.

There was something more than look about Declan, though. Something in his mannerism. The intensity he watched you with. The way he catalogued every little time you’d interacted. The way he was letting his eyes sweep across you, his gaze hot and searching.

“I don’t want you to regret this, I’m not…” he began.

“I know what a rebound is.”

Your voice was so hollow, it turned bitter, and surprised you. His lust-drunk eyes widened suddenly, and the tension returned to his face. You could feel your own body respond, growing tenser, startled.

“I don’t know what you take me for, sweetheart, but I’m a damn sight older than the boys you’re used to. I wouldn’t know how to ‘play games’ if I tried. I swear. This is the first chance I’ve had to fuck you, and if you’ll let me take it, you’ll have a good time. I promise, the greatest thing about you is that you’re not my wife.”

He paused for breath, and seemed to struggle for a moment. You noticed his hand gripping his thigh, stopping it from shaking.

“You’re kind, and patient, and you listen to me, and you’ve read bloody Stephen King from my bookshelf without me begging you to care about what I care about.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gorgeous. As soon as Taggie brought you here, I knew you’d ruin my fucking life. You used to ask me how every show went, do you remember? Back at the BBC? Not even my damn wife did that.”

He held a hand out for you, but you weren’t sure what to do with it once you took it. Fingers entwined, you climbed onto his armchair, straddling his lap. Declan groaned, and latched onto the exposed column of your neck, his free hand enormous as it found your waist.

“Oh, your ego likes me? Is that it?”

“Him too,” Declan murmured, and shifted, so that you suddenly realised you could feel him, hard against the crotch of your jeans.

“You’re too young for me,” he murmured against your skin.

“Who cares?”

He laughed, and you knew it was what he’d wanted to hear. Declan pulled more of your weight onto him until you were practically crushing him, thighs on thighs and chest to chest, and then he kept squeezing until his closeness began to hurt.

You rolled your hips and ground down against his lap, hoping to distract him, and Declan groaned, bassy and gorgeous.

“Tag can never know,” you breathed, and felt Declan’s hand move further up your torso in response, clutching the underside of your breast.

“Never,” he agreed, “never.”

When you wrapped both hands around his face and detached him from the underside of your jaw, Declan only released with a grotesque, went smack. You missed the feel of his tongue, skin chilled where his mouth had been, but it was far more important to pull him to your lips. He went willingly, head heavy in your control, looking up at you with glazed hazelnut eyes.

Declan groaned when he kissed you, matching his hands to your face as he took control.

“Do you know how fucking glad I was to see you yesterday?” he groaned against your lips, migrating across your face until he could return to the sensitive join of your jawline and neck, “and I couldn’t even admit to myself why. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Honourable,” you mumbled, “I think it’s honourable.”

His hands were back on your body, groping until he could shove your bra up, pinching at your nipples through your clothes.

“You’re not gonna think I’m very honourable after tonight, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

You were grinding on Declan, desperate for the flashes of friction you could find against the seam of your jeans. He kept getting distracted, groaning when you found an angle he could feel.

“Think I might make you cry, I wanna see if I can make you tell me to stop. You ever been eaten out?”

When you didn’t respond, he squeezed your breast hard, making you yelp. You could feel the jolt from the pain between your legs. He cooed as he rubbed the pain away.

“Sorry baby, didn’t realise you were so sensitive,” he was mocking you, and it was making your entire body thrum.

A laugh shuddered from you, and Declan finally slid a huge, warm palm beneath your shirt and across your stomach.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come upstairs, and we can get these clothes off, hm? Unless you want people to see.”

He slid a hand to the back of your neck, just firm enough to keep you facing down towards him. With his other hand, he began pulling your shirt up, until it was peaking above the mess he’d made of your bra, flesh spilling out obscenely.

“You’re right opposite the window, you know love, that big driveway. Anyone could be coming up to the house… and see you like this. All mine.”

Even lust-addled, you gasped, and tried to look up, but Declan’s grip on your neck stopped you, forcing you to stare down at him.

“You want me to make you cum here, right in from of anyone? In front of Tony? Or Rupert? The postman? My wife might walk back in right now…”

“No!” you gasped, trying to ignore the feeling of him kneading at your exposed breasts, your bra cutting a tight line across them, “please, Declan…”

“You’re sure? I don’t care,” he told you, glib, as he toyed with whether he could reach his mouth to your nipples, a wet tongue snaking across your skin.

“Declan!”

Finally, you wriggled away, and he gave up the moment you resisted him. You glanced up at the gravel driveway, exhaling shakily at finding it empty. Declan was chuckling to himself, pulling your torso closer again so he could mouth at your flesh.

“I did ask if you wanted to go upstairs, I think you were distracted.”

Finally, you could bring yourself to laugh breathily, pulling your shirt down despite Declan’s wandering hands fighting you.

“Upstairs!” you demanded, and pulled Declan to his feet.

He was walking differently, from how hard he was, and you palmed over his crotch, desperate to feel him. Declan groaned, and reluctantly tugged your hand away, adjusting himself.

“Before you get too mad at me,” he returned to your neck, and spun you in front of him, forearms bracing across your chest and stomach, forcing him against you.

You realised then he was framing you against a mirror, forcing you to look at how ravaged the pair of you looked. And the clear view Declan had of the driveway behind you.

“You’re a bastard, Mr O’Hara.”

Declan laughed, but you could see the colour rising in his cheeks, the gulp which moved his Adam’s apple.

“I told you you’d say that.”

“I’d assumed for better reasons than that,” you teased.

You wrapped your fingers around his belt, and began moving the leather to undo the buckle. Declan groaned and it caught in the back of his throat, rising to a whimper.

“C’mon, old man. You’ve made me some big promises.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep them,” he admitted, “if you keep touching me like that.”

“That’s okay,” you ran your hands along the inside of his waistband, feeling his stomach muscles twitch at the contact. “I know it’s been a while. How about you put that silver tongue to use first, yeah?”

“Christ,” Declan groaned, as you finally undid his fly. You stroked across the fabric of his underwear, and Declan threw his head back. His eyes were clenched shut, and his wandering hands had finally fallen to his sides.

“Do you think you’ll make it up the stairs?” you teased, “or should I just go up and finish this off on my own?”

Finally, he opened his eyes, and encircled your wrist with his fingers, pulling you away from him.

“Don’t say shit like that, love,” he went for your ear again, teeth grazing the skin and his lips salving where he’d been, “I’ve imagined that enough for a lifetime.”

“Oh yeah?”

You drifted your hand across his shaft one more time, and Declan let you, loosening his grip on your wrist.

“Come on then,” you teased, and took off.

He was slow, slower in his current state, but you let him chase you, up the stairs and across the landing, his breathless, deep laugh following you as he gave pursuit.

“I’m not that old,” he insisted, as he finally caught you on the upstairs landing, wrapping his arms around you from behind and briefly pulling you from the ground.

“Never said you were.”

“You’re really making me work for this,” Declan growled, sliding a hand down the front of your jeans. You laughed, safe in his grasp.

“I was just worried we’d never get up those fucking stairs.”

He chuckled, and pulled you against the bannisters, fighting with the button of your jeans. You laughed, and let him struggle, until the moment he succeeded, and his fingers met your clit, slippery and swollen.

“Please, just pick a room,” you begged.

“C’mon, love. Give me one here.”

You realised his gaze was out, across the fields, on the path where any one of the bastards in this village might see the pair of you. They wouldn’t, of course, but that was far from the point.

“Declan!”

“C’mon, just one.”

“Make it quick,” you conceded, and gasped as he let his finger slip fast over your clit. You could see the bliss on his face in the reflection of the window.

“That’s up to you, love. Think you can be good for me?”

“You’re the one,” you gasped, as he changed pressure again, experimenting, “you’re the one fingering me, Declan.”

He kissed you, suddenly, sweetly, on the cheek, fingers still working quickly over your clit. Despite the pressure building in between your hips, you laughed.

“What?” you asked him, catching him grinning to himself in the glass.

“I can’t believe I just heard you say that.”

[pretty-circa006]

Big Bad Wolf

Sugar Daddy! Coach! Negan x F! Camgirl! Reader

summary Negan takes interest in a pretty camgirl who he doesn't know is also his student tags online sex work, sex toys, female and male masturbation, age gap (reader is 20 and Negan is 50s-ish probably), dirty talk,

wc 3.1k

note this is part one of a three part mini series

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

She adjusts her ring light before angling her laptop just right so the webcam captures her body but not her face. Once she’s happy with everything, she starts the livestream. Comments quickly fill her screen, the first of them being her regulars. 

@ b3nd0ver long time no see! i’ve been missing my favourite girl 

@ milflover69 pop a titty 

@ freak4feet do u do foot stuff???

@ milkmann_u look so sexy I can’t breath 

“Welcome back you guys, I’ve been missin’ ya,” she tells her viewers in a sultry voice that bears little resemblance to her own. The thin strap of her tank top slides off her shoulder as she adjusts her position to something more comfortable. 

“I got something new just for y’all!” She excitedly pulls her shoebox full of sex toys into view before opening it. 

@ MikeHunt wtf is in taht box

@ pussypounder take off ur cloths bbg

“Hey, you gotta be patient or else I’m ending this early.” It’s an empty threat, but it always seems to work regardless. She slowly, teasingly removes the lid from the box and tosses it aside. Holding the box up to the webcam, she shows her viewers the collection of different sized dildos, vibrations, butt plugs, and other toys. 

“Which should I use first?” 

@ 1-800-dickudown me! use me. its ab time u put a real dick in that pussy 

“Well why don’t ya come on over here, one eight hundred dick you down, and dick me down?” She teases in reply to that comment. 

1-800-dickudown sent $50.00

“Think I’ll use…” she trails off as she digs through the box, “this one! I bought it with the help of all your donations,” she explains as she shows them the thick, six inch glass dildo. 

“Ribbed for pleasure!” She says, running her finger along the toy to show off the artificial veins. 

@ freak4feet stroke it with ur feet! 

@ oversexxxed ur so pretty show me ur pussy pls

She spreads her thighs giving a full view of her soaked panties. With one hand, she slides her panties aside, exposing her freshly shaven cunt to the webcam. She rubs her clit a few times and lets out some overdramatic moans before grabbing the dildo with her free hand. She slides the toy up and down her slick folds before teasing her entrance with it. 

@ bigdickDILF I could please you better than that piece of crap can. 

bigdickDILF sent $117.23 

She lets out a girlish giggle. “I’d love to test that, big dick DILF. But this’ll have to do for now.” She shoves the tip in as she continues rubbing her clit, making sure to let out some moans and breathy whimpers along the way.

@ milkmann_you never fail to make my dick hard. 

The increase of her pace emits wet erotic sounds. She fights to keep her thighs from squeezing closed as she continues to pleasure herself. The toy hits her g-spot which turns her dramatized moans into real ones. 

“O-Oh, I’m about to cum!” She moans, fucking herself harder with the toy. 

@ sleazyb0iii me too

@ milflover69 POP. A. TITTY >:( 

The fingers of her free hand tangle into the fuzzy rug beneath her as her back arches and toes curl. She screams out as her juices squirt from around the dildo. 

Dogwater sent you $3.00 

b00bman sent you $20.00 

SitOnMyFace sent you $85.00 

“T-thanks for the tips,” she says shakily as she’s coming down from her high. 

@ mustache_MAN lick it clean 

“Yes, sir!” She pulls the toy from her cunt and its covered in her juices. She tilts her screen back so her glossy lips are in view before bringing the dildo up to her mouth. She licks it up and down before putting the tip between her lips. 

“Mmmm, bet you guys wish you could get a taste.” She takes the toy as deep down her throat as she can before gagging, sending tears cascading down her face. She bobs her head up and down the glass dildo as if she were giving a blowjob. She pulls her mouth from the toy before setting it aside. 

mustache_MAN sent $2.47

“Thanks for the tip, mustache man! I know this was a short stream, but that’s all I have for tonight,” she informs her users. Before she she can move her cursor to the ‘end stream’ button, another notification catches her eye. 

BigBadWolf  sent $1,000.00

Her eyes go wide at the amount. She’s never made that much on a single stream before and that catches her off guard. 

“Oh..Oh my gosh, thank you so much big bad wolf,” she says, still in shock. 

@ BigBadWolf Do you take requests? I’d love to see you use your fingers. 

She can’t be sure if she’s turned on by his politeness or the large amount of money, but her cunt clenches around nothing as she swallows dryly. 

“Anything for you,” she purrs, playing it up on the sexiness in hopes for another big tip. She moves from her sitting position to a kneeling position before sliding her panties down her legs. She sits back down and kicks them off before spreading her legs so her viewers get the perfect view of her soaking cunt. She rubs her stiffened clit in tight circles which sent tingles of pleasure down her spine. Her hand drifts down to her entrance before she slips in two fingers. Her free hand pulls down the front of her tank top, freeing her breasts before she squeezes it. 

@ milflover69 finally! 

milflover69 sent $1.00

@ BigBadWolf One more baby, I know you can do it ;)

“Yes, sir,” she moans before sliding in a third finger. She slightly winces at the stretch, but it feels good. Her thumb and index finger pinch and tweaked her nipple as she fucks herself with her fingers. Involuntarily, she ruts up against her own hand, chasing another orgasm. 

“‘M gonna cum again,” she whines as her legs begin to shake. She gropes at her breast as her second orgasm overtakes her. She rests her head against the floor as she catches her breath. With two fingers, she spreads open her lower lips, showcasing her overstimulated cunt. 

“Look at what you guys do to me!” She teases her loyal fans. 

@ BigBadWolf Beautiful

She sits upright and drags her cursor over the ‘end stream’ button. “Okay, I’m ending this for real this time. Love y’all, bye!” She ends the stream and shuts her laptop before fixing her top and putting her panties back on. Apprehensively, she opens her laptop and scrolls to look at her total amount of tips–$2,276.23. That’s almost enough for her to pay for another month of rent in her shitty apartment. A message in her inbox catches her eye and she curiously opens it. It’s from @ BigBadWolf, the seemingly loaded guy from her stream. 

@ BigBadWolf You’re so fucking beautiful. Do you take requests? I’ll happily pay, just name your amount. 

She stares at the message in awe. Typically, the kind of people that message her are weirdos who tell her about their sick fantasies in full detail, so this is a nice change. 

@ virginesque ya, if u subscribe to my profile u can see i post requests all the time

@ BigBadWolf I want these all to myself not something for all your goddamn subscribers to see

@ virginesque oh! i dont usually do that…

@ BigBadWolf Not trying to pressure you or anything, but I’ll pay whatever amount you want

@ virginesque ya? like a million dollars lol

@ BigBadWolf Within reason haha

@ virginesque fuck it why not. whats ur request ???

@ BigBadWolf I’d love to see you in the shower 

After a moment of thinking, she deems his request to be reasonable. Even though she had already showered for the night, she doesn't mind doing it again for a couple of extra bucks. She brings her phone with her into the shower after she had undressed. For the longest time, she just stands there beneath the stream of warm water contemplating if this is something she really wants to do. She needs the money and he’s willing to give it and it’s not like this is too much more than what she already does. After opening the camera, she holds her phone up so her body from the shoulders down is in view. She hits record and with her free hand she lathers her body in soap. Her hands caress over as much of her body she can reach before coming back up to her breasts, lathering soap and squeezing them a few times before ending the video. 

@ virginesque sent a video

She lays in bed, staring at her phone anxiously awaiting the stranger’s reply. Half an hour passes and inbox is still the same–empty. She shuts off her phone and tosses it aside, cursing herself for being so stupid. Of course it seemed too good it be true and she felt like a fool for believing otherwise.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

 When she awoke the next morning, she was still pissed and remained that way for most of the day. 

“Girl, are you okay?” Her friend asks her during stretches. 

“Just a little irritated, y’know, workloads and stuff,” she lies. She makes it a priority to keep her double life as a camgirl a secret. 

“Ugh, tell me about it. If I have to write another fucking paper-“ 

“Enough chit-chat, ladies, keep stretching,” the track and field coach, Coach Negan, orders. 

She can’t help the huff and eye roll that escapes her, but she begrudgingly gets back to her stretches anyway. 

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Coach Negan asks her with a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“Nothing!” She snaps. Both her friend and Coach Negan give her a strange look. 

“Whatever it is, don’t let it fuck with your performance out there,” he encourages before walking off. 

“I can’t stand him,” she mutters under her breath. 

“Really? I think he’s great,” her friend disagrees. 

“Nuh uh, you just think he’s hot!” She teases before they burst into a fit of giggles. 

“Okay, that’s five extra laps for you two!” An irritated Coach Negan shouts. 

After practice and the extra laps she heads directly to her apartment off campus. With her getting scammed on top of her coach being a hardass, she’s so stressed that she’s ready to just roll over and go to bed. But no, she has a presentation to put together. She flings open her computer and sees that the tab with her camgirl account is still open and there’s a new message in her inbox. 

@ BigBadWolf Sorry for the late reply, had shit to do. 

@ BigBadWolf  You are so fucking sexy babygirl 

@ BigBadWolf sent $500.00

Her eyes widen and mood brightens when she sees he actually replied and the amount he sent. 

@ virginesque oh wow, thank u 

@ BigBadWolf How was your day?

She glares suspiciously at her screen. The first impression she got of him was that he’s some old rich guy who has a porn addiction and a lot of money to fuel it, so him asking about her day comes as a surprise. 

@ virginesque uh good? how was urs?

@ BigBadWolf Better once I watched your video ;) 

She’s sure he’s just using flattery to get more out of her, but still can’t help that her cheeks warmed at his comment. 

@ virginesque glad i could help 

@ BigBadWolf I know this is forward, but do you do video calls?

The question takes her aback. Video calls aren’t something she’s done before, but with the money he’s sent her thus far, she’d be willing to try. 

@ virginesque i’ve never done them before but for u i would

@ BigBadWolf Well aren’t you just sweet as shit

@ virginesque when do u wanna call?

@ BigBadWolf Is now okay?

@ virginesque sure

BigBadWolf is calling….

Her heart races in her chest as she debates actually answering or not. She angles down her laptop screen down so he can’t see her face and answers the call. 

“Hello?” she asks the black screen. 

“Hey, baby,” a deep, raspy voice replies. It’s oddly familiar, but not in a way she can pinpoint. 

“Um, thanks for all the money.” 

“Anything for my favorite girl.” 

She tries to bite back the smile she can feel forming on her face, but his voice is so sexy and words are so flattering. 

“Favorite girl?” 

“Uh huh, no one else makes me feel the way you do.”

“So, uh…what’s your name? Or do I have to keep calling you ‘big bad wolf?’”

He lets out a laugh before replying. "You don't have to call me that, you can just call me sir." 

"Okay, sir, can I see you?" 

He pauses for a moment as if he were in thought and when he turns on his camera, he's in a similar position to hers–sitting down with his face out of view. He has on a white t-shirt and his arms are decorated with tattoos. From what she can see, he seems to be in good shape and could potentially be an attractive man. 

“Will I ever get to see that pretty face of yours?” 

The laugh she lets out is sarcastic. “What makes you so sure my face is pretty?”

“Trust me, I can just tell.” 

“Pfff, okay. Did you just want to video call to flirt with me?”

“I just wanted to see you again, but with my eyes only. None of those other assholes watching you from their screens.” 

“Yeah? What do you want me to do?” 

“Take off your clothes.” 

The impudence of his request catches her off guard. Getting naked on camera and adhering to the wishes of random people on the internet are all things she’s used to, but doing it over a video call made her feel shy. It’s more personable. Instead of just reading comments, she’s hearing him tell her what to do and gets to hear his reaction. With shaky hands, she pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside. Reaching behind her back, she nervously unclasps her bra and lets it fall down her shoulders, exposing her breasts to him. 

“Beautiful, baby,” he compliments, sending warmth flooding throughout her body. She gets comments like this all the time, but hearing it from this man has a different affect on her. Like his words and validation actually mean something to her. She stands from her desk chair and unbuttons her jeans before turning around and bending over as she pulls them down. Her panties go next and she sways her hips seductively as she pulls them down too. She steps out of the garments before returning back to her chair. 

“I could just stare at you all day. You are a goddamn piece of artwork.”  

“Stop! You flatter me too much,” she giggles, hiding her face in her hands even though he can’t even see it. 

“Really, I can’t get enough of you. Lemme see that pretty pussy.” She adjusts herself in the chair and lifts her legs, spreading open her thighs and holding them up by the backs of her knees. 

“I wanna see it from the back.” 

“Yes, sir.” She turns around in her chair and holds on to the back of it for support it. She arches her back to give him a better view. 

“That’s it, baby. Touch yourself.” She slides her hand between her legs and rubs her clit. Arousal builds up within her as she pleasures herself. 

“I wish it was you touching me right now,” she whines. 

“Me too, baby, me too. I wanna feel you come undone around my fingers and then taste you all over.” 

“I just know you’d stuff me so good. My cunt and my throat.” 

“Oh honey, you have no idea how fuckin’ good I’d make you feel.” 

She slides two fingers into her now soaking hole. It’s difficult for her to hit her g-spot in this position, but hearing him talk dirty is enough to get her off. She silently whimpers as her orgasm quickly approaches and the man continues to praise her. 

“Attagirl. Lemme see you cum,” he says right when her orgasm hits. Her free hand grips the back of her chair as her thighs shake. She sits back down properly and awaits the man’s next words. 

“Look at what you do to me.” He tilts his camera down so she can see his lap, particularly the tent he’s pitching in his pants. 

“I wish I could help you with that…especially since I caused it,” she teases with feigned innocence. 

“Can I uh…can I watch you take care of it?” 

“Of course, babygirl.” He undoes his belt before pulling down his pants just enough to free his cock from his boxers, and once he did, it slapped against his abdomen. Her eyes widen at the size of him. He’s thick and long and slightly curved and veins run along his shaft. He’s circumcised and keeps it neat down there, too. Out of all the dicks she’s seen from unsolicited dick pics, this man’s is the best, prettiest one she’s ever seen. If he could see her, he’d see that her jaw is dropped with awe. 

“Just met me and you’re already droolin’ over my dick?” 

“So what if I am?” she retorts. 

He just laughs his handsome laugh before spitting into his hand. His large, veiny hand wraps around his shaft before he starts stroking it slowly. 

“Bet you wanna suck it, don’t you?” 

“I’m sure you’d like that,” she laughs. 

“You know me so well.” 

As she watches him stroke his dick, all she can think of is how it would feel inside of her. Heat floods her core and she’s sure he’d be able to put out that fire within her. He occasionally lets out a few grunts and moans as he brings himself closer to his peak. 

“Fuck, baby, I know your pretty little mouth would feel so good around my dick.” 

“Mmmhmm, I’d even let you cum down my throat.” 

“You are such a naughty girl.”  She giggles at the string of profanities that flow from his mouth as he cums all over his hand. 

“If I were there, I’d clean you off with my tongue,” she fantasizes. 

“You are just trying to get me hard all over again, aren't you?” 

“Maybe…” 

“I gotta go get ready for work tomorrow, but let’s do this again sometime, yeah?” 

“You really can’t get enough of me,” she jokes before ending the call. 

@ BigBadWolf sent $2,500.00 

She stares at her screen in disbelief. No way did she just do that, but what shocks her even more was how much she genuinely enjoyed it, how much it turned her on. They seemed to have a genuine connection, too. The way they flirted back and forth effortlessly without any awkward moments in between made her look forward to interacting with him again. 

next part ➤

[steddie-island]

Tender Headed

I saw this post by @mothofmyth and couldn't stop myself. I hope this does your idea justice. ❤️ ao3 | Divider by @cafekitsune

Someone else was standing at Steve’s usual station, instead of his usual girl. 

It wasn’t a girl at all. 

“Hey! Do you have an appointment?” not-regular-stylist asked.

“No– yes? I, uh– I have a standing appointment. With Kayla?” Steve brushed his fingers through his hair and looked around at the otherwise empty salon. 

He’d been looking forward to this for weeks, practically since the end of his last appointment. The thought of having to cancel, of having to reschedule because she was out sick or something– it made Steve’s skin feel too tight, itchy.

It made tears prick at his eyes like this was a bigger deal than just a stupid haircut. 

Which. Okay, maybe it was for him, but it’s not like any of the stylists, like this stranger , needed to know that. 

“Are you okay, man?”

Steve blinked, bringing the man back into focus again. He was pretty, with long curls piled up on top of his head and a delicate black hoop hanging from his septum. His cut off sleeves showed the ink decorating his arms and disappearing under the fabric. 

He had to shake himself to bring the man’s voice back, to stop ogling him. 

“--won’t be back for a few months,” he was explaining. 

“What?” Steve knew this guy probably thought he was an idiot, but his mind was thick and sticky and nothing this guy was saying was sticking. 

“Early maternity leave,” he said again, patiently. “I’m Eddie, I’m taking her station over while she’s gone.” He gestured to the empty salon again. “I don’t have any appointments right now, if you’re cool with a substitute…” 

Steve almost turned around, but there was something about the wide brown eyes that fixed on him that made him stay. 

“I… sure. Yeah.” It wasn’t like he was that attached to his hair anyway. Yeah, he wanted it to look good, but not to the point that everyone else thought he did. 

It wasn’t about the haircut. 

He followed Eddie back to the washing station. Even though this was a stranger who was going to be taking care of him, Steve still felt a shiver go through him as he got situated. 

There were a few clinks, metal against ceramic. Steve tipped his head back enough to see Eddie removing several chunky rings and placing them in a little dish. A towel was rolled up carefully and placed beneath his neck. 

“Tell me if this is too much.” 

The water was cool, which Steve was prepared for. What he wasn’t prepared for was the way those long delicate fingers touched him. Kayla was gentle, but it was nothing like this. 

The way Eddie scrubbed so carefully at his scalp made Steve melt. Each fingertip was so deliberate in its movements, in the way his hair was gathered back and brushed out of his face. Eddie’s fingers trailed over his ear and Steve had to bite his lip. 

Maybe this was too much, but he couldn’t stop it. 

He’d never been handled like this. No one had ever touched him like he was a delicate, breakable thing. Sure, he cuddled with Robin. He got to hug the kids, and Joyce, and Claudia.

But this was… something else. 

Eddie wasn’t getting anything out of this– not the same way everyone else got something, like, paying him for his service was different, right? 

Steve was going to see it as that, anyway. He imagined Eddie wasn’t touching him like this because he was getting a big tip from it. 

He imagined that Eddie was brushing water off of his forehead with a knuckle because he just wanted to know what the skin felt like there. Those calloused fingers were tucking the hair behind his ears because he wanted to study the curve of his tragus– maybe wondering what Steve would look like with a hoop there, like the one in his own ear. 

Eddie’s thumb was wiping away water from his cheeks because he wanted to know if Steve’s cheeks were rough with stubble or not, and not because this was just a professional courtesy.

Only maybe this wasn’t a professional courtesy. 

Because it wasn’t just water that Eddie had sprayed on him. Steve was fucking crying . 

He wanted to run, but before he could even get up Eddie was putting a damp hand on his shoulder. 

“Stay. You’re okay.” Eddie’s voice was a low rumble that Steve wanted to hide in. “I’ve got you, big boy.” 

How was Steve supposed to not listen to that? He settled back into the chair and let Eddie rinse away the shampoo. Then those nimble hands were working the conditioner into his hair just as gently. The touches were a little more solid now, though. Eddie’s fingers grazed his neck, touched his cheek, wiped more tears from his cheeks. 

“You’re not the only person who comes in here for this.” Steve couldn’t even find the words to ask if he was that transparent. It wasn’t like the crying couldn’t have been from him being tender headed, or from the water being too hot. He was too focused on Eddie speaking to him to try to make excuses for himself. 

Eddie’s voice was soft and low. It was comforting, and it wasn’t hard for Steve to imagine how he would sound if he were singing, the way the words would wrap around him. Would it make him feel the same way he felt with his hair wrapped around Eddie’s hands? 

He was in the shampoo chair for three times as long as he normally would be. Eddie took his time with the conditioner and gave it extra time to sit. He was just as thorough about rinsing it, then about working a smoothing serum through his strands. 

By the time Eddie was wrapping Steve’s hair loosely in a towel and sitting him up, Steve was feeling lighter than he’d felt in months. He figured he should have felt raw and vulnerable, and there was a little bit of that, but Eddie’s presence was calming. Maybe it was the way he chattered as he started working on Steve’s hair. He talked about other customers, about his uncle, about how he’d been doing his own hair for years. He even brought up the time he’d burnt his hair with bleach so bad he’d had to give himself a buzzcut, because that was better than the spongy mess he’d left himself with. 

Steve started opening up, too, by the time Eddie was drying and styling his hair. He talked about his own worst haircut, about the time Robin had let him bleach her hair and she had ended up with a streak of green in her hair instead of blue. At least it had been cute, though. 

Eddie spritzed Steve’s hair once… twice… a third and then a fourth time before smiling at their reflections in the mirror. This close, and without tears in his eyes, Steve could see the dimples in his cheeks. 

“What do you think?” Eddie brushed his fingers over the ends of Steve’s hair, then dropped a hand to let the weight of it rest against his shoulder. 

“I think it’s great.” Steve smiled back at him. It looked the same as it did when Kayla had worked on it, but he’d never looked this good before. Maybe it was the cut, or maybe it was just the way Eddie had put something bright back into his eyes. 

Steve pulled his card out to pay but Eddie refused. 

“I think we both needed today,” he’d said before smiling and sliding his card across the counter. “I hope you come back and see me sometime, Stevie. I’m happy to take care of you anytime.” 

Normally Steve might take that as flirting– and maybe it was, the way Eddie’s dimples popped even more and his eyes really sparkled under the light. It wasn’t just flirting, though, and that made warmth blossom in Steve’s chest. 

“Yeah, man. Definitely.” Steve tucked the card away and turned for the door. “Actually…” He looked back at Eddie, who had picked up the broom. “Do you maybe want to get a drink after work?” 

Eddie’s grin was bright. “Hell yeah. Why do you think I didn’t charge you?” he teased. “I get off in an hour.”

Steve laughed with him. “Cool. I’ll see you in an hour, then.” 

---

As it turned out, Steve didn’t need to come back in an hour because he hadn’t left yet. He was still there, helping Eddie clean things up. They talked about the kids Steve babysat, and Eddie pointed out that maybe it was okay for him to just say they were hanging out, because fifteen and sixteen year olds didn’t tend to need babysitters anymore. 

They picked up food in Eddie’s van, and they drove to the quarry to eat sitting in the back of it, with the doors open and two milkshakes between them. 

When they shared their first kiss that night it tasted like salt and fake strawberries. They parted ways with plans to see each other again the next day.  

Maybe it was okay that Steve didn’t have a standing appointment with his usual stylist anymore.