#What is your problem. and he is pouting about it a little

[nanenna]

Have some crack.

"Well, what has everyone's capes in a twist?" Zatanna asked as she walked into the cafeteria in Mount Justice. She found Green Arrow, Black Canary, Martian Manhunter, and Superman off to the side watching the goings on with various expressions of amusement. Batman was closer to the center of the room, just inside a circular area that had been cleared of tables and chairs, the current Robin held firmly in his grasp. Just on the other side of the clearing stood Wonder Woman, arms tensed to keep the Lasso of Truth tight in her grip, some sort of creature languishing at her feet.

"I take it this is the problem?" Zatanna crouched down to get a better look at the small creature. Judging from the head of snow white hair, the creature was face down, making it hard to judge what kind of creature it was. The body was black, with a white stripe near the middle, then more black that twisted, curled, and tapered off in a tail. Honestly between what looked like pointy ears sticking out just past the hair and the long, sinuous tail she could almost believe the creature was a lamia or naga.

"Just had to tie this little guy up with the lasso?" Zatanna smiled as she looked up at Diana, it was certainly a sight to behold.

"This creature has proven itself formidable," Diana responded with a wry grin.

"Do not harm him, he is my new pet," Robin demanded haughtily. Batman's shoulders drooped ever so slightly.

Zatanna smiled at the boy, "Well I'm just going to do a quick identification spell to make sure you know how to properly care for your new pet." She stood up and took a step back, "Uoy era erutaerc fo rennam tahw?"

GHOST

Well that was… odd. And shouldn't be possible. That wasn't one of the answers the spell even could give, it should've come back with something more specific, there were several categories of ghost after all. "Uoy era tsohg fo dnik tahw?"

GHOST

"Fascinating," Zatanna whispered to herself.

Batman gave one of his grunts, with Robin looking very close to demanding answers himself if Zatanna didn't take that grunt as an invitation to explain.

"I think we'll need to call in a specialist." Because what else could she do? For a spell to come back that insistent yet generic meant something about this "ghost" defied her own abilities. She quickly sent off a message, one that couldn't be ignored.

"What kind of specialist?" Superman asked, having moved to where a table and some chairs had hastily been pushed aside before Zatanna got there.

"Oh just our local necromancer, he should be able to get a better read than I can on our little friend here."

"Necromancer?!" Green Arrow asked in shock.

Zatanna sighed,"Necromancers aren't inherently evil just because they work with the dead."

"My pet is not dead," Robin said with a growl while crossing his arms. It was completely adorable.

"I'm afraid our little friend likely is, I'm sorry to say. But that doesn't mean he's not still alive."

Robin crossed his arms harder and pouted, though she's sure he would insist it was a glare.

"A pet that's already died once and come back is a pet that can't ever die again," Zatanna said with a wink.

"Alright, I'm here," a robotic voice announced flatly.

Zatanna turned and smiled, "Hood!"

"Todd," Robin stated angrily.

"Code names," Batman scolded tiredly.

"We are waiting for a so called specialist," Robin continued, "we don't have time for whatever nonsense you've come here for."

"Yeah, I know." Red Hood flicked Zatanna's message back at her, which she simply caught and dissolved. "You're lucky I was already geared up."

"I hope your regular gear includes spell components, our little friend is turning out to be quite the enigma."

Red Hood looked down at the creature. "Huh." He crouched down to get a closer look while Zatanna moved to sit on one of the tables.

"What the fuck?" Red Hood stood up, moved to the side, crouched down again, and tilted his head, he also shot off two more spells.

He looked up at Diana, "The fuck you'd find this thing?"

"Language," Superman scolded while trying to hold back a laugh.

"You're not my real dad," Hood shot back. He stood and rolled his shoulders. "Seriously though, where'd you find it?"

"Robin found it in one of the vents," Batman offered quickly.

"The demon brat would," Hood said through some fuzzing static. "But what the fuck even is this thing?"

"You're the expert," Zatanna reminded him.

"Since when are you a necromancer?" Batman demanded.

"Before the duffle bag, after these," Hood stated confidently as he summoned an All Blade.

Zatanna couldn't help casting a little spell of her own, it wasn't often one got to see them in use.

Batman looked constipated, Robin looked confused. "Do not you need to be in the presence of true evil to use those?"

Hood shrugged, "That's what Ollie's for."

Green Arrow started to protest, but Black Canary elbowed him. Superman hid a laugh behind a cough, Batman did not try to hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Let me rephrase that," Hood stated. "There are not one, but two whole billionaires here, can't get more evil than that."

Batman's shoulders drooped, Green Arrow did protest this time.

"You're right, two-and-a-half."

"You say that as if you do not have a trust fund," Robin sneered.

"Legally dead," Hood replied. "Now stop distracting me, demon brat."

"I'm not a distraction," Robin grumbled.

Red Hood used the sword that was still in his hand to poke the creature.

"Do not stab Harold!" Robin demanded. Batman grabbed the kid before he could lunge at Hood, a blade suddenly in his hand.

"It's a diagnostic stabbing," Hood defended.

Robin looked too confused to answer to that. So did a few of their onlookers. Zatanna just nodded along, a diagnostic stabbing. To be fair, if she had swords that were attached to her soul she could probably do the same thing. She was rather glad she didn't, that just didn't sound pleasant.

Not that Hood was actually stabbing the creature, mostly he was laying the flat of the blade against… Harold. But she knew that according to Hood that was enough and would tell him a lot.

"What even the fuck?" Hood murmured.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Zatanna teased.

"Everything is coming back nonsense, like this thing's writing in his own answers on a multiple choice test."

Zatanna nodded, that really is how her own attempts had felt. "Is he even a ghost?"

"Yeah, pretty sure he's a ghost. Still can't figure out what kind, he could be anything. Poltergeist, shade, yuki onna…"

"Yuki onna?" That wasn't a common type of ghost, Hood wouldn't have mentioned one without reason.

"He's ice type."

"What?"

"Ask him yourself," Hood motioned to the creature with his All Blade.

"Alright, I will." Zatanna hopped to her feet and approached the creature again. "Epyt ruoy s'tahw?"

PRETTY AND BOSSY

Zatanna couldn't help laughing at that.

"What'd you get?" Hood asked, clearly confused even through the voice modulator.

"Pretty and bossy," Zatanna answered with another chuckle.

Hood's voice modulator burst with static. "Wow, okay, not the question I told you to ask, but sure."

"He's just a little guy, it's not his fault she confused him," Green Arrow defended.

"You hear that, demon brat? Your new pet likes girls that are pretty and bossy."

"Don't be so closed minded, he might like pretty boys who are bossy," Black Canary said with a laugh.

"Okay, okay," Zatanna waved everyone off as she got herself back under control. "One more try. Uoy era tsohg fo epyt tahw?"

Zatanna blinked, then blinked again. "Was that…?"

"I think it was the Pokémon symbol for ice type," Hood confirmed.

"……. How?!" That made not a lick of sense! That's not how that spell even worked.

"Writing in his own answers on a multiple choice test," Hood repeated.

Zatanna pressed her lips together. "You know that means whatever he is, this guy's powerful. That's not just something you can do casually."

"What's more worrying is there's no way for this little guy to be that powerful. Human, less than two years dead."

"There's no way that little thing is human," Green Arrow scoffed.

"Wow, rude," Hood said. "Just because he died he stopped being human, I see how it is. Racist."

"Ghosts don't even start to mess with their self image for at least a decade, and that's only if they have the mental flexibility to get past their death. There's no way someone so freshly dead would look like that, not without some sort of curse involved."

"Could be, it might explain the weird results, or at least some of them." Hood dissipated his sword, then reached up and pulled his helmet off. He held it out to Diana, "Hold this for me, please?"

"Certainly," Diana said pleasantly as she finally relaxed her posture and accepted the helmet.

Harold didn't react to the lasso loosening.

Hood crouched down again and poked Harold. The little ghost huffed out a deep sigh, like he had the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders. Hood poked him again, "C'mon, stop playing dead, we all already know how dead you really are."

"All the way?" Zatanna asked with a snicker.

"Exactly." The poking and prodding continued, "I don't even know why the lasso worked, no matter how magical it is you have to be physical to get caught in it. Why is a ghost so physical? Just density shift."

Harold seemed to have had enough, he turned and bit Hood's finger.

"There we go." Hood stood up, bringing Harold up with him. Now loose, the lasso slipped off, leaving Diana to wind it back up. Harold bit a few more times, moving up Hood's gloved hand as he did so. His strangely squishy face was scrunched up in concentration.

"That is such an uncanny valley face," Zatanna commented. It really was, but dealing with any spirit was often like staring right at AI art, somehow they never quite got it right and had trouble with any kind of fine details, unless they obsessed over a particular detail and got it hyperrealistic.

"Eh, kinda cute I gess. I can see why Robin wants him for a pet."

Robin shrugged off Batman's hold and stepped forward, "And I'm ready to take Harold home. You may visit to detail his proper care."

Before Hood could hand the ghost over, he chirped and warbled before winding up Hood's arm, around his neck, then up to Hood's head, where he snuffled around in Hood's hair.

Hood blindly grabbed for the little ghost, "C'mere, Harold, your boy wants you."

"Curse or no, he is still a person and should be treated as such," Zatanna said as she leaned back to watch.

"When the curse is lifted and he is capable of making decisions he will be allowed to make his own decisions," Batman promised, though he looked quite grim and reluctant about the whole thing.

Hood finally got his hand on Harold and pulled the little ghost down. Harold flopped over so he was being held like a baby and snuggled up to Hood's chest, giving off happy little trills and warbles.

"Alright, little pest, go be someone else's annoyance." Hood held his arm out towards Robin.

Harold let out a pitiful whine and latched onto Hood's hand with his stubby little paws, looking up at the necromancer with big, wobbling eyes. Literally wobbling, as in his big, round eyes were literally changing shape like a cartoon character. It was like watching a train wreck.

Robin held his hands up, "Harold, are you ready to come home?"

Harold turned and hissed at Robin, his face morphing and stretching into something with far too many teeth and big, dark eyebrows. He swatted at Robin with his stubby little paw, missing by a mile, then turned back towards Hood and half slithered half floated up his arm to curl around the necromancer's neck like a particularly stubborn scarf.

Hood sighed, "I was afraid of that. Sorry kiddo, the dead prefer other dead for their playmates."

Robin scowled, "TT Harold, you could've had a good home with me, but as you have made your choice I will respect that."

Batman looked relieved.

"Yeah, no. I'm not calling him Harold."

"I like the name, it suits him," Zatanna said.

Hood absently scratched Harold's head, causing the little ghost to purr happily. "I'm gonna call him Vanilla."

Zatanna held in a snort, using all her willpower not to start humming a certain song.

"It's probably for the best I take him anyway, he should probably be under observation since he's just so weird."

"Keep me updated?" Zatanna asked.

"Yeah, sure. I'll drop updates in the server." Hood waved her off as he picked up his helmet and put it back on. "C'mon, Vanilla, you're gonna love the zeta tube." He wasn't, Hood was going to have a heck of a time getting the little ghost go through with him.

Zatanna turned to Diana, "Since I'm here, how about lunch?"

"Lunch sounds lovely," Diana answered.

- - -

Later Zatanna was checking the JLD discord server to see what the others were up to. Hood, of course, was keeping everyone updated.

Red Hood: Why is a ghost falling asleep?

He had attached a short video that was indeed Vanilla nodding off. The little ghost's head kept drooping before he caught himself and blearily blinked back awake, for some reason all this while holding a honey mustard squeeze bottle. The video ended when his jaw unhinged like a snake for a toothy yawn.

Red Hood: Sleepy little guy.

He'd attached a selfie of himself lounging on a couch with Vanilla snuggled up to his mustard bottle asleep on Hood's chest.

Red Hood: aewrsdtgyu

The next picture was Hood in pretty much the same position, only now there was a very alive looking teenaged boy with pale skin and messy black hair still clutching the mustard bottle curled up on Hood's chest.

Red Hood: He has a pulse?!?! WW: Congratulations on your first adoption. If he has blue eyes you're even keeping on theme. Red Hood: Fuck you, I'm not adopting him!!!! WW: How disappointing, I expected you to take responsibility for your own consequences. Zatanna: You already gave him a name. Red Hood: So did the demon brat. I'm gonna go throw him at bruce before he wakes up. Zatanna: Good luck! WW: Tell us more of your new son when he wakes. Jason Blood: What's this about adopting? Jason Blood: Oh, what a little cutie. You can be undead father and son. Red Hood: Fuck all of you.

Zatanna smiled to herself, Hood was definitely keeping the boy. She needed to get him a gift of some kind, something to welcome the newest member of the bat-clan. And also an excuse to get close enough to look the boy over again, she was sure he'd give the most interesting results.

[sudsnribbons]

Something sweet | D.W

Girldad!Dean Winchester x Babysitter!Reader

MDNI

Wordcount: 2,704

Warnings: Use of petnames, Unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), dean being dean, oral (f receiving), DBF!Dean, Age gap (reader is 20, dean is late 30’s), Angst, Hand kink, Creampie, Size kink (if you squint), I think that's it!

A/N: Dean would be such a girl dad you CANNOT change my mind. I'm a Dean girlie so I feel like it's easier for me to write with him opposed to Sam. That being said, I hope you enjoy this. I had a blast working on it.

A/N2: I posted this, no joke 30 minutes later i was in an ambulance

You had just gotten off of work. Your 9-5 has drained you. Same papers, day after day. If you were honest you could have just skipped dinner, and went to sleep. God knows you need it, but here you are. 

Walking into the grocery store to pick up a few things for a quick dinner. Deciding to roast some chicken, you stopped by the produce to pick up a few odds and ends for your lunch the next few days. While you were scoping out the best cantaloupe to buy, brown pigtails adorned with pink bows came into your vision. The little girl tugged on your blouse, “I think I lost my daddy.” She mutters shyly. Immediately dipping down to a crouch you tried to comfort her, “Well sweetheart what does he look like? Where did you see him last?”. The girl, who couldn't have been more than 6 years old, began to describe her father to her best ability. During the little exchange, her father came from the chip aisle, seemingly anxious. He breathed out in relief when he finally saw her again, “Babygirl where did you run off to?” He picked her up, setting her in the cart. “I wanted strawberries, then you were gone.” She pouted, “Sweetheart we could’ve gotten you strawberries you just have to ask.” he looked up from the girl to you, “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry.” You smiled at the man, “No problem she wasn’t a bother.” looking down to the girl you smiled again. He thanked you again and you both went about your shopping. 

That night in the midst of making dinner, he was all you could think about. You didn't even know his name yet the thought of him consumed you. Dinner was silent that night, the sounds of your fork against the ceramic, too caught up in your thoughts to turn something on. You went to sleep later than normal, since you had opted to make food instead of ordering out. Your wallet needed a break, and so did your stomach. 

---

Traffic was bad the next morning when you left to go to work, just what you needed. You were already running late due to your phone being dead. No phone = No alarm. You were finally able to clock in, sliding your card through the scanner to get in. Dull boring day was going by like usual when you got a call from your dad, “Hey is everything okay? I’m at work.” The man sighed over the phone, “Yeah sweetheart are you off tomorrow?”. He sounded happier than usual. Odd. “I can be, what’s up?” you questioned. “Nothing, just me and a buddy of mine going fishing tomorrow.” You relaxed as he spoke, “Okay this relates to me how?” You asked. “Well his babysitter flaked on him so he needs someone to watch his little girl.” There it was. You began to realize the relation. “So this is you calling me to ask to babysit?” You sighed into the phone, “C’mon honey it’s the first fish of the season.” He begged into the speaker. “Fine, but you totally owe me.” You reluctantly agreed. “Love you too pumpkin.” He hung the phone up, pleased. You slumped into your rollie-chair. Before you clocked out that night, you were sure to brief them of your absence, despite your affliction. 

It’s not that you didn't like kids, truth be told you couldn't wait to start a family. It’s just you haven’t had a day off in over a month and here you are using it to babysit one of your father’s friend’s children. Maybe it won’t be that bad, you thought.

You woke up around 6am, the same as always. Only this time you were switching blouses and skirts, for sweats and a t-shirt. After showering, you got dressed in a simple black pair of sweatpants and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Thinking nothing of it, you threw on your red converse and headed out the door. The drive there was peaceful. Slow easy Saturday morning. Fog covered the road in a thin haze. Despite your gps failing halfway through, you had gotten it to boot back up and continue to give you directions.

 Pulling up to the house it was beautiful. Gorgeous white house with a wrap around porch. Adorned with an American flag hanging from the banister. Charming baby blue shutters hung by the windows. This wasn’t just a house, no this was a home. Pulling up into the driveway, you are met with a familiar sight. Your father’s red Ford pick-up, parked right next to an intense black Chevrolet Impala. Parking a bit off to the side, you grabbed your bag and headed to the front door. Chatter muffled behind the door as you knocked. Your father was quick to greet you. “Sweetheart you made it! Come in.” He slid to the side and ushered you inside the home. “This house…It’s so beautiful.” you muttered, setting your back on the table by the door. “I helped build it, a long long time ago.” Your father smiled at the reminiscence as you both walked into the kitchen. An oddly familiar voice shouted from atop the steps, something directed at your father. Where have you heard that voice before? God it felt like it was on the very tip of your tongue and you couldn’t spit it out for the life of you. 

Heavy boots stomped down the steps followed by a softer pair of slippered-feet. As the figure came into view, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you. 

That’s where you knew him from. 

“Nice shirt.” Was all he could mutter, sporting his signature grin. You smiled back, as the blush creeped from your cheeks to the tip of your nose. With no makeup on was a hell of a way to greet the man that consumed your thoughts. It also made it harder to hide the attraction slapped across your face. “Thanks, small world.” Was all you could find. Your father looked between the two of you confused, “Wait how do you know each other?”. He was almost scared to ask, knowing Dean’s past. “The grocery store actually, his daughter-” You started but he cut you off, “Cassie.” He corrected. “Right, Cassie wandered off on the search for strawberries was it?” You questioned, looking down at the little girl still dressed in her pajamas. Dean smiled at the two of you, as she rubbed her eyes.  “Yep slipped right out from under me, and found your daughter-” He said. This time you corrected, “Y/n, nice to meet you. For real this time.” You smiled as you extended your hand, to which Dean took in his, shaking gently. You almost passed out when he took your hand, whole body buzzing with tension as his engulfed yours. “Dean.” He grinned, looking down at you slightly due to the height difference.

Both Dean and your father watched as you crouched down to the little girl, “And it is so nice to see you again Cassie.”. Smiling at the little girl, this time her tiny little hand darted out to shake yours, you were quick to return the gesture before standing back up to your regular height. “I’m sure you two will get along just fine.” Your father looked between you and the little girl and then to Dean who was staring at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, okay?” Dean pointed between you and his daughter to which she just found hilarious as she bursted out in giggles. “No promises dad.” You teased, and a spark went past Dean’s eyes as he went to speak but choked on his words. “Right. You girls be good, okay? Have fun” You and Cassie walked the pair to, and out the door. Waving at them as your father’s truck pulled out from the driveway.

—

You were told to have fun, and fun you had.

First order of business, like any, was to put on a gorgeous princess belle dress. Of course. Every princess needs a good breakfast so that you got to making. The smell of banana filled the air as you flipped the pancake, one of which was supposed to look like a crown, though ended up more like a squiggle. Cassie loved it nonetheless. After pancakes you decided to make cupcakes for your fathers’ return. A mess of sprinkles and frosting later, you have 12 well 10 cupcakes. You and Cassie had to make sure they tasted good. The two of you played for hours, swinging and running around the yard. Playing just about every game that could be played. The sun beginning to set, you had come up with one final activity. “Oh come on you’ve never built a pillow fort?” You asked the girl, and she shook her head, “Never-ever.” She replied. “Well it is your lucky day because we are about to change that sister.” You smiled down at the girl and the two of you started to round up all the pillows and blankets in the house. 

One magnificent pillow-fort later, and both of you were tuckered out. Cassie had finally given up the ghost and was passed out in the fort as the credits of Princess and The Frog rolled in the background. The sound of car doors shutting, followed by the low hum of your father’s truck pulling out of the driveway filled your ears. You perked up as the door swung open and Dean stood there looking into the living-room. 

You sat up against the leather of the couch as Dean walked into the living-room, “Oh you two had a blast didn’t you?” he muttered smiling down at the fort before meeting your gaze. “Best babysitter ever.” You motioned to yourself playfully. “I bet sweetheart.” He grinned while deconstructing the fort to retrieve his daughter. You started to refold the blankets and he held her close, still sleeping, and took her upstairs to her room. Folding the last blanket you grabbed your phone charger off the couch and put it in your bag, before starting to clean up the kitchen. You had just started to wash the dishes when Dean came back down the steps, this time empty handed.

“You don’t have to do that.” He muttered as you rinsed the batter bowl from earlier. “I don’t mind.” You smiled warmly. It felt almost domestic, intimate. He reached for the plate of cupcakes, picking one up and peeling back the wrapper. You watched as his hands worked at the paper before he brought the dessert to his mouth and took a bite. You swallowed hard and he noticed. “Everything alright there sweetheart?” He asked, grinning while he chewed and finally swallowed the bite of cake. “Mhm, any good?” You questioned and he nodded. “Been awhile since I’ve had somethin’ sweet.” He muttered.

It almost felt loaded.

Like he meant something other than that cupcake in his hand.

“Glad I could help.” You smiled and teased back, hoping you weren’t mis-reading signals. He smirked as you dried your hands with the dish towel. Leaning over to wipe down the sticky frosting-covered counter, Dean pressed against you. You froze as he spoke, “Now what did you mean by that sugar?”. Your face went red as you laid there against the counter, pinned between him and the cold surface. “T-The cupcakes, something sweet.” You replied in a choked stutter. Smooth. He laughed from behind you. You could feel the vibrations from his stomach against your ass as he spoke, “You and I both know damn well I wasn’t talking about a cupcake sweetheart.” His words went straight to your core, dripping with each word. You stood up, still pinned but now with your back to his chest. “You knew that, didn't you baby?” He whispered into your ear. Lips ghosting over your neck, leaving goosebumps in their path. You nodded as you melted into his touch. “I’m gonna need you to give me more than that angel.” He said as he turned you to face him. Grabbing your hips, he sat you on the counter. Barely meeting his height, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Dean-” You whimpered in frustration, wanting nothing more than his hands on your body. “Haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already falling apart.” He whispered, his lips almost touching yours. Not wanting to wait any longer, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. A tangle of limbs, resulting in your sweatpants around your ankles left you craving more. “Please I need-” His voice cut yours off, “Need what baby? Tell me and it’s yours.” He tested your restraint, leaning down to kiss your thighs. The top of his head pressed against your stomach, and your hand tangled in his hair. Dean groaned against the feeling of your nails on his scalp. “Fuck.” He growled. “Need you Dean, everywhere.” You whined, and he finally gave in. 

Pulling your sweatpants past your ankles, he tossed them to pool on the floor. His hand cupped your head as he leaned you back fully against the counter. Gripping firmly onto your thighs he spread you open, head immediately going to your core. Pressing open mouth kisses against the cotton of your underwear, he watched intently as you squirmed against the laminate. His skilled hands pulled the thin fabric to the side, like a cupcake wrapper. Your nails scratched against his scalp as your fingers tangled in his short hair. Groaning against you as his tongue delved inside you. His eyes, once a soft shade of emerald green, were darker and boring up at you. Dean watched your every move as his tongue worked skillfully on your clit.

It was like a bomb went off when you finally came, taking your hearing and eyesight with it for a moment. Your chest heaved as you laid sprawled out on the counter, Dean licked his lips as you sat up, resting against your elbows. “Sweeter than that damn cupcake.” He grinned as his thumb rubbed against your thigh. “I need more Dean–please.” He looked at you with hungry eyes, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to sugar.” He traced your hips, and you grabbed for his belt, “Need, Dean.” You said it plainly, not being able to simplify it anymore. With that he didn’t waste any more time and he unbuckled his belt in the midst of a messy make-out. He quickly rid himself of anything that could keep you from him. Pressing the tip of his cock against your slit, he leaned his forehead against yours and watched as your eyes widened at the intrusion. The way your face scrunched he could tell that it hurt and he was quick to comfort you.

“I know baby I’m so sorry.” He cooed as he pressed inch by inch in until you were flush against him. Soon, pain turned to pleasure and you allowed him to move. Each rock of his hips buried deeper inside you, you weren’t gonna last long like this. Whines and groans mixed together as you both approached your orgasm. What you didn’t expect was Dean to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his hips and plant his hands firmly on your ass. Gripping the flesh, he pounded into you ruthlessly. Rutting the deepest he’s ever been. 

He tried to hold off as long as he could, wanting to soak in as much of this moment as he could. You cried out into his neck, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh as you came. “Oh fuck-” He groaned, not expecting the bite. That’s what dealt him in, the sharp pain of your teeth into him was too much to hold off on. One last thrust he came inside of you, painting your walls with a thick creamy off-white. Setting you back down on the counter, he pulled his softening cock out of you. Whining at the loss, he kissed your lips as he dripped out of you and down the side of the counter. Wiping you clean with wet-paper towels, he muttered with that boyish smile,  “You free next week?”.

Maybe babysitting wasn’t too bad.

[planet4546b]

i do wanna try my hand at a no dl6 au sometime cause i’ve been thinking of it a lot the past two days and i mostly wanna have fun with the miles ziska dynamic (<- evil things happening) but im going to patiently wait because every aa protag needs their government assigned buddy and miles already HAS a government assigned buddy in kay so i wanna see if her role can be ported over too. phoenix is around he’s just not following miles around to crime scenes and such he’s chilling with the feys and being a flop. As is his nature

[tonycries]

BRAT!

Synopsis. Scream it! While he’s still asking nicely, that is…

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, getting reader to not be quiet in béd, CÚMPLAY, spítting, Sukuna’s second tongue, oraI (fem rec), pússydrunk boys, squírting, six eyes, face-sítting, pússy-slappíng, true form Sukuna, chokíng, markíng, exhíbitionism (Nanami), víbrators, dp, slight voice kínks, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Love y’all, have a good leak day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Let it all out!

“Doll…” he drawls out, that tiny scar at the end of his smirk dragging roughly against your glossy pout. And when Toji’s given nothing more than a few of your muffled, bit-back whimpers, he’s insisting - begging, “My stubborn girl-”

Five thick fingers wrap delicately around your neck - jostling your fucked-out expression up to his greedy gaze, “Cat got yer tongue?” As if to fuck the answer out of you, his hips are ramming angrily, knocking rawly into your bruised g-spot. “Don’t tell me you’ve been hah- fucked dumb already? Wha’s the problem, ma?”

It’s been hours now, and Toji’s absolutely wrecked - blood thumping in his ears, broad chest heaving with short rasps, stars bursting behind his half-lidded eyes after each sloppy thrust. And, yet, he still has enough sanity left to notice when you’re biting down brattily on your knuckles, throat tight with all those sweet moans being held back. 

See, that’s when Toji gets impatient. 

“Fine- be as quiet as your pretty lil’ heart desires, then.” Your eyes are widening at the mushy twitch of his rotund tip - still leaky, still angry. “We’ll see how long that lasts, anyway.”

Just that dark little promise is enough to make you keen - and he’s chuckling, “Now now- what did I say-” Those soft pads of his fingers glide up in a gentle curve towards your lips - but the way he just shoves them inside is anything but. Rounded tips constricting into the very back of your throat, “Ya wanna be quiet? Then, commit to it like the big girl you are.”

Big fat tears spring up to your eyes when he’s hiking a powerful thigh up, pressurizing the ruthless pace of his achy cock even more. Bullying into your velvety walls like he was angry, knocking all the air in your lungs with every glide of his swelteringly hot head along your cervix. 

“Hngh-” you gurgle past his swirling fingers. Your nails piercing ravaged red lines where you’re gripping helplessly onto his wrist, “T-To-ah!”

There’s such a deafening squelch gushing out of your messy cunt when the mean digits on his free hand push down about halfway at your stomach, feeling for the branding little nudge of his fat cock. Toji’s mouth drops in awe at the milky white coating of his cum. Dredge after dredge soiling your inner thighs, forming a creamy little ring where he was pushing his thick hilt into you over and over-

“Shit-” his Adam’s apple bobs with a heavy gulp. Mindlessly, he’s falling down onto his elbows in exhaustion, bending you in half like a little ragdoll underneath him. “N’ suddenly I’m the one speechless, doll- Hahah-”

The heavy thwack! thwack! thwack! of his still painfully-full balls make your head spin, and Toji’s drinking in your little gasps like a starved man. Slow, languid, eyes drooping shut. “S’this why- hngh- s’this why my girl’s bein’ so quiet all of a sudden?” Hips stuttering forwards like he was losing control, just filthy, lusted-up little half-thrusts and drags of his length down your gummy channel. Even that was too much for his poor, overworked cock - painting your insides full with his thick, translucent precum with every swallowed-up inch. “Too cockdrunk? Too hah- full of my cum t’speak?”

You were so close - so overstimulated - you could barely string together a sentence. And you couldn’t have answered even if you wanted to - because your lovely boyfriend only rummaged his fingers deeper inside your mouth. Fuck- it felt so dirty having him fuck you like this - spitting against your lips, twitchy cock mashing deep into all your sensitive spots. Like he was reaching into your lungs - into your barely-lucid mind until you couldn’t do anything but nod. 

“Mmmpf- I-” you’re managing out, the words coming out in a thick, garbled mess that makes his cock throb. “Hngh- yes yes yes-”

“Awww, fuckin’ knew it.” he coos, and it’s all the warning you’re getting before two big strong arms of his haul you up. Falling back onto his muscled thighs in a sitting position - with you all speared like a slut down his unforgiving cockhead. Being bounced up, up, up your limp body nothing against his inhuman strength. “Shit- fuckin’ knew it- My poor girl got fucked so good she couldn’t even speak, huh?” Toji just throws his head back at the answering clench of your elastic walls, molding around each one of his ridges and veins. “How cute–” 

You cower under his weighty gaze, unable to escape. To do anything other than take it when his bicep bulges around your waist, tightening like a vice. “How so very-” Abs clenching when they ram- up- “cute-” He’s gritting his teeth, baring you with such a sweet, sultry smile, one that ghosts the very shell of your ear, “But why don’t you jus’ cum f’me now, ma.”

You don’t know whether his own words have Toji reaching his high - or maybe the sight of you does. Because all you see is black tinging your vision - then white, seeping out of the corners of your puffed-up folds, sopping a wet puddle into the non-existent space between you two.

He’s so vocal when he fucks you through your orgasm, raspy baritone wrenching out little praises like a mantra- “Yeah- yeah there we go. Louder f’me- scream it all out. I know you can do it.”

“P-please, Toji.” You don’t know what you’re begging for - and Toji doesn’t mind. Only pinning your body to his hulking one, holding you so close that your whimpered out moans are almost inaudible over his cushiony pecs. Babbling out, “Please- f-fuck it feels too good hah- m’cumming- m’cumming m’cumming-”

“Such a chatty girl, moanin’ so fuckin’ loud.” he titters. “Don’t you dare hold back that pretty voice from me, m’kay?” 

But only when your orgasm bates into tiny tingles, only when your syrupy sweet moans turn quieten down - only then does Toji pull away. Shuffling onto his knees until his hot breath was fanning your eagerly quivering cunt, soft tongue dragging up your painted white slit, “So let’s see if you scream twice as loud for this, my girl.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Shhh…

“My love…” Nanami breathes out in a ragged pant, his hot breath breezing down your spine. Arching up so sultrily when the pistons of his hips slow down, aching for more more more- “Is something hah- wrong?”

It takes you a second to raise your bleary head up from where it rested amongst all the papers on the desk, the satin of your office skirt hiking up even further when you’re rutting your hips back in a quiet tandem. “N-nothing, Ken–” your words come out hushed - hurried. 

And oh your husband looked so unfairly attractive when he was concerned, blond brows furrowing in the middle, running one hand through his disarrayed hair, the other pulling your teary eyes up to his. “You’re just being so-” There’s an experimental mash of his fat, rounded tip into your mapped-out g-spot, as if to confirm his suspicions. And Nanami grunts at the sight of you biting down on your lower lip, “-quiet…Now now-” His thumb comes to gently pry away your worried lip from under your teeth, “-what’s wrong?”

“S’jus’-” you hiccup, eyes flitting to the closed storage room door. “-m’ so close n’ someone might hear. I know Higuruma also has overtime-”

Shit - you’re so far into your little rant that you don’t notice the way his entire body stiffens, jaw clenching at the mention of your - and his - coworker. You can only gasp when Nanami’s towering figure just shoves you deeper into the cool mahogany desk. One hand on your head, the other wrapped nicely around your blabbering mouth.

“You’re right-” Nanami breathes, words tinted with a slow, dangerous purr. And it makes your velvety walls just seep a fresh gloss of your sweet sweet juices down all his long, hard inches. “-better not make a noise unless you want to get caught then, because m’not going easy on you today, darling.”

And fuck, Nanami likes to think himself a practical man - a sensible man, even. But right now all he could see was red - nothing past the way that other man had been eying you a little too closely these days, laughing at your jokes a little too loud. 

Don’t get him twisted, he knows you’d never do anything - you were his pretty lil’ wife after all, the love of his absolute soul. But sometimes, he just wanted to make you scream it out. 

Your pretty eyes bat hypnotically over your shoulder, “K-Ken- oh!”

Only to be shut up by the furious pummeling of all his rock-hard shaft, the sheer girth of it already making you keen. It’s enough for honeyed moans to bubble up in your throat, ticking in time with that angry pulsing of his thick tip massaging your plushy walls. 

“Shh shhh-” Nanami coos, and you feel his abs ripple from behind you when he leans his weight down, down, down to pin you even more helplessly against the desk. Those thick fingers of his cover your mouth even firmer, “We hafta be quiet, remember?”

If he was looking for an answer, then Nanami fully and thoroughly fucks it out of you. 

Those important documents are shuffling around everywhere, flying off the desk when you’re scrambling towards absolutely anything to keep just an ounce of your sanity. Because Nanami was hammering into you in such powerful, pressurized thrusts. Hard enough that you could feel the line of his hip bones along the fat of your ass, the circular smacks of his heavy balls along your thighs. Sure to leave marks that that sinfully short skirt of yours wouldn’t cover. 

“Ken! Ken- oh my god-” 

All you get in response is the sudden slowing of his mean pace, until your heady moans are softening down to mere whimpers. 

It still feels so dizzyingly good this way, having your snug hole stretch limitlessly around his girthy shaft. Knocking so deeply and thoroughly against your womb, clenching your saturated walls down with every graze of the neat tufts of blond at his hilt. 

“What did I say?” His mouth comes down onto yours in a heated clash of teeth and tongue and moans. So many rasping grunts furling from out of Nanami’s throat, spitting into your mouth, “Hafta- be hah- quiet. Or else Higuruma is- gonna- hear-” 

And that hypnotizing push and pull is punctuated by the greedy drag of Nanami’s thumb down your clit, spelling out little patterns. Over and over-

Thud!

“Hah- I don’t-” you’re startling when he hikes up a leg onto the desk, the change in angle making you all but scream out into his ravenous mouth. “Don’t think I even- care anymore ah!” Every one of those syrupy sweet moans falling from your lips have Nanami hammering in even deeper, rattling the desk with his strength. “Just wanna- just want you to-”

You’re gasping at the familiar work of his fingers on your sensitive nub - a flurry of letters all over. K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-O-K-E-

“Say it.” he bites down on your earlobe. “Spell it out f’me.”

“M-m’gonna-”

K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-O-K-E-N-T-O-

“Scream it out, no need to be embarrassed.”

“Cum!” you’re sobbing. Heaving for air when he doesn’t take even a second to slow down, “M’gonna cum, Ken. M’so f-fuckin’ close.”

His next words are murmured at the crook of your neck, dangerously above your racing pulse. Making you flinch at the sharp teeth indenting over your skin, “Then cum.”

Oh and when you do it’s like something snaps. Because all you know next is that you’re being fucked through such a delicious high. White-hot pleasure having you quivering deeper into Nanami’s hold, dragging out each one of your peaks. Your throat feels raw, head swimming so much that you almost don’t hear-

“Just the way I like you.” Leaving a lingering peck at your collarbone, “All gorgeous and-” At the sensitive underside of your jaw, “-blissed out and-” Before you’re jumping at sharp canines sinking down into the side of your neck. Hard. Possessive. 

It hurts - but it hurts so good that you don’t even register the way Nanami’s eyes flit to the door - slightly ajar now. Voice rising in volume when he finishes, “-mine.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - We’ll piss off the neighbors

“Mmpf- S-Sugu…”

“S-S-Sugu-” your beloved boyfriend is just leering, his velvety voice pitched dramatically high. Shoving apart your dangling legs so burningly wide to bully that furiously shuddering hot-pink vibrator even deeper inside your insatiable cunt. 

He’s grinning such a dangerous grin down at you, “Now, why don’t you lemme hear those pretty moans of yours like usual, gorgeous- instead of holding back?”

And all you can do is squirm around mindlessly when he’s feeding your sloppy cunt inch after smooth inch of more of the thin vibrator. Rummaging around your clingy walls so much, “Come on now-” A taunting thumb of his glides along the intensity meter - Setting 1, Setting 2. Before finally resting smugly on Setting 3. Long, dark lashes bat at you, “You’re breaking my heart here!”

“P-please!” you sob out, before immediately worrying your lower lip shut. And Geto notices - of course, he does. The determined smirk on his face turning into something a little colder, a little more predatory. 

“Aww, my poor baby doesn’t wanna speak with me.” he’s goading, leaving your plushy walls stretched full with the blissful girth of the vibrator. Letting you all but cockwarm it while he’s running a rigorous thumb over your puffed-up clit, “Tha’s fine. Whatever my girl wants, she’s gonna- get.” 

Geto’s sharp tongue is running lewd stripes up and down the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on the corners of your lips as if he isn’t driving you insane. As if he isn’t driving himself insane. The achy, fat tip of his reddened cock kissing wetly at your glossy folds, weeping hot precum that sticks to your slit, trickling down the buried hilt of the vibrator. Oh, how he knew - had planned out - exactly how he was going to make you scream. 

But for now, he’s only pursing his lips together, letting you babble and whine unfairly to yourself. 

“S’not- not that I hngh!” your entire body jolts when he’s wordlessly increasing the intensity - Setting 4. Nervous eyes flitting down to where Geto’s lengthy cock was sitting prettily across your open legs, throbbing. Waiting. “Jus’ the neighbors- hah- we got another noise complaint, Sugu–”

He still doesn’t budge, still doesn’t say a word. This time his fingers are toying your finger even sloppier. Tweaking and circles lazily along the sensitive nub, making you all but scream-

“Please- I promise-” you’re bucking your hips up for more more more. Feeling the sopping smack! of his hefty shaft come down on your skin, splattering translucent dredges of his syrupy precum all over your skin. “Promise s’jus’ that Sugu.” Shaky fingers of yours wrap around his long, inky hair - hauling him close to meet your lips, and you could feel the ridges of Geto’s toothy grin when you crack, “Feels so good- too good. N’- jus’ want your cock- hngh! Promise was jus’ trynna be quiet because the walls are th-thin and the-”

And then it feels like you’re being split apart, such a thick intrusion to your already filled-up cunt. Soft, supple walls being contorted around the vibrating toy - and Geto’s addition of his thick, weepy tip. 

“Say please, then.”

You’re so completely and utterly fucked out that you barely even hear him at first - body moving before your mind when your lips sag open. Jumbling out a mess of, “P-please.”

“Hmmm…” Geto pretends to think, but he’s still circling open your elastic entrance to fit his needy cock inside. Taking it slow, sensual - making sure your silky sweet walls are rubbing against each and every one of the prominent veins down his middle, the rotund end of his head shoving its way inside. “S’not ‘nough - how about ‘please, Sugu’?”

“Please, Sugu!” Your nails claw their way down his broad, milky shoulders - leaving red, red marks that make him groan. That make his hips jut forward in a solid, thorough thrust, “Please- d-don’t care about the n-noise complaints hah- jus’ wanna be full of all of you.”

Geto doesn’t know if he can move, fuck, he doesn’t even know if he’s breathing. Eyes widening, head thrown back at the slightest feeble clench of your velvety walls desperately trying to accommodate around his cock and the vibrator. 

It takes beat - two, of him grinding in filthy gyrating motions, abs flexing when his slender waist surges forward. All the way until that divot at his tip was branding into your spongy cervix, painful, cum-filled balls sticking thoroughly against your ass. Somehow, he’s managing to roll his eyes, “D-didn’t hafta hah- say that much, gorgeous.”

There’s a sharp flick! 

Setting 5. 

The heady room is instantly filled by both of your moans - so loud. Yours higher-pitched and cracking pathetically at the end, Geto’s throaty, like they were being dragged from his throat against his will. 

Immediately, he bores down at you with a bit lower lip, eyes half-lidded, the corners of his mouth curled up in what almost seems like a smile. “Guess I better quiet down myself- hngh- huh?” he gasps - heaves - tremors of the vibrator rubbing up so deliciously at the underside of his throbbing shaft, jostling with each hastening ram into your gushing cunt. “B-because now that I finally got you to scream out f’me-” 

You’re mewling when his thumb comes up uncharacteristically gently to swipe away your own lips from underneath your teeth - a habit, almost, at this point after you’d gotten a very huffy email about being too disruptive at night. Like right now. “-I don’t wan’ ta hear anythin’ else. And that includes noise complaints - because soon m’gonna move ya to our own house, pretty, don’t ya worry. And there-” Your forehead is branded with a soft kiss, your g-spot with a rough ram. “-you can scream as much as ya want.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Please please please.”

Choso couldn’t stop even if he tried - he couldn’t hold back even one of those broken, whiny pleas wrenching from his rosy pink lips. So loud, deep voice pitching up highly at the end every time the weepy divot at the very end of his fat tip reached into the spongy bottom of your pussy. 

“Baby- please, baby–” he drags out your sweet little nickname, two of his sizeable palms coming to splay out on the curve of your hips. Just dragging your gummy cunt down like a cocksleeve, helping you ride him in easy, relentless grinds. “Does it feel good? Tell me- does it- hah-”

His breath hitches with a sudden shudder when your fingernails dig into the side of his pale neck, using the leverage to just ram your cunt down in thorough, hypnotic gyrations.

“Please!” Choso’s gasping, eyes rolling to the back of his head. You’re jostling slightly precariously on his slender hips when he’s planting two feet flat on the silky sheets to buck up, up up- “Tell me- tell me how it feels, baby.”

Your fingers tighten involuntarily at the sound of his greedy beg, making him let out such a guttural groan. The sound sends shivers running along your spine, all the way down to where he was jackhammering into your ravaged cunt. Thumbing apart your swollen folds to keep them spread enough for him to bully his girthy hilt into. So depraved. Needy. “S-so good, Cho-”

It was an accident - really - you didn’t even mean to let the little compliment slip. But it’s enough for Choso’s eager cock to expand even girthier inside you, all the blood in his body rushing to stretch your elastic walls to their limits. You could feel him everywhere, molding you to the very shape of his cock. 

“Yeah? Oh yeah?” he’s hissing, craning his neck up to mesh your lips together sloppily. Languid, delirious - kiss-bitten lips smacking when they’re sucking on your lolled-out tongue. Fuck, how he missed your voice. “Tell me- ngh! Tell me more, please.”

Oh, but really - your sweet sweet boyfriend was so pretty like this underneath you. Milky skin damp with sweat, his dark eyes dewy with tears and locked on you, mouth parting open in ragged grunts. Your favorite little melody - it made the way you bite your lip stubbornly all the more sweeter. 

There’s another glissading stream of his sweltering hot precum coating your inner walls, sloshing around in a syrupy slow rhythm inside you. “Please-” He’s crying out again after a few more branding smashes into your bulging g-spot  - lips wobbly as if he was on the verge of bawling without your voice. “Wanna hear your sweet moans, y’know? S’my f-favorite song-”

And you swear your hulking boyfriend’s mouth was upturned into such a pretty pout at that very second, soft planes of his hands caressing up and down your bent thighs. You can’t help but hum, making his head feel so lightheaded with that teasing quirk of your lips.

Or maybe it was the way your fingers clamped down tighter around his neck, sure to leave a perfect array of bruises from your splayed-out fingers. Jerking him even closer- “Fine- open that mouth if you love my voice so much.” 

You’re barely even finishing the sentence before his jaw slacks open, tongue darting out - just in time to catch the steady glob of syrupy saliva you spit out. Right onto the middle of his tastebuds, Choso’s immediately slotting his mouth against yours in an even greedier mess of a kiss. 

“Didn’t think you- hngh! like my voice that much, baby.” you’re humming, letting him hurl into a frenzy of powerful mashes into your g-spot. Some missing - drawing long, eager glides of his rounded, thick head along your cervix. “I like yours too, y’know. So much.” Leaving a lingering drag of his jutted-out bottom lip between your teeth, “S’why I ah- hngh- held back- love hearin’ you.”

And oh, every honeyed word of yours goes straight into twitchy cock, pulsing painfully into your mushy walls. Curving upwards so deliciously, Choso’s hold on you tightens - enough to draw blood, you might think, had he not cut his nails just earlier. 

He’s fucking upwards into you so solidly hard - feverish drags of you down his massive length only getting rougher and rougher until he couldn’t-

“Don’t do that, silly girl- mm- can’t live without hearing those cute moans of yours, m’kay?” Big fat tears gloss down his sharp cheeks with how stimulated he was right now, and you could feel the weighty shifting of his balls. So tight they almost felt like they could burst. “So be loud. Be as loud as possible f’me- tell me how it feels, how you ah- want more- a-and-” His fingers now cup your face, leaving all the laborious duty down to his frantic hips. Yet, Choso didn’t mind - anything that let him glide a thumb along your spit-glossed mouth, tugging out your bottom lip from where you were trapping it between your teeth, “-and say my name.”

You do - and it’s just about all you can manage out when you’re leering down to bite on Choso’s sensitive earlobe. Exactly where you knew would make him shiver the most, rutting up animalistically to bounce you up even deeper, “Then cum f’me, Cho.”

And he thinks he will - fuck, at the sound of his name rolling off your saccharine sweet tongue he couldn’t hold back even if he tried. But not before teasing a hard roll of his thumb along your clit, “F-fuck you little- ah! You first, since you’ve been hah- holdin’ out on me. N’ this time-” His glinting eyes narrow, sharp canines bared in such a viciously fucked-out grin that it makes you clamp down - hard, “-you’re gonna be the one hngh- crying out, baby–”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - CHATTERBOX!

Now, usually when Sukuna had you all splayed out like this - your trembly thighs balanced on either side of his head, puffy pussy lips so sopping wet it made his mouth water - he knew you’d let out a few pretty noises. 

A mewl when his hot tongue laps up the syrupy juices sopping from either side of your slit, a moan of his name when all he does is card the very edge of his soft muscle between them. And finally - finally - his favorite, a whiny beg for, “P-please, Kuna- no more teasing!”

How cute. 

When you miss the first - he doesn’t think much of it, instead too engrossed in thumbing apart your swollen folds, admiring the way your greedy cunt was already glistening and winking down at him so sweetly. Spitting a fat wad of his saliva right on the bullseye of your entrance. When you miss the second, he’s concerned, humming a raspy growl at the back of his throat while wrapping two plump lips around your throbbing clit. 

And when you miss that last one - oh, now you’re gonna get it. 

Smack! 

All give digits of his thick fingers come down hard on your hovering pussy, sliding a glistening syrupy wet sheen down to his wrist. 

“S’this boring to you, woman?” the famed king of cures spits his words with a low, threatening rumble of his sculpted chest. And it’s all you can do to throb, whirling your glassy eyes down at his half-lidded, darkened gaze, “Anything else you’d rather be doing right now?” 

You’re shaking your head deliriously - but that’s not enough for him, of course. 

There’s another oozing little throb from your cunt - rewarded with another branding smack! across your sensitive clit. “Don’ wanna use your big girl words, hm?” Sukuna raises a brow, still holding such dangerous eye contact with you when he hollows out his cheeks, long tongue lolling out to make out with your pussy. “Fine then- let’s let this cute pussy speak for herself, hm?”

There’s only a drawn-out, sloppy squelch ringing through the heady air when he lays his tongue flat across your glossy lips. Just teasing around the very edge of your gushy entrance before the very tip of him dances up, up, up.

“Hngh!” you’re gasping at the feeling of him grazing over your clit in a sultry push and pull - and the sudden wetness of something else swirling around your syrupy sweet hole. “Wh- is that-”

“Shhh, didn’t ya wanna stay quiet, brat?” Sukuna cuts through your words, velvety coo making you just arch down harder to drag your slobbering cunt all across his eager face. And where that mean mouth of his was teasing you, his other - larger - tongue on his stomach was picking up wherever left off. More, even. “So shut up and let this pussy talk, why don’t ya?”

Ah, it was impossible to escape him. Two big beefy hands were steadied firmly around your quaking thighs, hauling you right onto his swallowing mouth, grinding you against his jaw like his favorite meal. You’re being bounced, almost on top of him - his other tongue driving you insane. 

Reaching all the spots you could’ve never even imagined. Arching into you almost as deftly as his cocks, bullying past your puffy lips and into every bulbous areas of your sensitive spots. Fucking you so thoroughly-

“Hey-” There’s another reminder - one of Sukuna’s free hands planting a solid smack onto the very bulge of your elastic walls around his tongue. “Think she said she’s getting close- Almost didn’t hngh- catch it ‘cause you’re being a bit too hah-” He’s craning his thick neck back in for a messy kiss against your clit. “-loud-” Again. And again and again- plump smirk glittered with all your sweet sweet juices. “-dontcha think?” Smack! You’re whining in response, drunken hips pushing down as if to shut him up, “S’like you want to hngh- moan f’me. If you wanna then why are ya being so- fuckin’- stubborn.”

And fuck, you were so far gone that Sukuna almost didn’t expect a response. Half-lidded gaze locked on the trickle of drool slobbering down your slack mouth, eyes bleary, soft whimpers barely even audible over the sinful squelches! from down below. You were so loud, so drippingly wet in each one of your noises that it has him running his free palm over the outline of his aching cocks. 

“B-because-” your wobbly voice makes his fat tips just gush out in thick ribbons of precum, seeping through the fabric of his decadent yukata and onto his fondling palm. “Felt embarrassing- the position a-and hah! got nervous I’d be too whiny or somethin’, Kuna…”

“That so?” Sukuna simpers, voice a little more silky soft than before. And the gentle smack! on your cunt reads as more fond than punishing, “Stupid brat- ya think I’d be like this if I didn’t like your pretty noises?” As if to prove his point, the two hands on your body ride you harder down his mouth. Sloppier. More depraved. “Nervous for what- s’jus’ me, y’know?” Tonguing back teasingly over your glossy clit, his eyes just bore into yours. Baritone vibrato pulsing down your achy pussy, “And I love every lil’ thing you do, my girl.”

His guttural moans are still echoing from the very base of your cunt when you cum - so hard. Violent, even, that Sukuna has to wrap his strong arms around you to keep you from escaping. It’s all your poor pussy can take. Waves of pleasure taking you away. Gushing and gushing so hard-

“Sh-shiiiit-” Sukuna utters - and it’s only then that you realize just how much you’d cum, quivering hole letting out bursts of your syrupy sweet slick. Just coating the entire lower half of his face, his cheekbones, down to his pecs in everything you’d squirted.

And while his lower tongue still laps at your honeyed juices, letting each bead slide down the muscle. He licks his lips with a sigh, “Let’s ask this gorgeous cunt if she can do that on my cocks now, too, hm? N’ this time- ya better scream f’me.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Shut up.

“Sweetheart…”

“Satoru.”

“No-” 

Maybe it was the way your sorry boyfriend was just aching to hear your sweet sweet voice moan around his name, maybe it was the way he’d been spending hours already groveling and worshiping your body. Or maybe it was the way your clingy walls just pulsed all around his weepy cock, squelching in a way that makes him salivate. 

“I told you, my girl–” he soothes out in an almost-whiny tone. Pressing an overly-wet peck at your forehead, your nose, on either side of that scolding pout on your glossed-up lips. “I’m- sorry- I’ll listen to whatever hah- gossip about your favorite show next time just please-”

Two rough hands rest at the globes of your ass, purposefully jostling your fucked-out body to face him - he wasn’t letting you escape any time soon. 

There’s the slow, lingering squelch of Gojo rolling his hips forwards in such a dizzying tandem. Shoving you further and further up those expensive silken sheets at the hotel suite he’d booked for tonight - all for his little apology. 

“I s-see that lil’ smile-” he’s grunting, forcing two fingers around your face to look right into his greedy gaze. “Aww, come on- wontcha forgive me? M’begging here- begging.” And when you’re still keeping your mouth stubbornly shut, he’s throwing your limp legs over his broad shoulders. Running a syrupy slow circle over your neglected clit, “-promise I won’t fall asleep next time ya hah- t-talk my ear off.”

You have to admit that every saturated glide of his throbbingly fat tip has your jaw slacking further and further. Honeyed moans just bursting behind your lips, he’s stretching you out so sinfully. 

And, yet, it was so fun to see the strongest all broken down like this - eyes drooping almost closed, pouty lips with a glistening sheen of spit, little whimpers sounding at the back of Gojo’s throat every time he’s knocking right into your bulged-out g-spot. It drove him absolutely insane to see you purposefully hold back your pretty moans. 

“No no no no no-” he’s frantically prying away the knuckles you’re biting down deliriously on, trying to ease out those soft little whimpers and mewls. “My stubborn girl.” Pecking lingeringly at your lips, “Won’t you just scream- f’me-”

With a singular, jutting slam! of his hard hips against yours, you’re just keening - because Gojo was just crashing angrily against your poor g-spot. No longer teasing grazes and glides along your soppingly wet walls, just daring you to beg for more as you always did. 

No, he was pressing into your g-spot with ferocious power, muscles rippling across his hulking body when he’s sliding his fat cock back, back, back- Only to reel all the way forwards, the very curve of his globular head curving thoroughly against your sweetly sensitive spots. Again. and again. And again and again-

“Ah!” you’re scrambling up onto your elbows, connecting your forehead with his own. “S’too-”

You didn’t know what you were going to say - to have him beg more- to have yourself beg for more? But whatever it was clings to your heavy tongue when you’re raising your head up to meet your boyfriend’s. 

Because oh you knew that flushed, blank expression on his face, the slight crinkle of lightning at his eyes. This fucker-

“Whoops.” Gojo’s grinning, not a drop of regret in his words. “Guess I must’ve hngh- accidentally used six eyes when I-” Another nudge of his rotund head against your g-spot, only picking up in pace. Only plugging you full of his deep, grinding inches - fucking you so thoroughly into the mattress that you could hear the bedframe creaking in protest, your own cunt squelching ravagedly. “-hah- fuck this cute pussy. But hey…” He leans his face even closer, that infuriating curl of his lips only growing, “-I don’t hear ya complainin’ now, do I, sweetheart?” 

“Especially when m’ruining you right-” Splaying out all five of his long, pale fingers across your stomach - drawing an invisible line where he was branding the imprint of the very top of his length into the bottom of your pussy. “-here?”

Fuck, he had you exactly where he wanted you. 

“Y-you’re so-” you’re managing to gasp, eyes narrowing as he leans in even mockingly closer. But you can’t hide the slutty bliss in your tone, the way you tug and tease his soft, snow strands. “-so infuriating, y’know. I shouldn’t even hah- be lettin’ you off the hook this easily.” 

He’s moaning twofold, like the sound of your voice electrifies him. Hefty shaft twitching with each piston, painfully tight balls just clenching so painfully. “Yeah- hahah- yeah, isn’t it because you love me?”

The entirety of his body shivers when you lock your legs tightly, bowing his body even closer to stick to yours. “It’s because-” you purr, batting your lashes so sultry. Spitting against his lips, “-you’re such a pain in the ass, Toru.”

And then he’s cumming - and cumming and cumming so hard that Gojo doesn’t have the time to be embarrassed. All he can really think about is the syrupy slow slosh of his seed painting inside your gummy walls, shooting out in thick dredges. 

You giggle, eyeing down at the puddle of cum and saturated slick oozing down your thighs. Leaking out of your weepy slit, “Heh…for someone that wanted me to hngh- s-speak up so much, you sure are weak, Toru.”

The second roll of his nickname on your tongue is enough for Gojo to be gushing out another wave of potent cum into your snug channel. Hissing, he’s swiping at the creamy ring forming around his hilt, pooling the mess on the large pads of his fingers before-

“Maybe s’better when you-” Bullying them between the seam of your mouth, he’s swirling around your hot tongue. “-don’t speak.” Your answering glare is enough, “J-just kidding!”

A/N. If y’all need me I’ll be in my prayer circle manifesting for a Gojo comeback…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[stevebabey]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

[cameronsbabydoll]

ditzy!reader and simon “ghost” riley having sex

you’re sprawled on your back, legs wrapped around simon’s waist, moaning like you’re in a goddamn soap opera. he’s slow tonight — grinding deep, eyes fixed on your flushed face, watching every little twitch of your brows like it’s his favorite show.

“feels so good,” you mumble, dreamy and soft. your hands are limp above your head like you’ve given up on existing. “wait… is this still missionary?”

he pauses.

blinks down at you.

“what?”

“like. technically. is this missionary? or is this—like—a variation?”

you squint at him, dead serious, like you just asked him to solve a math problem.

“cuz i think if your knees are up like that it changes the—”

“shut up.”

he says it fast, teeth gritted. “jesus christ, shut up.”

but he’s laughing. kind of. it’s all breath and growling and trying not to smile as he drops his head into your neck, biting down just a little too hard.

“ow,” you squeak, clinging to him like he’s your only life support.

“s-sorry! i was just wondering! i get curious!”

“you get bloody stupid, is what you get,” he grumbles, voice thick with that rough mancunian lilt. “askin’ me about positions while i’m balls deep. what’s next, quiz night?”

you giggle — all bright and breathy like a cartoon — and run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“oh my god wait, do you think this counts as a workout?”

he stops moving.

again.

just stares down at you like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“…you takin’ the piss?”

“no, i’m serious!” you wiggle beneath him. “my legs feel all burny. like pilates. and you’re sweating. so it’s basically cardio, right?”

simon leans in, mouth by your ear now, dragging his hips so slow and deep it makes your toes curl.

“it ain’t bloody pilates, sweetheart,” he growls. “but if you keep talkin’ like that, i’ll bend you like it is.”

you whimper. immediately shut up.

sort of.

“you’re soooo mean,” you pout, clinging to his arms. “i was just sayin’! and i forgot what i was gonna say next anyway but still!”

“no surprise there,” he mutters.

“—but i know it was really important.”

he groans.

loud.

like he’s in pain.

“fuckin’ hell. i swear your brain leaks out every time i fuck you.”

you beam at him.

“probably does.”

and he just kisses you, hard and messy, dragging your hips back into his lap.

“dumb little thing,” he whispers against your lips. “lucky you’re cute.”

[yeyinde]

caging a wolfdog

Simon Riley x Babysitter!Reader

18+ | groping. dubcon. infidelity. blue-collar Simon in a loveless marriage finds another way to entertain himself when his wife is too busy fucking her Pilates instructor to come home. victim blaming. future wife grooming. breeding. implied contraceptive tampering. spitting/spit kink. gross/mean Simon.

It's something to mend the gap between paying for college tuition, and surviving on more than air and the stale crackers they give out at the food bank. A job that takes up less space in your calendar than studying for finals or finishing up last-minute projects due before the end of the term.

And, in all honesty, the kid makes it easy.

Tommy doesn't fuss like most his age. He sits on the couch with his iPad perched on his knees, watching grown men scream in front of a camera for hours. Sometimes he stirs, asks for snacks. Something to drink. But mostly, he just scrolls YouTube Shorts, and puffs out peals of childish laughter at whatever he finds amusing.

It's the easiest job you'd ever had, really. He has no complaints about eating chicken nuggets and Kraft dinner on the nights when you stay later and have to cook something for him. Even when you try to make it healthier by chopping up celery with homemade ranch on the side, it barely makes him whine.

He eats. Scrolls. Pouts about his bath. Negotiates bedtime for ten more minutes with his iPad. And then he's sleeping by ten, hugging the device tight to his chest as a man hollers about Minecraft beneath him.

And that's the extent of it.

An easy job. An easy kid.

The problem, really, is his father.

And more specifically, the way he can't seem to stop touching you.

You're not sure why it happens, just that it does. Becomes some strange staple in this arrangement where you never leave his house without having his hands on you at some point.

But maybe the writing was always on the walls because even as he was showing you Tommy's bedroom, he folds himself over you, spine pressed against his chest, and murmurs in your ear about bedtimes and baths and all the things a babysitter is meant to hear—

But not with the hard, firm outline of their employers cock against their ass.

You should have said something then. Put your foot down. Rained hellfire and retribution over this man and his gross, foul perversions.

Should have done a lot of things, probably. But in the end, the span of his hand over your belly, so wide it threatened to swallow you up, kept you quiet. Docile as he shifted his hips—wife down the hall, flatly informing him she has a class tonight and probably won't be home, so don't bother waiting up, Simon—and rubbed his cock against you, grunting in your ear about how pretty you are. Such a sweet girl, too.

So good for his baby boy.

Keeping quiet seems to spur him on. Spreading the thick, heavy length of his body against your spine isn't enough to quench whatever sticky, awful desire brims in his chest. Insatiable now that he's had a little taste, he gorges himself on what he can get away with.

What you let him get away with.

(if you didn't want this, pretty thing, you'd have said so, wouldn't you? big, strong girl like you. you can 'andle yourself. but you ain't because you want this—)

Broad hands cupping your breasts as he leans over your shoulder and pretends to instruct you on how Tommy likes his lunches. Little more, he rasps, calloused fingers slipping under the band of your bra, and pinching your stiffening peaks between a too-big thumb and forefinger. The rough, dry graze of his scarred skin was some awful amalgamation of stinging, abrasive pain and pleasure. Likes his sandwiches cut up jus' like tha'—

Grabs a handful of your asscheek on the way out the door, pinching the flesh so hard, it aches when you sit down. Rutting into you like a beast when he comes home, and Tommy's already in bed. C'mon, he grunts, hefting you up from the couch. Gotta go an' check on 'im. But it's just an excuse to bend you over banister as you peer into Tommy's room, groaning as he shoves his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass.

Husks in your ear about how good you are for him. He and Tommy both. Such a good girl, ain't you?

It's strange. All of it. And maybe that's why you let it carry on. Continue even though you know he's married, and has a child. And—

He's odd. Intense. Weird.

Looms in the corners of the room sometimes, content to just watch you. Eyes dark, endlessly black. Fixed on every move you make. A wolf wearing a man's skin. A monster in faded blue jeans and black steel-toed boots.

Uncanny.

Scary.

Massive in a way that stole your breath the moment you laid eyes on him. A full body bloom of dread at the scale, the size, of him. Like staring at the face of a mountain, mind reeling over the incomprehensible height of it. Vertiginous. Dizzying.

Thinking about him always makes you feel a little bit sick. Lying on your back and staring up at the sky. Cosmic quasiness. Unease that trickles down from your ancestors and fills your pores with the bitter, acrid tang of fear.

But between the noxious, rolling worry—the unmistakable feeling of a starving man staring at you like you're nothing but a scrap of tender, fresh meat—is a heavy, sick sort of heat congealing in your belly.

It was easier, at first, to lie and say you stayed for the money. Broke college student with a sinkhole of debts already growing on the periphery, biding its time before it sucks you into an unfathomable, inescapable chasm. Bled dry. Used up. It'll crush you.

But this—

Simon works around your schedule. He's gone for most of the day—pulls twelve-hour shifts Monday to Saturday at the oilfield—and is fairly lenient when you have a test, sending Tommy to his uncle's instead. Staying the night is an unorthodox arrangement, you're sure, but it works itself out in the end. Being here to take Tommy to school before heading to your morning classes (the rest all available online), and then free to pick him up after and wait for Simon to come home eases the stress of a long commute to your dorm and then here, to the dorm and then back again. A small respite, sure.

And if he pushed, insistent, that you sleepover, well—

You can hide it behind a wall. Pretend he's just looking out for his son even if you have to lock the door in the spare bedroom at night, and wake up sometime to the sound of the knob rattling.

He lets you use his spare truck whenever you need it. There's always a pot of coffee waiting for you in the morning. He keeps a tidy house and a strict schedule, but money is always in your bank account or tucked into an envelope on the counter a day ahead of when you agreed he'd pay you.

But living on top of each other like this is almost unbearable.

You see more of Simon than you do your own family. Friends. Even his wife. A woman made of contradictions, it seems. Dutiful mother, but only when it matters—parent teacher conferences booked in advance, the darling starlet of his birthday party that passed—and you try to keep out of her way. Shame, maybe.

Do you know what Simon does to me when you're in the next room? Do you know what he says when you're bent into downward dog as your Pilates instructor fucks you on the matt?

Or just the knowledge that both of you, in your own way, are adulterers.

But having something in common with the woman who is more of a guest in her own home, her child's life, than you are is a sickening thought. So you squash it. Ignore it.

All of it—

His hands on you, rough and proprietary. The foul, dirty things he whispers in your ear—Tommy's been askin' for a baby brother, 'bout time we gave 'im one, don't you think? Spread your pretty pussy around my cock and keep ya nice an' plugged until it fuckin' takes—when no one is around. How these incidents keep getting progressively closer to his bedroom door, his marital bed, and one day, you think he might drag you in there and not let you out again until those promises he forced from your lips are fulfilled.

You bite your tongue. Taste blood between your teeth hours after he leaves for work, and curl into the couch as the minutes tick by until Simon's supposed to come home. Trying to distract yourself as much as you can, but there's no escape from it. From the way there was something different about him this morning. Something heady. He didn't touch you, but just quietly observed you with those strange, unfathomable eyes of his. Sinkholes wanting to swallow you down.

Hungry.

And when you asked him if he wanted breakfast, he'd just said, oh, I'll eat, birdie. You can bet on that, and then left out the door without another word.

It takes you until noon to unravel the knots in his expression, and what you find makes your heart jump like a trapped rabbit in a snare.

Possessiveness. Want. Hunger.

But most damning of all—

Anticipation.

In the room over, Tommy giggles, high and shrill, at a video. The noise jars you back into reality. A car drives down the lonely street. The timer on the oven dings. Tommy gurgles again, the sound pasted over a loud, pitchy shout that rankles down your spine. Slowly, achingly, you unfurl your body from the tense crouch you collapsed into, head thick. Underwater. In a fog. Thoughts dripping down the sides of your skull in a slow, syrupy crawl.

Your eyes dart to the clock. Three hours.

oh, I'll eat, birdie.

"Come on, Tommy," you warble out, gingerly moving towards the kitchen. Three hours. There's a buzzing inside your head that grows louder, more restless with every step. "The pizzas done."

On the fridge, a neon pink post-it note mocks you. PILATES TONIGHT AND DRINKS WITH THE GIRLS!!!! DON'T WAIT UP!!

Three hours.

You lick the blood off your teeth.

oh, I'll eat, birdie—

He doesn't bother cleaning up before he goes home.

Caked in grime, sweat, dust from the fields, crudeoil glued under his nails—a walking biohazard of filth, but he lumbers into his truck the moment he's finished, cock already thickening, straining against the harsh fabric of his jeans. Sticky on his thigh where it lays, twitching at the thought of his little birdie sucking his dirty fingers clean.

And you'll do it. He knows you will.

You've been so good for him, haven't you? Sweet little thing.

He scrapes the top of his tongue against his teeth, pulling up the taste of stale, bitter coffee. It's acrid, sour in his mouth. Swallowing around it, he grips the wheel tightly and sifts through the multitude of things he wants to do to you as he navigates the familiar path home. Muscle memory, but there's an emptiness in his belly. An itch under his skin. If fizzles, cracks; want and desire thick in his throat.

He's been thinking about this all day. You—laid out on his bed, fingers gripping the sheets tight as he folds you in half, kneecaps to your ears. Feet kicking out behind the heft of his shoulder. Bearing all his weight down on you. Crushing you.

Pumping you so full of his cock, his cum, that you whine afterwards—too empty, Mr Riley—and he has to stuff you full again just to shut you up.

Whiny little thing, he'll coo, nasty and mean as he fucks you again and again and again—

Another scrape. Tongue against teeth pulling over tastebuds. Sourness in the back of his throat. So bitter, so nauseating, he can't wait to make you swallow it down and beg for more as you try not to dry heave all over his dirty boots and onto the clean floor.

More, please, more even as you gag.

He's too hyperaware for the drive to pass in a blur—it's all startling present, each second ticking down in technicolour—but when he finally slows to crawl in front of his house, he has everything he wants to do to you laid out in a neat, concise list. Left you a defiled mess in his head, leaking cum and begging for more.

Anticipation is a maw in his gut that growls and snaps its jaws, too eager to sink inside the pretty thing that's been playing House in his mind. In his home.

He left it unfed for too long.

And now, it's time to eat.

You're not in the living room when he enters.

It's silent. The idling television paints the room in a pale, neon pink.

The clink of his keys, the thud of his boots, are the only sounds popcorning through the dim, quiet room. He casts his gaze towards the stairs to the left, sees light spilling out from Tommy's room down the hall. The nightlight burning away.

He shifts on the balls of his feet, hums something under his breath. A relic from a bygone era when the man Tommy was named after might have pulled him aside and said man, this isn't you.

Simon keeps his boots on as he trudges through the still, winter night of the house, eyes shifting past each corner, every crevasse. More muscle memory he can't shake. All filed away. Catalogued. Meticulously scoured as he shifts through the hall, pausing only to crack Tommy's door open and steal a glance of his son. Knows he won't be able to sleep without it.

He finds him tucked safe and sound in his bed. iPad on the floor connected to the charger. The screen is frozen with the image of some brightly coloured game that'll hold his interest for another day before it becomes yet another thing Simon packs away. More memories on shelves. Something to feel scraped out, hollowed, when he grows another inch and Simon starts to see more of Tommy in him than he can stomach.

The air stings his nostrils when he breathes in. The burn gives him time to shift around the potent ache of fatherly affection he never thought he'd feel back into the guarded lockbox he keeps it in whenever Tommy isn't in view. With it tucked back in, safe and sound, he lets the thrill of the pursuit fill him again.

Another hum. He peels away from the door.

"Hidin' on me, birdie?"

He knows you're here. Your boots are still drying by the front door. The air still clogged with your scent. He follows it like a bloodhound until he reaches his bedroom door where he finds you on the bed. Waiting. Uncertainty clinging to you like a second skin he can't wait to peel off, run his fingers through the bloody mess until you're raw and aching; shiny new toy stripped bare just for him.

Your mouth pops open. The inside a pretty ring of pink. He thinks about it, about sinking inside that soft little hole, making you gag around the thick of him as he feeds you his cock.

Clean it up f'me, birdie

But it's clear from the way you flit nervously on the comforter that he'll have to work you up to that.

Slow and steady. It's not his usual approach—he's in the habit of taking what he wants. Still. He slows. Glacial. Notches his shoulder against the doorframe, staring. Waiting. Waiting—

And finally:

A shift. You tense. "Mr Riley—"

"Take your clothes off."

Your throat shifts when you swallow. "Mr—"

If you didn't want it, he reasons, you wouldn't be in his bed. Waiting for him.

"Now, birdie."

There's that pause he expects. The hesitation as you stare, searchingly (pleadingly), at him, trying to take a measurement of just how serious he is about this. But he knows he gives nothing away. Just stares with streaks of dirt on his brow, washed down by thick trickles of sweat. Eyes lazy, lidded. Mouth flat. Even.

You demure after a moment. Hands falling shakily to the hem of your sweater, curling beneath the fabric. Gaze downcast, staring wide-eyed at the curve of your jean-clad knees. Bemused, maybe, that it got this far. That you let it get this far.

He doesn't give you time to think about it. Cocks his head to the side, puffs out an impatient breath. "Hurry up. Ain't got much time before my wife comes back."

It's a low blow. He feels it skim his knuckles, a sucker-punch.

You suck in a sharp breath. He wonders if you'll make things difficult now. Fight back. This isn't right. What you're doing to me isn't right. We should stop, Mr Riley—

Instead, you peel the sweater off.

It's artless. Clumsy. Each movement wracked with nerves, uncertainty. There's no coyness to the action. It's not even sexy, or coquettish; nothing about it is done to entice, to seduce. This is an action completed twice a day, every day. Routine. It's mundane, perfunctory.

And yet—

"Fuckin' hell, birdie—"

Something about the latent unwillingness of it all chokes the air from his lungs.

Cock thick in his trousers, throbbing like a wound, he steps into the bedroom, making his way towards you in nothing short of a prowl. It's been building up since you first appeared at his doorstep, eyes wide and bright and scooped Tommy up into your arms until he squealed with laughter.

"I got him," you chirped when he reached out reflexively, dancing artlessly out of the way of his snatching claws. "Don't worry. He's fine with me."

This is your fault, of course. For looking the way that you do. For burrowing under his skin like a parasite. A festering itch. Being close to you always felt like a toothache. Dry socket. Something that made his head split.

"On the bed, birdie," he grunts, hands falling to his belt with a urgency he hasn't felt since he was a clumsy, knobby-kneed teenager. "An' spread your legs f'me."

You give a startled gasp that makes his cock throb, and he groans low in his throat at the waxen look in your eye, the slight quiver to your lip. You look queasy—torn between disgust and fear, eyes slipping to the scarred hands that yank hard on his zipper, cup the bulge that splits through the spread seam, dirty fingers gripping himself tight—and he has to roll his head back to keep from snapping at you to roll over.

A noise does spill out—an impatient rumble gnashing between jagged teeth—when you sit there, bared from the waist up, and watch him with wide eyes. Making no move to show him that pretty pussy he cupped in his palm before. That soft, wet heat in his hand that felt too delicate, too sweet, to be touched with his dirty fingers. Something that rankled down his spine, buzzed in the back of his head when he pulled them free—stained, nails blackened with dirt, crude oil, and glistening in the low light of the kitchen.

He wants it again—on his cock this time. Wants to see that soft pussy get him all wet as he ruins it. As he peels back, sitting on his haunches, and takes in the awful mess he left you in. Poor cunt swollen and abused from from being forced to take the full, fat length of him as he bullies it inside over and over again; puffy lips all sticky with his cum. Sore and stretched and used. Raw after such a vicious pounding—

"Pants off, birdie," he bites out, yanking his jeans down beneath his aching balls. "Ain't gonna like what 'appens next if I 'ave to ask again—"

You give a startled gasp at the rough, callous growl hewing his words, and he wonders if anyone has ever spoken to you like this before. So demanding. With an edge of cruelty slithering out. Demeaning—

No. No one but him, he decides, stroking his cock as he watches you clumsily kick out of your pants, demurring in a faux show of bashfulness as your fingers skim the hem of your panties. The picture of coy shyness as you drop your chin to hide the wobble in your lower lip, the glistening wetness in your eyes as you grapple with indecision. Child's play of modesty.

A farce.

Just the mangled growl of your name is all it takes for those trembling fingers to inch into the hem of your panties, tugging them clumsily down your thighs.

He could come, he thinks, to just that. This. The bloom of fear etching across your brow, panties tangled against the knob of your knees. Unwilling to bend down and push them off the rest of the way. Scared to, maybe.

It buzzes in the back of his head. The idea of paralysing you with nothing more than a sharp bark and crook of his finger; your fear as delectable as that little sliver of skin he can see peaking out at him.

"ain't go' all night," he cuts in with only a quarter of the ice he uses on the field, and feels a deep thrum of satisfaction purr through his chest when you squeak, flinching at his rough, brassy tone.

Your panties fall to the floor in a rumpled pile between your feet, toes curling into the carpet as you try to close your knees as tightly together as you can get them to hide yourself from his heavy-lidded gaze. A last play at modesty. Gaze inward, nervous. A skittish little rabbit with nowhere else to run.

The way you stand before him on shaking knees, trembling like a leaf, makes him want to sink his teeth into you and shake. Little virginal offering to a rapacious god. A feast all for himself. He wants to chew you up. Eat you alive.

But he opts, instead, to bite his tongue until he tastes blood, and bark at you to get on the bed as it oozes between his teeth. Feels something animal split open inside his chest when your eyes widen as he steps into the room, a slow pursuit, a prowl, and has to bite down on the urge to give chase when you flinch, backing away from him quickly. Naked and scared. Running from him with a nervous tremor, but he doesn't miss the way you make, quietly, for his bed.

Eager. Obedient. Fleeing from him like a scared little animal unaware of just how enticing you are.

"Good girl, birdie."

It takes three fingers to open you up, but even that doesn't feel like it's enough.

Not when he knocks your knees apart, wedging his too big, too thick body between them (and then stares, and stares, and stares at your bare cunt, slick and sticky from his hand; flesh left swollen from the brutal spear of three thick, dirty fingers shoving inside—less of a stretch and more a carve: he carved you open) and spits.

You weren't expecting it. Nothing could have prepared you for the suddenness of this degrading act—the nasty, demeaning way he spits on your pussy, and huffs, amused, when the foamy mess slides down your swollen clit to pool between your folds. His finger chases it, rubbing it into your skin, pushing it into your hole.

Ain't got lube, he says, words bordering on a strange equinox of bluntly nonchalant and utterly caustic. Should be thankful m'doin' this much.

Thankful.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, and you try not look at his cock again when he grips himself tight in his big, dirty hand.

He's too big. Too fat. It makes you a little nauseous to stare at it, him—his cock. Marbled like a bruise. Thicker at the base. Veiny. The head is swollen. The tip is soaked in a thick, paste-like spill of precum, and for a horrible second, you almost thought he would make you lick it off.

(later fills the empty space in your head, and you try to mould yourself around the idea until you can decide whether or not the feeling that blooms in the pit of your belly is really dread.)

His hands were rough. Scarred. Dirty. Caked in oil. Stained. He didn't even bother to clean up before he lumbered onto the sheets behind you, one hand falling to grip his cock through his dusty pants, the other heavy on your neck, pushing you down into the mattress that reeks of fabric softener and stale cigarette smoke. Old sweat.

He doesn't need to tell you that she doesn't sleep in this bed anymore, but the idea of it prickles in the back of your head as he pushes you against the sheets and undoes his jeans with an ease that's more muscle memory than thought. Practiced.

You don't have the right to be jealous, but it hums through you like a sickness when you think of him doing this to her. His wife, you add, just to make it hurt. A knife in your gut that aches when you breathe—

"keep breathin', birdie," he grunts, spreading his fingers wide apart inside of you. "Don't get all tense on me now, or I'll have to start over."

You're not sure what that means, but you think you know better than to test his tenuous patience anymore than you have, and so you still. Go quiet. Breathe as he spears you deep, deeper still, and carves a space for that monstrous looking cock to fit—

where it belongs, he'd said, hunched over you like a nightmare in the daytime. All shadow and sinew. Stitched from broken daydreams of a brassy voice in your ear murmuring soon, birdie as his wife pretended to pack a lunch in the kitchen and he rubbed your nipple through your shirt before he slipped off to work.

But it's over too soon. His dirty, stained fingers slipping free from your aching, sopping cunt, leaving you empty—bereft—for a moment as he shuffles up the bed, splitting your knees wide apart to make room for the asburd width of him to fit.

An impossibility, really, but as Mr Riley—call me Simon—is wont to do, he makes it so. Wedges his wide thighs beneath yours until your hips tilt up in his lap, opening you wide. Obscenely so. And—

A grunt.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

Just looked at the split of your cunt sitting invitingly in his lap, wet and messy from his fingers, the cruel push of his palm against your clit. Swollen. Aching already—

"Want it, huh, birdie?"

The words I'm not so sure anymore hitch in the back of your throat, rearing up as he reaches between your legs to grip himself tight, too tight, until he turns a sickly shade of purple around the head that looks wider than anything you'd ever had inside of you before. But he doesn't give you a second to think before notching himself against you, giving a little push that forces the swollen head to sink inside of you—

Just the tip, really, and it already hurts. Stings like a papercut as he stretches your cunt around him, sharp and sudden.

"Too big—" you whimper, tossing your head to the side, breathing in the tang of fresh linen and musk as he grunts above you, pushing and pushing—

Something has to give.

It doesn't surprise you much when it ends up being you.

"Tha's it, birdie. Open up f'me."

It's not so much an opening as it is a siege. A conquest. And with him perched above you, heaving like bull and bathed in shadows that glue alone the mismatched asymmetry of his face, making him look less like a man and more like a figment, a statue—this Stygian being that swoops down and presses his palm against your throat, the other digging into the pillow beside your head, grunting—you feel ever bit of the battered receptacle he turns you into.

Forcing himself into you with a rough grunt, a brutal shove that—for one dizzying, awful moment—you swear you can feel inside your throat, taste on the back of your tongue. Choking on it. But then he's sinking in. Splitting you apart with brute force and that little bit of slick that you know must be stained pink—

"Good girl," he's grunting again, shoving another inch into a space much too small for him to fit. Savouring it. Relishing in the whimpers, the hiccups punched out of you with every flex of his hips. Eyes rolling a little, just a touch, when you feel something warm tickling your cheek and realise you're crying. Shush, birdie, he says, a quiet coo, but he looked delighted. Don't cry. Not yet—

another flex. two more inches. it feels like being speared open; flayed alive. it hurts. it hurts so much, you can't even begin to think through the pain, but he's huffing. groaning low in his throat as he adds:

"—'cause m'not even halfway in yet, pup."

The admission shocks you so much, you barely notice him spreading his knees beneath yours, squaring his stance, until it's too late.

"Wait—!"

If it weren't for his hand tightening around your throat before he speared the last several inches into you, you're sure the wail you might have let out would have woken Tommy. A good thing, you think, dazed, still soundlessly howling around the burning ache of him using his absurd weight to drive into you (balls deep, birdie, he grunts, and sounds so ridiculously proud, you nearly preen—), making you take every last inch. Selfishly carving more space for himself inside of you. Hollowing you out until his whole cock is drenched in your pink-stained slick—

"Makin' me all pretty, aren't you?" Huh, birdie? Nice and fuckin' pink.

A sob bubbles up beneath his palm, and he coos when he feels it, shushing you with a groan as he keeps an awful rhythm, flexing into you. Grinding deep. Carving and cutting and hollowing you out—

"Tha's it, pup," he grunts, eyes masting in leonine pleasure as he bucks into you without respite, taking his bliss from the burning stretch of your cunt. And stupidly, you think about preening. Smiling wide and big and lying to yourself about how bad you want this, him, even as the tears dribble down your chin.

Siphoned satisfaction, maybe. Or just the press of his fingers against that little thing inside of you that made you turn your cheek to his touches. Letting a married man shove his hands down your pants while you made breakfast for his kid and his wife called out to him from the next room about not waiting up for her too late.

Giving in.

That's what this feels like. A slow corrosion from the moment you knocked on his door and said you were here to help him with Tommy to now, buried under his bulk as he batters into your aching cunt, splitting you apart.

Sweat drips down his nape, pours off his face, and when it hits your skin, it feels like battery acid against your cheeks. But with his hand still lodged around your neck, there isn't much you can do except take it. Like his cock, his spit, his sweat. Let him ply you with all of it, every inch, until your body becomes accustomed to the ache.

"Fuckin' stranglin' me."

His cock hits something inside of you, and it isn't really pleasure that blooms in the pit of your belly, but something like a panacea. A wound that's soothed through touch.

Like a knife that hurts more coming out than it does stuffed inside.

But it' saws and it splits. Tears flesh. Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him, throbbing like bruise against the thick of his cock. A tight fuckin' fit, he says, and inches his fingers up to grab your cheeks. Squeezing until your mouth pops open, mewling at the deep, aching pain, and then he spits.

You don't need him to tell you what to do this time. You just close your mouth and swallow what he gives you, whimpering around the sudden ruck of his hips, a harsh jerk that slides his cockhead against the seal of your womb, dredging up a wave of pain that's soothed by the kiss of that fattened tip pressing against the sting once more. Soothed by touch. By the flood of endorphins.

Fitting, you suppose, since it feels a little bit like being eaten alive when he fucks you, grunting and snarling like a beast as he pounds into you, half-mad and starved, and you remember reading somewhere that people rarely experience any pain when they're bitten by a shark.

An oddly serene experience, out of body almost, as they're taken apart by razor-sharp teeth.

That's how you feel looking up at him, feeling the drip, drip, drip of his sweat splat on your cheeks. Warm, milky breath ghosting over your forehead. A barely there kiss when he bends down, growling into your hairline that he's gonna fill you up, pup; that Tommy's been begging for a little brother, 'asn't he? and ain't it time we gave 'im one?

You think no and don't. please don't, please, but your hands stayed curled into the duvet instead of reaching up to push him away. Knees dropping further apart as he bends down with a brassy grunt that you feel in your belly, between your hips, like molten lead. A pulsing flutter—sore muscles gripping tighter and tighter as he grunts again, and tells you to keep opening that pretty cunt up for him, birdie. Let him get even deeper.

The collar of his shirt dips low, unveiling a mass of moulted flesh suffused together in a pink ribbon array of crisscrossing scar tissue and burns. It's an odd time to notice that he hasn't bothered to undress, just shoved his jeans down his thighs and pulled his—monstrous, ugly—cock out, and forced it into you. But you do. And you feel it so acutely in your chest that even without his hand on your throat, you doubt you'd have been able to breathe. It just—

It says something, you think. Means something.

And maybe it hits you like a fist, too. A bludgeon to that little thing in the back of your head that keeps reminding you this isn't okay. That you're not supposed to be in this bed, with this man.

Marital vows, it says, all wrapped up in the scent of stale sweat and detergent. A whisper of Candy Kiss peppering the room when you arrive; a sweet sillage that tickles your nose whenever he leans down, cupping your breast in the palm of his hand. The flash of metal sitting snug on his thick ring finger. Cold and dry against your damp skin.

It crumbles under the sway of his big, thick body sawing away between your hips; turns to dust, dissolving into soot as the growls spilling out his chest tremble through your bones. The ring doesn't matter. It never did.

Not when he's decorating the space he hollowed out inside of you with these dizzying daydreams—weaving a damning tapestry with fingers bleeding from cuts made by the knife of his own artifice. Staining it red.

Pretty pink.

And eventually the ring warms between his hand and your heated skin until you can't tell the difference between metal and flesh.

(but in the smeared residuum of ash and rust, something stirs, asks if you ever really could at all—)

"Gonna make me a dad again, ain't you, pup?" Huh? He growls, rough and mean. Gonna have t'start callin' me daddy soon—

You're not sure when it started building, but the edge is suddenly there. Within reach. And he tells you in rasping groans that he feels it too. Gonna cum, biride, he says, and it sounds like a threat. A warning. It's a razor scraping against your nerves, pooling heat between your hips.

No, you think again, but your hips roll as much as they can with him bearing down above you, cradled between your slick, damp thighs—roughened up, chafed by the repeated scrape of denim. Eager for it. Hungry. Like you're starving.

And what did he say before? Oh, yeah—

Oh, I'll eat, birdie.

You feel that gnawing, gaping emptiness in your belly as he huffs, breath sticky and warm, glueing to your skin as he pants his desire over your flesh, inside your body. Pace stuttering on his next exhale, morphing into a choppy, clumsy grind—just the desperate, furious graze of his cockhead digging into that bruised, tender spot inside of you where pleasure and pain suture themselves together until one is almost indistinguishable from the other. Fear and desire warping around the edges until you're trembling from the urge to flee, but bearing your neck at the vicious spread of teeth gaping open above your caught jugular.

Simon presses his face against the side of yours, smearing sweat and spit over your heated, damp skin from where a cut in his upper lip leaves his teeth in a constant snarl, bared to the world in a vicious, brutal display of aggression, and the nudge of it against the softened, ripe apple of your cheek is what sends you over the edge before you're ready.

It's mean. A nasty, ugly climax that throbs more like a wound than a satisfying end; pulsing and spitting fire as you yowl into the bubble bulging along his ear, clawing at the duvet, and bringing your other hand up to twist into the wet fabric clinging to his broad back. Needing to hold on. To find purchase as he grunts into your skin with each brutal plunge of his hips, and then sinks his teeth into your pulse, drawing blood—

You're still clenching around him, throbbing like an infected wound, when he lifts his pinked up muzzle, bearing his crooked, bloodied teeth, and grunts with his release. Filling you with a burning, stinging heat. Painting the tapestry he hung on chiselled flesh. A home of his own making. The apex of your being is a crevasse for him to sink his desire inside until something grows.

Tommy wants a baby brother, he'd said, and as you knot your hand tighter around his sweaty shirt, you wonder if maybe you should have paid more attention to the pills you shoved into your mouth each morning, making sure they all looked exactly the same—

"Fuck, birdie," he snarls into your neck as he throbs inside of you, cock jerking until it lodges against the battered, bruised seal of your womb—soothing the ache, you think, giving a weak pulse, a little, desperate clench around him—grunting like this is all your fault.

And maybe it is. But he doesn't give you much of a choice when he ruts into you still in rolling, feverish humps that knock your teeth together each time you unhinge your jaw to tell him to stop.

(But you won't, of course—)

His hands are hot against your clammy skin, searing and rough as he pulls you back into his chest with a grunt, mumbling something about a cigarette as you pant into the sweat-slicked nook of his arm, trying to make sense of what happens next.

You should leave. And really—you're a little surprised he hadn't kicked you out already. Shoved you off of him, told you to pack your things. He'll call when he needs you next because with this burning desire of his sated, what else does he need you in bed for?

But he tightens his grip when you try to wiggle away from him with a salt-crusted, sleep-drenched noise of dissent.

He isn't done with you, he mumbles, pawing at the end table for the carton of cigarettes he left there this morning. Blue Zippo still tucked neatly inside.

It's something you'd noticed during the first week when you opened a drawer looking for Tommy's iPad charger and found his hidden stash—along with the rest. Little clues that piled up until the pieces fell, and you realised this was a strange, habitual thing of his where he needs to leave things lying around the house—a carton of cigarettes with a lighter; a duffle bag full of clothes for him and Tommy. Non-perishable food stuffed inside a rucksack. Cash. Knives. All within reach.

Most people live in their homes. Clothes in the drawers. Shoes on a rack or piled by the front food. Food in the cabinets. They carry their smokes with them or keep them in a convenient place for whenever they need them next. But Simon seems keen to uproot himself at a moment's notice. Bags within reach. Necessities all packed by the front door, ready to go. Each room has a satchel hidden somewhere. A carton of smokes. A lighter.

It means something, you're sure. Nestled between the layers of a restless, caged tiger circling its iron-barred domicile for the first chance at escape is a travesty written in spoiled ink. Chiselled into the bars, imprinted there like braille for you to run your fingers over until pockmarks make sense.

Like why Candy Kiss is left on the vanity, sitting atop a drawerful of untouched clothes. The smell of fresh linen. Pilates on a weekly basis. Don't wait up peppering the air; a soft echo cradled in the harsh snap of a door closing. Eyes barely blinking away from the flashing screen.

Or—why your clothes disappear each time you do the laundry. Lace panties and satin bras first—an almost banal perversion that barely made a gurn at. Then tights. Sweaters. Shirts. Jeans. All missing with a nonchalant shrug of a massive shoulder, and a stare that didn't much pin as it skewered. Flayed. A flat, even dunno, birdie. Maybe the ghost knicked it.

Tightly wound artifice you'll never make sense of beyond the bags and the cigarettes. The stares that make the hair on your neck stand on end—

"Fuckin' hell, pup," he grunts suddenly, pinching the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger as the other slides down your curved spine, grabbing a handful of your asscheek in his palm, giving a vicious, painful squeeze. "Can feel your little cunt leakin' all over my leg—"

He slips the filter between his teeth with an appreciative hum when you jerk, a mocking huff spilling out when you try to clamp your legs shut around the thick split of his hip wedged between them. You can feel it, too—the thick, sticky ooze of him leaking out of your sore cunt, smearing pink-tinged cum all over his jeans. He hadn't let you get up after rolling off of you—just barked at you to leave it. Keep it, birdie. Gotta take, don't it?

A barb you hadn't said anything to, opting to ignore that, like everything else he does. Did.

Will do because you can tell, even beneath all those hidden layers, that this isn't a one-time thing. No. This isn't just a man stuck in a bad marriage fucking the nanny because he can. It's deeper. Worse, somehow, than a gross older man with a fetish for younger women he can financially control. Another pervert slaking his lust on whatever artless little thing falls into his web.

No. No—

This is missing clothes stuffed inside bags kept around the house. Pills that leave a strange aftertaste on your tongue of something a shade too sweet—

You think about running. Slipping out of his hands, this bed that reeks of stale sweat and sex, putting on your clothes, and leaving this house. Burying yourself in debt again, schoolwork, and limping (with your tail between your aching thighs) back to your landlord. Never looking twice at an ad for a babysitter in your life.

—and maybe spend your whole life wondering why people mix wolves and dogs to create something that never truly feels at home in the patchwork skin it wears; pieces of ancestors it can't relate to;

But you don't.

(—you never do.)

You lie there and take it. Like the leers he aimed at you when you first showed up on his doorstep, reeking of financial desperation and swallowed down the litany of things he said to you under his breath with a wobbly grin and your eyes fixed on the tile, convincing yourself it would pass. That you were more than just a pretty face he couldn't wait to cover in his cum. A soft ass he wanted to sink his teeth into before getting his cock in there next. Tight little pussy he was so eager to break in. Pantin' like a bitch in heat, ain't you, pup? can hear you gaggin' for it a mile away—

Biting your lip so hard it bled. Blood between your teeth. Your hands curling into the coarse, starchy fabric of his work shirt when he leaned down, permanent snarl on his face from the manmade cleftlip, and reached down to grab a handful of it. Testin' the merchandise, he cooed, low and mean and ugly. Words wrapped up tight in barbed wire. Brassbound. Said nothing as he pinched your nipples through your shirt, or when he shoved his hand beneath the hem and groaned at how soft you were.

Dirty hands leaving stains all over your skin you couldn't see, but felt like a fresh, weeping tattoo. Pulsing with infection.

(Such a needy little thing he trusts with his son while his wife is gettin' railed by 'er Pilates instructor, huh? But that's fine, ain't it? Need another one, anyway. A better influence for Tommy. Someone who'll give him that little brother he's been buggin' for—)

And so, you slacken your jaw when he grunts, barking at you to open up. Say nothing when he drags his hand back up your body to grip your jaw tight in his palm, squeezing your cheeks until they pop open. Let him spit in your mouth, and swallow down the foul, stale tobacco taste of him on your tongue.

Nod, like an obedient little pup, when he says good, ain't it? and let him roll you onto your back again, wrenching your thighs apart so he can see for himself the mess he made. The one you let spill all over his jeans.

Good ones, too, he huffs, eyelids slicing over the jaded edge of obsidian into a derisive pantomime of a contented cat squinting to show affection. Half-mast in pleasure as he says he'll wear them again tomorrow an' let all the boys see what a mess you make of me—

His gaze drills into the wet, slick seam of your puffy, bruised cunt, grip tightening—vicious, possessive—until his blunt nails sink into your skin. Branding. Bruising. His fingers clench down until it almost feels like he'll break through muscle to touch bone, but just when it starts to really hurt, pushing past that strange equinoctial point where pleasure and pain wrap around each other on a razor's edge, he peels back with a grunt. Leans over you to spit in your mouth again, a wet, foamy glob that hits your bottom lip before it oozes into your mouth, tasting of stale smoke and bitter tobacco. A flavour that reeks of permanence, and smells of an incipient wolfpack—all animal musk and wildness brimming up against stale sweat, laundry detergent, cigarette smoke, and sex.

Cruel, almost, like the gurns etched into his face by the missing chunk of flesh on his upper lip. Snarled and deadly. Mocking in a certain light. Like a constant sneer. Derisive and dangerous.

But not nearly as terrifying when he lists forward, dropping down to catch your jaw in his hand, the other planting itself in musty pillow beside your head, caging you in, and says:

"—and now you're makin' me a daddy again, birdie."

There's a taste in the back of your throat that's much too sweet for the dirty, oil-stained fingers he slips between your slack lips, scratching over your tongue. It reminds you of a spoonful of sugar. Grape-flavoured medicine poured over the top. And you wonder how quickly the pills you have been taking would dissolve in water when you sprinkled the white granules down the drain.

Something else you won't mention even as this house he burrowed inside changes shape—clothes in drawers, bags in the closet; the lingering scent of Candy Kiss a spoiled, stale sillage hidden under the smell of newborn and warm milk. Crushed animal crackers and Nicorette. The sound of a gaping, newly formed maw yowling for attention clashing sharply against the exaggerated screams of a grown man howling about a video game on Tommy's iPad.

thanks for hiring me and don't worry, Mr Riley, I can manage him morphing into a new sound, a continual echo of welcome home, and she called again asking about custody, daddy.

Something that throbs like a fresh wound before knitting itself together again into a thin, pink line; skin all shiny and new. Pulsing with the echoes of everything you dipped your chin again, mumbling around the malformed words of please, and don't, and now,

don't stop, please don't stop

What else are you supposed to do, really, other than lettingnhim slake the remnants of his lust between your sore, slick-stained thighs until he grunts, coming inside of you again to the damning symphony of a creaking bed, heels against the floorboards, and the sizzle of a cigarette burning away in an ashtray.

"Wait—" swallowed down by a mangled mouth. A hooked, crooked nose slides along your sweaty cheek as he all but purrs in satisfaction.

All his, he says.

And you don't fight it even as the blood pools between your teeth because you knew that from the start.

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw: fluff, suggestive, mdni

You really threw a wrench in mean bf sukuna's plans when you totally forgot about Valentine's day. You told him from the start that you didn't care about stuff like that, but he thought you were just playing the Cool Girl™. Realistically, all girls care about that shit. It's ingrained in their fluffy, pink, little brains, right? You're going to be mad as hell when he tricks you into believing he's completely ignored your first Valentine's day together.

That works just fine for mean bf sukuna, who just so happens to think you're super hot when you're mad. So, he ignores you all day while he shops. He smirks to himself as he thinks about how you must be scowling at your phone screen, waiting for a text that never comes. He outright laughs when he imagines the shock on your face when you see what he has planned for you. Maybe you'll do that thing where you bang your fists on his chest while he pulls your body against his. Maybe your eyes will be shiny with tears when you look up at him and say, "I thought you forgot!"

Turns out he's the one scowling at the screen when the whole day passes without a peep from you until you text him "picking me up?" Just before your shift ends.

"Yeah, I guess," he grumbles as he types it out. What kind of passive aggressive, feminine sorcery is this anyway?

His scowl only deepens as he listens to you chatter on about your busy day the whole ride home. You don't seem angry at all. In fact, you plop down next to him on the couch, as usual, practically sitting on top of him as you giggle at the TV and dig into your dinner. You don't even notice that he hasn't touched his own food. He's actually getting pissed in a serious way. And he looks it, even more so than usual, you notice. You fucking finally notice. "What's your problem?" You ask around a mouthful of your favorite takeout.

"Tch, nothing," he says, crossing his arms and looking away. Is he... is he really pouting?

"If you say so," you shrug. You know better than to press him too much, unless you want him angrier and even less prone to discussion. "I'm gonna get changed," you say as you stand to head towards the bedroom.

"No!" He says, just a little too loud.

"Why not?" You ask narrowing your eyes at him over your shoulder.

He would have physically stopped you, but you're a little too small and a little too quick not to slip through his grasping fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask, standing in your bedroom doorway staring at the array of pink and red bags, flowers, your favorite candies and snacks.

mean bf sukuna winces at the sight of the veritable mountain of gifts he had spent the day heaping on the linens. He may have gotten a little carried away, but he kept thinking of things. That bag you pointed out at the mall. And the necklace. And the sunglasses. Then he remembered you said you wanted to go to that concert, so he got tucked the tickets into your card. Then he thought you'd want to wear those shoes you pointed out.

"Oh, my god," you say in a small voice. "It's Valentine's day. I totally forgot."

You turn to him, but the apology that was on your lips dies in a fit of laughter when you see his face is as red as the gift wrap.

"You'll pay for that, brat," he growls as he tosses you right on top of the pile, fully intent on getting his money's worth out of you.

[kiyoomiee]

part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s pining after you for over a year now. This man would constantly cross the lines and push any boundaries you set just so you could spare him one date. He doesn’t mind the chase, it only makes him want you more.

boxer!sukuna can’t take his eyes off of you during the company’s year-end party at the bar. His eyes were eating up the outfit you wore. The dress hung perfectly on your curves. He’s dying for a touch.

He’s on his sixth drink now, he’s tipsy for sure. You two were left alone in the VIP booth, while everyone partied on the dance floor. His arm rested on the back of your seat, fingers ghosting over your shoulder as he watched you drink your tequila shot.

You frowned at him when he stole the lemon you were holding. He smirked and raised his brow, silently daring you to take it from his fingers.

What he doesn’t realize was, you too had too many shots now and were high on liquid courage. Never breaking eye contact with him, you didn’t hesitate to move closer and suck on the fruit from his hold.

Fucking hell, you little minx. He bit his lower lip to suppress a groan.

His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips. You gasped when you felt his hot tongue licking upwards from your chin up to the side of your lips, savoring the lemon juice that dripped.

“Sukuna” You called him softly.

“Yeah, baby?” His half-lidded eyes stared back at you.

“I should punch you for that.”

He chuckled, your pouting lips only invites him more.

“A woman after my own heart.”

boxer!sukuna who possessively wraps his arm on the back of your thigh to pull you closer when he noticed Toji Fushiguro staring at you curiously. Toji, his sparring partner for today, was curious about the lady doctor that Sukuna was so obsessed with.

“Stop staring Toji, she’s mine.” He glared at the man from across the ring.

“‘m not yours Sukuna.”

“Could’ve fooled me baby, you’re wrapping bandage on my hand like a wife would do.”

“I literally do this for other players too.”

“Hmm.” Was all he replied, he was busy staring at your face. You rolled your eyes at him when you noticed.

“You’re so beautiful doc, wanna go out with me?” Your hands stopped for a moment, he didn’t miss the blush creeping up your face.

He’s been asking you for a date relentlessly over the past year. Maybe this time you’ll finally give in.

“When you win the championship this season, maybe I’ll say yes.” You say, avoiding his eyes as you finished wrapping up his hands.

Sukuna was stunned, he didn’t expect you’d say yes after rejecting him so many times.

“Fuck me. Fushiguro! You heard that? She finally agreed to be my woman!”

“Yeah I think you have a hearing problem, you lovesick fool.”

“He’s right. Selective hearing can damage your brain Sukuna. You aren’t even champion yet.”

You stated, but he doesn’t care. All Sukuna heard was that he finally has the chance to make you his (wife) girlfriend.

“I promise you, that belt will be my consolation prize. I’m coming home with you as my trophy.”

[kisssukuna33]

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always have you over at his house the night before an important match. It helps with the stress he says.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always put on a TV show before you two settle into the couch for cuddles. Usually the cuddling session is a mix of him relaxing against you as you ask him questions about the match tomorrow.

"You packed an extra pair of shorts this time right? Remember what happened last time"

"yeah I did"

"Did you iron the clothes?"

"Uraume took care of it"

"That new protein shake your nutritionist recommended, Did you take it?"

"Already did"

"What about snacks during the game tomorrow? did Uraume-

"oh my god baby relax, it's all taken care of"

He says in somewhat of an annoyed tone as he pulls you even closer to his chest, tightening his grip around you. But deep down he loves it when you are concerned about him like this.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who insists that having a good time before the match tomorrow isn't a problem to him but you reject the offer firmly because you know how Sukuna gets whenever you two started something.

It always ends up dragging for hours so no, your bf needs his beauty sleep for tomorrow.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who pouts slightly when you say no to him but decides to settle with the short make out session instead, better than nothing he thinks.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who teasingly steals few touches from your sensitive areas, clearly trying to rile you up but stops after seeing the glare you gave him.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who never seems to be the type to get much nervous before matches. Because of his Overconfidence? His never ending Ego? maybe. But his ability to stand strong in situations like this always makes your heart flutter.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always makes sure you get the best VIP seat to his match, You always need to be in the front lines where he can see you from clearly when he beat up his opponent back to his ancestors.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always find a way to bring you up in the Media press. Sukuna is widely known by the audience for being a down bad "simp" for his girlfriend as well as a complete disaster for his opponents.

"Mr Ryomen, Do you know there's a whole talk in the internet about you being a simp for your girlfriend? What do you have to say to people who spread things like that?"

"Keep spreading the truth I guess. The internet definitely needs it more"

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who hurries back to his changing room and jumps straight into your arms. Despite your constant nagging for him to get patched up first.

"Baby did you saw the jab-cross I threw before he hit the ground?"

"Yeah it was Amazing Ryo!"

"I did good than the last match, didn't I?"

"Yeah you always do"

"Then I deserve way more than that cheap kiss you gave me earlier don't I?"

"Get patched up first you freak, Uraume's waiting"

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who lets you both into his house as he holds your waist with one arm. He let go of your waist as he makes his way for the bathroom while murmuring something about showering first.

As he started to shower you turn on the tv with the intention of seeing the live match you saw today in the digital screen. And it immediately cuts to a interview Sukuna did just right after winning.

Boxerbf Sukuna! Who seems enthusiastic as ever talking to the reporters about the match he finished and the opponent he defeated. Not long after he adds a little appreciation from his part.

"My manager Uraume helped me with a lot of stuff so I truly appreciate them. Also my girlfriend stayed up beside me every night when I practiced and supported me in everything, this win is hers as much as it is mine."

"if you're watching this I love you baby"

A warm feeling start to take over your chest as you hear his words. The man who's appreciated and idolized by millions saying these things so casually to you, you still can't get your mind around it.

Then the reporter use his luck to ask a risky question one more time.

"it's look like you two have a great relationship together, what do you think about marriage Mr Ryomen?"

To that question Sukuna doesn't respond but instead returns a well knowing little grin as he waves off the interview.

"Tch why did they ruin the moment by asking that, now it looks like he doesn't want to marry me" you said to yourself.

Just as you were about to leave to the kitchen to grab a snack, something shining inside the closet that Sukuna forgot to shut earlier catches your eyes.

Hidden by the cloth piles it was a little jewelry box that had familiar initials on top of it.

It was none other than yours and Sukuna's.

Wait..

No that can't be, Yeah maybe this is the earrings he wanted to give you before.

But much to your surprise the box opened up to reveal a gorgeous wedding ring. A big diamond you sure costed atleast 5 six figures alone sitting on top of it. Inside the ring you and Sukuna's initials were carved into it making it seem even more special to your eyes.

Your heart is jumping from excitement and happiness, everything about your life is starting to get better and better and you can't help but thank Sukuna for it.

You don't want to ruin the surprise he planned for you of course. So you put the box back to it's place and sit on the bed till he's done showering patiently but the stupid smile you had since earlier didn't left your face for once.

"Alright I'm done showering let's slee- what's with you?"

"What's with me? nothing Ryo"

"You're are smiling very creepily woman"

"Ryo that's mean! My smile is not creepy!"

"Yeah whatever come here, freak"

Sukuna says as he drags you closer to his side of the bed while turning off the bedside lamp at the same time. Your bodies intertwine with each other like it was always meant to be. Sukuna's hands wrapping around you as he buries his face into your neck.

"Ryo?"

"hmm"

"I love you"

You can feel a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I love you too princess, more than anything"

Boxing Kuna is my favorite <33

No grammar checks though sorry :/

[missdynamighttt]

all i can think about is mean, pro hero! katsuki giving me backshots, man ☹️

you and katsuki were constantly at each other's throats, whether it was at hero work or at social gatherings. you couldn't stand each other, always arguing and sniping at one another.

but one night, after a few drinks at a work thing, some boring event. something happened. maybe it was just all the tension building up and you simply didn't notice because... you somehow ended up at his place, stripped naked, and honestly? it was mind-blowing.

"hey!" you pant desperately, whimpering from how firmly he grips on your hips. your hands grip onto his couch tightly as your knees hit the soft material. "loosen up a little, my hips are bleeding!"

katsuki's been on edge all day, his mind filled with images of you, wearing your tight fitted clothes that hugged your curves just right, and those high heels that make your legs look endless.

it didn't make it any better when you approached him too, too drunk to even remember where you live, getting you safe in his place and pushing aside your differences for now. maybe a little too much.

"what'cha talking about? i'm not gripping you hard enough," katsuki grins almost devilishly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he continues to slam into you from behind, admiring the warm red marks on your hips.

the alcohol earlier long left his system and yours. all he's drunk on now is the feeling of you clenching down on him, whimpering from beneath him. his hands hold onto your love handles as he pulls you into him, your sweet moans echoing in his ears.

he leans in close, breathing heavily, his voice low and rough. "besides.. you like it when i ram into you like this, don't cha?"

"god, you're insufferable," you huff out, frustration and a hint of vulnerability in your moans. "you're such a... fucking asshole."

katsuki grins at your reaction, his fingers sinking deeper into your skin. its not enough for him, the pleasure hes giving you. seeing as you're still being a bitch. more can't hurt, right?

a hand reaches forward, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back, a sick twisted feeling in him as he watches you struggle to take him.

"watch it, woman." he grunts, his balls twitching as it slams against your pillowy folds. it felt like heaven as he slams his cock hard into your warm cunny, after putting up with your ass for so, so long.

"you knew what you were doing when you decided to show up in that tight little dress. you've been waiting for this, haven't you?"

your yelp of surprise quickly turns into a gasp of pleasure as he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls it back firmly. you try pouting at him but can't keep the moan fully suppressed from your lips.

"not my fault you..." you manage to huff out, your voice filled with irritation and undeniable craving. "get turned on like a pathetic little teenager..."

katsuki laughs at your comment, his laughter quickly turning into a low, growl as he continues to thrust into you. he knows you're taunting him, trying to rile him up. and it's working.

"oh yeah? what makes you think i'm the pathetic one here, hah?" he pauses, landing a hard smack on your ass, earning another yelp from you before holding onto your hips again.

"you're the one on all fours here, getting fucked by me like a dog because you're too needy to wait til we got to bed..."

"don't act like you're any better," you retort, voice shaky with pleasure. "hypocrite.."

he scoffs, giving your hair another firm tug. "i can't help it if you looked that good, brat... besides, you love how much i want you. you love knowing how much i fuckin' need you. don't try to deny it..."

katsuki gives you another smack, this time a little harder. you whimper weakly, face flush with embarrassment as he continues his relentless assault on your cunt.

"you're... hah," you mewl out, voice trembling. "delusional... obsessed."

katsuki laughs again, the sound rough and low in his throat. "yeah, i am. its a real problem. can't help it if you're the only woman that gets me going like this. but you love it."

you muffle your moans by covering your mouth with your hand, your attempts to suppress your growing ecstasy proving very ineffective.

"you're just.. a horny jerk.." you gasp between breaths, the words coming out in a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. "all you are to me is an...easy lay."

katsuki grunts, feeling your words hit him like a punch in the gut. he knows you're trying to push his buttons, to get him to snap.

and it was working.

he tugs roughly on your hair, his eyes narrowing as he glares down at you.

"oh, you think i'm just an easy lay, huh? someone you can use whenever you need to, but then you can toss me aside when you're done? is that what you think i am?"

you can barely speak as he goes rougher on you, your words broken up by moans and gasps of pleasure as his cock bullies your cervix.

your eyes are closed, head thrown back, and all you can get out is a desperate repetition of "no," and "sorry," as you mewled with pleasure and submission.

katsuki loosens his grip on your hair a bit, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as you moan from underneath him.

he loves the way your voice trembles when you apologize, how you get all sweet and vulnerable when he's got you like this.

it's like you're a totally different person when you're not fighting and arguing, and he can't get enough of it.

"yeah? you sorry, huh?" he lands another hard smack on your ass again, another whimper rolling off of your tongue. "you sorry for callin' me names, sayin' things to piss me off?"

"yes, yeah, 'm...sorry... bakugo," you repeat through gasps of pleasure, almost pleading and surrendering to him. "...'m sorry..."

katsuki lets out a low growl, feeling something in his chest tighten at the sound of his name on your lips, your voice soft and vulnerable.

he's not used to seeing you be submissive, his grip on your hips tightening again. what he's used to is you calling him by his name, always in a tone full of sarcasm and irritation. but hearing his name from you, spoken like that...

it's driving him absolutely feral.

"tch. sorry enough to let me do whatever i want to you?" he mutters, his voice rougher than usual, massaging your doughy ass.

you nod, head bobbing up and down feverishly, your face hot from embarrassment. your chest rises and falls as you pant, feeling desperate and needy, the sounds of your rapid breaths echoing in the room.

"yeah? whatever i want?"

"shit— yeah.. anything.. just get on with it, dammit.."

katsuki's eyes narrow as he stares down at you, a sly grin spreading across his face. he knows exactly what he wants, and he can already tell it's going to catch you off guard.

"anything, huh? lean back a little f'me."

you bite down on your lip, contemplating what his next move might be before you gingerly get up on your knees, leaning back against him. you feels his chest pressed firmly against your back, the heat from his skin sinking through you.

katsuki grins, his hand letting go of your hair, moving down to your hips, using his grip to arch you back against him. his other hand grips your chin, angling your head back so he can look you in the eye. he stares down at you for a moment, his gaze intense, his face so close to yours.

then, without warning, he closes the distance between you, his lips crashing down on yours.

you gasp into the kiss, the sound muffled and lost in a tangle of messy, desperate need. you struggle to keep up with the kiss, overpowered by the relentless pace he sets.

as rough as he was, it felt vulnerable. strangely sweet. your lips part and a soft moan escapes, your body shivering and trembling against his.

his tongue pushes into your mouth as he kisses you deeply, desperately, his hands roaming over your body like he can't get enough of you.

he's wanted this for so long, but he never imagined it would feel this good.

katsuki's kisses become more feverish, his hands moving down to your hips, guiding you against him as his body presses against you from behind.

he breaks the kiss with a ragged breath, pushing you down against the couch, your face pressed into the cushions. his hand finds your scalp again, tugging on your hair again as he watches his cock sink deeper into your pussy.

"shit... was that what you were expecting?"

you cry out, the sound muffled by the couch. your body shudders and writhes, your hands clenching into tight fists as you shakes your head, lost in the overwhelming sensation.

"n-no.."

"figured.. but i'm willing to bet you liked it anyway."

you scoff, trying to feign annoyance or irritation, but there's no mistaking the flush on your cheeks or the way your body trembled when he kissed you.

you can't deny the intense and silent yearning when he kissed you, the way it makes you crave his rough touch, the temptation to melt into his arms all too strong despite your resistance.

"oh, you can deny it all you fuckin' want, but your body is tellin' me something different," katsuki grins, watching your body betray your feigned annoyance."act like you hate me, i don't give a shit. but i know you love this."

you pant out weakly, voice trembling and quavering as you whimper. "you're so... damn... mean."

katsuki chuckles, his grip on your hips tightening further as he grinds against you.

"that's right. i'm the worst, aren't i? and yet here you are, drippin' wet on my dick, all because of me."

his rough treatment of you, the way he makes your body shiver and quiver, his dirty, filthy words egging you on, has you trembling and embarrassed, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure.

every muscle in your body tensed, your back arching against him as a cry escaped you. you were close. so, so close.

"bakugo, please... i.. i'm... gonna...." you moan out as you push your ass onto his abdomen, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you take everything he gives you.

katsuki's body shivers as you moans out his name, the sound sending a wave of electricity through him.

"tch, already?" he clicks his tongue at you, deliberately slowing down the pace. you let out a strangled whine, your body shaking in his grip. "c'mon, you better not get off now... i'm not done with you yet."

"bakugooo... i'm close... please..." you mewled, pleading and needy. "please, i need... i need... " you can't even finish the sentence, your mind consumed with the single-minded desire for him. and his dick.

"begging now, huh? what happened to all that attitude? did i fuck it out of ya that fast?"

"you fuckin' wish... shit... i don't care anymore... just make me feel good, please..."

your body trembles against him, shaking with need and desperation. you're pleading, begging him to give you what you need. you can't even form a coherent thought anymore, your mind fogged up raw, unrelenting need. the need for him.

"you really need it that badly?" katsuki coos almost condescendingly, loving how much you're falling apart beneath him. "you're shaking like a fuckin' leaf. this tight little pussy clenching down on me... you're pathetic."

"fuck, fuck, i'm sorry," your gasps and moans have evolved into a desperate whimpers and needy whines, your body shaking as tears stream down your face. "just need you.. need you so much, please.."

the pleasure overwhelms you, feeling like you're going to come apart at the seams. your body quivers uncontrollably against him, like a puppet whose strings are held by his every touch.

katsuki's mind is swimming, overwhelmed by the sight of you falling to pieces beneath him. he looks down at you, taking in her quivering, desperate state. he's never seen you so vulnerable, so needy for him. it's a sight he didn't know he needed to see.

he gently pulls you up from the couch, using his hand on your wrist. he leans over to you, his lips fanning over your ear, his breath warm on your skin.

"look at me, princess. let me kiss you again."

he calls you princess, not just because of your bratty and entitled demeanor, but because deep down, he wants to treat you like one.

he wants to pamper and spoil you, wrap you in luxurious silk sheets and never let you want for anything.

but admitting that was not easy for him.

so he covers it up, telling himself it's just your attitude that earned the nickname, not any weird, hidden desires.

your face is flushed, feeling embarrassed by his simple request and the intimacy of the moment. but the pleasure he's given you leaves your body and mind too fogged to object. with a breathless gasp, you turn to face him.

katsuki's eyes rake over your face, taking in all of you. for a moment, he looks at you with an expression you've never seen on his face before.

it's softer, gentler than his usual cocky grin or mean glare.

he leans in close, his face a few inches away from yours, his eyes fixated on your lips. slowly, he closes the distance between them, his mouth capturing yours in a surprisingly tender kiss.

as your lips met, it's like the world melts away. it's a feeling so unfamiliar to both of you, but at the same time, it feels so unbelievably right.

you gasp as he pulls away, the sudden absence of his touch leaving you with a pang of emptiness, your body still trembling and buzzing with need.

you want more. but you can't ask him that.

his eyes are fixed on your face, watching your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment as you meet his gaze. he can't help but chuckle, his usual cocky smirk back on his face.

"what, you gettin' all shy on me? after everything we've done tonight, this is what does it for you?"

"shut up..." you click your tongue, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it's quickly unraveling when he starts his relentless pace again.

your words are broken between gasps and moans as he goes harder, your body arching needily against him. "oh, fuck.. yes, bakugo... please, 'm.. gonna..."

"yeah? you gonna cum for me, princess?" he grins, landing another hard smack on your ass. "you gonna cum all over this dick?"

katsuki's breath hitches at your nod and whiny pleas, his body shuddering against you. he can feel how close you are, and he's not sure how much longer he can hold on himself.

"cum for me, princess. wanna feel you clenching down on me, c'mon..."

at his words, you completely shatter against him, your body trembling, vibrations sending down his body as you whimper and moan against him. your gummy walls clamp down on his cock, painting your insides a creamy white of your own.

katsuki watches you unravel from beneath him, clicking his tongue when he feels close. he pulls his cock out of you, stroking it feverishly.

"fuck," he groans, spurting his thick seed onto your back, digging his nails into your hips.

you huff, chest heaving with each breath as you look back at him, clear frustration and arousal on your face.

"why didn't you.. cum inside?" your voice is a breathless whisper, filled with both annoyance and a hint of pleading need.

his eyes widen a little, his face flush as he lets out a breathless chuckle. "did you want me to?"

he reaches down, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. it's such a contrast from the rough way he treated you earlier, like a completely different side of him.

you scoff and look away, trying to hide the truth behind a pout. even the act of looking away feels like a betrayal to what you truly wanted.

"hmph. why would i want something like that..."

katsuki grins at your defiant expression, loving the feign indifference. he reaches out, tilting your chin up so you're looking at him again.

"you can admit it, y'know. i won't make fun of you."

you pout, as if trying to act like the thought hadn't crossed your mind before. but your words betray your feigned disinterest, cheeks flushed.

"maybe i do. do it inside next time."

his smirk falters a little, showing that gentle look in his eyes again like he's surprised, but not displeased, at your implication.

"you want a next time, princess?"

"yeah... unless, this is a one-time thing?"

it's a question that betrays you, giving him a peak of what you realled wanted. you're trying to sound casual, but the subtle tremble of your voice nearly gives you away.

katsuki notices the tremor in your voice, the hint of vulnerability behind the cool facade. he can tell when you're putting up that tough exterior.

"you really think I'd be done with you after just one night?" he chuckles, his hand moving down to your, rubbing the hot red nails marks.

"oh," your cheeks flushed, embarassed by his words. but you could feel your heart beat hard against your chest as you realize what he meant. "so.. will there be a next time?"

katsuki grins down at you, his hand roaming over you body, still taking in the sight of you, flushed and breathless beneath him.

even if he didn't want to (but deep down, he did), he found it nearly impossible to deny you. it was as if you had some sort of power, a hold on him that made his usual attitude falter.

he was caught, wrapped around your finger, a puppet to your whims, unable to do anything but surrender to you.

and he wanted nothing else.

"oh, there will definitely be a next time, princess. i'm nowhere near done with you yet."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ part two ! ]

[cathnospam]

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

[aly4khq]

when pussyeater!caleb w a stubble comes to play:

"Please...caleb please! No moree!—"

Your voice was slowly going, tired from screaming and moaning from the overwhelming pleasure that Caleb's tongue was giving you. Your hands bound by a heavy, invisible force, up above your head, your fist scratching against the wall behind you.

Meanwhile, Caleb's mouth was coated in the results your multiple orgasms, his stubble scratching agaisnt your pussy properly. Now if there was anything that Caleb loved to eat, it was you. He was the chef of the house, and you always ate what he made with no refusal, complimenting his work.

He can make lasagna, xiàolongbao, 5 star meals. And you help him sometimes, baking and cooking. Yet his favourite meal is something you make in between your legs. The scent too strong for him to ignore whenever you two ever get in bed, his hands grasping at your thighs.

A dildo, his mouth, his fingers, his dick—no matter what it is, Caleb has to have a one-on-one moment with your pussy. And if you struggle? No problem, he'll tie you up, use his own hands or his evol. Just how it is now.

"One—" he said in between kisses, "—more..." Caleb sucking on your pussy, his tongue swirling around your hole. His lips making out with your soaked folds, you could feel his beard rubbing agaisnt you, making the sensation even more sensitive than it is. Caleb continued to latch onto your cunt, slurping up your juices and moaning into your cunt. His eyebrows furrowed as he savours his dinner, eyes shut in ecstasy.

He realised himself with a small pop! panting, his hands molding your thighs like they were play dough.

'Oh gosh, it's too much to handle, his tongue was too much, his hands, his stupid beard!— every fucking thing was too much! A break— please just one break—'

"Hey hey," With a small swat to your hip, he looked at you from his knees. "There you are. You okay baby? Zoned out on me for a little." Caleb readjusted his position, sitting up straight. With a slurred voice, you replied, humming, "...m'okay...i'm done, i don't have anymore for your–needy mouth.."

Caleb's eyebrow rose, his head tilting as he pretending to think deeply, "Hm..."

You looked down, noticing his hand creeping back down to your thighs, pulling you up the chair so you're not uncomfortable. "How about...we make a deal?"

"...Calebbb..."

"It's not that bad, just oneeee more. Please? I'll be gentle, you can do it pop-squeak, i believe in you." He kissed your inner thigh, gently rubbing your skin with his thumbs.

"That's unfair..." A pout appeared on our lips as you felt that heavy force finally release your hands. Caleb holding your arms as he massages any sort of ache that you might have. "Okay, how about I'll make you anything you want baby if you let me finish my own meal. Deal?"

With a reluctant gaze, you nodded, "Deal..."

That was the best, worst and last deal you ever made with Caleb.

a/n: just a little thing i thought of when eating dinner today

don't steal @aly4khq's work

date made: 21/02/25

[rafesangelita]

♡ covering stepbro!rafe’s mouth while you ride him

warnings: rafe lecturing you lol, unprotected sex, groping, spanking, hair pulling, biting, teasing (?), cream pie

a/n: inspired by this p!link ૮ . . ྀིა⁩ send me a message or an ask if you’d like an invite to join my private community!!

“what the fuck are you doing?!” rafe rolled over upon hearing his bedroom door open, his eyes widening when he saw you walk in completely naked. “what?” you pouted, crawling into his bed. “you can’t just walk around like that, are you crazy?!” he shot up, making sure his door was locked before pinching the bridge of his nose. “our rooms are right next to each other.. no one saw me if that’s what you’re worried about.” rafe scoffed, shaking his head before grabbing ahold of your arm. “it doesn’t matter! anyone could’ve walked out of their rooms, and then what?!” you swatted his hands away, rolling your eyes.

you always found it ironic for rafe to act like he didn’t want you in his space, considering he had no problem taking up all of yours. “are you really gonna act like you don’t want me in here right now?” you batted your eyelashes at him, trailing a hand up his forearm as he sighed in defeat. “i just wanted to see you..” rafe blinked slowly, his eyes catching the way you bit your bottom lip as you palmed him through his underwear. you made things so hard for him, it was impossible to resist you. “please, let me use you, my fingers aren’t enough, ray,” rafe groaned, imagining you touching yourself next door, “i’m so wet already, you don’t have to do anything..”

like always, rafe let you have your way, both of you now laying in his sheets as you lined him up with your entrance. “you can’t make a sound, i mean it this time— holy shittt.” you smiled when rafe cursed under his breath, his hands resting in the curves of your hips as you sunk down onto his cock. pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, you clamped a hand over his mouth as you started a steady pace, both of you moaning in unison. you were clenching around him so tight, rafe swore he could empty his load right then and there. “looks like you’re the one who has to be quiet—”

as if on cue, you shrieked when rafe thrusted into you from below, your clit pressing against his pubic bone as he wrapped a fist into your hair. knitting your eyebrows together, your mouth fell open as he started slamming his hips into your own. sitting up and pulling you up along with him, you bit into his shoulder as he locked your hands behind your back, prompting you to sit helplessly as he fucked you into oblivion. rafe ignored the sting of pain shooting up from his shoulder to his neck, the tension in his stomach threatening to release with every cry of his name.

you two were so fucked already when it came to keeping your depraved little ‘arrangement’ a secret, rafe knew it was pointless to shut you up even if he tried. landing a harsh smack to the flesh of your ass, he groped you in the same spot until you kissed him sloppily, your own high hitting you with an unforgivable force. rafe’s face scrunched up as if he was in pain even though he was experiencing anything but, and finally let go, his cum spurting inside of you as your walls fluttered around his length.

pulling out hastily, you gasped when he pushed you onto your back, both of you looking down as you two watched his seed dribble out of your glistening cunt. running his tongue over his bottom lip, rafe held your thighs open as he used his cock to gather his cum and glide it up and down your pretty folds. sighing contentedly, you looked up at rafe and felt your stomach erupt in butterflies when you saw that he was already looking at you. “you’re nothing but trouble, you know that?”

[rieamena]

"mama!"

your seven year old daughter climbed onto your bed, bouncing on the mattress before settling into your warm embrace under the blankets. running a hand through her pink hair, you answered softly, "yes, sweetheart?"

it was almost like your genes didn't put up a fight at all. your child, chikara, was the spitting image of her father, your husband, ryomen sukuna. same hair, same face shape, same facial features, the only thing that seemed to be your contribution was her personality, and even then, sometimes you'll see your husband's characteristic scowl on her little face

"how did you and daddy meet?" "well, it was–"

"what's goin' on in here? conspiring against me?" sukuna's voice filled the room as he leaned against the door frame, a cheeky smirk on his face. you saw your daughter's face brighten up as she jumped down to run to her father, "daddy! daddy! mommy's gonna tell the story of when you first met!" sukuna immediately looked at you, his index finger barely being fully wrapped by his daughter's hand

"she asked me to. guess watching all those romantic dramas with her rubbed off on her." you giggled, earning a scowl from him. "shut it woman. you know i hate them." "yeah..., that's definitely why we watch 90 day fiance every sunday together." "you got a problem with— stop tryna move me brat!"

"but daddyyyyy," she whined, still pushing against sukuna's body, "i don't wanna miss mommy's story!" "we're literally seven feet away from her."

your daughter pouted and stopped trying to get her dad to move. letting go of his finger, and leaving him at the doorway, chikara plopped herself down at your side with wide, eager eyes, "go on, mommy, tell me! i wanna know everything."

you smiled, looking at sukuna, who rolled his eyes but gave a small nod. "alright, sweetheart. it all started one day in the park when i was watching over megumi, and your dad was taking care of his younger brother, yuuji…"

"yuuji?" chikara interrupted, her face lighting up. "uncle yuuji was there too?"

"yep, yuuji was just a little kid back then," you said with a soft laugh. "he was running around, being his usual energetic self, when he tripped and scraped his knee. your dad, being the great caretaker he is—"

"—i was plenty good at it," sukuna muttered

you shot him a look and continued, "—didn't seem too worried. he told yuuji to stop crying."

"i did not say it like that," sukuna cut in, pushing off the doorframe and coming closer to the bed. "i told him to toughen up. gotta learn how to handle a few scrapes."

your daughter giggled, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth. "but mommy's a nurse, so she went over to help, right?"

"exactly. i couldn't just sit there watching, so i went over, knelt down, and started cleaning yuuji's knee. and i told your father—" you paused, giving sukuna a mischievous smile, "—that he should care more about his son instead of telling him to stop crying."

your daughter gasped dramatically, eyes wide with anticipation. sukuna groaned, running a hand over his face. "i knew you'd bring that up."

"and what did daddy say?" she asked, leaning in as if she could hardly wait

"he looked at me and said, 'that's not my son, that's my brother,'" you mimicked sukuna’s low, irritated tone. "i was so embarrassed!" sukuna chuckled at the memory, shaking his head. "you should've seen your mom’s face. all high and mighty, like she was about to call child protection services on me or something."

you couldn't help but laugh, too. "anyway, i patched yuuji up, and to make up for the misunderstanding, your dad suggested we set up a playdate for yuuji and megumi."

"a playdate?"

"yup," you nodded. "though i think your dad might've had other reasons for giving me his number." sukuna scoffed, folding his arms. "that didn’t happen."

you raised an eyebrow at him. "oh? so your eyes didn’t sparkle when i smiled and told you goodbye?" sukuna groaned again, this time louder. "my eyes did not do that."

chikara giggled harder, clearly enjoying the banter. "i think daddy liked you right away!" you smiled softly. "maybe he did. i mean, why else would he take me to a skate park for our first date?" sukuna rolled his eyes. "you said you wanted to learn how to skate. i was just being nice."

"uh-huh. sure," you teased. "and he was so good at it, zooming around, showing off. i'll admit..., he did look kinda cool! i, on the other hand, spent most of the time falling."

"which is why i had to keep catching you," sukuna added, sliding into the empty space next to you on the bed. "mommy fell? did daddy save you?" chikara asked, her face lighting up at the idea

sukuna ruffled her pink hair. "more like i had to stop her from breaking every bone in her body." you rolled your eyes at him. "i wasn't that bad."

"yes, you were," sukuna said, smirking. "you almost took me down with you half the time." smiling at the memory, you leaned in to kiss your daughter's forehead. "but it was fun. and after that, we went out for ice cream, and your dad actually smiled for real that time."

"daddy smiled? really?"

sukuna shot you a half-hearted glare. "i smile."

"not back then you didn't," you teased, poking his arm. chikara turned to her dad, beaming. "i wanna learn to skate, too, just like you and mommy!" sukuna chuckled, wrapping an arm around her

"maybe one day, brat. but you’re probably gonna fall as much as your mom did."

"hey!"

gulp... sorry if sukuna is ooc, im tired and im on my period but i really liked this request so...

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @sugurusbaobei @raindropsonrwses

@c-moon20-12 @saltynanobeanie @theamazingrain @synthiiiiis @ghostlyluminarycloud

@poopyyy @supernatrualqueen @bxrbie-jadeee @laitifly @discipleofthem

@cheesecake95 @strawberry-cherrypie @makeshiftproject @magiamad0ka @ncitygreen

@stillnotherapy @oniondrip @cloudy-yyy @definitely-not-leena @kidd3ath

@atigerandabear @russianremy @ohnoitsamistakee18 @ivy-vivii @ourfinalisation

@1ndee @yourhornysister @ancientimes @cupcaketeddybehr @tomikixd

@e-dollly

[nerdycheol]

Just One More (I Swear!)

Pairing: Seungcheol x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Established Relationship

wc: 650 words

Summary: You just want to keep kissing your boyfriend, and Seungcheol pretends to suffer. (he does not!!)

part 2 || join my taglist

“Babe, seriously—”

“Just one more,” you insist, leaning in before Seungcheol can finish his sentence. Your lips press against his in a quick, warm kiss, and you feel him sigh against your mouth.

“That’s what you said ten kisses ago,” he mumbles as you pull away, his hands already resting on your waist.

You shrug, eyes twinkling. “Yeah, and I meant it every time.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “You have a problem.”

“A you problem.”

“Me?” He laughs, tilting his head back. “I’m literally sitting here, minding my own business—”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes before leaning in again, catching his lips in another kiss, this one longer. His hands instinctively tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, and for a second, you think he’s about to kiss you back properly—but then he pulls away with an exaggerated groan.

“Baaaaabe—” he drawls, falling back onto the couch like he’s being tortured.

“What?” You blink innocently, hovering over him. “You don’t like kissing me?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth, probably to tease you, but then you pout—big, dramatic, bottom-lip-jutting-out pout. He pauses. You see the moment he falters, his eyes flickering to your lips before he exhales sharply.

“…That’s not fair.”

You grin. “I know.”

You don’t wait for him to complain again before kissing him once more. It’s soft and slow this time, your hands sliding up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his jawline. You feel the way his body relaxes under you, the way his fingers dig into your hips as he lets himself melt into it.

And just when he starts to tilt his head, deepening the kiss—

You pull away.

Seungcheol lets out the biggest whine you’ve ever heard, his grip on your waist tightening. “Oh, come on.”

You giggle. “What?”

“That was mean.”

You feign innocence. “What was?”

“You know what.” His eyes narrow, but there’s no real anger behind them, only a frustrated kind of fondness. “You can’t just kiss me like that and then stop.”

“Like what?” You bat your lashes. “I was just giving you ‘one more’ like I said.”

Seungcheol groans, dropping his head back against the couch. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Unfortunately.”

You gasp dramatically. “Oh? Unfortunately?”

Before you can roll off him in mock offense, he grabs you, flipping you onto your back in one smooth movement. His weight settles over you, pinning you down, and suddenly, he’s the one smirking.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your breath catches slightly. “Uh—”

“Oh, now you have nothing to say?” His voice drops slightly, teasing. “That’s cute.”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he mimics your tone perfectly, grinning.

And then, before you can protest, he kisses you. Properly. Deep, warm, slow, like he’s trying to make you forget about every other kiss before this.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless.

“…Okay, yeah,” you admit, dazed. “Maybe that was a little better.”

Seungcheol chuckles. “Now you’re satisfied?”

“…No.” You grin, tugging him back down.

He doesn’t complain this time.