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bucketbueckers · 2 months ago

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BIGGER IN TEXAS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth (and some plot, as a treat)!! language, light alcohol/body shots, oral, fingering, strap, fuck ass cowboy hats, freak shit im talm bout inittttt, slight overstim, mirror, light choking (author is unoriginal we know this), reader is honestly thirsty as hell but so is paige, idk how to tag smut properly just know im losing my spot in heaven for this fic

wc: 10.5k

synopsis: A Dallas Wings rookie and a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader walk into a club together. What could possibly go wrong?

notes: i wasn't ovulating when i drafted this but i am now! maybe tmi. sinners changed my life and my main takeaway from that movie is everyone is a munch and thats a life philosophy i think everyone should have. make sure you all say "thank you kali uchis" because i actually got insane writers block after waking up this morning but her album saved me. not much to say but im actually going to hell for this so please make it worth it and hit up my inbox pls and ty 🫶 as always i hope yall enjoy!

Let the record show that you weren’t serious.

Okay. You were like, 50% serious. As in if you were presented with the opportunity, you would take it, but if any of your friends were to ask about it, you would probably deflect.

You realize now that you tend to get a little overzealous on Twitter – it’s far more unhinged than your Instagram is, where you share pictures of your everyday life and action shots as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You have less followers on the bird app (it is not X), you’re a little more…real, and as a bonus, your mom doesn’t follow you, so you feel like you can be a little more insane on there.

Although you’d probably apologize to her later – because one of your recent tweets is going a little crazy.

It didn’t start as anything crazy. Being a Dallas athlete, you kept up with nearly every sports team – the Mavericks, the Stars, the Cowboys, obviously, but you loved the Wings, too. You watched the WNBA draft as did countless others in the country.

When the Wings admin posted the Welcome to Dallas, Paige Bueckers! tweet, you’d giggled to yourself, mostly because you were nursing a Chili’s margarita and because she looked insanely good in the graphic.

You retweeted it, typing, welcoming you into dallas w open arms @.paigebueckers1 🤠

Then, almost like an afterthought, you commented on your own retweet, typing, and with open legs 🙏

You didn’t think much of it. Obviously. You didn’t have a huge following and if anyone asked, you’d just be kidding. The next ten minutes are peaceful as you finish off your margarita and scroll aimlessly through TikTok, keeping one ear out for the next draft pick. And then your phone starts blowing up.

A bunch of likes. A few people retweeting your second comment with various laughing or crying emojis. But what makes you pause is the notification reading Paige Bueckers has liked your tweet!

Oh. You click just to make sure, and – yeah. Definitely the one about having open legs.

Any other day, this would probably be mortifying, but today you’re a little emboldened by the margarita in your veins and you can’t help but think this is a little funny. You’ll probably regret it later when everyone remembers that you’re kind of a public figure and decides to flame you for being a little unhinged on main. For now, though, it’s not that big of a deal.

When you wake up in the morning to an unread DM from Paige – who’d followed you back, mind you – on your Instagram, you suddenly realize that it actually is a big deal.

Paige 💕: I’m flying into Dallas on the 23rd for media Paige 💕: If the offer still stands maybe you could show me around the city?

You stare blankly at your phone. Then you blink once. Twice. You power off your phone, press your pillow to your face, and you scream.

You weren’t serious, but you think you’re being presented with the opportunity – and, well, who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

After you finally come back to your senses, you reach for your phone again, navigating back to your DMs with Paige. You only have to contemplate for a few seconds before your fingers are flying across the keyboard.

You: i’ve been known to be a thorough tour guide You: let me know what your schedule looks like and i’ll show you the pretty parts of dallas

Her response comes quicker than you were expecting.

Paige 💕: Looking forward to it 🫶 Paige 💕: Not sure how Dallas compares to you but I can be open minded

Admittedly, you have to reread her message twice to fully grasp the cheesy pick-up line, but you hate the way it makes your cheeks flush. You’re not sure how to respond to that.

You settle for screaming into your pillow again.

The week passes by quickly. You and Paige talk — a lot — truly enjoying getting to know each other during your rare moments of free time. Paige is busy with flights and appearances while your schedule is packed with practice and learning the audition choreography for the next season of DCC.

Despite yourself, you can’t help but think how nice it is. There’s no expectations. You’re both athletes with a combined two hours of free time. For now, you’re just content to see where this goes. You enjoy her company, and honestly, you’re really into her. Paige flirts relentlessly, but you can tell there’s an undercurrent of respect and admiration that makes you feel like that feeling is mutual, too.

She texts you a picture of the Dallas tarmac when she lands on the 23rd, a coy reminder that you did promise to show her around. Paige has media for a good portion of the day, though, so you know you won’t be seeing her for a while. You tune in for a little bit of her rookie press conference, and no, you weren’t cheesing while listening to her speak. But if you were, that wouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.

You don’t hear from her for the next few hours, which doesn’t bother you. You do get a call from one of your squadmates, Lielle, asking if you’d be down to hit the club before the DCC season starts – and who were you to say no to that?

You settle for a light, natural makeup look, throwing on a blue, mesh, halter corset top that sparkles in the light and a pair of cropped, white denim shorts. They’re long enough to cover what they need to, but it’s the perfect club outfit – something with the right amount of tease and will make you feel confident enough to truly let loose.

Lielle picks you up along with a few other of your friends who tease you relentlessly for your actions on Twitters – it’s no use defending yourself, although they’re nearly howling in excitement when you point out that Paige is in your DMs, so you’re probably doing something right.

You and your girls enter the club with high spirits, the atmosphere already electric, and two of your squadmates break away to find a table while you and Lielle make your way to the bar to order shots and drinks for everyone. Lielle leans over the bar, already laying it on thick for the bartender, who grins politely like he’s seen just about every variation of whatever game Lielle is playing.

On the bright side, he does end up discounting your drinks on account of being a DCC fan, which makes you think Lielle never truly had a chance, anyways – but a cheaper drink is a cheaper drink, especially in Dallas. Lielle walks away with a wink and the drinks in her hands as you remain to order something for yourself. The bartender has just slid the drink your way when you feel the heat of someone’s body next to yours. At first, you’re alarmed, but you soften when you hear their voice, followed by finally looking at their face.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” In person, Paige Bueckers is so much taller than you’d anticipated, which is probably a really stupid thing to say for a professional basketball player. She’s tall, her cologne a heady scent of warm vanilla and something distinctly floral, and she rests her arm against the bar in a way that’s devastatingly casual and dangerously alluring. Paige is wearing a black and white striped Nike sweater, the very same she’d done media in, a look not befitting of the club but you can’t help but think about how perfectly her it is.

You crack a coy smile, taking a quick sip of your drink for some liquid courage, because Paige is staring at you like she knows exactly what she wants from you and your heart thrums because if she said the word, you’d be willing to give it to her. “What, is this place too scandalous for a cheerleader like me?” you joke, and the heat of her gaze travels down your body in one quick motion.

“Nah, nothing like that,” she assures you. “Just didn’t think that out of every club in this city, I’d be lucky enough to run into you my first night out.”

“Seems we’re both feeling a little lucky tonight, huh?” you say, and she laughs gently under her breath. Paige holds out a hand to you. In lieu of a shake, you settle for hugging her instead, which she relaxes into immediately, her hands resting respectfully at the small of your back. “It’s great to finally meet you in person,” you say genuinely, pulling away at the right moment. “You enjoying Dallas so far?”

Paige shrugs a little, a smile on her face and gratitude on her tongue when the bartender slides a drink her way, too. “Haven’t got the chance to see much,” she says honestly. “Was in media all day, then I stopped by Costco so my apartment looked a little less pathetic. Now I’m here. Something about rookie initiation, according to Rike, but I think she just wanted someone to buy her drinks.”

You laugh. “Look at you already taking care of people,” you comment, your grin widening at her playful expression. “You’re here with your team, then? Where are y’all sitting?”

Paige purses her lips, her eyes squinting as she peers through the dim lighting of the club. “I think over there?” she says, pointing at the VIP section towards the back. She’s closer to you now, her chin resting just above your head, and you follow her gaze. You can’t help your smile, something she picks up on immediately. “What’s funny?”

“I think your team’s already hitting it off with mine,” you say, easily spotting Lielle handing a shot to Arike and clapping when she downs it in one go. You don’t think Lielle is drunk yet, but she has a natural excitement and zest for life that makes her the easiest person in the world to befriend.

Paige huffs a little under her breath, amusement lacing the sound, and her hand finds your waist. “Must be meant to be,” she says to you. Despite yourself, you preen, your smile widening when her hand finds your skin. “After you.”

Paige walks almost protectively behind you, the crowd of club-goers parting instinctively for the both of you. When you make it back to the VIP section, both of your teams cheer – like they know something you don’t – which causes a blush to rise on your cheeks and a nearly smug expression to take over Paige’s.

Introductions are swift, if a little unnecessary. You’d run into many of the Wings players before, having made a genuine effort your first year as a professional cheerleader to show up to many of the Dallas sports games.

Before you know it, Arike has ordered more shots for the table, and Paige slides into the booth next to you with a dangerous glint in her eye and two shots of tequila in her hands. The table is lively, raucous, with Kelsey – one of your squadmates – going shot for shot with Aziaha James and Lielle and Arike instigating.

But here, now, in this little corner you and Paige have tucked yourselves into, you’re enjoying the intimacy of the moment far too much, feeling as though you’ve been afforded far more privacy than you actually have.

Paige presses one of the shots into your hands, a loose smile on her face. “To Dallas?” she asks you, raising her glass.

You tap yours against hers, a matching smile of your own as you agree, “To Dallas.” You down your shots in one go, the liquid warming your belly pleasantly. “And to Twitter,” you add a little jokingly, but your blush deepens when Paige smirks, raising a thumb to your lip to wipe away the excess tequila beading on your mouth.

She sucks her finger into her mouth, humming a little insufferably, and you’re burning for an entirely different reason now. Your gaze hones in on her hand, flicking between her lips and her eyes. And, sure, she was constantly flirting with you over text. You knew she was feeling you as much as you were feeling her – but to watch her behave so confidently in front of you, to unravel you like it was nothing… The confirmation makes you ache. It reminds you that you’re not the only one feeling the warm buzz between the two of you.

“You always that forward?” Paige asks you, referring to your tweet. “Or am I just lucky?” Her words are punctuated with a heated grin, one that makes you shift in your seat. You hope that she didn’t notice, but you see the way her eyes darken and how she leans in a little closer to you.

“Only when I’m tipsy, apparently,” you mutter. You glance up, taking in her expression, the curiosity and desire in her eyes. Your lips quirk into an amused smile. “But I don’t think I have to tell you about the effect you have on people.”

“Good thing I don’t really care about other people,” she says, her gaze dropping down again. You can’t tell if she’s looking at your lips or your chest, but it makes warmth bloom under your skin, anyways. Paige makes eye contact as easily as she drinks you in. It’s disorienting, unwavering. It’s almost like you can see exactly what she’s thinking by the way her pupils dilate. Her fingers brush against the inside of your wrist, setting each and every one of your nerve endings on fire. “But you? Didn’t know I was affecting you like that.”

“Oh, you’re not,” you laugh, which just makes her laugh, too, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. Dangerous because you know you’ve already given in. Any other attempt at saving face or trying to look a little less down bad is just meant to make you feel a little bit better – like she hadn’t already won you hook, line, and sinker the moment you promised to show her around Dallas.

“Lying is a sin,” Paige murmurs.

“Lust, too,” you retort.

Paige’s subsequent grin is a little too wicked. “Touche,” she agrees, and you can’t help but lean into her touch when her hand splays over the expanse of your toned waist, her thumb brushing your skin like she’s trying to memorize every shift in your muscles. Her voice drops a few decibels, only loud enough for you to hear as she presses in closer to you. Your hair raises when her lips ghost across your temple, the shell of your ear. “You’re already burning for me, though. Probably soaked through these fucking shorts, aren’t you? So why pretend you ain’t?”

“Paige,” you whisper, your heart beating a little faster, pounding against your ribcage. Your hand finds hers, linking your fingers together, and you don’t stop her when she maps out every inch of skin not hidden by your top. If anything, you arch into it slightly, enjoying the heat of her palm against your belly. She grins like she knows, like she’s already called the Uber and is thinking about how she can ruin you in the car without alerting the driver.

“Jus’ say it, mama,” she murmurs, her breath hitting your ear. You should feel some type of way for how easily your body betrays your brain, pressing further into her without your permission. “Tell me what you want and we don’t gotta play these games in front of your girls.”

Your mouth opens, the words getting caught in your throat when Paige finally grips the meat of your thigh with her hand, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to claim.

But before you can give into the feeling of it all, the bubble of peace between the two of you is broken by Lielle exclaiming, “Who wants to do body shots?!”

Breathless, you glance up at Paige, who stares back at you with mischief. She squeezes your thigh gently, whispering, “Be good,” before tugging you to your feet and towards Lielle, who holds the salt, lime, and the bottle of tequila. You sigh a little, already feeling like you could combust.

Your combined teams cheer when Paige volunteers you. Her smile, which is borderline smug and nearly possessive, makes your skin burn, but her eyes betray the ease in her features. She scans her teammates like she’s waiting for one of them to think that they could take her place.

Kelsey clears space on the table while Lielle uncaps the bottle of alcohol. One of the other Dallas rookies – JJ, you think her name is, extends a hand to help you onto the table, but all it takes is one glaring look from Paige to make her raise her hands in surrender. Paige steps up, her gaze dark, and she grips your hips, raising you onto the table with a weightless ease. Her eyes never leave yours, watching you with rapt attention as you lean back, getting comfortable.

“You good?” she asks, her hand resting over your stomach, which rises and falls steadily under the heat of the moment. You nod quickly, needing her hands on her body more than you think you need air, and she allows herself a quiet smile as she reaches for a lime wedge. Gingerly, she holds it out to you. Your teeth part at her wordless command, clamping down on the lime, trying not to wince at the taste. Her fingers linger on your lips, pupils blown wide, and it makes warmth coil low in your belly when you realize just how reciprocated this feeling is.

She reaches for the salt next, uncapping it, too, and meets your eyes with one last unspoken question. You don’t hesitate before you nod, uncaring of where she lines up the salt. You are surprised when she leans down, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, wetting the skin there so the salt can stick. You hardly register the wolf whistles around you, far too focused on the satisfied, focused grin on Paige’s face as she sprinkles the salt on your skin.

Finally, Lielle hands over the bottle of tequila, and you try to steady your breathing as Paige pours a generous amount in your navel. A drop slips, trailing down and soaking into the fabric of your shorts. You swear you can hear Paige’s breath hitch, but the club is too loud for you to be certain.

Lielle is probably recording. There’s no way she isn’t – she’s the life of the party, and whenever you wake up tomorrow, you’re sure you’ll find the video of Paige doing a body shot off of you on her close friends. But right now, when Paige is staring at you like you’re the only person in the room, like she can’t wait to get you alone and ruin you? You can’t think about anything but the blonde athlete and how willing you are to let her unravel you.

With one last glance to check in on you, Paige leans over you, caging you in with her arms. Her head dips down, licking the salt off of your chest with a devastating slowness. You catch the edge of her grin as she trails her lips down your torso, settling at your belly and drinking the tequila directly off your stomach.

Her tongue probes for the last drop and she presses a farewell kiss to your skin that makes your breathing stutter. Then, finally, she makes her way back up to your lips, her skin a little flushed, and she parts her lips to take the lime wedge in between her teeth.

But Paige isn’t through with you. You watch with wide eyes as she punctures the flesh with her teeth. She takes the lime wedge in between her fingers and with her free hand, she cups your jaw, her thumb brushing against your lip. You adhere to the silent demand, your lips parting again, and she presses down on the bottom row of your teeth with her thumb, keeping you open as she squeezes the juice of the lime into your mouth.

You shudder, eyes slipping shut in a non-physical pleasure – Paige hasn’t even touched you yet, but you feel like you’re ready to fall apart. The lime juice makes your face contort from the sourness, but you hardly think about it when your eyes blink open once more to take in Paige’s lazy expression. She’s already gone – her smile wide, reverent, satisfied, proud, and she discards the lime peel.

Paige removes her finger from your mouth, closing your jaw for you, her features softening with pride as you swallow the juice dutifully. You barely hear her whisper, “Good,” before she helps you off of the table, steadying you when you sway a little unsteadily, and the both of you make every effort to ignore your friends.

They don’t focus on the two of you for too long – JJ is helping Kelsey onto the table to keep going, so you take advantage of their distraction and pull Paige down to your level by her collar. She grins insufferably, like she knows she’s teased you to the point of no return. Her smile widens when you demand, “Take me home. Or we’ll cause a scandal in the middle of this club.”

Her lips brush against yours. “Uber’s already here,” she informs you, her expression far too satisfied. If you were any less pussy drunk, you’d probably hate yourself for being too easy, but all you can think about is how her skin would feel against yours.

You let her pull you through the club. You let her hands linger on your hips when she helps you into the Uber. And without so much as a noise, you part your legs for her in the car, letting her fingers trace the inside of your thighs discreetly. Paige doesn’t give you what you need – you knew she wouldn’t.

You keep your reactions tempered, even when she leans in closer to you, her nose brushing against your ear as she whispers filth that the driver is none the wiser to. And when you make it to her apartment complex, you hardly hear the driver’s farewell before she guides you out of the car, through the apartment lobby, and into the elevator.

Paige’s grip on your hips is tight, like you’re not sure if she’s trying to keep you close or trying to restrain herself from defiling you in the elevator. Either way, you don’t mind. You press your hips to her front, grinning in satisfaction when her fingers tighten and her breath hitches, a groan building in her throat. The ding of the elevator breaks you both from your stupor and you follow her to her door, watching in amusement as she fumbles with the key in her haste.

“Do you remember my tweet?” you ask a little offhandedly, sliding your fingers under the hem of her sweatshirt. She curses under her breath when your fingers find her waist, splaying across her abdomen – it’s more for your pleasure than it is hers, feeling her muscles jump under your hold. Her eyes are a little wide and blown out when they meet yours.

“S’all I’ve thought about for weeks,” she confesses, finally getting the lock to turn. Her words give you pause as she throws open the door. Catching you by surprise, she picks you up, one arm looping under your ass, and your arms slide around her neck for stability as she shuts the door behind her, making sure to turn the lock back.

It’s all speed from there. Paige kicks her shoes off in the entryway, her hands gripping the back of your thighs as she blindly walks the both of you through the hallway towards the bedroom. You silently thank her coordination as an athlete, more so when she starts mouthing at your chest like it’s been the only thing keeping her going. Her tongue darts out, wet against your skin, and she hums against your breast as she tastes the residual salt from the shot and the sweat. Paige nips at your skin and holding onto her tighter with a wordless sigh is all you can do to keep it together.

Finally, she finds the bedroom door, throwing it open without a care in the world. Paige deposits you safely on bed and then almost falls over herself following – the dichotomy makes you ache, the way she’s so desperate to get her hands and mouth on you, but the evident care she makes sure to treat you with despite her need. You want her to turn you out in every single way she’s thought about since draft night, but the respect is touching.

She clicks on the dim lamp at her bedside, her eyes returning to your figure when her vision adjusts. She shakes her head like you’re not real, her hands touching your hips, your waist, your breasts covered by the thin material of your top. You’re sure she’s burning this image into her mind forever – you’re doing the same. You may never be able to forget the image of Paige Bueckers hovering above you, eyes wild and gone, messy like you’re already five rounds deep and not just pent up from fucking around in the club.

The first press of her lips against yours makes you keen, arching into her exploring hands while yours cups her cheeks. You’ve thought about this for weeks, too, how it would feel to have her on top of you like this. She tastes like a tequila shot and something distinctly fruity from the cocktail she was sipping on. Combined with the lime juice on your breath, your kiss is intoxicating for several different reasons, and the heat coiling in your belly reminds you of how badly you want this.

She tugs your bottom lip between her teeth, pulling it back and letting it snap back before her lips find every inch of your skin. The hinge of your jaw, the tender spot on your neck that makes you thread your fingers through her hair to pull the tie loose, the dip in your throat where your moan vibrates against her lips. Paige is ravenous. Like there’s a million different things she wants to do to you before the sun comes up. You’d let her.

“Thought about this forever,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse and wrecked. Your breath stutters, back arching to help her untie your halter top and letting her pull it off you. She goes almost painfully silent when she takes in your breasts fully, your pebbled nipples. “Fuck.” Her curse sounds like a filthy prayer, one that you’d give up almost everything to respond to. One of her large hands splay over your breast while her mouth finds the other one, alternating between kneading and sucking and here – you’re sure you could fall apart completely, your hips jumping up for contact.

“You don’t know what that stupid comment did to me,” she continues, almost to herself, but she knows you’re listening. She feeds off of the way your breath hitches as she pulls back long enough to rip her sweatshirt and sports bra off in two quick motions, the chains around her neck tangling briefly before they trail cold caresses across your stomach when she leans back down to take your skin in her mouth. Your jaw falls open in pleasure, gripping onto her, the sheets, anything to stay rooted.

“Looked at your page, and those–” Her fingers find the waistband of your shorts, popping the button and pulling the denim off while she rambles. She falters when she takes in the white lace covering your body, a low, wrecked groan spilling from her lips at the sight of the wet patch at the apex of your thighs. Paige brushes her fingers against you, relishing in the way your hips jump and your whispered plea.

“Those stunts you do,” she continues finally. “That fucking uniform is sinful, you know that? Got myself off thinking about you, how good you’d be. You offered yourself up and all I could think about at the presser was how many different ways I could get you to come for me. I wonder if I could do it without my hands.”

You’re not coherent enough to tell her she could probably do it with words alone, but you reach for her and pull her back to your lips, kissing her hungrily, like you’re on death row and she’s your only chance of salvation.

Your hands explore while her kiss disorients you. Finding the waistband of her pants, you reach for the belt, undoing it. Paige helps you pull her pants off, leaving her in a dark pair of boxers. Her skin is impossibly warm against your palms as you press your fingers into the small of her back, undoubtedly leaving marks.

She pulls back to trail her lips down your body, sucking marks everywhere, her hands holding you like she’s afraid you’d float away if she didn’t keep you rooted.

Paige doesn’t make any effort to strip you out of your damp underwear – if anything, she stares at it like she’s more proud of it than getting drafted first overall, and she presses her lips to the skin just above your waistband until it blooms red and purple. She soothes it with a kiss, her expression far too smug and satisfied.

“You’re soaked,” Paige murmurs, pressing her thumb to your cunt again, her grin widening when you moan, your hands shooting down to grip her hair. She makes eye contact with you and sucks her thumb into her mouth, eyes slipping shut as she tastes you. You can’t help the curse that tumbles from your lips. “That ‘open legs’ offer must have been a cry for help, huh?” she teases, but her voice is rough, like the very taste of you is a drug and she’s addicted. “Nobody else doin’ it for you?”

“No,” you admit, cheeks burning under the weight of your confession. The truth is you’d stopped looking after a while, but now, with Paige tucked between your legs and staring at you like you’re the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen, you briefly consider the fact that she’s going to ruin you for anyone else. For yourself.

She grins again. “Shame,” she murmurs, her lips trailing down to the inside of your thighs, where she presses gentle kisses. “Someone got to you before me and they couldn’t even make it worthwhile.”

She nips at your skin, the pain blooming into pleasure instantly. Your breathing comes to you a little faster the closer she moves to your aching cunt, but she soothes you with a hand to your belly. “I got you, mama. Gonna be the best you’ve ever had. Swear.”

You don’t doubt it, your head already swimming, and she presses one last kiss to your clit through the damp material of your underwear. It makes you jolt, but she steadies your hip with her hand as she pulls the lace to the side slowly. You can’t help but gaze down at Paige, locked in on the way her eyes glaze over with desire when your cunt is finally revealed to her.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Maybe it’s been a fire that has been slowly burning ever since she initially hinted at flying out and taking you up on your offer. Now, all you can focus on is the way her hands grip your strong thighs, holding you open as she dives in to lick a long, slow stripe up the length of your slit.

You both moan in tandem – yours of pleasure and hers in awe. You’re dripping onto her comforter, hardly able to feel much remorse about it, but something tells you that Paige is really fucking into the fact that she has you so pliant beneath her.

Her tongue is exploratory, drinking in every drop of your arousal, her brows pinched together as she focuses on building you up. Her nose brushes against your clit while her tongue finds the source, licking you clean like she’s stranded in a desert and you’re the only thing that could satiate her thirst.

She’s wild, her tongue everywhere all at once, muttering messily into your cunt about how you “taste so fucking good,” but you’re sure you fall apart completely when her lips close around your clit and she sucks.

Your brain is mush. You’re not sure if you want to keep your eyes on her or let your head fall back into her pillows, unable to process the pleasure fully.

Paige makes the decision for you when your eyes slip shut and she nips at your clit gently – not enough to hurt (even though it sends a surge of pleasure up your spine, anyhow), but enough to get your attention.

The message is clear – she wants your attention. Thinking about how she’s probably getting off from you watching her makes the heat coil in your stomach, ready to snap at any given moment.

You tangle your fingers in her messy hair, pressing her deeper into you, head tipping back in pleasure when she doubles down on her motions. Paige is ravenous, tongue circling your clit, never once stopping or slowing.

Not until your thighs are shaking from pleasure. Not until the tears bead at your waterline. Not until she encloses her lips around your clit again, her cheeks hollowing from the pressure, and releasing you to drag the arousal from your entrance to your clit, coating it completely.

You’re wholly unprepared for the first press of her fingers against your entrance. Paige doesn’t push in – not yet. She drags her fingers through your folds, soaking them, listening and looking for your reaction as she probes deeper.

The first finger sinks in until it reaches her knuckle, punching a breathless moan out of you, and she curls her finger as she pulls out. She’s a quick study – learning what you like and how much pressure she needs to unravel you completely. But she’s slow, not adding in another finger. You get the message instantly when her eyes find you, her gaze dark and imploring.

Not above begging, your voice is hoarse, rough from your moans, your lips split-slick and bitten. “Please, Paige, keep going,” you request, clenching around the single finger in you. “More, please, fuck–” The words get caught in your throat when she smiles against you, taking your clit in her mouth again just as she slides in a second finger. Too far gone, you can’t help the repeated, delirious ramble of “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” or the choked out, “So fucking good.”

The more vocal you get, the more she gives you. Her lips and her tongue speed up, flicking against your clit with a devastating intensity. Paige’s finger’s scissor inside you more firmly, sliding in deeper with every thrust, particularly timed with her mouth. It’s a Pavlonian response. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can’t find it in yourself to be too embarrassed by how loud you are.

You chant her name, breathless little sounds that sound more like pleas than sentences. The grip on her hair must be painful but she never slows. She’s fucking you closer and closer to the peak, and when it finally arrives, warning her is all you can do.

She’s heedless, her pace somehow intensifying even more, and you come with a sob that’s a mix of her name and a string of curses as the pleasure washes over you.

Paige doesn’t stop, drinking in every drop of you like she’s parched, her fingers slowing as they work you gently through the shockwaves. You’re breathless, stuttering through the euphoria, gratitude lacing your words.

When she pulls away, the bottom half of her face is slick with your arousal, her tongue darting out to catch the edges of her lips, but it’s like drops of water in a bucket. For all intents and purposes, she’d been drowned, but her grin tells you she would have been more than happy to go out that way.

Boneless and limp in bed, she trails her lips up your body until she finds your lips, kissing you deeply and allowing you to taste yourself on your tongue. The taste is heady, something you’d probably attribute to the taste of her, too, and you can’t help but moan against her lips, your body burning under the touch again.

“Don’t think I’m letting you tap out so soon,” she murmurs, squeezing your waist and peering down at you. “We haven’t even started.”

“Greedy,” you say teasingly.

Her subsequent grin is sharp, nipping your lip gently. “And proud,” she states, already leaning over and digging through the drawer of her nightstand. When her hand comes back into view, she’s holding a strap and the harness.

The sight of it makes your brows raise – it’s modest in size, but it’s still bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, both in length and girth. “What?” she asks, a smirk appearing on her lips as she fastens the harness around her hips.

“It’s big,” you point out obviously, but the heat is already licking at your skin again as you stare at it longingly.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” she retorts. The strap hanging from her hips makes your mouth water, and you suppose this is what you wanted anyway – for Paige to ruin you. She glances at you curiously, able to read how your hesitation washes away. You’re safe with her. She wouldn’t hurt you. That thought alone makes you a little more hungry for it. “Trust me, you ain’t gotta worry.” She drags her fingers through your folds again, raising it to the lamplight and showing you how they shine. It makes you blush, but her smirk is a little insufferable. “But, I mean…if you wanna try something smaller–”

“No,” you disagree a little too quickly. She raises a challenging brow, one that infuriates you. She’d been mean all night – teasing you and working you up. And, sure, she delivered, but you think that she deserves to be knocked down a peg or two.

You wrap your legs around her waist, and in a quick motion, you flip the both of you over, straddling her waist with your hands on her chest. She’s a little breathless, eyes wide and pupils dilated, yet you can spot the impressed look in her gaze. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Didn’t say that,” she says, her eyes drinking you in, the fucked out look on your face and she bruises covering your skin. Her hands find your waist, pulling you onto her fully – onto the strap – and she guides you into a slow grind, taking back the control seamlessly as you gasp. Paige grunts, too, the strap pressing back into her clit, and the fact that she’s feeling as good as you are makes you tremble with want.

“You insinuated it,” you argue, a little miffed.

She grins like your indignance is cute. “Just tryna be in you, mama,” she says, tugging you down a little harder, and it punches a moan out of you. “You gonna let me do that or are we gonna sit here and argue all night?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but you don’t say much else, and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she gazes down at where your centers connect. “That’s what I thought.” Her words are mostly said to herself.

She grips the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down your legs – you adjust to help her pull them off, and she throws them to the side.

Now that you’re completely bare, she pulls you down onto the strap again, your arousal coating the silicone. The unrestricted contact makes you shiver and you loop your arms around her neck for stability while one of hers finds your waist again.

With her free hand, she reaches for the base of the strap, guiding it to your entrance and holding you steady – the tip of the strap brushes against you, but she doesn’t allow you to move.

Her eyes are zeroed in on where you’re clenching around nothing, your arousal leaking out of you. Then, finally, she pulls you down slowly, controlling each and every small movement. Your breath hitches when the head breaches inside, pressing into you, and Paige kisses all over your chest to soothe you.

“Good, that’s it,” she murmurs, lips encircling a nipple as she pulls you a little further down. The stretch is delicious, splitting you open, her hands mapping out your skin. She grips the flesh of your ass in one large hand, the other reaching around to rub featherlight circles on your clit to distract you.

The sensations are overwhelming in the best way possible. Her mouth drags wet kisses across your body while she listens for your reaction. Paige lowers you further down, drawing a drawn out moan from you, and you feel her grin against your breast as you tighten your grip around her neck, pulling her tighter against you.

“Perfect girl. Taking me so well,” she coos. Her body is impossibly warm against you and you can feel yourself relaxing into it, wanting to sink down completely, but she doesn’t let you. “Want you to feel good, baby. Don’t rush it.”

Still holding onto your annoyance from earlier, you can’t help your slight eye roll as you nip at her neck, sucking a matching hickey into her skin. She hisses, letting you fall another inch before gripping your hips tightly. “Would feel good if you just fucked me,” you state, staring at her with an expression that’s borderline pathetic. “What’d you say earlier? Just tryna be in you?”

“Think you have a patience problem,” she muses. “I’d heard so much about this southern hospitality bullshit growing up in the north, but it seems like you got a manners problem, too. I gotta teach you how to say please and thank you?”

You barely resist a sigh. Instead, you let your lips pucker out in a pout, the motion drawing Paige’s attention immediately. You press closer to her, your breasts dragging against her chest, and she sighs from the feeling. “Please, Paigey?” you beg in a near whimper, taking the hitch in her breathing as a sign that you’re doing something right. “Just want you to fuck me. Been good for you all night, haven’t I? And I promised to welcome you to Dallas. Let me make you feel good.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but the way her throat bobs tells you she’s minutes away from flipping you over and making you forget your name. “You’re dangerous,” she whispers.

“I’m yours,” you respond, and that’s enough for her. Paige drags you down the last few inches, bottoming out. You moan into her neck, the hand at the small of your back pressing you into her. You’re sure that you’re soaking her lap, but judging by the way her hips rut up into yours, she likes knowing how fucked she has you.

Her hands settle at the bottom of your ass, pulling you up as she mouths at your chest, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. You sink down on the strap again. The sound is obscene, drawing a gasp from you, and you repeat the motion.

Up, then down. Up, then down, beginning to set the pace for yourself, but making sure you grind at the bottom of your strokes to make sure that Paige is getting off too. Her eyes are hooded, darting from your face, to your chest, to the apex of your thighs where you’re soaking the strap.

“Fuck,” she groans, her voice rough, and it sends white hot desire up your spine. She speeds up your motions, the veins on her hand protruding from the effort of keeping you upright, her jaw unhinging in awe as she stares at you.

You allow yourself a small smirk, your right hand tilting her head back, revealing the expanse of her throat as you grind down onto her. With your ears so close to her mouth, you can hear every stutter in her breath, every jilted moan she tries to hold back, the hiss of pleasure when you bite down, sucking dark marks into her skin.

When her motions start becoming desperate, her hips bucking up into yours in time with every drag down like she’s trying to chase her high, you reach down for her hands, tangling your fingers together and pressing them into the pillows over her head.

“Really?” you murmur, your lips ghosting the dip in her throat. “You’re this close just from helping me get off?”

She laughs a little, something that sounds like a sob mixed with a whine, and her jaw falls slack in a low groan when your lips attach to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Can’t help it,” Paige manages. Her lips are slick, bitten raw, so you kiss her deeply, swallowing the sound she makes when you grind down especially hard. “Think you like it, though.”

“Mmm,” you hum. You speed up your motions, feeling your thighs and your stomach burn with the effort, but also feeling yourself teeter on the edge of crashing down completely. Your thrusts draw out another moan from Paige, one that makes you grin – because she’d tried so hard to keep herself together, to pretend she was here to fuck you and not the other way around. “Think I just like you.”

That makes a lazy smile appear on her face. Paige pulls one of her hands out of your grip, inching towards your throat and tangling in the necklace there. “Yeah?” she goads, her tone a little insufferable. “Didn’t – fuck – didn’t think I affected you.”

You’re still rutting against her, sweat beading on your temples as you argue, “You don’t.”

But that just makes her grin turn a little more smug. She releases your necklace, her fingers pressing lightly into the sides of your throat, squeezing once in warning. It makes your hips stutter, your breath catching. “Keep lyin’, mama,” she mutters, something dark in her eyes as her fingers trail down your body. One tweaks a nipple, kneading a breast as you gasp. Then, she goes lower still, bracing her large hand over you while her thumb finds your clit, rubbing messy circles through the slick there.

You lose your rhythm again, whimpering, but you keep going despite the exhaustion. It’s less about your pleasure now. You need to get Paige off, to tear down that ego of hers, to silence her for once. Even as you stare down at her, your eyes a little hooded, you realize she enjoys receiving as much as she enjoys giving, and there’s truly no winning with her – she’s getting off either way.

“Actin’ like I don’t know you already,” she continues, her thumb as ruinous as her hips – as ruinous as her words. “What you like. What you need.” You could fall apart like this – her words picking you apart piece by piece, her thumb reminding you that she has you right where you want her. Paige gazes up at you, her pupils blown wide, but you can make out the challenge in the blue of her eyes – she’s daring you to get smart again.

But you’re just as competitive as she is. Without faltering in your movements, you lean slightly, reaching for the cowboy hat perched on her nightstand. It has Paige stitched on the bill. Her jaw falls slack again as she watches you slide it over your head.

“You talk too much,” you retort, and then you’re doubling down again. You can tell the image of you wearing Paige’s hat is doing something to her – the way it bounces in time with your thrusts, combined with the wrecked sounds leaving your lips, the slick sound of the strap deep inside you, the fact that Paige wants you so bad it makes her stupid.

It doesn’t take much longer after that. You and Paige were already pent up. Her thumb quickens on your clit, her free hand gripping your hips tight enough to leave a bruise as she drags you up and down relentlessly, her own hips meeting yours. You can tell she’s getting close when her breathing turns ragged and her face burns red. You’re right there with her, digging your nails into her shoulders for stability as you push yourself to your high.

Part of you expects Paige to open her mouth again, to say something slick that would leave you trembling, but you don’t give her the chance to. You pull her face to yours, silencing your cries with her lips. You shiver when she bites down on your bottom lip harshly, soothing the sting with her tongue. “‘M close,” you manage breathlessly, holding onto her tightly – feeling as though your orgasm would wreck you completely.

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice choked. “Let go, mama, I’m right here.”

So you do, the pleasure washing over you completely as you cry out, sagging onto her body bonelessly, the cowboy hat falling off to the side of the bed. Paige drags you against the strap, riding out the high, her jaw slack in wordless pleasure while her body burns. She doesn’t still until you push her hands off of you, the overstimulation buzzing under your skin.

Your thighs are still trembling, your breathing uneven. You hardly have the energy to slide off of the strap, so you settle for holding onto Paige, tucking your head into the crook of her neck where sweat glistens and the lingering scent of her cologne remains. You shift, feeling the soaked comforter beneath both of you. It’s enough to make you groan.

But then Paige is shifting, too, the strap brushing against a spot inside you that punches a moan out of you. You don’t have to look up to know she’s smirking. “Chill,” you admonish, your body still sizzling. You don’t know how she still has the energy and the stamina to go after she just turned you inside out, but she moves her hips again, on purpose this time, and the heat coiling in your belly returns tenfold. “You’re insatiable.”

“Look who’s in my bed,” she says as if it explains everything. You just shake your head, amused by her. Paige’s fingers trail down your sides, brushing against your skin while she presses featherlight kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. “Know you’ve got one more for me, don’t you?”

You can’t find the words, but you don’t need to. You grab onto her chain – mostly to hold her in place, and you kiss her – deep, lingering, soft despite the moment prior. She grins against you, sliding the strap out as she maneuvers you. The emptiness makes you sigh, but the shift doesn’t take long. She angles you until you can see your bodies in the mirror across her room, your breath catching at the insinuation.

You watch through the mirror as she reaches for the cowboy hat again, settling it over her messy curls. Her smile is determined – like she’s not quite satisfied, not content with the two orgasms she’d pulled from you; ravenous like she can’t wait to have you again. It shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but the flame is licking at you once more and you can’t help but succumb to the fire.

She wraps her right arm around your waist, pulling you up to a kneeling position while she settles in behind you. The strap brushes against you. The sensitivity makes you jolt, but Paige soothes you with a hushed murmur, her hand pressing against your stomach and keeping you tethered. “Want you to watch,” she whispers in your ear. Her right hand abandons your waist to hold you by the jaw, gently tilting your head up until you make eye contact through the mirror.

You’re rendered breathless by the sight – Paige’s body eclipsing yours, the hickeys adorning your skin, the slick between your thighs that shines from the lamplight. Paige isn’t much better, either. Her hair is a mess, the hat on her head skewed to the side, her neck littered with your teeth marks, skin shining from exertion. For stability, you hold onto the arm that’s wrapped tightly around you, pushing back against the strap.

“Can you do that for me?” she asks, pushing her hips forward, dragging through your folds. You nod quickly, letting out a soft whine when the tip of the strap catches your sensitive clit. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll stop.”

“I will, Paige, promise – just…please–”

She hushes you again, kissing your neck. “I got you, baby. Relax for me, okay? Gonna give it to you. Just need you to be good for me.” You nod again, melting into her body, and with the hand not holding you upright, she guides the strap to your entrance. You moan softly as she slides inside with little resistance, bottoming out as she murmurs, “That’s it, perfect girl. You take me so well.”

You can’t muster the words to respond to that, so you lean your head on hers when she drags the strap out, then pushes back in with a devastating slowness that you feel throughout your entire body. Your body is still buzzing with oversensitivity, but the slowness of her thrusts helps to ground you.

She glances up to the mirror to ensure you’re still looking at her – which you are, enraptured and unable to look away – before she trails her lips down your neck, pressing gentle, wet kisses to your overheated skin.

She’s softer now. Soft in a way that makes you clench around the strap breathlessly, tilting your head to give her more access to your neck. She recognizes that it won’t take much to build you up again, more focused on making sure you enjoy every second – every motion, every push and pull of the strap. Paige plants a kiss on every hickey she’d left on your body, her actions borderline reverent in a way that makes you want to come for her again and again and again.

With one arm still wrapped around your chest, holding onto your jaw, the other wraps around your hips, holding you by the stomach.

Unable to look away, you tighten your grip on her arms, trying not to fall apart too soon. Your stomach coils, already close, but Paige moves slowly, her thrusts hitting deep, and you’re all too content to float along the current of pleasure. Her lips still ghost across your body, licking the salt off of your skin, pressing gentle apologies to the dark spots on your neck.

“You want more, mama?” she murmurs in your ear, a gentle check in despite the question. You hardly have to think about it before you nod. With the hand braced over hers, you drag her left hand down, her fingers finding your clit with ease.

She doesn’t apply much pressure, just enough for you to feel it without overpowering the sensations. You don’t let go either, guiding her motions, moving it further down to gather more of your slick before bringing it back up to circle your clit.

The slide makes it impossibly sweeter – she tightens her circles, pushing deeper inside you with the strap, the tip brushing against the spongy spot inside of you that makes you keen.

Paige doesn’t slow. She doesn’t speed up. She keeps her pace deliciously consistent, the strap dragging in and out of you deliberately, her fingers working you up in tandem.

Her free hand keeps your gaze locked on the mirror, watching her as she kisses your neck, the shell of your ear, listening to her breath heavily as if she’s feeling everything you are, too. That thought alone makes your hips stutter, pressing back into her.

She soothes you with gentle whispers. “So good for me, baby,” she’d say, or she’d time the circling of your clit with a deeper thrust, murmuring, “You feel me? Want you to feel good.” And the stupid hat makes you unravel a little bit more – it hangs off of her head loosely, threatening to fall at any moment, but all you can think about is how you rode her wearing her hat, how she claimed you in the club and how she made you fall apart wearing something with her name on it. You’re hers now, and honestly, you don’t hate that idea.

It doesn’t take much longer before your eyes are slipping shut, confessing, “Close, P,” in a hoarse voice. The sensations are overwhelming – her hot skin pressed against yours, the strap sliding through you and hitting spots you’d never knew existed, the maddening feeling of her thumb against your clit, her breathing against your ear, the pounding of her heartbeat against your back revealing just how close she is to falling apart, too.

“Okay, baby,” she whispers, her motions never slowing, kissing your neck again. But she presses her fingers a little more firmly to your clit, her free hand tapping against your cheek to gather your attention.

Your eyes blink open, finding the mirror again, the ruined look on her face. She looks desperate – not to get off, but desperate to watch you get off. “Want you to watch yourself.” Her voice is a little broken, almost begging, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. “You look so pretty when you come for me, you know that? Wanna watch you do it over and over and over again.”

“Paige,” you gasp, the sound coming out like a half-sob, half-whine, the pleasure building and the heat coiling.

But she hardly hears you, her eyes glazed over and pussy drunk. Her jaw hangs slack like she’s the one being fucked, her breathing uneven and heavy. “You feel so good,” she rambles. “Like you were made just for me. Can’t get enough of you. Please, mama, wanna see you fall apart for me. You’re so good, so fucking perfect–”

The coil snaps, white hot pleasure coursing through your veins, electricity down your spine, and all you can do is sag back into her one final time, moans tumbling from your lips while she works you through the aftershocks.

Her hips and her fingers slow, murmuring incoherent sentences into your ear, her words dripping in both gratitude and a satiated desire like watching you get off finally quenched a thirst she’s been harboring for years.

You don’t have to say anything, either – it’s like she knows your body by heart now. Gingerly, she slips the strap out of your soaked cunt and detaches her fingers from your sensitive clit. As much as you’d love to feel her skin against yours, her hips dragging against yours, you can barely keep your eyes open. The final aftershocks dissipate, your thighs calming, the pleasurable fog in your brain clearing.

“You still with me?” she asks softly, smoothing the hair at the crown of your head with her clean hand.

At that, all you can do is muster a laugh, your eyes opening blearily. “Yeah,” you say, “no thanks to you, though.”

“Hmm,” she scoffs, amusement in her eyes. “Coulda sworn this was exactly what you wanted. You know, open legs and all.”

“Alright,” you deadpan, attempting to roll on your side, but you can’t summon the strength. You settle for some weird half angle that’s hardly worth the drama of the moment. “Goodnight!”

“No way,” Paige laughs. “C’mon. I need you awake. Lemme run you a bath and change these sheets so you can rest, okay? You good with that?”

You meet her eyes again, your smile softening at the gentle earnestness on her face. If she hadn’t already ruined you before, you’re sure you are now. But there’s something in her eyes that promises this might not be a one night thing after all. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing her closer to plant a chaste, affectionate kiss to her lips. You feel her grin. “You’re gonna have to carry me, though.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” she assures you, crawling off the bed and unbuckling the harness on her hips. She throws it haphazardly into the adjacent bathroom and you try not to laugh when something clatters to the floor. Paige picks you up with ease, one arm looping under your knees and the other wrapping around your back. She sets you on the edge of the tub as she heats up the water, helping you into it gingerly and tossing in a eucalyptus bath bomb for your aches. Before she leaves to swap the sheets, she plants a soft kiss onto your forehead.

You soak for a few moments until she returns, offering you a small smile before she slips in behind you. Her body is almost as warm as the water and twice as soft. She massages the shampoo and conditioner into your hair and jokingly points out her assault on your neck with a mixture of pride and concern. You tell her she’ll have to buy your concealer in bulk but when she murmurs, “As long as I get to see you again,” you find that you don’t really care about the marks on your neck as long as you get to keep this annoyingly charming, devastatingly beautiful athlete in your life.

Paige helps you out of the tub, your eyes drooping once more, dressing you in a pair of her boxers and an oversized t-shirt from her college days. She guides you back to bed gingerly, the sheets fresh and clean, and you have your head on her chest before she’s even got her head on the pillow. She grins because it doesn’t bother her at all. You smile because her heart’s pounding and you think you know why it is.

Just before you fall into a blissful, exhausted sleep, Paige’s voice cuts through the fog once more. “About that offer,” she whispers, tapping on the leg you have slung across hers. “Does it expire?”

She jokes, but you can hear the truth of her question beyond it. She’s not referring to your legs. Not literally.

Your smile is tired, but it’s no less affectionate. “For you?” you echo, drowsiness lacing your tone. “No. It’s renewable.”

“How long?”

You’re quiet for a beat, just enough to consider your words.

Is this something you want? Relationships can be hard. Tricky. But something about Paige tells you she’s in for the ride. That you can trust her – with you and your heart.

So you press a kiss to the hinge of her jaw, feeling her cheeks stretch with a smile, and you make her a promise:

“As long as you want.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #dallas wings #wnba

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eraserbread · 2 months ago

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omg. i love horny pregnant wife so much. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE more with nanami or toji🙏 you’re such a talented writer ily

you're seeing sides to your husband, nanami, that you didn't even know existed... until three months ago when you found out he got you pregnant.

creeping into the second trimester, your body is in constant aching pain -- it starts in your abdomen, sometimes, morphing into cramps in your lower back as your belly begins to bulge.

it's knocked you into needing to waddle everywhere you go, and stuck in bed when he's not around.

but, this morning, he is around. you wake up alone, the sun is bright, and the air smells like miso and eggs. kento knows it's all you've been wanting to eat lately, so he wakes up early on his day off to make it for you.

his back is turned to you when you waddle into the kitchen, feet dragging in your house shoes over the cold floor. ken stands shirtless, standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup -- it awakens something within you.

you're left staring in the doorway, swallowing down the thickness of absolute, carnal, bodily need.

you can't even find the strength to speak, all of the life you had is rushing between your thighs, burning you alive. biting your lip, you cross your knees.

of course, he notices you after a second, drawn in by the savory, familiar smell of you behind the waft of miso. kento peeks over his shoulder.

"love, you should have stayed in bed."

"why?" your whisper is fucked already, rasping and grating in your throat.

"because your body needs rest. doctor's orders." then he's turning around, steaming bowl of miso cradled in his grip.

you're sweating, watching his bare, sexy chest stare you down in a way that genuinely makes you feral. him and his ruffled hair, shadowed eyes, and furrowed eyebrows.

"pleasepleasepleaseplease," you're begging, mouth full of cotton as you're tearing through bedsheets. kento's situated behind you, thick tongue drawing masterful, sticky circles against your quivering cunt.

yours to the core, there's nothing he loves more than eating you up. since the pregnancy, that feeling is heightened tenfold. you're pulling off your pants, and he's getting that smell in his nose -- that hunger in his body.

and even better, your libido is coming back with this trimester, letting him take his time as he sucks you clean. face down, ass up - hips supported by a pillow, because he wants you to be as comfortable as possible.

kento lets you do all the talking -- all the blubbery crying and pitiful moans you've been keeping. it's like a river down here, buried nose-deep in your ass, his tongue can't keep up the onslaught of constant, dripping slick. he's full off of your taste, but that doesn't mean he won't give his wife what she wants.

"oh, my god. i'm gonna die. gonna -- gonna kill me 'f you don't put it innn!" you're arching your back when he pulls away, licking over his flushed lips, memorizing the taste so he can carry it with him throughout the day.

but, he's taking too long. just one second over your limit, and you're sobbing. "put it in! what are you fucking waiting for, it hurts!"

"oh..." kento doesn't react, knowing anything could set you off further. he does sit up, fishing his erection from his loose linen pants to slide between your aching cunt. he won't tease you for very long now, but he is curious to see how much you're willing to beg...

"you motherfuc-

that disrespect? kento uses it as fuel, and with one fateful swoop, he's burying himself inside of you, punching a guttural, needy scream from your chest.

"well, that's not very nice." he's growling, rolling his hips forward to chase some friction. closing his big body over yours, a single hand presses over the back of your neck, squeezing just enough to emit some pain. he doesn't want to actually hurt you now that you're carrying his daughter, but he does want to establish patience.

cursed nicknames have no space in your loving home.

"i'm sorryyyy--mmhmf!"

he's fucking you so well, now, thick, slippery cock sliding out to the tip, only to slam back in to the hilt. he hurts so good -- so wholly. it's like he's devouring you whole.

this feeling... it was so different, so perfect. all you can think about is your kento pressing another baby in you.

call it greed or lust, kento thinks it's something adjacent to absolute, abiding love and trust.

#thank u anonnn 🙏 ily too #need to cuss kento out too lowkey wait--#.nanami <3 #.the wife guy!! <3 #eraserasks #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami fanfic #nanami x you

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plexivie · 11 months ago

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I kind of love the trope of pro hero Bakugo keeping his s/o a secret

He comes home late at night to you sleeping. Sometimes he regrets keeping you all to himself. But him seeing you sleeping all comfortably like this? It’s worth every bit of privacy.

“Hey,” he nudges you a bit to try and wake you up. “Baby, ‘m home.”

You’ve been alone all day waiting for your pro boyfriend to get home. Today wasn’t the best day for you. Yea some days are lonely but today was the definitely the worst. You recently found out how your friends aren’t very fond of you and actually talk bad about you all the time. To say it was heartbreaking was an understatement.

The only thing, person that could cheer you up though was busy all day. You’re usually not one to cry, but you’ve never felt this alone. He felt heartbroken when he saw the dried tears that stained your cheeks.

“Baby, wake up f’me” he says as he nudges you once again. This time you finally do wake up. It doesn’t take him long to embrace you tightly. He gives you sweet kisses while he whispers to you, “ ‘M so sorry baby, so so sorry. Those dumbasses don’t deserve you. Even I don’t deserve you much.”

You finally melt into his body as you begin to cry once again. “I-I just… they’re the only friends I have w-what do I do now” you say sniffling into his shoulder. He pulls away from the hug and looks into your eyes. “You didn’t need ‘em baby. They’re not good enough for you.” You look at him still with tears in your eyes. “I wish you could’ve been with me today.” He sighs, “I know baby I wanted to be with you too.” He lied down on the bed and pulled your body towards him.

“I know I said that..” he sighs before he speaks, “that I wanted us to be a secret. But I just can’t do that shit anymore. I want to take you out. Tomorrow. I get off at 4 so we can go out for dinner.” You look up at him and smile, “really?” He kisses you and nods, “Yes baby, really. Now go to sleep. Can’t have you tired for our date tomorrow night.” You nod and nuzzle into his chest.

“I love you, don’t forget that shit.”

Maybe I just love pro hero Bakugo

A/N: if anyone knows where I can find the little line photos pls help a girl out🙏😓

Also I have a rockstar dabi smau on TikTok @shigarak1sbigfan so go check it out‼️🤗

#bhna x reader #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bhna x you #boku no hero academia #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagine #bhna bakugou #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #gender nuetral reader #bhna fanfiction #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #plexivie #shigarak1sbigfan

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hyuniemyunie · 4 months ago

Text

Sleeping Together

slashers x gn!reader

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): established relationship, cuddling, sleeping next to them.

I LOOOOOOVE BRAHMS. BUT I ALSO LOOOOOVE BUBBA. BUT I ALSO LOOOOOOVE STU. should i do aftercare scenarios?🤔 but after they got fucked/pegged😞🙏 so dom/top reader scenario😞😞 nvm im gonna do it

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

ᯓ★ Brahms cannot sleep unless you’re touching him in some way. He’s like an overgrown child in that sense—if you try to roll away, he’ll grab onto you immediately, pulling you back with surprising strength.

ᯓ★ Sometimes he keeps his mask on, sometimes he takes it off in the dark when he knows you won’t see. If you try to touch his face, he’ll freeze up for a moment before leaning into your touch.

ᯓ★ He mumbles in his sleep sometimes, little, breathy "stay with me"s or "don’t leave." If you answer back, even just a quiet "I’m here," he’ll calm down instantly.

ᯓ★ Sometimes, he’ll pretend to be asleep just to see if you try to sneak away. If you do? He’ll wake up immediately, whining. "Bad. You’re being bad.."

ᯓ★ He doesn’t sleep much, so you might wake up to find him just watching you. No noise, no movement—just staring. He thinks it’s comforting. (It’s not.)

Brahms is not a quiet sleeper. He breathes heavily, even behind his mask. You learned this on the first night you stayed in the mansion. He watches. Always. Even in the dead of night, even when his arms are wrapped around you, he does not sleep easily.

Tonight is no different.

You stir in bed, feeling the weight of his body pressed up against yours. Brahms clings to you, desperate for comfort, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. His breath, warm and slow, fans against your neck. It should be unsettling—should send shivers down your spine—but it doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself relaxing into his embrace, despite the feeling of his masked face resting against your shoulder. He lets out a low hum, a noise of contentment, and his grip tightens ever so slightly.

"Don’t move." His voice is thick with drowsiness, but there’s a quiet possessiveness to it.

"I wasn’t planning to," you murmur, shifting just enough to get comfortable.

Brahms lets out a sigh, nuzzling into you like a cat seeking warmth. You wonder if he’s actually asleep or simply pretending, waiting for the moment you slip away. He does that sometimes—tests you.

The old pipes in the house creak, and you feel him tense. His fingers twitch against your side. "Stay," he whispers again, softer this time, like a plea rather than a command.

You reach up, brushing your fingers over his arm. "I’m here," you reassure him.

And with that, Brahms finally drifts off, chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours, his paranoia momentarily eased by your presence.

ᯓ★ Bubba runs hot. Laying next to him is like sleeping beside a furnace, and if it’s summer? You’re gonna suffer. But in the winter? Absolute heaven.

ᯓ★ Once Bubba’s out, he’s out. Thunderstorms, screaming victims, even Drayton yelling? Nothing wakes him up unless you shake him really hard.

ᯓ★ He has nightmares a lot. Some nights, you’ll hear him whimpering, and if you rub his back or whisper his name, he’ll calm down instantly, snuggling closer.

ᯓ★ He doesn’t mean to, but in his sleep, he’ll just… roll on top of you. And given that he’s built like a truck? Yeah. RIP you.

ᯓ★ Bubba holds onto you with pure affection. He’s like a giant, overly attached teddy bear.

Bubba sleeps like a rock. A very warm, very heavy rock.

The moment you settle into bed with him, it’s like being trapped under a weighted blanket made entirely of muscle. Bubba curls himself around you, practically cocooning you with his sheer size. His body radiates warmth like a furnace, and while it’s comforting, it also means you’re at risk of overheating within minutes. ESPECIALLY in a place like texas.

His head rests against your shoulder, the sound of his soft, occasional pig-like snorts filling the room. Every so often, he lets out a little grunt in his sleep, twitching as if chasing something in a dream.

You shift slightly, trying to peel yourself away just a little so you don’t combust. But the moment you move, Bubba lets out a distressed whimper, his thick arms pulling you back in an instant.

"No, no, I’m not leaving," you whisper, gently patting his arm. "Just getting comfy, big guy."

Bubba responds with a content sigh, nuzzling into your hair. His fingers twitch against your side, gripping onto the fabric of your shirt as if afraid you’ll disappear in the night.

And so, you let him hold you, even if it means waking up drenched in sweat.

ᯓ★ Unlike Brahms’ creepy staring or Bubba’s snorting, Thomas is eerily silent when he sleeps. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you’d think he wasn’t breathing.

ᯓ★ The slightest noise will wake him up. He’s used to being on high alert, and if you move too much, he’ll stir immediately.

ᯓ★ He’s not naturally affectionate in his sleep, but if you lean into him? His arm will instinctively come around you, pulling you close.

ᯓ★ Even while unconscious, his body is positioned between you and the door, keeping you safe.

ᯓ★ He may be a massive, intimidating man, but when he’s resting? His grip is surprisingly gentle. His hand will rest on your side or your back, just to make sure you’re there.

Thomas is the definition of a silent sleeper. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you’d worry he wasn’t breathing at all.

Thomas is more… reserved. He doesn’t wrap himself around you completely, but his presence is felt—a heavy, solid weight beside you, protective even in rest.

You shift slightly, rolling onto your side to face him. Even in the darkness, you can see the faint outline of his face—his strong jaw, the scarred skin, the way his lips are slightly parted as he breathes in deep, steady intervals.

Carefully, you reach up, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand.

His reaction is almost immediate. His grip tightens ever so slightly. You whisper his name, just to see if he’s awake. He doesn’t respond, but the faintest twitch of his fingers against your side tells you that he hears you.

And with that thought, you close your eyes, resting against him, knowing that no harm will come to you so long as he is by your side.

ᯓ★ His breathing is deep and slow, a steady, soothing rhythm that lulls you to sleep. Sometimes, if you listen closely, you’ll hear him let out soft, almost content sighs.

ᯓ★ Jason doesn’t sleep much, but when he does, it’s light. The smallest noise will have him waking up, ready to defend you from whatever danger he thinks is lurking.

ᯓ★ He sleeps with an arm around you, keeping you close. If you try to move away, even in sleep, his grip will tighten automatically. If you somehow manage to roll out of bed, he will gently pick you up and place you back like it’s nothing.

ᯓ★ If he ever catches you watching him sleep, he’ll get weirdly flustered, shifting slightly like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The camp is silent at night, save for the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional rustling of the trees. You’re nestled against Jason’s broad chest, his warmth keeping the night chill at bay. He doesn’t need sleep the way you do—whatever supernatural force keeps him alive seems to have erased the human need for rest—but he still lays beside you.

Your fingers rest against his chest, tracing slow, absent-minded patterns over the worn fabric of his shirt. His breathing is deep and even, but you can tell he’s still awake.

"You don’t have to stay up, you know," you murmur, shifting slightly to look up at him.

Jason doesn’t respond with words—he never does—but his arm tightens around you, fingers flexing against your back. It’s his silent way of saying, I want to.

You exhale softly, nuzzling against him, pressing your forehead to the cool metal of his mask. He still wears it, even here, even now. Maybe he’s afraid. Afraid you’ll see him—truly see him—and decide you no longer want to be here.

So you do the only thing you can. You press a gentle kiss against the mask, just over where his cheekbone would be.

Jason stiffens, his entire body going still. Then, after a long pause, he exhales a slow, shuddering breath. His fingers twitch against your side before he pulls you even closer, tucking you beneath his chin like something precious.

And in that moment, despite the horrors of the world, you’ve never felt safer.

ᯓ★ Michael is used to watching people sleep, not actually doing it himself. He doesn’t need much rest, but when he does sleep, it’s eerily still—no tossing, no turning, just pure silence.

ᯓ★ If he wakes up before you (which he always does), he just… watches you. If you wake up to find him staring, good luck falling back asleep.

ᯓ★ Michael isn’t really affectionate, but if you lean into him or drape an arm over him, he won’t push you away. Instead, he’ll slowly adjust, letting you stay there.

ᯓ★ Even in deep sleep, if you get up to leave, he’ll wake up instantly. No words, just a heavy hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you back down.

ᯓ★ No pillows for you. He is your pillow. No exceptions.

Michael doesn’t sleep. Not in the way normal people do. Tonight, like every night, you wake to find him watching you.

His head is tilted slightly, the dim glow of the moonlight casting shadows across his mask. He’s barely inches away, sitting on the edge of the bed, just staring.

You sigh, rubbing at your tired eyes. "Michael, you’re supposed to be resting."

No response. He just keeps watching, the dark voids of his eye holes locked onto you.

You groan, reaching out blindly, fingers curling around his wrist. You expect him to pull away—Michael isn’t exactly fond of touch—but instead, he lets you guide him down. Lets you pull him into the bed beside you.

"Lay down," you tell him softly. "Just for a little while."

He obeys without protest, stretching out beside you. His body is tense, like he’s unsure how to relax. You move closer, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing beneath your fingertips.

After a long, long moment, he finally reacts. His arm moves—not to strangle, not to harm, but to rest against your side, hesitant but firm.

It’s the closest thing to an embrace you’re going to get.

And it’s enough.

ᯓ★ Years of surviving in the mines have left Harry with a deeply ingrained sense of paranoia. Even when he sleeps, his muscles stay coiled, like he’s always expecting an attack.

ᯓ★ Some nights, he’ll suddenly jerk awake, breath ragged and hands clenched. If you soothe him—whisper his name, rub his back—he’ll calm down quickly, grounding himself in your presence.

ᯓ★ Harry will drape his arm over you, and there’s no escaping it. He doesn’t even realize how heavy he is, but at least he’s warm.

ᯓ★ If you can’t sleep and shift restlessly, he’ll reach out—without opening his eyes—and rest a hand on your hip, rubbing slow, absent-minded circles to lull you back to sleep.

The scent of coal and metal clings to him, even in sleep. It’s ingrained into his skin, his clothes, the very air around him. You don’t mind. It’s comforting in its own strange way—earthy, familiar, him.

Harry sleeps still and silent, body coiled with tension even in rest. His arm is thrown over you, holding you close, a subconscious need to keep you safe.

You shift slightly, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his collarbone. "Relax, Harry," you whisper against his skin. "You’re not in the mines anymore."

His breathing hitches for just a second before he exhales, body sinking just a little deeper into the mattress. He doesn’t respond—not with words, at least—but his grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

You know what it means.

You’re the only thing in this world that makes him feel human. The only thing that keeps the nightmares of gas leaks and cave-ins at bay.

And as long as you’re here, he’ll never let you go.

ᯓ★ Some nights, he sleeps curled up like a cat. Other nights, he sprawls out like a starfish, trapping you under an arm or a leg.

ᯓ★ His curls are soft but everywhere. If you sleep facing him, expect a mouthful of hair at some point.

ᯓ★ Loves touch but won’t ask for it. Vincent won’t initiate cuddling often, but if you reach for him? He’ll melt into your touch instantly.

ᯓ★ If you’re sleeping back-to-back, he’ll slowly shift closer until you’re touching. If you’re apart, he’ll move a hand toward yours, just close enough that your fingers brush.

ᯓ★ When he thinks you’re asleep, he buries his face against your neck or hair, inhaling deeply like he’s memorizing your presence. It’s both sweet and a little creepy.

ᯓ★ If you ever fall asleep working on something, he’ll carry you to bed and wrap around you like a koala.

He sleeps curled around you, his body fitting against yours like he was meant to be here. His hair is soft against your cheek, his breathing slow and steady.

You run a hand through his curls, untangling them gently with your fingers, making q soft hum rumble in his chest

"You’re warm," you murmur, lips ghosting over the top of his head.

Vincent shifts, burying his face against your neck. His arm tightens around you, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. You sigh, wrapping your arms around him in return, letting him hold you as tightly as he needs.

In the daylight, Vincent is silent, a ghost among the living, hands stained with wax and sin.

But here, in the quiet of the night, he is yours.

ᯓ★ Billy? Light sleeper. The smallest noise wakes him up, especially if it sounds off. If you roll away from him, expect to be yanked back within seconds.

ᯓ★ Stu? Sleeps like a damn rock. He can snore through a chainsaw massacre and not flinch. You could literally sit on him, and he’d just groan and roll over.

ᯓ★ Billy does not like admitting he’s a cuddler, but he is. He needs to have a hand on you—hip, stomach, thigh, doesn’t matter—just to know you’re there.

ᯓ★ Stu, on the other hand, is needy and will completely engulf you. He sleeps like an octopus, limbs everywhere, sometimes even throwing a leg over you so you physically can’t escape.

ᯓ★ Billy runs hot—he’s like a damn heater, which is great in the winter but suffocating in the summer.

ᯓ★ Stu runs cold and will shove his freezing hands under your shirt just to hear you scream.

ᯓ★ Billy sometimes keeps his mask nearby, almost like a security blanket. If he falls asleep before taking it off, you might wake up to him still wearing it.

ᯓ★ Stu? Nah, he flings that thing across the room and immediately collapses on top of you.

ᯓ★ Stu mumbles the weirdest shit in his sleep. Sometimes it’s a movie quote, sometimes it’s nonsense like "Dude… cows are just meat puppies…"

ᯓ★ Billy rarely talks in his sleep, but when he does, it’s always your name. Always.

The room is dim, the flickering neon light from the parking lot outside casting shadows across the ceiling. The bed is too small—way too small for three people—but that hasn’t stopped Stu from sprawling across it like a damn starfish, his arm thrown haphazardly over your waist.

On your other side, Billy is awake. You know he is. He’s too still, too aware. His arm is draped possessively over your stomach, fingers idly tracing circles against the fabric of your shirt.

"You’re awake," you murmur sleepily, tilting your head just slightly toward him.

Billy doesn’t respond—not with words. Instead, his fingers tighten against your side, pulling you just a little closer.

"You guys are so clingy," you tease, voice drowsy.

"Pfft—says you," Stu mumbles against the pillow, his breath warm against your shoulder. His voice is thick with sleep, but that doesn’t stop him from blindly groping around until he finds your arm, flopping his own over it in an attempt to keep you pinned. "Ain’t going anywhere, babe. You’re trapped."

Billy huffs, a soft almost-laugh, but you can feel the tension lingering in his shoulders. He still hasn’t let go.

You reach up, brushing your fingers against his wrist, grounding him. "I’m right here, Billy."

His breath stutters just for a second. Then, slowly, finally, he exhales. His grip on you doesn’t loosen, but his body relaxes just a fraction.

Stu, half-asleep, suddenly nuzzles against the crook of your neck. "We make the best blanket, huh? Two-for-one deal."

"More like a human straitjacket," you mumble, trapped between Billy’s intense grip and Stu’s dead weight.

Neither of them responds. Stu has already drifted back into sleep, and Billy, still silent, just pulls you even closer.

You sigh, but there’s a warmth in your chest—something safe, something real.

And in this moment, with two killers wrapped around you like you’re the most important thing in the world, you know you’re never getting a peaceful night’s sleep again.

But honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#gender neutral reader #gn reader #gn!reader #slashers #slashers x reader #slashers x you #slashers x y/n #billy loomis x reader #stu matcher x reader #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #harry warden x reader #jason voorhes x reader #michael myers x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire x you

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seumyo · 3 months ago

Note

Please please pleaseee more dad shoto x mom reader its js too fluffy and cute 😭🙏

NOTE. so much fluff, my heart can’t take it anymore <3

Todoroki never thought that there would be a point in his life where he spent his weekends lying on the living room floor, holding a full conversation with his eight-month-old son as if the tiny human could actually understand every word. And yet, here he was—stretched out on his back, staring at the ceiling while his son, Shuu, rested against his chest, happily kicking his little legs as they engaged in what Todoroki was beginning to consider their usual weekend routine.

You had gone out to get groceries, leaving them alone for a while, and he had quickly discovered that Shuu was happiest when he was either being held or allowed to clamber all over his father like a small, determined climber.

Currently, said baby was on his stomach, his tiny hands gripping at Todoroki’s shirt as he made an admirable attempt to push himself up with all the strength his chubby little arms could muster. The doctor had mentioned tummy time was good for his development, but to Shuu, it was a grand adventure—maybe even his greatest enemy.

His son looked so much like him that it sometimes took Todoroki by surprise.

His wispy hair was still soft and undecided in color, but those round, curious eyes were a perfect mirror of yours. Every so often, when Shuu blinked up at him with an expression of innocent curiosity, it hit Todoroki that this was his child.

His son.

The little person that he and you had brought into the world. The realization never failed to strike him in quiet moments like this, when he had nothing to do but bask in the weight of it.

“You wouldn’t believe the week I had, Shuu,” Shouto murmured, lifting a hand to gently rub slow, soothing circles on his son’s tiny back.

Shuu let out an excited coo in response, one of his chubby hands grasping at the fabric of Todoroki’s shirt. His fingers barely curled around the material, but he held on determinedly.

“Midoriya somehow managed to schedule us for a meeting at seven in the morning. Seven, Shuu. On a Friday. You know what that means?”

Shuu let out a happy shriek, completely unaware of the horror of early morning meetings. Todoroki sighed dramatically. “Exactly. It means I had to wake up even earlier to get dressed, drink coffee, and mentally prepare for Midoriya’s enthusiasm before the sun was even fully up.” He paused, frowning slightly. “And then he had the audacity to say it was a ‘great team-building experience.’”

His son slapped a tiny hand against his chest, his bright eyes gleaming as he babbled incoherently. Todoroki nodded as if he understood.

“Mhm, I know. I should’ve expected it. But at least your uncle Bakugou suffered with me.”

His son cooed in response, the sound soft and bubbly, like he was adding his own input.

Todoroki nodded solemnly. “Yes, exactly. You understand.”

The baby let out another happy noise before suddenly pressing his face against his father’s chest, his tiny mouth leaving a damp spot on the fabric. Todoroki exhaled through his nose. “And now you’re drooling all over me. Again.” He chuckled in amusement, bringing a small bib up to carefully wipe away the small trail of drool forming on his son’s chin.

“Wah uhm!”

Todoroki sighed, but there was no real annoyance in his expression. But there was an odd sense of contentment settling over him as he let his hand rest on his son’s back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. It was moments like this that made everything else—the long work hours, the exhaustion, the constant balancing act of being both a hero and a father—completely worth it.

“You are very talkative today,” he observed, shifting slightly so Shuu was better balanced on his chest. His son blinked down at him, completely unbothered, before letting out another high-pitched babble. “Oh? That’s your input? You think I should get revenge on Midoriya?” Todoroki’s lips twitched. “That’s devious. Just like your mother.”

At the mention of you, Shuu’s little face brightened even more, and he kicked his legs with excitement, making Todoroki smile. “You miss Mama already?” He kissed the top of his son’s head, inhaling the soft baby scent that lingered in his hair. “She’ll be back soon. She’ll probably scold me if I let you get too drooly before she comes home.”

As if on cue, Shuu blew a big, wet raspberry against Todoroki’s shirt, successfully soaking the fabric. Todoroki sighed again. “Well, I walked right into that one.”

He shifted slightly, tilting his head to get a better look at his son’s tiny features. “You’re going to grow up into a strong, smart boy, Shuu,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “And I’ll always be here. Even when you start talking back to me instead of babbling nonsense.”

Shuu responded by planting both hands on his father’s chest and pushing up, his tiny arms trembling with the effort. He held himself up for a moment before collapsing back down with a happy squeal, his round cheeks pressing against Todoroki’s shirt.

Todoroki smiled, gently rubbing his son’s back again.

The front door opened a moment later, and your voice called out, “I’m home!”

Shuu perked up instantly, letting out a delighted squeal as he tried to push himself up again. If anything, Todoroki thinks that Shuu would’ve crashed into your legs by now if he were able to walk. And he just lifted him with ease, sitting up just as you walked into the living room with a grocery bag in each hand. You took one look at them—Todoroki’s shirt covered in drool, Shuu’s delighted expression—and shook your head fondly.

“Did you two have fun?” you asked, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter before making your way over.

“I think he’s plotting something,” Todoroki said seriously. “He suggested I take revenge on Midoriya.”

You gasped, placing a hand over your mouth in exaggerated shock. “Shuuchan! Are you already learning how to scheme?”

Your son shrieked in response, his chubby arms reaching for you, his mother. You laughed, scooping him up and peppering his face with kisses. Todoroki watched you, his heart full.

Yes, he never thought he’d be here—spending his weekends talking to an eight-month-old like he was a full-grown adult.

But he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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sqgeism · 1 month ago

Text

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 i'll say a hundred and fourty times, | various hsr men x gender neutral reader reader

💌 — ; i think about you or something like that ! you remember your first date with your husband like it was yesterday, what exactly did they do to convince you that they were the one?

love mail — these vary in length cus bless my heart i js cant 💔 i picked the characters who are super popular on this account + mutuals faves so if urs isnt on here am sorry (ノ´Д｀)ノ posting this early hi i love u guys!!!! thank you for so much love and a platform to write as a other yr passes 4 me and i turn 17!!! this is actually so long im going BANANAS 🩷 proper post tmr ! (anaxa, mydei, phainon, caelus, dan heng, boothill, sampo, blade, ratio, jing yuan, gallagher, sunday in that order)

what anaxa had done to seal the deal was fairly simple; he asked for a second date. the professor had somewhat of a reputation, many saw him as a cold man, soulless when it comes to romance. but what you didn't know was that anaxa had been thinking about what to wear the night prior, something he saw as 'trivial' and 'not an important thing to consider'. or how your hand lingered a bit too long after he gave you your favorite coffee/tea/drink (his treat), little and seemingly insignificant details were becoming more and more important to him as the day of the date was building up, and he wasn't sure why.

it wasn't until after the long date—you grabbed his hand, told him that everything he arranged was perfect, and smiled at him so sweetly he was sure he'd wake up with a toothache. the gesture was unfamiliar yet not unwelcomed, it was then he realized that he didn't want to let this go, that he wanted this.. for the rest of his life.

and he got it <3 hooray!

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

what intrigued you about mydei was his idea of masculinity. it wasn't toxic, you were VERY relieved at that... he was surprisingly a very gentle man despite his intimidating appearance! his first date being at his place was a bit off putting, but he just wanted to bake you a fresh batch of cookies. he's halfway through the process when you suddenly ask; "what's your favorite thing?" it seems you've brought the crown prince of kremnos into a bit of thought, as he thought long and hard of what to answer. "butterflies, i like butterflies. i don't remember if i've ever seen one before i escaped the river of souls. they're beautiful.. delicate, something i'll never really get to be."

the night goes on and you've gotten close enough to lean on his shoulders while you sit on the couch, enjoying a series in silence with a plate of warm cookies on the coffee table. the lack of conversation isn't awkward, rather welcomed, then it was interrupted by what has been probably the sweetest thing ever told to you. "you uh.. remind me of a butterfly. you possess beauty that is.. otherworldly to me, you're someone i've never seen before and i'd be honored if you.. gave me some more time to bask in your existence. let me be gifted with your ethereal charm."

100% spent the night cuddling together, made you laugh at how nervous mydei was to hold you since he didn't wanna mess up 🙏

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

before real dates became a thing, phainon's FAAAVORITE excuse to spend one on one time with you was study dates. was there any actual studying going on? yes, but was phainon listening? absolutely not! how could he? not when you're trying your best to tutor him yet he still fails this one specific class (enrolled cause you were in it) despite your teaching.

you didn't mind the fact he kept coming to your door, he was your best friend before your 'student'. but it was getting to a point that if you explain a complicated concept one more time, only to see him staring at you and absolutely not listening you're about to pull his pretty blue hair off.

which you did tell him. hair ripping threat and all, and naturally the nameless hero—who dominates battlefields and comes out victorious, is quick to confess his true motive for these frequent visits to your dorm. he just likes looking at you when you're focused, passionately discussing your favorite topic from your favorite subject and he gets to be a part of that experience for you.

he wants to emphasize; he gets to be a PART of something greater that you're DEEPLY passionate about, and understand you more as a person. (when he should be understanding the class but wtv)

taking you out on a date-but-never-officially-called-that date as an apology, which worked in his favor. it turned out so good that you told him you wanted to go out again, which he was ecstatic about by the way!!! super gratful he almost failed that class if it meant you two got together 🩷

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caelus is a big eater at heart, so of course it felt only right to take you out to a nice dinner, all on him! welt even got him a nice outfit to go along with it, very classy and formal.

and while you two ate, drank, and laughed the night away—caelus was quick to notice that you were getting full. you and him had chosen the same meal (he wanted to try to understand and adjust to your food palette in case of a second date), but you felt bad that you couldn't finish it with so much still on the plate.

the trailblazer, who had already bulldozed almost the entire meal, laughs at your frown. only to switch the meals around, where there was only a little left and he had the bigger portion. "don't want anything to go to waste, y'know?" he flashed that charming smile at you, and it made you chuckle. not for such a sweet gesture, which you really did appreciate, but he had a piece of leaf stuck in between his teeth. it gave off the whole charm he had, effortlessly kind and unintentionally funny. you liked that.. liked that a lot, actually. (enough to spend the rest of ur lives tgt <3)

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for a portion of your childhood life, you found it hard to be heard. your voice was never loud enough to stand out from a crowd, and you felt ignored. that you weren't good enough to be listened to.

so going on a date was extremely nerve-wracking. you decided to make sure to never try to assert yourself too much in a conversation, just let them take the lead and not try to disturb with your 'uninteresting' input.

halfway through the date, holding hands and talking about your favorite place to visit-you are very quick to realize that you've taken up most of the conversation. and it isn't in a bad way either, since dan heng was adding his own little comments.. adding his ideas in the conversation. but he hasn't.. stopped you. he let you speak comfortably, let you be heard. "sorry, did i give you a weird look? i didn't mean to.. i just.. i really like listening to you. please don't ever stop talking."

your now husband loves to tell the people that said his quietness would never get him someone.. that he has a ring now and a very lovely spouse that has a matching one !

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boothill doesn't usually have time for dates, always moving on the road and hopping around penacony. but when robin set him up with a good friend of hers, he didn't want to decline. the cowboy was quick to realize you were really cute and interesting, so he didn't mind taking a day off... until it wasn't a day off.. and had to handle a quick bounty a couple of hours before your date.

"don'tgetdistractedandthinkofthemdon'tgetdistractedandthinkofthemdon'tgetdistractedandthinkofthem" is what he repeats to himself before he gets distracted, imagines how you smiled at him yesterday and expressed how excited you were about the date.

got his shit rocked :-( but he still trudged his malfunctioning arm and scarred face to your place. "sorry." he strained a smile as he falls into your arms, grunting. "didn't mean to make ya wait. darlin'.. would never try to leave ya alone on such a pretty night."

his selflessness made your heart soften. he was so uncaring for his wounds, and he was even muttering that he was sorry for getting so much of his bleeding oil on your clothes. the date didn't end up pulling through, at least not properly. since you brought him in to care for him, and honestly just ended up to you flirting all night.

you're more than happy to have a real date when he's all fixed up.

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sampo had finally gotten one upped. HE got scammed by YOU in an exchange of information. it wasn't even anything out of harsh feelings, you had always been his informant, giving him what he needs for a good pay and go. but tonight, you decided to mess with him a bit. after receiving the money you charged to find whatever he needed on some random, you never sent it. left him waiting at his laptop and blinking at his camera, knowing damn well you were watching.

this became a normal thing, the back and fourth 'scams'. and soon your time together became less for a transaction, more just wanting to spend time with each other. which you told him from the very first day that you couldn't care less about anything as long as he had money (you didn't know his name till 3 months of working together).

so one night, expecting the usual "oops! sent it to the wrong number!" or "hehe, maybe i forgot a few zeroes and sent you like 5 coins!" you get an actual message.

"what a coincidence, i'm paying in full but it all went towards a restaurant near your place with the best table for two and your favorite food. it would really be a shame to let it go to waste.."

you agreed. and this went on long enough where one day his payment became a ring and a promise to love you forevermore.

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two stellaron hunters slowly growing to be interested in each other is a rather entertaining sight. kafka was quick to catch on, the lingering glances and subtle touches of affection that would slip the average persons gaze. what was unexpected-was blade's initiation of these gestures. how he'd have a protective stance over you during battle, despite your capabilities likely being on par with his. how he allows his hand to be taken into yours, treating his calloused hands gently after a long day of fighting with his sword, or even just the way he looks at you. it's soft, warm, with a hint of tenderness and admiration. despite his nonchalant face.

this becomes more obvious when he finally asks you out, and he's genuinely caring the whole time. he's interested in your discussions about life, entertains him when he asks you for any other details, and you don't make him feel alone. that's the most important thing. and he makes it clear how much he appreciates you with how he tucks your hair behind your ear, murmuring if he could have the blessing to kiss you. it isn't on the lips-he's not pushing his luck.. but just the cheek. it was something small, but for him? an absolutely huge step.

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the date with the ever so well known dr. veritas ratio had gone well enough that you agreed to go home with him. he was quick to clarify that this wasn't to sleep with him, he wasn't that kind of man to push something so early on in what he described to be: "a relationship that may be something greater than i could ever imagine" but instead to take care of you. it seemed as if you were exhausted from the travel during the date, and a nice bath would usually help.

nice bath was an understatement, the guy had scented candles, soft music, the right ratio from bubbles to water, snacks for you to enjoy and had a whole selection of books to choose from.

your fate was sealed the moment you walked into his bathroom because a man who can care for himself and still have the room to care for others is FOR SURE a keeper. even invited him to stay in the bath w u but he wanted to be respectful 🙏 (caved eventually)

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jing yuan was the whole reason you got back into dating. after your first relationship fell apart, you found it hard to want to start things from scratch, learning favorite colors and life dreams all over again. but jing yuan swayed you, something that wasn't easy but he always makes sure to tell you he doesn't regret.

he was introduced to you through yanqing, your former apprentice before he was taken in by the cloud knights. he found out you and jing yuan were around the same age, so the blondie tested out his luck playing cupid <3 so even if it wasn't an immediate yes to his shenanigans, jing yuan started slowly. he could see you had walls and he wanted them to go down upon your own hearts decision, rather than bulldoze through them.

that care never went away. not even years later when he tears up at how far he's come, watching you walk down that aisle and knowing you're his forever.

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gallagher's wasn't even a first date. but you were on one, or supposed to be. till you got stood up and wanted to drink your worries away.

you've been in the bar from the very first hour it opened till now.. aka 3am. and the bartender himself was growing a little drowsy. but you were going strong, probably your 8th bottle of the night, which was starting to be a concern.

one of many, really. for one, gallagher was wondering who could ditch such a person. you clearly fixed yourself up nicely, your outfit was gorgeous and you were so friendly to him up until you realized you were stood up, and the pretty face that made his bar a little brighter went quiet. he couldn't have that.

by the time his shift ended, he slid a drink to you with a napkin. "take care of yourself, alright? come by tomorrow night, and you'll get yourself a real man to go on a date with."

he leaves and the napkin (cliche enough) has his number and name. "gallagher." you say to yourself, making a note in your drunken state to return same time tomorrow.

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sunday totally took you out with vip seats to robins concert. did he have to do a LIIIITTLE bit of pursuading to have robin hand over these tickets? no.. but she did tease him for finally catching a date after all this time! and as much as he is a big admirer for his sisters work, the whole concert he couldn't take his eyes off of you. how you effortlessly glowed in a sea of people, how your passion for something as simple as music could rival his dream for eternal rest to penacony. he has dreamed of you, he's sure of it. someone so carefree and kind, a soul opposite to his, yet perfectly fills the other half of his empty heart.

he wrote poetry about you, robin found it, turned it into a song and had to awkwardly explain why robin's song that she specifically clarified to be written about someone he liked included descriptions of your physical appearance and hints of your personality.

found it very sweet, and insisted your next date should be something more personal so you can learn more about him the way he's learned so much about you without even needing to talk to you to do so. (was just happy to go on a second date)

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