#and now he's gone there's only annoying things left

[pedroscurls]

teach me a thing or two (one-shot)

summary: you meet clint at a low point in your life. ironically enough, he meets you at his lowest too. what happens when you both realize you could teach each other a thing or two?

pairing: clint flood x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), mentions of grief (losing a partner), clint is a widower (just like in the movie), alcohol consumption, reader is inexperienced (but not a virgin), implied age gap (not specified though), unprotected p in v, size kink, creampie (oops!), dirty talk, oral (f! receiving), fingering (in public), no use of y/n. word count: 13k (wow this is a long one lol) a/n: this is part of @clubsoft's HAVE YOU EVER TRIED THIS ONE? writing challenge! thanks so much for hosting this challenge dulsè - i had so much fun writing clint (and it's my first time writing for this character so please bear with me lol). this was the prompt i received <3. honestly this is just complete filth (what's new lmao), so please heed the warnings and most of all, enjoy ;)

Oakland—it was supposed to be a place for you to settle down, lay your roots, and build a life with the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your days with. You had been naive—clueless—over the reality of what he really wanted. 

And what he really wanted was someone to pass the time with until someone better came along, someone who knew what she was doing because you—well, you didn’t. He had to guide you, had to show you how to please him and you could feel him becoming more impatient—annoyed. 

So when you came home after work one night, you could feel his absence. You could feel the emptiness, the haunting silence that filled your small apartment. You tried to call him, thinking that this was a mistake. Instead, you were met with an error message—he had disconnected his line. 

All that he left was a small piece of paper on your coffee table—Can’t do this anymore. No other explanation. You crumpled the piece of paper in your hand, balling it into a tight fist as tears began to stroll down your cheeks. 

He had made promises—promises that you believed to be true. You couldn’t move back home and you certainly couldn’t afford a plane ticket to even leave, so now here you are, stuck in a city that you still hadn’t gotten used to. 

Clint had managed to complete his last job over a year ago, but not without a price. He should be relieved that he’s finally retired—having been forced into a world that he didn’t choose, coerced into paying off his own father’s debt. Clint never had a chance, he knew that early in his life, but when he met Grace, it finally felt like he was finally given the opportunity to have his own life. 

And when he found out she was pregnant and that they were going to have a little girl, Clint made a vow to himself that he didn’t want to raise her in this kind of environment. He wanted to give her the choice to live the way she wanted—something he was robbed of himself. 

He shouldn’t have been so hopeful. He shouldn’t have celebrated so early because now Grace is gone and he’s all by himself, raising a little girl. His hands—once called the fists of fury—are now so gentle with his daughter. 

The first few months had been rough—how could he take care of this little person while trying to grieve the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with? 

He knew he had help—Sleepy Floyd had reached out to him and he had bumped into Tina and Lucid since losing Grace. His life and theirs were tangled with one another after that one fateful night. Sleepy Floyd had lost his mom and his girlfriend—something that he and Clint had bonded over the last few months. 

He thought of leaving Oakland, of starting fresh. But he couldn’t. Oakland was home. 

“Let me take care of her tonight,” Sleepy Floyd says, rocking the little girl in his arms. “You need a break.” 

“I’m fine,” Clint mumbles, running a hand over his face. 

“I can call Tina and Lucid—they can help out.” 

Clint shakes his head. “What am I gonna do?” 

“Just go out and grab a drink. Socialize,” he shrugs. The little girl in his arms squirms sleepily. “Or just go for a drive. I don’t know, Clint.”

“I just—I don’t want to leave her. What if she needs me while I’m gone?” He whispers, looking down at his hands. 

“We’ll be okay, Clint. You’ve made sure that I was taken care of. It’s time I return the favor.” 

Clint rolls his eyes. “You know you don’t owe me anything.” 

He scoffs. “Just—clear your head, yeah?”

Clint tightens his jaw. He loves his little girl—he’d do anything for her—but there’s a part of him that wonders if she would be better off without him. Sometimes, she’d cry and cry and nothing he’d do would work. Not until he’d play Grace’s mixtape that they both had created specifically for their daughter. It brought tears to his eyes, but it calmed her down. 

“Okay,” he sighs in defeat. “I’ll be gone for one hour.” 

Sleepy Floyd chuckles. “Wow. That’s a real long time. You sure about that?” 

Clint lets the corner of his lips lift upwards before he stands from his couch. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up and take care of my girl, will you?” 

“With my entire life, Clint,” he says seriously. Both men stare into each other’s eyes for a moment—an unspoken thought that passes across their features. They’re both remembering that night. 

“One hour,” Clint repeats. “That’s all I’m taking.” 

He didn’t know why he pulled up to this bar. It was calling out to him the moment he passed it, but when he stepped inside—clad in his normal leather jacket, dark denim jeans, boots and slicked back hair—that he realized misery loves company. It’s a hole in the wall kind of bar—small, quiet, and a few solo patrons scattered around the area. He felt like the people who were there might also have felt a pull to this bar for the same reason he did—he didn’t want to be noticed, didn’t want to be bothered, and this was the perfect place. 

No one even spares a glance in his direction once he steps inside. The music is quiet and he moves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. As he approaches the bar, he nods at the bartender and the older man walks towards him. 

“What can I get for you?” 

“Beer is fine, thanks.” 

“Keep the tab open?” 

“No, you can close it out. Thanks,” he answers. Clint passes him enough money to cover the drink, plus tip, before he takes a seat on the barstool. 

He looks over his shoulder when he hears the door open. Clearing his throat, Clint can’t help but allow his eyes to take in your frame. You look so casual—light washed denim jeans that seem to cling to every curve from your waist down to your hips, a low cut black tank top with an oversized flannel. He watches you raise your chin in the air, signaling to the bartender—there’s a familiarity that he senses between you and the people in this bar. You’re a regular, he deduces. He sees the way you greet the people, how your smile meets your eyes, but he can’t help but notice how miserable you really look. 

It takes one to know one, he assumes. 

Then, your eyes meet his and Clint straightens in his seat. He turns around and faces ahead of him. He doesn’t spare you another glance until he feels you sit next to him. 

“You’re new,” you say first. 

“Hm?” He mutters. 

“You’re new,” you repeat. “Haven’t seen you around here before and I’m here almost every night.” 

“You work here?” 

You shake your head. “No.” 

“And you’re here every night?” 

You tighten your jaw. “It’s comfortable. Quiet.” 

Clint nods, but he still hasn’t glanced over at you. The bartender approaches the both of you and he sets down a glass of beer in front of him and a glass in front of you—yellow, fruity. It catches his attention—the color of the drink and how it looks so out of place in a bar like this, just like how you look like you don’t belong here. 

“That orange juice or something?” 

You let out a quiet laugh and that finally causes him to turn. Clint looks up at you as you’re laughing and he can’t help the smile that begins to line his lips. You’re cute, he thinks, and there’s something about you that feels lighter—like you’re adding color to the very dark atmosphere of the bar (and his life). 

“You think I’d come to a bar for orange juice?” 

Clint shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t look like a drink to me.” 

You lean over the counter of the bar and grab an extra straw. “Try it.” 

“What?” 

“Try it,” you repeat. 

Clint chuckles dryly. “You’re asking for trouble.” 

“Am I?” You set the straw next to his hand on a small napkin—a gesture, an invitation, an offering. You’re being friendly. 

“What is it then?” He asks. 

“It’s called a Fuzzy Navel,” you answer with ease 

Clint almost chokes on his beer and he looks over at you, eyes narrowed in confusion. “What kind of drink is named that?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know, but it’s good.” You take the straw that’s already in your glass and wrap your lips around it, slowly sucking the contents into your mouth. Clint drops his gaze momentarily—eyes mesmerized by the way your soft lips look.

“It’s peach schnapps and orange juice,” you continue. “So I guess you’re partially right. Guess I do come here for the orange juice.” 

He chuckles to himself. You’re funny and you’re beautiful. He feels a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach as his left thumb absentmindedly brushes against his ring finger—now naked and bare without his wedding ring. 

“So…” you begin. “You wanna try it?” 

Clint looks at you—there’s a hopeful glint in your eye and something he can’t quite place. He shrugs a shoulder and grabs the straw before he turns in his seat. His entire body faces you now and he leans forward, placing his straw in your drink. He watches your eyes move from his own to his lips—oh, it’s that kind of look. 

He takes a small sip of your drink, makes a face at the sweetness and then leans back in his seat. Clint watches your eyes move across his face, taking note of the scar across his cheek and he can see you lean closer. 

“Too sweet,” he mumbles. 

You smile, taking the straw that remains in your glass—the same straw that he just used—and you wrap your lips around it. You’re looking up at him through your eyelashes, batting them innocently in his direction. This isn’t what you’re used to, but after seeing the new girl that your ex-boyfriend was with, you were determined to just spend one night with a complete stranger. 

You needed someone to look at you the way your ex-boyfriend had looked at the woman he was with. 

You weren’t sure what would happen if this man—this stranger—would take you up on your unspoken offer. The entire relationship with your ex-boyfriend consisted of him telling you what to do and after a while, he grew impatient and bored. 

But this man—he was older and you knew that he could teach you a thing or two. 

If he was willing. 

“You don’t like sweet things?” you tease. The straw is still in your mouth, but you’re playing with it—teasing him and you can see the way his eyes move to where your teeth grazes the straw. 

“Oh, I do,” he answers instantly. “Believe me, baby, I do.”

Baby. You clear your throat and for a moment, your faux-confidence falters and he smirks. This time, he leans in closer as his knees bump against yours. “And something tells me that you,” he whispers lowly. “Taste sweet too.”

The gasp leaves your lips before you could even stop yourself. The heat in your cheeks rise and you can feel the wetness begin to pool between your legs. You had never felt like this with your ex-boyfriend. 

Slowly, you dare to lean forward as you set aside your glass. Hesitantly, your hands rest on his thighs and you hear him inhale sharply. He doesn’t move, though—a clear indication that what you were doing was completely fine and he was more than willing to allow you to touch him. 

“You want to find out?” You ask quietly. 

Clint can feel the warmth of your palms on his thighs and he looks down to watch you slowly inch your way upwards. Something in him breaks and he takes your hands and slowly pushes you away. He sees the look of disappointment flicker across your features before you put up that same wall that he’s put up around himself. You’re hurting and he can see it. 

“Too old for you,” he finally answers. “Pretty sure someone like you has someone waiting for her at home.” 

You shake your head and turn back in your seat, now facing ahead of you as you reach up to let your arms rest against the counter of the bar. “Nope,” you reply. “Just me.”

Clint’s brow furrows—your demeanor changes drastically and he’s sure that it wasn’t because he turned you down. He sees you remove the straw he used and place it on a napkin. He figures you didn’t want to talk about it any further, so he turns in his seat and faces forward too. 

“That scar,” you begin. “What happened?” 

Clint doesn’t look at you. He takes his glass of beer and takes a long swig of the contents. One drink. One hour. That’s all he promised himself, but the way the question comes out of your mouth—so soft, hesitant, and curiously gentle has him answering without a second thought. 

“Got into a fight. The other guy had a knife. All I had were these,” he answers, lifting his hands and balling them into fists. 

You glance over at him, taking note of his large hands. You don’t say anything for a while—too engrossed in the mystery of this man sitting next to you. For a while, you had gotten used to the people that would usually come to this bar. They were regulars, like you. This bar—there was a sense of comfort, a sense of belonging that you felt because you weren’t the only one who felt like shit. 

Then, Clint turns his gaze to you. His deep brown eyes bore into your own and you can see the scar so clearly again. The tips of your fingers itch to reach out for him, but you don’t move an inch. He had already rejected you anyway. 

“Did you win?” 

Clint chuckles. “Yeah. I did.” 

You smile at that, but your eyes drift towards the dimple in his cheek. Just as it appears, the smile drops from his lips. His brows furrow slightly and he tilts his head. 

“Your eyes…” you whisper. “There’s sadness in them.” 

Clint looks away and his jaw tightens. “I’m just tired.” 

You sigh quietly. “My ex-boyfriend left me a few months ago. I’m new here, having moved because he had convinced me and then he just… left. Disconnected his phone. Left me a fucking note and no explanation. Then tonight, I see him with his new girlfriend.” Your own hands ball into fists and Clint looks down at them—they’re much smaller than his own. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, unsure of what to say to make you feel better. After all, he isn’t sure if he had the ability to make anything better. “That’s shitty.” 

“Took everything from me. I was so naive thinking that my first real boyfriend would be the one I settle down with,” you mumble. You down the rest of your drink and raise your hand in the air to signal to the bartender for another refill. 

Clint clears his throat. He can see the pain so clearly etched on your features—the unshed tears glistening over your eyes, your lips pulled into a small frown, brows furrowed like you’re still trying to understand yourself how this could happen. There’s something about the way you trust him that eases his nerves. 

He takes a deep breath and says, “I lost my wife about a year ago… almost lost my little girl too.” 

Your eyes look up at him and there’s a sense of comfort he feels at the way you’re gazing at him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You feel embarrassed—here you were, talking about your asshole of an ex-boyfriend and this man had lost the woman he was married to. It explains the sadness in his eyes, you figure. 

“Me too,” he says quietly. Clint doesn’t get into detail about how she died—it isn’t something he wants to relive or tell you about. 

There’s a comfortable silence that fills the air and he feels your hand gently rest over his own. He sees the way you brush your thumb across the back of his hand and he can’t help the way your touch seemingly manages to calm him down, and he lets out a relieved, yet shaky exhale. 

“I bet you’re a really great dad,” you whisper quietly. 

Clint lets the corner of his lips lift as his mind drifts to his daughter. “I try to be,” he answers. There’s a deeper meaning behind his words—he wants to say that he’s trying to be better than his own father, trying to give his little girl a chance at life… which was something he never had. 

When you pull your hand away from his, Clint turns his gaze to you. The bartender sets another drink in front of you and he can’t help the sudden desire to feel your touch again. You—a stranger—managed to get him to talk about things he normally wouldn’t talk about. 

He wonders if you could teach him a thing or two about that, about how important it is to talk about the difficult shit that he’s been pushing down—hoping they’d just go away. 

“So, you’re here every night?” Clint asks quietly. 

You nod. “Yeah, I live close by actually. So, after work, I come here.” 

“So, if I’m here again this week, I’ll see you?” 

You turn to him and there’s a small smile on your lips. “Yes, you’ll see me.” 

“And maybe we can just… talk?” Clint asks, almost hesitantly. 

“As long as you don’t make fun of my drink, then yeah, we can talk,” you laugh quietly. 

Clint chuckles and nods in agreement. “Okay, that’s fair. You and your orange juice with a splash of alcohol,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes playfully, but you’re still giggling. “What’s your name, by the way?” 

“Oh, right. I’m Clint.” He extends a hand out for you and he sees you look down at his hand. 

You reach for his hand and gently shake it in your own. Your eyes move to his and you smile, telling him your name in return. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says, smiling as his dimple makes another appearance. He slowly lets go of your hand and then finishes his beer. One drink. One hour. He glances at his watch and then stands from the stool he had been sitting on. 

“Have a nice night, Clint,” you tell him. 

“You too, baby,” he winks, seeing the way you bite your lower lip. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Clint steps inside his home to see Sleepy Floyd shut his daughter’s bedroom door. He removes his leather jacket and sits on the couch, leaning his head back against it as he shuts his eyes. 

“Thanks for watching her,” Clint says, feeling the other man sit next to him. 

“Of course. You know I’m happy to watch her anytime. How’d it go?” 

“Fine,” he shrugs, his mind drifting to you. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“To a bar.” 

Sleepy Floyd grins. “You talk to anyone?” 

Clint glances over at him. “Yeah, she was nice.” 

“She?” 

“Don’t make a big deal.” 

Sleepy Floyd chuckles and reaches over to grip Clint’s shoulder. “I’m not. I’m just—I’m happy for you.”

“It’s nothing,” Clint shrugs. “It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of bar. Quiet. I think I’m gonna go back there again this week.”

“Yeah?” His grin broadens. “Are you going back for the vibe of the bar or because of this woman you met?” 

Clint rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be going home now?” 

Sleepy Floyd chuckles and stands up from the couch, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I’m going. I’m glad to hear you had a nice time, Clint.” 

Clint looks up at him and nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “Can you watch her again this week?” 

“You bet,” he nods. 

Once he leaves, Clint stands up from the couch and quietly walks into his daughter’s room. She’s sleeping peacefully and he reaches down to gently run his finger across her cheek. She squirms in her sleep but leans closer to his touch and a small smile lines his lips. 

“Good night, sweet angel,” he whispers and leans over the crib to kiss the top of her head. 

When you finally get home, your mind drifts to Clint. Tonight had started off as a nightmare, but seeing him—meeting him—made you hopeful. You were no longer thinking about your ex-boyfriend or the woman that he was now with, but instead, thinking of the next time you’d get to see Clint. 

You still couldn’t believe that you had tried to get him to sleep with you tonight—it would have been your first ever one night stand. Though, his initial rejection didn’t hurt you like you thought it would. You were inexperienced and you certainly didn’t want only one night with him. 

For the next few days, you didn’t change your routine. You still went to the bar like you normally would, but you would be lying if you said that you weren’t disappointed every time you didn’t see him. 

Tonight, though, a part of you didn’t want to go to the bar. You didn’t know if you could be disappointed again and your mind has started to drift back to your ex-boyfriend. It didn’t help that when your phone rang that night, it was your ex-boyfriend asking if you could check to see if he had forgotten a few of his things at your apartment. He didn’t bother to ask how you were doing or provide some kind of explanation for why he left. You should’ve hung up on him, shouldn’t have entertained the idea of looking for the things he was asking for, but you set the phone down to search for what he was looking for.  

When you did find it, you walk to pick up the phone again. Then, you hear another woman’s laughter on the other end of the line and you lie to him. You tell him you couldn’t find it and that it’s likely not here. Without allowing him to even respond, you hang up the phone and feel tears trickle down your cheeks. 

Clint is a distant thought and you grab your bag, pull on a hoodie and leave your apartment. You’re not watching where you’re going as you’re walking to the bar—it’s just about a five minute walk anyway. Suddenly, you bump into someone and you mumble an apology, not bothering to look up. 

It isn’t until you hear your name and his voice. You turn and look up at Clint. He’s dressed in that same leather jacket, but he’s wearing a plaid shirt underneath paired with his dark blue pants and boots. You can see the streaks of grey along his slicked back hair and in his beard, but his eyes—while still sad—holds some kind of surprised excitement at the sight of you. 

The tears fall from your eyes without warning and his entire expression softens instantly. “Whoa, hey…” he whispers. “Are you okay?” 

You nod, despite you bringing a hand up to wipe the tears from your eyes. “I’m fine. Are you heading to the bar?” 

Clint nods slowly. “Said I’d see you again this week.” 

“Yeah, well guys say things they don’t mean all the time,” you shrug. 

Clint scoffs quietly. “You’ve been with some boys, baby. Men keep their word.” 

You glance up at him, eyes still watery. “Well, only ever been with one person—”

“Surely you’ve had some flings before or after that?” 

You shake your head. “Nope. I’m an inexperienced woman. Who’d want that?” You don’t bother to wait for him to respond, having begun walking towards the bar.  

Clint clears his throat as he watches you walk away, eyes drifting to your backside as the denim pants cling to every curve yet again. Inexperienced, he thinks. He couldn’t believe it—you had so much confidence the last time you two saw each other that it’s hard to believe that you hadn’t been with anyone else other than that ex-boyfriend of yours. 

He sighs and jogs to catch up with you, hand resting lightly on your lower back. “So, we gonna drink anything different tonight or are we drinking your spiked orange juice?”

You look up at him, a smile now lining your lips as you let out a quiet laugh. “Hey, that’s my go-to drink. Don’t make fun.” 

Clint chuckles and steps inside with you. You’re walking towards the bar, but instead he leads you to a booth instead. “Is this okay?” 

You nod up at him, sliding into the booth across from him. Before you can say anything though, he points towards the bar and flashes you a small smile. “First round will be on me. Spiked orange juice for you and just a beer for me,” he winks and then turns on his heel. 

You roll your eyes playfully and watch him from your table. You look at him from top to bottom, seeing him lean forward against the counter of the bar. The leather jacket he’s wearing pulls tight across his broad back and you clear your throat quietly—the same attraction you felt the first time you met him making an appearance yet again. 

The phone call with your ex-boyfriend lingers as Clint makes his way back to the table. He slides in across from you and sets down your glass in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a small sip of your drink. “This spiked orange juice is good,” you grin. 

Clint chuckles to himself and takes a sip of his own beer before he sets it back on the table. He had been looking forward to seeing you all week and he can’t help but feel a sense of comfort around you—it had been something he was craving since the first night he met you. 

“So,” he mumbles. 

“Sorry,” you interrupt. “About earlier,” you continue, playing with your straw. 

“Don’t be,” he answers. “Everything okay?” 

“My ex-boyfriend called,” you respond, biting the inside of your cheek. You don’t look up at him, slightly embarrassed about your reaction to the fact that your ex-boyfriend still has such an effect on you. “It’s stupid. I’m okay.” 

Clint furrows a brow and then stands from his side of the booth to move to your side, taking a seat next to you. One of his arms drapes over the back of the booth, allowing you to scoot closer to his side if you wanted. 

You glance up at him and inch closer, but still decide to keep a reasonable amount of distance between your bodies. You can’t help but feel safe with him nearby and when you look into his deep brown eyes, there’s a sense of calmness that washes over you. It’s oddly comforting. 

“You’re not stupid,” Clint finally responds. “You must have really loved him.” 

“Not sure if it was ever really love to begin with,” you answer. “He was my first real boyfriend who made a lot of promises that he probably never intended to keep.” 

Clint sighs quietly and reaches over the table to grab his beer with his free hand. He moves his eyes away from you for a moment—he’s had plenty of moments where he’s made promises that he didn’t keep. Couldn’t keep. 

“Then I suppose he did you a favor,” he says. “You don’t want someone like that anyway.” 

“I just—do men really care if a woman is inexperienced?” You ask honestly. 

Clint shrugs. “Can’t speak on behalf of the entire male population,” he answers. “But personally, I don’t care.” He takes a sip of his beer and sets it back down on the table. He can see the way your eyes slightly widen in his direction. “Makes it more fun.” 

“Fun?” 

Clint nods. “Yeah. Being able to teach her, show her the ropes…” 

“I’m sure you’d be a great teacher,” you blurt out. Heat rises in your cheeks and you turn your attention to your drink, taking a long sip of it to ease some nerves. The conversation with your ex-boyfriend lingers, but you can’t help but feel the tension that builds between you and Clint. 

“Maybe,” he smiles. He doesn’t want to push, despite the pull that he feels towards you. There’s an obvious attraction he feels for you, but there’s something else that he can’t put his finger on. You make him want to talk about the serious and difficult conversations that he’s tried so hard to just ignore. 

“I’m assuming that’s one of the reasons why my ex-boyfriend broke up with me. I guess he got tired of—of having to constantly show me what to do.” 

“Another reason why you wouldn’t want someone like that,” Clint repeats. “Did you at least enjoy yourself?” 

“Myself?” You furrow a brow, looking up at him with a genuine confused look on your face. “I mean, it felt nice…”

Clint’s eyes narrow slightly as he leans in closer to you. “Nice?” He asks. “Did you ever finish?” 

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. I was just—I was following his lead.” 

Clint sighs quietly as he leans in further, moving his lips to hover near your ear. He can hear you inhale sharply at the close proximity and he smiles to himself. “Oh, baby… He had no idea what he was doing.” 

With a quiet gasp, you pull away and look up at him. Still confused, but definitely aroused. “W—What?” 

“The goal isn’t for him to finish… I mean, not necessarily.” He answers. “Men will make sure that the woman finishes first before he does. Sounds to me like you were with a boy who had no idea how to please a woman.” 

You bite your lower lip and can feel the throbbing between your legs—you’ve never been this excited before. You gently reach out to rest a hand on his thigh, his legs moving in your direction from beneath the booth. You stare up at him, seeing the way his brown eyes darken in your direction. “And you?” You ask quietly—innocently—as your hand slowly inches up his thigh. “Do you know how to please a woman?” 

His hand gently brushes along your back, keeping his arm loosely draped over the back of the booth. You’re warm under his fingertips and he can feel his jeans tighten around the center—manhood throbbing, becoming hard from beneath the fabric. “In a way you never experienced before,” he answers quietly. 

“If I ask you to come home with me, will you reject me again?” You ask honestly. You stare into his eyes, fingertips rubbing circles on his thigh. “If I ask you to teach me, Clint, will you say yes?” 

Clint exhales shakily as he stares into your eyes. The guilt that he feels in the pit of his stomach comes back and lingers—reminding him that he had lost Grace over a year ago. He shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of saying yes, of going back to your apartment, of teaching you what it means to feel good, but fuck—you’re looking at him in a way that makes him want to say yes. 

“I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” he finally answers, but he makes no move to pull away. Clint’s eyes deviate to your lips, seeing it form into a small pout. Without hesitation, he reaches up and brushes the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. A flicker of shock flashes across his features, but when he sees your lips part and you lean in closer to him, he relaxes. You want this just as badly as he does. 

“No?” you ask, moving one of your hands from his thigh up to his chest, beginning to play with the button on his flannel. “How about you tell me what you’d teach me?” 

Clint’s eyes narrow slightly. “How about you tell me what that ex-boyfriend of yours taught you?” 

You falter for a moment as your mind flashes back to the plenty of times where your ex-boyfriend had guided you during sex. “Oh… Um…” you whisper, feeling just slightly embarrassed now. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now, baby. You’re the one that started this,” he says, thumb moving down your lower lip to your jawline. 

“How about I show you instead?” You ask, feeling his muscles underneath your touch. 

“I have every reason to say no,” he answers quietly, leaning in closer. Clint can feel your breath fan against his lips—inches separating the two of you now. “But for some reason, I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” you reply simply. 

“You barely know me.” 

“And you barely know me,” you quip back. 

“Is this really what you want?” 

You nod slowly—eagerly. “Yes,” you breathe out. 

“I’m broken,” Clint admits. “I lost my wife because of my own mistakes. I’m not a good man.” 

You see the sadness in his eyes again and you gently reach up to cup his cheek, feeling the stubble of his beard against your touch. “Something tells me you’re very hard on yourself,” you whisper. “Even for the small things.” 

“I still love my wife,” he replies. 

“I’m not expecting anything out of this,” you sigh quietly. “And I wouldn’t ever force you to forget your wife.” He leans into your touch and his eyes fall shut momentarily. “And I also don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for.” 

Clint opens his eyes and stares into your own. He leans closer as the tip of his nose brushes against yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I do want this. Want you.” 

You let out a relieved sigh. “I was beginning to think that it was just me,” you tease. “Besides, we can just talk. I’ve got a feeling that you rarely talk about what’s bothering you or what’s on your mind.” 

Clint nods slowly in agreement and he turns his head to press his lips on your cheek. He pulls away and looks down at you, watching your own hands move back to your lap. “Talking never got me places,” he admits. 

“Ah,” you say, grabbing your glass. “Your fists do all the talking, huh?” 

Clint shrugs—Grace had been such a safe haven for him. She understood his upbringing and never pushed him to talk about things that he wasn’t comfortable with. Over time, though, Clint felt more at ease with the difficult topics. He had felt safe with her—a feeling he had never felt before. 

But now she’s gone and while Sleepy Floyd, Tina, and Lucid have tried to get him to talk, Clint never goes into too much detail about what he’s feeling. About how lost he feels… or the failure and guilt that eats at him.  

“Yeah,” he finally answers. 

“Well,” you continue after taking a sip of your drink. “If you ever do want to just talk, I’m always happy to listen.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “It’s hard… talking about the difficult shit, but I think talking is better than keeping it bottled in.” 

“You speaking from experience?” 

“Yeah, actually, I am.” You sigh and look up at him. “Why else do you think I’ve been here almost every night? I’m drowning my sorrows like everyone else here. I haven’t even talked about my ex-boyfriend since the break up… but you make it easy.” 

“You make it easy too,” Clint admits. “Talking about my wife—it’s fucking hard, but you’re making it easy. Or as easy as it can be.” 

“Tell me about her?” You ask, biting your lower lip after you finish your drink. 

Clint lets out a sigh and brings his drink to his lips, taking a quiet sip of his beer. “She was too good for me,” he begins. “I don’t know what I did to ever deserve her.” 

“What was her name?” 

“Grace,” he answers. His eyes fill with sadness as he remembers all of the memories that he’s shared with her, but it doesn’t last long. Her death overshadows every memory he has of her and all he can think—can remember—is the pain of losing her without even saying goodbye. “And she loved movies.” 

“And she was the woman of your dreams?” 

Clint nods. “The love of my life,” he answers honestly. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and reach over to rest your hand over his. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “You know, it’s been so hard to talk about her that I just… don’t. Seems easier that way,” he admits. “Does that make me seem shitty?”

You shake your head. “It makes you human,” you answer. “And you’ll eventually find your own way to deal with losing her.”

Clint looks up at you—still a stranger in his eyes—and for once since losing Grace, he feels like the heaviness he forced himself to carry feels just a little bit lighter. It’s still there; it isn’t going to just disappear after one brief conversation, but it makes him hopeful. 

Hopeful that one day he’ll be able to think and talk about Grace without the feeling of guilt.

“You just have a way with words, don’t you?” Clint asks, his eyes glistening with tears that threaten to spill over. He blinks them away and tears his gaze from you to look down at your hand still resting atop of his. 

You shrug and give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Grief isn’t linear, Clint. And not only did you lose your wife, but you also have a child that you have to think about. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” you sigh. “But I hope you continue to talk about Grace. I’m sure one day your little girl will ask about her mama and I hope when that day comes, you’ll be more than ready to talk about her.”

“Will you help me?” Clint blurts out. 

“With your grief?” 

He nods, almost shyly. “Yeah… and in return, maybe I can help you too.” 

“With…” you whisper, voice trailing. 

“Yeah, with that,” he answers for you. 

“I’m sure you’d be able to help more than I can help you,” you reply quietly. “And I don’t think that’d be fair—”

“You’ve helped me more than you know already,” Clint interrupts. “But only if you want this too.” 

“Yes,” you answer immediately. “I want this, want you to teach me.” 

Clint smiles and then pulls his hand from your own, now reaching up to rest gently on your cheek. “Good.” His eyes deviate to your lips, watching you bite your lower lip and he lets out a shaky breath. Slowly, Clint runs his thumb across your bottom lip, your lips parting for him. “I’m gonna get another drink. You want your spiked orange juice?” He teases.  

Your eyes narrow up at him. “Fuzzy Navel! It’s called a fuzzy navel, Clint.” 

He laughs quietly. “Hmm, I think my name for the drink is better.” 

You roll your eyes playfully and gently push him away. Once he stands from the booth, you do so as well. “You know what, you’re mean so I’m just gonna buy my own drink.” As you begin walking away, Clint takes your hand and gently tugs you back into him. Once your body collides with his, his hands immediately move to your hips as your hands move to rest on his chest. 

“Nah,” he says. “You’re gonna go back and sit down like a good girl and wait for your drink.” 

You clear your throat as you stare up at him. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as the front of his body presses firmly against your own. “I—Uh, I—,” you stammer. Dirty talk was something your ex-boyfriend used to do and you had never found it arousing, but the way Clint’s speaking to you now, you begin to realize that maybe your ex-boyfriend truly had no idea what he was doing. 

Clint leans forward, lips brushing against your ear. “You gonna be a good girl for me, baby?” He squeezes your hips and he hears you let out a quiet whimper. 

“Y—Yes,” you answer, eyes falling shut as you feel the same throbbing sensation between your legs once again. 

“Attagirl,” he smiles, pulling away and beginning to walk towards the counter of the bar. 

You slide back into the booth, hands wringing in your lap as Clint’s words echo in your mind. You look over at him and he’s gazing at you from over his shoulder, a small smirk lining his lips as he waits for the bartender to make your drink. 

After a few minutes, Clint’s walking back to the booth with your drink in tow. He sets it down in front of you and slides back into the booth next to you. He opts to keep his arm at his side instead of draping it over the back of it. He’s slowly losing his resolve, especially with the way your lips wrap around the straw once again. 

“So,” you begin, setting your glass down once you’ve taken a sip. “You’re distracting.”

Clint laughs quietly. “Can say the same thing about you.”

You roll your eyes playfully but find yourself inching closer to him. He glances over at you and takes a long swig of his beer before he, too, sets it down on the table. The tension lingers in the air and you both catch each other’s gaze—pupils dark and filled with lust. 

Desire. 

Need.

“Y—You always talk like that?” You finally ask. 

“Like what?” 

“You know what.” 

Clint smirks and turns to face you as his arm once again drapes over the back of the booth. He leans in close—close enough to hear a quiet gasp leave your lips. “Tell me.” 

“D—Dirty talk,” you mumble. “You always talk dirty like that?” 

“Why?” He asks. “Did you like it?” 

You nod slowly, feeling his large hand move to rest on your knee. “Yes,” you answer. “My ex—he used to talk dirty but never like that.” 

“Maybe we should talk about what he taught you, or what he thought he taught you and we can go from there. That okay?” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think that’s a good plan.” 

“Great,” Clint smiles, rubbing small circles on your knee. He feels you lean forward and press your soft lips onto his cheek—his eyes fall shut at the sensation, leaning into you. “But we aren’t doing anything tonight,” he says quietly. 

“W—Why not?” 

“We’ve been drinking. Don’t want you to regret this in the morning.” 

You smile to yourself and wrap your arms slowly around his neck. You move your legs to drape over his lap, feeling his hand move from your knee to your hip. “I wouldn’t regret it, wouldn’t regret you, Clint. I’ve thought about you the entire week.” 

Clint clears his throat. “Yeah?” 

You nod, leaning in to bury your face against the crook of his neck. Your lips move lightly along his neck, teeth grazing his pulse point. His grip tightens around your hip as a result. “Yeah… Would you at least teach me one thing tonight?” 

Slowly beginning to lose his resolve, Clint pulls back enough to look into your eyes. You’re staring up at him with feigned innocence and your lower lip pulled between your teeth. “And what’s that?” 

“How it feels like to come? Would you be able to teach me that?” 

Clint’s eyes darken instantly. “W—What?” 

“I mean, I know how to make myself come, but at the hands of someone else?” You shake your head. “I don’t really know what that feels like. Surely it won’t feel any different than if I were to do it myself, but—”

Clint grunts lowly and leans forward, nose brushing against your own. “Your ex never took care of you, did he?” He clicks his tongue and moves a hand from your hip to gently tug at the waistband of your pants. “And how long were you with him?” 

“Couple of years,” you answer, breath hitching in your throat as you feel his hand slowly tug down the zipper and undo the button on your pants. 

“Shame,” he whispers, hand now sliding into your pants as he brushes his fingers along your clothed sex. You’re warm between your legs and he can feel the wetness on the fabric of your panties. “Something tells me,” Clint mumbles, eyes staring deeply into your own. “You’ll come right here, right now with my hand in your pants.” 

“Clint,” you whimper, legs slightly parting for him. You’re both still seated in the booth in the corner of the bar—it’s dark and no one else here is paying attention to either of you. “I—I don’t think I can stay quiet,” you tell him honestly. 

“Guess you’ll have to try real hard then, huh?” He smirks, running the pad of his thumb across your clothed clit. Clint applies pressure and slowly begins to rub you in circles. A strained moan escapes your lips as your hands link together at the nape of his neck—foreheads still pressed firmly against one another. “You’re real wet, baby,” Clint whispers. 

Your eyes flutter at his movements—you had experienced this before, but never this slow, never this careful, never this strategic. Usually, your ex-boyfriend would rush this, never fully giving you a chance to enjoy yourself. “Clint, I—I need more,” you whimper. “Please…” 

“Patience, baby,” Clint smiles. He pulls his hand away from you only to slide it back in—this time inside your panties so you can feel his touch without the fabric getting in the way. When the pads of his fingers touch your lips, he lets out a low groan at the feel of your wetness. “Yeah, real wet…”

You gasp quietly and feel one of his thick fingers slide into you. You can already feel yourself trembling—a sensation that you hadn’t felt. When Clint slowly begins to pump his finger in and out of you, a strained moan leaves your lips. You’re trying so hard not to make any noise, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult with how quick his finger moves in and out of you. “Fuck,” you whimper, eyes falling shut when you feel him slide another finger inside of you. 

“Can feel you getting close,” Clint whispers, feeling you bury your face against the crook of his neck. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds that you’re making. He’s focused solely on you and your pleasure that the chatter from the patrons in the bar and the music that filters the room fades into the background. All he can hear is the sound of your moans and the quiet squelching from between your legs. 

“I—I don’t think I can,” you mutter, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as you hold onto him. You lift your hips off the seat to thrust up into his hand. “It feels—” your walls begin to tremble and the tightness builds in the pit of your stomach and unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You try to push it down, to push that sensation away, but Clint speeds his movements and reaches down with his free hand to rub circles on your clit. “Oh… Oh, Clint, I—” 

“Come for me,” he mutters into your ear. “Let it go, baby. I’ve got you.” 

Without warning, the pressure finally tips over and your body shakes against him. Clint smirks against you, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers with a gush of wetness. He slows the pump of his fingers and pulls his hand from your clit to cup your cheek. You lift your head from his shoulder and look up at him, a quiet gasp escaping you when he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. Lifting it to your view, you both see his digits glistening with your arousal. 

Then, Clint does something that you don’t expect. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks your wetness clean from his fingers—eyes staring into your own. “Mmm,” he grins. “I was right. You do taste sweet.” 

You move a hand down to the center of his pants and immediately feel the hardness of him from beneath the fabric. He grunts unexpectedly and gently takes your hand, pressing a soft kiss on your knuckles once he sucks his fingers off clean. “Next time,” he says softly. 

“Will you teach me how to please you?” you ask innocently. 

“That’s not the goal,” Clint answers. “I’m going to teach you what it means to feel good.”

“B—But what about you?” 

“Believe me… I’ll feel good too. Just seeing you come undone like that, just from my fingers alone, makes me excited for when I can finally feel you around me.” Clint gently kisses your cheek and then pulls away, helping you zip your pants and button you back up. 

“Will you come over to my apartment when you have the time next week?” you ask quietly. “If you want…”

Clint nods, smiling softly in your direction as you notice the dimple on his right cheek. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

It’s a little over a week the next time you see Clint. He knocks on your door and when you open it, you see him with a bouquet of flowers and dressed in his usual leather jacket and dark pants with boots. His hair is slicked back and he gives you a small smile when your eyes finally meet his. 

“Hey,” Clint says. 

“Hi,” you smile, opening the door even further for him to step through the threshold. 

Clint carefully steps inside and leans down to place a light kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t know what kind of flowers were your favorite so just got you a bit of everything.” 

“That’s sweet,” you tell him, shutting the door behind him and taking the flowers from his hands. “Let me put these in a vase.” 

You disappear into the kitchen and Clint leans down to remove his boots, setting them neatly aside. He steps further into your apartment—it’s small and cozy, very fitting for just one person. He’s about to follow you when you re-enter the living room to set the flowers onto your small coffee table. It makes him smile—how delicate and careful you’re treating the flowers he’s gotten you. 

“Did you have a nice week?” Clint asks, sitting on the couch when you motion for him to sit. 

“Kept thinking about you,” you admit. “But other than that, it’s been alright. What about you?” 

Clint shrugs, keeping his hands on his lap. “Yeah, it was—it was a nice week. Was looking forward to this though. Looking forward to seeing you.”

The heat rises in your cheeks as you look up at him. You’re now fully aware of just how casual you’re dressed—you’re wearing a very large oversized shirt with short sleep shorts, hair pulled into a loose braid. 

“You want anything to drink?” you ask, standing up from the couch. You can feel the wetness begin to pool between your legs and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

“Water’s fine,” Clint answers. 

You nod in response and walk back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to see him shrugging off his leather jacket and neatly place it on the small loveseat nearby. You let out a shaky breath and grab two glasses, filling it with ice and water. As you’re about to turn around, Clint’s large hand rests on your lower back and you can feel the thick tension now fill the air. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No,” you respond. “Maybe?” 

“We don’t have to do anything, you know.” Clint reassures, hand dropping from your lower back as he rests back against the counter of your kitchen. “I’m fine with just being here with you.”

“To talk?” 

Clint nods. “Yeah, baby. We can just talk.” 

“Maybe… Maybe I can tell you what my ex-boyfriend has taught me?” you offer, biting the inside of your cheek as you look up at him through your eyelashes. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, baby.” Clint takes one of the glasses of water from your hand and lifts it to his lips, taking a long swig. He allows you to lead him back to the couch and when he sits first, he notices you take a seat closer to him. Your body’s facing him now, legs tucked underneath you as your knees touch the side of his leg. 

“Okay, so he taught me how to give head,” you begin, causing Clint to clear his throat. “I’ve only done a couple of positions—missionary, cowgirl… Lots of cowgirl, so I think know how to do that well, and—”

“Wait,” Clint mutters. He reaches for one of your throw pillows and places it over his lap. He’s surprised that his body is reacting almost instantly at your words and he can feel the center of his jeans slowly begin to tighten. “You’ve been with the guy for two years and that’s all he taught you? That’s all the positions you’ve done?” 

You shrug, resting your arm on the back of the couch as you prop your head against it. “Is that bad? I mean, he seemed to enjoy himself.” 

“What did he do for you?” Clint asks. 

“I—I’m not sure how to answer that…” 

“Okay,” he sighs. “How about… what did you like to do?”

“I did enjoy giving him…” you trail off, glancing down at the pillow on Clint’s lap. “Giving him head… and I did like cowgirl too, but there are things I wish I had tried.” 

“Y—Yeah? What’s that?” 

“Doggystyle… and I’ve always wondered what it would like feel like having someone go down on me too—”

Clint groans lowly and then looks at you, eyes dark and filled with lust. “And what do you want to do tonight?”

“Anything. Everything.” You bite your lower lip and gently reach for the pillow, setting it aside as you climb onto his lap. Straddling his hips, you slowly lower yourself onto him and feel the bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans. “What about you? What do you want to do tonight?” 

Clint’s hands move to your hips, staring up at you. “Anything you wanna do. I just want you comfortable and—”

“I’m comfortable,” you interject. “With you, I’m comfortable.” 

Clint nods and lets out a gasp when he feels your hips roll against him. You’re hesitant—he can see it in the way you’re looking at him, making sure that what you were doing was okay with him. His grip tightens around your hips, eyes glued onto your own. “How about we try something new tonight? Things you’ve never done before? Would that be okay?” He asks. 

“Like doggystyle?” You ask, hopeful. 

Clint smiles, stilling your hips as he nods. “That’d be one of them, yeah.” 

“That’d be great,” you answer with a smile. Your eyes move to his lips and you lean forward slowly. “Clint,” you whisper. “Can I kiss you?” 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, leaning up as he nods slowly. “Yeah, baby.” Without waiting for you, Clint leans forward and presses his lips firmly against your own. He feels you melt into him as your arms wrap around his neck loosely. 

There was a part of him that had been second guessing this entire thing until Sleepy Floyd had talked to him. Clint would always love Grace, but he wonders if this is the first step in moving on—in healing so that he could fully be present. You’re still very much a stranger to him, but he can’t help but feel an odd sense of calm whenever he’s around you. 

You move your lips slowly—the kiss is slow, intimate, careful. He wants you to set the pace, wants you to lead, wants you to use him for your own pleasure. You roll your hips against him in unison with your lips parting as a quiet whimper escapes. Clint takes this opportunity to flick his tongue against your upper lip, sliding it past your lips as he deepens the kiss. 

The hand on your cheek moves back to your hip—both hands now gripping you tightly as you continue to roll against him. His jeans become increasingly uncomfortable and increasingly tighter as his manhood strains against it. He had felt himself getting hard when he first stepped inside your apartment, seeing you dressed so casually with your legs on full display for him. 

Slowly, you pull away from the kiss and Clint uses this opportunity to lean forward and begin lining kisses along the side of your neck. You moan quietly, the feel of his facial hair scratching against your skin with the softness of his lips causing the throbbing between your legs to become more prominent.

His hands move to your upper thighs, running them along your bare legs as you ground into him. “C—Clint,” you whimper, eyes falling shut when you feel his teeth graze your pulse point. You can feel the warmth of his large hands on your legs and you have to pull back to look into his eyes, chest heaving as you stare at him with slightly parted lips. 

“Gonna teach you that it’s okay to feel this good,” he whispers, hands moving upwards to the waistband of your shorts. “That you deserve to feel this good.” Clint watches you stand up from his lap, his hands falling from your legs. He stares up at you, watching you carefully as you begin to lower your shorts and panties down your legs. When he sees it fall from your legs, he clears his throat quietly and then sees you grab the ends of your shirt. You slowly begin to lift it over your head and Clint leans forward, hands wrapping around the back of your legs to bring you closer to him. You stand between the space of his legs and let your shirt fall onto the floor, making a small pile of your clothes nearby. 

You had always been self-conscious about your body and it didn’t help that your ex-boyfriend never looked at you the way Clint was looking at you now. He peppers light kisses along your lower abdomen as his hands run along the backs of your thighs. He’s staring at you like you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. You try to cover yourself, but Clint clicks his tongue and shakes his head, standing up from the couch as he reaches up to push your hair away from your face. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Clint’s so broad, so big as he towers over you, but god—he’s making you feel so confident and so sexy. “Your ex-boyfriend is a fucking idiot because now I get this—I get you—all to myself.” 

You’re not sure why that causes a shiver to run through you, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for another kiss. This time, it’s no longer careful or slow. Clint feels like you’ve gained a surge of confidence because you immediately dart your tongue out that easily slides past his lips. His hands move from your waist down to your ass, large hands gripping each cheek as he brings you flush against him. 

Clint brings one of his hands lower, fingertips brushing against your wet slit. Something overtakes him and he lifts you into his arms with ease, turning so that he can set you onto your back on the couch. You land with a soft thud, propping yourself up on your forearms as he kneels in front of you. Subconsciously, you bring your legs together but Clint just shakes his head and keeps your legs parted for him. He looks up at you for a moment, seeing a flicker of hesitation in your features. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, using one of his hands to undo the button on his jeans and push down his zipper to alleviate some pressure. “You said you wanted to know what this would feel like, right?” 

“Yes,” you answer. “But what do I do? Do I just—”

Clint smiles and leans up to peck your lips. “You just lie there and look pretty… And enjoy yourself. Let me do all the work, okay?” 

You nod and then lie back on the couch, seeing him begin to press kisses lightly along your chest. You let out a moan when you feel his lips brush against your peaked nipples, tongue darting out to taste as he continues to move down your body. You can’t see him, but Clint pushes down his jeans and boxers just enough to release his manhood, his free hand wrapping around himself. 

Now at eye level with your wet heat, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh—moving closer and closer towards where you’re throbbing. Clint stares up at you and pulls his hand away from himself momentarily. He brings both hands between your legs, spreading your lips as he sees your heat slick and glistening with your arousal. As he stares up at you, Clint licks a stripe up your sex. He smirks to himself when he sees you toss your head back, hand now coming down to curl into his hair. He keeps your lips spread apart as he flicks his tongue against your clit—eyes still focused solely on you and your reactions. The sound of your moans immediately fill your small apartment and Clint’s trying to take this slow, to savor the taste of you. 

He moves one hand to wrap around himself again, pumping his length as his lips remain on your heat. You’re so wet and Clint laps at your arousal eagerly—like a man who hadn’t had anything to drink in days. Your slickness drips down his chin, dampening his facial hair as he uses his free hand to slowly slide a finger within your depths. He sucks your clit, beginning to pump his single digit in and out of you as his other hand strokes himself. 

“Clint!” you moan, the grip in his hair tightening as you arch your back off the couch. “O—Oh fuck…” 

Clint pulls away for a moment and slides another finger inside of you. He smirks up in your direction and releases himself to slide his hand up your body to massage one of your breasts into the pit of his palm. “Feel good?” he asks, slowly lowering himself to flick his tongue against your clit. “Tell me, baby… Tell me how it feels.” 

“I—I’ve never felt anything like this,” you admit, opening your eyes briefly to look down at him. Your mouth remains parted as you try to keep yourself from practically screaming from the pleasure that overtakes you. “I think—oh god—I think I’m close…”

Clint nods, thrusting his fingers all the way to the knuckle. He curls both fingers inside of you repeatedly as he wraps his lips around your clit once more, his tongue flicking against your bud repeatedly. He can feel your walls begin to tremble and tighten around his fingers. Feeling greedy, Clint slides another finger inside of you as you welcome three of his digits without issue—you’re so wet that it slides in without any resistance. Once his third finger slides into you, you sit up abruptly and place both hands to the back of his head, holding him flush between your legs. 

“Clint—fuck!” you moan loudly, toes curling inwards at the feeling of reaching your high. Clint pulls his fingers out of you suddenly and laps at your arousal, growling against you. Once he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening with your slickness and he stares at you—your hair now a mess with strands coming undone from your braid. Your chest rises up and down rapidly—you’re breathless and your entire body feels like jell-o. 

“So fucking sweet,” Clint grins, wiping his mouth and chin with his hand as he uses your wetness to lubricate himself. He reaches down and lazily strokes himself. When you finally catch your breath, your eyes widen at the sight of him. He’s still kneeling down in front of you, but he’s sitting up, giving you a clear view of his big and girthy length. 

“That—You’re—Fuck,” you whimper. 

Clint smirks and pulls the end of his shirt over his head, tossing it over his shoulder. He stands up and pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, kicking it off to the side to join your smaller pile of clothes. He looks down at you, hand still stroking himself. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit,” he winks. 

You sit up and lean forward, lips parting as you dart your tongue out to lick the precome off his tip. He shudders against you and bites the inside of his cheek. “Show me your room?” he asks. 

You nod, standing up and gently placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Yeah, come on. Legs are a little wobbly, so—” 

Clint doesn’t let you finish because he releases his hold on himself and gently picks you up, one arm underneath your legs and the other to brace your back. You wrap an arm around his shoulders as you lean forward to kiss his cheek. “Room’s down the hall. Second door to your right.” 

Clint nods and walks down the hallway, passing one door. He feels your lips run along his neck and he’s suddenly reminded of his throbbing erection—yearning to bury it between your legs. Once he stops at the second door to the right, he kicks it open and looks around the dark for the lightswitch. 

“You want the lights on?” you ask. 

Clint nods. “Yeah, is that fine?” 

“I’m just—I’m not used to it.”

He reaches over and turns the light on, illuminating your entire room as he walks you back towards your bed and sets you down. “Baby, I want to see you when you come because you look so fucking gorgeous when you do.” 

“Really?” 

Clint nods, climbing on the mattress as he hovers above you. “Yes, really.” He settles himself between your legs, tip brushing against your opening. “And I want to see you when I finally push into you.” 

You bite your lower lip as he takes hold of his base and runs the head of length along you the length of your sex. Clint lets out a quiet groan when he feels the tip catch against your opening. He watches you let out a quiet moan as your eyes flutter. He knows you’re already so sensitive, but Clint’s determined to make you come at least two more times tonight. 

“Gonna make you feel good,” Clint says, pressing the head of his manhood firmly against your clit. “You won’t even be thinking of your ex-boyfriend anymore.” 

You force yourself to keep your eyes open, to watch him, to admire him. He’s so beautiful—broad and tanned skin, more scars than the one across his cheek that you’re sure has a story to each one. “You promise?” You ask, hands moving to run along his chest as you gently pull him down firmly on top of you. 

Clint smiles and presses his lips lightly on the tip of your nose and then up to your forehead. Staring into your eyes, he finally pushes into you. Your warmth and wetness surrounds his tip tightly and he can see you fight to keep your eyes open and staring at him. “Yeah, baby, I promise.” He moves his hand from the base of his length to rest on your hip. “You doing okay?” 

You nod as another moan leaves your lips. “Big—Really fucking big,” you note, feeling him push further into you. 

Clint smirks and rests his forehead against your own. His hands tighten its grip on your hips as he fills you to the hilt—tight, wet, and warm encompassing his throbbing girth. “Told you we’d make it fit,” he whisper through a quiet groan. “Y—You really only ever been with your ex, huh?”

You nod, tilting your head back as you allow your eyes to fall shut. There’s slight pressure as he pulls out of you only to slide back in slowly—stretching you from the inside. You hadn’t ever felt this full before. “Yes,” you gasp as he thrusts into you fully. “T—That obvious?” 

“Yeah,” he grunts. “You feel so fucking tight,” Clint growls, burying his face against your neck. It has been so long for him and he has to remind himself to take it slow; he doesn’t want this to end so soon. 

You moan loudly when he delivers a sharp thrust into you, your arms moving around his shoulders tightly. You lock your ankles at his lower back, holding onto him as he slowly begins to pick up the pace. “Clint,” you say breathlessly, the tension in your lower half building and building once again. Your entire body tingles as you feel yourself near yet another orgasm. 

Clint presses his lips firmly against the side of your neck, grunting against you as the sound of his skin slapping against yours echo throughout your bedroom and filters out the hallway. Your moans mix in with his and he can feel you getting close again. “You feel so good,” he mutters, the feel of your tight walls dragging along every inch and vein on his throbbing length. “Fuck me, baby…” 

Your nails dig into his back as you drag it down, hearing him let out a loud and muffled groan. You feel a pulsating tingle shoot through your body, trembling and shaking against him. Your walls tighten further around him and he slams into you, rolling his hips slowly to help you ride out your climax. You’re breathing heavily once he slows his thrusts and he props himself onto his palms at either side of your head. 

Slowly, your eyes flutter open as Clint remains still and deep inside of you. “H—How did I just come again?” You whisper, asking honestly. “I never—That has never happened before.” 

Clint smirks and slowly pulls out of you, his length bobbing against you as he looks down at himself. Your arousal glistens along his entire girth and he grabs your hips, flipping you over onto your abdomen. He hovers over you and settles himself between your legs as you prop yourself onto your forearms. With his lips near your ear from behind, he presses a soft kiss and grins. “We’re not done yet, baby.” 

“Clint, I don’t think—” 

He kneels behind you and grabs one of your legs to throw it over one of his, opening you up even further. Clint keeps a hold on your ankle with your leg draped over him as he slowly slides into you. You feel tighter this way and he slides in so easily, your sex still leaking with your arousal. “Yeah, you can,” he finally says, interrupting you quietly. 

“Oh god,” you moan loudly, hands gripping your sheets tightly. When Clint pushes into you all the way, filling you once more, you gasp. He feels bigger and deeper like this. His thrusts start out slow, making you feel every inch of him as he pulls out of you to his tip only to slide fully back into you. “Clint, baby—”

He growls at that, slamming into forcefully as he keeps a tight hold on your ankle. Clint’s legs keep you fully spread open for him and your wetness allows him to slide into you repeatedly without any issue or resistance. A couple of thrusts cause him to slip out and he shifts his hips to find your opening again, slamming into you—chasing and yearning for your tight warmth. “You’re so wet,” he groans. “So wet that I’m slipping out of you.” 

Your knuckles turn white from the tight grip you have around your sheets, toes curling as he continues his thrusts into you. “Clint, oh god—please…” 

“I’m right here,” Clint whispers, lowering your leg back onto the mattress. He watches you fall forward, no longer able to keep yourself propped up as he grips your hips and thrust into you from behind. He pulls out of you abruptly, holding onto his base as he thrusts into you. Clint pulls out of you again and grunts at the sight of how wet you are—so wet that your arousal trickles down the inside of your legs and his length glistening. “Gonna come for me again, baby? Hm?” 

“Y—Yes!” You moan into the mattress as he rams into you from behind. You feel one of Clint’s hands rest on your hip as the other comes down to smack your ass roughly. The sting of his slap reverberates through your entire body as you push back into him, yearning for more. 

“Oh, you like that,” Clint grins, bringing his hand back down onto your ass. He remains still for a moment, watching you push back into him—bouncing back against his girthy length. He leans back on his knees, watching you use him to chase your own release. You prop yourself onto your knees as your hands move to rest on the headboard in front of you, using that as leverage to push back into him. “God, your ass looks fucking—”

You interrupt him with a loud moan, firmly pushing back into him as you reach your peak yet again. Your entire body is trembling—shaking—in a way that you had never felt before. Clint growls to himself and grips your hips tightly as he begins to thrust into you again. Your walls remain tight and trembling around his manhood as he continues to thrust into you—now chasing his own release. He can feel the pressure build in the pit of his stomach beginning to unravel as he slams into you repeatedly. 

“Oh fuck,” he moans, eyes falling shut. “Baby, I’m gonna—Fuck, where do you want it?” 

“I—Inside,” you answer, body still shaky. “Please, Clint…” 

That was all it took for Clint to come undone. He thrusts into you a few more times before delivering one final thrust. His entire body tenses and spasms as he paints your walls with his come. His mouth parts as the grip around your hips tightens even further. Clint slowly rolls his hips, your tight heat milling every last drop. When he pulls out of you, Clint moves to lie on his back next to you, chest heaving rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. 

You slowly lower yourself onto your tummy, gently reaching over to rest a hand on his chest. His eyes flutter open, the corner of his lips lifting upwards at the sight of you. 

“Hey,” you whisper. 

“Hi, baby,” Clint smiles, slowly reaching out to pull you into his arms. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” you answer, gently leaning up to kiss his cheek. “That was—I have no words.”

He chuckles and reaches up to push your hair away from your face. “I did good then.” 

“Good? You were the best,” you smile. 

“We can…” Clint bites his lower lip. “We can do this again… if you want.” 

Your eyes light up. “Really? I mean, I think you taught me so much already tonight, but…” 

Clint smiles and leans in, pecking your lips lightly. “Oh, baby,” he says softly, hand moving to cup your cheek. “I have more to teach you.” 

“Yeah, I think you do,” you agree with a grin. 

“And you still have more to teach me,” Clint finishes. 

“We can teach each other a thing or two,” you nod. Slowly, you move away from his arms to lie on your back. You glance down between your legs to see his come begin to trickle out of you. You’re about to stand up to clean yourself, but Clint stands up for you. 

“Stay there,” he says softly. “Let me clean you up.” Clint turns on his heel and leaves your room, giving you a good view of his bare ass as he walks away. 

Within moments, Clint comes back into your room with a warm and damp towel. He climbs back onto your bed and parts your legs, letting out a very quiet groan at the sight of his come leaking out of you. Gently, he uses the towel to clean you up, watching your eyes flutter at the feel of the towel brushing against you. 

“Sensitive?” He asks, continuing to clean up the mess he’s created between your legs. 

“Very,” you answer, biting your lower lip. 

Clint smiles to himself and then leans over to kiss your forehead lightly. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t be,” you smile, watching him set the towel aside as he collects you back into his arms. 

Clint bites the inside of his cheek as he looks into your eyes, bringing a hand up to brush his thumb across your cheek. You look at him like you can see through the walls that he had put up to protect himself, to protect others. 

“Who knew a Fuzzy Navel would make this happen,” he teases with a grin, his dimple appearing on his right cheek. 

You smile broadly, the light in your eyes making him feel good about himself. “You remembered the name of my drink!” 

“I still like my name of the drink,” he chuckles. “Spiked orange juice.” 

You roll your eyes playfully and slowly straddle his hips, hands resting on either side of him. You lean down, nose brushing against his as your lips remain inches from his own. “Not my fault I like my drinks sweet.” 

Clint smiles and moves up his hands up your thighs and up your chest, slowly beginning to massage your breasts into his palm. He smirks to himself when you let out a quiet moan, eyes beginning to flutter at his touch. “Mm, you’re right. Can’t blame you. I like sweet things too,” Clint winks, brushing his thumbs across your nipples. 

“Clint,” you whimper. 

Clint slowly rolls you onto your back and moves his hands to your hips. He leans down and pecks your lips lightly, pulling away only slightly—lips still touching. “I just can’t get enough of you,” he whispers. 

“Clint,” you repeat, breath catching in your throat. 

He nods slowly, moving his lips to brush against your cheek down to your jawline as he reaches down with his free hand to brush his fingertips against your clit. A gasp escapes your lips and he looks up at you—your eyes now shut tight. “Okay, baby,” he whispers softly. “But I’m not done with you yet.” 

[crisuhaa]

parenting.. gone extremely wrong . . ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚

.・゜゜・ anaxagoras x gn!reader . . ! ( ꜆⌯' '⌯)꜆

sypnosis in which anaxa tries to get used to living with a possessive child, or in his case; a chimera.

slight warnings (?) ;; anaxa is EXTREMELY mean to the chimera, possessive anaxa!!, possessive chimera (?? T T) ,, chiikawa/biggie ica built chimera :p (or js in general a plump chimera)

Anaxa, wasn't EXACTLY known as the type of person to have a lot of patience, but he did have some (to a certain extent) but, one thing he absolutely despised was when someone—or in his case, someTHING tests that patience he tries to control.

And that little fat motherfucker on top of his significant other, nuzzling into their neck like they belonged there?? was testing every patience, bone, nerve and cell of his body.

“mmh, you're home, my love?” He could hear their voice, weak, sleepy and hoarse from their slumber—his heart, though it was dull, he felt—just for them, after coming home from his teachings; all he wanted to do was relish in the touch and warmth of his heart.

“my heart.” he smiled, uncharacteristically. Walking over to the couch to sit on the little corner left for his body as he leaned in to give a soft peck on their soft lips.

“chrrrpp..! ” A small, yet annoying (his words not mine) thrill from a big creatures throat growled between them—making him halt his movements on stealing a chaste kiss. “excuse me?”

He was BAFFLED. How could a creature, as lowly as a that. Come in between his precious time with you? “chhrrppp! (get off you ugly hoe!) chhrrppp!!”

“okay, time out. get off.” he glared, as if understanding every little noise that came out of the chimera.

“don't be so mean to our baby, my love.” they chuckled softly, running their hands through the soft fur of the chimera, earning a happy noise and a nuzzle to their throat. “my heart, our child? I'm not claiming whatever creature you have smothered on your neck.” he scoffed.

“creature? it's our baby.” they only cooed in response, giving more affection to the chimera when he's RIGHT there. “its practically squishing you down the couch with how big it is.” he remarked.

“chhrrrpp??! (excuse me??)” the chimera huffed, nuzzling into them as if relishing all of the affection given, and the rage building within Anaxagoras. “d—don't be so mean, my love? look they're sad!”

“it's probably just hungry.” He huffed, staring down at the chimera. “come on, I missed you, my heart. What about me?” He looked at them, taking the chimera on their arms and pushing it to the ground. “h—hey!” they gasped seeing the chimera practically flop to the floor.

“it's fine, it's practically a cushion at this point.” He laughed mockingly, enjoying the betrayal etched onto the chimera's chubby face. “now, pay attention to me, my heart.” He sighed out—moving on top of them, nuzzling his face into their neck, replacing the spot where the chimera laid. “you are insufferable.” they groaned out, yet moving to undo his hair tie—running their hands through his soft strands “you love me, my heart.”

“I'd love you more if you were nicer to our baby”

“that's for another time, yeah?” (that's never gonna happen).

authors note;; TWO FICS IN ONE DAY?? im cooking👨‍🍳👨‍🍳 i absolutely ADORE chiikawa and little ica, js wanted to incorporate them into this dump little fic:3

౨ৎ — crisuhaa works . . !

[niceutossu]

Entertainer | Oikawa x Reader

You regret telling Oikawa he could host. Honestly, you're starting to regret being in his life at all.

No, that’s wrong. You love him, you love your Tooru. So handsome, so witty, so-

“Oh, you have to meet my fiancé!”

So annoying.

You feel yourself take a deep breath and hold back a frown that only adds to the tension in your shoulders. It had been a long night of socializing, and truthfully, if this wasn't your engagement party, you would have Irish goodbyed hours ago.

Still, you can do this. You’ve done this before.

You force yourself to turn with a strained grin, doing your best to keep up the facade that you had been the entire night. You could keep up a conversation, but not like this, not like he could.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say, too tired to feel embarrassed at your unconvincing tone.

Whoever you’re meeting seems unfazed by this, taking your hand in their own. Their presence is warm and solid, like they belong there. Like they’ve always belonged there.

Unlike you.

“Hey congrats! You must be really patient.”

The words are wrapped in what you pray is good-natured surprise, light teasing at most. Nonetheless, you feel their heaviness settle in your chest. You’re not sure why you expect something different after hearing the same sentiment again and again.

Still, you don’t let your face betray the ugliness you feel, ignoring the way your fingers twitched at your side. You should be used to this, used to being gawked at like some sort of impossibility. Of getting treated like some kind of inside joke.

It seemed like everyone half-expected you to be long gone by now, another forgotten name in Oikawa’s long list of admirers.

Tooru laughs, though, effortlessly as always. “Of course, that’s why you’re the best!” He says while looking towards you, squeezing your waist as he leans into you. He acts like this isn’t the hundredth time someone has said something similar. Like it doesn’t matter.

A part of you wishes you could brush it off the same way.

But you can’t. So instead, you feel stuck as you offer a smile that’s anything but relaxed. And before another word can be spoken, you excuse yourself, making your way towards a quiet corner you could safely crumble in.

You had felt insecure sometimes, sure. His erratic schedule and lack of communication were valid causes for concern. Still, the weight you felt on you was nothing like those things. You felt even smaller right now, nearly invisible.

Before Oikawa, you weren’t always so hung up on impressions. Your life was your own, regardless of what anyone thought. It’s what made him so smitten in the first place: your commitment to yourself above anyone else. Still, somewhere along the line, you started to lose sight of that.

He was a force to be reckoned with, unknowingly taking up the room with just a single smile. And sometimes it made you feel overwhelmed, swept off your feet in all the wrong ways.

You hadn’t even known who he truly was when you first started dating.

Not really at least.

You had gotten to know his name, Oikawa Tooru. Gotten to know that he smiled like he knew he was being annoying, and that he walked around like the world belonged to him. You just hadn’t realized that some of the world actually did.

When you eventually did catch on, you were already half a year into your relationship, an occasion you were celebrating a bit early, given his irregular and mysterious schedule.

You were sitting on the floor of his apartment, cross-legged in front of a takeout container while putting on a show to watch.

As his smart TV flickered to life, a volleyball match began playing in the background on one of those random sports rerun channels he probably left on for background noise. You were about to switch to a streaming service before you paused upon hearing his name get called through the speakers.

“Wait,” you said, pointing your chopsticks dumbly at the screen showcasing the bold white lettering. “That’s your name.”

Tooru froze, mid-bite, eyes glancing toward the TV.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I knew you played volleyball,” you start slowly, still chewing. “But do you play like…professionally?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, and for the first time since you met him, he looked anxious.

“Yeah,” he muttered, suddenly very interested in the leftover rice at the bottom of his container.

You blinked. “Like… stadiums and crowds and… the whole jersey number thing?”

“Yep, the whole thing,” he said, trying to go for lighthearted, but you could hear it; something a little wary hiding beneath the surface.

You stared at him, then the TV, then him again.

“So… you’re like famous?”

Tooru winced like the word physically hurt, throwing his chopsticks into the container dramatically as he brought his hands to cover his face, “God, don’t say it like that.”

“But you are,” you insisted as you laughed, not to mock him but just out of disbelief. “That’s so crazy. So if you have fans, do you have like… fan edits too?”

“I might have fan edits,” he said under his breath, dragging his hands down his face.

“You got any groupies?”

“Can we not?” he groaned, looking absolutely mortified, which only made you laugh harder.

But then you stopped. Not all at once, but gradually.

Because suddenly it clicked: why he always had his phone on silent, why people sometimes stared when you went out together. And why he was so adamant about having zero social media presence despite seeming like the type of person who would thrive online, all things he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.

Things he also never once brought it up himself.

“You should’ve told me,” you said quietly, pouting as the realization and slight sting of betrayal settled over your shoulders like a heavy blanket. Nothing was different per se, but you still felt a little played, a little naive. How could you not have noticed?

“I liked that you didn’t know,” he said, just as softly. “You weren’t trying to impress me. You were just so… you.”

You turn to take a look at him, really take a look at him, with his glasses and messy hair, mouth stained with soy sauce, and legs stretched long across the floor like he had nowhere better to be.

You then go back to stare at the picture-perfect version of him about to serve, hair laid out in a perfect messy crown, and with a glistening sweat that gives him an otherworldly glow. The only reason you could even tell it was the same person was the matching pair of intense, chocolate brown eyes.

“Are we sure this is even the same Oikawa?” You teased after a moment, feeling relieved by how comfortable he seemed around you despite his celebrity status. Yes, he had fans, but none of them would ever get to see such a domestic version of him.

“Heyyy,” he groaned out, but you can tell he’s also relieved you didn’t react poorly.

You lean over to steal a piece of food from his container, shrugging before you speak, “Well,” you said, “I guess if you’re also still you, then I don’t mind.”

He grinned, a goofy and childish one that made your stomach flutter, “Thank you very much.”

The exchange had been simple, truthful, but plain enough to make you stay. The mundane parts of his life were the parts he wanted to spend with you; it was all intentional. You were his choice, and he was yours.

Afterwards, your eyes were open to a new world; one that adored Tooru as much as you did. It rarely made you feel jealous, more so unsure of your place in his life, despite how sure he seemed himself. Oikawa knew so many people, loved so many people. Why you?

After over half a decade together, you weren’t expecting any more surprises. You knew who Oikawa was, a global volleyball star and your silly boyfriend. For a long time, this was fine with you. He was fun. Your relationship was fun. There was no expectation of a lifetime commitment from either of you, only genuine loyalty.

Still, Oikawa was also famous for his long list of lovers; a discovery you made after the fourth ex-girlfriend you were introduced to. You tried not to let it bother you, did all you could to hide the irritation on your face as he was smothered by gorgeous women, and sometimes even men.

You were still human, though, bound to crack under the weight of so many beautiful exes. You had struggled with insecurity before, sure, but not like this. Being faced with so many past lovers had whittled away the confidence you had worked so hard to build over the years.

All these people had been you, or in your position at least. What did you have that they didn’t? Every person you met seemed to be charming in their own way, enough to have you picturing a time where they complemented your Tooru well, in beauty and wit.

And despite the whirlwind of happiness that had come with getting engaged, you also felt so uneasy, like the rug could be pulled from under you at any moment.

‘I don’t actually love you.’ He would say, any future plans for a wedding would be discarded, and you forgotten.

Except, Oikawa wasn’t like that. He was a lot of things, but not cruel, not when it came to you.

Still, being in a room full of people who adore him—treat him like some legend, someone larger than life—you can’t help but feel the weight of everything you’ve tried so hard to swallow force its way back to you.

Things like the fact he was never your Tooru, not really. He was just Tooru. And maybe calling him yours was childish to begin with. But he was your boyfriend. Your charming, extroverted, and stupidly attractive boyfriend.

And the worst part is, he’s not doing anything wrong; he’s just being himself. But still, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You used to love how effortlessly he shined, but now, lingering on the outskirts, you’re not so sure. Watching him laugh, watching him easily command a room, you can’t help but feel like you were never meant to stand beside him.

“Hey,” a familiar gruff voice interrupts the beginning of your silent meltdown.

“Iwaizumi,” you say softly, not turning to look at him directly but making space for him to stand next to you in the crowd.

“Isn’t it too late for a cold shoulder?” You can’t help yourself from exhaling at his words, recognizing his dry humor right away.

You turn to face him, doing little to hide the anxiety written all over your features. At the sight, he falters, unsure how to approach but choosing to reach out nonetheless.

“Did…did he ruin this for you?” He asks, hesitant but seemingly ready to smack his best friend over the head at any moment.

You pause at his words, unsure how to answer. Oikawa had ruined a lot of things for you. Your expectations of a lover. Planned surprises. A chance at love after him…

“I’m ruining it for myself,” you admit, finding his presence comforting despite his status as your fiancé’s best friend and man.

“Well, I was gonna say it looks like you need some fresh air but let’s start with a drink.” He says bluntly.

“Just get me whatever you get.” You mumble out, feeling caught off guard but finding solace in his sudden appearance.

Iwaizumi was Iwaizumi. Just like how Tooru was Tooru, you knew what to expect.

“That’s not like you, he must’ve really ruined this for you.” He grumbled, clearly disturbed by your uncharacteristic nonchalance but still desperately trying to keep a conversation.

“It’s still me, it’s definitely me.” You admit, feeling anything but yourself.

“Hm,” he responds, making his way to the bar but not before giving you a look that says: ‘stay put’.

You oblige with his silent request, despite the ever-growing need to run away from peering eyes. When he comes back with two drinks, you don’t bother asking him what’s in it before taking a long swig.

“Woah, no cheers?” He says, still joking but now visibly concerned. You are an adult. Free to drink as you please. But this, none of this, felt like you.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” You admit, letting the ‘liquid courage’ soar through you, or at the very least, the placebo effect of it.

“I’m me and Tooru is Tooru...you know what I mean.” You croak out, unable to say the words you felt pathetic just thinking about.

Why is he with me?

“What.” Iwaizumi blurts out, his tone more pissed off than questioning.

“Dude, he sucks.” Iwaizumi continues bluntly, face forming into a scowl at the mere thought of his oldest friend.

You laugh just a little, tired around the edges, before sighing out a response, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” He says, meeting your gaze head-on. His eyes are steady, voice firm. And the confidence in them, in you, is so fierce it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

“You know he’s had a lot of girlfriends,” he starts, and you can’t stop your eyes from rolling.

“God, you too Hajime?” You groan, going to chug the rest of your drink before his hand gently catches your wrist.

“Let me finish,” he grunts out, clearly annoyed at your impatience.

“He’s had a lot of girlfriends, but this is the first time he’s had a fiancée.” He says, clearly still trying to console you.

There's a beat of silence. And then two. You can’t rationalize why his words anger you more than comfort. So what? First doesn’t mean you’d be the last. And if you knew anything about Oikawa is that he never settled for the first option. Only the best. And you were starting to feel like anything but.

“Yeah, that’s exactly the problem,” you whimper out and he lets go immediately, as if he had felt your skin catch fire.

You feel your lip tremble as you tighten your grip on the glass before speaking your next words.

“Why me?” You manage to strangle out, voice barely audible, but you can tell he heard you from the way his eyebrows furrow together.

“Hey,” he starts, hand going to your shoulder to steady you, but his touch feels cold. You feel cold. It was like you weren’t even wearing skin anymore, as if it had all burnt off from the shame of admitting you didn't really feel chosen.

“Sorry, please forget I said anything.” You mumble out, taking a deep breath before finishing the rest of your drink. You hold up the empty glass for him to see, “Do you mind? I could really use a refill.” You say, sweet and strained, but he seems to understand what you really need: space.

He takes the glass from your fingertips and, without another word, leaves you just as you had started. Lost in a sea of people, you either didn’t know or only knew through mutual friends.

Deciding you had had enough mingling for now, you waded through the crowd silently, blending in effortlessly as you made your way to the balcony. You’ve never been so grateful for Oikawa’s extravagance, which was now your only chance at escape.

You open and close the door quickly, feeling your skin prickle at the cool night air. You inhale and exhale deeply, letting relief wash over you as you finally stop hearing the murmuring of festive attendees.

Sure, you feel a little guilty leaving a party meant to celebrate you and your love. Nonetheless, you just needed a moment to yourself, away from the clinking of glasses and the feeling of being an outsider looking in. The whole night had just been exhausting.

You were just so exhausted.

Exhausted from smiling until your cheeks hurt. Exhausted of pretending like you loved being the center of attention, and the subtle digs that came with it. Exhausted from convincing yourself that loving someone so bright wouldn’t eventually burn you out.

You lean against the balcony railing at that last thought, pressing your hands to the cold metal as you peer over to the bottom. Its chillness steadies you for a moment, while your eyes absentmindedly trace the skyline. Little by little, you start to feel yourself come back down from the edge you had pushed yourself to.

The muffled laughter behind thick walls brings you back to the reality, though, just for a moment. The sound should be comforting, but instead, it almost feels hollow. Like a symphony of torment drawing out your deepest fears.

Normally, Tooru would be the one to ground you without a word. Still, how could you explain everything without sounding like you were blaming him or like you were bringing up the past? You feel your eyes burn as your frustration with yourself reaches a crescendo. Hopefully, you could get your act together before he noticed you were gone.

As if on cue, a soft knock on the glass door behind you pulls you out of your fog.

You tense up, not turning just yet. You already knew who it was; no one else knocks like he does. Gentle, hesitant, but unwilling to let his presence go unknown.

“Can I please come out?” His voice is low, stifled by the glass. When you do turn, you can’t help a small smile from tugging at your lips at the sight you’re met with.

Tooru, with his forehead pressed against the glass, eyes glossed over like a puppy’s. He perks up when your eyes meet, hand going to turn the doorknob as you nod in confirmation.

Even during your lowest moments, you couldn’t deny him, not when he was being this cute.

You watch as he slips through the doorway, shutting it quietly behind him like he’s afraid any sudden movement might scare you off. His eyes search your face immediately, trying to read what you’re feeling without making you say it out loud.

“You disappeared,” he says, voice softer now, careful in a way that makes your chest ache.

You don’t answer right away, or even look at him. “Just for a little.”

Despite your unwillingness to meet his gaze again, you still feel his eyes on you. Searching for something you were desperate to hide.

“I should’ve come after you sooner, I’m sorry.” He adds, taking responsibility for something he didn’t explicitly name.

You shrug, finally looking into his eyes but the way your stomach squeezes when you do has them darting away just as fast. “You were busy.” You mumble out, slightly wincing at how unconvincing the words sound.

“That’s not an excuse.” His voice sharpens, not with annoyance, but rather guilt. “Not when you looked like you were drowning out there.”

You close your eyes at his words. Why did he have to say it like that? You sometimes hated how he seemed to have a finger in every fold of your brain, ready to speak the words you were only just thinking.

You don’t respond for a moment, feeling a little too raw despite how comforting his presence normally is.

“I didn’t even get to show you my dancing skills,” he says after a beat, trying to be light, but it lands somewhere between awkward and earnest. “I was gonna challenge you to a dance off. It was gonna be real romantic.”

You huff out something that could almost pass for a laugh. “That would’ve made me disappear for real.”

“Hey, don't joke about that,” he says, and the sudden seriousness in his tone surprises you.

You glance back at him, eyebrows pinching. He looks…nervous. Nothing like the entertainer you had seen dazzling guests moments earlier. He had that same look he wore when he proposed with shaking hands and the most un-Oikawa-like stumble of words.

“I thought I lost you tonight,” he admits, voice cracking on the last word.

You blink. “What?”

He steps closer, slowly like you’d run away any moment. He can’t see the way the cogs in your head stopped turning, unable to process his words entirely. “Everyone kept making comments, and I thought—I thought you were finally seeing it. That I waited too long, that I’m too much that, that...I’m not good enough for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” you ask, brows drawing together, “Everyone was saying they were surprised you were still with me—”

He interrupts you with a small chuckle, one that turns into a deep belly laugh. The way he's smiling has your ears burning with embarrassment and clicking your tongue. When finally he notices your pouty expression his own softens.

“No. No, they weren’t saying that. They were saying they didn’t know how you were still here. With me. Everyone here is genuinely surprised I hadn’t scared you off yet with how crazy I can get.”

The words hit you like a wave, warm and sudden. Unlike the tsunami that almost crushed you earlier in the evening. You turn fully toward him, noticing the way the city lights paint his face in soft golds and moving shadows.

“You,” you start, but your voice dies in your throat. “You’re not too much.” You finish meekly, but it’s laced with sincerity.

He steps closer until he’s right in front of you, gently tugging your hand away from the railing to hold it between both of his. His fingers smooth over the band on your ring finger, lips twitching upwards at the feeling of the massive diamond perched on top. A small part of you wonders how he can still be so cocky even during such intimate moments.

“I think about you constantly. I talk about you even more. Every person I’ve ever known has told me I’m annoying. Hajime told me if I didn’t tone it down a bit, I’d freak you out and then, then you’d leave me.” He blurts out, voice shaky and so unlike the man who had just been smirking at your ring.

You blink again, stunned. “You’re scared of me leaving?”

His lips twitch upward, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve never cared about someone like this. If I’m being honest, I’m actually pretty terrified.”

You pause for a moment. And then another. You try and take it all in; his vulnerable expression, your complete misunderstanding. How he felt like too much, and you, like not enough. Both desperate to keep the other around.

For the first time that night, you smile, a genuine one that makes Tooru’s eyebrows raise in a hopeful way. You then go rub at your eyes, desperate to soothe the burning behind them because, despite your initial relief, you had failed to see him the way he had seen you.

“Please don’t cry.” He whispers, hands going to curl around both your wrists gently.

You move your hands away from your face, looking up at him through watery eyes. You feel like an idiot having him comfort you when you hadn’t even noticed he’d been drowning too.

“I’m sorry for being selfish.” You say and now it’s his turn to smile, a confused but amused one.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He says cheekily, pulling you closer by the wrists as you happily oblige to his warm touch.

“But seriously, don’t apologize. Thanks for putting up with me for so long.” He mumbles into your hair before giving your head a gentle kiss, as if making a silent vow to himself.

You hum in response, making a move to wrap your arms around his torso as he greedily accepts more of you into his arms.

“I promise I won’t disappear again.” You say, glancing toward the balcony door and the party still pulsing behind it. The night was still young, and you felt strangely refreshed. Renewed even. ‘I tend to have that effect on people,’ Oikawa had teased once. It used to annoy you, and it still did, mostly because it was true.

For a second, neither of you speaks, simply relishing in each other's presence. The wind suddenly picks up a little, tugging some loose hair strands around your face, and he reaches to tuck them behind your ear as if on instinct.

“I promise you won’t regret being mine.” He says, hand going from your ear to cup your cheek, his eyes steeled with a newfound resolve, similar to the one you had seen on tv all those years ago. You were his newfound obsession, someone he willingly devoted all his time and passion to with a cheeky glee. Your Tooru.

[vaguelycryptictea]

Maylancholy #2, alt #9 - Waking up somewhere unfamiliar:

@may-lancholy

Marius watched the young man, he was asleep on the other side of the one-way glass, and plotting. He was plotting a course for the result he wanted rather than attempting to come from a place of understanding. This annoyed him, the fact that it wasn't working, the fact that his husband was probably right, that he was treating their guest like a suspect and not at all like it was an act of god that any of them had made it out of that compound alive. That it was a miracle this kid was still breathing as broken as he was.

"You're going to have permanent frown lines darling." The voice came from the doorway behind him, Liam. He could smell the ever-present cup of coffee his husband always swore was decaf mixed with the faint smell of books. He loved that combination, catching in the halls always made him relax. He already felt the tension in his shoulders easing, face softening into a light smile.

"I'm sorry," Marius began, "I got caught up in the-"

"While I appreciate the apology," his husband set down the cup, draping his broad arms over Marius' shoulders. "I think there is someone who needs to hear that from you more than I do." Liam's chin sat gently in the crook of his neck as they both looked through the glass.

"He's...." A bloody mess, broken, too much for them to care for. Annoyance bubbled into him again smothered as his husband gently kissed his neck. Marius finally gave in fully leaning back into the embrace. "He's going to need so much time Liam. It's time we don't have."

"I know that," He cooed, "We needed time too, remember?" Marius did remember they were as broken, tortured, and dead in the eyes as the boy in front of them once. "He's only human and right now...we're what he has."

"And when we're not enough?"

"Then we pray that any slivers of wisdom we unwittingly passed on will stay by his side when we can't." Gently they swayed back and forth, savoring the moments of silence as they passed.

"I hate this Liam, I hate what they've done to us but I won't hate him for it."

*********************************************

This was...day four. He was fairly certain, they had a schedule this new pair. Breakfast in the compound, then they stare, sometimes talk with eachother, his food - undoubtedly drugged, questions he ignored, then food, then questions, then food, then sleep.

The first day had been interesting. He'd been so tempted, so eager to run but that is what had gotten him caught by the pair in the first place. He was surprised by the lack of defensive measures. No chains, shock collar gone, no tubes, vials, blood draws. Meds were still a thing, he would never be rid of them. Dampeners he figured, almost laughing.

That last raid must have really put a damper on their resources...ha, so stupid, he thought. This time he'd be more methodical, really plan it out.

Afternoon crept in before when they came to gawk, he could Sense them on the other side of the glass. Sometimes he pretended to sleep thinking they might grow bored and leave. This feeling, his Sense was what had landed him here in the first place. It was better they didn't know he'd somehow regained it. That their wards were failing and he was tracking every movement they made.

The door was open...they left it open. An obvious trap, he wasn't about to take the bait. Instead, he remained on the bed, eyes returning to the ceiling after a glance at the man. Same one, short - maybe 5 foot, dusty brown hair, grimy, unshaven, tired eyes. All together this was the oddest approach they'd tried to win him over. Not the usual cheery man, clean with straight white teeth, the fake glasses and clipboard had always made him laugh. Not aloud obviously but he tried to like the small things they were all that was left.

This man wasn't much older than him, 10 years maybe. He chanced a quick look and found the man had his head in his hands. Sitting in a chair between him and the door.

"Would you like to know what's happened?" He couldn't help flinching as the tired man's voice was so resonant. Of course he was curious, the lack of personel, drop in meal quality, the fact that only 2 people seemed to exist in the building and that this room wasn't built for him. He wasn't going to tell them any of that though, talking lead to his current position. Silence had been the only defiance he could muster. Continuing to stare at the ceiling he heard the tired man sigh, "Ugh, kid...".

“They won’t tell me anything, they won’t answer any questions.”

“Of course they won’t…you’re treating them like a suspect. They think we captured them, they don’t understand we rescued them. They’re terrified, and I would be too.”

[koti100]

Loki falls for a TVA!Agent reader.

Warnings: awkward elevator ride, swearing, kissing, awkward love confession.

You’ve been a TVA agent for..awhile now. You’ve delt with countless Lokis, they’ve all been..interesting in their own ways. Some have flirted with you- some have tried to kill you, some have even claimed they already knew. Which was impossible and they were sent to the void quicker you can say “for all time.”

Simple to say, you’ve not had the best experience with the Loki variants. They’re all mischievous and annoying and irritating little fuckers. You and mobius have been given an order to look after a Loki. The Loki from the universe 616. After going over his file and seeing his record- you were concerned to say the least. You showed him what ends up happening to his world- Asgard, his parents, Thor..and your the one who allowed him the freedom to wear the TVA official uniform as you showed him what to do to help you with the case you’ve been working on for weeks now.

It was fine at first- he’d go over the files you gave him, you’d answer the questions he had to the best of your ability and you’d get him a tea without even asking what he liked. “How..did you know I liked two sugars..?” he had asked- an eyebrow raised as he turned to look at you as you sat down. “I’ve delt with 7 of you, it’s not hard to remember.” You’d joke and wink at him playfully before looking back down to the file you looked at..and from there, he’d try his best to remember things about you too, you had no idea why..you assumed he saw it as a competition or challenge. He remembered your coffee order, the food you got during your break, your favourite book from the library- which he read in one night when it took you two weeks. He realised what your favourite colour was not long after realising it’s the one you always went for when he offered you a pen and it didn’t take him long to realise you liked when you were on his right side rather then your left.

You’d get food together every day, talking quietly about what his life was like and what you do on your break..what it’s like working for the TVA and what it was like for him as a god on Asgard..you got close. You got close rather quick. He admitted you weren’t as bad as he thought you were and you admitted he’s the first Loki you’ve come across and actually kinda...liked.

You’d spend night after night working late- some nights purposely not working just so you can spend more time together. You introduced him to chocolate and candy and he introduced you to having fun. You’ve played countless pranks on mobius now- “it was funny at first, but now it’s just irritating.” He would say, stood in front of you both like an unamused dad having to deal with two children, his hands on his hips- you both sat on two seats in front of him, snickering and hitting each-over trying not to laugh.

So why is he suddenly doing whatever he can to get away from you? You’d get to your desk and the work that Loki would be given is gone then you’d come back after your lunch break a couple of hours later and it’d be there, finished..at first you thought- maybe mobius needed him for something?..but then you’d see Loki in the hallway and he’d do a full 360 and walk away. Or you’d be at the food court, getting some food or a coffee and you’d see him, see you..and he’d leave. You were confused, irritated and slightly hurt. The first Loki you think you’ve actually made some sort of connection too- and he’s diving into the men’s bathroom to get away from speaking to you.

It hurt you more than you’d like to admit..and that’s only because you realised..you actually..loved fancied him. Which knocks you sick every-time you look at him- a Loki..and you..someone who’s sent countless versions of him to the void- who’s hated his variants for..a long time.

He’s stood in the elevator alone, some files to leave on your desk in his hands. He knows it’s your break and you should be at the food court. The reason why he’s been avoiding you so much is because he’s actually..gained feelings. Not- hey, you’ve been a good friend to me whilst I’ve been stuck here feelings, no- real- I want you so badly it hurts feelings. He knows he’s an interesting person. And he knows you’ve had to deal with a couple of him, which couldn’t be easy- even he has a hard time with himself sometimes he can’t imagine what multiple versions of him were like- and everyone he cared about only seems to get hurt or die or get betrayed by him- so he’s been avoiding you like the plague…he can’t ruin what he has with you, not now.

The elevator doors open and he looks to the outside but his eyes widen almost comically when he sees you, stood there- one hand on your hip the other holding a coffee and you look extremely irritated. He quickly goes to walk out when you extend your arm out, blocking his way..he sighs as he takes the three slow steps back into the elevator and you walk inside after him, pressing multiple buttons which makes him cringe and close his eyes- knowing your about to have a go at him..

Casey walks up to the elevator and you point at him, making him freeze..look between you and Loki..then slowly walk backwards and turn to the stairs.

The elevator doors shut and you turn to him, glaring up into his.. clear pale skin..perfect weird nose..incredible fine jaw structure...

…you stay like that for a good 2 minutes, before e slowly opens his eyes and looks at you.

“Gonna explain yourself?..” You raise an eyebrow. You were not happy.

“…explain what?” He knows he fucked up the second he says it- “Okay I-”

“What do you mean explain what?! You’ve been avoiding me for weeks now!” You snap, moving closer to him. “You haven’t even spoken to me in days!”

He sighs and tilts his head back slightly, closing his eyes again. “I’ve been busy-”

“Busy my ass! I’m the one setting you the work and I’ve asked mobius, he said he’s barely been giving you anything to do!” You put your free hand on your hip and motion to him with your coffee cup. “I’ve had to miss my break just to-” “corner me?” “-talk to you!” You scoff. “If you wanted a different mentor, you could have just told mobius and he would have switched it.” He’s suprised at how..hurt? you sound...he thought you hated him and the rest of the Lokis.

“No! Not I don’t want a different mentor-” he sighs and looks down to you. “I just…” he looks..guilty. A look you’ve never seen on a Loki. Not once..you’ve seen horny, flirtatious, mad, irritated, proud, smug- never guilty..it catches you off guard. “Okay- this isn’t how I wanted to do this-”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Do what? Hm? I don’t want any- any- stupid excuses because-”

“Because?..” he asks quietly..“I’ve done the work you’ve set for me- I don’t do anything..too bad- I mind my own busine-”

“Because I thought we were friends.” You admit, a small frown on your face. “I mean- fuck, I know we took you as a prisoner and stuff, which was your own fault- but I’ve never..treated you like one. I thought we had fun..? Look- I’ve read this wrong. And that’s my fault, I know-”

He shakes his head quickly, his hands going to your shoulders. “No! No- you didn’t read anything wrong- well- I think- I did? I don’t know-”

…

“Huh?” You look at him in confusion, your much closer to eachover now, his hands on your shoulders..fully having each-over..

“I-” He closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath before looking down to you..“I don’t see you..as a friend. I did at first! But then- we spent more time together- okay- im sorry, I’m not good at this-” “no your not.” You scoff, looking at him in confusion..

He looks at you for a moment before he leans down suddenly- “woah-” you put your hand over his mouth, which is much closer to you now, making him open his eyes in confusion, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks deep into your eyes. “What?” The word is muffled by your mouth..

“You can’t just- kiss me! You have to ask-” his eyebrows shoot up. “Would you have let me?..” he asks quickly- your hand over his mouth tightens slightly..

“Well-” the elevator doors suddenly open to show mobius..who looks between the two of you for a couple of seconds, eyebrow raised..“am I..interrupting something?” He smirks slightly.

You shake your head and your hand flies away from Lokis face and your cheeks flush- Loki takes the quickest step back he’s ever taken, shaking his head quickly-

“Nonono-”

“No- not at all!”

…

Mobius looks between the two of you, obviously not believing you both…the doors close slowly.

The silence is glass shattering and extremely painful, for both of you..

“You’re an idiot.” You mutter..

“Should have just let me kiss you-”

“You should have asked!”

“You didn’t ask, but your eyes were begging!”

“That makes zero sense!”

“It makes perfect sense! Ok- I didn’t tell you because-”

“Tell me what?! You fancy me? You hate me-”

“I love you! It’s not just fancy anymore-”

Your lips part and you look into his eyes in shock…he swallows and looks into your eyes.

“I didn’t want to tell you..in a fucking elevator! And I didn’t want to- ruin what we had going on with stupid feelings and I know you don’t like me the way I like you-”

“I like you too..” you say quietly, blinking at him like an idiot. “I mean- not just like- more than that- it’s why I had to-” “corner me?..”

…”yeah.” You admit and bite the inside of your lip..

“Can I kiss you now?” He asks quietly after a couple of seconds of shock and you nod quickly- turning to him as he grabs your hips and pushes you against the wall, his lips meeting yours quickly as he drops his files and you dropping your coffee.

Let’s just say, the next time the elevator opens, you’re fixing your hair and Loki’s tucking his shirt back into his pants.

[tardis--dreams]

I actually realized i hate work. Won't be putting any effort into this anymore ♡

[yanoharuhito]

grey really fucked me up beyond belief i am SO insecure about relationships at this point

[phagodyke]

anyway yeah relevant to that post abt being deaf/hoh and ppl excluding u from conversation bc of it (even unintentionally), that's smth that's been really deeply bothering me lately bc there are a few ppl I routinely have to deal with who do it a lot and it Pisses Me The Fuck Off I've lost all patience w them. giving up and calling it ableism and walking out idc anymore 🚶‍♂️

[skyrigel]

Simon isn't the man with words. He won't say it — but he'll do it.

Naked, with his arm snaked around your waist and head tucked under his chin, you blinked your crusty eyes to locate your things, which were clumsily tossed around between shared mouths, hot breaths, and rushed hands.

Nothing. Not even the underwear Simon teared off with his teeth last night.

After relentless Simon, Simon, Simon, and one almost-successful attempt to slide out from under his hold, he pulled you back in—eyes still closed.

“Ya’ flutter too much, birdie,” he breathed against your shoulder.

“I need to pee.” So he got up gruffly, his mouth tugging slightly—something you hoped was a smile.

Now, with your back straight, you could see the whole room had none of the things you came with last night—except this hot, big, muscled, nerdy-talks-about-guns-and-whiskey-too-much type of guy.

It felt like his apartment was robbed last night, with only your stuff stolen.

“Can’t see my stuff,” you muttered.

“I can.” Simon said casually, with his eyes fixated over your tits.

After blushing for more time than you should, and recovering for a pointed look at him that finally got him moving.

“Dunno,” Simon said curtly, staring at you before reaching down, abs folding, to pick up a black, curled-up t-shirt.

“Ya’ can have dat.” He shrugged, a grin in his eyes.

Over the morning, you realized you were actually wrong. Not all your things were gone. Just half.

One earring. One footwear. You found your shirt—but with no damn buttons.

You were damn sure there were at least three left, but then again, Simon's mouth hadn’t left you coherent enough to count or claim.

And Simon. God. Fuck him. Literally, metaphorically, now, and ever.

Simon was no help. He had that mischievous glint in his eyes—sexy and annoying.

He was aggravating.

The big boy claimed he was making breakfast, so you shouldn't disturb him with silly things like I know something is fishy and Where's the other shoe? and Return them it's not your size ! But somehow, he had plenty of time to rake his gaze over you as you chicken-legged your way through his house in his black tee, muttering a madness-streaked:

Found it!

Simon, you're sus.

It was only at breakfast—between dodging your suspicious, snoopy glare—that he smugly suggested buying some clothes for you in the evening.

Something casual for everyday...something you’d like while going out with him on coffees etcetera...or something you want to get because “his house ate your things”—your claim, not his.

Simon only had to say, stay.

He only had to ask you on a date.

But Simon isn't the man with words, so for now, he'll just do it this way.

⚝ Masterlist ⚝

[madamechrissy]

Sex, Lies, Ugly Truth

art in the banner is by @3-aem ! god they make the juiciest art, go follow <3

Pairings - Your mom's boyfriend Satoru x F! reader

Summary- here's just one thing worse than having to stay with your estranged mom for just a few days while your apartment is getting renovated - and that's the six foot four white haired man banging her out every night. And does he own a fucking shirt!? You can't stand being around them, your mom's much younger boyfriend who's closer to your age. What's worse is... you liked him first. He's arrogant, annoying and you're disgusted by him - he doesn't actually make you wet that's... nothing!? And you don't want to fuck him, not at all! No way you wanna fuck your bitch ass mom's boyfriend. right?

Warnings - oh boyyy aha, forbidden love, abusive mother (reader) mentions of past eating disorders, verbal abuse from reader's mom, sm tension and build up, sex doesn't happen till after Toru tells your mom byeee, but fingering does happen before that, oral (f and m receiving) backshots while on the phone with your mom -yeppp - damaged ass reader and Satoru, they have issues, hints of stepcest I guess but he's not rly your stepdad lol, Satoru is 32, reader is 22 so AGE GAP, reader calling him daddy as a joke - maybe. Oneshot - WC - 13.2k

This is literally so toxic aha, my mommy issues haven't gone away. read the warnings! and if you fuck with this brand of crazy, I'll see you in the comments

The first day staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

Staying at your mom's for a couple weeks was horrible to say the very least, not just because she was an insane bitch, and not just because you swore you'd never come back here. Not because the memories of being in your old room - transformed into a mural of her pictures and crowns from various pageants she’d been in, you think she changed it the same day you left.

No, not because you love having your freedom, and busted your ass to make sure you never have had to stay here, not because you hadn’t talked to her in so long you have no clue what to say to each other. And not just due to the fact that she was only allowing you here because your father called and asked her to do one favor for once - he lived way too far away.

No, there was another reason that you were miserable, and that was the moans emanating from the next room.

How many rounds could that man go?

And did she have to scream so loud!?!

You slam a pillow on your face, screaming into it while your mom is screaming out - Gojo! There, there! - and then to make it worse, you hear a filthy smack. You feel nauseated at this point, about to throw up if you had to hear one more moan, when finally he seems to finish up.

Jesus, that was a longer session than usual. Does the man do anything but fuck you’re really not certain. Huffing, you throw off the covers of the little futon she’d so graciously brought out, the woman was well off, mind you, but none of that ever helped you any. You wonder if he’s after her money or something, because he was gorgeous, but you suppose your mother was as well.

It still seemed odd, he wasn’t much older than you, but it’s not as if your mom wasn’t notorious for fucking younger guys - even some of your high school friends as soon as they turned eighteen. That was one of the reasons your dad moved out of the country, and you couldn’t blame him for it, she was by far the worst human being, but everyone didn’t know that.

In fact, it was really only you and your dad, along with a couple close friends of yours that knew how horrible she was. Keeping custody of you - for ‘appearances’ - had been hell. But everyone saw her as the ideal, doting mother - after all she spent all her time taking you to every competition there was, and made sure you looked and acted perfect for them.

As soon as you shed the ‘perfect image’ she decided to quit acting.

Shaking off reminiscent thoughts, you get up now and walk over to the door, glaring at the endless photos of her in bikinis and gowns, no one loved themselves more than your mother did, truly. You peek out and notice it’s finally gone quiet in that room, heading to the kitchen to grab a water, downing it to fight back the nausea.

That’s when he walks out, smirking at you, shirtless, nothing but boxers slung over his narrow hips - the reason this was even worse for you.

Satoru Gojo.

"Gimme, I'm dehydrated." This mother fucker snatches the watter bottle then, gulping it down, you watch his Adam's apple Bob as he does, sweat dripping across perfectly sculpted abs. You stare for a moment as your mom walks out, or should you say waddled out, glaring at you now.

"Gojo, come back to bed." She doesn't acknowledge you, and Satoru frowns a bit, the never ending tension between you two prevalent. Satoru actually never knew she had a daughter till he saw you come to the house yesterday, but she sure doesn't seem to have any affection- in fact she hasn't even introduced you properly to him, it was more - this is my daughter.

"Need a break." Gojo says, you bend down to snatch up your bottle, and he can't help but eye your ass in those shorts, looking away quickly now.

There was a big problem staying at his girlfriend’s house for the past couple nights, and that was - 

Satoru wants to fuck his girlfriend's daughter.

His girlfriend is forty five, Satoru is thirty two. And it just so happens you're twenty two, so you’re honestly closer to his age just a bit, but Satoru loves older women, he loves milfs, girls his age or younger were never much interest. He probably has mommy issues, no, he definitely does, there's nothing better than having his head stroked and having a meal made for him after fucking a Milf's brains out- 

Except, maybe, getting to ever touch you.

Gorgeous. You're so gorgeous, effortless and seemingly unaware.

You dress in all black, the opposite of what he expected with your mother who was literally beauty pageant winner for her state for years, her crowns are displayed everywhere. But not a single picture of you to be found, and you'd win them all too with your beauty. But you seem to shove it all away, baggy shirts and ripped jeans, you have not a speck of makeup on your face. Big buffalo plaid jackets as if to hide a body he now sees is fucking banging.

Your mom scowls over at you as she ties her robe. "Stop bothering him and go to your room."

"I just got water because hearing you all fuck for hours was making me sick. I'm not bothering him. He took my water."

"I don't care, when are you leaving again?" You blink a bit.

"I told you it's just a week while they're fixing that roof leak, and I won't bother you again. I'd have asked dad but I can't be that far from work."

"The sooner the better, and don't judge me for having a life, my sentence of you is over now." Satoru pauses, the woman he's been with for months was always sweet and perfect, until you got here.

Seeing your eyes water he clears his throat. "She wasn't bothering me, I did snatch her water up."

Your mom's face has plastered back on a fake smile, the beauty queen smile that’s so cold it makes you shiver, as she brushes up and down Satoru's bare arm, you hate how pretty he is. How much you think of him, and how her hand is all over him, it makes your stomach turn.

"You're right, sorry sweetie I'm just tired." She cooes, all fake she comes and hugs you. Satoru frowns, hoping he read that wrong, you stand still, unmoving, eyeing him over your mom's shoulder then. "I'll try to be quieter -" she leans against your ear. "So you're not so jealous of me hmm?"

You bite back tears, shoving her off. Satoru hadn't heard anything so he has no clue as she comes up to him that you're sobbing in your room. You almost forgot how much you hate that bitch. Yes, you hate your mother. Who pushed you beyond your means to compete when you were younger, damn near starving and working you to perfection, and when you turned eighteen and threw all your tiaras in the trash, lit your gowns and sashes on fire, she never fucking forgave you.

You haven't talked to her in four years, tired of living in her goddamn shadow, your father left her ten years ago and you see why. He hates her as much as you. They fought all the time over letting you have a choice of who to move with, but she ultimately won custody.

And now she takes the guy you were thinking of working up the courage to talk to.

Satoru Gojo. 

You saw him every day as you studied at that coffee shop right by your college, flirting with everyone, so light and free with his bright smile and confidence, while you wallowed in the corner. But you never did say hi, you're sure he never saw you, but to come home and find him shirtless and grinning was almost too much.

Your apartment unfortunately had a horrible leak upstairs and you had to leave, this was the last place you expected but it was right across from work. Never asking her for a thing you hoped maybe you could mend some bridges, but she's as cruel, beautiful and cold as ever. As a younger girl, you craved to have any of her attention, looked up to her, but now you know it’s not worth anything.

Maybe that's the type of woman a guy like Satoru Gojo went for, not you.

What did it matter!? He’s as off limits as it gets.

You hear them moaning again and shove in your earbuds, throwing a blanket over your head and praying for the week to end.

*****

Three days of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

“Shit, sorry…” You’ve stepped right into the bathroom while Satoru’s walking out the next morning, skin glistening with the shower he just took, steam rising out of the door behind him. He smirks down at you as you careen into him damn near, hitting his hard body and almost falling before he catches you.

“Sorry for what?” He sets you right, lazy in his assessment of your face, blue eyes impossible to read, while your eyes drift across his nearly naked body, falling to the towel that’s not hiding shit, bringing a flush to your cheeks. “What, never seen a naked man? You freak out all the time.”

“Well if you ever wore any fucking clothes,” you shove him out of your way, scowling at his smirking face. “What?”

“You’re cute. Bet you’re a whole virgin.”

“Oh fuck yourself, none of your business, fucking Mrs. Robinson.” Satoru chuckles now while your hands brush against his slippery skin a little too long, making him pause, seeing color decorate your cheeks. He falters then, looking down at you, so clearly unused to any attention, clearing your throat and dropping your hand.

“How do you know what Mrs. Robinson is, you’re a baby.” He teases, arm resting in the doorway, that towel daring to dive lower with every moment, you avert your eyes now, digging out your makeup bag from the drawer to wash your face.

“You’re not much older than me, right?”

“Ten years older. You’re still a baby.”

“I’m closer to you than she is.” He blinks a bit, you wish he’d leave, but he’s just lingering like a little fucking pest.

“I guess. You’re nothing like her.” You scoff then, he didn’t mean it as an insult but he sees it is one, your jaw setting while you dry your face with a soft towel, and fuck if you’re not prettier bare faced than anyone he’s seen with a face full of product.

He shouldn’t think like that.

“I’m definitely nothing like her.”

“You don’t call her mom, huh?” He raises a brow, while you’re slathering serum on your skin, cool and tacky as it dries, counteracting the steam and the overheating of your skin from his proximity.

“No, I don’t. It’s none of your business, you all will be back to an empty love shack in days.”

Satoru chuckles then, shaking his head as you glare up at him. “Love shack, what’s with these old ass references?”

“I enjoy old things too, just like you enjoy old women.” He snorts now, rolling his eyes.

“She’s not old to me, one day you’ll be there too.”

“Sure will and won’t be fucking dudes that look like babies.” Satoru leans forward then, that perfect, pretty face right against yours, you freeze when he tilts your chin up, breath brushing across your lips.

“I’m no baby.” His whisper is too much, you swallow nervously, stepping back while he wreaks havoc on your nervous system, heart hammering when his snowy lashes lower, hand falling. “Why do you care what she does and with who?”

“I don’t. But I am not surprised, she was a hit at the high school graduation party.” He blinks in confusion at your words, you shake your head now. “You’re new to her. I almost feel bad for you.”

“Do you now…” You shove him aside, hating how good his skin feels again, hating whatever the fuck he does to your tummy being too close, shoving those thoughts far back.

“I do, she runs through toys like you.”

“We’re dating, not just fucking, you know.” Your lips quirk up, patting his shoulder, only for him to grip your wrist with his huge hand, taking it over, pausing your steps. You turn back to glare at his grip, then up into those arrogant eyes. “You know something I don’t?”

“Let’s just say, she’s a bitch.” You shake him off again. “But you are too.”

“Me!? You’re the mopey, emo little brat glaring daggers at me, sweetheart.” His voice murmurs, his breath against your skin as he leans down, you yank your wrist out of his grip.

“Don’t call me sweetheart!” You hiss as the bedroom door opens, as you two quickly separate, but she’s eyed your proximity, smiling coldly as she assesses you, the look that’s always made you feel so small, holds less than it did before, but it’s still there, the haunting memory of it all.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She says it so nasty to you then, you just glare once more at Satoru and nod, walking past, her hand halting you, her mouth against your ear, making you shiver in disgust. “Stop looking at him, you’ll never have someone like that.”

“I don’t want him.” You whisper back, earning her laugh now, while she fake hugs you, and you just want to fucking fall into a hole.

“Have a great day, honey!” She smiles and steps forward to Satoru, you can’t stop looking back over your shoulder at them, sighing when his eyes catch yours over her shoulder, unreadable - but you swear you see something flicker.

You can’t even think that way.

You’re stupid.

*****

Five days of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

The man does not own a tee-shirt, you’re completely convinced - he’s always half naked, as if this is how he exists. Well, he clearly has dress shirts, he wears them when he heads off to run his business, you’re not even sure what that job entails, apparently some trust fund baby considering he’s never there. He left for the past couple of nights to go home, thank god.

When he does he brings her with him and she doesn’t come back until late, driven home in some fancy limo, but you get a reprieve.

You suppose he looks good in his Armani suits as he leaves every morning though, always getting some breakfast made from ‘mommy’- yuck. You have to watch them kissing in the kitchen as you fight waves of nausea, but the past couple days you haven’t heard that ridiculous fucking, and he barely kisses her, eyeing you intently when he does press his lips on her cheek.

“Satoru, do you have to go to work today?” She pouts as she blinks those long lashes at him, and he sighs, smiling and touching her cheek, as you vividly wish it was you, which you hate yourself for. You avoid his eyes, sipping on coffee before you head to work yourself.

“I do honey, don’t worry I’ll come stay tonight.” She pouts again, he just smiles a little stiffly, walking out as you head out the door, hands touching the knob at the same time, making you both pause. You clear your throat, pulling your hand back like it’s on fire, as he lets you out first, feeling your mom’s gaze burning a hole in the back of your head.

“Want a ride to work?” He asks quietly, heading over to the black car with a driver holding the back door.

“You don’t drive, huh?”

“Why should I when I can pay someone too.” His pretentious smirk again has you itching to smack him, but the thought of not having to catch a bus is tempting. “You know you wanna.”

“Whatever. Thanks I guess.” He bows as if he’s some gentleman and not an idiot, you slide in next to him, sighing as his thighs spread way too far, brushing against yours. “Manspread much?”

“You hate me don’t you?” You blink in confusion, looking away and biting that lower lip, the lip that fucks him up mentally to look at. Being this close to you alone is making his body react, his pulse racing, even as he keeps a neutral look, he aches to drag your lips against his.

He’s been trying to avoid you since that morning in the bathroom when you touched his chest, burning his skin like a brand. The pull is too much, to where he can hardly remember what he was thinking with your mom. She’s gorgeous, she’s his type, she’s got everything Satoru needs after spending the day at his boring ass family company, but her daughter won’t stop tempting him.

How he saw your breasts spill out of your tank top this morning, your scent that he can’t describe filling a room, it’s all horrible - and shit timing, as now your mom has been talking about getting more serious. Before he saw you, he was hopelessly enamored with her beauty, her clear confidence, but he can’t stop looking at the shy, insecure girl far too eagerly.

He’d show you how gorgeous you were if he had a chance-

The fuck is wrong with him?

You’re her daughter.

“I don’t hate you, Gojo.” You say softly, turning to look up at him now, so much pain behind your eyes it nearly takes his breath away.

“You sure act like it.”

“I know. I have to.” You clear your throat nervously, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, his fingers itching to sweep it back, breath catching when you look up at him, eyes so intense he can’t look away.

“Why do you have to hate me?” He asks quietly again, trying to remember - you’re young, you’re his girl’s daughter, while you remember, he’s your mom’s boyfriend, and you can never act on anything.

“You know the answer,” you whisper, leaning forward a bit, when he leans down, the car cruising gently through the busy streets, entrapping you both in the black tinted windows. “Don’t you?”

“Do I? Seems like you hate her, and I’m hated by default,” he brushes that hair back finally, the contact bringing heat to your cheek, he feels it against his fingers, exhaling when you don’t pull back. “Do you have a good reason to hate her?”

“I do.”

“What-” The car comes to a stop now, jostling you just a bit, as the driver apologizes for hitting the brakes too hard, throwing you right against Satoru’s hard body, you inhale that cologne, expensive and musky, almost making you salivate before he pulls back a bit. “Shit, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You pull back before it feels good, sliding away again and looking out the dark window. “It’s too long of a story.”

“We have a drive to talk.” He wants to talk to you, fuck he wants to do a lot more than talk, last night he’d seen you when he tried to fuck her, and he had to stop, much to her irritation.

He kept fighting the need to jerk it to the memory of your pretty tits, to picture you instead of her, to shove it all down and try to remember himself.

He’d be glad when you weren’t around, tempting him.

“It’s too much to even begin, but… let’s just say living in her shadow, and with her expectations were brutal.” Satoru tilts his head, big hands on his own thighs, sitting still so as not to further touch you, or do more. “I gave up pageants when I turned eighteen and she disowned me.’

“You did them?” He asks softly, you sigh and turn to look back at him.

“Yeah, since I was three. I… don’t wanna get into it all.” He sighs, was it just that your mother was so upset you gave up on her dream? It felt like more. “I don’t hate you though. Okay? Aside from constantly making her scream out like some goat-” he bursts into laughter then, making your eyes narrow. “And never wearing a shirt.”

“You really hate that.” He muses, you want to tell him more about her, but he’s not your therapist, not your friend, and as much as you despise your mother, it’s just not your place to spill it all. So you leave it at that, sighing and pulling out your phone, checking the time.

“Besides all of that you’re okay I guess.”

He smirks just a bit. “I’ll take it.”

“I will never call you step dad.”

“Oh god, fuck I hope you won’t.” You both laugh it off a bit, the tension, the unspoken words in the air, as you slip into a soft silence, the two of you busying yourselves now, both trying to ignore it. Whispering in your minds - it’ll be over soon.

*****

One week of staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

The amount of stress your mother puts you through is unreal, when Satoru is there at least she puts on enough of a show not to do too much in front of him, as to appear perfect. You went out with a few friends for the night - a much needed getaway, and free drinks - sounds like the perfect remedy for dealing with her bitchiness.

You wish you just had some extra money for a hotel, but you just paid all your bills and pay day is a couple days away. As soon as that came in you were going to just grab a hotel for the last couple of days - they are stupid expensive with the holiday right now, but anything was worth leaving her as quickly as you can.

Stumbling in, your mother eyes your clothes with disdain. “You look like a slut.”

You snort in laughter at that, opening the fridge and grabbing another drink out, the seltzers you bought to knock out at night when you had to hear her and Satoru fucking. You crack it open and sit on a chair, crossing your legs that are well revealed in the dress that does barely cover anything. You look hot as fuck though, you already know it.

“Says the woman who had like an entire frat run a train on her in her forties?” You raise a brow, and your mom smacks you right in the face, you smile nastily at her. “Ya mad your ass can’t wear this shit anymore?”

“You’re a stupid little bitch, everything I did for you - and you turn out like this?”

“What, work for a living? A degree? How’d I turn out so bad.” You swipe your cheek then, and her gaze drifts across you with cold eyes - the same color as yours, but they just have no fucking soul to them.

“The biggest disappointment. You could have had a modeling career, but now you’ve let yourself go.”

“Let myself go?”

“Remember how you looked senior year?” You shrink back at her nasty words, biting at your lower lip then, you try to act tough but it’s difficult at times to not let old insecurities hit.

“I was starving because of you.”

“Exaggeration, my god. I did that so you could look your best.”

“My best, huh? I think I look hot, so you can suck a dick. Where is Satoru, by the way? Can he shove one in your mouth?” You smile as your mom gasps, and that’s when the door opens, and you hear Satoru’s footsteps on the floor, still rubbing your stinging cheek as your mother instantly puts on her front.

“You’re a little bitch.” Your mom whispers, yanking your drink out of your hand then, slamming it on the table. “What a waste of your looks, down the drain.”

Usually your mom would stop when Satoru got here - perhaps your saving grace was that. But as he walks into the kitchen, his snowy lashes blink in confusion at seeing her. You catch his eye over her shoulder, smiling then. “Why don’t you fuck her so she’ll be in a good mood again?”

Your mom gasps as you take your drink back, standing and getting away from her overwhelming presence, taking a breath and acting ‘normal’ while Satoru’s gaze drifts across your outfit slowly. You feel every inch of your skin caressed by blue eyes, like he’s touching you.

You can’t think that way, even if she’s a bitch.

“What’s wrong?” He asks then, setting down his jacket, your mother finally seems to notice he’s there, putting on a pretty pout and batting her lashes.

“Just her being mean to me, Satoru.” She walks up to his arms, and you laugh then, so loud you’re crying, swiping tears as you truly feel you’re losing it, seeing her run her long red nails across Satoru’s chest as he looks at you.

There’s too much in the look.

“Maybe if you get dick in your mouth you’ll shut up.” Your words earn your mom’s mouth wide open, while you stretch, knowing half your breasts are fucking out, your thighs fully revealed in the short, tight skirt, hoping to piss your bitch mom off more.

It’s petty but.

It works.

You bend over to snatch two more drinks up, and Satoru has trouble tearing his vision from the sight, picturing bending you over and cursing himself for it. Your mom is whining to him, bitching about you, but your evil little smirk towards him and her turns him on more.

“I’ll be gone tomorrow night, then you won’t have to see me again mommy dearest.”

“I know you didn’t just call me that.” Her affronted tone just makes you giggle, drunk honestly, even more, walking back to your old room - her pageant trophy room - and sighing then, leaning against the door.

You can act as if you’re not hurt by her words all you want, but they hit and they hit deep, hearing the quiet murmurs of her and the man you’re fast desiring far, far too much. You slide down to the floor - you’ve talked endlessly about how your mom never loved you to your therapist - but it still feels like shit, not that you think she could love anyone but herself.

After downing your seltzers, you’re thoroughly drunk - something you haven’t been since freshman year of college, when you go out into the quiet kitchen, in search of a bottle of water. You tense when you see a shirtless Satoru, his strong back illuminated by the soft light over the stove as ice clinks into a glass. He turns his head, catching sight of you before you can dip back to the room.

“Hey.” He usually has something snarky to say, but that’s all he manages, turning toward you and leaning on the counter, you try to avoid your gaze on his body, on the light trail of hair under his flat belly button - but you’re too drunk to avoid it.

“You get her off enough? Maybe she’ll be okay tomorrow.” You murmur, and his jaw tenses then, while you walk up, stumbling just a bit when you get to the fridge, one of his hands dart out to your arm, wrapping around it gently. You pause, eyes darting up to his.

“You all right?” You scowl, yanking your arm out of his hold.

“What do you care for?” Your whisper is angry, he sees so much anger, and though he doesn’t exactly know what was said, hurt was written all over your face.

“Can I not care?” He asks softly. You scoff, looking away.

“No, you can’t.” He sighs now, sipping his drink as you bend down, grabbing another drink instead.

“You shouldn’t have more, you’re torn the fuck up.”

“Oh, thanks dad.”

Satoru scowls now. “Don’t call me that.”

“No?” You’re annihilated, he’s absolutely right, removing the barrier you have put up for him, fingers drifting up his chest, bare and hot to the touch. He tenses, as your fingers drift down over his abdomen, and you step closer. “Should I call you daddy?”

Satoru scowls, thin brows deep over his blue eyes, and his cock is throbbing under his sweats, he wills it to go down, feeling like a horrible fucking man. He couldn’t get hard for her tonight, not when every time he was touching her he pictured her daughter instead, pictured how tight and slick he bets your cunt is, pictures your perfect tits in his fucking hands.

“You’re drunk and stupid, sweetheart.” He grips your wrist, as you quietly giggle, and you look far too hot, drunk mess and all. “You’re too drunk to know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gojo. I just hold back when I’m sober.” He exhales, and your eyes dart down, raising a brow when you see a far too impressive bulge. “Need to go fuck mommy some more?”

“You’re a brat.” He whispers, pressing you against the cold steel of the fridge now, a thigh pressing between yours, and your heart races. His proximity has you dripping wet in moments, the strong thigh between yours, his breath ghosting over your lips as he bends down. “Touch me again like that and see what happens.”

“Gonna spank me, step dad?” He pins your wrists right over your head, muscled thigh pressing up against your overheated cunt then. Your eyes roll back, you’re too gone to act like you don’t want him, arching your hips up and earning his soft little moan, as he rests his head down on yours.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re… just shut up.” He whispers, a desperate, needy little voice now. “If you weren’t… If I wasn’t…”

“What, big man? Can’t finish a sentence?” You roll your hips again, he feels you soaking him, he can’t stand how badly he wants to slip his cock inside you then, lift your right on that fridge. “Don’t wanna make mommy mad, do we?”

“I can’t stand you.” His lips are a centimeter from yours then, and your breath catches. “Need me, don’t you? Cunt is soaking wet.”

“It’s n-not.” He smirks, letting your wrists go, you shove at his chest, when he pulls back just a bit, gripping your chin.

“It’s not?” You shake your head and he pulls back his leg, looking down at it. Your entire body heats up as you see it, the wet spot darkening his light sweats. “What’s this then, hmm sweets?”

“N-nothing.” You look down in horror, when he swipes it with his thumb, leaning forward again, silvery white locks falling over his forehead then.

“Nothing?” You nod, and he swipes that thumb over your lips, moaning as they’re coated in a gloss, while your cunt throbs around nothing, aching for his touch.

“Mmm, fuck, why do you have to look like that?” He whispers, lips leaning close again, his hands on your hips, your nails slip up his side, contemplating leaving marks for your bitch ass mom to see - hating yourself for it.

“Go back to bed, mommy will miss you. Go fuck her.” He glares even deeper, just looking far too attractive when his lips brush against yours barely, before there’s a noise and he immediately backs away, as do you, heart pounding. What the fuck were you even doing!? “I’m drunk.”

“Yeah, you are.” He whispers, fists clenching as he huffs, turning and pulling his cock up into the waistband of his sweats, annoyed as shit by your laughter. “You’re such a brat.”

“Am I, or are you just wanting to fuck a mom and a daughter? Didn’t you get off enough al-”

“I can’t fuck her, okay?” You blink a bit at his declaration, you scoff, rolling your eyes. You won’t believe him. “That’s your fucking fault. I’ll be glad when you go.”

“Good, so the fuck will I.” You shove at him now, and he hates the hurt on your face. “Don’t want you, creepy old stepdad.”

“Old!?” You smile, mean and nasty, only making him want to fuck that expression right off your face. “I’m not your fucking stepdad.”

“Sure you’re not.” You pat his bare shoulder, walking past him now, barely able to breathe when you walk back into your room, leaving him cursing, eyes shutting tightly when he leans against the fridge, heart racing.

Satoru Gojo has never hated someone until you, for fucking his brain up and whatever morals he does have. He’s by far not a cheater and never has been, but all he can picture when your mom sucks him is you instead, shutting his eyes and pulling on hair that looks just like yours. He hates whatever the fuck you’ve done to him, and how bad he feels for telling you he wants you gone.

He does want you gone so things go back to normal, he can be the milf fucker he’s always been, he can live his life and fuck away all his problems with the career he’s been shoved into. But laying next to her that night he’s staring at the ceiling, wondering what you taste like.

******

One day left staying under the same roof as Satoru Gojo

You and Satoru have avoided each other completely, you work and come home, packing up the few things you have left so you can stay with a friend who’s offered you to come with her for the next few days. It was tiny and cramped there, but anything was better than staying here, and not just because your mom is an evil bitch who loves to trash you every moment.

It was him, the reason you wanted to leave so fucking bad.

“Should you eat that, honey?” Your mom says, so fake sweet as you nibble on a candy bar, you didn’t eat shit at work so you instantly busted out a snickers.

“Should you fuck men half your age, mommy?” Your mother glares, and Satoru overhears, though he stays in the hall.

“He’s not - also your ass is just looking really big in those shorts, you know.”

“That’s good, I like it.”

“Your hair looks oily.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Your mom scoffs again, snatching the bar and throwing it out, and you glare up at her. “I just care about you. No makeup, you dress like shit, and you’re munching on a candy bar? How much further do you want to let yourself go?”

“I work for a fucking living, I don’t make money off fucking men and having them take care of me. So back the fuck off. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Thank god, Satoru can’t stand you.” You blink a bit then, wishing that didn’t hurt as much as it did. You could handle her trashing you in every other way, but the man that you can’t rip your fucking mind from actually hating you stung.

“Huh?”

“He can’t stand you, and you’re not going to come between what I want. I see you, looking at him.” She tilts your chin up then. “You think you’d ever get a man like him? That’s funny. Maybe before, when you were still competing. Now?” She laughs, and you feel tears running unwillingly from your eyes. “Not a chance, so stop dreaming about him.”

“You don’t know shit.” You smack her hand off you. “I’ll leave now.”

“Go right ahead-”

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” Satoru walks out then, and your mom pauses. “Who’s cooking?”

“She’s leaving.” Satoru checks his Rolex on his wrist then, frowning.

“It’s nine already, buses aren’t running. Why not wait till the morning?”

“Because she-” your mom puts back on her airs now, smiling so saccharine and fake. “No, you’re right, Satoru. She should stay and eat some dinner.”

You scoff, since the bitch just threw your only food for the day in the trash - but you do get paid in the morning, and it would be more convenient to just stay. “I’m not eating with you. But I’ll leave in the morning. Good night mommy dearest.”

“I swear to-”

She’s cut off with you shutting yourself in again, laying on the bed and shutting your eyes, wishing her words didn’t cut so deep like knives, stomach growling. Even later when you smell food you don’t come out, until a soft knock is on your door, and you finally drag yourself out of your bed you’re just rotting away and crying in.

“What do you want?” You say softly, looking up at the tall man - who really should wear a fucking shirt - in the doorway.

“You should eat something.” He murmurs softly, you sigh, shaking your head.

“I’m not hungry.” Your tummy inconveniently growls, and he frowns now rather than an amused smirk you’d expect.

“You should eat.” He repeats, shocking you when he grips your hand in his, bringing you out to find he’s set a plate aside for you.

“I don’t need you to feed me.” You nibble while standing, cutting up a piece of chicken however, chewing thoughtfully as he watches you, far too intensely. “What, are you gonna just watch me?”

His heart aches for you then, having overheard her. It all fits with the conversation he had with you in the back of the car, the pressure she had you under all made sense. He’d only seen glimpses of it, her cruelty toward you, but they’re glaringly apparent. When she’d tried to fuck him earlier, and brought you up, he couldn’t do anything with her, thanking god she went to sleep early.

He needed to see you.

You were so clearly not okay from her.

“Stop acting like you care.” You murmur then, nibbling another bite, not even sitting at the seat before you turn away.

“Finish eating.” His commanding tone is far too fucking sexy, in fact all of him is - and you could almost forget about last night, in your drunken haze, but the problem is you remeber it vividly, tasting your arousal on your lips.

“You don’t tell me what to do. I have a dad.” He laughs without humor then, shaking his head and leaning low, pressing one hand on the wall, lifting your chin with the other.

“Stop acting like I’m even close to old enough to be your dad.” You bite your lower lip that trembles, you inhale that hundred dollar a spray cologne that’s haunted your fucking senses all week.

“You fuck my mom, so.” Your little glare hits him so good, your mean little words that just make him more obsessed with you, picturing you constantly. He’d jerked off in his office just remembering your heat against his thigh today - simultaneously feeling horrible and the inevitable pull of you, intoxicating like the liquor he’d drunk to just lay next to her last night.

He can’t get hard around her - not when you’re in the next room.

“Does that make you mad, that I fuck her?” He asks then, your scowl deepens, teeth clenched as you shove at his chest.

“Why would it?”

“Seems like it bothers you,” his fingers brush your hair back, goosebumps rise on your skin, tummy clenching with the hot desire. “Seems like you’d want me inside you instead.”

“Ah, you wish, conceited ass of a man. I don’t want you.” You’re lying through your teeth, and it’s like he knows, the blue eyes seeing right through your fucking bullshit. “You don’t want me either, so stop fucking with me.”

“I don’t?” He’s close, too close, you shove him away then, shaking your head, her words ringing in your fucking ears.

He’d never want you

Out of your league

You’re nothing

Maybe they did still get you, words you’d long since stopped giving her the ability to speak. Years of striving for her affection, of wanting to be perfect and win so that you could get just a bit of her praise. The moment you broke free was the best time you can remember, throwing those tiaras away - but you fear you’re just barely a step away from falling back into the sadness that she caused.

Worse is this tall, beautiful fucking man acting interested.

“You would never want me,” his mouth drops open at that. “So stop fucking acting like it.”

“You think I don’t!?” You scoff, walking away now, heading to the bathroom to perhaps put some water on your face, but this fucker follows you in, shutting the door, coming up behind you now, and you see his reflection in the soft lighting around the mirror, see the way he’s looking at you.

“Get out. Stupid. I’m not your milf okay?” You gasp then, as he tilts your chin so that you catch his brilliant blue eyes, the bathroom is too small suddenly, when his chest presses against your back.

"Look at me," Satoru whispers, you shake your head, tears falling. "I said look at me." He tilts your chin to look to the side as he leans over you.

"What?" You whisper through your teeth, trying to be quiet in the dark room, as Satoru’s hand slips down your bare arm, the other arm wrapping your waist, dragging you against his hard body. You whine out softly at it, being pressed against him, before you can stop yourself. When he leans lower, cool breath against your lips.

"You're beautiful, okay? So fucking beautiful..." You shake your head at that, earning his sigh, gripping your chin so tightly you feel his strength, only making the sweet ache worse. "You are. All I can think of is fucking my girlfriend’s daughter on every surface, you know what that fucking does to me?" His hushed, desperate voice makes your tummy clench with desire.

You have tried to fight it, but the resolve weakens every second you stare into his cerulean gaze, words you don’t want to accept. "Satoru... I… mnh!"

“Shh, sweetheart,” he groans now, shaking his head, kissing up your neck as his hand splays your stomach, drifting to your heat, breaths faster and heavier, mixing with yours. "Is it just me? Being fucking horrible?"

You shake your head, crying out softly when he finds your hot cunt over your shorts, soaking the thin fabric of them immediately. He moans so sexy against your ear, as the longing keeps swirling around the two of you. "You're not horrible, I am..."

"No, she's a fucking bitch. I didn't know she... was that mean. I like psychos, but that?” Your eyes shut, ass brushing against his thighs, feeling his hardness press against the small of your back.

“She’s just how she’s always been. Mnh… you shouldn’t.”

“I know I shouldn’t, okay? Fuck, you just take it. Let her treat you that way, why don’t you stand up to her, hmm?” His fingertip finds your clit, pressing up as your head falls back, and his cock twitches, aching to come inside you when you soak his fingers through your shorts, gasping and writhing against him.

"I'll be gone tomorrow. It's f-fine... Satoru, what are you… mnh!” You cry out, he brings a hand to your mouth while you watch your reflection in the mirror, he's taking over every sense you have.

“God you're soaked, so fucking hot, so tight.” He leans down, slipping a thick digit in your tight little entrance, making you scream out weakly against his hand. His blue eyes dilate, in the dark, quiet hushed sighs against his hand mixing with the sound of embarrassing wetness echo across the walls. “Lemme make you feel good, hmm?”

You just nod weakly, so tired of pretending like you don’t want him, entranced by the image in the mirror of him overtaking you, fingers angling up as your juices pour down his hand, you whine out, trembling as he keeps hitting just that spot, the one that makes your eyes roll back. Your ass arches back for more, knowing she’s in the next room and could hear or see fucks you up too much.

Your mommy issues clearly are still prevalent.

After hearing all her loud high pitched moans from this man, knowing all of his attention is on you is addictive, his lips brushing the shell of your ear while his fingers curl in your slick walls, gripping him and quivering. “Can you keep quiet so I can see your pretty face when you cum?”

You nod weakly, his words are destroying you, and any resolve you currently have, any part of your brain that knows this is wrong is gone, you want to cum for him, as he is bending low to angle his fingers deeper. You gasp and bite your lip as he does, as the squelches of your hungry cunt echo in the small space.

His breaths come heavy as he feels your walls, as you feel every line of his long - fuck they’re so long - fingers curling against your spot over and over, thumb pressing your twitchy little clit. “Satoru!”

“Shh, sweetheart,” he’s lost in you, cock leaking precum as he studies your face in the dark reflection, feeling you grip him so fucking good, picturing stretching your perfect little cunt out. “Like this?”

You nod, swallowing as you cling to his bare arms, feeling his muscles bunch as he moves his fingers, you are blinded when he rolls his thumb just right, as his other hand grips a breast under your tank top, brushing against your nipple. It’s all too much, you bite back the moans that threaten to rip from your throat, instead whining out softly, gasping and hiccuping as pleasure waves through you.

You’re soaking his fingers, dripping down them when he leans low, capturing your lips, drinking in your little cries as his fingertips brush your spongy spot, over and over, while you shatter in his hold. Your saliva drips across your tongues as his fingers slow, thumb pressing up your twitchy clit again, while you’re lost in his embrace, his taste sweet on your tongue.

You should feel bad you’re dripping down Satoru Gojo’s fingers, had they been inside her earlier? Would he touch her with them? You wish it all didn’t just make you wetter, more sensitive for him, when he eases them out, sucking them into his mouth now, moaning when your flavor hits his tongue, the filthy thoughts just echo louder as your pussy pulses from the aftershocks.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,” he moans then, turning you and lifting you until you’re spread on the counter, your thighs shake as he presses against you, hard and thick, kissing you with your juices dripping across his plump lips. “God I wanna bury my face between your thighs.”

“Satoru, this is insane.” You whisper, as he’s hungrily kissing down your neck, moaning a little too loud. “Shh!”

“Fuck, maybe she should hear,” his eyes are batshit insane then, brilliant blue almost glowing, long fingers spreading your thighs apart. “All I can think of is you.”

“Shut up,” you’re shaking your head, hands slipping through his silky locks as he kisses down your chest. “Fuck me.”

Satoru blinks at that, when you’re reaching down to touch him, he exhales, hands trembling as they hold you, kissing your lips again and losing himself, cock brushing your soaked cunt. He hears the door click across the hall then, pausing and cursing. “Shit…”

“Shit!?” He covers your mouth, glaring with his snowy lashes lowered over his blue eyes.

“Shut up.” He’s kissing you again, hot and desperate as your mom is calling out his name, you can’t stop the soft whine from your lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Shut me up.” His hand lifts a thigh, groaning quietly as he hears his fucking name again, cock leaking so much precum, throbbing so much it hurts.

“Satoru honey, where are you?” He sighs now, and you shake your head.

“Go, I’ll stay for a few.” You whisper softly, he is aching to stay, but the situation at present is horrible, and he doesn’t want you getting hurt because he can’t keep his hands off his girlfriend’s daughter.

“Don’t leave tomorrow until we talk.” He says then, against your ear.

“Maybe.”

“Ugh.” You smile a bit at his scowl. “I’ll be right out, just in the bathroom!”

“Okay honey, I miss you.” You feel sick, watching him walk out, you let out a held breath, thighs shaking, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he made you feel better than anyone ever has, that you've never cum like that.

Worse, how he had kissed you?

This was some sick, cruel fucking joke, falling for your bitch ass mother's boyfriend. You can't trust him. You know you need to slip out in the morning, to try to forget him and how good it felt to be in his arms.

******

The last morning staying with your mom

You want to wait for Satoru like he asked, but laying there and counting down the moments until you know the buses run, you couldn’t stay.

You can’t do this, even to her, have some sort of affair?

You can’t be the other woman - especially to your own mother, even if she’s fucking awful, the guilt is eating at you. It would be different if it was some petty revenge to her for all these years, if it was just sexual attraction, but you absolutely know it’s way more with Satoru, kissing didn’t feel like that, nothing felt that good, being consumed by Satoru and losing yourself in him.

You’re trying to slip out that next morning, when Satoru Gojo grips you by your wrist, out of nowhere, you look back and his azure gaze is furious. “I asked you to wait for me.” His tone is so hurt, you can hardly stand it.

“Gojo, we have to forget it.” Your broken words ruin him, he’s breathless as he looks at you, two bags slung over your shoulders. “I shouldn’t have.”

“No, why not?” He caresses your cheek, bending over you then, his sweet breath bringing back the memories that kept you up all night, of kissing him back, of his fingers now on your wrist that were inside you.

“You’re hers.” You hear her then, panicking and shoving at Satoru, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Your mom’s words make Satoru chuckle, and the sight of it confuses the fuck out of you, as he looks back at her, raising a brow.

“I’m pinning her to the door and you’re yelling at her right now?” She sputters, your heart fucking races, the heat creeping up your cheeks, burning as she stomps over to you both, furious so clearly.

When you were younger it would have scared you, but Satoru is here, and in the short week, you oddly trust him, feel the comfort, something to be said about it that you haven’t admitted to yourself yet.

“It’s her trying to take what’s mine, jealous of me always.” She grips your hand, your bag falls to the floor as she scowls down at you. “Never show your face here again, leave my life the fuck alone, stupid little bitch.”

“I didn’t-” She raises her hand as if to smack you when Satoru grabs her wrist, she looks at him in shock.

“You won’t raise a hand to her again, she might not stand up for herself when you do, but I will.” He drops her wrist now, raising a thin brow and bending down, picking up your bag for you.

“Satoru baby, you don’t understand all she’s put me through,” she’s trying to be sweet again, crocodile tears dripping down her cheeks, long lashes blinking, her lip is even trembling. She’s always been great at that. “I don’t want to hurt her, but she is horrible to me.”

“I’ve heard and seen far, far too much this week. You are an evil bitch to her, and you won’t get to be anymore.” He shoves her off him dismissively as she tries to cling to him now, then she scowls at both of you.

“What, because she’s younger!? Is that who you are? Some sick game to fuck us both?”

“No, she’s actually just better than you. In every single way, and you hate it, don’t you? That’s just pathetic.” You look down, unbelieving he’s standing up for you like this, your mom lets out an affronted scoff while Satoru picks up his phone.

“You don’t want her, you can’t.” She’s losing her composure, her act, it’s all falling apart as she starts to panic.

What could be worse than you ever outshining her? You’re supposed to live in her perfect shadow.

“Why are you so jealous of your own kid? You got some crazy issues, you know that? Not even hot crazy, either, just a batshit narcissist.” He clicks his tongue, sighing and smiling down at you, with lidded eyes. “Wanna stay at my penthouse until your apartment is ready, sweetheart?”

“What!?” Your mom is blowing a whole fucking gasket - you should feel bad for stealing her man, but you really can’t find it in you.

“Yes, if you really don’t mind?” Satoru grins, those bright white teeth, and picks up his dark shades off the side table, your mom is tugging on his dress shirt, and he brushes her off, looking over his sunglasses at her.

“Satoru I’m sorry, I just… I was acting out too much. It’s her, the problem! Look how happy we were before?”

“I’m sure there are plenty of young men for you out there, maybe younger than me so they are too dumb to see how fucked up you are.” She’s glaring as he takes your hand in his, and you can’t stop the happy little giggle from your mouth as you both leave, and you hear things getting thrown at the door.

“Satoru, that was insane!?” You whisper, he brushes your hair back then, sighing.

“I wanted it to go a little smoother, that whole exchange. But no, of course you were bratty and didn’t wait.” He tilts your chin up and you kiss him, smiling against his sweet, plush lips.

“You’re not step-dad anymore, maybe the appeal is lost-”

“I’m gonna beat your ass.” He’s scowling as you giggle through your tears, when his car pulls up, he hands your bags off to the driver, climbing in and holding out his hand, tugging you in the back. “You do need a good ass beating.”

“I think I had enough mental beatings,” you grumble a bit, he frowns at that as the car revs up, and he tugs you against his chest. “You noticed?”

“Yeah, hard not to. Last night was when I saw how fucking much she hates you, the way she talks it’s just not how a normal person does. I’m sorry you…”

“I’m good. I promise.” You look up at him then, kissing him softly, while your hand slips down his chest, hearing his hitch of breath.

“You can eat whatever you want at my place, okay? Also your ass is very nice.” You blink back tears, mixing with your tremulous smile from his sweetness, and you’re flustered- you’re literally a wreck.

“You heard it all?” He nods, swallowing, his brows together.

“It’s why I came to you. I’m so disgusted that I even…”

“How could you know? She’s beautiful, she knows how to play people.”

“You’re more beautiful than she could be,” he murmurs, kissing you again, messy and hungry in the back of the huge black luxury car, having you straddle him, your mom’s ex boyfriend, feeling his phone vibrating against your thigh now. “I swear if it’s her I’ll have you cum right on the speaker.”

“Gojo!” He’s sighing, his big hands drifting over your waist, when your phone starts going off too, but you’re too lost in his kisses, in his scent, in how good he fucking feels.

“Feel so good on me, fuck I wanna bury my cock inside you,” he is desperate and needy then, feeling your heat against his cock, when you drop to your knees, making his lips part. “Sweetheart…”

“Want your cock in my mouth,” he’s whining out at that, helping you unbutton and unzip his slacks, until his cock springs free, making you gasp.

You knew it would be big, but you didn’t know it’d be that big, a solid nine inches and thick, veins running and wrapping under his shaft from the base to his blushing pink tip. You moan softly at it, soaking wet under your panties from the sight, that clean yet musky scent. Satoru brushes your hair back softly with long fingers, eyeing you down there, making you feel so sexy with just a gaze.

“Want me to suck you down my throat?” He nods quickly, and you do just that, after spitting on his cock and slathering your saliva as the phone keeps vibrating, but his hands are enwrapped in your hair while you look at him under those lashes.

“Fuck, look at you, can you take it all?” He’s taunting, a mix of devotion and talking shit, so intoxicating you can’t take it, tummy full of so much pressure you whine out at the sensations, gliding his tip inside your mouth now, hot and hungry while you taste him. You swirl your tongue on his tip, fingers brushing across the soft white hair right over his cock.

His eyes never leave yours as you move, as he fucks up into your throat, hissing at just how fucking good your mouth feels, how pretty your eyes are as you look up at him. You’re whining out, vibrating around him, while his hands tug your hair into a ponytail, fucking into your mouth harder, harder, you’re slobbering down his cock so messy and filthy how you take him.

“So beautiful, fucking look at you,” you whine at the praise, from his soft lips, which he’s biting and releasing, making the sexiest moans from the back of his throat that drive you to get wetter and wetter. You reach down, touching yourself under your skirt when he yanks your wrist. “No.”

“No!?” You glare, and Satoru smirks, shaking his head.

“I’ll bet the one touching you, licking you- ah!” You’re sucking him again, even as he grips your little wrist tightly, sucking one of your little fingers, so lewd and sexy you can’t stand it, grinding on nothing for friction, as the car comes to a stop, Satoru huffs, yanking you up. “Open.”

You do just that, and freaky ass ‘stepdad’ Satoru Gojo spits in your mouth, you gasp, swallowing it and feeling the need grow so much it’s painful, kissing desperately, hand still stroking his length up and down. “In me, please.”

“Shit, yeah,” he adjusts himself, leaving the belt unbuckled as the two of you ride up the elevator to his stupidly fancy and clean penthouse, once the door is shut he presses you against it, hands slipping up your sides, gripping you everywhere. “Wanna taste you again, fuck…”

“Taste me then, mnh!” He’s on his knees right before you, the way he looks up at you is so intense it takes your breath away, as he shoves your skirt up, lapping a hot stripe up your slick panties, already soaked. “Oh my god, more, more!”

“Demanding little thing,” he teases, stroking fingers up your soppy panties, groaning as he then pulls them down, letting them fall down to your ankles, still clad in those ridiculous combat boots. They’re so hot he just keeps them on, throwing a thigh right over his shoulder, breath ghosting on your bare cunt. “Fuck, look at you, you’re so pretty.”

“Y-you don’t have to say- ah!” Your hands entangle in his silky, silvery white locks, soft as your fingers grip and pull until it hurts, but he wants more.

“Fuck my face, that’s it, taste s’good, mmm,” his whispers against you vibrate against your clit, and you’re screaming out, head falling back against Satoru’s door, as his mouth devours your cunt, so hungry and desperate for you.

His impossibly long tongue makes you furious that your bitch ass mother ever got him in this way, toxic and petty, it just makes you fuck his face more, hips rolling while that tongue plunges into you. He’s licking and stroking between your folds, right up in your hole, straight nose bumping your clit. Your thighs shake, his fingers pressing into them, your gummy walls are convulsing around his tongue.

The sound of him sucking up all your wetness - well he’s trying to, but you’re so fucking wet it’s pouring, his cock is leaking precum - already sensitive from that stupidly talented mouth, and now this? He can hardly remember your mom’s name any more, in fact he can’t remember anything right now, but how he should have been doing this, just drinking your sweetness up down his throat.

Devouring your pretty pussy, pulling your plump, puffy lips apart to slide that tongue in and out of your quivery little cunt as you scream out hoarsely. “Oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, please!”

You’re sobbing out his name, panting as he licks and nibbles your twitchy little clit with sharp teeth, making you gasp out at the shock of the pain and pleasure, your nipples pressing against your top, tummy clenching as you feel your orgasm so close. He’s slipped two fingers up inside your hole, looking up at you as his tongue flicks your sensitive clit again.

“You’re so messy, aren’t you baby?” He taunts softly, all you can do is weakly nod, while his fingers now know your spot way too fucking well, pressing up against your g spot while he stretches you hot. “So sweet now, is this what you needed?”

“Shh, jerk.” He chuckles against your cunt, before sucking your little clit into his hot mouth and fucking moaning, making you feel like you’re going to collapse. It’s so good, so fucking good, and you’re so close. “I-I’m gonna, Satoru, oh god-!”

He doesn’t let you go over the edge though, pulling away with a pop of pink lips,covered in your arousal like a gloss. You yelp, looking down at him with a desperate expression, your cheeks flushed, chest heaving. He can’t stop thinking how fucking pretty you are like this, desperate for him, whining and wiggling.

“Why’d you stop!?” He stands now, slipping up your sweater, groaning when he realizes you have no bra on, seeing those tits he’s jerked it to bounce gently.

“Want you to cum around my cock, like a good girl. Can you?” He’s way too fucking hot, it’s actually unfair. You nod weakly, he sighs, cupping your breasts and watching your eyes roll back, his thumbs brush your nipples, already hard and aching for more.

Satoru unlaces your boots, leaving your knee socks and skirt on, you just look too sexy in them, unbuckling himself hastily as you tug his shirt off him. “Please, hurry, fuck…”

“Demanding, thought you hated me not wearing a shirt?” You glare at him, just making him chuckle, before he’s down to nothing, fully naked and gorgeous, as the light streams in through the blinds of those floor to ceiling windows, casting shadows across his perfect form.

“Fuck…” You’re kissing across his chest, when he shocks you, lifting you up like it’s nothing, pressing you right on that door again, the cool wood against your burning hot skin, tip drooling and leaking against your cunt. “Mnh! Please!”

“Need my cock so bad inside you?” You just nod weakly, done pretending or teasing, you’re still throbbing from the way he edged you, and when his leaky tip bumps your clit it almost pushes you over the edge. You’re clinging to his neck, kissing him as you roll your hips, soaking wet and begging with your body.

“In me, g-god, just - ah!” Satoru shoves his cock so deep in one stroke you’re left breathless, blinking rapidly at the ridiculous stretch, so full you can’t think, you’ve never been stuffed like this. Your eyes lock, his are so bright they’re insane, his lips and chin coated in your arousal, holding you by your ass right under your skirt as your legs tremble around narrow hips.

“Fucking feel you, my god,” he’s whispering in wonder for a moment, blinking snowy lashes to try to orient himself, to not cum just from one stroke like some dumb teenager from pussy.

But your pussy!?

“Prettier, tighter,” he’s whispering, and the words itch that toxic, fucked part of your brain, the mix of craving Satoru and the petty part of you that hates her. He can tell too, smirking. “Wetter than her. Feel better, fuck than anyone.”

“Shut up, so full of - ah!” He’s fucking you now, you got that moment to adjust, bruising your lower back when he fucks you against that door with no mercy, thick cock bullying your quivering little walls with filthy smacks of skin and your squishing cunt. “Oh my g-god!”

“I’m telling the t-truth you… bratty little fucking… god she’s so tight, mnh…” Satoru’s lost then, hips bucking up and rolling just so, and he watches your pretty face hungrily. “Cum f’me, all over me, make a mess.”

“Ah!” You’re gushing, just making the sounds in the enormous penthouse you’ve barely noticed louder, mixed with his moans as he fills you up so good, when he pushes deep and rolls those hips, watching you intensely as you cum, his eyes so brilliant blue and fucking starved for you. “Ohmygod fuckfuckfuck!”

“That’s it, fucking you dumb, huh,” he’s groaning, feeling your slick coat him, your mouth in a slutty O when he looks back up, feeling your aftershocks pulse around his cock. “God, baby, you came so hard f’me, bet you never have.”

“B-bet you never… felt pussy this good,” your bratty little whisper makes him smirk, slamming into you and pulling you off the door, you’re clinging to him in shock without the support, but he’s lifting you up and down his thick, lengthy cock like you’re a little fuck toy. “Ngh!”

“You mean better than your mom’s?” You scowl, gripping him tighter with your thighs as he just walks around with your fucking cunt around him, smirking as he lifts and drags you back on his cock again. You’re clinging to his back, nails pressing in and leaving marks.

“Psycho, mmm!”

“Says you, need to know if your pussy is tighter? I already told you, but no, gotta know every part that’s better? You’re so fucked up baby.” You glare, biting the shit out of his lip and earning his moan, as you draw just a little bit of blood, a bright red droplet that makes him grin.

“Maybe I am fucked up.” Your answer makes him chuckle, picking you up again, fucking you suspended in the air as you cling to him, whining. “Feel s’good, so thick mmm!”

“Am I the biggest you’ve had? The best?” He’s whispering, husky and needy now, you could bluff and taunt him, but you just nod eagerly, and he exhales, pulling out with a wet squelch, making you whine. “Hang on to me.”

You do just that, heart racing while Satoru carries you now, and your dark spots fade for a moment, long enough to get glimpses of his gorgeous, expensive ass fucking penthouse, making your mom’s place look like shit when you thought hers was fancy. Everything is spotless, surprising you only briefly when he makes it to his bedroom, tossing you right down on it.

You bounce gently on a black silky comforter, taking several breaths, looking around then glaring. “She fuck you on here?”

He grins at you, nodding and unzipping your skirt, groaning as he sees your hips for the first time. “Fuck you’re sexy,” he caresses you softly for a moment, fingertips drifting down the jut of your waist, the curve of those hips, before grabbing them, looking at your cunt. “All beat up already, huh?”

“Shut it, back in.” He grins, fingering your knee socks and sighing.

“They’re too hot, they stay on.” His open admiration of you makes you feel so fucking good, the way his eyes worship you, leaning low and kissing you again. “So fucking sexy, y’know that?”

“Mnh, s-so are you. But you know already, conceited- ah!” Satoru’s cut you off with a bite to your lower lip, sexy glare on his face now.

“Couldn’t even walk around her house without getting wet for me, could you?” Your glare just turns him on more, while he bends down, sucking your nipple into his hot mouth as you cry out, his teeth sinking in.

“Ah!” He moans, going right to the other. “Y-you wish.”

“Bet you played with your cunt, maybe right next to your mom’s room huh?” You bite his shoulder so hard it makes him moan at the pain. “Shit.”

“Shut it. You wish I did, bet you jerked it thinking of me? Your girl’s daughter, freaky ass-” He’s bit you again on your other nipple, the pain shooting up and making your sore cunt wetter.

“I did,” you blink, so disoriented, eyes now looking up to his in shock. “Yeah, I did, thinking of that slutty dress you wore that night.”

“Shit… really?” He sighs, and before you can say anything else, Satoru turns you around now, bending your ass up in the air, moaning at the sight, the dimples in your back, the way your ass looks, he moans and slaps each cheek, as you whine out, head falling back.

“God, look at this ass, fuck…”

“Prettier from the back than mommy is?” He scowls as you look back and giggle, smacking the fuck out of your ass now. “Ah!”

“You’re so damaged,” he smacks your cunt, you’re just drooling now, eyes rolling back, so ready to be filled by him. “Already told you, prettier pussy, yummier, tighter - gotta hear how much better your ass is too?”

“Mmm! Was teasing,” you whisper, when he slips his cock back inside you, this time so deep he bottoms out in one stroke, you scream out at it, hair now in his hold as he fucks into you. “Gojo!”

“You’re so damaged baby girl, god it’s hotter than it should be,” he’s losing it inside you then, your wet, slick little cunt gripping him even tighter, balls smacking your clit with every brutal stroke, as his other hand grips your ass, marking it over and over. “Feel so much better.”

“Yeah, daddy? Ah!” Satoru’s smacked the fuck out of you again, it stings so good as he slams his cock deep, tip drooling along your cervix. “Oh my god!”

“Stop running that mouth,” he leans over, gripping your throat with one hand, long fingers wrapping it entirely, bent over you with a arm braced on the other side, as his cock is stretching you, feeling so fucking perfect even as it hurts, how big his cock is. “You’re so fucking slutty, huh?”

You nod weakly, as he starts squeezing your throat now, making it all fuzzy and heady, you’re gasping for a breath as he presses on your pulse point, cock pounding you from the back, you’re gasping for breaths as filthy smacks fill his huge room. “Oh, Gojo!”

“Satoru, call me Satoru…” he’s whispering desperately, needing it from you, and you feel his cock thickening inside your slutty, drooling hole.

“Satoru, ah!” You’re lost as he chokes you while fucking so deep, rolling his hips, making you shatter for him, walls quivering around his cock, trying to milk him for everything he has. “Satoru!”

“Wanna fill your pretty little cunt with all my cum,” he whispers, squeezing harder as he hits just that spot, and you feel the pressure in your tummy explode, screaming out as the orgasm hits. “Oh god baby, yes, cum again f’me hmm?”

You can’t not do just what he asks, blinded as he saps your oxygen with his fingers tightening over your throat, you’re fuzzy and dizzy as you scream, the sound hoarse and weak. He’s moaning and kissing you, drool spilling out the corner of your mouth, releasing your throat a bit and just gripping under your chin now. You’re shaking, cunt so wet it’s dripping onto the dark blankets.

“S-Satoru…” you whisper again, making him whine when your head falls back, he’s biting across your neck, groaning. “Feel s’good in me…”

“You feel s’good wrapped around me, f-fuck…” the phone goes off again, in the pants discarded on the floor, and he smirks as he bends down, grabbing it.

“What are you…” Satoru presses that green answer circle, before sliding back in your cunt, psycho grin and dilated blue eyes vivid as you hear her voice. You look at him, covering your mouth as you hear her voice, but he leans down, whispering in your ear.

“Make noise.” You shake your head - you can’t be that fucked up!?

Can you?

“Satoru please, just come back. I’m sorry.” She’s sobbing, her sweet little meal ticket is gone after all, he’s slamming his cock deep in you as you scream into your palm, making him laugh a bit.

“Sorry, I’m not… coming… back that is, hah-” he’s hitting those backshots harder, the filthy sound of your cunt echoing, your eyes roll back, drool spilling on your palm now as you hear her voice in the background.

“She’s manipulating you!? She wants what I have. Satoru- what’s that!?” He chuckles, bottoming out and stuffing you so full your hand falls and you scream out.

“That’s your daughter, god she’s so much tighter than you.” You gasp and glare back at him, only making him hit it harder, until there’s no denying the filthy sounds.

“Oh you are… you both… you’re a whore I swear-”

“Ah!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit, murmuring in your ear.

“Cum f’me again, hmm?”

“You’re insane!?” He grins, and you shake your head, but soon you’re shattering again, earning his moan.

“So, I need to go, gotta get your daughter pregnant.” You gasp again, mid orgasm, as your mother sputters and he hangs up on her, chuckling.

“Y-you… she’s… Satoru!”

“She won’t call again now I bet,” he’s leaning low until you’re in prone position, turning your face and kissing your soft lips. “I wanna fill you all up, baby, hmm?”

“Do you, daddy?” He glares, but his cock pulses, and you giggle, breathless, earning him shoving hard, pulling at your hair. “You like that.”

“Shut it,” he’s moaning as you tighten around him, aftershocks pulsing, as he pictures doing just that, knocking you up. “Beg for it, slutty little brat.”

“Please, daddy,” he whimpers at that, and you bite your lip. “You’re damaged too, huh?”

“Not as damaged as you,” he’s huffing, kissing you as you laugh. “You can laugh? Need to fix that.”

“Gonna teach me a lesson daddy- ah!” Satoru Gojo is so deep you feel him fucking everywhere, making you tremble, as he’s throbbing inside you. “You like it!”

“Shh. Yes.” Your breathy giggle is cut off when he chokes you again, so intimate like this, teeth sinking in your neck now. “Beg for it.”

“Daddy please fill me up - mnh!” You’re both lost then, Satoru won’t admit it but hearing you call him that makes him sensitive, whimpering as he busts deep inside your perfect little hole, your gummy walls grip his cock and pulse around it, while his white sticky load coats them. “Oh my g-god!”

“Fuck, feel her… milking my cock huh?” You just nod weakly, when he cups you under your chin, kissing you messy and desperate, you’re cumming from the warmth, from all that cum pouring down his cock, mixed with your gossamer strings of arousal swirling down his cock, his balls, to the bed.

“Mnh, Satoru…” He’s kissing you deeper, teeth sinking into your lips as you both come down, easing his strokes and softening just a bit, still so thick inside you, making you feel so full.

“You’re so fucked up, baby.” You gasp, glaring now as he eases out. “It’s okay, all your issues? Hot as fuck.”

“You’ve got your own issues then, hmm?” He smirks, pressing kisses along your shoulder blades now.

“Too many to count. Not the only one with shitty parents, sweetheart.” Satoru turns you over now, and you brush a hand across his cheek, sighing.

“Then tell me them all, daddy.” He scowls again, and you can’t stop the grin on your face, Satoru lets you get away with it a bit, because it’s just so pretty to see on your face.

“Can’t tell if you have mommy or daddy issues or both?”

“Mommy issues. You can give me daddy issues though.” His glare is so cute you can’t stop the soft smile on your lips, as you lean up, body reeling from him.

“Should beat you, I swear. I’ll grab water.” You nod, and he leaves for a moment, you lean up, his cum leaking out of you, you search for any part that feels just a little guilty for fucking and stealing your mom’s man.

But it’s not there.

You see a picture of them on the side table then, sitting up and frowning a bit as he comes back, boxers slipped on, a blunt and lighter along with water. “Wanna smoke, sweetheart?”

“You’re corrupting me, step dad.”

“I swear to god stop.” You grin again, as he sits next to you, frowning as you study the photo. “Throw it out.”

“No…” you take his lighter and light the flame, burning the image of your mother and letting it die out in the ashtray, before handing the lighter back to him. “I burned all my sashes and dresses too.”

“Part of me wants to see you in a pageant dress, but the other part knows how much you hated it.” He says softly, watching the picture burn and lighting up a blunt now. “I’d fuck you in a sash and tiara though, nothing else.”

“Would you now?” You tease, he nods, inhaling the smoke, and handing the blunt to you, his perfect body covered in dripping sweat from you. “I may have one I didn’t get rid of.”

“Shit, don’t make it hard again.” You’re straddling him, inhaling the blunt and blowing the smoke into his mouth, he’s gripping your waist, already hard under his boxers, as you two fall into each other, each finding the other’s issues unreasonably hot, both damaged as fuck and honestly morally grey - but you really don’t mind fucking your mom’s ex boyfriend all night until you’re dripping his cum.

Your mom never does call you again - what a shame :’) 

Sooo the pageant mom idea was fromm @huntyhuntycunty , also took inspo from them having met before from @yenayaps ! alsoo ty @blkkizzat for making me motivated to finally finish this hehe I love you girls <3

taglistt- @doulcha @chiyokoemilia @emonaculate @vladsgirlxx @bookished @ureuphoriasworld @rawwrrgal @rousouhouuu @ovela @4evahevah @sugucultfollower @maddy44 @disappointedpeaches @princess-bblgm @astrasworldsblog @nazzysworld13 @gojos1wife1 @selenerium @jkslaugh97 @satoruxsc @thecookiebratz @kaylarilla @ajd1111 @mo0nforme @yoimiyamain2932 @pinkfqiry @plznomonkeys @pandabiene5115 @thelostkira @lushjunkie @mochibunnex @mrsimpurity @coralbae @curlyhairkk @dollieeees @xixflower @ayumilk @leviskittywh0re @nx-0w @mahalsuya @sugarcoatedsoul @afrohani @ineedtofeedmycat @kinnimi @erensfavve @vvaoo

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw: suggestive, edgy, mdni

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

Unfortunately for you, your big brother's friend sukuna can be surprisingly light on his feet for someone so large. It seems that startling the living hell out of you is his new favorite pasttime. And he's around all the time now. He shows up unannounced and lets himself in. When you ask Toji why he has a key, he just laughs and says, "He doesn't. He wants in. He gets in."

Okay? That's cryptic and annoying, but you'd rather feign indifference than ask questions. Why overcomplicate things?

Mostly, he just sneaks up behind you and shouts, "Hey, brat!" In his stupid, booming voice as he claps all four of his large hands down on your shoulders. You count it as a victory when you detect his smokey scent first and actually manage not to jump out of your skin. Although you still break out in goosebumps at his touch, he doesn't seem to notice, judging by the satisfying look of dissappointment on his face. Your satisfaction is short-lived, however.

The sound of the two men crashing through the front door in the wee hours of the next morning startles you awake. You flick the bedside lamp on just in time to see sukuna crash through your bedroom door. Of course, you scream and clutch the pink duvet to your bare chest. "Oops," he says, with a shit-eating grin. "Wrong room." Toji drags him out with some half-assed muttered apology about drinking too much. You're not so sure that's a pertinent excuse. The smug look he shoots you before the door slams shut seems pretty much par for the course, at this point.

Sadly, that was not the end of early morning encounters with the monster. Now he has you caged in against the counter, nearly breaking your back in an effort to lean away from him. Evidently, he had seen fit to creep up behind you and you between the kitchen counter and his mountain range of a body. And you wee only trying to steam milk for your latte. What the fuck is his problem, anyway? Can't a girl make her morning coffee in peace? Your protests remain lodged in your throat, however, along with your racing heart.

He's so large and so close you have no choice but to look at him, which, to your horror, still renders you temporarily speechless. Being so close to him reminds you a little of the first time you ever saw a tiger at the zoo. The animal was so unlike anything you had ever seen before, so deadly and beautiful, that you could hardly believe it was real. Could hardly believe that it was roaring and pacing close enough that you could reach out and sink your fingers into its thick coat if not for the bars. The bars kept you safe, then. What is keeping you safe, now?

It is unsettling, the way his upper set of eyes remain locked on yours while the lower set look down at the hand scalded by your spilt coffee. "What's the matter brat? Hurt yourself?" He mocks as you clutch the injured hand to your chest. You hardly notice that one of his hands has left the counter, but somehow you don't flinch when he lifts it to your cheek to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. "Did I scare you?"

The gentle gesture alongside his mocking words is so disconcerting that you remain a quivering-lipped mute as seconds crawl by at a snails pace. You wonder if the action was subconscious on his part. Seems the only viable explanation.

You don't find your voice again until Toji's breaks whatever hypnosis the monster has you under. "Let's go," he says, and, just like that, Sukuna pulls away and you are finally able to pull air into your lungs again. "Gonna be gone for a couple of days-" Toji begins, addressing you.

"Please tell me you're taking it with you," you interject, stabbing an index finger in Sukuna's direction.

"Yeah," he says. And sukuna gives you one last smug, spider-eyed glare before he disappears through the door.

You're so relieved that it doesn't occur to you how quickly a couple of days can pass. Or that, when they do, your brother might not be the first to return. Relieved, not only to be free of Sukuna's bullying for a time, but also because what you feel is not truly fear. It's more like awe, if you really had to put a name to it. But you make a point not to think about it too much, or at all if you can help it.

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

taglist ‹ age in your bio to be added ›

@orikixx ; @scorpiosugar ; @just-lilita ; @shesabeeler

[anglbunny]

too late ♡ multiple jjk

cw: heavy angst no comfort, unrequited love, they snap at you only to realize what they've done after it's too late, gojo, geto, nanami

୨୧

GOJO SATORU

You weren’t trying to smother him.

You just missed him. You wanted to be around him. To be enough.

But Gojo was always drifting somewhere higher—farther. Brighter. Untouchable.

And you, in your desperate attempts to hold onto him, had only made yourself a burden.

It started small. unanswered texts, rescheduled plans, jokes that didn’t land the way they used to.

Then one night, it snapped.

You'd waited three hours for him to show up. You made dinner. You even lit a damn candle.

He walked in like he lived on a different planet. No apology, just a tired sigh and a look you couldn’t name.

“Where were you?” you asked, trying to sound casual, even as your throat tightened.

“Busy,” he replied. Short. Clipped.

“I just—could you have told me? I was worried.”

He looked at you then, really looked. And something in him cracked.

“God, can you stop?” he snapped. “You’re always worrying. Always texting. Always needing something. It’s exhausting.”

Your heart plummeted.

“I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want to be glued to you 24/7.”

Silence.

Heavy, awful silence.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I didn’t realize I was being—”

“Clingy?” he cut in, shrugging. “Annoying? Yeah. You should be sorry.”

That was the last straw.

You didn’t cry. You just nodded. Quietly, you cleaned up the dinner you made for two and left.

And then you stopped.

No more texts. No more waiting. No more soft smiles and gentle reassurances.

You gave him the space he asked for.

You weren’t cold. Just… distant. Detached. You still said hello. Still smiled politely. But that spark—your warmth, your constant affection—it was gone.

At first, he was relieved.

Then he noticed how you didn’t linger anymore. How you laughed more with other people. How someone else started walking you home.

He’d call your name, and you’d pause—but never turn around fast enough.

One day, he saw someone touch your hand, and you let them.

It hit him like a curse.

You weren’t his anymore.

You had been. You gave him everything—your time, your care, your love—and he crushed it like it was nothing.

Now you were gone in the way that really mattered.

Emotionally. Romantically. Soul-deep gone.

He went home to an empty apartment, sat in the silence he once begged for, and suddenly hated the quiet. Hated the space.

He picked up his phone a hundred times. Typed a thousand messages. Never sent a single one.

Because he knew...

He asked for this.

And you listened.

GETO SUGURU

It wasn’t always like this.

He used to hold you like you were precious. Kiss your forehead like he was grateful you existed.

But that was before.

Before the silence between you became louder than any curse. Before the kindness in his eyes dulled into detachment. Before your love became something he resented.

You don’t even know when it changed.

You just remember the day you reached for his hand and he flinched.

“You don’t have to check on me every five minutes,” he muttered one night, voice low but sharp.

“I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“I was,” he said, not looking at you. “Until you started hovering like I’m some broken thing that needs fixing.”

You felt your chest tighten.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You never do,” he cut you off. “But you’re always there. Always watching. Always needing to be let in. It’s too much.”

His words knocked the breath out of you.

You stared at him—this man you loved, this man you stayed with even as the world started to hate him—searching for something soft in his expression.

There was nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He didn’t look up. “Yeah.”

So you pulled back.

You stopped fussing. Stopped checking in. Stopped calling him late at night just to hear his voice.

You let him be. Just like he asked.

And for a while, he didn’t notice.

Until the day he realized the apartment was too quiet. That his phone hadn’t lit up in days. That no one waited up for him anymore. No one texted him “are you safe?” or “did you eat?”

It hit him when he walked past your room—your room, that you used to sleep in together—and the bed was perfectly made.

When he saw the chipped mug you always used sitting clean and untouched on the shelf.

When he reached out. finally. no one reached back.

You still answered his messages. Politely. Casually.

But you didn’t ask if he was okay anymore.

You didn’t call him Sugu anymore.

You didn’t love him loudly anymore.

You still loved him. Of course you did.

But you learned the hard way—he didn’t want it.

So you stopped offering it.

And by the time Geto realized what he'd thrown away—

You weren’t his anymore.

NANAMI KENTO

He never yelled at you.

He never called you clingy. Never said you were annoying. Never insulted your emotions.

But sometimes, silence wounds more than words ever could.

Nanami was kind. Always.

But kindness isn’t the same as closeness. And love, if only shown through quiet nods and tired sighs, begins to feel like obligation.

You used to sit beside him on the couch, your legs tucked under you, head on his shoulder, trying to start a conversation—about your day, about a show, about anything.

He would hum. Nod. Offer a soft “mm.” But the room always felt colder than his body.

“You okay?” you asked one night.

He looked up from his paperwork. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You hesitated. “You’ve been… distant.”

“I’ve been busy,” he said plainly. “Work’s been exhausting. You know that.”

“I know. I just… I feel like I’m losing you.”

He sighed through his nose, setting down his pen. “You’re not. You’re overthinking again.”

Again.

That word sank heavy in your chest.

You tried to smile. Tried to swallow it down. But it didn’t go away.

Because love wasn’t supposed to make you feel like a nuisance for needing it.

You stopped bringing up your feelings after that.

You stopped asking if he was okay, if you were okay, if he still wanted this.

You gave him space—not the kind he asked for, but the kind he made when he stopped looking at you like you were his.

He didn’t even realize you’d pulled away until one night, he reached for your hand—and you didn’t reach back.

You smiled, soft and sad.

“I don’t think you ever really loved me,” you said, not bitter—just tired. “I think you loved the quiet I gave you.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

And that was the last silence you were willing to bear.

TL: @samm1e13 @syleepy @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @yanderebluelockfan @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @valexqpt @snowsilver2000 @mitsurisupporter @meikstv @ravenbc @mihyas-dieehefrau

A/N: i was crying to sailor song. but anyways. we all need a bit of angst in our lives, right? (i think there is smth wrong with me for writing angst so i can cry)

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[enhani-ki]

duck and his duck plushie - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, etc.

few days ago, ni-ki brought home a big duck plushie, and he knew you liked it the way your face lit up the moment he handed it to you.

you immediately smothered it with kisses, you were hugging it like it was the best thing ever so ni-ki felt proud of himself, happy cause he knew he did good.

earlier, he tried to kiss you before heading out to get food, only for the plushie to be squished between you two, completely blocking him.

and it always became like that. it annoyed him so much but he ignored it because it's stupid to get jealous especially over a toy,

plus he knew you'd also laugh at him.

now, after finishing dinner and cleaning up, you were curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone with the duck plushie in your arms. he stood behind the couch with his arms crossed, glaring at the duck's eyes.

then he kissed the top of your head, massaging your shoulders, hoping that maybe you'd let go of it for a second and when you didn't, he tried to take it from your grip. you immediately tightened your hold. "stop..."

"can you put it down for a bit?" he asked, nicely.

"no, you gave me this," you refused, hugging it even closer.

ni-ki rolled his eyes and snatched it right out of your arms before tossing it across the room.

"riki!"

you removed his hand off you and quickly tried to get the plushie back and moment you grabbed it, ni-ki got close again, stealing it right back before lifting you and carrying you to his room.

you protested, kicking your feet in the air.

"me first, y/n, come on." he sighed, trying to be calm, pretending he wasn't getting worked up over a stuffed duck.

he threw the plushie onto the bed, staring at it like it was his sworn enemy.

he wanted to tell you that he'd get rid of it if this kept up but knowing you, you'd probably cry so he just kept his mouth shut.

ni-ki pulled you closer, kissing you eagerly and deeply that you felt your knees going weak.

you barely gave yourself time to catch your breath because your hands were already tugging at his shirt, desperate to get it off of him, to feel his skin against yours.

and the moment his shirt was gone, you kissed him again, pulling him down with you as you fell back onto the bed, his hands roaming your body.

you pushed your pants down in a hurry, wrapping your legs around his waist, already locking ni-ki in place.

he glared at you in disbelief. "so you wanted me this bad, huh?"

and yet you don't give him any attention? ridiculous...

you nodded, biting your lips sexily. "yes, baby..."

ni-ki's hands found your tits, fondling and massaging them while his lips trailed down your neck, sucking, teasing the sensitive skin. his fingers traced circles around your nipples before dipping his head down, licking aggressively against one.

a gasp left your lips as pleasure shot straight to your core, making you squirm beneath him.

he moved to your other nipple, not wanting to leave it neglected, tongue swirling and sucking while his free hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing your clit fast as he grew more confident after he felt you getting more wet under his touch.

your breath hitched, hands gripping at his shoulders as you whispered his name over and over, breathy and desperate.

ni-ki positioned himself in front of your chest, "hold it together," he murmured, grabbing your wrists and guiding your hands to press your tits together.

"like this?"

"y- yes..."

his dick slipped between them, the warmth of it made his jaw clench. ni-ki moved slowly at first, watching as the tip of his cock hit your lips.

then you opened your mouth more, tongue out so you could lick his tip while he was just feeling it glide between your soft, slippery breasts, where each motion sent shivers down his spine.

you moved in rhythm with him, bouncing and pressing your tits tighter together. the friction made him moan deeply from his chest.

the way his dick, now wet shaft slid through your soft flesh... it was intoxicating, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

ni-ki's thrusts grew rougher, more desperate. his grip on your shoulders tightened as he chased his release. "ahh, fuck..." he came hard, hot cum splattering across your face, dripping down to your neck, chest, and breasts. he chuckled weakly at the sight, grabbing a towel to wipe it off your face then he threw it over the duck's head but you quickly removed it.

"what about me?" you pouted, looking up at him expectantly.

ni-ki groaned, rolling onto his back. "wait, my back hurts."

"babe!"

he quickly moved on top of you again before you could complain any further, pinning you beneath him and pressing his heavy body against yours that it made it hard for you to breath... but that's exactly how you wanted it.

he slipped his still-hard cock inside you before quickening his pace, his lips hovering just above yours, warm against your skin.

stupid duck.

it sat there beside you, pouting while its beady little eyes watched you having sex with him, and to ni-ki, it was staring like it was mocking him, taunting him that it had your attention.

his jaw clenched reaching out before smacking it off the bed, sending it tumbling onto the floor without a second glance.

then he moaned, head tilting back slightly as he thrust into you harder, like that was the last distraction standing in his way.

your eyes widened, "riki-" your words were cut off by the sharp snap of his hips, he was gripping on your waist, his fingers dug into your soft skin as he moved with more intensity, really reaally desperate to cum for the second time.

and he wasn't going to let you focus on anything else again.

you bit your lip, trying to suppress a giggle but it escaped anyway. his jealousy was so ridiculous and so obvious but somehow, it only made your boyfriend even more cute than he already was.

ni-ki looked down on you, his smirk returned as he slowed his movement, enough to make you ache for more. "you think that's funny?"

you whined, tilting your head up in an attempt to kiss him, but he pulled back, smirking and kept distance to drive you insane while moving his cock inside agonizingly slow. "riki, please." you whimpered, nails clawing at his back, walls of your pussy clenching tightly around his dick.

"say you love me more than the duck," he demanded, fingers holding your jaw to make you look directly at him.

your lips parted but words wouldn't come out. your brain was too foggy, too overwhelmed.

ni-ki picked up his pace again, pounding into you so hard the headboard slammed with noises against the wall. your moans mixed with the sound of his breathy groans as he dragged out the pleasure out of you, fast and overwhelming.

"say it."

"fuck! riki, i love you more-" you gasped, voice breaking as you leaked all over each other's thighs.

ni-ki smiled, satisfied as he finally closed the space between you with a messy, sloppy kiss. his thrusts turned erratic, hips stuttering as his own release hit just seconds after yours, spilling it all deep inside you.

he buried his face into the crook of your neck. his breathing was heavy and his body were still trembling against yours.

"i only love the duck because it looks like you..."

ni-ki lifted his head to glare at you but he's too exhausted to argue, too fucked out to even roll his eyes properly so he just scoffed, letting his lips press against yours again. shutting you up the only way he knew how.

a/n: ( •ө• ) ( •ө• ) ( •ө• ) ( •ө• ) ( •ө• ) ( •ө• ) ( •ө• ) ( •ө• ) ( •ө• )

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

[timmydraker]

Every now and again, Tim breaks things.

Not as in he accidentally snaps a pencil or messes up when fixing a grapple, though that does happen, when Tim breaks things on purpose it’s… a lot.

It started when he was a kid the first time his parents canceled his birthday after an opportunity came up in Dubai and they wanted to stay longer. Tim was seven and at that point his birthday was the only day in the whole year that he could be sure they would be home.

At first he stood in his room two days before his birthday with silent tears as he processed what he had just heard told via a short phone call.

Then he just… lashed out.

Tim banged on his door and screamed like a banshee before ripping hooks of his shelf and throwing them at the walls and leaving dents. He yanked on his closet door till it creaked and broke one hinge and then took a pencil and stabbed it into his pillow.

He cried himself to sleep and upon waking up to his nanny arriving in the afternoon he panicked and quickly cleaned up the mess he had made.

Tim was ahed of himself for getting so emotional and making a mess, feeling like the child he was but more importantly he felt so very out of control.

He ignored the part of him that felt better after causing a little chaos and putting his anger outwards. A relief and high of a sort when he gave into an anger he hadn’t really felt before.

So, after that he decided that if he was really, really, really upset and he couldn’t get his blood to stop pumping so quickly, couldn’t get rid of that overpowering urge to hit and thrash and throw, he could do so as long as no one saw.

It happens again when Jason dies and Thai tiem he throws his camera out the window, which then makes him sob as he still had photos of his beloved Robin inside and also panic because how the hell was he supposed to fix a window without his parents noticing?

He does it a few times when he’s training to be Robin, to the point he tries to use a punching bag but when he found that the lack of damage being done left him feeling worse, he may or may not have grabbed a Batternag and stabbed instead.

Tim did not do it when his mum died, nor when his father was almost taken off life support, because they wouldn’t like it and it was about them.

The bats don’t k ow about it, but his team does.

Greta had heard him have a rather rough conversation with Batman and when she went to check on him after he hung up, she saw as he opened his Bo staff and started whacking against the Titan Tower console, hitting over and over in dead quiet before activating the blade on the end and slicing through the biggest scream, causing half of it to fall off the wall.

She had gone to the others and Tim had been given no choice but to open up to his team.

It took him a while to admit that it helped a hell of a lot more to talk to them than to smash up multi-million dollar equipment.

Jason and Damian are the first of the bats to see it, though by then Cass was well aware of his habit as Tim could never lie to his sister.

He hadn’t had a moment like that for months, nearly a whole year, but then one night when Jason and Damian had needed to come by his Nest to get some backup toxin cure when Ivy was announced as escaped: he got a call that pissed him off.

One of the board members he had very clearly told Bruce he wasn’t willing to work with as the prudish man annoyed him, had been transferred to DI from WE because for some reason Bruce seemed to think Tim needed to work less and needed more help. Why that was in the form of a useless former CFO was beyond Tim, but it wasn’t abnormal for Bruce to make company decisions like he was operating with the Justice League and everyone had basic respect for each other-

During the call, Jason and Damian had been watching and observed as Tim grew more and more tensed as he spoke with Lucious, who was doing his best to calm the situation as he had witnessed the aftermath of one of Tim’s outburst within a week of knowing the young man.

Damian watched as Tim tells Lucious to call him back in a few hours so he can be more rational before handing up and very slowly placed his phone down on the desk.

Being an assassin, Damian is an expert of body language and had been working with Cass to become a master, but to see such anger on Tim was odd. Tim was a snappy and shouting kind of angry, but this quiet and shaking rage was something different.

“Drake-“

Tim holds a hand up and when Damian actually goes quiet, Jason knows something is up and moves to stand beside the youngest of them just one case.

“If you would please give me a moment.”

The two watch as Tim moves into another room, one that they knew to be a work room that Tim used when he built or repaired things.

He shuts the door and for a moment there’s nothing before the sounds of clanging, bashing and thudding starts to rattle the walls. They hear it all but see nothing, only having the sounds of Tim shouting out obscenities and metal hitting metal to go off.

Though it’s muffled they can hear some of what he’s saying like, ‘stupid fucking Bruce with his stupid fucking meddling’ and in a mocking voice: ‘“I act dumb so people don’t know I’m Batman”- ARE YOU SURE ITS AN ACT?!’.

Glass shattered as Tim said something about buying Bruce’s company just to fire him.

By the time it settles down they can hear his breathing through the walls.

A deep inhale sounds before something, maybe a desk, is righted upwards and Tim walks back out looking only mildly disheveled. “Sorry, needed a moment. What was it you needed?”

Damian, who was caught between defending his father and trying to get a peak into the thrashed room, wanted to insult Tim for his poor emotional regulation but got the feeling it wasn’t the time.

Jason seemed to agree and answered for them both, saying, “Just some toxin cures… Ivy for out.”

Tim inhaled deeply again, looking behind him and giving a blank look, “You’ll have to ask someone else.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “why?”

Tim gestured to the room he had just exited, “I was reorganising.” A pause. “They were in there.”

Jason gave him a teasing smirk, “you broke them didn’t you?”

With a shrug, Tim adjusted his gloves and walked over to his desk, “It was that of Bruce’s face.”

[catchastarorten]

—“This one’s mine.”

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x VIP!fem!reader

Summary: after being pestered by your own brother, you agreed to accompany him to the island to watch the games, only to find yourself helping a waiter—Jun-ho—who was being eyed by a creepy panther-masked VIP.

Warnings: your sarcasm, mentions of death/violence in Glass Bridge, your brother is a VIP, brother & sister bickering/you put him in his place because he's being annoying, the VIPs—panther masked VIP being a weirdo, you save Jun-ho tho, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.6k

The golden fox mask felt heavy on your face, pressing against your skin in a way that made you want to rip it off and toss it across the room. But that would be improper, wouldn’t it? A VIP must maintain decorum. At least, that’s what your insufferable little brother kept reminding you.

Speaking of him, he was sitting beside you, his wolf mask barely concealing the delighted smirk on his face as he leaned forward, watching the players stumble and fall to their deaths on the Glass Bridge. He laughed—actually laughed—when a man made the wrong choice out of the two and jumped, crashing through the wrong glass panel, screaming all the way down.

You sighed, swirling the drink in your glass, watching the liquid catch the dim light. It was infinitely more interesting than the so-called “game” before you.

How had you let brother dearest drag you here? Oh, right. He had whined and pouted and gone on and on about how you never did anything fun with him. You had rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they hadn’t gotten stuck in your skull, but against your better judgment, you agreed.

And now here you were, surrounded by a bunch of snobby men—your presence wasn’t nearly enough to balance out the testosterone levels—draped in velvet robes, sipping on the finest liquor, and betting on desperate people fighting for their lives.

You suppressed a yawn.

“This is so much better than another charity gala, isn’t it?” your brother drawled, nudging your arm. “You have to admit, this is real entertainment.”

“Yeah, watching poor people die really warms the heart,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be such a bore, sis,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This is tradition. You should be honored to be here.”

Oh, you were honored, alright. Honored that your parents left everything to him, making sure he had enough money to play dress-up with his rich little friends while you had to fight for your own wealth. Not that you needed their inheritance, but the principle of it still burned. He got to be the spoiled prince while you had to claw your way up in the world. And now here he was, wasting it all on cheap thrills.

The Glass Bridge game was nearing midway. The players were hesitating, trying to strategize their way across. The VIPs around you were buzzing with excitement, shouting bets, clapping, drinking like it was the biggest sports event of the decade. But all you saw were walking corpses, their fear so thick in the air it nearly masked the expensive cologne in the room.

You took another sip of your drink, letting the burn coat your throat.

“At least pretend like you’re having fun,” your brother whined. “People are gonna think you’re some kind of a… prude.”

“Oh no.” you responded mockingly.

He huffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. If there was one thing he hated, it was not getting his way. You could practically hear the gears turning in his spoiled little mind, trying to come up with a way to make you enjoy this, but his thoughts were interrupted when the other VIPs erupted into cheers and groans. You just exhaled through your nose, staring at the mess.

It was the players on the glass bridge, arguing, too afraid to jump. One shoved another forward, out of desperation or malice. The man screamed as he plunged to his death.

“Ugh, finally,” your brother muttered. “I hate when they hesitate. Just jump, you cowards!”

You turned your head slightly, studying him. Did he even realize how pathetic he sounded? Lounging in a silk robe, sneering at people who had nothing? He wouldn’t last a minute in their position.

“You should play,” you mused, tilting your head. “Next year.”

He snorted. “Please, I would dominate these games.”

You smiled behind your mask. “Would you?”

Your brother scoffed. “You doubt me?”

“I know you,” you said. “And you wouldn’t make it past the first round.”

He looked genuinely offended. “I’d make it to the finals, at least.”

You leaned in, voice dropping. “Tell you what. If you join next year, I’ll bet against you. Just to make it interesting.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. But you saw it—the flicker of doubt, of fear. As much as he enjoyed watching, he knew very well he would never survive playing.

And that? That was the only entertaining thing you’d seen all night.

A moment later, your eyes flicked toward the Panther-masked VIP, whose frustration over losing a bet had quickly turned into something much more unpleasant. His focus had shifted from the game to the waiter standing stiffly beside him—a waiter who, you observed, wasn’t moving quite like the other servers.

You weren’t an idiot. The way that waiter hesitated when he was called, the way his shoulders were a little too tense, the way his hands remained perfectly still as if not used to serving—it all screamed of someone who didn’t belong.

That was because he wasn’t really a waiter, it was Jun-ho disguised as one, though you didn’t know that. He had taken down one of the servers moments before the VIPs arrived on the island.

And now, the Panther-masked VIP was ordering him to sit beside him and take off his mask.

Jun-ho—recognizing the sharpness in his tone—tried to resist, his voice calm. “I need to serve the other guests, sir.”

The Panther VIP scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, come now, the others won’t mind if I keep this one for myself, will they?”

A chorus of laughter and amusement rippled through the room, the other VIPs agreeing without a care—“he’s all yours!” one of them laughed. Your brother even chuckled beside you, raising his glass as if this was all just another part of the entertainment.

You, however, did not find it amusing.

Before Jun-ho could be forced into something he clearly wanted no part of, you lazily raised your hand and gestured toward your glass.

“I need a refill,” you said smoothly.

Jun-ho’s eyes darted toward you, wary but sharp, understanding immediately that you were giving him an out.

Your brother groaned, shifting beside you. “Come on, sis, let him have his fun—”

Your hand shot out, swatting him hard against his arm before he could finish his whining.

He yelped, rubbing his arm. “Ow! What the—?”

“Shut up.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but the look you gave him through your golden fox mask was enough to make him think better of it. He slumped back into the couch with a huff, grumbling under his breath.

The Panther-masked VIP tsked in annoyance but didn’t say more as Jun-ho bowed his head slightly and stepped away from him, making his way toward you. You could see the tension in his shoulders ease, if only slightly.

As he reached your couch, he carefully took your glass and poured you another drink, his movements slow and precise. Up close, you could see the way his jaw was set tight, his eyes flickering with restraint.

You leaned in slightly as he finished pouring. “You okay?” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

Jun-ho hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding once. “Thank you,” he said quietly, placing your glass back into your hand.

You didn’t reply, just took a slow sip while he stood beside the couch you sat on.

However, the weight of the Panther-masked VIP’s stare was suffocating. You didn’t even have to look to know that he was still watching Jun-ho like a predator eyeing its next meal.

Annoyed, you turned your head ever so slightly, locking eyes with him through your golden fox mask. You raised your glass in a slow, mocking salute before downing the rest of your drink in one smooth motion.

The message was clear: Back off.

Unfortunately, subtlety was wasted on men like him.

“Come back here,” the Panther VIP drawled, waving his fingers in a lazy command at Jun-ho.

Jun-ho’s grip on the bottle in his hands tightened slightly, his body as still as a statue. It was subtle, but you caught it. He didn’t want to go back over there.

So, before he could even think about stepping forward, you reached out and grabbed his forearm, holding him in place. Your fingers pressed firmly against the fabric of his uniform—a silent message that he could stay with you.

You sat up straighter, your voice cutting through the noise.

“This one’s mine.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

Jun-ho stiffened beside you, clearly taken aback. You didn’t mean it in the way it sounded—he wasn’t a possession. But these men only responded to power plays, and if that was the language they spoke, then fine. You’d speak it fluently.

Your brother let out a low whistle beside you, his amusement clear. “Ohhh, big sis is getting bold.”

You didn’t even hesitate—your palm struck his arm again with a sharp thwack.

“Ow!” he rubbed where you smacked him.

“Shut up,” you muttered, leveling him with a glare. “If you don’t stop embarrassing yourself, I’ll give you a real beating in front of all these people.”

He grumbled something under his breath, soothing his arm, but he didn’t push it further.

The Panther VIP, however, was not so easily prevented. “Come now,” he chuckled, though there was irritation beneath his voice. “You can’t hoard all the fun.”

“Sure, I can,” you replied dryly.

A few of the other VIPs laughed at that, enjoying the exchange. The Panther VIP let out a breath through his nose, clearly displeased, but he wasn’t about to pick a fight with another VIP. That was the unspoken rule—annoyance was fine, but outright challenging each other was bad form.

Jun-ho turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. You met his eyes for a brief second, and then you stood up, keeping your grip on him firm.

“We’re leaving,” you announced.

Your brother groaned. “What? Where are you going?”

You didn’t even look at him as you responded, voice utterly monotone. “Somewhere that isn’t here.”

More amusement rippled through the other VIPs, some watching with interest, others indifferent as they returned their attention to the game. But as you turned to leave, you felt it—that silent, looming presence watching you.

The Frontman.

He didn’t say a word, didn’t move to stop you. He simply observed, his masked face unreadable.

You met his gaze for a long moment before turning away, leading Jun-ho out of the room. No one stopped you. No one dared to stop you.

And just like that, you stole the only honest man in the room away from the wolves.

The moment you got him alone into a dimly-lit, empty room, you could feel the tension radiating off of him. Jun-ho wasn’t stupid—he knew he didn’t belong here, and he knew that you knew. His shoulders were taut, his breath controlled but just a little too shallow, and his hand was subtly reaching for something. A gun, maybe. A knife. Whatever he had managed to smuggle in.

You raised your hands slowly, showing you had no weapon, no ill intent. “Relax,” you said, your voice calm, softer even. You let go of his arm, stepping back to give him space. “I’m not going to turn you in… or whatever you’re thinking right now.”

Jun-ho’s sharp eyes flickered with suspicion. “And why should I believe that?”

“Because if I was planning to sell you out, I would’ve done it back there.” you tilted your head slightly, crossing your arms loosely. “Would’ve let that old man have his fun.” you said with a hint of distaste at the thought.

That gave him pause. He studied you, his gaze flickering over your golden fox mask, as if trying to gauge whether you were lying, or just the need to understand why a supposed VIP was helping him. You didn’t blame him for being on edge. This entire place was a slaughterhouse dressed up in gold. If you were in his position, you wouldn’t trust anyone either.

“You don’t belong here,” you stated plainly, watching for his reaction.

“And neither do you.”

That actually made you laugh, just a short, soft chuckle. “You’re not wrong.”

He hesitated. Maybe because your mask didn’t hold the same predatory amusement as the others. His fingers twitched, like he was still deciding whether to draw his weapon, but then he let out a slow breath.

You sighed too and gestured toward the door. “You should go. Before someone actually does come looking for you.”

Jun-ho didn’t move right away. He just stood there, looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. And for a brief moment, you could tell—he wanted to ask.

Who are you?

Why are you helping me?

What’s under the mask?

But he didn’t ask. He just gave you a small nod before slipping out the door, disappearing like a shadow. You shut the door.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders as you turned back toward the empty room. Not even a minute later, a knock came at the door. You raised an eyebrow, opening the door, meeting the presence of a square-masked guard, who stepped inside.

“The Frontman sent me to check on you,” the guard said, his voice hollow under the mask. “Where’s the waiter?”

You gave him a blank look. “What waiter?”

The guard straightened. “The waiter you left with.”

You tilted your head, voice dry. “Oh. Him.” you shrugged lazily. “I got bored. Told him to get lost.”

The square guard didn’t buy it. “Where did he go?”

You sighed, as if this was the most exhausting conversation of your life. “Am I his babysitter?”

The guard didn’t move. He was pushing. You didn’t like being pushed.

So you took a slow step forward, closing the space between you and the guard. He stood his ground, but you could feel the slight hesitation in his stance as you slowly backed him up against the wall.

When his back hit the surface, the shift in atmosphere was instant. You weren’t loud. You weren’t aggressive. But the weight of your presence—the empty, unreadable calm of someone who knew how to lie—was enough to make the guard tense.

You tilted your head slightly, a slow, empty smile forming under your mask. “What exactly are you suggesting?” you murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That I’m hiding something?”

The square guard stiffened.

“Because that would be a very bold accusation to make against a VIP,” you continued, voice dropping to something almost sickly sweet. “And you wouldn’t want to insult a guest, would you?”

There it was—the slight shift in his posture, the hesitation and hint of nervousness.

“I—”

You stepped back, your fake smile still in place. “Good talk,” you said dryly, dusting off your robe like this was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Tell the Frontman to send someone more competent next time.”

The square guard didn’t argue, he just quickly stepped away from the wall, stiffly nodding before leaving the room without another word.

You sighed as the door shut behind him, rubbing a hand against the side of your neck.

This whole thing had been a drag, but at least you’d managed to do one decent thing tonight.

[dearmisshoney]

caught red-handed (and rock hard)

synopsis. when theo sneaks into your room looking for a charger, he finds something way more interesting — your provocative polaroids. caught in the act, he might as well make the best of it. one thing leads to another, and suddenly, you're both tangled in a mess of teasing, dirty words, and desperate grinding. if you thought he was only good at pissing you off, well… think again.

pairing. brother’s bsf! theodore nott x reader

content/mdni. fem!reader, brother’s best friend!theo nott, dry-humping, enemies-to-lovers tension, degradation & teasing, slight praise (but mostly just theo being a cocky bastard), tit worship (theo is OBSESSED), rough sex, unprotected (wrap it before you tap it tho!!), dirty talk, name-calling (bella, slut, amore), overstimulation & slight dumbification (?), theo begging because he’s down BAD, messy, desperate, absolutely filthy

word count. 3.2k

a/n. first time writing! english is not my first language, so sorry for that! special thanks to my lovely ari (@nottsangel) for encouraging me to write and for making my (horny) gears turn in my head with her sexy blog! <3

aftermath | more brother's bsf! theo

“stop moving, jackass!” theo hissed, tightening the grasp on mattheo’s limp arm around his shoulders to steady his body. “where the fuck are your keys, mate?” he mumbled again, digging his other hand deeper in mattheo’s front pockets. it was just his luck that mattheo drank himself dumb and, as the ever-caring friend he was, theo had to drag him back to his house.

“hic­– dig a little lower, sweetheart, and you will find the treasure itsel—” mattheo started seductively, and it was clear he was completely gone out of this world. whatever fantasy he was living right now, theo was having none of it. a nice and hard step on his shoe made mattheo frown and moan in pain, his dreams shattered. it also made the key to the front door magically slip into theo’s hand.

finally, he could leave this fool and go to his own place in peace.

luckily for theo, it seemed that you were nowhere to be found. probably out at a party, just like the two of them were minutes ago, perhaps drunk out of your mind, or possibly already snoozing on one of your friend’s couch, already blacked-out. not that he cared what your situation was, really.

dropping mattheo’s heavy body on his bed, theodore contemplated helping him out of his clothes, but when mattheo started calling him sweetheart again and threatening him with a good time, he swiftly stepped away from the bed.

“where’s your charger, mate?” he asked, more or less to himself, aware that his bloke of a friend was too drunk to answer him. looking around his cluttered desk and messy carpet, theo searched for any sign of a cable, but nothing of the sorts was to be found.

that stuck-up brat might have one, he thought, and that’s how theo found his way to your room. he knew the path like the back of his hand, and even after the few drinks he had, his stride was confident and unwavering. he has been there on multiple occasions, mostly running little errands for your lazy brother, yet he also beelined for your room on those days when he wanted to pour his frustration out on a seemingly innocent victim. seemingly, as you also do your best — or worst, in that case — to annoy the shit out of nott every time he stopped by your house.

“she’s definitely out.” he sighed as he sneaked into your room, door immediately bumping into a pile of clothes you’ve left on the floor while picking the perfect outfit for your outing.

the familiar aroma of your perfume entered his nostrils at a similarly fast rate, and he inhaled in deeply without even a second thought. he always loved the way you smell, and it pissed him the fuck off. it was sweet, but not too sweet; it was mature, erotic — yet not too vulgar; it was a mystery to him why he found himself attracted to your fragrance every time he registered it.

“looks like someone will have the surprise of their life.”

theo chuckled as he zeroed into the garments on the bed, three sets of bras all scattered aimlessly all over the sheets. no bra, something you usually do, and something theo can’t help but appreciate. be it your own comfort or simply your disregard for external opinions, he was glad you ditched bras on a daily basis. indeed, you make his blood boil with your bitchy remarks and spoiled attitude, but the sight of your freed tits under whatever excuse of a shirt you choose that day instantly rewires and redirects that blood lower and lower to his cock.

too bad he won’t see you tonight.

“charger.” he promptly reminds himself as he redirected his attention to your desk, full with opened make-ups and all sorts of products. messy just like her brother. and, by the looks of it, charge-less just like him. such a big desk, yet no charger for poor theodore’s phone. he was already on enemy territory, so he might as well check your drawers for it, just in case.

holy fucking shit.

no charger in your top drawer, but something even better. something he would have never imagine stumbling upon while searching for a mere cable.

very suggestive polaroid pictures. of you. in lingerie.

they were nicely stacked in the very far corner of the drawer, almost like your basic game cards. but nothing about them was basic­– fuck, you looked so pretty, and so hot in them. even under the shitty light of the lamppost outside your window.

theo didn’t think twice and immediately turned on the colorful lamp on your desk, the glossy finish of the polaroids now displayed under a soft pink light.

you were so radiant, so confident, and with each and every picture he uncovered, he was sure it was all a dream he’s having while passed out at enzo’s house. he can’t get this lucky on a random wednesday like this.

oh, but he was about to get even luckier, as he finally arrived at the section where you started taking some of your garments off. the view of your bare tits, barely cupped by your palms, pushed forward into the camera lens, made theo let out a needy groan. and, as if the universe was listening to his thoughts, the next one was an even closer shot of the same position, red lips and soft boobs filling the whole picture frame.

if he thought about stealing a couple of the other ones before, he was for sure taking this one and putting it in his wallet.

his fingers gripped the edge of the polaroid tightly, and all he could think about was seeing such a view live. to have your perfect tits in his hands, to cup and squeeze and push them together. to leave wet kisses all over your skin, to place a big bite right on your sternum, to bury his face between them. shit, to put his cock between them as you let him tit fuck you like the slut that you are. maybe you’d actually be nice to him for once. and even if you’re not, he’d just have to push your red lips down hi–

“what the fuck?”

your voice hit him like a truck. the entire lewd image of you completely vanished from his mind, now seeing anger wash all over your figure as you stepped into your room. he registered your voice first, then your perfume, slightly mixed with cigarette smoke, and lastly, your skimpy little outfit.

no bra, just as he deduced.

“the fuck are you doing, nott?” you asked, and in that moment he realized – you caught him.

not only did he break into your room — initially for a very reasonable motive, a charger, but he also rummaged through your stuff, stopping at your personal pictures and acting like a pervert. “have you lost your mind?” it was obvious you were mad; you stomped in your heels all the way to your desk, crushing all your pile of clothes under furious steps. just as you reached your hand to yank the polaroid picture out of his hand, theo beat you to it and raised it so high up, even your shoes did nothing to help you.

“you always posing like a little slut, bella?” he might have been caught red-handed, but he wasn’t the only one: theo caught you too. yeah, you were in no shape or form a prude, yet these polaroids were something even for you. such scandalous pictures, and, unfortunately for you, he now knew about them.

“you always dry-humping desks, nott?” there it was, that smart mouth of yours; always ready with a retort.

you hit the nail on the head with this one, pointing out something he has been doing unconsciously ever since he found your cute pictures. heck, his tent was still pressing against the edge of the desk, offering him some sort of pressure on his aching hardness.

“matty has a desk like this too. go live your depraved wood fantasy in his room.” you scrunched up your nose, disgusted by his behavior, and pointed at the door with your manicured nails. the nice coat of red on your fingernails were the same shade as the ones in the polaroid, and he was now yet again thinking of the way the meaty flesh of your tits spilled between your fingers.

“but i keep the pic–”

“no way.”

“then i am not leaving.”

you visibly scoffed at his refusal, arms crossing over your chest, hips bumping into the edge of your desk. “give me the picture, you, asshole!” you shouted, banging one of your hands against the desk, shaking the polaroids theo has been placing on it for the past few minutes. “give it back and get the fuck out of here!”

oh, if only you could see yourself right now. you were indeed full of rage, throwing daggers at him with your venomous gaze, but you looked so attractive. there was something about the way your hips were resting against the desk, the roundness of your body nicely elevated by the short skirt you were wearing. and your chest, oh lord, your tits were so tightly enclosed in that stretchy tube top, he could see why you decided against wearing a bra. your make-up was a little smudged, but he was glad to see the familiar red shade on your lips.

“get it yourself, slut.” and with that, theo pinched the collar of his shirt and dropped the polaroid down his clothes. did it stop around his torso? did it dip down into his pants? the only way to found out was for you to start exploring.

“you crazy bastard.” now you were fuming.

without wasting any time, you removed yourself from the desk and, putting all your strength into your arms, you pushed nott alll the way to your bed. “don’t move.” you ordered in a serious tone the moment he was seated at the edge of the bed; rebellious theodore nott would never listen to your whiny little commands though, so, of course, he tried to stand from his seat.

“are you stupid, nott?” and with that you pushed him all the way down onto his back, nicely seating your own body straight onto his lap. “don’t do that shit again or i am sitting on you face next.”

“don’t threaten me with a good time, amore.” he had to bite back with that cocky smile of his, but he did not in fact move an inch again.

why would he, when he had you where he wanted you: straddling him, your ass on top of his hard cock, your wandering hands all over his torso, searching for that polaroid, your chest so conveniently close to his face. you were so caught up in your little detective play, you didn’t even feel nott’s warm hands leaving the sheets, sneaking underneath your skirt, and cupping the fat of your ass.

a moan escaped his lips when his nimble hands found your clothed cunt, one of his fingers slowly sliding underneath your thong, lifting it, then letting it slap back against your skin. the sudden action made you jolt on top of him, and the added friction of your body moving on him made his own hips jump upwards. gripping your ass tighter, theo manhandled your hips to his wants, slowly rutting into you at a steady pace.

“no, no– ah–” catching onto what he was doing, you stilled your wandering hands. one of them moved right on top of theo’s, a silent protest for him to stop his teasing and let you be. “d­–don’t do that.” but you couldn’t lie to him, not after you whined so loudly at the contact of his bulge with your needy pussy.

“can’t work with a little distraction, hm?” god, he was so mean, mocking you with his usual arrogant tone like he wasn’t affected as well by the whole thing. “you seem to like it though, your hips are moving against me.” and it was true; your hips were subconsciously matching his rhythm, riding his tent at a similar pace, meeting his thrusts with enthusiasm. your poor clit was already so hard from him dry-humping you, and the rough material of his pants felt amazing with every tiny bumping.

“shut it, desk-pervert.”

“will you stop with the bloody desk? it was your pictures that made me rock hard.”

“you shouldn’t have seen them in the first place.” you were so so mean. you mean to say that he wasn’t meant to see your beautiful breasts in their naked glory? he must have heard it wrong, there was no way you’d say that. you were cruel, but not a monster.

“don’t say that, bella.” theo accentuated his favorite pet name for you with a sharp thrust, making you lose your balance and have your chest leaning more towards his face. “how could i live my life without your gorgeous tits, hm?”

“like you did until now.”

“in agony? no more.”

his words made your cunt sloppier, more and more wetness spilling through your sheer thong onto theo’s crotch. your skirt too gave up, already riding upwards on your hips and covering almost nothing. theo could see the way the shape of his cock disappeared between your clothed folds, the top part of his pants peaking at him from time to time with each thrust of yours against his lap.

“let me see those tits, beautiful.” he raised his hands and grabbed the swell of your breast, thumbling over you nipple to convince you to give in fully. “i will make it up to you, trust me.”

there was no denying it. you both needed relief. fast.

with a slight nod and eager eyes, the two of you removed your top — and more — in an instant. his clothes joined yours on the bedroom floor, and now you had no idea which ones were clean and which ones were due a washing.

“oh my fucking god, mi fai impazzire (you drive me crazy)!” straddling him yet again, this time theo had the honor of burying his face between your bare breasts, inhaling that lovely perfume of yours and mouthing at your feverish skin. moving slowly on top of him, now grinding your drenched thong against his bare cock, you allowed theo to worship your breasts like he promised. twisting and pinching each nipple with dexterous fingers, he got them up and perky for his greedy mouth to suck on. “they’re so soft and warm, fuck.”

“don’t ever keep them away from me, understood?” sucking a purple hickey on the side of your breast, theo looked up at you with his blown-out pupils. was it an actual order or was it a plea? either way, theodore nott was whipped for your boobs and you had no chance of escaping his hands and mouth any time soon. “talk to me, pretty.”

“yes, theo.”

“good fucking girl.” he groaned from between your tits, his lips never leaving your tender skin as he started roaming his hands all over your naked body, desperate to leave marks all over you.

his cock twitches against your aching core, your wetness already mixing with his precum and making a mess all over his crotch and abs. the stickiness had your bodies stay glued together, aiding your movements atop of him; feeling every ridge, every vein, every little throb of need.

“you’re fucking soaked, shit.”  theo couldn’t handle it any longer, stopping his assault on your breasts and pressing his forehead against your chest in order to ground himself. he needed to feel you fully or he might cum only from humping you.

“let me fuck you, amore! i–” he gripped your hips to stop you from moving, otherwise he might have cum then and there. hoping to finish inside you, he eagerly asks for consent. you wouldn’t say no, right?

“apologize for breaking into my room.”

even horny beyond compare, you were still holding that over his head. such a needy girl you are, yet you seem to be the one controlling the strings right now. theo, ready to protest, could only groan when he felt you moving against him again, letting the mushroomy tip of his cock hit your clit. and, the cherry on top, it even slightly caught onto your entrance on its way back, teasing him with endless possibilities.

so he begged.

“i am so sorry, amore. i am a bastard. please– ah! please let me feel that pretty pussy.”

raising your hips just a bit, you dragged your thong to the side and positioned the tip of his cock right at your entrance. slowly, oh so slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, your cunt warm and welcoming to the intrusion. with each inch swallowed by your pussy, theo’s eyes rolled more and more to the back of his head.

“you feel so good, fuckfuckfuck” theo was about to lose his mind over how great your walls felt against his cock. so hot, so wet; your cunt was sucking him in more and more.

and when you started bouncing on him, he was a goner.

“thank you, amore! fuck, this is heaven!” it could have been all the edging he has suffered while dry-humping, or the couple of drinks he had before, but he was extremely sensitive. his deep groans from before were sometimes substituted by high-pitched whines of pleasure and pain, a great addition to your own sultry moans.

“don’t stop, bella! shitshit” gripping your hips with desperation, he pushed you down onto his cock with more fervor than before, his own hips raising from the mattress and plunging into you at a faster pace. theo was using you like his personal fucktoy, slamming you with force against him, reaching deeper and deeper and bullying that sweet spot of yours with every thrust.

your bed was creaking with the intensity of your movements. your ragged breaths, your chanting moans, your wet squelches around his cock. all of it were increasing second by second, signaling that the end was near.

“look at you, amore! you were made to bounce on my cock.” dipping his head lower to your chest one last time, theo sucked one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. one of his hands sneaked its way down to your clit, rubbing tight little circles against it to make you orgasm.

“cream my cock, pretty! make a biiiig mess for me.”

his words pushed you over the edge and, with one last sharp cry, your orgasm hit you like a truck. your gummy walls clenched like a vice around theo, milking his cock for every last drop. his hips shuttered one last time against your cunt, his load shooting straight inside you shortly after. thick ropes of cum spilled into your pussy, some even dripping around his cock and down onto your sheets.

neither of you moved for a couple of seconds, just staring at one another and at the sticky connection between your bodies, heavy breaths and gasps of air filling the silence.

“i guess you got more than tits, huh, nott?”

“lucky me.”

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