#don’t even talk to me about the drones

[hypaalicious]

Me to every Collapsal-possessed enemy in IS4:

[florshedworf]

wow the amount of series i’ve watched and fell in love with because i didn’t succumb to “eughhh that’s cringe” is astounding

[raitonsfw]

jjk men: sub edition

characters: gojo satoru, geto suguru, okkotsu yūta, kamo chōsō, & sukuna ryōmen.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, gn!reader (gojo), sub!characters, vibrating sex toys (gojo's and geto's), face riding (yuta's), pegging (choso's), refusal to submit (sukuna's), whining, whimpering, pleading, begging, dirty talk, bondage (gojo's), p in v intercourse (geto [riding] & sukuna [mating press]), anal sex (choso's obvi), slight rim play (gojo's), degrading & praising, pet names, gojo selfishly whines, geto can't keep his composure, okkotsu loves you, choso's completely fucked out, sukuna shares a body with itadori (& doesn't care about your kinks), fyi the reader isn't very dominant (more neutral, maybe i'll write another one of these with a dom!reader later on)

a/n: this came about 'cause of some hate from an anon about me writing satoru gojo whimpering & that men shouldn't whimper or moan? next time, be a dear and send it off anon? i'll answer you more thoroughly that way. i love having the option that is 'write to spite'. wc: 3.2k total. m.list

divider credit: @hitobaby

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮…❞ who isn’t really all that submissive– at least not on the surface. in public his exterior shone a haughty personality but in the midst of silk sheets, he whined like a little bitch. 

soft whines of ‘please, baby…’ and ‘r-right there– yes…’ as you moved the vibrator towards the tip of his cock. he was sitting up against the headboard, his knees slightly bent and his bright eyes were glued on your hand that held the small pink wand. 

you knew gojo quite well, the man could withstand almost anything sorcery related; curses expelling out left and right, best friends turned enemies– but he couldn’t handle the juddering feeling of a sex toy. he’d practically short-circuit. his entire body would freeze up as you ran it along the side of his thigh, a dulled lust sinking within his eyes and suddenly his cock would be rock hard.

you’d watch as his legs would spread open for you, a quiet obedience held within the air and you’d hum in content as he let you shed his trousers and boxers. and holy shit, it was so intoxicating to take in how fucking hard he got just from the slight indication of the vibrator buzzing up his thigh. 

he wouldn’t be quiet for long though, no– that was just for show. as soon as your hand grabbed at his flushed cock, a choked gasp would follow and a bunch of pleas would spill out of his mouth like a waterfall. 

“need the toy– give me the toy…”

“y/n, baby…sweetheart– c’mon...” 

“please, don’t want your hand right now–”

“‘m sorry, i’m so sorry– fuck-!”

and despite his empty words (and the rushed apology when he vaguely realized his mistake), the vibrator would be set to the near highest setting. ‘cause there was something so hot watching him squirm from such a delicate thing, bulleting at an overstimulating press firsthand.

god, you could get drunk off of his whimpers and cries as they spilled from his mouth every time you ran the vibrator over a vein on the underside of his cock… his jolts of pleasure when you upped the setting by a hair as he was so sensitive and even the slightest change would send him spiraling… the constant clenching and unclenching of his fists within the confines of his blindfold– courtesy of you tying it that way. 

you had the right mind not to edge him, his voice pitching higher and higher each second you ran the droning sensation over his slit, precum slathering the toy. his chest rose and fell quickly as you switched the settings to a different rhythm, his back arching out towards you and his cock bobbing against his tummy with a loud whine escaping him. 

his head had knocked back into the headboard with his eyelids fluttering closed, a fucked out expression washing over his face as his thighs trembled– as his whole body trembled in front of you. you knew he was close; the tiny whimpers felling long with each stroke of the toy and the way his muscles tightened in his stomach with each roll of his hips as he desperately feigned for more friction. 

which led you to take a quick gamble– and press the toy right against his rim. 

you didn’t even have time to replace your hand on his cock as he painted his shirt white. long spurts decorated it, nearly up to his chin and you hummed softly to yourself as you pumped him through his release, your name heavy on his lips as he rode it out. you cooed out praises as he bucked into your hand, dribbling the rest of his cum all over it with small pants filling the room. 

and as soon as he came down, his hands were slipping from his blindfold and pinning you underneath him– it was your turn now. 

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮…❞ who’s slightly submissive– but knows how to keep his composure. it wasn’t often you got to see him needy, the man wasn’t exactly enthralled in giving you a show; so instead of begging for what he needed, he did everything in his power to please you.

the most he’d give you were tiny hums from the constant drag of his cock as you rode him, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. when he had the pleasure of cumming inside you – when he could because you’d fall apart against him in mere minutes – you’d hear the most sinful whimpers bare from his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he gasped for breath.

you couldn’t escape the cuddling afterwards either, the quiet contented sighs that captured you whole as he worked his body around yours in a tight embrace when the stars fell away from your eyelids. his mind would be reeling with the aftermath, still painfully hard in his boxers since he didn’t finish; but you came on his cock and that’s all that mattered to him.

but there were just some days where he needed you more than ever – and the aching pleasure of his cock spasming inside you – a pliant buzz reigning him in as he heard you come home. his arms would wrap around your waist as you’d toss your keys onto the kitchen counter and you’d feel his breath fan against your ear as he spoke, a slight whine etched in his voice.

“y/n, come to the bedroom with me…”

“ah–! shit… please?”

“need you tonight… can’t wait any longer–” 

“gotta be inside you– right now.”

and you thought it was the usual routine, you laid out underneath him with his cock driving into you like no tomorrow. but as you were pulled into the bedroom, the box of sex toys you shared with him had been dumped over the bed and you realized his neediness and the sound that droned lightly from him– the vibrating cock ring was missing.

you weren’t exactly sure if geto ever acted submissive in his life, never really wanting to push him too far as he already did so much for you; he never seemed bothered by the lack of reciprocation. but when he came home with the cock ring and your life sure flipped a sudden switch, your collected man reduced to nothing but a puddle as you drove him to the edge over and over again. 

as you fully sank onto his cock, his ring would vibrate against your folds and you’d sigh out in relief when you noticed his face screwed up in pleasure– and pain as he was already so close to his godforsaken orgasm. needy– fucking desperate whines would leak from his mouth as you bounced lightly on him, some hiccuped noises escaping him and– oh? he might cry. 

his hair was splayed out on the pillows, some of it stuck to his sweaty shoulders as the corners of his eyes brimmed with tears, his hands clutching onto you for dear life. he wouldn’t say anything, too drunk off of the overstimulation of your pussy and the vibrations pushing him over the edge; except he couldn’t cum yet. not until you took off the cock ring and honestly, did you really want to? 

this was one of the only times you saw this side of him after all. 

you eventually let him cum, pulling off his cock to ease the ring off while instructing him softly not to cum until he was inside you. and he’d be damned if he didn’t shoot off inside you, holding himself back for all of ten seconds before the feeling of your walls warm around him pushed him over– you felt him twitch inside you and a lengthy moan accompanied as he tried his best to pull you close into him through it. 

he stole kisses from you afterwards, his demeanor returning to the same old facade he encased himself in and you wondered if you buy him vibrating beads– what would that do to him?

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚…❞ who is just the right amount of submissive. he would quiver at the faintest feel of your fingers ghosting his cock as he knelt before you. his eyes would be nearly blown wide, taking in your composure as his falls away when you bend down eye level to him. 

he’d know better than to buck into your hand like a poor puppy, desperate for any friction you could give him as his fingers reach out to grip at your clothing. and he wouldn't even realize he broke a rule as he repeated in his brain ‘don’t thrust’ into the warmth of your palm. 

as you backed away, you’d notice the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes, the pout that would cross his face when he tried to retrace his movements– and then his mouth would be going a mile a minute with apologies.

“baby… i’m sorry! i’ll be good, i promise– i won’t touch you again.”

“please… forgive me? use me to get off…”

and that wasn’t a bad idea in your eyes as you thought it over, squatting back up to let him breathe. god, he was so pliant with you, complete putty– pulled and stretched out for you. his cock curved up towards his tummy as it stood proudly from the confines of his jujutsu uniform; he was so excited he didn’t even care to unzip his zipper, he just pulled himself out ‘cause you told him to. 

as you finally allowed him up onto the space of the bed after his relentless regret, a muffled ‘thank you’ spilled from his lips before you could even position yourself onto his face and you clutched the headboard to steady yourself; because he wasn’t allowed to touch– and he sure knew that as he was chanting it in his mind.

he needed you to use him, to just sit right on his tongue and ride him mercilessly; it’s what he deserves for breaking one of your rules. but you were nice, you weren’t mean with your punishments and honestly this seemed more like a reward for him. he was manipulative, that one– you had to be careful as he could get you to do anything for him with just a glassy eyed look and a pout. 

his hands grasped at the sheets for leverage as you sat down against him, his tongue not hesitating in the slightest to swipe over the swell of your clit and you huffed out a relieved moan. you didn’t falter, your hips rolling against his mouth with the shock of warm pleasure flowing through your body. and he reciprocated your moans, humming gently into you as he lapped at your arousal trickling against the tip of his tongue.

and all he wanted to do was touch you – bury his fingers inside you and fuck the life out of you – anything for his girl. but he knew the moment he moved his fingers from the threaded sheets, you’d pull off with a whine falling from his lips. god, did he want to please you– and he wanted it in return; his cock was aching even as it laid against his tummy. he couldn’t take it anymore, between the sweet taste of your slick running down his chin and the insane amount of precum building at the tip of his cock– he begged. 

“fuck, please touch me… won’t cum til you say so, i swear–”

“just need your hands on me, y/n honey… l-love you so much– god, thank you.”

when you leaned back to pull him off, your other hand feathered into his hair and you caught a glimpse of his dark rimmed eyes staring back up with such profound desire– you just knew he wouldn’t last more than a few seconds.

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨…❞ who takes the cake for being the most submissive slut known to man. when you sunk into him the first time with the strap nudging into him subtly, he couldn’t help but let out a choked whimper. he would be so fucking full– his rim clenching harshly around you and you’d coo at him; some praises that did you no good as he could barely hear you through the pounding rush of blood in his ears.

you couldn’t even begin to fathom the drunk passion you felt for this boy, arching his back for you as you started to ease yourself in all the way– it was fucking insane and you weren’t even the one with your nerves on fire. he’d grip at the sheets with a wanton moan, pushing back onto the strap with eager hips and it took everything in you not to collapse onto him with the heated arousal you felt in your cunt. 

you’d be on your toes, basically straddling the poor boy’s hips, your hands flush against his waist to keep you steady and all you’d hear was ‘more, please… i can take it–! need you to move.’ christ, you haven’t even gotten your bearings yet and he’s begging for you to pound him into the fucking mattress. 

his spiked hair wouldn’t be in their usual ponytails, it sleeked down the back of his neck and soon, it was going to be balled up in your palms while you fucked the living shit out of him.

once you actually rolled your hips into his tight hole, a broken moan flew out of his mouth and his head drooped down onto the side of the bed. his entire body shook in pleasure as you thrusted into him shallowly, hushed pants coming from him as his cock dripped onto the sheets beneath you. 

you noticed his cock rather quickly– and how neglected it looked, hanging between his legs with a reddened flush and you snaked your hand underneath him to tug at it a bit, earning a repressed whimper that was muffled in the sheets he buried his face into. before you knew it, your hips found a rhythm you were content with and one he was ecstatic with, his body jolting upwards with every stroke of his cock and bruising of your strap. 

you knew you nailed his prostate when his head snapped up, his entire body shuddering around you. his moan was so sharp in your ears, it delved straight towards spine and you threaded your fingers into his hair with the words ‘good boy, that’s it… that’s the spot?’ leaking from your mouth in a soft tone. to which he nodded, a heavy need carving out his common sense and replacing it with nothing whines and whimpers. 

‘soo good, thankyouthankyouthankyou–’

‘right there, keep going…’ 

and you did, even when you noticed his tongue loll out of his mouth– the fucked out expression blatant on his face as you pulled his head back to look at you. his violet eyes were watery, his mouth completely open in near silent moans as you pounded into him now, and you swore you saw a blood tear drip from his mark as he squeezed his eyes shut through a particular thrust. and now he begged for you, pleaded like no tomorrow as you fucked him senseless; his entire mind clouded with nothing but ecstasy.

‘am i being a good boy? please– tell me i’m being a good boy for you…’

‘fuck me harder, yeah– yes… shit–! so close…’

as he came around the strap, you watched in awe– ropes of cum spurting against the sheets and harsh gasps filled the air as you kissed down his back with your hands massaging his waist through the heavy orgasm. you ran a quick finger down his spine, reveling in the way he trembled against you as you pulled out of him. 

you wouldn’t even talk to him properly afterwards, just tiny adorations; because you knew as soon as he came to, he’d be out like a light.

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧…❞ who isn’t submissive at all. the king of curses didn’t have a submissive bone in his body– completely overtaken by the dominant hull. you’ve tried to make him submit – more than once – but it never worked out in your favor.

your hands would delve towards his shoulders to pin him down as you rode him– well, tried to ride him as his cock pounded up into you harshly– but you’d be thrown off in an instant, a mating press following suit so you couldn’t move underneath him.

you’d whine for him to take you more than once in a single night, in pursuit of overstimulating him– but you failed to realize just how much stamina he had and you ultimately ended up being the one overstimulated with your cunt stuffed full of his cum each and every time.

there were some days where he played along with your endeavors to be nice. sometimes a quiet whine would fill his throat before replacing it with hefty growls and grunts while you sucked his cock. and other times he’d let you have the upper hand for more than a half a second, reveling in the way your body moved against him to try to overtake him. 

your tits would bounce right in his face and it made him think twice– he almost begged for them, wanting nothing more than to take them into his mouth and litter them red with teeth marks. but that thought left his mind rather quickly as your cunt pressed warmly against his cock, stirring it awake from its confines and it was game over. 

there was no way he’d beg for a lowly human.

why would he need to when you gave yourself up to him so easily? you’d practically jump him as soon as he switched with itadori, strong arms holding onto you as you pushed him onto the bed. but of course, he could flip you over in an instant and he would, his cock dragging deliciously along your walls within the next two minutes. 

as much as it was fun to watch you squirm and cry about him not letting up his dominance, it also turned him on immensely. his cock would ache inside you as you begged for him to make a needy noise… his eyes would threaten to roll back as you clenched around him in hopes he would show some type of submission… and he’d have to recollect himself when you breathed hot in his ear that he was such a good boy for fucking you so well. why the fuck did that affect him? 

but once he grounded himself, you were in trouble– his cock pounding into you with heinous phrases leaking from his mouth. he couldn’t bear to listen to you anymore, the idea drove him insane– a fucking human shouldn’t be calling him wretched pet names like that. so to shut you up, his palm would end up on your mouth and his tongue there would shove straight into it. he just needed to fuck the kink out you, that’s all. 

and of course being the curse that he is, once you couldn’t speak, he’d tease (berate) you about your subby needs.

“ah, so you get off on pussy men now?”

“don’t look away from me, doll, answer the question.”

“what– you want me to whine and beg for you like a goddamn pup? i don’t think so.”

“now hold your legs open ‘n take my cock… like a normal fucking human.”

yeah, you tried and all it got you was a sore cunt each time, unable to walk without a bit of a wobble– his devilish smirk and targeted eyes followed you every step of the way before he relinquished his form to itadori in the morning. 

taglist: @izakyun | @classyempathmongercloud | @satorawrrr | @winterskeleton

a/n: wanna get tagged in future writing posts? join my taglist!

[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x naive!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: VERY DARK ELEMENTS, noncon, extremely rough smut, daddy kink, captain kink, age gap (Steve is very into the age gap), MAJOR size kink, no seriously Steve is HUGE, misogyny, loss of virginity, mentions of blood (heavy mentions), mean Steve (seriously, he has no soul and is very mean, honestly unhinged), anal play, oral (f receiving), innocence kink, naive reader, 18+ ONLY, NO MINORS. MINORS DNI.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Even Captain America deserves a reward after an intense, grueling mission.

𝐀/𝐍: Here we go! 16.3k words. Written very quickly. Not edited so please be forgiving. Also I don't have much knowledge on Shield and all that, so yeah! Final warning to PLEASE read the warnings! Anyways, enjoy!

“The girl’s ready, Captain.”

Steve nods at the SHIELD agent tersely, “She’s in my room?”

“Yes, sir. And all your specifications have been followed.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

The agent bows his head before leaving the office, and Steve finds himself pacing. He often paced after gruelling missions, as if trying to get all the leftover adrenaline out. Tonight had been particularly challenging; a local university under threat from HYDRA. Thousands of screaming staff and students, the air painted with gunshots and screams of chaos. But Steve’s team had come to the rescue. Just like they always did.

His team all had different ways of dealing with it, the trauma and evil they saw every day. Clint had his family to go home to, and some middle-of-nowhere farmhouse that Steve would’ve found quaint if he’d given more of a fuck. Tony’s solution was alcohol – copious amounts of it. And maybe that would’ve been Steve’s fate too, stumbling out of a bar at three in the morning having no idea where he was, but of course, he had the serum to thank for avoiding him that. Natasha immersed herself in her friends, Sam partied a lot, Bruce locked himself up in his lab because God knew he was wrestling more demons than anyone else. Except maybe Bucky… But even Bucky had a girl to help him cope.

That left Steve. But Steve had this.

I deserve this. He thinks it to himself as he makes his way out of his office and down the hall toward the elevator. There are SHIELD agents scattered here and there, chattering mindlessly about the successful mission and how, thanks to the Avengers, there were no civilian deaths. But they all hush when they see him, parting like the Red Sea, their heads bowed in respect as he walks past them. The Captain. The hero. Their leader. He’s still in his suit, the shield still on his back and bloodied cuts decorating his face. Nevertheless, he’s the face of the Avengers. Everyone in this building looks up to him.

Everyone on the face of this Earth looks up to him.

And a few minutes later, when he gets off the elevator and to his private floor, walks over to his bedroom door and opens it, he finds a large pair of eyes looking up at him too.

You jump, the fear on your face so evident that Steve can almost smell it. Standing in the corner of his room as if you want to permeate through the wall or maybe disappear altogether. Your arms hug your body in a bid to hide it from whoever you thought was going to enter this room, but you seem to relax once you see that it’s him.

“C-Captain, it’s you! Oh, thank God!” Your shoulders sag in relief, although – much to Steve’s displeasure – you continue to cover your body with your arms, “I-I don’t know what happened, but there’s some bad people here, and they took me while I was being evacuated from the university, a-and they brought me here and they wouldn’t answer my questions and–”

Steve frowns as you drone on and on, talking about a mile a minute – a quality he doesn’t particularly care for in a woman. But his eyes drink you nevertheless. You look young – a college student, no doubt – but he finds he doesn’t mind that. In fact, it makes his cock harden, seeing how wide-eyed and naïve you look, a lot younger than him. A pretty face, and an attractive body too despite the fact that you seemed hell bent on hiding it from him.

“Put your arms down by your side.” He commands you, watching closely as you stop mid-sentence, your voice trailing off. He can tell you’re uncomfortable, confused, and probably tired out from fighting and arguing with his agents. But he knows already what’s going through your mind: that you’ll obey because it’s Captain America, and Captain America was a hero who always meant well. Hesitantly, slowly, your arms fall down to your sides.

Steve had very specific tastes, and his agents knew to follow his instructions to a tee. Which was why you stood before him, your body sheathed in the prettiest, most expensive vintage lingerie. All lacy and intricate, just how Steve liked it – white and silky, hugging your body like a second skin and accentuating your curves, making you look like half angel, half seductress. He’d long ago, in a different lifetime, pored over old pin-up magazines, just like any other boy his age would. He’d likened the white lingerie in the pictures to be what his innocent bride would wear the night he deflowered her. Back in the forties, back when he’d been a different man, a man who actually cared about trivial things like marriage and family. Years of war and fighting had beaten that out of him.

And yet, almost a century later, Steve still has a partiality for white, lacy lingerie.

After every mission (successful or not) SHIELD would bring him a girl in vintage lingerie. Always an unsuspecting girl who had no idea what she was being pulled into. They came in all sorts of varieties; crying, kicking, screaming, paralysed in fear when they realised the reason they were in his bedroom. But Steve deserved it, for every single sacrifice he’d made for his country, for the world – he deserved this one bit of pleasure. Bucky had his girl, Sam had his parties, Tony had his alcohol, Bruce had his lab… And Steve had this.

And it was the least you could do, the least all those girls before you could do, because hadn’t Steve saved you? Saved all of you? This was his payment. You were his reward.

“C-Captain?” He notices how you can’t help but stutter, and he finds it amusing despite the fact that he’s used to having this effect on women – especially immature college girls like you. You gesture down to your body, “Th-This isn’t how I was dressed – they put me in this, those bad guys! N-Now I don’t know where my clothes are, and, and…”

Once more, your voice trails off as Steve walks past you nonchalantly. He heads to the bathroom, making sure to leave the door open so he can keep an eye on you lest you try to escape. Not that you’d get very far – this whole floor was his and every lock required his facial recognition to open. In the past, other girls had tried to escape, and sometimes Steve enjoyed the chase. But tonight, he felt tense. He’d wanted to capture all the HYDRA agents but two of them had escaped. To Steve, that was failure, and failure made him tense. Angry. Frustrated. He needed someone submissive, obedient, quiet…

“C-Captain, I’m gonna be okay, aren’t I?” You ask, voice high-pitched and shaky, and Steve almost smirks. He stands in front of the sink, surveying the scratches on his face. They’d heal overnight, and once more he’d be the perfect face of the Avengers. The face of America. The face of hope, the face of good. If only they knew what went on behind his eyes, the thoughts he thought, the darkness behind the façade.

He washes his hands, observing the blood as it swirls down the drain of the sink.

“Sir… Captain… Is there a way I could call my family? They’ll be worried about me, and those people took my phone so I don’t–”

“Get on the bed.”

“H-Huh?”

“Get on the bed. I won’t repeat myself.”

Steve’s voice is soft, levelled, yet commanding. And he knows you’ll listen. He’s been over this with so many of the other girls brought in for him as a post-mission reward. You still trust him, he can see it in your eyes. You know him as the superhero you see on TV, where he’s all clean-cut and politically correct as he commands the hearts of millions through his motivational speeches and actions. And by the looks of it, you’re so naïve that he knows you haven’t yet figured out what “get on the bed” truly infers to.

And so you do, gingerly settling down on the edge of his king-sized bed, shaking like a little leaf but he can tell that you’re trying to keep a brave face as you look up at him, determined to trust the super-soldier that the whole country trusted. And breaking that trust, breaking that spirit that shone in your innocent eyes, that was the sweet release he needed tonight, or any other night after each mission made him grow more disillusioned. Breaking your trust, breaking your body so all of this was worth it.

Sometimes, Steve wonders when exactly he had changed. He remembers how plucky and optimistic he used to be. A little bit sardonic, a little bit sarcastic, but he really did have a heart of gold – at least that’s what people told him. Even after they’d dug him out from that iceberg, he’d still been that same guy. But that was years ago, and each day he grew more disillusioned with what he preached, what he stood for. He could never settle, never feel like he fully belonged in the world he kept risking his life to save over and over again. Even Bucky, who’d gone through so much, had managed to find fulfilment through finding love.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t think love exists.

What does exist is you… Sweet, quivering, innocent little you. The SHIELD agents know his tastes down to a tee, and physically, you’re everything he likes, everything he prefers. It’s nights like these when Steve really feels alive, when he snuffs out the innocence of some unsuspecting girl and reaps his reward for saving countless lives. He deserves this. God knows he deserves this.

“What’re you doing?” You whisper, eyes round as saucers as he reaches out to stroke your hair. He bristles slightly, annoyed by your persistant questions. You should know better – he was your superior after all. But you’d learn by the time the night was over, and so Steve resumes petting you, slipping his hand down to rub your cheek, feel your smooth skin under the rough callouses of his hand.

The same hand that had choked two or three HYDRA bastards to death earlier tonight.

“You will address me as Captain.” He says, dismantling his shield from his back and placing it on the floor against the bed. He follows your gaze, how your mouth drops open in awe despite how scared you are. His cock hardens, knowing you’re impressed by him. By his size, because he’s aware he looks even bigger in person than on the news – enough girls have told him that. And by the shield too, because it reflected his power, his status, everything that he supposedly stood for.

You clear your throat nervously, “S-Sorry, uh, Captain, I just, uh, I was wondering when you’d take me home,” you say the last few words quickly, as if you’re mouth’s dry and you’re rushing to get all your words out. “I n-need to get home, my parents will be worried about me, Captain, and I have homework–”

Steve almost snorts at that. Homework. You were even more innocent than he thought you were, if one of your biggest concerns was whether you’d get your homework done or not. And this naivete amuses him, enamours him, but most importantly, it gets him hard.

“You’ll be taken home tomorrow.” He informs you, his tone clipped and formal, clinical like a doctor informing his patient when they’d be discharged. He liked to keep it like that between him and his “rewards.” Steve didn’t believe in intimacy, and didn’t feel the need to waste kindness on you or any of the previous girls. He faked kindness and heroic optimism all day, it was only at night in the privacy of his quarters that he could shed all that away and allow his darkness to take over.

“T-Tomorrow? Why? Why not tonight? And why am I here, anyways? Everyone else was evacuated together!”

“Enough.” He says sternly, and you shrink back like a chastised child, or an injured puppy. He watches your lower lip as it juts out, and he wonders if you’ve done that on purpose as a way to appease him. He wouldn’t fall for it though, he was wise to women and all their cheap tricks they used to wrap weaker, lesser men around their fingers. Steve would never be one of those men. “You will not speak unless I give you permission.”

Your lower lip quivers, “I don’t understand…”

He sits down next to you, acutely aware of how much bigger he is than you. Leisurely, his eyes drink in your body now that he’s much closer to you. The bra pushes your breasts upwards so they spill out attractively over the creamy white lace of the lingerie, and he watches them rise up and down as you breathe heavily, probably trying to keep yourself from crying. He wishes you would cry – tears have always turned him on. But the night is young, and he knows he’ll see some tears soon, he always does.

“C-Captain, please, please help me! I’m so confused and I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know how I got into this outfit, I think they drugged me, and I’m scared, and I have homework, and I gotta go now, so pl– OW!”

Steve yanks you forward by your hair, till your face is inches from his, and he can practically smell your fear. Eyes as big as saucers look up at him, shining bright with unshed tears of both fear and pain. He loosens his grip slightly, despite the fact he isn’t holding you too tightly – but the serum gives him inhumane strength, and you’re just a weak little girl after all.

“Once again, I’m telling you not to speak without permission. Do not make me repeat myself one more time.”

You swallow harshly, bowing your head once he lets go of your hair. But your lips are now pressed tightly together, as if you’re hoping he’ll take you home if you shut up and listen. There’s still light in your eyes, you’re beginning to question him inwardly but you still trust him, Steve knows you do. And it’s not long now before he crushes that trust completely.

He sighs at your compliance, stroking your quivering bare arm, thrill shooting straight down to his cock because of how soft and smooth you are. He likes the juxtaposition between the two of you right now: you, so soft and small, so much younger than him, like a doll in your pretty lingerie that he’d picked out. And him, more than double your size, jaded with age that didn’t physically show, bloodied and scratched suit, rough hands, dark thoughts.

“C-Captain, I’m scared,” you whisper, and you really do look like you’re about to wet yourself, and it turns him on so much that he doesn’t even bristle at you speaking out of turn again.

“Good.” He murmurs, continuing to stroke you like you’re his little doll. There’s something about you, something so pure that he can’t really put his finger on. In the past, he’s been detached, unforgiving, often just throwing his “reward” on the bed, holding her head down against the mattress while he fucked the living daylights out of her. He would be detached and cold with you too, but this time he feels a peculiar need to savour you at the same time.

It's when he grabs your hand and places it on his hard crotch that you start crying in earnest, finally realising your fate.

“What’re you– No, please, not that! Please, I don’t know what’s going on, Captain, please–”

You try to snatch your hand back, but he holds it steadily in place. You’d never be a match for his strength, no matter how hard you tried – he had more brute power in his pinkie finger than you did in your whole body. And that turns him on even more.

“You’ll go home tomorrow,” he repeats, not even sure why he’s explaining anything to you, because he usually doesn’t speak to the girls brought for him at all, let alone reassure them. “Tomorrow, you’ll see your family but tonight, your body is mine and I’ll do with it what I please.”

You look like you’ve seen a ghost, but quickly you shake your head, blinking rapidly as if you’ve misheard him. “N-No, Captain, I don’t want to! Y-You can’t make me,” you look at him pleadingly, trying to tug your hand back but he holds it firmly against his covered cock, “You won’t make me, will you, Captain? Th-That’s wrong! An’ you’re a good man so you’d never do that!”

“Take it out.”

A different man would have perhaps consoled you, told you it would all be over soon, or maybe even made up an excuse to manipulate you into sleeping with him. A better man would’ve taken pity on you, given you your clothes back and taken you home. But Steve wasn’t like any of those men. All Steve was right now was impatient, and more than ready for his reward. I deserve it, he thinks once more to himself, before pressing your small hand down on his crotch meaningfully.

“Take my dick out.” He repeats sternly, and when you still don’t comply (probably because you’re frozen in shock and fear) Steve can’t help but quickly undo his fly before pushing your hand down his suit pants, letting out a hiss when he feels your dainty palm and fingers on his rock-hard flesh.

“No, no, no, please no,” you cry softly, rivulets of tears streaking your face, “This is wrong, Captain, please.”

He makes you wrap your hand around his cock, smirking to himself when your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping around all the way. The serum had made him a lot bigger than average, and a lot thicker too. So much so that every time he had sex, no matter how much he stretched the girls out, there would always be blood. He’d grown to become turned on by the sight of it.

“I’ve seen you on TV,” you whisper desperately, and he knows you’re in that state of mind where you’re just so scared that you’ll say anything and everything, “I’ve seen how you are, a-and you’re supposed to be the good guy, Captain. Please, let me go, y-you’re a good man so please–”

“Shut up.” He says simply, making you take his dick out. That quietens you up for a second, and you gape at his huge dick as it slaps up against his abs which are still covered by the suit. He hasn’t had sex or jacked off in about a week now (missions, press conferences, community work and other bullshit had kept him busy) and his dick is almost angry hard, the veins so prominent as he throbs in your hand.

“Stroke it.” He instructs you.

You shake your head, hand limp around his hard cock, “You c-can’t, this is wrong.”

“Drop the coy act,” he orders you, feeling a surge of impatience when he’s tried to be level with you for so long, “I know what you kids watch these days on the internet, and all the vulgar movies on television. Now do what I fucking say, or else.”

You look both taken aback and hurt by his sharper tone, and immediately you’re shaking your head.

“N-No, Sir, please. I don’t watch any of that stuff, I’m not allowed to, okay? A-And this is wrong on so many levels, you’re meant to be a good guy!”

Steve finds his cock hardening even more when he hears how you’re not allowed to watch the vulgarity that’s become so normalised in the media now as compared to back in the day. Were you, perhaps, a girl with morals? Someone who was raised well? He had yet to run in to such a girl in the twenty-first century.

“I’ve seen you on the news,” you try again when he doesn’t speak, “you and the Avengers, you’ve saved c-countless people. You’ve won wars for us. I w-went to see you when you gave a talk at my school last year, the one about good versus evil. You’re an inspiration, Captain, you wouldn’t do this!”

You’re talking a mile a minute, and Steve knows you’re doing it to prolong time till your inevitable fate. He’s tortured enough men to know that goners loved to run their mouths. As for what you’re saying, it has zero effect on him. He didn’t believe in what he said, what he stood for – you could never use that to persuade him to take a higher road.

He starts moving your hand up and down on his dick, hissing again because of how pleasurable your dainty hand feels on his rock-hard length, not to mention how much it turns him on that you’re still trying to pull your hand away, looking anywhere but at his cock, embarrassment mixing with the bone-chilling fear on your face.

“Y-You’re not a good man!” you finally sob out, shaking from head to toe as realisation finally seeps through your head.

Your words bristle Steve for whatever reason. In the past, his “rewards” have often back-talked him, insulted him as if they thought their words would have any impact on him – which they never did. But seeing you, with your bright, optimistic eyes that clearly looked up to him up until this moment, hearing you call him a bad guy… It makes him feel defensive.

“I saved you.” He spits out, “HYDRA attacked your university and I saved you and all your little friends. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”

You nod desperately, “I-I know, Captain, that’s why I don’t understand why you’re doing thi–”

“I deserve this.” He says simply, cutting you off. “I risk my life to save unthankful people like you, over and over again. Even a super soldier deserves payment, or at least an incentive to do what I do.”

Your jaw drops open, speechless and horrified. Steve couldn’t care less, and he feels another wave of impatience. Two weeks ago, he’d endured a similarly gruelling mission, and his reward had been waiting for him in his room. She’d been mouthy, of course, as most women of the twenty-first century were, but he’d fucked her and sent her packing within fifteen minutes. So why, on this particular occasion, was he sitting here making idle chit-chat with some dumb-witted college girl who was half his age?

He's always been quick, and you yelp in surprise when he grabs you by the waist, his rough fingers digging into your soft skin. He drags you into his lap, till you’re crying on top of him, your back to his chest. You struggle and flail against him, but it’s to no avail as he presses you down on top of his thigh, spreading your legs and locking them with his own.

“Stop struggling,” he orders you through gritted teeth, although he has to admit that having a weak girl like you fighting against him with all her might while he held you down with just his one arm was quite arousing, “It’ll be easier for you if you just stay still.”

“Please don’t, I-I’m not ready for this, I’ve never done this before, I–”

Steve snorts at that. He knows you’re young, but he also knows that girls in this century are promiscuous, and that’s putting it kindly. How many lies would you tell before you realised they’d all be in vain? He was goddamned Captain America, and he was going to have his way with you tonight no matter what came out of that pretty, pouty mouth of yours.

Grabbing your soft, bare thighs with his hands, he pushes them further apart, all while you cry and quiver in his arms like a wounded animal. Your white, lacy panties hide your pussy from his greedy, impatient gaze, and he wants nothing more than to rip your lingerie apart and ravage you to soothe the ache of his hard cock which is currently pressing against your back.

“Push your panties aside.” He commands, “and don’t even think about arguing with me. One more word of insubordination out of you, and you don’t even want to know what I’ll do.”

You’re sobbing and sobbing as you gingerly do what he says, and he licks his lips when he sees your bare pussy, trussed out for him as he holds your legs apart. He can’t help but press a finger on your bundle of nerves before swiping downwards over your slit. He frowns. You’re not wet. That simply won’t do.

Of course, he’s been in this situation before. Not often, because truthfully, women got wet the second they looked at him, turned on by his size, his power, his authority. But sometimes, like now, when one of his “rewards” was very scared and non-compliant, she wouldn’t be wet. Steve didn’t care, and he’d go in dry if he could except, with the sheer size of his dick, it just wasn’t physically possible. Often, he’d tell the SHIELD agents to prep his rewards before they were sent to his room – stretch their pussies out by whatever means (he didn’t care) so long as they were able to take his girth.

But you… Oh, he reckons he’ll have fun with stretching you out all by himself.

“Touch yourself.” He says into your ear, holding you in place tightly.

“I…I…I don’t know how, I don’t– I don’t do this, I’ve never done this, I–”

There’s something about your frightened demeanour that makes him realise that maybe you’re not lying after all. He raises a brow, “You’ve never touched yourself?”

“N-No, Sir – I mean Captain – I’m not allowed to. My parents are very conservative, Sir, I haven’t even had my first kiss. Please don’t make me do this!”

Steve didn’t think it was possible for his dick to get any harder, but it does. So big and painfully hard, it presses against your back almost indecently as he licks his lips, now infinitely more interested in you. So you were a girl raised right in these godforsaken “modern” times. His mind conjures up different ways in which he could teach you, mould you, ruin you… He doesn’t remember the last time he had a virgin – it was probably back in the forties, back when women were pure and of good heart and good intentions.

Maybe tonight’s reward would be sweeter than any other.

He grabs your hand, pressing it against your petal-soft folds. He takes your pointer finger and slowly, gently, circles it around your clit. You fight against him but it only takes you a few seconds to realise that your efforts are completely futile. Steve does not care for what you want, not in the least. You’re his reward, and he deserves this.

He leaves your finger on your clit, shooting you a deathly look that conveys that you better keep circling it or else. His own eager fingers explore your core, slipping down to probe you, finding that not even one of his fingers fits inside your little fuckhole. In fact, he tries pushing his pinkie finger up inside but to no avail at all. Fuck. You weren’t lying – you were definitely a virgin. Another telltale sign is how it only takes a handful of seconds before your wetness begins to spread, and you whimper softly – probably at all the foreign sensations you’re feeling as Steve continues to probe your hole.

“Feels good, huh?” Steve hears himself say softly, and he doesn’t know why he’s bothering wasting words on you. He never spoke to any of his other rewards – they were only there for his pleasure, and may as well have been inanimate objects to him. Dolls brought in for him to use and then promptly taken away when he was done with them. But you? Fuck, Steve doesn’t know what’s come over him.

“I-It won’t fit, Captain, please stop,” you cry softly when he tries to force his finger into you again. You’re adequately wet now, but your pussy continues to reject his finger, and he knows there’s no way you’ll be able to take his dick if he doesn’t stretch you out with his fingers first.

“I’ll make it fit,” he mutters, throwing you aside on the bed and standing up quickly. He sucks his finger into his mouth, tasting your sweetness and shutting his eyes for a second to savour your taste. And then he shoots you a warning look, “Stay there.”

He smirks when you don’t move an inch – probably paralysed with fear – as he walks over to the dresser next to his bed. Rummaging through his drawers, he sorts past all the sex toys that some agent had probably stocked up inside. Steve didn’t have much use for them, as he considered himself too traditional for toys. But he can’t help but be turned on by the idea of using a large dildo on you, or stuffing your virgin ass with a cute plug. But for right now, he grabs the bottle of lube – it’s half empty because of how often he’s had to use it on his past partners. Since the serum, his dick was way too big to go in naturally, especially when it came to a sweet virgin like you.

Roughly, he pushes you down till your back is pressed against his king-sized mattress. He climbs on top of you, rolling his eyes at the fight left in you, how you flail and fight against him despite his body being more than twice your size. He uses his arm to hold you down, but truthfully, he could’ve done it with just his pinkie finger.

“Stay still,” he commands, pinning your limbs down flat against the bed. You resort to sniffling and crying silently, your wary eyes watching him as he spreads your legs as wide as they’ll go. A sudden feral urge takes over him, and he rips your panties in half, the flimsy material landing gracefully on his sheets. Your bare pussy glistens up at him, now wet with your sweet cream despite how much you continue to cry. He can smell your sexy aroma; the scent of a virgin pussy and it goes straight to his dick.

With an animalistic snarl, he dips his head down between your legs. Using two fingers to spread your creamy petals, he lays his tongue flat against your quivering fuckhole. You scream in shock, body jerking underneath him but he doesn’t care. He grips your thighs, lifting your ass and lower back up off the bed, watching carnally as your wetness drips down to between your ass crack. He spreads your cheeks, smirking when you wail in surprise. He digs his eager tongue between your cheeks, probing your puckered, virgin ass before licking a straight line all the way back up to your pussy, ending with a harsh suck on your clit as he holds your hands at bay.

It’s come out of nowhere, this sudden need to taste you. Back in the forties; Steve had rather enjoyed going down on women. He knew he was skilled at giving head, he’d been told more than enough times. But he can’t remember the last time he’d done it. Never with any of his “rewards,” who were only ever good for fucking on their hands and knees like dogs. But you, you were different.

You wiggle, crying and begging him to let go of you but you may as well be a fly with how weak and inconsequential your pleas are to his ears. Instead, he laps at your baby cunt like he’s starved. Like a starved caveman, he spits down on your clit, wanting to make your pureness as messy as possible. He spreads his saliva all over your core with his fingers, marking you up with his DNA. He encases your now engorged bundle of nerves between his lips once more, giving it another hard suck but this time his teeth graze against it.

“C-Captain, oh-oh my God–Ah!”

It’s when Steve finally forces his one finger inside you that you squirt, drenching his digit as your walls clamp down around it. And God-fucking-dammit, he can’t believe how tight you’re squeezing his one singular finger, how tight and sexy and soft you feel around it. How your slippery walls pulsate around his digit like you’ve never cum before in your life – which would explain how quickly you’ve come undone. Some of your wetness lands on his face, some of it on the sheets beneath you, and that’s when Steve realises he’s given a virgin her first orgasm.

He can’t help but smirk, his finger still lodged inside you, but not even halfway because you’re still so fucking tight.

“Doesn’t seem like you want me to stop after all, sweetheart.” He says, not realising he’s used the pet-name on you until it’s already out of his mouth. He sets the lower half of your body back down on the bed, his finger still inside you.

You sniffle as your whole body shakes with the remnants of your orgasm, “P-Please,” you say faintly, and you can’t even raise your head to look down at him, “Please, can I go home now?”

Steve’s lip curls into a snarl, and he drives his finger inside you with renewed force, curving it upwards even when he feels resistance. You scream bloody murder, and he knows if your orgasm hadn’t sapped all your energy, you’d be flailing your legs again. But for now, he easily holds you down, feeling your soft walls encase his finger which is now up to the hilt inside you. That’s when he grabs the bottle of lube, squirting out a generous amount onto the rest of his fingers.

“N-No, Captain, please, I can’t take another one, I can’t, I can’t!” You plead, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “Captain – Steve – please listen to me, please, look, I can’t take another finger, pl–”

His palm lands on your clit with a wet smacking sound, and you howl in pain, your pelvis lifting off the bed except he pins you back down with just one hand.

“Don’t fucking use my first name. You will address me as Captain. One more slip up and I won’t do you the favour of stretching you out.” His intense blue eyes meet your tear-filled ones, “And trust me, you want to be stretched out for when I fuck you.”

With gritted teeth and a cock that’s now painfully hard, he gets to work trying to stuff another finger into your pussy. His other hand grabs your hip in a bruising grip, and his fingers stroke your smooth, bouncy ass every so often like he can’t help it. You’re turning him on so fucking much; with your crying, how you’re begging him to stop, how weak and small you are, how fucking tight your pussy is. It makes Steve want to say something just so he can hear you speak in response, despite the fact that he’s never vocal during sex.

“Tell me, why is your pussy so fucking tight?”

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me.”

You sniffle again, shooting him a pleading look that he doesn’t even bother acknowledging. He just looks at you with waiting eyes as he nonchalantly continues to force his second finger inside you. He wants to hear you say naughty things with your innocent little mouth, and talking would get you to fucking relax so he could penetrate you with his digits properly in order to stretch you out in preparation for his dick.

“I-I’ve never done this before…” you scrunch your eyes shut, but a quick slap to your thigh has you opening them again.

“You’ve never fingered yourself?”

“No!”

“Tell me why not.”

You bow your head, “I don’t know… I just… I never did, okay? I’ve never done any of it.”

A wicked thought crosses Steve’s mind, “Oh yeah? You’ve never done anything naughty, huh? You’re a good girl?” His second finger curves up to join the first, and your hips jerk forward as you suck in your breath. It makes him smile, and he slowly begins to pump his two fingers in and out of you, “You’ve never, say, humped your baby cunt against your pillow at night? Or your stuffed animals?”

The way you freeze and how your eyes widen is all the confirmation Steve needs. He chuckles darkly.

“So that’s the type of girl you are. Riding your pillow at night when you think no one’s watching, and you probably touch your body all over, too, don’t you?” Lightning quick, his other hand leaves your hip, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand up to your chest. Through the material of your bra, he makes you cup your breast like how he would, wanting to watch with dark eyes as you play with your tits, trying to imagine how hot you’d look doing just that all alone in the privacy of whatever girlish bedroom you had.

Steadily, he continues to finger you, pumping his digits in and out of your greedy, wet pussy, and it makes slurping sounds as it swallows his fingers in over and over again. And he observes you carefully, notices your wide eyes, the sweat on your brow, the way your lips are parted as your breathing shallows out. He even sees the slight buck of your hips, and he knows he has you where he wants you, hanging on to his every filthy word despite your mind screaming at you to continue resisting.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Steve mutters lowly, “I know that’s what all innocent little girls like you do when they think they’re alone. You play with your tits and you rub your cunt all over your pillow, till you’ve got it all wet and messy. All while you fantasise about a man like me fucking you, taking care of you, huh? I’m right, aren’t I?”

You’re full on panting now, as if his beguiling words have made you forget all about your resistance, and you rock your hips harder against his thick fingers, little pants and moans sneaking past your pouty lips as he watches you closely.

“And then you act like a good girl, and you lie to me and tell me you’ve never touched yourself. But you and I both know that’s not true. Not when you spend your nights alone in your bedroom riding your little pillow while mommy and daddy sleep in the next room, and then when you’re done, I bet you bring it up to your face, just so you can smell your own wetness, right?”

This time, he gives your ass a swift slap when you don’t reply, and you cry out in pain before squeezing your eyes shut.

“Y-Yes,” you breathe softly, so softly that he barely catches it. But it makes him grin wickedly all the same. He hasn’t had this much fun with a reward since God knows when. He never bothers speaking to the lowlife girls brought to him as post-mission rewards, let alone engaging in dirty talk with them as he was with you, hanging on to your every word because it makes his dick so fucking hard.

“Of course, I’m right,” he mutters, “Captain always knows. I know you’re a little slut in the making just like all the other college girls of this century. You bring your pillow up to your face and you smell your cunt on there, and you lick it too, don’t you? You taste yourself because you’re curious, and you don’t have a man like me to show you how it’s done.”

He slips his fingers out of your cunt, your walls automatically squeezing around them as if they want to keep him inside you. But his digits are dripping wet, and he brings them up to your face. He shoves them past your lips, and you protest but all it does is create vibrations around his fingers as he smears them inside your mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he orders you, “suck on daddy’s fingers, don’t be shy.”

It takes him a few seconds to register that he’s just referred to himself as daddy. He hasn’t done that in a while – not since the forties, at least. Back then, it was quite common for women to call their man daddy, and Steve remembers enjoying it when he used to fuck the show girls during tours. But now? He usually stuck to being called “sir” or “captain” or just nothing at all. Because “daddy” was way too intimate, it suggested that he was going to take care of you. And he wasn’t going to take care of you – he was going to ruin you before you’d be taken away tomorrow.

And yet you look so sweet and cute as you suck on his fingers, too scared to fight back any more although your eyes blaze with objection, and tears stream down your face. He doesn’t think you’ll stop crying at all tonight, but he doesn’t give a fuck about that. Not when your pouty lips look so hot sucking yourself off his fingers.

“That’s right, get ‘em nice and wet,” he murmurs lowly, before deciding he misses the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his fingers – and he still has to stretch you out, too. He removes his digits from your mouth, watching as you gasp to breathe. He trails them down your front, down your chest, down your torso, all the way down to your clit. He gives it another smack, loving how you jerk upwards like you’re so damn sensitive.

He grabs a pillow, putting it underneath your ass so he has your cunt propped up and he can examine it better. Your cream is pouring out of you almost, dripping down to the pillow below you while you cry and pretend you don’t like it. But the signs are all there, he can even see how your pelvis shakes and humps upwards, because you need a man to fill you up no matter how much you protest.

“Tight little baby cunt,” he says softly as he spreads your pussy lips once more. You look so wet and slippery and yet he knows he needs to pour some more lube into your fuckhole, which he does. And then, without giving you much time to react, he shoves three of his fingers inside you, pushing harder and with more force when he’s met with any barrier.

“STOP, NO, PLEASE! STOP, CAPTAIN – TOO MUCH!” You scream so loudly that the walls seem to vibrate around the two of you.

“Shut up and take it,” Steve says, narrowing his eyes up at you before he focuses back on your gorgeous cunt, watching as your leaking hole finally swallows his three digits, “Look at this greedy little virgin pussy, so ready for my big dick to split her in half.”

You shake your head violently, crying and protesting, but it’s when you bat at his head that he sees red. How fucking dare you hit him? Just now, when he was thinking you’d been raised well, but clearly not if you didn’t think it was a problem to hit your superiors.

“You raise your hand at me again, and I’ll hit you back twice as hard.”

His menacing words make you freeze, and you whimper quietly in absolute fear as he continues to play with your pussy. He fingers you in earnest now, three of his digits stretching you out as he scissors you open, amused by the squelching sounds your cunt makes as it swallows his fingers over and over again.

“Apologise to me,” Steve demands, “say you will not raise your hand at your superior ever again.”

You sniffle, “S-Sorry…”

“Sorry, who?” He pinches your ass unforgivingly.

“Sorry, Captain! I won’t raise my hand at my superiors, okay? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You squeal the last few words, your pitch going higher and higher as your hips begin to meet his thrusts. And bless your innocent fucking face, you look so confused by what’s happening. Your pussy’s jammed tight but he knows it must’ve started feeling good. All greedy little girls like you needed was a little push in the right direction.

Off their own accord, your thighs lock around his hand as you cum for a second time, your walls squeezing and pulsating against his fingers so fucking tightly as you mewl and cry above him. You’re absolutely gushing with wetness now, and the pillow below your ass is stained dark with your juices. For someone who kept claiming she didn’t want this, you sure were receptive to his touch.

Steve snatches his fingers out of you, smirking when you, despite everything, cry in protest at the loss of friction. He bets your pussy feels all gaping and empty now, because he knows how big and thick his fingers are. A normal-sized man would’ve had trouble stretching your virgin cunt out with his dick – Steve had had that same problem with just his fingers.

But he knows he’ll somehow manage to fit his cock inside you if he prepped you well enough. Or else he’d spend the whole night trying to. Often, with the women he’d slept with in the past, he’d be too impatient and couldn’t be bothered to prep them properly. Because of that, he’d only be able to fit half his dick inside them, and he’d grown used to fucking them like that, only because it was physically impossible to go any deeper. He won’t let that be the case tonight.

He climbs up your quivering body, and you look spent already after two orgasms, your eyes fluttering like you’re about to pass out. Steve can’t have that though, and he taps your cheek not so gently, hovering on top of you till you open your eyes and meet his gaze.

“Please, Captain,” you whisper faintly, “E-Enough, please. Can’t take any more.”

Steve ignores you. He’s grown distracted by your lips. How wet and warm and pouty they look, glistening with a mix of your salty tears, your cum and your saliva. Fuck. He never kissed any of his “rewards” before, it was too intimate and Steve didn’t do intimacy. But maybe…

He spits down on your face, his saliva landing on your cheek as you cringe. Fuck intimacy, Steve thinks, using his hand to smear his spit all over your face, till it’s shining with a mixture of both your bodily fluids. So messy yet so pretty…

“N-Never been kissed before!” you blurt out once more all of a sudden, as if you’ve read his mind. Your eyes plead up at him, a tiny bit of hope in your eyes as if you truly believe he’ll show you empathy and spare you, “P-Please, Sir. I’ve never been kissed, a-and I want it to be special…”

How cute. You were worried about him spoiling your first kiss as if he hadn’t just finger-fucked you to two orgasms in the span five minutes. Amused, he brings his thumb up to your mouth, stroking your pouty bottom lip gently.

“You don’t let the boys at your college kiss you?” He asks, again not fully understanding why he’s even bothering to talk to you, but he figures it’s simply because he finds it amusing.

“N-No, Captain.”

“Why not?”

“I’m t-too shy, and they’re not… they’re not interested in me,” you sound so shaky, peering up at him as if you expect him to just get off you now you’ve told him your sob story about wanting to save your first kiss to be something special.

Steve snorts. And just how fucking naïve could you be? You’re fucking delectable, he bets the lowlifes at your college creamed their pants thinking about you. Suddenly, he bristles at the thought of sending you back tomorrow, back to the dumb idiots you went to college with. But he shakes the thought out of his mind to focus solely on you.

“There’s nothing special about kissing,” he tells you, “Love, intimacy, saving yourself for that special someone – none of that’s real. The sooner you realise that, the better.”

He kisses you, cupping your cheeks with his hands so that you don’t move your face aside. At first, he’s rough, unforgiving, pressing his tongue into your mouth because you taste so sweet and he needs to get more. And then he slows down, registers your soft, quivering lips on his, how rigid they are as you don’t kiss him back. He snorts inwardly, not caring in the least. He’d kiss you all he wanted – he doesn’t care if you don’t respond.

Steve sighs into your mouth, so tuned in to your senses that he feels your breath hitch, and a tiny squeak sounds past your lips and straight into his. His thumbs, seemingly moving off their own accord, stroke your cheekbones, and he feels your body instinctively relax underneath his – probably because that’s the first and only gentle gesture you’ve felt from him this whole night.

Slowly, he sucks your bottom lip almost sweetly, as if lulling you into a false sense of security. You’re still too scared or shy to kiss him back, but that doesn’t make the kiss any less enjoyable for him. His tongue plays with yours coaxingly, because he can’t remember the last time he kissed a girl and liked it so much. And then he feels you give a tiny little kitten lick, as if you’re testing the waters as you move your tongue shyly against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick.

He pulls away slightly to watch your face, amused when he sees your eyes scrunched shut and your lips slightly pursed, as if awaiting another kiss. And that’s what he does, giving you one, two, three quick pecks that have you inhaling deeply, and your eyes open cautiously. But they flutter shut almost immediately when they find him staring back at you.

Steve goes in for another kiss, as if one wasn’t enough because suddenly it’s like he’s parched, and his raging hard on would have to wait a second longer. His dick is as hard as a metal rod, resting against your bare stomach as he makes out with you. One of his hands reach down to cup your breast, and he can feel your nipple, hard as glass, poke against his palm even through the material of the bra. You squeak into his mouth again, as if him touching and playing with your breast is making your body invertedly respond to him.

He can definitely feel you kissing him back now, even though it’s shy and periodic… Your tongue moving slowly against his for a few seconds before you remember you’re not supposed to be enjoying this and you freeze. And then you start again, your tongue timidly stroking against his once more. Then you stop again. Repeat. It makes him smirk against your lips, feeling a rumbling in his chest like he wants to chuckle in amusement.

He pulls away, examining how breathless and cute you look. And you gaze up at him with glassy, wet eyes, those perfect, pouty lips still slightly puckered, as if you’re asking for more. But he continues to just drink in every detail of your face and how you look a mix of scared and curious, afraid and confused.

“W-Was I bad?” you breathe, and your innocent face is begging for reassurance. He knows because little girls like you always want reassurance, are always seeking out the approval of men like him. And a part of him wants to tell you no, no you weren’t bad at all. In fact, he rather enjoyed kissing you. But he keeps his mouth shut, because it wasn’t his job to reassure you. And maybe he wants you to be a bit insecure; you’d work harder in pleasing him if you thought he didn’t like your kiss.

He’s still cupping your breast with one hand, and he suddenly feels a wave of irritation at the lacy material of your bra. Quick as a wink, he tears your bra apart, the two ripped pieces now lying on either side of you. A hungry growl emanates from him, and he feels like an animal, he really just wants to suck on your tits but his dick is growing impatient, and you’d probably pass out from fear and dread if he stretched this out any longer.

He reaches to grab a condom from where he stashes them in his bedside drawer. Protection was a must for him – who knew what kinds of diseases all these modern, promiscuous girls were carrying? And yet, his hand falters before he draws back completely, his mind clouding with thoughts of how sexy your soft pussy would feel around his dick if he fucked you raw. Yes. He had to fuck you raw, feel your tight virgin pussy around him as he ruined it. He deserved as much.

Instead, Steve grabs the lube once more, acutely aware of you watching him with eyes round as saucers as he squirts a generous amount of it on his dick. He looks back at you, lying deathly still underneath him, looking like you’ve seen a ghost. He wonders if your pussy’s still tingling from the two orgasms he’s just given you, and he absentmindedly pumps his dick at the thought. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on before in his life, his dick so hard he feels he’ll blow his load right there and then.

He lines his cock up against your entrance, his hands holding your silky soft thighs apart. A part of him wishes you’d fight back just one more time, just so he could exert his dominance over you once more, just so it would highlight how weak and small you are. But you lay there, quivering in fear, definitely too scared to fight back, or too distracted by his dick he glides it up and down your wet slit in anticipation.

Suddenly, you grab his arm as if to stop him, and Steve narrows his eyes.

“W-Will it hurt?” You ask softly.

“Yes.”

You whimper, your grip on his arm tightening as another tear trickles down your cheek, and you look up at him with desperate eyes.

“Please, Captain, p-please could you… could you make it hurt less? Please?” You beg him so prettily, and he can’t help but focus on how your tears get caught in your lashes, and how you sniffle like a baby. “Please, I’m sc-scared, I– maybe if you were slow–?”

“It’s going to hurt no matter what,” Steve says briskly, feeling impatient beyond belief, and yet a part of him wants to brush and collect your tears. “In fact, if I go in slowly, it’ll hurt more.” He wonders if he should say more, say anything at all to ease your discomfort. But he reasons that that’s not his job – he’s not a lovesick boyfriend who needs to worry about your feelings. This is for him. He deserves this.

You start crying softly once more, your whole body shaking. Steve tries to ignore it, focusing on your cunt instead. His dick is twitching with excitement, the tip an angry red as he brings it up against your fuckhole. He grits his teeth and pushes in, but he can’t. You’re too tight – and he’s way too big. He sighs in frustration.

“Stop being so tense.” He orders you, pouring another decent amount of lube all over his cock as well as your entrance. He’d scissored you open with three of his fingers, but it had been an extremely tight fit. And three of his fingers didn’t compare to the girth and thickness of his dick – not even the tip of it. He frowns down at you, “You need to relax. It’ll hurt less if you relax.”

A panicked look flits over your face as you look down at his dick, and he knows you’re intimidated by his size. But then you take a deep breath, close your eyes and he feels your body get less tense underneath him. He smirks.

He grabs his cock by the base and lines it up against your hole once more. You flinch away from him, your innocent, puppy dog eyes blinking up at him. He doesn’t give a fuck though, and with a lot more determination this time, he grits his teeth and forces his way inside you.

Your scream is earth-shattering. But it’s music to his ears.          

“NO, PLEASE, NO, TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT! TOO BIG!”

You thrash violently underneath him, limbs flailing before he pins them down. But for a handful of seconds, he can’t even really focus on you. Not when he’s finally basking in the glory of being inside your tight little snatch, and it feels almost euphoric. You feel so sexy around him, so hot and velvety, squeezing the life out of his fat cock. Well, he’s only got a bit more than his tip inside you, but it already feels fucking heavenly.

“Oh fuck,” Steve mutters under his breath, trying to get a grip and not get too lost in the feeling of your gorgeous fucking pussy. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and yet he feels like his balls are about to blow with how fucking hot it feels being inside you like this.

“It hurts! T-Take it out, Captain! Please!” Your tiny hand grabs his forearm again, lips puckered so sweetly, even the grimace on your face looks beautiful. You’re beautiful when you’re in pain, and he’s addicted to the sight of it. For a split second, he imagines it’s his wedding night, and you’re his beautiful bride – sweet, innocent, beautiful bride and he’s just popped your cherry and now you’re his forever.

The thought makes him shudder, and he quickly pulls out (not that there’s much to pull out, since only his tip had entered you. You were crying and screaming just from being penetrated by only his tip, and this makes Steve smug, despite everything).

You’ve barely caught your breath when he drives his dick back inside you, and this time he really forces it in. Now that he’s got a taste of your warmth, he wants to be completely enveloped in it. His hands grab your hips tightly, forcing his fat cock inside you inch by inch. He doesn’t care if it takes all night, he was going to fully penetrate you if it was the last thing he did.

“Shhh, shut up and take it,” he orders you as you scream and protest. If any other one of his girls had screamed bloody murder the way you were doing right now, he would’ve smacked them unconscious. Not you though, and he doesn’t know why that is. “God fucking dammit, how is your pussy so fucking tight?”

“Y-You’re too big,” you answer, shaking your head over and over again, “th-this… this isn’t normal, Captain, y-you won’t fit! Please stop, something’s gonna break, I-I’m scared, I–”

He wants to break your pussy. He wants to break you.

“Shut up,” he snarls, before a thought occurs to him. Out of nowhere, he kisses you once more. Silencing your protests as his tongue works against yours, and he finds that he was already missing kissing you. God, you felt so good. Your warm, sexy lips against his and your warm, sexy pussy gripping his dick. God, fuck… So this is what great sex was, huh? Maybe he’d been fucking the wrong girls this whole time. Maybe he should’ve sought you out from the beginning – or someone like you. Someone young, innocent, unexperienced, delicate, fragile, a cry-baby. Just the complete opposite of him.

Despite everything, you kiss him back once more. Steve bets it’s because your girlish mind is trying to convince him (and yourself) that you’re a good kisser. He makes a mental note never to give you this reassurance – that way you’d just keep kissing him as if you had something to prove. Or at least that was the hope. Nevertheless, the kissing distracts you enough for him to still inside you (he’d only gotten less than a quarter of his huge dick in) and then he pulls out.

The third time he penetrates you, he does it with more force than ever before. And he bites your lip hard, grunting against you till he can taste your blood. That’s when he finally pushes more than halfway inside you, and he hears something rip from within. And you scream, you scream so fucking loudly and straight into his mouth, but he continues to kiss you, basking in the feeling of being inside you properly now. His dick feels so constricted inside your tight walls, but it’s the best feeling he’s ever felt.

He breaks the kiss to look down into your eyes, and savour your reaction to being impaled by him, to being filled up by only half his length. But your head lolls to the side, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You’ve passed out.

“What a fucking baby,” Steve hisses, shallowly thrusting in and out of you. “Can’t even take daddy’s dick inside this tight little snatch of yours without passing out, can you?” Truthfully, he doesn’t even want to pull out, he’s so obsessed with how good your pulsating pussy feels around his dick. But he knows he needs to draw back so he can thrust back in even deeper. He’s only got half his dick inside you now, but he’s determined to get in balls deep before the night is over.

“Wake the fuck up!” he commands, wanting you alert as he defiles you. He slaps your cheek lightly several times, to no avail. He sighs, reaching for the glass of water on his side table. He dips his fingers into the liquid before sprinkling the water over your face. He slaps your cheek again, harder this time, and it turns him on when he hits you, taps into his darkest, most masochistic desires that he keeps under wraps from even himself.

It's only when he pulls out and slams back into you that you suddenly rouse, and it takes you a nanosecond to start screaming again, panicking and flailing underneath him once more. But he’s not having it this time, and quickly plasters his palm over your mouth to silence you.

“Tell me... how does daddy’s dick feel?” He asks you darkly, and he can sense the sadistic smile on his face fuelled by the sheer power he has over you right now. “And I’ll backhand the fuck out of you if you start screaming again, so don’t even try it.”

He removes his hand from your mouth and focuses on pushing more into you, and you pant underneath him, silently sobbing and cringing in pain. And yet you swallow and look up at him bravely.

“I-It hurts!”

“Address me properly.”

“C-Captain, it hurts!”

He narrows his eyes, “No. I asked you how does daddy’s dick feel?”

Your jaw drops open, and it looks like you’ve momentarily forgotten that he’s currently trying to impale you with his huge dick. Your face has the audacity to look mortified, and he wonders how innocent you truly are.

“I can’t… I can’t call you… That’s wrong!” you sputter, looking almost – dare Steve think it – cute. With your wide eyes and indignant gaze and delicious pouty lips in the shape of an o. You seem to blurt out your next words without even thinking: “Y-You’re not my dad!”

Steve barks out a laugh before he can stop himself, but he straightens his face almost immediately, reaching up to grip your chin harshly between his thumb and forefinger. Faced with your horror-struck reaction to calling him daddy, he now wants you to address him as that and nothing else.

“Listen, sweetheart. You may have noticed by now that you don’t get much of a say in what happens to you tonight,” he licks up your jawline before his lips brush against your mouth, and he speaks in a whisper, “Now answer my question. And address me properly. Or else.”

You look mortified, scrunching your eyes shut as you breath rapidly in and out. “It… It hurts…daddy.”

Steve feels like he’ll bust a nut right there and then. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on. You’re so small and shy, so tiny and naïve and scared like a baby, and now you’re calling him daddy in that sexy, shaky voice of yours. Goddamn, what a sexy little slut you were. And he’d take care of you tonight, just like any daddy would. Oh… damn right he’d be your daddy tonight. God fucking dammit, you were such a little slut for calling him that!

With a renewed, carnal type of lust, Steve grabs your legs and hoists them over his shoulders. You yelp as he folds you in half like a goddamned pretzel. And the juxtaposition, the visual of your naked body underneath him still in his bloodied suit from the mission – God, it turns him on so much. He presses another kiss to your lips, guiding you into making out with him, wanting you to get obsessed with the idea of kissing him. And then he pulls away, and looks you right in the eye.

“Now you can scream.”

“Huh?”

He slams into you so fucking hard, he’s sure you see stars. And if you were screaming loudly before, it’s nothing compared to now. His entire floor is sound-proofed, but he’s sure the people above and below can hear you. He’s pushed himself far deeper into you, so deep that he senses something rip inside you again. And you’re crying, your little fists pounding against his chest, and yet Steve grits his teeth and mutters, “take it, just fucking take it,” pushing into you bit by bit, inch by inch, so determined to finally get his cock all the way inside you. Pulling out a bit, then pushing in some more while your tight walls try to push him out but he’s so much fucking stronger than you.

A deep rumble emanates past his lips when he finally – fucking finally – bottoms out inside you, and he leans down to press his forehead over yours so he can savour the moment. You were his, completely, irrevocably, undeniably his. You whimper and cry underneath him but it’s music to his ears, your sweet reaction to him popping your cherry, completely snatching away your virginity and possessing it as his forever. He looks down to where you two meet, sees your pussy stretched out completely around his girthy dick, and it makes him want to spontaneously combust.

“You’re mine.” Steve breathes against your lips, and for the second time tonight, the image of you as his little bride flits through his mind. Yes, you’d make a very fitting bride for him. Small and submissive and innocent. And he’d never taken marriage seriously before now but… well, how could he give you up? When he’d taken your virginity and made you his? How could he possibly send you back to wherever you’d come from? The mere thought fills him with vitriolic rage. No. You were to stay with Steve, and you’d be his bride. His wife. His. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You don’t argue this time, or even hesitate. He knows he’s broken you when you look up at him, dazed expression on your face. “I’m – I’m yours, daddy.”

Fuck. And you’d gone and called him daddy again without him even having to prompt you. Yes. That more than sealed your fate. You would be his now. His girl. His wife. He’d keep you locked up in his room forever, the same reward that he’d look forward to coming home to after every mission.

“How does it feel to have your baby pussy split open on my cock, sweetheart?” He presses kisses down the nape of your neck, excitement rippling through him at his impulsive decision to make you his wife. The thrill of finding a bride as cute as you makes him want to kiss you even more, and he nips at your neck before reaching your lips, pecking them once, twice, three times. All while you look up at him with glassy, wet eyes and a pitiful expression mixed with something else.

“Please,” you breathe quietly against his lips, and with sapped energy you manage to grab a fistful of his suit, pulling it to get his attention, “Please, make it hurt less. Please.”

Steve smirks, pulling out of you and preparing to slam back in. But he grows distracted by the sight of his cock, completely coated scarlet with your blood. Your virgin blood. The pillow under your ass is stained with drops of dark crimson too, and he’s never seen anything like it. Fuck. He’d really done a number on you, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t even begun fucking you yet.

I deserve this, he thinks to himself.

He slams into you again, the gasp dying in your mouth when he grabs you by the chin and forces you to look down at where you two meet. Your eyes grow wider, your mouth dropping open as you shake your head in disbelief at the sight of your pussy so stretched out to accommodate his girth.

“What’re those conservative parents of yours gonna think when they find out their good little girl just got her pussy ripped apart by a man twice her age?”

You swallow and shake your head, “I–I…”

“Answer me!”

“They’d be d-d-disappointed!” You cry out, ripping your gaze away from the sight of his dick penetrating your formerly virgin pussy, instead looking up at him instead, your mouth looking so deliciously pouty.

Steve smiles wickedly, “It’s a good thing you’re not their little girl anymore, huh? You’re mine now, so their opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Th-They like you! They’re fans of you… They wouldn’t like this at all! OH MY GOD!” You gasp, and he has to hold you down to keep you from sliding upwards from the power of his thrusts. You cry out once more, “W-Was supposed to – ah! – wait till I was married…”

The mention of marriage has Steve imagining you as his little bride once more. He already owned your body, mind and soul – but the marriage certificate would make sure he owned you under the eyes of the law too. His kept woman you’d be, fluttering around his apartment like a bird in a gilded cage. Or maybe he’d move you into one of the suburban properties he owned, where he could come home to you and relieve all his tension and worries. Yes. It would be perfect. He’d make all the arrangements tomorrow…

For now, he focuses back on fucking you silly. Pulling out all the way, he rams his dick straight back into your cunt, and you let out a sound that’s a mix between a squeak and a moan. He looks down at you curiously.

“You like that? You like daddy’s big dick?” He grabs your hands, squeezing them tightly.

“T-Too big!” Your eyes flutter shut as if you’re about to pass out again. “C-Captain, please slow down! H-Hurts so bad!”

Steve bristles. Hadn’t he explicitly told you to call him daddy? After all, he’d be your daddy now. You wouldn’t be your father’s property after tonight. No, you were Steve’s. He was your daddy, and he’d take care of you because you’d soon become his bride. But he wouldn’t have an insolent, insubordinate wife who couldn’t take instructions well. That wouldn’t do at all.

He grunts, letting go of your hands and wrapping his fingers around your throat instead. You squeal in protest but it lands on deaf ears. His other hand presses down over your mouth once more.

“Shut up!” He snaps, “Stop squealing like a little bitch. It hurts but you’re just going to have to take it. And you better start calling me daddy, or else I’ll drag you back downstairs and fuck you in front of everyone.” He only means it as a threat, but he knows by the way your breath hitches that you’re innocent enough to believe him.

He removes his hand from your lips and taps you roughly on your cheek, “Tell me you understand.”

You nod, receiving a harder tap on your cheek and a menacing look.

“I-I understand, daddy, I – oh – oh my!”

He thrusts into you with such force, he knows you’re seeing stars. And it’s subtle, but Steve catches it. He catches the shift in your expression, this unfamiliar spark in your eye as if you don’t know what’s happening with your body. But Steve knows. Your body is finally starting to respond to his cruel ministrations – just like he knew you would. You were an innocent little baby but you were also a horny little slut who was enjoying getting fucked by a man like him.

“It’s starting to feel good, huh?” Steve whispers against your lips, imagining the different ways he’d take you for the rest of the night. Of course, you’d probably pass out again once he was done with this first round. But after that? Maybe he’d put you on top of him, bounce you up and down on his cock and get in even deeper that way. Or he’d make you suck his cock, or maybe he’d manhandle you till you were on his face, rubbing that sweet, gorgeous little baby cunt on his –

“I-I don’t understand!” You cry, and he feels you wiggle your hips subtly as if you’re trying to do it without him noticing, “Feels…feels…oh, oh god!” With abandon, your head lolls back and you rut your hips up against his dick, meeting his thrusts. Steve chuckles, a satisfied feeling spreading across his chest.

“All that crying and screaming, just for you to enjoy getting fucked by me,” Steve murmurs, brushing your hair off your face so he can gauge your expression better. You look so pitiful, biting your lip and looking up at him with wet eyes, humping up against his dick and your eyes reflecting the confusion you felt. “But don’t worry, all little girls like you love getting fucked by their daddy. It’s only natural, sweetheart.”

“D-Daddy, please,” you pant, and now your hands come up to grip a fistful of his suit, and he knows that you don’t even understand the pleasure you’re slowly starting to feel. And you’re gripping his cock so tight as he rams in and out of you, building up a steady pace now. He knows he’s found your g-spot and he’s pounding against it, but you have no fucking clue and it’s the hottest fucking thing ever.

“Look at you, humping your baby pussy up against daddy’s dick,” Steve shakes his head as if he’s reprimanding you. He spits down on your face, wanting you even messier. His hand leaves your throat as he shoves two of his fingers past your lips, spreading them open and spitting again. His saliva lands on your tongue, “Swallow it, you nasty fucking slut. I knew I’d make you my little slut before the night was through. I said fucking swallow it. That’s right. Good girl.”

“Ah, ah, ah– tingles… I – daddy! P-Please, I don’t know what’s – AH!”

 Your breathless moans and nonsensical garbles are like music to his ears, but nothing compares to the way you clamp down on his cock when you suddenly squirt around it. The way you squeak and clutch him tightly, and he fucks you through your orgasm. Your very first orgasm while getting fucked, and it’s so fucking sexy the way your tight walls flutter around him. God, he could get used to this feeling – buried deep inside your wet, tight snatch every single night from here on out.

“Did daddy make you feel good?” He breathes, hips moving like a jackhammer, his balls slapping against your pussy as he continues to fuck you.

You nod timidly, wiped out from your orgasm to say anything else. He smirks, watching your breasts bounce up and down as he fucks the living daylights out of you and you just lie there beneath him and take it. As if a part of you had understood that this was to be your job from here on out – his little fuckdoll, his little prize after God knows how many listless years of saving the world, saving people who he didn’t give a flying fuck about.

He’d won countless medals of honour, rewarding him for his bravery in serving his country, in saving his people. But you were his true prize, with your tight cunt that was his and his only. And how jealous every other man would be! He knew they already envied his physique, his fame, his authority. Now all those assholes would have another reason to envy him – because his little bride was the most innocent, most vulnerable, most beautiful girl they’d ever lay their eyes on. And it would be his bed in which you’d be, night after night, waiting with spread legs for him to fuck you.

Of course, he’d fuck other women if he so wanted to. Steve didn’t believe in love or monogamy. He believed in ownership, though. And he owned you, every part of you from your cunt to your soul. You wouldn’t even look at another man ever again, or else Steve would have you killed. And the thought of you with another man is what incenses him even more.

With a low growl, he pulls out of you. Your eyes shoot open, your mouth pausing mid-moan to look up at him desperately. Your cunt shamelessly humps the air, and he can’t believe what a little harlot you’ve turned into after your first taste of sex. He looks down at his blood-covered dick, grabbing it by the base. He lays his fat cock on your stomach, painting your smooth skin scarlet with your own virginal blood. The sight turns him on even more, and with another growl, he puts your legs down and flips you over on your stomach.

He grabs your ankle, dragging you to the foot of the bed while you squeak in protest and confusion. He gets off the bed, standing up to his full height as you cower beneath him, looking back at him over your shoulder warily, a trail of blood on the sheets from where he’d dragged you.

“Hands and knees,” he orders, “and don’t fucking make me repeat myself.”

This time, you do obey pretty quickly. Mustering up whatever energy you have left, you shakily get on your hands and knees. He grabs your hips just in time, keeping you upright before your body has a chance to collapse. Your legs are shaking and he knows your body can’t take much more. He doesn’t care, because he owns your body and you’ll take what he gives you.

“Nice ass,” he smirks, squeezing and kneading your ass cheeks liberally before giving your ass a hard smack that has your knees buckling. He hoists you back up by your hips, “Thank me for the compliment, sweetheart.”

“Th-Thank you, daddy.” You answer almost at once, and Steve grins wolfishly. He’s broken you. He bets you’d do just about anything to please him now. He bets you’ve forgotten about your life back home, and all your tiny mind can think about now is your daddy and his big cock.

With a grunt, Steve pistons his fat cock inside you once more. And god, from this angle, with your gorgeous, perky ass right in his fucking face, he feels like he’s going to blow his load any second. You start moaning again, rocking your hips backwards, garbling “please” and “daddy” and other nonsense. Your ass bounces with each thrust, and Steve can’t help but slap it brutally hard, over and over again, wanting you even more bruised and bloody than you already are right now.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” he asks, slapping and pinching your ass while he watches his dick disappear inside your sexy cunt over and over again, “you tried to act all innocent and cute, telling me you had fucking homework to do tonight, fuck!” He lifts your hips up off the bed to get a better angle, till he’s holding your entire lower body up in the air.  It gives him better leverage, since he’s so tall, and he fucks you on his dick like you were nothing more than a fleshlight.

“I – ah, daddy! – I d-do have h-h-homework – OH MY GOD!”

It just gets Steve even harder, hearing you be so innocent despite being held up and fucked like a dog. You’ve got your elbows propped on the mattress to keep you up, your legs flailing helplessly as he holds your hips in the air, ramming you repeatedly with his fat cock till he knows you’re seeing stars.

“Forget about your fucking homework from now on,” he spits out, grabbing your ass lewdly and jiggling it, fascinated by how it bounces so cutely. “There’s no way I’m letting you go back to that college of yours.”

“Wh-What?”

He doesn’t answer, and the room is filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin, the carnal sound of Steve staking his claim on you. With all his other rewards, he’d be done in about fifteen minutes. You, he’d have you all night if he could. Well, he can – he’s built like a fucking tank with stamina for days. You, on the other hand, keep looking like you’re going to pass out and he’s pretty sure he’s done some type of damage to your pussy. He’d have SHIELD’s physician check you tomorrow.

He throws you back down on the bed, not giving you a chance to even catch your breath before he’s on top of you, flipping you on your back and urgently pressing his lips to yours. Much to his smugness, this time you respond as if it’s muscle memory, kissing him back as best as you can. And for a person who’s just learnt how to kiss, you sure were extremely desperate for it. You keep kissing him even when he enters back into you for the third time, fucking you on your back and this time you wrap your arms and legs around him like a goddamned koala bear, your kisses growing more fervent till Steve pulls away and chuckles against your lips.

“You like kissing me?” He finds himself asking you, holding you in place beneath him as he fucks you hard, but his one hand comes up to grip your chin so you don’t look away, “be honest, baby. You like kissing daddy?”

Your eyes widen in fear at the direct question, and he watches the panic on your face. But then your features contort in pleasure as he repeatedly hits that spot deep inside you, and you nod desperately, surging up to kiss him again but he pushes you back down.

“Use your words.”

“Ah, y-yes, I do, okay!? I like it! P-Please!”

You start doing that thing again, humping pathetically up into him as if to meet his thrusts. And he wonders if you realise how easy he’s truly going on you. He reckons he’s using about five percent of his power right now as he rams into you repeatedly. Any more than that and he’s sure he’d shatter your pelvis or cause permanent damage.

“Kiss me, then.” Steve says, not knowing why he sounds so gentle. He probably had something stuck in his throat, but he doesn’t dwell over it because, like a good little girl, you obey him. Your needy lips, your desperate tongue poking against his in a perfect kiss. He groans into your mouth, his thrusts going sloppy as your cunt squeezes around him because you’re so turned on by him kissing you.

“Am I… A-Am I doing this right, daddy?” You breathe, batting those fucking sexy, innocent eyes up at him.

Steve smirks, “You’re fine.”

You’re more than fine, of course – but he doesn’t need you knowing that. He needs you to be as insecure as possible. It made you even hotter, the look of self-doubt that you have on your face right now. He’s violated your body, he’s still violating your body, and yet all you seem to be focusing on is the fact that he thinks your kissing is “fine.” Not good, not great… but fine.

You kiss him once more, even more desperately this time, as if you’re trying to prove something. Steve relishes how easy it is to play with your mind, how naïve you are. How much he’ll enjoy playing with you when he makes you his wife. He continues pistoning his dick inside you as he lets his mind wander.

All the others would be so fucking jealous of him – even Bucky, who had a girl already but Bucky’s girl was nothing compared to you. He’d drag you around the whole building, the whole headquarters, the whole compound, showing you off like a shiny, new toy. That’s what you were – his very own toy.

He’d take you into meetings with him, make you sit on his lap and play with you in front of everyone. And he’d chop the dick off of anyone who looked at you in a way he didn’t like. He’d make you wear pretty dresses, make you look like a cute little housewife, train you to answer his every command. Fuck yeah, you’d be his reward. He deserved you, after all he had sacrificed for his country, for the world.

“D-Daddy, I’m feelin- tingly again!” you moan, your words shaky from how hard he’s fucking into you. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist and in return he clutches you harder, determined to make you squirt again before he had his own release.

“Oh yeah? What does it feel like?”

“D-Daddy – nngh…ah, I–I–”

He swats your clit harshly, making you howl in what he knows is pleasure. His dick hammers in and out of you unforgivingly, and you’re such a fucking slut, humping up against him, crying for your release. And it’s such a far cry from how much you were resisting him at first, he can’t believe what a little slut he’s reduced you to in such little time.

“Stupid girl, can’t even talk anymore, can you?” he mocks, pinching your clit meanly, bullying it as he rubs it fiercely. Till you’re thrashing underneath him, so desperate to cum that you don’t even care that your body is betraying you. “Tell me you’re a stupid little girl!”

“Oh fuck! I’m a – a – a stupid little girl!”

He can see the remnants of your tears stained to your cheeks, and he feels a carnal level of possession within him. With a growl, he lewdly licks the side of your face, claiming his territory, tasting your salty tears. Roughly, he tugs your hair, pulling your head to the side and biting down on your neck. So hard that he draws blood, and then he licks that up too. God, what a little slut you were – a slut disguised as an angel and you were making him act like a motherfucking animal.

And now the side of your neck sported his bite mark, your porcelain perfect skin marred by his branding of you. And this was just the beginning – Steve already knows that he plans to mark you in many different ways. Tomorrow, he’d get one of the agents to bring over a tattoo artist to tattoo his initials somewhere on your body. Maybe right above your baby cunt, just so you would always remember who you belonged to. He smirks, and wonders what your conservative parents would think of that.

“What would your parents think now, sweetheart?” He asks, grabbing one of your legs and hoisting it over his shoulder for a better angle. And you’re so pliable, so easily going along with whatever he’s doing to you like a perfect little doll. “What would they think of their perfect little girl getting fucked by Captain America like it’s her fucking job?”

You panic, as if the mention of your parents is a reminder of how wrong this all is for you – not that Steve gives a fuck. Biting your lip to keep from moaning at all the sensations you’re feeling, you shake your head. Only for him to slap you not so lightly on the cheek.

“Answer me, baby girl.”

“They’d – ah – they’d hate this, they’d be upset, they’d – OH FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” You scream out all of a sudden, your pussy walls gripping him like a vice, “O-Oh, I’m feelin– I gotta–”

“Hold it.” Steve hisses warningly.

But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. Babies like you couldn’t hold orgasms for shit. And you cum, crying for him and gripping him tightly, and Steve feels like he’s going to lose it with how sexy it feels. It feels like your cunt is trying to swallow him up, crying for his seed as it pulsates around his fat cock that continues to move in and out.

“Bad girl,” Steve chastises, giving you another not-so-gentle slap on the cheek because you look like you’re about to faint again. He jostles you with the forces of his dick, still ramming in and out of you at lightning speed. “You do things without permission a lot at home?”

You have the audacity to, despite everything, look indignant: “N-No, never, I never–”

“Then what made you think you could cum without your daddy’s permission?”

Your lips purse as if you’re about to cry, and you blink up at him so goddamned innocent. Steve’s honestly surprised he’s still going, surprised he hasn’t busted a fucking nut with how goddamned cute and sexy you are.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I couldn’t – ah! – I had to, I–I–”

“Give me another one,” he orders you darkly.

“Wh-What–”

“You heard me. Cum for daddy again. Since you like doing it so much.”

Frantically, you shake your head, “C-Can’t! Too much, daddy, it’s too much– O-O-HHH GOD!”

He reaches down to strum your clit before a dark thought crosses his mind. His fingers slip lower, gathering the wetness of your pussy along the way. Lower, between the cleft of your ass cheeks. He can’t resist giving one of your perky cheeks a hard smack, before going straight for your puckered hole. He circles it with his thumb and your body stiffens in shock and horror.

“N-No, daddy, no please, that’s wrong, that’s–”

Steve shoves his finger in your tight, virgin asshole. He hadn’t been planning on defiling that third hole tonight, but oh well. And it’s even tighter than your pussy, and you clench against his digit like a fucking whore because he knows you like it. You like your daddy’s finger up there. His fucked up little wife-to-be… God, you were so perfect for him.

 With his fat cock, Steve fucks your pussy and at the same time, his huge finger fucks your tiny ass. Pumping in and out of your tiny hole while you cry and yet once more you slowly begin humping up against him. As if the depravity of it all turned you on even more – which he knew it did.

Your hand tugs at his bicep, making him shift his gaze back up to you.

“It’s happening again, daddy, it’s– d-don’t stop, I–”

Steve licks his lips, “Say you’ll marry me.”

Your eyes widen the most they have all night, “Wh-What?!”

“Say it!” He orders, “Say it or else I’ll fucking stop and leave you hanging. Say you’ll marry me, be my wife and do whatever the fuck I tell you to do.”

“N-No, I–”

He stills his hips, only for you to shake your head and grip his arm harder in desperation, humping up against him hopelessly.

“Say it. Say you’re daddy’s little bride. Fucking say it.”

“I-I’m daddy’s little bride, okay? I’ll do it, daddy, I’ll marry you, I – OH FUCK, PLEASE – I’ll do whatever you say, I, just please, I–” You’ve lost it, completely lost it as new tears swell from your eyes and you beg him as if you have no shame at all. And Steve feels all the pride and smugness in the world as he resumes fucking you, knowing he won’t last any longer after this carnal display of submission from you.

“Cum.” He orders you, “right now, sweetheart, do what I say and cum for daddy.”

You squirt so violently around his cock, that your whole body shakes and shudders, you’re so overwhelmed by pleasure. Toes curled and tears streaking your face, you hold him so tightly that he’s surprised by your strength, and you keep moaning his name, you keep moaning “daddy” over and over again as if he got his agents to reprogramme your brain and it’s all you know how to say now.

“That’s right, baby girl,” he mutters lowly, “squeeze that pretty little princess cunt around daddy’s dick. You’re such a good fucking girl.”

“Th-Thank you, daddy,” your meek response, barely audible by how quietly you say it, is not something he expected, and it goes straight to his dick. Not you, not his little bride, thanking him for deflowering you in the most brutal way possible? Fuck, he’d broken you. You’d be licking the palm of his hand by tomorrow; he just knew it.

The thought makes him shudder, his dick twitches and then he unloads inside you. Spurt after spurt unloaded straight into your pussy, and it’s such a satisfying feeling, pumping you full of his seed. Filling you the fuck up, and he’s glad he didn’t use the fucking condom. And there’s so much of his cum, because of the serum of course, so much that it doesn’t even fit inside you. It pours out of you and you watch with wide eyes before letting out a soft cry.

“I’m not… I’m not protected, I don’t take birth control, I–I…” Your voice trails off, too weak to voice any more protestations as Steve continues to empty himself inside you, your words having no effect on him whatsoever.

“Good. You’d be lucky to carry my child.” Steve informs you, his cock already thickening again at the thought of him knocking you up. He’d never had an interest in having children before now, but fucking a whole family into you seems like the hottest fucking thing he could do right now. Captain America: the family man. It made sense for his image.

Your protests fall on deaf ears, and he remains inside you, till he’s finally emptied out and your poor, raw pussy is overflowing with his cum. But he stays on top of you, propped up on his elbows as he watches you underneath him. Your chest rising and falling as you breathe, and you’re so pretty, and he can’t help but lean down to kiss you again. Once, twice, three times. He frowns when you don’t kiss him back, drawing back to take another look at you.

Your eyes have fluttered shut. Your body couldn’t take it. You’ve passed out once more.

Steve smirks, feeling himself hardening up again inside you. He had absolutely no qualms with fucking you back to consciousness again.

***

It’s gone past midnight when Steve hears a knock on his door. He calls for them to come in, and two SHIELD agents appear in his doorway. The same two who always come to take away his rewards after he’s done with them.

The female agent’s jaw twitches at the sight. Steve on the bed, having changed and washed up with a quick shower. And you’re next to him, passed out on the bloodied sheets. Steve reckons you look beautiful, like you’re sleeping.

“Would you like for us to take her away, Captain?” The male agent asks.

“No. She will stay with me. Contact her family and let them know, make them pack a bag for her and make sure it arrives here by tomorrow.”

The male agent nods, but the female – it’s always the damned females, Steve scorns – she hesitates.

“Captain, she looks like she’s in bad shape. Maybe–”

“That will be all.” Steve interrupts, “you can leave now.”

They do, and Steve turns his attentions back to you – his little girl, as you begin to stir.

“Shhh,” he orders, when you open your mouth to speak. Your eyes look bleary, you look confused, wondering whether all this was a dream or not. Steve’s in no mood to indulge you, and yet he presses his thumb past your lips. And fuck, it goes straight to his dick when you readily accept it, sucking his thumb like a baby as you blink up at him.

His beautiful, broken little bride.

“Go back to sleep.” Steve tells you, “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day for us. You need all the rest you can get.”

Yes, tomorrow. When he’d parade you around his teammates as Captain America’s little bride. It would be perfect. His forever reward.

Tony had his alcohol, Sam had his parties, Bruce had his research and Bucky had some girl. But Steve? Steve had drawn the best cards out of all of them. Because he had you. Your submission, your devotion. You.

He deserved this.

AKFSLA THE END!! Steve's inner monologue was unhinged af. I know! Please, please let me know what you think!!! It would mean the world, please do reblog and leave feedback!!! I have been writing this for around two weeks and would love to know what you think!!! As usual, thanks so much for reading my work and supporting me!!! I love you guys!! SORRY IF IT SUCKED ASDAGNL.

ALSO please forgive me if i got anything wrong about shield or hydra or any of that. like i literally am not an expert asnglagl okaybye!!!

[enkvyu]

12:45am — gojo satoru ;

“cute earrings, where’d you get them?” shoko asks.

“hm?” still clinging to sleep, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the metal dangling from your ear. the sharp indents of its gem pricks you back into a memory. “oh, these. i got them from a friend last week.”

“friend? or do you mean boyfriend?”

shoko’s words are throwaway, her wandering eyes and yawn a clear indication yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

shoko hums, shifting her cigarette to the other end of her mouth. her gaze flickers somewhere behind you and you almost look too, when her words pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. “i’ve probably never told you because i’ve never thought about it myself. i mean, being a jujutsu sorcerer and all, romance is kind of off the table.”

shoko keeps looking at you, pressing you without words. you grimace and sigh.

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good looking? someone who’s not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they'd have to be smart, but not book-smart, like, street-smart." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humour, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you giggle. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” shoko says, grinning.

you push her shoulder but don’t deny it.

yaga walks into the classroom, cutting your conversation short. you spin around in your seat to face the front, eyes accidentally meeting gojo’s. he turns around too, and you reason that he was probably looking out the window behind you. you see getou snicker and whisper something in his ear, but gojo seemed to be having none of it, blatantly ignoring him.

seeing his face makes you think. didn’t gojo kind of match your type? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and maybe not academic smart, but he definitely carried an air of confidence when it came to fighting. and it wasn't a secret that he lightened the air wherever he went, intentionally or not.

with a start, you look back at shoko. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” shoko chuckles. “are there any more?"

yaga slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and predictable missions. by the end of the day, you can't even remember what you had told shoko early that morning.

when you enter the classroom the next day, you’re surprised to find gojo already there, seated at his table. his sunglasses hangs lower on his nose than usual and most curiously of all, a book is held in his hands. you’re not sure if he’s actually reading or not considering that pages were being turned far too quickly for someone reading “ordinary objects” by amie thomasson.

his eyes flicker to yours as you head in. “good morning.”

“morning. what’s with you?”

gojo clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my potted plant, gojo i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s not dead yet!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, dropping into your seat. “it better be. shoko got me that one.”

“speaking of shoko, is she not coming today?”

“i think she stayed overnight at the morgue.”

“is that so? perhaps i should write notes for her. i wouldn’t want her to miss out on class.”

you turn to him horrified. “so you did kill my plant!”

“i said it’s not dead!” gojo bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i simply worry for her.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“well you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

gojo leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, book forgotten and placed harshly down on the table.

you tilt your head. “where's getou, you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

gojo peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch gojo mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favourite anime had delayed it’s upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with getou, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to getou's usual behaviour.

“are you trying to be like getou?” you try.

gojo whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be composed.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

gojo remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

gojo speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think getou is well-mannered?”

“yeah?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “more than you, at least.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think getou’s great and everything—”

“you think getou’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think getou’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think getou’s great.”

"what are you even saying?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

baffled, you flail for words. “are you jealous of him? that's strange, i didn’t think either of you would ever feel jealous of each other.”

gojo grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “me neither.”

the door to the classroom is thrown open and getou steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and gojo as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” gojo says and glares at him.

getou blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“gojo’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. gojo, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, gojo."

you snicker as gojo huffs and glances away, looking away out the window behind your head. his train of sight cuts right past you but you can’t help but feel slightly flustered as he looks on, almost like he was looking at you, so determined to ignore getou’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown getou out too, your traitorous mind observing the blue in gojo’s eyes. you had always thought it was just one colour, but looking at it now, it seemed more like a kaleidoscope of blues, the many shades sparkling and dimming as he watched birds flutter outside the window, and you watched their shadows through his eyes.

something shifts, in the air or in the skies you don't know, and gojo meets your eye. startled, you hold the gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

gojo glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

getou looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” gojo says.

getou clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one either. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was and your realisation is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

gojo clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns as you don't give him any other reaction.

yaga saves you from addressing his statement, walking into the room as the bell for class rang. "oh? you're all early, even you gojo. where's shoko?"

“she’s staying at the morgue because of the recent mission.”

“i see.” yaga nods. “then let’s start.”

your mind fails to work as you turn over gojo’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with gojo and the talk you had with shoko yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked getou?

you watch gojo’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. yaga’s voice drawls on and yet gojo doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face yaga again, gojo’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

gojo has a crush on getou.

filler imagine based off of that One scene from the manga: "megane tokidoki yankee kun"

[emmyrosee]

Don’t know if you’re taking request, but imagine modern college au where Toji has baby Megumi (the mother isn’t in their life) and reader, his girlfriend, have class together but has to bring Megumi along cause he has no babysitter or they cancelled, so while sitting on the back seat of the class, Megumi is playing with you hair for attention and so you pick him up and hold him and Megumi kicks his legs happy while he draws you all, as a big happy family UGH

IM GOINF TO DIEEEEEE THIS IS SO PRECIOUS AUGH

And secretly, you’re kind of glad when Megumi’s babysitter cancels, because the little boy is so sweet and so well behaved it’s like he’s not even there anyways, and yet you still adore spending time with him. So when Toji knocks on your door to pick you up, and there’s a tiny Megumi in his arms, he rolls his eyes as you squeal and take Megumi into your own arms, who instinctively wraps his around you.

“Yeah, hug him before me, how nice of ya,” he scoffs, but he smiles as you press a loving kiss to his lips.

“Not his fault I like him more than you,” you coo.

He snorts and grabs your book bag from the ground, carrying it as you make baby small talk with Megumi- what he colored the other day, the pretty kitty he saw on the walk to you, and the new highest number he learned to count to; which, he eagerly displays as you conclude your walk to class.

“You’re so smart, megumi!” You praise, nuzzling his nose with yours while Toji holds the door open for you both. You’re quick to make your way to the back, plopping down on the double table. “Baby, hold megumi for a sec?” You ask, and when Toji takes Megumi back into his arms, you take off your hoodie to lay it on the ground as a slight cushion. “There. Come get comfy Megumi!”

The small boy is let out of his father’s hold and makes his way to the hoodie, sitting down quietly before blinking his big eyes at you and Toji.

“I got your coloring books hold on,” Toji says, taking his own seat as he opens his bag. He pulls out a box of crayons, slightly worn from use, and a big coloring book, filled with dragons and knights for him to fill in. Megumi’s eyes light up as his father passes him the book, and he immediately goes to work.

The class starts like normal. No one says much about Megumi being there, an occasional smile or gesture for a high five from the small boy, but no one bats a negative eye. Megumi’s small but quiet, he’s a good kid who plays with his own toys and sits in place. No one really minds his company- especially not you.

Professor drones on for hours, talking about something you can’t pay attention to- you’re too busy playing with Megumi’s hair, carding the black locks and smiling down at him as he nuzzles into your touch. You’ll get the notes from toji later. You’ve got more important things to take care of.

It isn’t until megumi uncharacteristically stands up with a few crayons in his hand and reaches a hand up to stroke your head, smoothing down any hairs. You turn to him with a smile, patting your lap for him to crawl into, which he does eagerly. You flip your notebook to a random blank sheet- definitely making a note to get a rundown from Toji later- and let him color anything his heart desires. You bury your face into his tiny head of hair and gently rock both of you back and forth, only to smile when you feel Toji’s big, warm hand lay on your back, thumb smoothing up and down your spine. Megumi’s legs dangle and swing happily as he colors, occasionally humming in thought quietly.

The professor finally, after two hours, concluded his lesson, bidding you all farewell and dismissing the class. You stretch and take a peek over to Toji’s messy notes, and you chuckle and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Pay extra close attention so you could teach me, huh?”

He snorts and turns his head to kiss your lips, “you had the kid, I knew your ass wasn’t going to pay attention. Besides- I can always tutor you later,” he chuckles.

You swat his chest with a laugh before turning back to Megumi, “what did you draw, lovey? Can we see?”

You see Megumi ponder for a moment, eyes looking down in thought before he looks up at you and nods quietly. When you open your notebook again, you nearly cry from the drawing.

It’s the three of you- toji drawn as a big square, you, a triangle, and Megumi a small circle. The two of them have dark scribbles to represent their hair, but Megumi took the liberty of being extra careful coloring your hair, making it look nice and pretty. You’re all encapsulated in a big, pink, messy heart that almost fills up the entire page.

“Who’s that?” Toji asks, pointing at a small circle between you and Megumi.

“Mr. Moo,” he says simply, referring to his tiny stuffed cow he sleeps with at night. Toji hums in acknowledgment, but you’re too busy burying your face against Megumi’s, kissing his tiny cheeks and squishing him close. He wraps his arms around you, merely out of instinct.

“Can I have it, Megumi?” You ask, and when the small boy nods, toji scoffs in offense.

“Hey. You got the last one- this one’s mine!” He argues.

“Uhhh, actually, you get Megumi all the time, so I call dibs on all his drawings,” you say back. “It’s a fair trade.”

“I’ll show you a fair trade,” he grumbles, but he leans down to pick up your bag all the same. “Come on. I need a coffee.”

“C’n I have donut?” Megumi asks.

“Why not?” Toji shrugs. “You were good today.”

“He’s good every day,” you hum happily.

[stevesherdaddynowlover]

pet names and looped pinkies [s.h.] 18+

hiiiii so i've never written for steve but just did a stranger things rewatch and have felt...inspired. i hope you enjoy! pls feel free to send suggestions or concepts or anything :) thanks for reading!

masterlist

summary: steve is your best friend and you have a crush on him and that's fine until one day it's not and the next thing you know you can't think or speak or breathe around him. (steve harrington x fem!reader)

warnings: loooots of pet names, fluff, pining,cursing, kissing, m masturbation, dirty talk, handjob, spitting, tiny bit of cum eating :))) 18+ ONLY!! MDNI

wc: 6.4k

part 2 here!!!!

You and Steve had been friends for quite some time now. 

Going from quietly watching him throughout high school, maybe quietly crushing on him too, to fighting monsters and trying to survive could do that to people. Make them friends, that is. 

The crush you’d been harboring on Steve didn’t go away, oh no if anything it had gotten about ten times worse in the time you’d spent growing close. That Steve you knew in high school was long gone. The, for lack of a better word, asshat you had come to blush over had turned into a protector. A funny, endearing, unnervingly hot protector that made your tummy flutter and your palms sweat. 

It didn’t help that he seemed completely unaware of your feelings, or that the things he did made your heart race and your cheeks turn pink. Linking his pinky with yours while you strolled around town, letting his thumb mindlessly rub circles on the little sliver of your stomach that was visible during movie night, giving a little tug on your hair when you said something cheeky, letting his dimple pop out when you teased him. 

And the pet names. God, the pet names! Maybe he did know! Maybe he wanted to torture you and make you squirm. They slipped from those perfect pink lips so effortlessly it kind of pissed you off. 

“Hey honey, how was work today?” 

“Sweetheart we’re gonna be late for the movie and I will not be blamed when we don’t have time to grab your snacks.” 

“Any chance you wanna pick up an extra shift and spend some time with me? What do you say, pretty?” 

He had the hair, the smile, the charm. You imagined it would be hard for anyone not to fall madly in love with him. It was surely hard for you! Steve did a good job of turning you to mush. It was hard to think around him, even harder to not think about him. 

Which is why you’re really struggling now, smushed on a far too little couch with 3 other people, your thigh pressed so tightly against Steve’s it’s making your head spin. It’s movie night, a tradition you’ve picked up and held onto tightly amidst all the craziness that happens in your small town. Steve is on your left, stuck between the arm of the couch and you. Robin is on your right with Eddie next to her and Jonathon next to him. A couch meant for 2, maybe 3, but all 4 of you packed on while the rest of your friends lounge on the floor or a chair, eyes all focused on the screen. 

Almost everyone’s eyes are focused on the screen. 

You’re staring straight ahead, sure! But while a movie that you now can’t even remember the name of is droning on, all you can think of is how your hip is touching Steve’s. Or how his pinky has somehow found yours again and they’re looped together on his lap. Or even worse, how he’s got his head resting on your shoulder and you can feel little puffs of his breath hitting your neck everytime he laughs. 

It’s driving you crazy, your hand not in his twitching by your side and your chest rising and falling a little faster than it should be while watching a comedy with your friends. You’re so distracted it takes you a few minutes to realize that Steve is no longer watching the movie, but is now focused on you and how uncomfortable you seem to be. He gives a small tug to your pinky, drawing your eyes to meet his and you’re so overwhelmed with him right now you could cry at the furrow in his brow and the small pout he’s wearing looking at you. 

“Y’alright, baby?” You can see his genuine concern at the state of you but all you can focus on is trying not to let a small whimper through your lips as you hear him call you baby. Not being able to look at him for more than a few seconds you drag your eyes away from him, a small huff leaving you while you shake your head, mainly at yourself. “I, uh m’fine. I’m fine.” Neither of you are convinced, you know that, but you can’t find it in you to care at the moment when all you can think about is taking his bottom lip between your teeth. 

He studies you once more, eyes taking you in quickly as he reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers around your neck a second longer, two fingers giving you a little pinch before he’s drawing his hand back to his lap. You find yourself staring far too long at his hand, wondering what it would feel like if he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. Or if it would be as good as you imagined to have him slip that same thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, wearing that same smirk you’ve seen a thousand times.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re so fucked. 

As soon as the thoughts come, they’re gone because the next thing you know you’re using his and Robin’s thighs as leverage to jump up from the couch, turning to face everyone with red cheeks and a forced smile. 

“So I, uh, I gotta go! Just remembered mom wanted me home early tonight, some, uh, some family thing going on. Yeah that’s it. Family thing!” Everyone is staring, eyes wide with confusion written all over their faces. You love movie night, never miss it let alone leave early. 

You don’t give anyone the chance to question you before you’re bouncing up the stairs trying to pull your shoes on as quickly as possible. You know he’ll be right behind you, asking you what’s wrong or offering a ride home. You both know you’re full of shit but you can’t find it in you to care right now, too focused on getting away from him before you do something crazy like kiss him. 

Steps away from the front door you think you’ve made it. Can almost feel the relief of the cool breeze cooling down your skin that seems to be burning up from where Steve was touching you. You're so close, less than a foot away when you realize you weren’t quick enough. 

A hand wraps around your forearm, a large calloused hand that you’d know anywhere. Shoulders slumped in defeat and you turn to face him, not all the way because you don’t think you could handle it, but enough to acknowledge his presence. “Harrington, I gotta go. You know how my mom is, this’ll be held over my head for weeks if I’m late.” Lies. All lies. Your mom fully expects you to sleep at Robins tonight. He’s quiet for what feels like hours but is really only seconds before he speaks, “Let me give you a ride then. You’ll be home in less than 5.”

Now you know that cannot happen. You cannot be in his car that smells like him. You cannot watch the way his hands grip the wheel, and you know you won’t be able to look away. You cannot be locked in a car with him where you know he’ll try and figure out why you’ve been acting so weird tonight. And honestly you just cannot be around him right now without feeling like you’re going to faint. 

“No, no, don't worry about it, it’s a quick walk and I could use the fresh air! I’m feeling a little…off right now anyways so I wouldn’t mind being alone. Go finish the movie! Love you, see you, have fun!” And before he can react or try to argue with you, reaching up on your tiptoes you plant a quick kiss to his cheek, lips tingling as you turn and run out the door, hoping to god or whoever is listening that Steve doesn’t come after you. 

What you don’t see as you’re running down the sidewalk is your best friend standing in the doorway with his hand hovering over his cheek where you just kissed him and a blush crawling up his neck as those quick seconds play on a loop in his head for the rest of the movie. 

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

It’s been a few days since movie night. The night you’re refusing to think about but also the one you can’t seem to get out of your head. More specifically the sound of Steve calling you baby and the feel of his fingers brushing against your throat. 

Well you’ve tried not to think about it. 

You’re not sure why this is happening now. You’ve liked him for as long as you can remember so why all of a sudden do you feel like panting when your skin touches his? Why now are his little smirks and pet names enough to bring you to your knees? Over the years you’ve done good, so good, at keeping yourself together in front of him, letting his comments and flirting roll off your back. But now…now you can’t be in the same room without wanting to tug on his hair or leave marks on his chest or feel so desperate to taste him that it drives you insane. 

You don’t know what caused this switch to flip but it fucking sucks. It sucks because besides all of that, he’s still your best friend. Yeah, it’s ungodly how hot he is but he’s also still the guy who buys you your favorite ice cream when you’ve had a rough day, who goes to see scary movies with you when no one else will because you’re the only one that likes them. He’s saved you, cared for you, loved you for a few years now and honestly that just makes it worse! 

He’s mouthwatering AND a good guy. Fuck him for that. 

In the few days since you’ve seen him he’s called. 11 times? Maybe more. And you’ve been conveniently in the shower or asleep or anything else your mother can make up while you try and figure out what you’re going to say to him. The problem with this is that the longer you avoid him, the more awkward and hard this is going to be. 

So when you wake up today, 4 days after movie night, you decide it’s time to be a big girl and talk to him. Not about your feelings, god no! But it is time to at least try to be normal around him and to stop avoiding him. You already know he’s gonna look like a kicked puppy, big brown eyes staring down at you while you try and justify not talking to him for days. You’re fucked. So fucked. 

Walking downstairs you hear the phone ringing and your heart drops. Maybe you’re not ready for this. Maybe your family can just move! That should work. You’ll miss everyone but honestly this seems like your best option at this point. 

Your dad is gone for the day, your mom is standing at the counter with her purse on her shoulder like she’s about to walk out the door with her mouth open, ready to give Steve yet another excuse to why you can’t talk to him. But you’re brave. You’re a big girl who can handle a phone call with your best friend. Your hot best friend you're madly in love with and want to climb like a tree. 

Your hand is out and reaching for the phone before you can talk yourself out of it, a sigh of relief leaving your mother as she practically throws it at you, running for the door before you change your mind. It’s by your ear for a good few seconds before you hear him, his voice raspy and deep so you know he’s just woken up and it makes your whole body buzz. 

“Hello?” 

It’s now or never. Never sounds nice. “Hey! How ya been? How’s it going? How was the movie?” The questions pour out of you so quickly you’re not sure he can even understand what you’re saying but you hold your breath and wait anyway. 

“How’s it going? Are you kidding me? Fuckin’ Christ! You’ve taken about 12 showers in 4 days and couldn’t be bothered to talk to me, why don’t you tell me how it’s going.” So he was upset. Totally fair. 

“Don’t be mad at me, please.” It was the first thing that came out of your mouth and you knew it was stupid but you couldn’t help it. He deserved to be mad at you, to yell and cuss and whatever else he deemed fit. But now that you had heard his voice again for the first time in days, the thought of him being upset with you made you want to cry, even though you had done this! 

You heard him take a deep breath and knew he was running his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends the way he always did when he was stressed. “M‘not mad, sweetheart. I mean, maybe a little but I was more worried! That something had happened or I had done something or…I don’t know. Was just worried sick and…god I just fuckin’ missed you.” 

Had you mentioned that you were fucked? His words hit you a ton of bricks, any thoughts you had about moving on or maybe distancing yourself gone in an instant. Because he was worried. And he missed you. He fuckin’ missed you. And god you loved him so much it hurt, so much you could feel it in your fingertips and toes like little zaps of electricity when you thought of him or heard his voice. 

You were gone for Steve Harrington. 

“I..m’so sorry, Stevie. I missed you too, so much and I’m so sorry and I’m just…I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong, you never do! I’ve just been a mess and my minds been a mess and I thought some time to myself would help me but really it's just..it doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m sorry and I missed you.” 

“S’okay, bunny. You alright? Can talk to me about anything, you know. I’m not…I know I’m not always the best at this stuff but I’d be good for you. I’ll listen to ya all day, do whatever I can to help you. Wanna come over? Movie night just the two of us? I’ll order you pizza and get you extra buttery popcorn and some ice cream, promise.” 

The thought of being alone with Steve sends red lights flashing through your brain but when he sounds so…god when he’s saying all the right things in a voice you’d dare describe as whiny you can’t help but to want to drop everything and all but crawl to him. 

So at the expense of your sanity you agree quickly, promising you’ll be there by 8 o’clock and hang up the phone before he can call you sweetheart or bunny again running up the stairs to take the coldest shower you’ve ever taken that does nothing to erase the thoughts of Steve from your mind. 

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

The walk to Steve’s was surprisingly calm. You weren’t freaking out completely, just a little nervous but that was nothing new to you when it came to spending time with Steve, especially alone. 

Unfortunately for you, that calm lasted for all of about 10 minutes. 

In theory it was a good idea to spend some time with Steve after ignoring him for days. It was an okay idea to agree to a movie night with your best friend. Was. 

But now that you’re standing on his porch and his door was just thrown open to reveal a freshly showered Steve, it seems like all of this was a horrible idea. 

An awful, terrible, horribly bad idea. 

Awful because you can see little beads of water from his freshly washed hair dropping and running down his throat. Awful because the urge to lean forward and run your tongue over them is so strong you swear your mouth waters a little bit. 

Terrible because he’s wearing that goddamn white t-shirt that is hugging his arms so tight and since when did his arms start to look like that? Awful because that same damn shirt is tight over his chest too. It fits him so well you can see it snug against his tummy and waist. It fits him like a glove and your hands clench at your sides to keep from touching him. 

And this is bad. So horribly bad because he’s wearing his favorite pair of light wash denim jeans that cling to his thighs so nicely you feel your knees wobble. One of your hands comes up to your mouth to run over your chin, subconsciously making sure you’re not actually drooling despite the way you wish you could drop to your knees and spend hours leaving marks on those thighs. You can’t see his ass and you’re praying to god he doesn’t turn around so you don’t have to suffer through seeing how his jeans hug him just right. 

While your mind is running a million miles a minute with thoughts of Steve, you realize you actually haven’t said anything. Haven’t made a move to greet him or walk in, instead just standing there with what you imagine is a slack jaw and wide eyes. Willing yourself to meet his gaze, you somehow manage to drag your eyes off his thighs and bring them up, up, up until you meet his. 

He definitely does not look like a kicked puppy right now. Those brown eyes are darker and he’s wearing a smirk that would make you do anything he asked. He cocks his eyebrow at you, amusement clear in his face as you try and collect yourself. 

“You look starved, honey. Wanna come in?” 

   *********************************

After the initial embarrassment wears off, you feel a little better. Somehow managing to brush off his teasing as if you weren’t just devouring him with your eyes, you follow Steve to the kitchen, laughing as he tries to balance all the snacks he’d bought for you in arms. He shot you a glare full of playfulness when you tried to help, insisting that he “was a big boy and could handle the snacks.” 

Now you find yourself on that same couch from last week, much more space between the two of you than there had been then, a good foot and half extra in fact. Steve laughed when he saw you practically throw yourself to the other end of the couch, hand reaching out for you with a little pout on his lips. “Think I’m gonna bite you or something?” God I wish. Please please please bite me! 

But instead you held out your hand reluctantly, fingers twisting with his as he tugged you toward him. Movie night flashed in your head. His clothed thigh just inches away from yours, arm thrown over your shoulders and a cheeky grin on his face as he pulled you into his side. A satisfied hum was heard and you could have sworn you heard him mumble under his breath, sounding a lot like “much better” but it was hard to hear anything with the smell of him clouding your senses. 

Trying to get your thoughts off of him you reach forward to grab the dvd case laying on the table, a small smile gracing your lips as you see what he had picked. “John Carpenter's Halloween. I thought you said you’d never watch this?” This time when you turned to him, he was the one with red cheeks and shy smile as he glanced between the movie and you. A small shrug and wink was thrown your way, “S’one of your favorites. You should know you’re the exception to my rules.” 

You’re fucked. 

Heart pounding in your chest all you could manage was a smile and a small “thank you” before turning away, hoping he’d get up and start the movie so you’d have something to distract you from how sweet he was, watching a scary movie you know he doesn’t want to watch just because it’ll make you happy. 

It was about halfway through the movie when it happened. 

Everything was going well! You were snuggled into his side, actually paying attention to the movie and not sitting there distraught over being so close to him. You were so invested you hadn’t noticed your hand slip to his thigh during a scene that had made you jump. 

But Steve noticed. 

Too engrossed in your movie to see how your hand was holding his upper thigh and it definitely would have been too high if you’d been paying attention. You didn’t notice this or the way Steve was now on red alert, whole body tense with his hand gripping the couch cushion and his eyes trained on your hand as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. 

He could do this, he could ignore your hand and let you watch your movie. It would be fine. He’ll just slip into the bathroom when it’s over or wait till you go home to take care of his now aching cock. And god was he aching. He didn’t dare move, too nervous that you’d get all weird and fidgety like you’d been. This was the closest you’d been to him without seeming freaked out in weeks and he was not about to ruin that. 

The smell of your lavender shampoo overwhelmed him, a groan threatening to spill out while you sat there so unaware of how beautiful you looked just existing. He noticed everything about you. The slope of your little button nose and the way your lips, your perfect pink lips, parted just so when you were lost in thought. He noticed how your cheeks would turn the prettiest shade of red when he called you baby or honey or sweetheart. And he loved it, craved it even. He couldn’t tell if it was because of him or if you were just a sensitive little thing in general. He’d take what he could get with you, even if he had to live off your rosy cheeks and holding your pinky for the rest of his life. 

“Fuck, honey, m’sorry but you have got to move your hand, please.” Steve’s voice in your ear so suddenly made you jump, a small yelp leaving your lips as you turned to see what he was talking about. You didn’t even realize you were touching him! But one look down at this thigh and you gasped, cheeks burning as your eyes moved from your hand clinging to his thigh over to now very noticeable bulge straining against those light wash jeans. Ripping your hand away as if he’d burned you, a string of curses and apologies flew out as you scrambled to move as far away as possible. 

If he looked pained with your hand on his thigh then he looked downright miserable now that you’d taken it away. “Don’t have to run away from me, honey. M’sorry, didn’t mean to scare you I just…fuck I couldn’t sit still with you holding onto me like that.” He did his best to tug you back and you let him. “Sorry, Stevie. I wasn’t…I didn’t, I was just watching the movie I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

He looked at you with furrowed brows, eyes jumping all over your face like he knew something you didn’t, like he knew something you should know. Neither of you said anything, just stared at each other for some time before he sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch before coming back to look at you again. 

Hand cradling your cheek he gave you a small, tired small like he couldn’t believe you could possibly make him uncomfortable. That is not the word he would use. “Silly girl, I’m not uncomfortable because your hand was on me. I’m uncomfortable because your hand on me is making me wanna pin you down and fuck you so hard you can’t think straight.”

Oh. Oh. 

Lips parted you just stared at him, not sure you’d be able to form a coherent thought let alone words right now. He wanted to fuck you? Since when? Why hasn’t he ever brought this up? Doesn’t he know you’d do anything he asked of you? 

Steve let you process, could see the gears turning in that pretty head of yours and your eyes switching from looking at him to looking at where his cock was pressing up against the zipper of his pants. Maybe he’d said too much, gone too far. He was almost certain now that you liked him, wanted him, but maybe it was too overwhelming to be so blunt with you. 

“Y’know what baby? I can see you freaking out and I didn’t mean to make you nervous so I’m gonna go to the bathroom, alright? Gonna take care of this real quick and then we can finish the movie, can start another one if you want. I’ll be right back and we can figure this out later.” It was him getting off the couch that broke you out of whatever spell you were under, hand wrapping around his arm and if you weren’t so desperate for this, for him, you’d be embarrassed by the look of panic in your eyes at the thought of not getting to see this, to make him feel good. 

“Please stay. Just…fuck just stay, okay?” 

Both of you paused, staring at each other and waiting for someone to move or to breathe or just do something. A soft “okay” was murmured between you, Steve settling back into the couch as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Fuck was this really happening? 

“Whatever you want to happen can happen, baby.” 

You definitely didn’t mean to say that out loud but now that you had, a little burst of courage hit you and you just let it pour out. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud I just..I didn’t…I’m nervous. You make me nervous. I want this. I want this so bad you have no idea but I didn’t know you wanted this so now my head is fucked and I’m rambling and kinda freaking out but you can stay. You can stay and I can watch or I can help or whatever you want just..stay. Ok?” You dared a glance up at Steve, his eyes wide and a grin broke out on his face. He looked as if you’d just handed him the moon not offered to watch him get off. 

Taking your hand in his he gave you a squeeze, “We’ll go slow. I can start and you can watch and if you wanna do more, feel fucking free, honey. But if you don’t, that’s fine. If you want me to stop, say the word. You’re in charge here,” he paused, lifting his hand to take my chin between his fingers so I’d be forced to meet his eyes, “and for the record, there hasn’t been I second I've known you where I haven’t wanted this. I’ll take anything you give me, swear it. Whatever you want, any way you want.” 

“Kiss me, please.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice, moving his hand to cup your cheek and pulling you toward him, his lips pressing against yours soft at first, testing the waters and trying to keep you calm. His lips were just as soft as you’d imagined, sweet like the candy he’d been eating earlier. You groaned against him, pushing closer and opening your mouth to invite him in, the thought of his tongue on yours enough to have you reaching your hands into his hair to tug him closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. 

He pulled back first, a string of spit connecting the two of you and he cursed at the sight, “Jesus, fuck I can’t believe you’ve kept this sweet, pretty mouth away from me. S’not nice, baby. So mean to me, yeah?” If you thought you were desperate before it was nothing compared to now, now that you’d had a taste of him. 

“M’sorry Stevie, so sorry, not gonna keep em from you anymore. Promise, promise, promise.” You’re barely making sense, your head spinning and your body on fire. Foreheads pressed together you tried to catch your breath, but you couldn’t think or breathe or function when he was this close to you with his swollen, spit kissed lips just inches away from yours. 

Coming out of your post-kiss haze you move back beside Steve, eager and desperate to finally see him, all of him. His eyes widen as your hands go to the button of his jeans, tugging relentlessly and you're just so cute he has to laugh. Eager too and fuck how did he get so lucky?

“Take em off, please. Want them off, Stevie.” You’re full on pouting now and it takes everything in you not to cry. You’d do it if he wanted, you’d do anything. But he doesnt let it get that far, taking your hands off his jeans and cooing at you and it makes you feel a little pathetic but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when he’s about to finally pull down his pants. 

He does so wordlessly, eyes bouncing from his lap to your face every few seconds like he’s checking in on you, making sure he’s not missing anything and that you still want this. It makes your tummy flutter and your heart race, his caring for you. His pants pushed down to his knees is all he can manage, head too fuzzy thinking about you and how he’s so hard it hurts worse than it ever has.

As soon as his jeans were out of your way you were staring, gawking really, at the white boxers sitting so prettily on his hips that were doing nothing to hide how hard, how big he was. A small wet patch forming where you know his tip is resting and it makes your mouth water. He’s just so hot. So hot and it makes it even better that this is because of you. Fuck.

A beg was on the tip of your tongue but before you could he put you out of your misery. Lifting his hips up you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep still while he pulled his boxers down, pretty, messy, cock slapping against his stomach. “Jesus fucking Christ, Steve! You’re so…I’m…fuck.” He breathed out a laugh which quickly turned to a wince when we saw how you were looking at him, at his cock. He felt himself twitch under your stare and you swear your mouth just fell open as if it was meant to be. 

His hand drifted towards his cock, eyes still on you to make sure you were okay. You gave him a nod and the sigh of relief you both had when he finally wrapped his hand around himself would have made you laugh if you weren’t throbbing. His head fell back against the couch and you were torn between watching him touch himself or watching his face while he did it. The former won, your eyes trailing the way his hand moved slowly, teasing the both of you. 

“S’pretty, you’re so pretty…” You’re not even sure you were talking to him, more just to yourself but he heard you nonetheless. His hips jerked at that, a small moan slipping past his swollen lips as he turned his head toward you, watching you with hooded eyes. I could watch this forever, you thought. 

You couldn’t believe it. A few days ago you were thinking of ways to never speak to Steve again and now here you were, watching him stroke his cock in front of you and looking at him as if he was your last meal. He held his hand out, a silent plea for something but you didn’t know what, not until he spoke.

“So good, baby, so pretty. Can you ju-just spit on my hand for me, honey? Lick it, spit on it, anything you want, I just need you please.” His words were slurred and if you hadn’t spent the last few hours together you would think he was drunk. He seemed so out of it, but in the best way. Like he didn’t just want you but needed you. It made you feel good, better than you ever had and it gave you a spark of bravery you were missing before. 

Knocking his hand out of your way you leaned forward with cautious eyes, watching as he tried to figure out what you were doing until it dawned on him and his cock twitched in his hand. You leaned forward, face hovering inches above him and spit, both of you watching as it dropped from your mouth to his tip, covering the top of his hand as he began to stroke himself again. His lips parted in an “o”, eyes squeezed shut and his tummy clenching as he let out the loudest moan you had heard, so loud and strong you felt yourself clenching around nothing.

You were wet but with Steve looking and sounding like that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how bad you were aching right now, far too focused on Steve and how his thighs were starting to shake a little and his hips were starting to move faster and more uneven. 

“C-can I?” 

His eyes shot open, head shaking furiously before he had even fully understood what you were asking. He knew he wouldn't last more than ten seconds if you touched him but he couldn’t care less. All he could think about was how pretty you were, how good he was feeling, how you had just fucking spit on his cock. He would take whatever you gave him. 

With a whine that you would replay in your mind for the rest of your life he took his hand off, tugging yours closer to take his place. Both of you moaned at the contact and you were almost convinced you could cum just from touching him. “Help me, I want you to feel good, please.” He looked like a bobblehead as he nodded, putting his much larger hand over yours and giving it a squeeze, helping you to stroke him just how he liked, though anything from you would feel a million times better than his own hand. 

Addicted would be the word to describe it. Now that you had touched him, felt how hot and smooth his cock was in your hand, how pretty it looked all pink and wet and coated in your spit. Steve liked it messy and apparently so did you. You thought you were addicted to his cock, and you were, but nothing prepared you for the absolute filth that started spilling from him once he finally had your hand on him. It made you dizzy and out of breath and goddamn you would have to throw these panties in the trash after this. Absolutely ruined, just like you were. 

“Fuckin’ dreamed about this, ‘bout your hand on my cock, s’good, baby.”

“Don’t think I don’t see you squirming, honey. My pretty girl all wet ‘n needy and I haven’t even touched you. Bet you’re drenched and achy, huh?”

“Gonna make me cum, gonna make a mess of us but I bet you’ll be good and clean it up for me, won’t ya, bunny?”

He was babbling now and you could barely make sense of what he was saying but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t and you didn’t want to. His cock was slick with precum and your spit one of his hands guiding yours in quick strokes while his other was gripping the couch so hard his knuckles were white. 

“M’close, honey…so so close.”

“Please, Stevie…want it, I need it, please.” And that was all it took. No warning, your words taking him by surprise and hitting him like a punch to the gut. He took his hand off, bringing it to your hair and tugging you to him. It was a messy kiss, lips pressed together while he moaned against you, just breathing each other in while he cursed and whined, his hips stilling and you slowed, looking down just in time to see him cum. Your hand and his lower stomach was covered, his hand that was gripping the couch now thrown over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. 

Chest and neck covered in sweat, he looked good. When he finally had gathered himself enough to look at you, he instantly regretted it. Instead of his innocent best friend, his sweet little bunny, he was looking at a little devil lapping at his cum on her hand like she hadn’t eaten in days. His softening cock twitched against his thighs and he stifled a groan when you hummed happily at the taste. 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” You shrugged half heartedly, not even a little bit of you was sorry. 

“Can we finish the movie now, Stevie? I’ll probably pass out soon you wore me out, but I’m too tired to move.”

He looked down at you a little confused, your cheeks still pink and thighs still clenched together tightly. “You don’t…I can…I wanna take care of you too, sweetheart. Been dying to get a taste of you, know you’re sweet.”

You giggled and even though you were a mess, in every sense of the word, you didn’t think you could handle anymore and told him as such, eyes already feeling droopy and your body sagging against him. “Next time? Promise you can do anything you want to me next time but watching you cum was enough for me.” Your cheeks flamed as if you hadn’t just licked your best friend’s cum off your hand. 

“Alright, honey. Let’s finish your movie, you little vixen. Didn’t even take me out to dinner before you were drooling over my cock. A crime!” His smile was bright as you smacked at his chest and cursed him for teasing you.

You were sure that what had just happened would hit you soon and the panic would set in but for now you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you pressed a kiss to Steve’s bare chest and felt his grin against the top of your head. 

Did I mention I was fucked? 

[freelancearsonist]

make a move on me

➔ pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader - 5.5k

➔ You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodeling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

➔ Rated MA for baby’s first anal fic protected p in a and anal fingering (r receiving), age gap (reader is early 20’s, joel is 36), m masturbation/pillowhumping, daddy kink, size kink, praise kink, gentle-turned-rough sex, pet names (baby, darling, honey, good girl, baby girl, little lady), slight degradation and condescension but only in a sexy way, one use of “slut”, pussy pronouns, one (1) pussy slap, gratuitous dickscription, heavy dom/sub dynamics i mean seriously these power dynamics are out of control, tommy is a little bit of a shit (affectionate) [pls let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ This reader insert character: has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, no name/no use of y/n, is generally able-bodied, fits in joel’s shirt and is implied to be shorter/smaller than him, is on summer break from college but no major/year is mentioned.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. Keep his hands to himself and his mind on the job. Don’t fret over the pretty little thing who’s been draping herself all over the house ever since he started demo, practically begging to be fucked.

If he had any sense, he would pack his shit and drop the job–or, at the very least, tell your parents to put you on a leash. But there’s a little part of him that might be a glutton for punishment–that savors the teasing.

The most infuriating part of the whole thing is that he can’t blame you for this whole mess. He shouldn’t be so quick to temptation. You should be able to walk around your own home in whatever you want and not have to worry about the creepy contractor getting flustered every time he looks in your general direction.

But god, you make it hard–double entendre intended. You walk around like you haven’t a care in the world because you don’t; you’re home for summer break after a grueling year at college, and you intend to savor every languid second of it. Your preferred method of savoring just happens to be wearing tight little bikinis that barely hold anything in place as you lounge out by the pool in the Texas heat, or tight leggings that hug your ass so perfectly it almost makes him jealous of the material as you curl up with a book on your couch.

Joel’s a grown man. He can keep it in his pants, no matter how badly he wants you. But you’re not exactly making it easy on him.

Really, it’s Tommy’s fault when the levee breaks. If he could keep his big mouth shut, Joel might’ve been able to maintain the thin control he had over himself. But Tommy goes and makes an off-handed comment about you one night, and that’s the beginning of the downward spiral.

The brothers are both lounging on Joel’s couch after a particularly taxing day of demolition work, beers cradled in hands and the TV droning uselessly with some movie that they’re more staring at than actually watching. It’s late, yet weary muscles are melted so comfortably into the couch that neither of them try to move even after Sarah’s gone off to bed.

Tommy’s eyes flicker over to Joel, then back to the TV. “That girl’s gon’ be trouble for us, brother.”

There’s a question mark in the grunt Joel emits, leaning forward with interest because he knows Tommy’s talking about you without any specification.

Tommy hums in confirmation and takes a sip of his Corona. “She’s always wearin’ those skimpy little outfits a’hers, and she ain’t coy. Must catch that pretty little thing starin’ at your ass even more than I catch you starin’ at hers.”

Joel plays it off as best as he can until Tommy goes home for the night with a half-assed promise to actually be on time in the morning for once. Then he goes up to his room, locks the door, and wraps himself around the spare pillow that lays against his headboard.

He tries so desperately hard not to think about the plump round curve of your ass, or the enticing way you lick your lips, or those damned little bikinis you favor. He grinds his aching cock into the soft pillowcase and tries to think about anything that isn’t you.

But he comes with a muffled growl of your name anyway, face pushed deep into the pillow and hips jerking arrhythmically.

There’s not much he can do now besides clean himself up and try not to think about how thoroughly fucked he is.

The next day is torture because he can feel your gaze lingering. He catches you checking him out on more than one occasion, and you’re brazen about it now. You can tell something has shifted, so you shift with it. Where you once would’ve flushed with heat and hurried away to your room, you now meet his heated eye contact and hold it.

Joel’s jaw hurts that night from the way it’s been hard-set and clenched all day long. He rubs over his sore temporomandibular joints with his long, thick fingers and wills himself to siphon you out from beneath his skin.

It doesn’t work.

The work helps. Laying tile is something he normally considers tedious, but it’s a welcome reprieve in your home because he can get down on his hands and knees and focus on something that isn’t you.

You see the labor he’s going through, and you appreciate it. And really, what kind of host would you be if you didn’t reward his efforts?

It starts with a pitcher of iced tea. It’s made just the way Joel likes it, with light ice and a few slices of lemon. He doesn’t know how you could possibly guess that, but it makes him want you that much more.

And then it’s cookies. Pain-stakingly handmade oatmeal raisin cookies, to be exact. You’re like something out of his most shameful domestic dreams in your cute floral-patterned apron and oven mitts as you pull the tray of cookies out of the oven, and an image of you in nothing but those mitts and that apron flickers through his mind before he can stop it.

All the while you traipse around the house like a mirage–humming along to the yacht rock that drifts from Joel’s stereo, swaying your hips in the kitchen as you put together the most delicious bologna sandwich Joel’s ever eaten, toweling off your soaking wet body after an afternoon in the pool. You’re the worst temptation Joel’s ever had to face.

It becomes his mantra. Be respectful, be respectful, be respectful.

But there’s no respect in your eyes. There’s nothing honorable about the way you bite your lip and smirk when he catches your gaze lingering on him.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. But why should he have to play nice if you don’t?

And really, the whole thing is Tommy’s fault. He started it with that first comment about you, and then he goes and calls out sick (read: horribly hungover) this morning. He leaves Joel all alone with you–gives you the perfect opening to pounce.

Or, more accurately, entice Joel into pouncing on you.

He’s just setting his tool bag down, about to decide where he wants to start today, when your beautiful face pops in through the door.

“Good morning, Joel,” you say with that gorgeous smile of yours that makes his knees go a little weak. “No Tommy today?”

He nearly chokes on his own tongue when you step further into the room wearing a plaid button-up he left here earlier in the week and booty shorts so small he has to do a doubletake to make sure you’re actually wearing anything on your lower half. You look fucking good in his shirt, and suddenly all he can think about is pulling you in and bending you over the half-finished vanity–

“N-no. He’s sick,” Joel manages to choke out. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then, “that’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

You look down and rub the time-worn fabric between your fingers like you have to think about it, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

“Oh, it must’ve gotten mixed in with our laundry!” The little giggle you let out is so innocent that he almost believes you. Almost. “Here–”

You start to lift the fabric up your torso in the most tantalizingly slow fashion, and he just sits there and watches it happen. He sees the first peek of skin above the waistband of your shorts, and then your beautiful stomach, then the delicious curve of a breast–

He quickly jolts out a hand to stop you in the midst of mentally willing every single molecule in his dick to control itself. “S’alright, darlin’. You keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce and let the fabric drop back down into its rightful place. “Can I get you anything? Water maybe?”

He certainly could use it. His neck and face are flushed red, and there’s sweat starting to form at his temples despite the relatively cool temperature within the house.

He realizes, with startling clarity, that he’s at a precipice right now. This might be the only chance he gets to really do something about this burgeoning tension that’s spread thicker than butter between you and him. He’s got a choice to make, and it’s not going to be an easy choice.

“Sure.” It comes out a bit too high-pitched, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Sure, sweetheart. That’d be great.”

“Alright,” you say with that damned giggle again. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you leave the room, Joel feels like he can breathe again. It’s so much easier to think straight when you’re not standing there, smiling up at him and looking so damn gorgeous.

He’s got two options, when it boils down to it: fuck you or leave you alone. And he really, really wants to take you. Make you scream his name while he pounds himself into you, fill you so full that you never completely wash him out. And you want it too, he knows you do, you’re practically begging for it.

But he promised himself he would be respectful. That he would keep his hands away from the girl that’s definitely too young and too pure for someone like him–because he knows that if has you, he’ll never be able to get enough.

There’s a very clear and obvious loophole that comes to mind now; a way he could have you without ruining you, a way you could both come out of this satisfied yet mostly intact. Joel’s never been opposed to doing the hard jobs, after all.

He’s got a condom in his wallet and KY jelly in his bag–mostly used for plumbing fittings, but it’ll do the job for this kind of pipework, too.

You come back with a glass of ice water, and his resolve slips. How the hell is he supposed to initiate this? What if you say no and think he’s disgusting? What if you tell your parents? He can’t do this, this was such a horrible idea, he–

Your touch on his back is like a gentle breeze, just a flutter of your fingers to alert him to your return. He flinches a bit at the sudden contact, but when he turns you’re still so achingly close. He can smell the agonizingly sweet aroma of your conditioner and the lotion you slather on your body after showering, and all he wants is more. He wants to wrap you around him, to inhale that scent straight from the source. His resolve is back, just like that.

He doesn’t give himself another opportunity to hesitate. He places one big, meaty palm on your cheek and wraps the other around your hand that holds the glass of ice water to steady you; and then he kisses you with such bruising force it almost knocks the wind out of you.

You moan. You actually moan the second his lips meet yours, and he knows just like that–with a startling moment of clarity–that this isn’t going to be enough. He’s going to take, and take, and take–gorge himself on you until you have nothing left to give. And the strangest thing of the whole matter is that he thinks you’ll actually enjoy his greed.

“Joel–”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmurs as his lips break away from yours–so low and soft in your ear it can’t be anything but a growl. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop right now.”

“I want it,” you affirm.

He searches your eyes, but he finds only earnest honesty and lust. That darkness, that pure and unadulterated want is enough to make his pants tighten. “Fuck.” 

He’s so big underneath your roaming hands as he crowds you back against the long bathroom vanity. He lifts you like you’re nothing and sets you on the counter top; he slots himself between your legs and there’s an actual stretch in your muscles to accommodate the width of his hips. One of his wide palms slips behind your head and his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging a little bit to angle your head just the way he wants it. It’s messy and frenzied and desperate–your hands gliding over tee shirt-covered muscle, his tugging your (his) shirt up over your stomach.

“Was starting to think you weren’t interested.” Your voice is heavy and breathy as he breaks away to tug the shirt over your head, casting it aside to lie forgotten on the floor.

“I’ve been tryna convince myself m’not,” he kisses into your neck. “Didn’t work.”

With a sudden roll of his hips, he has you gasping into his neck. He can’t be more than half-hard, but that bulge is formidable. Thick and straining and… suddenly you can’t focus on anything except getting him out of those tight jeans to see what you’re working with.

Your hand just barely fits around him. He’s thick and flushed, getting harder with each passing second as he scatters feather-light kisses over your neck and shoulders. He muffles a groan into your neck as you slowly pump his length–you think he’s seven, maybe eight inches at best guess. The tip of him is flushed red once you get his uncut skin out of the way, and it makes your mouth water. There’s a slight upward curve to him and a long, prominent vein that runs down the left side. It’s porn star material–you didn’t know real people had dicks like this.

“Joel… Jesus, that’s gonna be a tight fit.”

“Oh, don’t worry darlin’,” he hums, thumb ghosting over your clit in a way that makes your entire body jolt. “It ain’t goin’ in there.”

There’s nothing but pure excitement in your voice, despite the anxious gulp that tracks down your throat. “Where…”

“Flip over f’me.”

You follow his instruction with a sort of morbid curiosity, hopping down from the counter before folding yourself over it.

You can feel his eyes on you, as he takes in your willingness. It’s like you’re on display for him, for his appraisal. You’ve still got shorts and a bra on, yet you’ve never felt more exposed.

It’s almost like he can sense your mind swirling–maybe it’s because his is prone to do the same. He sets a gentle hand on your back and smooths it down your spine as he crowds up against you–you can feel the press of his exposed cock against the curve of your ass, and it makes you shiver.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs as he folds over you, caging you in with the delicious weight of his body. His lips trace along the curve of your jaw and down your neck as he speaks. “But I made myself this little promise that I wouldn’t fuck you. You got me actin’ so unprofessional, honey.”

You whine at the sincerity in his voice–all you’ve wanted since the day he started was for him to have you folded over and at his mercy like this. 

“You can fuck me,” you whine earnestly. “It’s okay, I promise. Won’t tell.”

“Mmm, I know. You’re too good a girl to go gettin’ me in trouble over somethin’ like this,” he hums–you can hear the condescension in his voice even as he praises you, and it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “But with all the teasin’ you been doin’... don’t rightly know that you deserve to be fucked.”

“Please–”

“However,” he continues, landing a light smack to your ass in retaliation for your interruption, “might be willin’ to take you anyway, with some conditions. Out of the goodness of my heart.”

He pauses to let you ask, “What conditions?”

And then he pauses again, asking his own question this time. Is he really going to go through with this? But he’s spent the better part of two weeks staring at your ass, and you’ve spent the better part of two weeks putting it on display for him. It’s like you’ve been silently asking him all this time to take it.

His hand slides down from where it rests on your spine, over your tailbone to where he’s been thinking about all this time. He feels the way your muscles tense up even through your shorts, and it sends a thrill he can’t describe coursing through his veins.

“You ever taken someone here before?”

“N-no.” He feels it again as his other hand comes to soothingly rub your hip–that excited-yet-nervous flutter of muscle. You haven’t run away screaming yet, and that’s the biggest motivator he could have to keep going.

“I think you ought to let me. As a thank you, for puttin’ up with all your play,” he growls into your ear.

It’s fucking dirty, the idea of letting a man you hardly know take you in such a taboo way. It’s even dirtier how fucking excited the idea has you.

“You say no right now and I’ll drop it,” he murmurs so sweetly. “Don’t ever have to talk about this again.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished talking–a sly smirk spreading over your lips as you grind back against him hard enough to make him choke on a moan.

“It’s only right,” you affirm. “Gotta make it up to you for how naughty I’ve been.’

His eyes flash dangerously as he grinds his cock against you again, smearing precome against the flimsy fabric of your shorts. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He has your bottoms and panties down around your ankles in a flash, and he actually groans at the sight of your sticky cunt all puffy and wet and on display for him.

He can’t resist the urge to swipe a finger through your folds, delighting in the string of shiny arousal that connects his finger to your core when he pulls away. “She wants it so bad, hmm? Such a shame she ain’t gettin’ any.”

It tugs a moan from your throat, especially when he drags as much slick as he can up to circle your tightest hole. He feels the way you flutter with apprehension, and he leans back down to kiss the corner of your jaw.

“Gonna get you nice and ready, I promise. M’not gonna hurt you, baby girl.”

“Thank you, da–” You almost lost yourself there for a second–almost laid your whole hand of cards out on the table for him to see. You try not to get flustered over the slip–you simply clear your throat and try again. “Thank you, Joel.” But you aren’t nearly as smooth as you hope to be.

In a flash Joel’s free hand is lifting your head, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. They’re so much darker than normal, and it only serves to make you wetter.

“What’d you call me?”

“J-Joel.”

His hand slips down to your throat and gives it a warning squeeze–his jaw is set, you know he isn’t playing. “Try again, and tell the truth this time.”

“D… daddy.”

You try to hide your face, to cower in shame, but he won’t let you. He smashes his lips to yours at the exact second his first finger probes that tight, waiting entrance.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly breaches you, using your own slick to guide the way. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can’t do anything but gasp, hands clutching for dear life to the edge of the counter. This feels different, and not in the way you were expecting it to. It’s tight, sure, and it feels foreign, but it also feels so much better than you ever could’ve expected it to. The subtle stretch around his thick finger is addicting.

Joel’s jaw drops at the expression on your face; you already look so thoroughly fucked-out, and he’s barely even started. “Fuck.You like this, hmm? Like feelin’ daddy’s fingers gettin’ you ready for his big cock?”

The only response he gets is a wrecked little whimper, and he props your chin up again to meet his heated gaze. “Talk to me. Gotta talk to me, tell me how you’re feelin’, or I’m gonna stop.”

“Fuck!” It’s shriller than you want it to be and you would feel pathetic if you weren’t so thoroughly overwhelmed with this new sensation. “Don’t stop daddy!”

“Feels good, yeah? How long has daddy’s little slut wanted to try this?”

But there’s no way you can be expected to answer, not when he’s adding another finger to the onslaught. Not when your legs are already shaking and you’re thinking about just how many fingers he’s going to have to use to get you ready for the massive cock you can feel throbbing against your thigh.

He retracts just as suddenly as he started, and a needy little whine escapes from your throat involuntarily.

He can’t help chuckling as he reaches for the bottle of KY jelly he’d dug out of his bag while you were getting him water. It feels like it’s been years since you left the room on that little errand for him–definitely not the barely ten minutes it’s actually been.

“Relax, baby girl. I’m comin’ right back.”

You feel the cool drizzle of the water-based substance over your hole and it forces another whine from your throat. It’s met with his thick fingers again, spreading the jelly over your hole before plunging two in knuckle-deep.

“Atta girl.” His voice is thick and sweet as honey as he slowly works his fingers, thrusting and scissoring at an achingly slow pace. “Doin’ so good f’me.”

“Daddy–”

“I know,” he coos. “I know, it’s so much, isn’it?”

All you can manage to do is nod your head, arms shaking under the strain of holding yourself upright. He sees the way your limbs tremble and he adds a third finger just to be extra cruel–although he steadies you by grabbing your hip firmly with his free hand, keeping you in place as he fucks you open with his fingers.

Everything is so hot. There’s a sticky sheen of sweat covering your forehead and your chest; you can feel your own slick dripping down your thighs.

And then his free hand drops down to thumb at your clit, and everything twists in your gut so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.

Within seconds you’re coming–no pretense, no warning. It explodes white-hot from your belly and sweeps through you to the tips of your fingers and toes with flash flood speed. One second there’s nothing more than pleasant anticipation–the next, you’re shaking and convulsing and sobbing Joel’s name as you fight with every cell in your body to remain upright.

He does his part to work you through it, thumb swiping even circles on your sensitive clit, pulling his fingers from you to pin you in place on the counter so he can continue working you through it.

“I know, I know,” he coos so sweetly in your ear over the sound of your moans and cries. “You’re doin’ so good baby, let yourself have it.”

It’s minutes before you’re breathing normally again–your legs are cramping from trying so desperately to support your shaky weight. Joel’s hands are soothing you the whole time once he lets up the onslaught on your clit; it’s like he’s mapping you, tracing over every dip and curve so tenderly you could almost forget what this encounter really is.

“Doin’ okay?” He husks into your ear–and then he’s folding himself over you again, and you can feel the insistent press of his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

For some reason, that’s what really makes it sink in. That’s the moment you realize that this is actually going to happen–that you want it to happen. Joel’s about to take something from you that no one has ever taken before, and you want him to. You’re offering it willingly, even.

You hum in response and buck your hips back, giving him a delicious taste of friction that pulls a ground from his throat. “Mhm. I’m ready, daddy.”

“Fuck, that’s my girl.” He gives your hip a light pat before pulling away for a moment, and you somehow have the presence of mind to jump up on the deep countertop because you know your legs won’t be able to support you through what’s about to happen.

There’s a smile on his handsome face when he turns back towards you, lube and condom in hand. “That how you want it, baby?”

Despite everything that’s already happened, you feel so much more exposed like this. You’re completely naked, and he’s fully clothed with his pants shoved down just enough to free his dick. Even as you spread your legs to admit him between your thighs, you feel shy. And he senses it, the slight apprehension in your gaze, because his smile softens even further; he sets the lube and condom down on the counter next to you so he can grasp the collar of his worn t-shirt and tug it up over his head.

He’s beautiful for a nearly forty-year-old man, you think. He’s firm and toned, but there’s a softness about him that you can’t help admiring, especially around his belly. Your eyes eagerly lap up the soft curve of his tummy, following the tantalizing promise of his treasure trail to his cock, hard and aching for you. The ruddy, flushed tip is weeping for you; you don’t know that you’ve ever seen someone so turned on before, and it’s a heady rush of power.

He chuckles as he sees your hungry eyes taking him in–he raises one big hand to cup your chin and pull your gaze up to meet his. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so good spread out f’me like this. You sure you’re ready f’this?”

“Fuck yes,” you say with an alluring little wiggle of your hips, and that’s more than enough for him.

He pulls his bottom lip between even rows of shiny white teeth as he rolls the condom down over his length, and it’s actually intimidating like this. He’s so big and imposing and it makes your legs want to close, but–

“M’gonna go slow, okay?” He vows, voice gentle as his big, brown eyes look into yours. His fingers wrap tightly around the half-used tube of KY jelly, and he leans down to kiss you when he sees the nervous gulp that bobs your throat. “Gonna be real gentle, I promise. You tap out at any time and we’re done, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you affirm, and you feel a lot better. As out of the blue as this is, as little as you really know Joel, you can tell he’s being sincere. You trust him; you know he won’t hurt you.

The first press of his aching tip against your hole is enough to make you choke on a gasp. He’s big, and even with all of his attentive prep work to get you ready for him it’s a tight fit. You can tell it’s affecting him, too. His eyes flutter shut and he bites down hard on his bottom lip, and you can tell that he’s fighting with all his strength not to just shove himself deep inside you. You appreciate his restraint more than words can convey, so you don’t even try; you hook your arms around his neck and pull him in for a deep, messy, desperate kiss instead. His tongue licks eagerly into your mouth as he eases his hips further and further towards yours, and it’s a nice distraction from the nearly overwhelming stretch of your muscle trying to accommodate his girth.

He shudders when his hips finally meet yours, cock stuffed to the hilt into your ass. “God damn baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You doin’ okay?”

You whine at the first roll of his hips, nodding your head rapidly because words won’t come. It’s such a foreign sensation, being stretched and breached like this. Not unpleasant necessarily, but so brain-scramblingly different that all you can do is dig your nails into his strong, broad shoulders and hold on for dear life as he actually starts to fuck into you.

It’s nasty, and you’ve never been so wet in your life. You hear the sticky squelch of lube as he thrusts his hips, shoving his cock deeper than you imagined possible. Your own wetness seeps from your neglected cunt and drenches him, dripping down around his cock and wetting the dense curls at the apex of his sex.

“Shit baby, you’re takin’ daddy’s cock so well,” he whines breathlessly; one arm hooks under your knee so he can spread you open a bit wider for him, and then the other hand returns to your puffy, arousal swollen clit.

You make what has to be the most high-pitched sound you’ve ever made as his index and middle fingers start a torturously slow pace on the little bud. “Fuck daddy!”

“I know,” he coos–you think that soft, breathy, Southern twang is going to actually put you in your grave. “I know, you wanna come, dontcha? It’s okay baby, daddy’s gonna make you come all over his cock just the way you need.”

His hips pick up the pace in time with his fingers, and all you can do is lay there limply like a ragdoll. The pleasure is so much different than what you’re used to, but it’s good. It’s amazing, the feeling of him balls deep in your guts in tandem with his ministrations on your clit, in a way you never imagined it could be.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me,” he growls, hitching your leg a bit higher over his hip so he can thrust even deeper. “Fuck, m’not gonna last long like this. You’re gonna make daddy come so hard in this tight little ass.”

His words are accentuated with a little smack to the side of your ass, and it makes you moan louder still. Your head rolls back as he picks up the pace of his fingers, swirling hard and messy circles with reckless abandon. He’s not trying to prolong it anymore–he’s going for the kill.

“Fuck daddy!” Your hands scrabble for purchase on his smooth, freckled skin as he pounds harder into you. “W-want it, please, want you to come in my ass–”

“Gonna give it to you, impatient girl,” he growls deep in his chest. “You gimme one first.”

Your entire body jolts when he brings his hand down on your sensitive cunt before groaning at the way your arousal sticks to his hand and makes his fingers shine.

“She wants t’be stuffed so full, doesn’t she?” He purrs, fingers dancing so fucking teasingly around your fluttering cunt that it makes your eyes water. “Bet she’d love to be chock full’a cock right now.”

“Joel–”

“Now, now, baby, no whinin’. It’s unbecomin’ for such a sweet little lady,” he grunts, and the condescension dripping from his tone is almost enough to make you come on its own. “You’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful for it, aintcha?”

“Yesyesyesplease–”

His fingers have barely returned to your clit before you’re coming again. This one is even more powerful than before–a hurricane instead of a flash flood. Your entire body trembles with the ebbing flow of pleasurable waves–the words you’re panting aren’t even discernible English anymore.

The way you clench and flutter around him in your own pleasure pulls him over the edge faster than anything ever has before. He comes hard, chest clenching hard around his breath, cock twitching more violently than anything you’ve ever felt before as he spills his load into the condom.

It’s a long, breathless moment before he pulls himself from the vice-like grip you have around his dick. He pulls out with a deep, long groan–it makes you giggle, because it’s the most over-dramatic sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

There’s a beat, and then he starts laughing, too. At the sweet sound of your laugh, at the way he feels like he just ran a marathon, at the absolute absurdity of this whole thing. His laughter is so sweet and gut-deep and infectious, and it only serves to make you laugh harder. For a good few moments it’s just you and Joel, half naked, panting and sweaty, doubled over in laughter.

And then the bathroom door swings open and Tommy barges in. 

“I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better after sleepin’ in, what’s so funny–” He stops dead in his tracks; he sees you naked and spread out on the counter and Joel disheveled and sweating. Neither of you are laughing very much anymore as you both scramble to cover yourselves up.

Tommy quirks a brow, a smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Joel. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

You don’t know how to answer when you’re so mortified, so you do the only thing you can think of–you dart out of the room and down the hall to the safety of your bedroom as fast as your shaky legs can carry you.

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[shotoh]

❝ I THINK I… ♡ ❞

⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ when they realize they’re in love with you

feat. oliver aiku, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, kunigami rensuke, mikage reo

cw + tw. fluff, some angst, fem!reader, aged-up!characters, pro-player!characters, friends to lovers + established relationships, pet names, (!!!)attempted assault (in kunigami’s scenario, but he’s obviously not the assailant), alcohol usage (in oliver’s), maximum self-indulgence

notes. jdjsjsn this is kind of all over the place but i just wanted to word dump some cute scenarios and headcanons

OLIVER AIKU

honestly, he’d get kind of scared. and not in an appalled way like, “psh, i’m oliver aiku! i can get any woman i want so why should i only care about this one person?!”

no, it’s because he’s fully aware of his disloyal and womanizing past that he’s afraid of this. he’s afraid he’ll end up hurting you—the one person he truly cares about—and he believes you don’t deserve that.

you deserve so much better than a douchebag like him.

he keeps that growing pit of adoration to himself and carries on with his life as always, but that can only do so much when he’s so clearly infatuated with you.

the most he lets himself do is tag along on your night out at clubs. however, he doesn’t drink a lick of alcohol. he needs to be sober to take care of you in case you get too wild out there to do so yourself. while he’s there though he talks to a few of the women flocking around, entertains them a bit, maybe as a feeble attempt to get you off his mind and forget about the jealousy rooted deep inside him when too many guys check you out and ask for a dance. but nowadays, he can never find it in himself to take any of these women home. that’s how deep his affections for you have run.

at one point during the night, you approach him with one too many drinks in your system, evident by your wobbly steps and the carefree grin plastered on your face.

“oli~! why don’ yer dance wit me?!” you slur, nearly toppling in front of him if not for oliver dashing forward to stop you from falling on your face.

“i think you’ve had one too many drinks, sweetheart,” he chides. after that he’s draping his large coat over your bare shoulders and leading you back to his car to get you home, while ignoring all the pouty women on his way out.

you object to leaving at first, droning about how the night is still young, but oliver is persistent in getting you home safe and sound. eventually, you doze off in the passenger seat while he’s driving. when he parks in front of your apartment complex, he carries you all the way up to your door, fishes out your keys from your clutch, and finally gets you into bed.

he lingers a little bit longer to make sure you’re all settled and if you need his help with anything, but once the buzz in your system has fizzled and your eyes are fully lidded, oliver assumes you’re out like a light. that is, until he’s sitting at your bedside and he hears the faintest murmur from your lips.

“love you… oliver…” is what comes out in a lovely daze and he almost wants to deny he heard it for both yours and his sake, but all he can do is muster a smile, ghosting a hand along your cheek, and say while you’re blissfully unaware,

“love you too, sweetheart.”

ITOSHI RIN

lowkey annoyed over this because instead of soccer plaguing his mind 24/7, his thoughts are now overrun by you! so he ignores the feeling, thinking it will magically go away or something. but newsflash to rin: it’s not as simple as it looks, and he ends up learning that lesson the hard way.

he spends the next week evading you—declining invites to hang out, sending half-hearted text messages, and ingraining himself in his soccer practices. unfortunately for him, his performance actually gets worse because now all those feelings he’s been bottling up inside his fragile heart are about to burst.

even shidou has been scoring more than him and rin just can’t live that down, especially when the former asks if the reason he’s been doing so poorly is because he and his “little girlfriend” broke up. which isn’t even the case since you’ve both never crossed that bridge.

poor boy goes home one day conflicted over all of this, slouched on the edge of his bed with his hands ruffled in his hair. soon he gets a text from you, which he shouldn’t be surprised by, given how he’s been treating you lately.

but then you’re asking him if he’s okay and rin is utterly taken aback because he’s been acting like such an asshole, yet you’re the one that’s still worried about his well-being.

right then and there rin has a long moment of contemplation, breathing a sigh into his hand which clasps over his mouth. he replies back with a quick apology text before telling you to meet him after his practice tomorrow. the moment he hits send, he tosses his phone on the bed, not willing to wait for that hovering gray bubble to appear on the message window.

when tomorrow arrives and practice is over, his steps are dragging along the pavement outside the training facility. he’s honestly doubting if you’ll even show up, but those qualms are immediately dashed when he sees your figure a few distances away. you’re standing there with apprehension written on your features, which morph into worry as soon as you cross eyes with him.

rin can’t even get a word in or form a coherent thought because the moment you run up to him, you’re blabbering about how he didn’t have to apologize because he was probably working so hard on soccer, chasing his dreams and the like. then, you bring up how maybe you should continue distancing yourself in order to help him focus, and god, that flicks a switch in rin’s head because that is far from what he wants.

all of a sudden, he’s silencing you as he pulls you into his chest. you find yourself buried in his jersey, confused but not drifting away, and even return the embrace when you sense him shake against you.

“fuck, no. i don’t want that all…” his voice sounds like he’s about to break as he mutters those words into your hair. his arms tighten around your shoulders as if you’ll leave him at any moment. you assure him you won’t as you nuzzle closer into his chest.

“then i’m not going anywhere, rin.”

NAGI SEISHIRO

the thought comes upon him when he’s alone in his apartment. it’s not immediate though.

the sunlight seeping through the curtains inevitably wakes him up one very late morning. and by very late, i mean this dozy boy definitely slept in that day, if he couldn’t already tell from his digital clock reading 11am.

even though nagi is always keen on getting plenty of shut-eye, he’s constantly kept on his toes when it comes to having a productive sleep schedule. partially due to soccer practices, but also because you sometimes visit him in the mornings. so normally, he’s woken by the ruckus you’re making while cooking him breakfast in the kitchen.

but this morning it’s… silent. which in hindsight, nagi should be happy about, right? he got to sleep in, after all, and he doesn’t have practice today. what more could he want?

once he shakes off the last remnants of sleep from his body, he finally musters the strength to get out of bed and maybe start his day with something to eat. which this morning is… leftovers. specifically the leftovers from the last time you made him food—a couple days ago.

regardless, he warms them up and sits down with a plate on the table. says his appreciations for the meal and digs in. when the first bite enters his mouth, it tastes the same as when he initially had it, but there’s an empty feeling in the bottom of his stomach he can’t quite pinpoint. he scarfs down a few more spoonfuls until he grows tired of eating, resting his head on the table.

his tummy is full, yet that emptiness persists—it’s been on the forefront of his mind for several days now and it’s starting to annoy him. he can’t determine why that is and what makes those days any different from before succumbing to that void in his heart.

after all, nothings changed.

just that… you went on an overseas trip. without him.

well, it’s not like he was ever going to be invited since you’re supposed to be vacationing with your girlfriends.

ah, wait. maybe he’s just lonely.

no, that can’t be it. he hung out with reo and some of the other blue lock boys the day after you left. even a slacker like him still makes time to see his friends. so what is he missing here?

the question lingers in nagi’s noggin as he drags his fork along the remaining food stuck on his plate. at some point, his phone’s ringing breaks him from his stupor, and he’s surprised to glance over and see your caller id on the screen.

he’s not sure what comes over him, but nagi swears he’s never hit the accept button so fast in his life. immediately, he brings the phone next to his ear, and is the first one on the line to utter “hello?”

“sei, you’re awake! i’m glad i got the time zones right!” you exclaim in your cheery tone that nagi has always been accustomed to hearing in the morning. “y’see i’ve stumbled on a gift shop the other day and found a few souvenirs i’d think you’d like!”

you ramble on and on about your adventures around the country you’re visiting and nagi finds himself absorbing your voice, hanging on every word, and even nodding next to the phone like you’re right here in front of him.

suddenly, his heart feels so full and everything clicks into place again. it’s like his day never actually started until you appeared with all your mirth and energy. even on opposite sides of the earth, you’re still the sun to his moon.

“angel,” he murmurs as you’re in the middle of talking, and you’re silent after acknowledging his call, waiting on his words.

“come home soon. i miss you.”

ISAGI YOICHI

this boy is a mess! he’s the kind of guy who as soon as those feelings start blooming in his chest, he gets super flustered around you all the time. and it’s obvious too.

before, he was super nonchalant with you. treated you like a friend, flirted without even knowing because he’s just that comfortable around you, but when any of his friends or family mention how the two seem closer than you realize, he just freezes and his mind goes blank. erupts in an embarrassing fit of sputtering and denial, face searing red down to the nape of his neck. it’s so cute.

however, he’s not fooling anybody! anyone can tell by the windblown expression on his face—starstruck eyes admiring you as a warm grin overtakes his features—that he’s absolutely smitten by you. he just needs to admit it already.

well, his next outing with you (in which he swears wasn’t actually a date, but c’mon isagi), finally gets him to come to terms with his emotions as he reminisces spending the whole day just laughing his heart out and being so full of that warmth and happiness you give him that makes him feel completely weightless. almost like he can do anything. afterward, when he gets home, he rushes upstairs and literally flails in his bed with the most insane blush on his cheeks. like wow, he’s in love with you.

isagi yoichi is in love with you.

but love to isagi is like a double-edged sword, especially to someone who just escaped that blue lock hellhole and now has to devote even more of his life to his soccer career.

with that carefree sensation comes a new box of trepidations that he’s afraid to open.

what if there comes a time when he would have to choose between you or soccer? he’s hoping that won’t ever be the case. he’d hate to struggle juggling the two and end up breaking your heart.

god, never in a million years does he want that.

the best he can do is take steps to introduce this side of his life to you. he does so in extravagant fashion, by inviting you to come watch him play during his championship game.

to say you were a little startled by his offer was an understatement, but you take him up on it, and promise you’ll be there, especially since isagi went out of his way to get you the best seats in the stadium.

on the day of his match, he’s more nervous about performing well in front of you rather than winning. winning is instinct for him so he has no doubts he’ll claim victory and take home the championship cup. he’s just eager to show you a new isagi you’ve never seen before, rather than the tongue-tied, flustered puppy isagi that’s been vying for your attention lately.

coming onto the field, his eyes are too busy swerving in the direction of where you’re seated than focus on his opponents. the moment he distinguishes your figure at the very front of the stands—draped in a jersey that reads his name—countless butterflies begin fluttering in his stomach. it’s a feeling that he can never truly convey into words.

all he does is let an elated grin spread wide on his lips, cheeks swathed in such a dainty shade of rose that has his teammates swatting the back of his head to remind him he has a very important game to win.

and oh does isagi win. during the match he scores four goals in quick succession, absolutely annihilating the other team to the point where it’s downright embarrassing for the opposing side. the commentators are completely baffled, questioning what has the player so stoked. little do they realize that each of those goals were all made in your name and isagi can’t wait to let you know that later with his championship cup in hand.

ITOSHI SAE

sae is pretty accepting of this revelation. nothing really fazes him after all, and he recognizes that it was only a matter of time before he came to terms with the idea that he might be head over heels for you.

in fact, he takes those feelings in stride.

as if sae wasn’t already a gentleman before this, his mannerisms around you only intensify. he’s constantly holding the door open for you, pulling out your chair, giving you his jacket whenever you’re cold, and so on. you never have to lift a finger when you’re with him. it’s to the point where he’s even sweeping stray hairs off your face and tucking them behind your ear before you’re given a chance to realize they were bothering you in the first place. not a day goes by where he doesn’t place you on a pedestal and worship you in the best ways he knows how.

he’s also gotten very touchy and a tiny bit possessive (okay maybe more than a tiny bit). sae isn’t the type to initiate pda regularly, but whenever he feels threatened in any way—which is very rare but not impossible—he always has a hand on you. whether it’s on your lower back as he ushers you closer to him, or intertwining your fingers together before sending a cold, piercing glare over his shoulder at the offending party, he always makes his intentions with you known even if you yourself are oblivious of them.

it’s not like he’s controlling or obsessive either. he simply wants to make you feel special. to be frank, he’s setting such a high standard that no other man can compare to him.

on more than one occasion, he’s had to travel overseas for international business, and the first time he left the country for an extended period without you, he grew incredibly homesick. not because he particularly misses the normalcy of his life back in japan, but because it always feels a little empty, and frankly, boring without you by his side. he’s grown to appreciate the moments he shares with you, from the time he wakes up beside you to when he falls asleep while you’re in his arms.

after that, whenever he has to fly out of the country, he insists you tag along with him, and goes out of his way to pay for all your expenses—plane ticket, lodgings, everything. most of the time, you try turning down his offer, stating you don’t want to be a hindrance while he’s working. yet sae counters by saying it’ll be more trouble for him if you weren’t there with him than not, and who are you to object when he’s staring at you with such unwavering ocean eyes, looking as if you’re the whole world to him.

KUNIGAMI RENSUKE

deep down, kunigami has always held you closely in his heart, regardless if he’s aware of the love he possesses behind it.

it’s natural for him to want to protect the people he cherishes, but with you, you activate something so visceral inside him. it scares him sometimes, how you can make his whole body rattle, blood pumping erratically to the point where all he can hear is the ringing in his ears and his heart thumping wildly out of his chest.

that’s especially the case when he receives a late night call from you while he’s settling himself at his apartment. he’s slightly surprised by the random call. you don’t normally reach out for him at this time since you’re either going to sleep or hanging out with friends in the dormant hours of the night.

accepting the call, he brings the phone to his ear.

“hello? y/n?”

“r-ren? u-um, can you please stay on the phone with me..?” you whisper in the receiver, tone quivering to a frightening degree. he hears the anxiety laced in your voice and suddenly sirens go off in his head.

“where are you?” he questions sternly as he instantly stands from his seat, reaching for his car keys.

“i just left a club and was going to walk to the station, but… s-someone’s–”

kunigami doesn’t need to hear anymore to understand the full picture that makes his bones quake for your safety as he dashes out the door.

“i’m coming to get you, so send me your location. until then, stay in an open area and don’t stop talking to me, okay?”

you affirm quietly before moving your phone from your ear to pin your location to him with trembling fingers. as you’re doing so, kunigami’s already started the ignition to his car, revving on the roads with little care of the law. he’s never driven this fast in his life, swearing he’s a defensive driver, but that means nothing to him when your safety is on the line right now.

if he grips his steering wheel any harder, it might just break off from his bare strength alone. a single glance at the map on his dash tells him he’s less than a minute away from your position. in the last stretch, he can finally spot your frightened silhouette under the dimly lit lamps.

as soon as you recognize the model of his vehicle, relief washes over your tense shoulders. you take it as your chance to escape your precarious situation, but the shady man a few meters away decides to attempt a last minute assault, dashing in your direction.

when the fiery-haired athlete sees this, his restraint all but snaps. he gets out of his car without even slamming his door shut and spontaneously reaches for you, pulling you behind his intimidating, brawny frame before punching the man square in the jaw. the assailant tumbles onto the hard ground, completely knocked out.

kunigami’s attention immediately turns to you, putting all his efforts into your well-being as he yanks you in his protective embrace. the adrenaline from both your bodies wears off and the striker can sense you bursting into tears against his chest.

“ren, i’m so sorry, i was out with friends and i thought it would okay for me to stay out later even though they wanted to leave, and-and–” your words collide with your jumbled thoughts, but the last thing kunigami wants is for you to apologize for this scumbag’s actions.

“shh, princess. it’s not your fault,” he whispers next to your ear, “fuck! if anything happened to you… i… i…” his voice breaks apart. his hold on you tightens just imagining if he was even a second late coming to your side. for now, he’s thankful to have you back safe and sound, tucking you closer to his heart.

MIKAGE REO

when reo considers that what he was feeling might no longer be a crush, but rather actual love for you, he’s a bit doubtful. mostly because he’s approached countless girls with romantic intentions in mind, however, to his disappointment, he’ll discover that they’re mainly interested in his status instead of him as a person. his good looks and charisma are just a plus for them. therefore he’s very hesitant to fully act on these emotions, afraid to have his heart broken again.

however, he slowly starts accepting the notion that he might be wrong about you. it shows in the way you’re always asking about his life outside of him being an heir to a billion-dollar corporation. he’s stunned by how your features can glow with such intrigue whenever he speaks about his time in blue lock, leading to his journey to becoming a star player in the land of professional football. most girls he entertained would fake interest in this before quickly changing the subject.

eventually, they’ll throw themselves on him to garner his favor and try gaining access to his parents’ wealth. however, you seek greater value in sharing the same experiences with him. you take him out to watch movies, hangout at the most unique cafes, and have the time of your lives at amusement parks.

reo’s used to his dates borderline demanding him to drive them out for extensive shopping sprees or book them dinners to the most high-end restaurants in the city. it becomes exhausting when all his partner sees in him is a personal wallet for them to call on whenever they’re eyeing the newest luxury trends displayed on shop windows.

so to have a person like you by his side, who doesn’t determine his value on such materialistic facets is… refreshing… but also just as frightening because he’s afraid of losing such a precious person like you.

though it may be counterintuitive, reo means to return your kindness by spoiling you, thinking you’re someone who genuinely deserves to be dolled up and treated like royalty.

the first time reo swipes his card on a hefty purchase for you, you’re a little bit overwhelmed, going on to say he didn’t have to do all this. but the man is difficult to argue around, what with his suave words and charismatic demeanor that makes it hard for you to say no to the jewels and dresses he wants to adorn on your body.

then as if he couldn’t have pampered you anymore, he also brings up the offer for you move into his penthouse so you don’t have to worry about rent while making ends meet. of course, you bring up the case that you don’t want to rely on him for money—that you simply enjoy being with him—but reo counters with similar reasoning.

“c’mon doll, just let me do this for you,” he insists. “you’ve done so much for me already, and i just want to make sure you know how special you are to me.”

copyright 2023 shotoh, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else so please do not repost this or share my content on tiktok.

[vampiefemme]

in which ellie shows you exactly who you belong to.

18+ minors dni!

You and Ellie aren’t together. 

You’re not a couple. You’d both agreed to keep things casual. You’re just roommates who mess around sometimes; simple as that. 

So why do you feel so guilty for going on a date with someone else?

You’re dressed and ready, adding the final touches to your makeup in the mirror, and you should be feeling excited - your date is a total dreamboat. Perfect on paper and so, so hot. But instead of that giddy, fluttery feeling in your stomach, all you feel is guilt. 

You and Ellie aren’t together, you keep reminding yourself. You repeat it like a mantra in your head. There’s nothing wrong with going on a date, right? Because you’re single… Right?

On your way out, you run into Ellie, because of course you do. She’s sprawled out on the couch, head propped on a pillow, playing her Switch with a determined look on her face. Your stomach clenches when you see her. She looks up when she hears you walk to the front door, her eyes following you as you slip into your shoes. 

“You look nice,” Ellie says from the couch. You look over and see that she’s paused her game; she’s sitting up and drinking in the sight of you, eyes lingering over your frame. You pretend not to notice. 

“Thank you, Ellie.” You grin and look down at your outfit, palms smoothing over the fabric of your skirt. You do look nice. 

“Where are you going?” 

Your cheeks go hot at the question, and your first instinct is to lie - to tell Ellie that you’re going to see a friend. Just catching up with someone from college over dinner. But it’d be stupid to lie - you’re single. You’re allowed to go out.

“I’m, um, going on a date.”

You don’t look at her when you say it - you know you’d feel guilty, even if the two of you are just friends with benefits. Or… Roommates with benefits?

“Oh,” Ellie says, as you busy yourself picking off nonexistent lint from your shirt. Anything to avoid her gaze. “Okay. Have fun, then.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice, which you had expected. You glance at her face, and she’s back to that determined expression, focused on her Switch again. 

You clear your throat. “Thanks. I’ll, um… See you later.” 

Naturally, you spend the entire date thinking about Ellie. Her eyes, green and dotted with flecks of brown. Her hair, which falls in her face just right. Her mouth, and the way it feels against the supple flesh of your throat, Ellie’s lips soft and wet as she trails kisses down your neck. 

And her hands - her strong hands. You can almost feel them on your hips, on your chest, between your legs. 

God, this date was a mistake.  

Still, you have the common decency to see it through. You pretend to be interested in your date’s job, their hobbies, their five year plan. They drone on for hours, only asking you a few pointed questions about yourself, and when the dinner’s finally over and they’ve signed the check, you’re itching to leave.

Not long after you’ve made it back home, you’re face-down on Ellie’s bed, moaning into the mattress as her tongue circles your clit. 

She’d asked you about your date between heated kisses, her lips flushed and swollen. You hadn’t given her much details aside from it was boring and I just wanted to come home and do this. That seemed to give Ellie some sort of complex, because now, as she pumps her fingers into your cunt with one hand and lands a stinging smack on your ass with the other, she pulls back from mouthing at your clit to rasp, “That’s it, moan for me.” 

And she’s always been talkative in bed, all slurred curses and dirty comments, but there’s something different this time. You arch your back deeper, giving her more access to pound her fingers into you, and she groans in approval. 

“Good fucking girl,” she breathes, using her free hand to dig her blunt nails into the flesh of your ass. She gives it another spank for good measure. “Wanna tell me whose pussy this is?”

There it is - something she’s never said before. You can feel yourself getting wetter, tightening around her fingers as your hips involuntarily push backwards against her palm. You forget to respond entirely, every thought in your head smooth and shapeless, disappearing as quickly as it came. But Ellie won’t let you off so easily. 

“Flip over,” she orders, the rasp in her voice sending a thrill up your spine. You obey wordlessly, and when you’re on your back, you see it: a possessive glint in her gaze, a sharp edge to her expression. You gush impossibly wetter, cunt clenching around nothing - the absence of Ellie’s fingers makes you want to sob. 

“Ellie,” you whisper, brows knitting together. Her gaze softens. “Please make me come.”

A smile tugs at her lips and she nods, her palm rubbing over your stomach in soothing circles. 

“I will, princess,” she assures you, “but I need you to tell me who you belong to. Think you might’ve forgotten.”

Guilt twists in your gut. “You, Ellie.” 

“What about me?”

There’s a challenge in the teasing lilt of her voice. You swallow. “I… Belong to you.”

“Mm, that’s right.” Ellie’s hands travel upward from your abdomen to your chest, closing around each of your tits. You suck in a shaky breath when her thumbs stroke over your pert nipples, making them draw even more taut. “These are mine?”

“Yours,” you gasp, chest rising and falling quickly. Ellie’s bangs fall in her eyes as she leans over to suck a nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling over the bud until you go cross-eyed, hips canting upward. She repeats the same torture with your other breast, leaving both of your nipples swollen and sensitive. 

“What about this?” Ellie asks when she pulls back, her hand moving to the heat between your legs. You whine, a desperate, pathetic little sound that makes Ellie want to eat you whole. 

“Yours, Ellie, it’s yours,” you say, voice betraying how needy you are. She dips a finger into your wetness, your folds silky with arousal, and you almost miss the way her eyes flicker back into her skull for a moment. She’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

“This is mine?” She drags her fingers up to your clit, drawing torturously wide circles around it - close, but not close enough. You could start crying right there. You nod, frantic.

Ellie clicks her tongue, tuts in disapproval. “No, baby, I need to hear you say it. Whose pussy is this?”

And it’s not so hard to admit - Ellie’s had you under her spell long before you went on that stupid date tonight. You realize it now, cheeks warming at the obscene sounds of Ellie’s fingers playing in your cunt, unable to look her in the eye without squirming. 

“My pussy’s yours,” you pant, “s’all yours. Nobody fucks me like you, Els.” 

You’re pushing your hips towards her touch, your tits in your own hands now, pulling at your nipples like it’ll relieve the growing need in your belly. Ellie eyes you with half-lidded eyes, lust heavy in her gaze, and it’s like you can see the remnants of her resolve break. She sinks between your legs and finally, finally laps at your desperate cunt, drinking in the taste of you as you whine and writhe above her. 

When you come, it’s with Ellie’s name on your lips. And you know it’s true - you’re entirely hers.

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[teapartyprincess4two]

omg can you make a chris version to the talkative fic? my english isn’t very good i apology if this doesn’t make sense!

Talkative- C. Sturniolo

pairing: Yapper!reader x Boyfriend!Chris

classification: SFW & NSFW headcannons

inspiration: request^^

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship

summary: head cannons of Chris with a talkative, yapper girlfriend!

Talkative- M. Sturniolo (Matt’s Version)

Talkative- N. Sturniolo (Nick’s Version)

—

☆ SFW

You love to talk and that’s something Chris has loved about you from the moment he met you. He, much like you, is extremely extroverted, but every girl he’s talked to in the past has always found him to be too much. You’re his perfect match and although he also likes to talk, he loves to listen too.

☆ Chris never gets tired of hearing you talk, “Babe tell me the story about the teddy bear again.”

☆ You retell stories in such a detailed way that he can’t help but burst into laughter even if he’s heard it before.

☆ When you talk about your friends, it’s like you’re explaining their lore in full detail each time.

☆ “No, babe, that was Savannah. I’m talking about Teala,” or “Dude, I’m telling you that’s why they fired that bitch.”

☆ He has all the characters memorized, even categorizing their lives into arcs, episodes, and seasons.

☆ “Wow Teala is in her villain arc,” and “On this weeks episode of, Who the Fuck is Getting Fired!”

☆ He loves asking you questions because you somehow know the answer to everything.

☆ You’ll be eating dinner and suddenly a random question will pop into his mind, “Y/n, what does litigate mean? I heard someone use it today, sounded fancy.”

☆ You look up at him mid bite, slightly confused but also intrigued at a new topic of conversation.

☆ “I think it has something to do with the law, I don’t know, babe. But one time I heard someone say that on one of those court shows…” you drone on for a while.

☆ Chris always Googles the answers afterwards, not because he doesn’t believe you, but because he truly thinks you’re the smartest person on this planet and you haven’t been wrong yet.

☆ You’re both equally insane, you’ll laugh like crazy people no matter where you are.

☆ You tell the best jokes too, your mind works so fast that you’re able to create comebacks and quick, witty remarks to everything he says.

☆ Sometimes you’ll join him and his brothers on grocery trips, and the both of you wander off just completely in your own world.

☆ You’re the only person who can catch Chris off guard.

☆ You’ll say something completely unexpected and outlandish, causing him to pause whatever he’s doing and stare at you in shock.

☆ “Babe! No way you just said that.”

☆ “I said it, and I’ll say it again.”

☆ When you’re with friends, you tend to talk over each other and your friends almost break their necks switching their attention between you and Chris.

☆ To other people it might seem like you’re fighting each other for the spotlight, but in reality you’re able to bounce off each other’s energy and add on to whatever the other says.

☆ He knows what it’s like to be called annoying, so if anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable for being talkative he defends you without hesitation.

☆ “Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t say shit like that about her.”

☆ Every conversation you have is full of inside jokes that no one else can keep up with, and it’s literally something new every week.

☆ Although other people are confused by the jokes, you and Chris understand each other fully, almost like you speak your own made up language.

☆ You make each other laugh so hard that your cheeks and ribs will start hurting.

☆ “Chris stop! I’m gonna pee,” you wheeze, rolling over on your side as you try to catch your breath.

☆ He keeps going though, making you laugh harder by making silly faces and funny voices through his story.

☆ After long days of filming and being away from you, he’ll cuddle up next to you in bed and murmur through the drowsiness, “Talk to me baby.”

☆ You know he’s tired so you don’t talk his ear off at a high energy, you just retell your day and play with his hair, kissing his face between sentences.

☆ He loves the sound of your voice, each word as sweet as honey, instantly lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

☆ You’re very opinionated and sometimes you say something he disagrees with, instantly creating a debate between the two of you.

☆ The debates always start off innocent, just you two going back and forth with opinions and the occasional fact.

☆ It’s not until it gets personal that Chris gets upset, giving you the silent treatment until you’re begging for him to talk to you again.

☆ “Chris, I’m sorry! Just talk to me, I’m so bored without you!” He tries putting on a tough guy act, but it never lasts long so he’s forgiving you within seconds.

☆ When you’re around older people, they always comment on what a nice, kind couple you two are because you engage in conversation with everyone.

☆ “What a nice old lady,” Chris says, slinging an arm around you as you both walk away.

☆ “Such wisdom,” you chime in, both of you falling into a fit of laughter. You could never take anything serious.

☆ NSFW

☆ Chris knows not to look too into your conversations with other guys, but sometimes he can’t help but get jealous.

☆ He’ll lose you at a party and find you talking to a stranger, an excited aura surrounding you as you jump from topic to topic.

☆ When he sees the guy becoming too comfortable and touchy, he makes his way over to you and inserts himself in the conversation.

☆ Later, he’s fucking you to teach you a lesson and clamping a strong hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, “This dirty little mouth of yours got you in trouble, Princess.”

☆ Other times he just gets turned on by your voice.

☆ He wants you to talk him through the sex and guide him on what positions you want.

☆ “C’mon baby, tell me how bad you want it.”

☆ Despite you both being talkative, there’s times when you’re so fucked out you’re speechless.

☆ The only sound that fills the room is skin slapping and Chris’s animalistic grunts, followed by your whimpers and small squeaks.

☆ He relishes in it, “This dick has you speechless, huh?”

☆ All he gets in response is a whimper, as you claw at his back for support.

☆ Chris loves when you dirty talk him, using your words to say filthy things to him.

☆ It riles him up beyond belief, and if you keep it going he’s lasting at least 3 rounds.

☆ Afterwards, he loves cuddling or spooning, both of you talking for hours about your future together.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Happy birthday to me! (It was yesterday at this point)

Thank you for this request and NEVER apologize for your English/ grammar. I’m a bilingual education major and I firmly believe you don’t need to apologize for that EVER. I luv u!

Also I’m bilingual (English & Spanish) If any of yall ever want to send in a request in Spanish, go ahead bbys! LOS AMO 💋💋💋

Lastly, I’ll admit that this was harder to write than Matt’s version idky

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[hazelfoureyes]

Hello! Not sure if you're taking requests, so do ignore this if you feel like it.

I adore your work sm!! Rewatching the Stayed Gone mv, Vox had a picture of a bootleg Alastor and pointing to his microphone were the words "dildo?"

Do you think you could write an Alastor x Reader, or just Alastor pleasuring himself with the microphone? (That sounds weird now-)

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

-🍺

Good Vibrations

the way I immediately knew what to do is proof of my depravity. I know it isn’t exactly what you meant but this is what I’m comfortable with writing. This was a quick little 30 minute write, I hope it still brings you joy 🎙️

After you make an offhand comment about doubting if his microphone actually works, Alastor finds a creative way to convince you while at dinner with the group.

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader, erotic but not smut?, smut is explicit, this is just horny, the microphone does in fact work, vibrator

Rarely was Alastor without his microphone. Even Vox made note of it. But, his voice sounded like it came from his mouth. Sure there was a radio affect to it, but he was a demon after all. You couldn’t figure out how it worked. Or rather, if it worked.

As you all waited to take your seats for dinner, Niffty having turned out to be a surprisingly good cook, you were caught staring.

“Is there something I can do for you?”, Alastor leaned down to meet your eyeline.

You blinked, “Oh, sorry. Just wondering if that even works.”

“If what works?”

“Your microphone.”

He knew it worked, of course. But your question felt… offensive. “Do you think I’d carry a functionless microphone around?”

Without hesitation you replied, “I do, yes.”

“Oh absolutely!” Angel pushed between you two.

“You do have a flare for the dramatic, boss.” Husk took his seat beside Angel.

Charlie nervously scratched her cheek, “I always wondered that too! But it worked in Cannibal Town, so I’m a believer now.”

“But wait-,” Vaggie looked to Charlie, “If it worked when you put it to your mouth why doesn’t he have to? It’s literally everywhere but his mouth.”

Alastor’s forced grin strained against this cheeks, black gums showing. You gave him a shrug and joined the group. He took his seat opposite you, pulling his chair in all the way.

You’d already forgotten the conversation when you felt something graze across your lap. Before you could investigate, Alastor spoke, “Why don’t we all say what we did today! I’ll go first!” Your knees shot up, knocking the table as a strong vibration lit up your crotch.

Vaggie leaned in, “You good?”

Slowly, eyes wide, you looked up to meet Alastor’s wicked smile.

“I went downtown to grab a fresh cut of venison. Niffty makes the best venison roast this side of Pentagram City.” You white knuckled the edge of the table, glancing down to see the microphone resting between your thighs. The top was nestled firmly above your mound.

“Hmmm what else? Oh! I got some deviled eggs. My, what a treat. My mother made the best deviled eggs. You know-,” as he droned on, you tried to push your chair away from the table. “Ah ah! It’s so rude to leave while someone is speaking.” He leaned back, foot reaching under the table to hook around your chair’s leg and pull you forward.

“Aww Al, you never talk so much! This is great. What else did you do today?” Charlie rested her cheek on her hand, eyes sparkling at Alastor.

“I am so glad you asked! Let me think, hmmmmm” He drew out the consonant, the sound making a rougher vibration than others. You were hunched over the table, biting your bottom lip to keep quiet. “Oh I went to— what is it called again? Ummmmm,” Your leg shot up again, the silverware clanking against your plate.

“Will you just fucking say it?!” You spit it out louder than you meant.

“Woah! That’s not very nice.” Charlie gave you a disappointed look, pulling a groan from you, “What’s gotten into you?”

Angel looked over to you, “You doin’ alright? You’re like… sweatin’.”

“What indeed, Charlie. Well, anyway! I think I’ve made my point!” You felt the weight of the microphone slide down your thighs and past your knees. You took in a deep breath, finally able to relax your body.

“You’re pretty pale…”, Husk commented, “You sick or something?”

Angel pushed your hair from your forehead, “That face looks so familiar.”

Before you could answer, Alastor opened his mouth, “I think she should lie down. Allow me to escort you to bed, my dear.”

“You are so sweet today! I love it! Fuck yeah!” Charlie punched the air. Alastor came behind you and pulled your chair back for you. “Take your time, if she’s sick maybe she shouldn’t be alone.”

“If you say so!” Alastor practically sang the words. With both hands on your shoulders, he guided you out of the room.

“He’s the best.” Charlie beamed, “Alright whose next?”

༻Masterlist༺

[steddieas-shegoes]

for @thefreakandthehair (and @vecnuthy and @wormdebut while we’re at it) because sometimes you help a baseball player through French class so they can stay on the team and then they end up on the Savannah bananas and you decide to put the fictional men into situations about it *shrugs*

Eddie was going to have to transfer out of this class. This was one of his easiest classes and it was filled with every jock on campus attempting to fill their foreign language requirement with French.

And they were all failing. And annoying. And obnoxious.

And a few of them were also hot.

But Eddie wasn’t gonna focus on that!

He was gonna finish today’s assignment and then head straight to the advising office to find another class that worked with his work schedule.

“Hey,” the guy next to him whispered as the teacher droned on about conjugating verbs. “Do you have any idea what the fuck the homework was?”

Eddie turned to glare at the person, but his face dropped when he noticed who it was.

The campus celebrity: Steve Harrington.

Couldn’t quite make it on the college baseball team, but managed to make the sort-of professional, but mostly joke team Hawkins Hooligans.

Eddie didn’t like sports, never had. He could appreciate that it took skill and whatnot, but he didn’t care much to watch it or make celebrities of people who were just really good at one very specific thing usually involving some kind of ball. But he could appreciate a joke. And this team had jokes.

Steve was actually apparently good enough to play pro, had even been scouted by the MLB his senior year of high school. One week before his professional tryout, he tore a muscle in his shoulder, had to sit for three months and had to do physical therapy for another three, and voila! No pro ball for him. No college either since he missed spring training.

But he still had skill, and he still had a father with a lot of pull in the business, even if it wasn’t quite enough to get him on the Yankees or whatever.

So he was biding his time on the Hooligans until next year when he could try out for the college team again, maybe increase his chances of a real pro career.

Eddie definitely hadn’t watched videos of him during their first few games of the season where they faced the Indy Idols and the Chicago Charades.

He definitely hadn’t gotten a weird flutter in his stomach when Steve had been the one to lip sync to Hot For Teacher while pretending his bat was a guitar.

He definitely didn’t have a crush on Steve.

“Uh. Dude?” Steve asked him again, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah. It was the study guide for the first quiz. Not due until next class though,” he whispered back.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Eddie turned his attention back to the professor, not really needing to pay attention since he already knew quite a bit of French.

A tap on his shoulder made him yelp, and the entire room turned to him. He waved apologetically before turning to Steve with a murderous look.

“What?” He hissed out.

“Do you understand this?”

“Yes and you probably would too if you stopped talking to me.”

Eddie was ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to let Steve keep talking to him for as long as he wanted.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Steve huffed before sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. He mumbled something else that sounded like ‘I’m just stupid’ but Eddie couldn’t be 100% sure.

“A lot of this stuff is just English spelled a little differently.” Eddie sighed. “You could almost definitely figure it out if you took some notes.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Eddie’s brows scrunched together as he glanced at Steve’s red face.

Hm. There was definitely something to unpack here.

“You can borrow mine if you want,” Eddie offered as he watched the professor switch slides on the presentation. “I don’t really need them until the final.”

“Oh!” Steve sounded genuinely surprised by his offer, like he hadn’t been basically asking for help only a moment ago. “You don’t have to do that. I mean, it wouldn’t do much good for me anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Steve had Eddie’s full attention now.

“I’m. I-“ Steve sighed. “I’m dyslexic, man. Reading’s hard for me.”

Well, fuck. Eddie felt like an asshole now.

“Oh.” Eddie looked down at his scribbled notes, cringing at the thought of someone else trying to read them, let alone someone who already struggled with reading from a printed page. “Yeah, my handwriting is shit so it’d probably be useless to you. Shit, it’s almost useless to me.”

Steve snorted, immediately covering his mouth to avoid any more noise from escaping. Eddie could see he was still smiling though. His eyes were very expressive.

“Don’t you have accommodations?” Eddie asked him.

“Nah, my dad doesn’t believe it’s a problem.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Said I just need to focus more and it’ll ‘work itself out.’”

“He sounds like he’s a lot of fun at parties.”

Steve snorted again. “Yeah, a blast.”

“So you aren’t a natural at French?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m barely a natural at English.”

“I could help you?” Eddie was an idiot. An idiot with a crush on someone who would never be interested in anything he had to offer except tutoring.

“Help me? You’d help me?” Steve seemed eager, maybe a little desperate.

Eddie kinda liked that.

“I mean, yeah. If you’re actually willing to put in the work and not expect me to just do the work for you.”

Steve smiled. God, that was a nice smile. Eddie was absolutely fucked.

“I work well with a reward system,” he smirked. “If you’re willing.”

Eddie’s eyes widened momentarily as the realization sunk in that he’d just been flirted with.

By Steve Harrington.

“Oh, I can definitely work with that.”

Steve nodded once, grinned at Eddie as he picked up his pen and ripped off a small piece of his unused notebook paper. He scribbled something down and folded it once before handing it to Eddie.

“Let me know when I need to show up, Eds.”

Eddie unfolded the paper and nearly dropped it.

Stevie H. 555-555-0086 My dorm at 7? No clothes required

When Eddie looked back up, Steve was facing the front, seemingly paying attention to the lecture.

Eddie quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and put Steve’s contact info in. He could wait until after class to send him a text. He could.

Instead, he typed out something quick to hold them both over until later.

Studying naked is my favorite thing 😉

Steve’s knee nudged against his in response.

Maybe Eddie wouldn’t take that trip to advising after all.

And if he was featured on the next TikTok for the Hawkins Hooligans, with Steve fake serenading him in the stands, nobody had to know he didn’t really like sports.

He liked Steve, though. Even when Steve actually managed to play real competitive baseball. Even when Steve managed to get a spot on the Cubs.

Especially when Steve proposed to him during a game in maybe the worst recorded French of all time.

[yzzart]

ULTRAMAN, WERE YOU AT? ── KENJI SATO

୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F!reader, mention of Mina and KDF, news about Ultraman, Kenji referring to reader as his wife, reference to Telesdon and Aboras, fluff.

"In the company of the KDF, Ultraman managed, drastically and efficiently, to end yet another Kaiju invasion. However, causing countless damage and devastation throughout the city, and…"

The news is interrupted, not by an urgency or warning of new attacks, but by a turbulent and unexpected grumble, also considered as a scream; reliving a sequence of firm and smug grunts. — As if they had been imprisoned for a long time. — Surprising you.

The image, which remained frozen, showed the aircraft, small drones — Kenji has already seen several of them being destroyed and thrown in some circumstances by Kaijus — of the large organization arresting Telesdon; and behind them was Ultraman, rising from a building. — It seemed as if he had been defeated by the creature, something that was not true.

But, it was something that KDF wanted to convey to citizens; and they did not have the coherence and relevance to disguise this. — Even taking advantage of the hero's small, perhaps big, slip-ups.

"Huh, yeah, in their company." — He declared sarcastically, furrowing his eyebrows with revolt mixed with regret, getting tired of his own emotions. — "They just decide to show up when i'm close to controlling everything!" — Kenji felt a twinge of reason shining through his words, and even if, indeed, he did, he knew there were uncertain things between them.

"Controlling everything isn't about causing a lot of damage, Ken." — Removing the projection that showed the news, Mina spoke to the boy, who clicked his tongue, like a child, feeling reprimanded, with understanding. — "Focus is key."

"Mina, please…" — He begged, giving up sitting on the sofa to lie down on it and put his head in your lap, knowing it would be more comfort and warmth; perhaps, support from you against the robotic assistant's sermons.

“She’s right, Ken.” — Adjusting your posture a little and getting comfortable on the sofa, your hand ran up to your lover's soft black curls; knowing the pressure and tension that was going through Kenji's mind, you tried to comfort, care for him and reassure him.

And it always, always worked; Kenji knew that you were his refuge, light and peace. — Something he will protect and feel protected.

“I’m going to pretend i didn’t hear that coming from your pretty mouth.” — He closed his eyes, wanting to bring the caresses he received closer, feeling a comfort that could never be explained; It felt like paradise.

“Oh, are you going to pretend you don’t remember that time you simply decided to distract yourself, while fighting Aboras, to talk to me?” — You reminded him, arching one of your eyebrows, wanting to see if any response or anything would come out of Sato; quickly, he opened his eyes.

"What?" — Kenji looked stunned by the way he was placed against the wall. — “No, no, i just waved at you…?” — He wasn't sure, this could be considered self-sabotage.

“Go back to the house, young lady.” — He imitated him, making, or trying to, a deep and loud voice, wanting to reference Ultraman. — “The streets have been very dangerous lately.” — Kenji couldn't contain his laughter at your mockery of him. — “And they still wanted to interview me because of it.”

“It’s not my fault if i can’t resist my wife.”

[phant0mth1ef]

are we still friends? can we be friends? are we still friends? i’ve got to… know. (pt. 2 to the feeling that i’m losing her, forever). part 3

to say you didn’t expect to see a pair of bright red eyes staring you down as you walked into the facility was an understatement, you hadn’t made eye contact with those eyes in over a year, and you flinched the moment you realized just who you were looking at.

you’d stumbled into inasa once you snapped out of your daze, catching yourself quickly as your cap hit the floor, the boy using his wind in order to float it back onto your head.

“thank you.” you mumbled before going to take your spot in line, coincidentally right next to your former best friend.

“why haven’t you called me?!” so now he wants to begin a conversation.

“been busy.” you shrugged, refusing to even look at him because you knew you’d start crying the moment you met his eyes again.

“okay? you could’ve texted me or some shit!”

“my phone stopped working.” you were competing for the title of nonchalant final boss at this point with how casual you were being.

“bullshit. i saw you with it at the exam! just tell me why you’re avoiding me like the plague.” it may not have looked like it, but bakugou was scared out of his mind. you’d changed since the licensing exam, he could sense it in the way you carried yourself. you were being cold.

“what the hell happened to you?? you used to always call me, always text me. what happened?” did he seriously not know what happened?

“you happened.” and that was all you were able to say before the proctors for the training session entered the room, quickly commanding you all to stand in line as your face changed to a softer expression.

it was a casual sparring session, so why were you sending rocks the size of boulders his way? his mind was too clouded to even dodge them effectively, the words you said still playing out in his mind as he mindlessly sent out explosive attacks.

you’d tried to pack up as quickly as possible afterwards to avoid a confrontation with your former best friend, but you heard the clanking of his boots hitting the ground and just let out a sigh.

“what?” you snapped.

“what me? what you!” he was starting to get angry, the way he would get angry back in middle school.

“what about me?! you’re also at fault here. i was the one always trying to get in contact with you! i just grew up and realized that if you wanted to, you would.” you begun to shove all your things into your duffel bag, accidentally smashing your fist into the ground.

“what the hell does that even mean?! you’re the one who stopped calling me outta nowhere. i didn’t tell you to do that.”

“don’t you get it?! i was the one always calling!” you shoved your bag to the floor as you stood up straight, your voice getting strained as you finally made eye contact with bakugou.

“i was the one who always had to start talking to you first! it made me feel like a nuisance. and then one day i hear you telling your new friends that you think i’m annoying? like what the fuck, katsuki. none of this is my fault. if you’d just been a man and picked up the phone, this could’ve been avoided.” you had a habit of crying once you got frustrated, so naturally the tears were threatening to fall from your eyes.

he didn’t have any words, letting out a scoff as you picked up your bag and shoulder checked him on your way out, sending him stumbling back as he just stared at the ghost of your presence.

later that night he sat in his dorm room, his finger hovering over your contact but never once pressing on it, unsure of what he’d even say if you decided to pick up.

“i mean how the hell am i supposed to apologize? she’s so confusing. like damn sorry i called you annoying but it isn’t even that big of a deal anymore that was months ago!” bakugou was ranting to his little group of friends that were huddled on his floor, suprised that the boy would even invite them, let alone drone on about his issues with the friend that none of them even knew about.

“so you called her annoying but you didn’t know she was listening?” mina spoke up.

“yes but that was months ago! i don’t even know how to talk to her anymore because she won’t listen to me.” he sprawled flat on his bed.

“sounds like you’ve dug yourself a deep hole bakugou.” kirishima said, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

meanwhile, back at shiketsu, your group was currently huddled in camie’s dorm, and you sat on the bed while they formed a circle around you.

“i don’t know who he thinks he is but i am not going to beg for him to be my friend, i am not going to be as pathetic as i used to be!” slow teardrops fell from your eyes as you recalled back in middle school when bakugou found more friends and slowly begun to leave you behind.

“i know, and i get that, but you should at least try to give him a chance. he’s making an effort.” she tossed you your phone that was sitting on the desk, a notification on the lock screen.

[kats 💥🫂]

Meet me at the spot tomorrow. Please. 4 PM.

tags; @riverozada @lupitalove @msjaeger @aintseennothinyet @wendeeeee ask and you shall receive sorry if its kinda bad 😢😢