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#fourth cube time
nihilosphere · 2 years
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Ave Saturni
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konigslittleliebling · 2 months
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König and reader stoned breeding!! But like (if you have the time ofc) sitting on his lap and sharing a blunt, while his hands slowly get more and more touchy all over your soft sensitive body! Or taking edibles beforehand and them hitting when he enters you!!
Accidentally he mentions breeding you and you lock your legs around him in instinct! Which only gets him going more!
(Am I 🍃 at the time of writing? Maybe)
EDDIES EDDIES ‼️ being 🍃 when writing is the only way !!
mdni. cannabis, edibles, high sex, raw sex, breeding.
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you pass the joint to him, allowing him to finish the rest as you puff out a cloud of the herbal drug. your boyfriend chuckles, fingers that are so much longer and thicker grazing yours when he takes it, positioning it between a pair of slightly chapped lips. (parched from the acidic juices of your pussy where he’s spent most of the night thus far.)
“mein lieb, i think we have a problem.” he inhales from what remains of the roll-up, potent and dizzying. an intoxicating fog fills the room, a haze settling over the bed. you’ve been fucking and smoking all night — you’re both so drunk on sex and cannabis that you couldn’t walk in a straight line if you tried. you can’t walk anyway, he was a bit too rough :((
he taps the burnt-down butt into the ceramic ashtray that had once sat precariously on the bed — three used filters already in it, surrounded by ash. it’s already fallen off the bed thanks to the number y’all did on the bed frame, ash stains and a fourth stub on the floor beside it. “it’s chipped.” you pout, fingertip coasting over the crack in the ashtray. “i made this myself.” you wince when the sharp corner pierces your skin and könig chuckles, lifting it to his mouth to suck it clean. “i was wondering why it has a hand-drawn penis on it, schatz. it is not very big, nein?”
“i did it before i met you.” you chuckle, shuffling onto his lap between beefy, outstretched legs. you pull your slender digit from his mouth, before licking your tongue in its place, tasting the metallic tang of your blood on his. “i’ll make a new one and draw yours on it.” he laughs at that, deep and hearty. “the ashtray will have to be much bigger then, little liebling.” you nod in agreement, smirking against his lips.
you sit up on your knees, straddling his mighty thighs. “baby… i wanna try something. just say no if it’s too much.” his blue eyes narrow at you, fair-haired brows knitting together. “please, lieb. not a strap-on. i do the fucking.” you gasp at the crude assumption, slapping his chest playfully. “oh my god, no! i’m steering clear of your ass, mister.” he hmphs with relief. “gut. so what is it?”
you smile, teetering over to open the drawer of your bedside table. his hands glue themselves to your bent hips, covering the red handprints and fingertip-shaped bruises that already mark them. you swallow a moan when he starts to grind your sticky cunt over his semi, one of its veins massaging your sore clit. bastard hasn’t been flaccid since he first pinned you to the mattress however many hours ago.
when you lean back up, you’ve got two powdery small cubes in your palm — one pink and the other yellow. könig frowns, slowing his movements of manually rocking your hips against his length. “candy?” he presumes, voice unimpressed and dare you say disappointed. you’ve got a devilish look on your face, lips tugging upward as if by invisible string. “sorta.” you say, ghosting your tongue over his bottom lip — tracing the raised skin of a scar that stretches to his jaw. “they’re pebbibles!” your excitement confuses him and his eyes dip to the sweets in your hand.
he takes the yellow one, examining it between his thumb and forefinger. “these are not circular. pebbles are round.” you roll your eyes at his pedantic approach. “it’s a play on words.” your hand — so small in comparison — takes gentle hold of his wrist. your fingers are too short to wrap around it entirely. “they’re boiled gummies.” you tell him, eyes widening when he shrugs and pops it onto his tongue. you stop him, hooking your finger into his mouth like a mother fishing a plastic, choke-hazardous toy from her infant. “which contain canna-oil.”
he just stares at you dumbly, probably offended that you’d snatched the sweet from his watering mouth. you’re hungry too, these munchies are hitting pretty hard, but you need him to know what he’s getting into. he’s never consumed the drug like this before — only ever smoked it. you knew someone once who reacted badly to an edible. “like, cannabis oil, babe.” his eyes light up with understanding then, and he plucks the gummy back. “ah, i see. so why did you do that?”
“i need you to know the risks—” but he pops it into his mouth, chewing it just once before gulping it down. you sit there dumbfounded, mouth agape with your own edible still in the cup of your hand. könig smiles, dangerous. you know that look; you see it every time he fucks his cock into your tight hole. he takes it from your fingers and lifts his hand to place the crystallised cube on your tongue, then gently closes your limp jaw. “go on, my little sonnenschein. let’s have fun, ja?”
you huff out a giggle, surprised. you weren’t expecting him to be so into trying something new. it took you a while to convince him to try a blunt; you thought dust would collect on your shelves by the time you got him to test an eddy. “you’re so sexy.” you snort, chuckling away like a tipsy teenager. he grins lazily and lopsided, eyes half-shut and reddened. “on your back, bärchen.”
you roll off him, legs spreading instinctively so he can position himself between them. you’re so wet from his dick already, a little looser thanks to the impossible stretch of his width. immediately, his mouth is on yours, pulling your lips apart with his teeth before curling his tongue with yours. you can taste the fruitiness of the edibles when your saliva mixes, lips smacking and nipping in a slobbery clash of teeth and groans.
you feel his purplish cockhead pushing at your entrance and he doesn’t even have to try because with a small twitch of his hips, he’s halfway inside, sliding in with lewd ease. for once you’re thankful for his previous force, he’s opened your cunt up so well already, the dregs of your combined cum acting as lubricant. you garble around his tongue as it fucks your mouth, muffling your moans. your high intensifies significantly as soon as he’s balls-deep, the candies choosing the perfect time to manipulate the inebriated senses of your neural waves.
he doesn’t waste time, thrusting his mushroom-tip against the spongy entrance to your cervix without pulling out. your mouth falls open, gaping at the sensation of him fucking into you without retracting a single inch and you glance between your sweaty bodies, your vision slightly doubled as you watch the base of him hammer against your hole over and over. his slick bush of curls brushes against your swollen, exhausted clit every time and you swoon, head thudding against the pillows. “könig~! s’good, fuck-” you’re a mess, babbling like a teething baby whilst the mountainous man above you drills his cock into the silky roof of your cunt.
“Scheiße.” he croaks, overstimulated and strangely sensitive already. “those were not aphrodisiacs, nein? i cannot keep going much— much longer.” you shake your head, nails clawing at his back and toes curling as he continues to pump you full of his dick. “no, just— stronger than what you’re used to.. ah!” your legs lock around his middle, feet unable to touch behind the large stature of his back. könig starts to shake, hips stuttering and muscles spasming.
“mein gott.” he stutters, balls slapping against the underside of your arse cheeks and he feels an abnormal tingling in said region. he feels alien, almost. “lieb, you’ll have to… mmf- let go now.” he knows he can’t hold back, his cock screaming at him to release his hot cum into your eager uterus. you’re not ready for a family, not yet. but you cling tighter, fingers biting into his skin. “no, baby.” you whisper, broken and choked. “give me a baby. please, könig. y’know you wanna.”
oh god, he’s so close. eyes scrunched up and teeth gritted.
“feels so good, könig. please, please please.” you’re pleading with him and lord knows how much he loves it when you beg for it. he falters, hips snapping wildly into yours. your room is humid, thick with the smell of sex and skin-on-skin. he crumples on top of you, a heap of mass as he breeds you thoroughly. his cum is so warm as it shoots through your cervix, painting your insides and claiming you completely.
you can smell it drooling from you — sweet and rich. you’re still milking him, drenching his cock with your climax as he still rolls against you slowly and clumsily. your hands glide up to stroke his hair and the short ones that grow down his neck — damp and sparse. “jesus.” you breathe, chest heaving and legs trembling. his tired laughter rumbles, vibrating against you. “we mustn’t say a word, meine liebe.” he lifts his head to gaze down at you and you hold his face in your hands, looking up at him quizzically. “about what to who?”
“to our child about how they were conceived.”
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tobykurtzz · 11 months
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What will you do with the power of Raw Energon? It was contained in fourth-dimensional cubes and was a stable creative energy source that I drew on for creativity But my safety measures cracked and the Raw Energon escaped Now Raw Energon is bounding across the universe, warping dimensions & space/time Whatever Raw Energon touches is transformed and warped by its creative power It’s out of control. I’ve been collecting samples of the damage and am adding to the collection on @0xcampfire Waves 1 & 2 of Raw Energon are available on @0xcampfire now Link in bio ☝️ Wave 3 is coming this week minting on #avax  #midjourney Created with @midjourneyartwork + /blend #aiia #creativeai
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colognedecigarette · 1 year
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ugh. okay. i've ranted about this in my journal less than five minutes ago but apparently my thirst to fucking yell at the clouds won't be satiated until i've put it somewhere public.
look. i love Seo Soojin and think her removal from the group was as unfair as the next stan, but the way people talk about the conclusion of the case really drives me mad. i see a lot of "she was proven innocent by her lawyer" and a lot more of "it was a false accusation" but going by the last statement from her attorney that i read, i feel like there's a lot more going on than that.
first thing's first, i don't know how it is in different countries or different justice system, but as far as am aware "proving" anything isn't a lawyer's job. first and foremost their job is to represent their client; specifically in cases such as Soojin's, it's to represent their client through a legal dispute/investigation. if there's anything related to "proofs" to their job, then that would be to collect evidences and statements. but to determine whether someone is innocent or guilty isn't within their rights.
her lawyer can't "prove" her innocence. all they could do was to collect and present the evidences that may -- hopefully -- get her an innocent verdict, but that verdict wasn't theirs to make.
now with that said, again, going by the last statement released that i read last year, i'd say Soojin's lawyer did a pretty good job collecting those evidences that may point towards her innocence. from what i remember:
they had statement(s) from the school staff as witness claiming that there were no records of the bullying Soojin was accused of;
the only record of bullying related to Soojin that they had instead pointed at her as the victim, not the bully; and
when questioned about it, the accuser/her team failed to present any evidence to support their claim of Soojin bullying her that wasn't simply hearsay (i.e. she said/she said situation)
also included in the statement though more like a quote, the accuser had also apparently admitted that "she wasn't sure (anymore)" whether Soojin really was part of the group that she'd claimed to have bullied her or not.
so all of these do point towards the conclusion that Soojin didn't do what the accuser said she did. at the very least, it opened the door for further investigation of the claim and, therefore, the case. at this point, based on the statement, Soojin's team had successfully submitted their own evidence to counter the accuser's claim to the police, while the accuser's team had not.
the proper course of action after this was supposed to be for the police to: 1) investigate the evidence submitted by Soojin/her team to determine its truth and 2) press the accuser/her team to finally submit their evidence to backup their claim as well as counter Soojin's. in my country, to my knowledge at least, if the accuser fails to fulfil point no.2 while point no.1 leads to a definitive yes, then the case would be dropped as false allegations and that opens the door for a counter-suit under defamation.
but, quoted in the statement, a member of the force instead claimed that there was not enough leads/evidence to investigate the case further. it was treated as though both parties failed to submit evidence to support their positions and claims, when as stated: Soojin did not fail, the accuser did.
it's hard not to look at all of this with at least a little bit of a side-eye. the case didn't seem like it was dropped because there was simply not enough going ons to continue pursuing it, it instead seemed like it was dropped because thus far at that point, Soojin may come out on top.
the case was not dropped because she was legally proven to be innocent, but because the evidence gathered favoured towards her innocence and the cops were not interested in pursuing that.
the more that i think about the inconclusive conclusion of the case, the more i can only think of one word. it's what people in my country call kongkalikong; the whole tail end of this case just stinks of corruption. this isn't "just" a false allegation. it feels far more insidious than that.
so ... no, Soojin's lawyers didn't "prove" that she was innocent, they just gathered and presented the evidence that could have cleared her of the accusations had the justice system worked properly. and, no, it wasn't a "false allegation" legally because the people who were supposed to investigate and determine that were not interested in doing their job.
in conclusion: the whole case is mad fucked. its ""conclusion"" even more so. if you're going to talk about it, don't just talk about the lawyers and the accuser. there's a whole third, maybe even fourth party, that you're forgetting to include.
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welcometomyoasis · 2 months
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02.08am | Kim Mingyu
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Synopsis: a drabble in which mingyu is a blanket hog and a snore monster (kind of a sequel to this blurb).  Mingyu x gn! reader | fluff | 1.28k words | no warnings A/n: written in the middle of the night because i couldn’t sleep. Not proof read. 
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Cold.
Cold?
Cold!!!
Why was it so cold?!?
When your brain finally registered that you were freezing, you were abruptly pulled out of your peaceful slumber. This was the fourth time this week you were rudely awakened, and it was only wednesday. With your eyes still closed, you reached out to pull your blanket up to your chin. But you were grabbing at nothing. Shivering and confused, you continued to pat the area surrounding your side of the bed. Alas, you felt nothing except the cool bed sheets against your fingertips. 
Groaning, you reluctantly opened your eyes. As you groggily looked around for where your blanket was, your eyes fell on a large lumpy blob on the bed next to you. 
You squinted at the blob, trying to make out what this horrifyingly large mound of fabric was doing on your bed. Since you were still sleepy, your brain was slow to process things. It didn’t occur to you what or more specifically who this blob could possibly be. You pensively raised a finger, poking the blob a few times. For all you know, this blob was some alien who decided to call your bed home.
It was only when the blob let out a whimper and a whine at your incessant poking that you realised this blob was your boyfriend wrapped up cozily within your shared blanket. Unconsciously, Mingyu had somehow managed to yank the blanket away from your body. If you weren’t so cold and feeling so sleep deprived, you were sure you would have laughed at how adorable Mingyu currently looked. 
Despite being such a large man, he managed to curl up up inside of the blanket in a fetal position, making him seem very tiny. Honestly? He looked like a baby being swaddled. His whole body was covered by the blanket with the exception of his face. His bottom lip jutted out a little. Even when he was asleep, Mingyu still wore a small pout on his face. But he looked so content. When your poking ceased, he snuggled deeper into the blanket cocoon he made from himself. He looked so warm, cozy, and toasty in that cocoon. 
Mmm yes, warmth. That was what you craved and needed so desperately. You felt your teeth start to chatter. So, while you felt a tiny pinch of guilt as you yanked the blanket over yourself (rather forcefully you might add), knowing that Mingyu might be woken up, you were seriously going to turn into an ice cube if you didn’t get warm soon. Besides, if Mingyu woke up, it was entirely his fault for being an insufferable loveable blanket hog. 
Fortunately, Mingyu remained fast asleep. That man could sleep through almost anything. In fact, as you uncurled the blanket, it seemed that you took him along with it. Mingyu’s limbs uncurled along with the blanket, his arm and leg now draped over you as well. 
You mentally shrugged your shoulders. This new situation wasn’t a completely unwelcome one. Mingyu was a huge cuddle bug so he usually had one or more of his appendages wrapped around your body. You were used to falling asleep in his embrace, likening the weight of his arm or leg across your body as a weird rip off weighted blanket. Of course, it also helped that Mingyu radiated warmth. He was practically a human heater which was perfect because you were still freezing. 
You sighed in contentment, scooting closer to Mingyu’s body that was currently radiating all the heat you could ever need. Resting your head against his chest, you closed your eyes, ready to fall back to sleep. 
For a while, it was peaceful. At this time of the night, it was quiet. Nothing could be heard except the whir of your air conditioner and the occasional car driving past your apartment building. Now, nicely warmed up, you started to drift off. 
Sadly, just as you were about to be pulled into sleep’s welcome embrace, you were yanked from sleep’s arms once again by a soft snore cutting through the silence of the night. You felt the rumble in Mingyu’s chest as he snored softly above you. You paid his snores no attention. Mingyu always snored anyway. 
But this time, Mingyu snored again. And again. And again. His snores getting progressively louder each time. Already sleep deprived and annoyed from the whole blanket ordeal, Mingyu’s snores were slowly getting on your nerves. He was breathing and snoring right above your head. To you, those sounds were grating as it felt like he was rattling your brain with his snores. 
Still, you gritted your teeth and tried to go back to sleep. Sadly, your determination to sleep could not help you overcome Mingyu’s snoring. 
Annoyed might be putting it lightly? But then again, you weren’t exactly annoyed at Mingyu’s unconscious actions though that did play a role in contributing to your foul mood. Instead, you were more disappointed and angry at yourself. Your patience was non-existent today. You were usually more tolerant of Mingyu’s snoring. Perhaps your nerves were just completely shot from having yet another abrupt awakening this week. 
Huffing, you wiggled your way out from under Mingyu’s embrace as gently as possible. You made your way to the kitchen to grab a warm drink to calm your nerves before opting to settle on the couch for the night. At least it was quiet here, and you could have the fluffy throw blanket all to yourself. Ahh this was the life, you thought, as you finally managed to doze off.
“Baby? Baby!” 
For the second time that night, and the fifth time this week, you were rudely shocked awake. This time however, you were being shaken gently by Mingyu. Although your eyes were still heavy from sleep, you pried them only to send a glare towards Mingyu for disturbing your slumber. 
However, as you narrowed your eyes on Mingyu, you saw that he was towering over your form, sulking and pouting like a kicked puppy. You swore you could almost see his non-existent puppy ears droop in sadness. You softened immediately, raising your hand up to pull Mingyu onto the couch next to you. 
Laying down next to you, Mingyu adjusted his body so he was the big spoon. He rested your head on one of his arms, and used his free hand to rub your back in a soothing, circular motion.
Mingyu’s lip quivered, “M’ sorry baby. I woke up and you weren’t there… then I came out and saw you on the couch. I did it again, didn't I?”
You hummed, too sleepy and comfortable to respond properly. 
“M’ sorry. I know this isn’t the first time this week. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
You shook your head lightly, mumbling incoherently something along the lines of “you worked so hard this week and were tired. Didn’t wanna disturb you.”
Mingyu gazed at you lovingly, though he was guilt-ridden that he disturbed your sleep, “I didn’t understand a word you said baby. But I think I know what you were trying to say. Thank you.”
When you didn’t respond, your form rising and falling rhythmically, Mingyu knew you fell asleep. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger on your skin a while longer. Mingyu snuggled closer to you, whispering, “You have no idea how much I love you. Rest well baby, see you when we wake up.” 
Then, he let his eyes flutter shut, falling asleep once again right there next to you on the couch.
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taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff @wishing-fieshes @kwanienies @mayashu @megseungmin @porridgesblog @haecien @mirxzii @scoupsofcherries @eightlightstar @brownsugarbaybee
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mysteria157 · 29 days
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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Black Fem Reader
CW: Profanity, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Cowgirl, Fingering, Fingersucking, Cunnilingus, Slight Dom Reader (not much), Car Sex, Bathroom Sex
WC: ~16k (It's long so get some snacks)
Summary: 
Maybe you're single for a reason. You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations, and you refuse to settle for less. For the ones who aren't worth the air they breathe, you chew them up and spit them out. You savor the taste so you know what to avoid the next time.
So when he looks down at you with that devilish smirk and calls you 'Princess', you're determined to prove that Toji Fushiguro is no exception.
Notes: Hello! This is my first fic with Toji and I'm nervous to get it out here. The setting of this fic and the elements I incorporated connect a lot with my own childhood and the memories (not the interactions in this fic) that I had at family cookouts and get-togethers. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!
Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon Header: myself (stability.ai)
Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | **Sequel**
**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**
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“Can I get you a drink, princess?”
When you meet Toji Fushiguro for the first time, it’s on the fourth of July at your uncle’s house. It’s a big get-together at a two-story house located in the countryside. Every year he opens up his spacious home for a gathering of your extended family to bring excessive amounts of alcohol, play old school rap and R&B too loudly, devour delicious fucking food, and set off fireworks that have been collected since the beginning of the year. 
Your uncle has already made a home by the grill and taken control of the speakers after one of your younger cousins attempted to play something ‘a little too racy’ for his tastes. You’re pretty sure it was an Ice Cube song from the 90s that your uncle hates but is too proud to admit, so he lectures your cousin about ‘what young folks should be listening to’ instead. 
The smell of hamburgers and ribs has been teasing your nose for the past hour, and your hunger is borderline unbearable with each sniff. You avoid the allure of the long table of food because if you look, you’ll be three plates in before the meat is done. There’s coleslaw, baked beans, greens, and macaroni and cheese. Your favorite aunt also brought her potato salad and you know she’s going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting fresh before the fireworks. You love it so much and you were deprived of it last year when you were called in to work at the last minute. You will get some today.
The backyard is expansive and well-maintained, and your cousins and aunts have already laid their claim on swanky cushions of the nice patio furniture. 
The one cousin you’re closest to in age and personality sits next to you on a large blanket a few yards away from the rising volume of your extended family. You were able to get a good ten minutes of conversation from her before her fiancé showed up and made a home inside of her mouth.
Your family normally has something to say about PDA—a stupid quip about acting ‘too grown’ even though you are both knocking on the door of thirty. But she doesn’t care—just like you, that’s why you like her so much even though her fiancé is sucking on her face like it’s his last day on Earth.
Shiu Kong is nice—gentle in his own way and carries himself with a bored air that seems to pull your cousin in. He’s enamored with her, practically folds in on himself when she’s around, and worships the ground she walks on. They’ve been together for a few years and you’ve never had a problem with him.
But that just might change today because he’s brought along a friend who has already ignited a flame of arousal and annoyance deep within your belly. From the moment Toji Fushiguro stepped into the backyard with Shiu, your family was transfixed. Your aunts can’t stop ogling, and your uncles and male cousins try to jokingly size him up.
“Oh honey why don’t you sit down, don’t be shy. Lemme get you something to drink.”
“That’s not steroids? It’s gotta be. Don’t play.”
“How much you bench?”
It’s annoying. So fucking annoying but you can’t help but agree. He’s a little older—maybe early thirties—but dangerously attractive.
Raven hair that reaches his ears, looks unbelievably soft and falls over emerald green eyes. A grey shirt hugs him too fucking deliciously for your comfort and dark jeans hug an ass that’s too fucking juicy. He’s a big man—a burly man and unfortunately, that’s how you like them.
Big, burly like a bear, respectful, and capable of making you feel small and protected but also valuing and worshipping you as a woman. Unfortunately, such men are hard to come by because you tend to intimidate them. You don’t tolerate disrespect in any form and quickly put men in their place if they try to undermine, belittle, or confuse protection with control. You know what you want, and you refuse to settle for less. 
They can’t stand it.
And right now, you can’t stand Toji. As he looks down at you with a well-worn smirk on his face, a smirk that suggests he has plenty of experience in situations like this, your irritation grows. He’s a smooth talker, confident in almost everything he says. His voice is deep, but melodic in a strangely feminine way that makes his words slide like silk down your back, and the minute you heard it, your thighs threatened to rub together. 
Definitely a smooth talker. But the nickname you don’t care for. 
Princess.
Like you’re a dainty little thing who will bat her eyelashes and call him Daddy. It makes your walls of self-defense rise even higher, and the gentle smile you had given Shiu when he first said hello moments ago transforms into the beginnings of a frown. 
Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, plant your wedges firm into the grass, and turn away from them before muttering, “I’m good.”
Toji simply shrugs; a gesture that annoys you even more because he doesn’t offer any other reaction that satisfies you. He settles into your previously vacated spot, leaning back on his hands. The jacket on his shoulders falls open and the sight of his shirt hugging his muscles is too much for you.
You inwardly curse as your eyes wander over his physique. Thick pectorals that you could easily rub your face against and make a pillow for yourself to sleep on stretch the fabric in a way that you’re sure it’ll rip. Abdominals tease just below the surface of his shirt that clings to him like a second skin. You want to lick between each one, press your teeth into the hard skin to make him wince and beg as you count each one.
Four, six, eight? 
Fuck.
You don’t show how you want to straighten your spine against the chill of being caught staring. That smirk is on his face again, tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s a scar on the right side that slashes vertically over his top and bottom lip and you dislike the arousal that begins to boil between your legs from the sight. You wonder how he got it. If it was a fight, did he win? The thought of him wrestling another man to the floor and taking a cut to the face in the process shouldn’t arouse you, but god it does. 
His eyes make you think of moss as you watch them slide up your body, and it almost feels like invisible hands caressing you. They’re large and pale, littered with scars along the knuckles as they glide up your exposed chocolate legs, dip between your inner thighs, and caress the curves of your hips.
“See something you like?” 
He’s ogling you but has the nerve to try and put you on the spot? You have enough self-control to let logic worm through the rising lust inside of you. You sneer down at him, sharp enough for Shiu to visibly pale and your cousin to giggle at.
“To be honest, I don’t really see much.”
You don’t give him a chance to retort and you pretend not to hear the soft hum of nonchalance he throws back. You walk away from them, turning just in time to shield the way your eyes widen at the feel of your face and neck prickling with heat.
The moment you close the bathroom door inside your uncle’s house, the breath trapped within your lungs escapes in a rush. You press your forehead against the wood and the coolness of it offers only little relief to the burning of your skin. 
You turn your head and press your cheek against the wood so the cold surface can slide along your cheek as you open your eyes to take in your reflection.
Of course, Toji would ogle you. You’re confident enough to know your beauty.
A red sundress that hugs your curves, stops at your mid-thighs. Knotless braids with curled ends are piled on top of your head in a loose bun with a few strands that spill along your hairline.
You’re good-looking. But you’ve been out of practice with a man for a long time. Your last relationship ended when you caught him balls-deep in your coworker. You’re too shy to pursue a one-night stand and not detached enough for a situationship. 
However, you could risk it all for Toji and you hate that you’re entertaining the thought. You hate that you’re imagining him barging into the bathroom, bending you over the counter, and taking you from behind with his large hand digging into the small of your back and whispering how much of a good girl you are as you beg him to cum.
God, get yourself together.
To calm yourself down, you find solace in your uncle’s quiet kitchen. There’s only one person occupying it, your favorite aunt, who is heavily pregnant and working on the yellow cake that you’ve been thinking about all day. You use the opportunity to distract yourself and take over for her, shooing her away to relax in the backyard. 
You crack an egg against the off-white countertop, fractures splitting up the sides before spilling its contents into the silver mixing bowl in front of you. A self-deprecating thought slithers in your ears, and whispers loudly with wicked intention. 
Toji wouldn’t want a woman like you.
You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations. It pushes them all away, and although you normally take pride in keeping away those who aren’t worth your time, it can get lonely. 
To see your ex actively cheating on you was icing on a cake that was slowly cooking in an oven of your own self-doubt. You have standards, and while your friends consider you the voice of reason in their misfortunes with men, most members of your family think you’re too picky. You’re too much work, ‘you think you know everything’. 
“Men will always have a wandering eye, it’s up to you to keep them in check, girl.”
“Honey, I love you, but the more you pick apart a man, the less he will want to be around you.”
“They love it when you cook for them, girl. Take care of your man and keep him fed and you’ll keep him forever.”
Bullshit.
It’s bullshit to take care of a man in the same way his own mother does. It’s bullshit to lose all sense of self and independence, to wait on a man when he gives you less than nothing in return—when he can hardly give you the bare minimum. You don’t mind cooking for a man who takes care of you, who loves and values you, who would never hold you back and would encourage you when you can hardly encourage yourself.
But all the good ones are in relationships now, married with a few kids, and in your resolve to stay strong and weed out the bad to find the good, it’s left you a little bitter.
Most black families are old school, and yours is no exception. They hold ‘for better or worse’ a little too close to their heart. They cling to an ideal that a man runs the household down to the basics in a way that makes you uneasy and in your defense, you snap when you’re backed into a corner.
You love them, you truly do, but they probably will never understand just how aware you are of the world and how little you are willing to put up with the problematic things that others consider normal.
Your ex was great at first. But he got comfortable. And when he got comfortable, he got lazy, a little too controlling, and a little too frustrated when you asked for certain things in the bedroom. The only person who knows about your breakup is your mother, who had the gall to be out of the country for work, leaving you to fend for yourself for today. 
You watch as the batter spills on each side of your wooden spoon, parting and then falling back together like sand. In your reverie, you don’t notice a few of your relatives who have now entered the kitchen and are roaming through the fridge. You can hear one of your least favorite aunts—the bitchy one—playfully joking with someone, and whatever drivel comes out of her mouth makes that person laugh. It’s deep and suave enough to make a tingle of electricity stutter down your spine because you know it’s him.
Refusing to look in their direction, you continue mixing the batter until the lumps disappear.
“You been hiding in this kitchen for awhile now,” your aunt begins, Atlanta accent the most grating it’s ever been as she turns her gaze toward you. “You’re normally a little more talkative when your man is here. He not coming?”
There is not a trace of genuine concern in her tone. You and her bicker often; she presses your buttons and then gets mad when you press back. Your ex’s infidelity is ammunition you don’t want to give her, but being caught in a lie is something she would only treasure more to use against you later. 
You clear your throat and turn the spoon in the batter once, then twice before answering without looking her way.
“No, he actually came inside of my coworker a few weeks ago. So we split up.”
You can feel the noise before you hear it—a characteristic and sharp ‘mmm’ that seems to be ingrained in your family’s DNA. It makes your grip tighten on the wooden spoon, and you scrape along the bottom of the bowl until it screeches on the metal.
“You gotta watch out for this one, Toji. She’s always been an outspoken one. Too good for ‘em all and likes to be a little mean to her men.”
You scrape harder and then turn to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face. 
“You’re right. The fact that I won’t settle for someone who will get bored with me after a few years makes me way too good for them. Should have turned the other cheek just like you did with your last husband. Or…was it the one before him?”
You catch the way Toji pulls his lips in to bite down on them, scar twitching as he fights to hold in a snicker.
Your aunt glares at you, purses her lips, and turns them to the side before pulling in a noise that has been passed down for generations. Her mother and her mother’s mother used the very same tactic to strike fear and insignificance in their children when they talked back. It’s a sucking of air between her teeth and the sound makes years of discipline from your own mother flash in your mind like you’re in the trenches of war. 
You know she wants to say something, and you can taste the ‘you always got something to say’ in the air before Toji slides from his perch against the counter and places a hand on your aunt’s shoulder.
“Let’s get you a drink, huh? Didn’t you say you wanted me to try the beer you brought in?” She throws you a knowing glare before letting Toji lead her away; because if there is one thing that will distract her from showing out, it’s letting a good-looking man touch her.
The shaking in your hands helps you sift in the dry ingredients—a mix of sugar, flour, and baking soda—into the batter. The breaths through your nostrils are heavy and thick with anger, and the corners of your eyes sting with heat. You whip the batter harder than necessary, your aunt’s words replaying in your mind like a broken record.
Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. Don’t—
The sight of a can of hard seltzer pressing onto the counter in front of you makes the ramblings in your mind stop. Familiar long fingers unfurl from the can and slide on the counter, their fingertips touching the edges of your mixing bowl in an effort to get to you.
“I would have given you a bottle of beer. But I had a feeling you might bash it over your aunt’s head.” He’s not wrong, and in your frustrated state, you consider his defense admirable. “I like a fight, but I’m a guest and the food looks good.” 
Your grip on the spoon loosens slightly as Toji leans casually against the refrigerator, arms crossed over bulging biceps that stretch the short sleeves of his shirt. His jacket is now gone, and you can’t help but notice the veins in his forearms that protrude, tempting you to lick against them.
It takes the sheer will to tear your eyes away and focus on pouring the batter into the bundt cake mold, observing as it fills the intricate crevices. 
“So he cheated? Most men are pigs.”
“But not you, huh?” you can’t help but retort, shaking the mold to disperse the air pockets that bubble on the surface.
In your peripheral, he shrugs. “I know what I like in a woman and once I get what I want, it makes no sense to look somewhere else unless she wants me gone. I’m a man…but I’m a loyal man.”
When you meet his emerald gaze, you can see a hint of pain and vulnerability that unsettles you, tilts you back on your heels from the force of his honesty. You reach for the can of seltzer and take a long swig to give yourself time to get your thoughts in order. The carbonation is sweet and fizzles along the sides of your tongue and down your throat. 
“So what is it you like in a woman, Toji?”
It’s a question that probably should have been left untouched, but your curiosity overpowers your restraint. You don’t want to go back outside, because if your aunt is still feeling particularly petty, she will say something that will only make you leave. And you don’t feel like letting your family win today. 
Toji’s strong gaze certainly isn’t helping. Those invisible hands slide along the crevices and dips of your body, stroking the small of your back before pressing featherlight against the back of your neck. The hairs rise in response, your skin prickling with gooseflesh. 
Unexpectedly, he pushes off the refrigerator and walks closer to you, and you’re too shocked to back away. Despite his imposing stature, you know he won’t harm you. There’s something about him that’s warm and inviting, soft and tender even though his exterior is hard lines and muscle. The two of you are now mere inches apart, and the air feels thin as if you’ve reached the summit of a mountain and struggle to breathe due to the change in altitude. 
Jet black locks graze against a rough cheek, the tips kissing the raised scar on the side of his mouth. Up close you can see his features more closely. His eyes are sharp and intense with deep green between his lids as if hiding a pearl in an oyster. Thin eyebrows make him look more serious and cutting and you’re swallowing back drool because your nose picks up a faint whiff of woodsy amber emitting from his body. It smells cheap—he’s put together in the most basic sense—but it still smells…good.
“I like a woman who knows what she’s about. Independent and doesn’t fuck around. Smart and pretty with curves I can grab and squeeze. Someone with some sass and isn’t afraid to put anyone in their place.”
He steps closer and your lungs heave in a desperate attempt to pull in air. The brush of the wall against your back makes you stutter out your exhale and you press your palms flat against the cool surface to keep you grounded.
“I like a woman with nice creamy brown skin that smells a little like the cake she’s baking…” Through the sea of delirium, you distantly realize that he’s describing you. “The red dress definitely is a bonus.”
That familiar smirk pulls against his lips again and your heart is thundering in your chest. You would be surprised if he couldn’t see it thumping erratically beneath the skin between what’s exposed of your cleavage. 
But this is just another trick in their book to get you in their bed. Or in the bathroom. Or over the kitchen counter.
And as much as you want to, you can’t give in. Because you’ll hate yourself tomorrow.
So you tilt your chin up at him and narrow your eyes at his amused expression. 
“Describing me in place of your ‘ideal woman’? That’s boring. Go use it on my bitchy aunt, she’s got fillers in her ass so that’s more curves for you to ‘grab and squeeze’ when she throws herself on you after the Hennessey kicks in.”
Toji’s eyes widen slightly before a harsh laugh barks from his mouth. It’s surprisingly nice on your ears and rattles the drums inside in a way that you don’t dislike. He pulls away from you, giving you a few more inches of space and the altitude in the air seems to level out enough for you to take an inconspicuous deep breath. 
“Nah, nothing against fillers, but I’m more of a natural man myself,” he admits.
“Cellulite and stretch marks?” you ask with a lift of a brow, teasing but…mildly curious.
You watch as that smile slowly slides on his face, teeth glittering and eyebrows raising. He looks like he’s hit the jackpot. 
“The whole package, princess.”
Biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, you push down the lingering arousal in your stomach, refusing to let it simmer. He’s funny and you appreciate a man who loves the raw and often overlooked intricacies of a woman.
His response is disorienting, throwing you off balance, and you’re unsure of what to do next. Your usual response is to talk back, to take delight in a man fumbling when his own cards have been turned against him. But you can’t think of anything right now. 
You move around him to place the bundt cake mold into the oven, setting a timer with the plastic buttons above the stove. Snatching the seltzer from the counter, you lean back against the oven, putting a considerable distance between the two of you to think. 
Toji mimics your movements, retreating to the fridge to relax against it, folding his arms across his chest, and god he still takes up the room. Even though you’re further away, it still seems like you can smell the cologne as if it’s sitting right on the skin below your nose.
“Do your moves always work on women?” you ask before taking a good swig of your seltzer.
He shrugs in response and turns around to dig a beer from the fridge. You don’t bother to hold back the urge to leer at him. You want to grab his ass, listen to him squeal in surprise, and blush in embarrassment when you squeeze. The thought of digging your fingers into the skin of it as he fucks you nice and slow makes your mind short circuit, a computer rebooting and making a loud noise before frying out indefinitely.
“On the rare occasion that I happen to use them, yes they always work. But…obviously not on you.”
“I’m not easy to win over. You need to be worth my time.” Your eyes flicker up to his face before he turns around to face you.
He takes a swig of his beer and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. The column of his throat is long and pale and you want to slide your tongue along the side to taste the saltiness of his skin.
“What’s it going to take?”
His interest in you is admirable, and a small part of you is giddy with the attention. But you’re nervous to give him an inch when most are quick to take a mile.
“I have a name so stop calling me princess. I’m not a royal, so unless you’re offering me land, money, or power, I don’t want to hear it.”
He barks out another laugh, his thick chest shaking and eyes closing as he throws his head back. You despise how good it sounds and you’re reminded of these moments when men seem so beautiful and wonderful before the ugliest parts of them are visible.
“What else?” he inquires, still chuckling as he takes another long sip.
“If you’re expecting sex from me, think again. I don’t do one-night stands or friends with benefits. It’s messy and I just don’t have the strength for it.”
He seems to consider your remark as if he has no choice but to weigh your stipulation before signing a contract. Then he smirks that devilish smirk that makes your cunt pulse between your thighs when you know damn well it shouldn’t. You cannot be this turned on by this man.
“Not even if I have a big dick?” he teases.
He’s annoying and you’re mildly disgusted but still willing to banter with him, so you grimace and roll your eyes. “What, you want me to take a look first before I make up my mind?”
He full-on grins, the fucker. “If that’s what it takes.”
But in true fashion, you bounce back with your own quip. “Public indecency is a crime and I also don’t like to look at cock until after I’ve eaten something. It’s nauseating.”
Laughter erupts from him once again, loud and boisterous that it seems to shake the oven against your back. He probably thinks you’re joking. But you’re not. Dick already looks alien. Looking at dick on purpose without any sense of arousal is pathological behavior. 
Your heart flips in your chest when he pushes off the refrigerator again, taking a swig of his beer as he saunters to you and the sight is criminal. Your fingers dig just slightly into the metal can in your hands, a faint pop emanating from it. 
“What are you bothering me for anyway,” you can’t help but ask, frustration coating your words as you frown more at yourself than at Toji. “I have so many other cousins here who are single and would love to get their hands on you.”
At first, he doesn’t respond, and in the silence, you struggle to take a full breath again. You don’t like that he’s so close to you, but you also love the way he smells and the way he looks at you as if you’re someone and not something to fucking eat. You’re a fucking mess. 
His head tilts slightly, and his hair follows the movement, brushing against his cheeks as his eyes take you in instead of scrutinizing you. 
The air feels thin again, and you ready yourself to leave when your pregnant aunt suddenly barges back into the kitchen and stops short at the scene. Toji takes a slow step back, not really bothering to fumble at being so close to you. You’re sure he doesn’t really care.
She’s your favorite for a reason because she understands. She’s not dismissive and mean and she simply smiles knowingly at you both before gesturing with her head towards the backdoor.
“Time to eat. Honey, why don’t you show Toji what’s what before your uncles steal everything.”
***
He stays close to you when you both make it outside, and you do your best to ignore your bitchy aunt’s gaze from her perch in one of the patio chairs. The spread of food makes your mouth water and you waste no time grabbing a plate for yourself and absentmindedly handing Toji one as well.
“I’ve never had some of this before,” he admits, and his voice is a little apprehensive from next to you as he takes everything in. It makes sense, this is probably his first cookout…his first black cookout at least. Strangely, you’re proud to be the one to guide him along.
“What is this?” he asks, pointing to the heavy helping of greens and ham hocks on his plate minutes later. You’re both at a small table alone and away from the noise.
“Collard greens…it’s a cabbage that’s cooked in a pot for a few hours with spices and broth. The ham hocks give it flavor, cook it before you add the greens so the meat falls off the bone better.” 
You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Toji gives them a wayward glance, an arch of a thin brow that makes his features more handsome than they should be, and then he takes a tentative bite before moaning sinfully in appreciation. The vertebrae of your spine lock in place, stiff with a sudden chill at the noise as you picture it slipping from his lips while you ride him until the hinges fall off. 
You take your own bite to stop anything stupid from coming out of your mouth.
You figure he has to eat to accommodate for his size but to see it in action is something else entirely. He finishes two plates in fifteen minutes and as he makes his way to get another serving, your bitch of an aunt speaks up from across the lawn.
“Why don’t you get up and get him another plate?”
Why don’t you shut the fuck up?
You grip the plastic fork in your hand tightly, digging into your diminishing potato salad and swallowing the vile that you want to throw her way. 
Make your man a plate before you make yours, get him a drink, get him another helping so he doesn’t have to, keep him fed.
Maybe this is why you’re single. You want to scream. You want—
“Don’t listen to her. You’re still eating, don’t move,” he levels, and you don’t miss the hint of irritation in his own voice as he gets up. “The same seltzer as before?” he asks, pointing to your drink that you didn’t realize was empty.
“I—”, you fumble before clearing your throat. “I like the strawberry one…if there’s any left.”
He shoots a wink your way and your body ignites with heat.
Your cousin worms her way over when Toji disappears, and you try your best to ignore the sly look on her face.
“Defending your honor from our bitchy aunt? My, my, the perfect recipe for your feminist heart.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, shoving the last of the potato salad in your mouth. 
“He’s Shiu’s best friend. Moved here from Japan a few months ago and is living in the same city as you. It could be fate? You want his number?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you snap again, feeling exasperated but knowing that unless Shiu is here to stop her, she will talk until she’s tired or you’re swinging at her.
She giggles, undeterred and gearing up for more. “He’s single too. And you’ve got all our other cousins mad as hell because he won’t leave you alone.” You don’t reply, because you’re mildly intrigued and impressed with yourself. It’s nice to have the attention from someone so attractive; it’s just figuring out if he’s genuine that’s the headache. “When the music gets louder tonight…or when the fireworks go off, take him upstairs and fuck him on—”
“Didn’t I say—fuck you.”
She guffaws, loud and unabashed and it pulls a smile from the side of your mouth. You know she doesn’t mean it, you know that at gatherings like these, you’re the black sheep and she just wants you to enjoy yourself.
“Seriously though, cousin. Shiu doesn’t keep many around, but they’ve been friends since they were kids. That’s a good sign right?”
There’s some merit to it, but you still want to be careful.
And Toji Fushiguro makes it hard for you to be careful because he wants you around him all the time and is unashamed to show it. 
Later in the night when the music is booming old school hip hop that your uncle won’t shut up about (he’s drunk), your other uncles—and a few cousins they will definitely con—have a table already bustling with spades. At first, you’re unsure how they convinced Toji to join, but he’s partnered with one of your cousins who has no clue about the game, and you realize they just want Toji to lose so they can feel good.  
Feeling curious, you pretend to bring Toji a beer. He’s frowning down at the cards, irritated with his lips curled into a small scowl and your cousin is trying to act like he knows what to do, but his stupidity is palpable even from where you stand.
You offer him a beer and ignore the fact that the one on the table is still full. When he looks up at you, his sharp eyes hold you like a vice, frustration evaporating quickly before opportunity takes its place.
“Help me.” He doesn’t bother to hide the confusion in his voice and you can’t help the way your stomach flips. 
One of your uncle’s snickers. “She doesn’t know how to play.” You do. “But she can try.”
You’re so annoyed, and you want to snap at him but Toji is pulling you closer to him with a muscular arm before you can. You’re in his lap before you know it, sitting precariously on a thick thigh with your back pressed against a broad chest and you can’t breathe again. The fluctuating altitudes are making you lightheaded.
Any other time and you wouldn’t hesitate to turn around and knock a man’s teeth in for grabbing you. But against your better judgment, you relax into Toji instead. His cheap cologne smells way too fucking good, he’s so big and warm against your body and your throat is drying up like you’ve taken a big breath in the middle of the Sahara.
“Don’t grab me like that,” you can’t help but grumble, only mildly put off.
“I improvised.” It’s a feeble excuse wrapped around a heavenly chuckle in your ear and you pray to whoever is listening, mentally offering up a sacrificial lamb, anything to ensure you don’t drip all over his thigh. “Now help me win.”
You do. Three times. He's adamant about winning and you're sure he has a gambling problem. And if your legs go a little numb from sitting on his thigh or if you lean into the way his outside hand slides to hold the curve of your waist, you don’t complain about it.
***
“You don’t dance?” Toji asks an hour later, joining you on the blanket that you occupied when you first arrived. It’s almost sunset, and the orange of the sky covers half of the backyard as your family revels in their merriment.
You shrug at Toji’s question, gazing at members of your family who are dancing in the yard. One of your loudest uncles is boasting about the music as he teaches one of your cousins dance steps. That used to be you so many years ago, and the moves are like muscle memory as you watch them. One of your aunts takes over the stereo, beginning what will surely be an hour of reminding everyone of the greatest hits. 
You suddenly realize that it’s just you and Toji on the blanket. Your cousin and Shiu are off god knows where, and given her penchant for being a rebellious freak, she’s probably riding him on your uncle’s bed. The thought makes you shudder.
“Are you cold?” he probes, pulling you out of your thoughts.
It is cooler now, but that’s not why you were shivering. You’re ready to tell him no, to start shaking your head even as you watch him pull his own jacket off to place it over your shoulders. His hands smooth over your shoulders and down your arms as if securing it closer to your skin and your blood boils beneath your cheeks. Your skin isn’t light enough to show when you’re blushing, but you’re burning with nervousness.
“Stop being so nice to me,” you hiss instinctively, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. The surprise is evident on his face and you immediately feel guilty. “I’m—I’ll only be mean to you in return.”
For the first time of the night, he looks angry. His eyebrows dip, the scar on his cheek twists with the harsh frown on his lips and he gives a severe ‘tch’ that makes you gape at him. “Why because you’re mean to men?” he snaps, impatient and free of any tease. 
It raises your hackles instantly, and you’re talking back before you know it. “Exactly. So why don’t you take a hint and stop trying to get into my pants—”
You feel a rough finger on the side of your cheek turn you further towards him, preventing you from looking at anything else.
“You just don’t like bullshit. Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.” 
For once, you don’t have anything to say even though your hand is twitching with the urge to slap the words from his mouth. You want to. It’s easy for you to fight back and push them away, you’re good at it. But you can’t fight the way his gaze seems to calm you down against your better judgment.
You pull your face from his hold and roll your shoulders, sliding out of his sharp gaze and turning back to your lively family. One of your cousins is arguing about why the Cowboys didn’t make it into the playoffs, and now everyone has something to say.
You pull in a deep breath, scolding yourself to relax just a little. He hasn’t been so bad, and you’re not one to make things intentionally difficult if a man is honestly trying. You’re still apprehensive about his intentions…but he is trying without being a beast. So you exhale your frustrations into the July air, calm down so your heart can steady its frantic pounding from the lingering scent of his cologne, and dig your fingers into your uncle’s well-kept grass.
“Fine. If I let you be nice to me…what would be the next thing you would say?”
You can’t look at him, but you feel his eyes on your body as you pluck a few blades of grass from the soil. The strands slide against the pads of your fingertips, rough and threatening to cut, before fluttering in the breeze when you release them. 
He’s grabbing you again, tenderly but possessively, sliding you into his embrace so your back is to his muscular chest, his chin rests on the side of your temple and his arms wrap around your waist. Your heart is back to leaping in your chest, pumping loud and fast in your ears, drowning out the music and arguing as if you’re underwater.
“How about you tell me about your family?” he suggests, voice unmuffled through the thickness of your hearing.
It’s a random ask, as if he wants to impress them, as if you’ve been dating for a long period of time and he wants to be prepared to meet them for the first time. The thought doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, even though you know it would never be a reality anyway. You don’t know if he’s just joking and frankly, the feel of him against you is warmer than his jacket on your shoulders and you don’t want to leave.
So, if it means he can stay put, you give in. You tell him about your aunts, uncles, and cousins—where they are from and what they do. You share your traditions when you all get together and the small intricacies you all share. It’s incredibly personal…maybe even too intimate. But he listens, and hums to let you know he’s paying attention, and asks you questions as you talk.
Eventually, his cheek rests on the crown of your head against your braids and you surprisingly don’t mind at all. When you notice his arms wrapped around you, you get a better view of the scars on his arms and fingers, and there is a rising urge to ask how he got each one.
“So she’s been married twice?” his voice is low in your ear so you can only hear him in the noisy backyard. His breath smells faintly of the beer he finished an hour ago, and it slides along the skin of your neck hot and thick. You resist the urge to cant your neck to the side to give his breath more room to roam.
You nod. “She got the fillers after the first husband. Those brought in the second husband. Then he left her for some girl in Cali.”
“Cali?’ he questions, confused.
You snort softly. “California.” You elbow him and the bone slides against hard muscle. Dammit. “You don’t know your states?”
“I’m foreign, not stupid.” The laugh that bubbles from your chest is sharp and you can’t help the smile that pulls against your cheeks from it. “I know my states!” He sounds truly annoyed and for some reason that makes you laugh harder. “Florida, Kansas—”
“I’m not asking you to prove yourself!” you sputter around a giggle, shaking in his embrace. But he’s not listening.
“Montana, New York…there’s another one…the big one.”
You gawk, turning just a little to crane your head up at him. He looks down at you with an embarrassed expression, his cheeks a little rosy even though his lips are flickering with the urge to laugh. 
“I beg your finest pardon…the big one?”
The side of his face twists in the nastiest way, and he’s angry at being questioned. “Don’t—it’s the one down below!”
“In relation to what?”
His eyes narrow, emerald barely noticeable between thick lashes. You can sense his hold on you tightening slightly, his chest stutters in a huff and you realize with rising glee that he’s pouting. Normally you would revel in this…but—
“Texas,” you find yourself speaking up at him, voice soft and gentle on the edges. “The big one down below is Texas.”
He simply hums, his chest vibrating against your back, but his gaze is smoldering, taking you in and dipping down to your lips before flickering back up your eyes. You’re too hot now, his jacket against your skin too suffocating, your heart beating too fast against your ribcage.
You hate just how rebellious you like to be. “What, you gonna kiss me?”
The challenge is fleeting across his features and he leans down so quickly that you don’t have time to react. Your stomach flips with irritation at the implication that he would take from you without asking, and suddenly, you no longer want him touching you.
“I wouldn’t take it without asking,” he whispers in the small space between you both as if reading your thoughts. The tips of his raven locks brush against your cheek, there’s a slight kink in your neck from how you are looking up at him, but he’s so close that you don’t care. One of his hands skims up from your waist, caressing the curve of your ribs, and his thumb teasingly runs along the underside of your clothed breast. His touch is reactive in you, and you angle your body further into his actions. His gaze remains locked on yours, absorbing your very being without doing a thing and you’re fighting to stay in control.
“So can I?” he asks, voice deep with temptation. “Kiss you?”
You swallow the bucket of drool that has somehow pooled in the back of your throat in seconds. The thumping of your heart no longer fills your ears, replaced now by a deafening ringing, spurred by your growing desire as you open your mouth to respond. 
“I…depends…are you any good?”
He nonchalantly shrugs, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his scarred lips twist into a smirk. He’s completely calm and you can tell if you told him no, he would leave it alone entirely. But he’s enjoying this, you can see it all over his face.
“Jury’s still out.”
You don’t trust yourself to say ‘yes’. Some part of you feels like if it comes out of your mouth, it will sound too desperate and you want to stay in control as much as you can. But, you could give yourself this. You’ve earned it. Just one kiss and then you could hide away until the fireworks and then use the noise as a cover to leave. After all, he’s hot. He’s been so nice and honest and the warning siren in your mind has long faded.
You deserve a reward.
So you nod, stiffly but enough for him to notice, and the air seems to thin out again when he leans in a little more.
“Toji!” one of your uncles calls out, severing through the heavy cloud of lust between you both like a knife. You recoil from his touch, his touch now only making you itchy, and you pull from his embrace so that his arms unravel and his jacket slides off your shoulders. The cooler air is freezing this time against your skin. “Come help me with the fireworks, would you?”
You don’t pay attention to his response, because you’re already up on your feet and making your way inside the house. Your body floods with the embarrassment and shame of being caught by your family…kissing a man that you’ve just met. You know you shouldn’t care…but it’s so easy for their behavior to rub off on you when you feel vulnerable.
***
Thankfully, no one is in the kitchen when you finally make it inside. The music dulls down when you close the backyard door and the ringing in your ears is now silent. 
You resolve to stay inside until the fireworks go off. No one is really paying attention to you anyway—most of them are drunk, others too absorbed in the music and gossip so it’s a perfect chance for you to duck away and show your face again next year.
Should you tell Toji goodbye?
No.
No, you hardly know the man. Just a few hours in good company and a kiss that almost happened that you probably would have let escalate. You probably would have let his tongue slide into your mouth. Probably would have let him pull you into one of the spare rooms, eat you out until you’re seeing stars, and then bend you over the edge of the bed to fuck you until he—
For fuck’s sake.
You yank open one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a glass. You need water because your body is piping hot. There’s a sheen of sweat on your neck beneath the layer of braids that fell when Toji laid his cheek on your head, and your hands are slick as they press into the counter to give you strength to peek into one of the lower shelves. Of course, the only one in the cabinet would be on the highest shelf. Of course, you’re too fucking short.
You climb onto the counter, knees digging into the off-white surface as you lift yourself up and peer into one of the higher shelves. You spot a glass, and you can have a heaping glass to cool yourself off enough to get you home. And then you can just use your vibrator once and go to sleep. Or twice. Or maybe a third time to get the thought of him out of your mind for the foreseeable future. 
Unbeknownst to you, he’s standing behind you. You didn’t even hear the back door open and close. But you catch a glimpse of a long, muscular arm reaching past your ear to grab the glass. You’re frozen, your fingers digging into the wooden shelf, unable to turn around and face him, even though you can feel his gaze hot on your skin.
Your plan is shattered, and you have no choice but to come up with an excuse to leave him. You’re combing through scenarios in your mind as you slowly slide down and perch yourself on the countertop, finally facing him. He places the glass on the counter, away from you, and closes the distance between you until the ridges of his clothed abs brush against your knees. His hands are searing against your skin as they rest on your knees and you watch his thumbs trace an obscure pattern with a touch that is featherlight. 
“Your uncle interrupted us,” Toji finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of hopefulness despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. His gaze, so harsh and sharp, is alluring in its own way, tempting you to relax the steady clench of your thighs.
“It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway,” you chuckle, self-deprecation rising to the surface of your skin and prickling against the pores.
“Why not?”
Maybe because you would be too much for him and scare him away? Maybe the fear of being too demanding in bed, of not being able to stop once he kisses you, lingers in your thoughts, making the idea of having him only once and never again infuriating.
“I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. I’ll get you water and let you sneak away when the fireworks go off because I know you want to…even though you shouldn’t give a fuck about what your family thinks…but I would really like that kiss.”
Analyzing his features, you take in the sincerity reflected in the moss-green of his eyes. It’s a last-ditch effort to make sure something else isn’t hiding there, and you find yourself coming up short.
Slowly, you part your legs for him to stand between. His hands slide up your thighs tantalizingly slow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before pushing the fabric of your red sundress up to your waist. You try to ignore the way the cool air on your panties does little to quell the heat radiating from them. His hands wrap around your waist and a gasp heaves from your lips when he yanks you to him, your thighs brushing the sides of his thick waist. 
One of the hands on your waist trails up to the side of your neck, gently tilting your head up, so you can look fully at him as his thumb traces the skin of your bottom lip.
“You better make it good,” you challenge, hoping your faux annoyance can mask the anticipation building in your gut.
He sees right through it and simply hums before he leans down to finally seal his lips against yours. He’s a big man, an overwhelming man, and you feel it in his kiss as his lips take every ounce of breath you have in your lungs. He tastes like the pound yellow cake that everyone got to before you could and a hint of beer and it’s the perfect combination that you want more of. 
His hands are under your dress, brushing beneath your thighs for traction and pulling you impossibly closer to the point where you feel your clothed center brush against the zipper of his jeans. You dig your hands into the fabric of his shirt, twisting and silently commanding for him to give you more. You open your mouth to coax him and his tongue is wet and insistent against yours.
You can feel your resolve dissipating in the air, fizzling against the heat that radiates from your body and your self-control is walking on a tightrope, precariously and seconds away from falling. And once it’s gone, you’ll be a woman unhinged.
He yanks you to him again as if its not enough, harder this time with a growl in the back of his throat that makes you gasp into his mouth, then rolls his hips against yours and behind his zipper you feel him hard and bulging and angry and oh—
You pull away with a harsh breath, gasping for air and biting back a moan that gurgles in your throat when his mouth works its way down the skin of your neck. Your skin is sensitive, and it buzzes with the touch of his lips and invokes a fervent need so deep within you that you’re losing awareness of where you are. You’re lightheaded, brain in the fucking stratosphere and you have to lay down, you have to—
He’s guiding you onto your back before you can do it yourself and the cool counter is a balm against the skin of your exposed shoulders and back. He looms over you from his place between your legs, big and muscular and reeking of hunger. 
“Toji,” you try to speak into the air, stifling a whimper at the sight of him stretching out your leg to rest on his shoulder.
One of his large hands caresses the canvas of your calf before you watch his lips kiss your chocolate skin. His rough scar scratches against you in the most delightful way as his mouth kisses up your calf, bends your leg to get closer, and then resumes his touch on the inside of your thigh. His face should be melting with the amount of heat emitting from between your legs, but he must relish in the burn because the second his tongue slides thick and wet against your clothed cunt, you whimper pathetically into the air.
You have just enough common sense to break from the desire to be fucked thoroughly to whisper.
“Toji, we can’t,” you swallow against the dryness in your throat. “Someone could see.”
You can feel the impatience on his body in waves but he has to listen to you. If your family were to walk in here right now to see their niece or cousin being eaten out like a gourmet meal, the Earth would swallow you whole.
“Shit,” he hisses, pulling you into his arms and carrying you out of the kitchen. You don’t care enough to tell him where to go; you’re too hot, too wet in your panties, and your need is twisting at the base of your spine in the most irritating way, begging to be soothed. 
You hear the beginnings of fireworks being popped off in the backyard and your family is loud, thankfully so loud as Toji locks the door to the bathroom and drops you unceremoniously onto the counter. Though the metal of the faucet digs into the small of your back and you fall into the mirror as you clamber to get yourself in order, you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s on you again, all teeth and lips and sinful tongue in your mouth with equally sinful hands digging impatiently into the sides of your panties.
“Take them off,” you demand, practically whining and in less than a second you can only get one leg out before he’s sinking to his knees, eyes wild and shoulders heaving with untamed breaths. 
“God, you’re so fucking wet. So damn pretty,” he whispers in reverence, throwing your legs over his shoulders, and the compliment makes your cunt throb in anticipation.
You can’t be sure if he’s talking to you or himself. Before you can breathe to calm yourself, it’s catching in your throat, hitching against a moan as his tongue licks a long wet stripe up the slit of your dripping cunt. His tongue parts your folds as if it’s the sea, savoring your essence and then sucking your clit into his mouth like it’s the cherry on top and you love it, whine at the feel, eyes crossing and rolling into the back of your head at the exquisite feeling.
He pulls away for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to regain control, and kisses the inside of your thigh before sliding two fingers up your dripping center, collecting your slick before beginning to rub circles on your clit. He’s mesmerized, and you take a moment to marvel at just how little of his green eyes are visible to you, his pupils are dilated with hunger and focused on the way your cunt moves with his fingers.
“Your bitch of an ex ever eat you out?”
You really don’t want to think about him right now, and you also don’t like the thought of someone feeling like they need to prove themselves to you.
But there’s a big man between your thighs who wants to unwrap you like candy. So you shrug, panting softly as you speak, “Every now and then.”
Toji scoffs, eyes seeming to darken like a forest at night.
“Every now and then,” he parrots, voice incredulous as if he’s heard the most insane thing ever, like he can’t believe it.
He increases the pressure on your clit harshly, causing you to buck against him, yelping in satisfied shock when he flicks your sensitive bud hard with his tongue.
“I’ll make you feel good, princess. Don’t you worry.” 
The nickname doesn’t have the effect as before. No, this time you moan in response, your guts churning with satisfaction at the prospect of being worshiped.
Slowly the two fingers on your clit slide into you, testing the waters, gauging if you’re okay, and your jaw slackens at the feel of the stretch. Fingering is an art, an act that requires patience and skill. You have to know the right pace, when to curl, how to know a woman’s body to determine what she wants. It’s glorious when it’s done right. 
And god, does Toji do it right.
He’s thorough and fluid in his strokes, using the tempo of your moans to curl at just the right time and sucking and licking your clit like he’s ravenous and your head is falling back into the space between your shoulder blades, eyes wide with disbelief as you stare at the ceiling. 
The fireworks are consistent outside, popping off every second and it’s loud enough that you have the courage to voice how Toji is making you feel. 
“Every now and then,” he hisses again to himself, angry and curling his fingers a little harder. You jerk against him, whimpering like a fool when you feel his tongue flick your clit harder as a reward. “He’s so fucking stupid. You taste so good, it’s unbelievable.”
He’s curling more now, brushing against that spongy wall that zings heat to your belly. Your insides churn, a molten heat popping to splatter against the base of your spine, pleasure coaxing you to reach that precipice that will let you fall apart. 
Vaguely you hear him whispering words into the skin of your thighs that you can’t decipher, the thrumming in your ears too loud to hear anything else beyond the fireworks outside, your escalating moans, and the obscene sounds of him slurping you up. The muscles in your thighs begin to tighten, your fingers are sweaty as they slide against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, and you dig your wedges into the muscles of his back, white panties dangling off one ankle. He’s so good, so thorough and your breath is hitching, choking on a moan.
“There you go princess, cum all over my fingers. Get me nice and messy.”
His deep words are accompanied by a sharp bend of his fingers and you’re cumming with a shout, rejoicing in the hot pleasure that puddles along your bones. It’s abrupt and overwhelming, pulling a sharp current down your body that makes your back arch until it bumps into the sink behind you. He’s groaning from his place between your legs, still pumping his fingers and licking your clit to collect as much of your slick as he can.
By the time you look down at him, you’re still catching your breath, your thighs tremble from the sudden chill injected into your muscles. You catch Toji just in time to watch him begin to slip his two dripping fingers into his mouth, but you snatch his wrist, riding off the high of your orgasm to slip his digits into your mouth instead. Thin rings of green widen in surprise and you savor the way his cheeks darken as you swirl your tongue around his digits.
“You’re unreal,” he gulps when you pop his fingers out of your mouth.
You shrug, not willing to show him just how powerful you feel, and wrap your legs around his waist, panties still caught on the buckle of one of your wedges. 
“I’m letting you be nice to me, remember? So what’s next?”
With a harsh pull, he stumbles closer to you, his hands slamming against the marble counter on either side of your waist. His breath hitches as you hastily undo his belt, eyes widening as he takes in the way you leer up at him. 
“You got me a drink, defended my honor from my bitchy aunt, asked me about my family, ate my pussy…you wanna fuck me now?”
“I—” he starts, caught off guard by your forwardness.
“You want to bend me over this counter, make me look in the mirror while I take your cock? Smack my ass and make me beg for you to fill me up?”
“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Toji chokes on a nervous laugh, hissing when your fingers graze the sensitive skin above his belt. 
“Is that a problem?”
The hair of his happy trail is faint and dark just like the hair on his head, and your touch makes his stomach bunch in sensation. He shakes his head in response and you want to laugh so bad at the sight of him struggling to swallow. You haven’t done anything to the man, but he’s sensitive to your touch, and that makes the blood in your veins sing.
“If you’re letting me have you, you can have it however you want.”
Arousal hums to life between your legs, and you can’t help but be turned on at how much he’s giving you. You want him now and while the prospect of being fucked over the counter was what you had hoped, if your family comes in and hears you taking it like a champ, you’ll never show your face again.
So when the door to your truck’s backseat closes, you’re climbing back on his lap, relaxing further into him with the knowledge that you can be as noisy as you want. Your uncle has a seven-month supply of fireworks and land in the middle of nowhere, Hennessey, and classics booming from his sound system… it’s going to be loud for a very long time. 
You’re running on your own current of desire at this point, pawing at his shirt so he can finally yank it off his shoulders and you’re drooling. He’s glorious and you don’t hesitate to rub your hands down firm pectorals, between the abs on his torso, and along the musculature of his Adonis belt. He’s cut like a marble statue, something that takes a painstaking process to hammer and smooth over until the result is almost—
“Let me take you out,” he suddenly suggests, voice gravelly with want but insistent.
Huh?
You’re immediately puzzled, eyebrows dipping into a furrow as you try to decipher his words. His hair is wild, black strands splintering and bushy but still giving you a gateway to his eyes and you see that he’s completely serious.
“On…a date?” A lift of his thin eyebrow in reply and the reality of him actually showing interest flags dangerously against your desire to ride him into oblivion. “Just the dopamine talking, I’m sure,” you say, hoping to dismiss the idea. You hadn’t expected him to actually…want to take you out. You can’t think about that right now because your head is too thick with hunger to try and have a conversation.
He hums, low and dangerous, a hand brushing the skin above your clit and you’re reminded of just how wet you still are from his sloppy tongue minutes before. 
“You’re the only one here that’s cum, princess. I’m being serious.”
“It’ll pass,” you reply immediately, licking into his mouth to shut him up.
Thankfully he doesn’t try to interject because you don’t have time to talk right now—you don’t want to. You don’t know Toji, not well enough. While tonight has been one of the most relaxed evenings you’ve spent with a man in a long time, you’re unsure if he genuinely wants you or if he’s merely carried away by the thrill of being with a woman.
He tried to come onto you the minute he laid eyes on you, tried to kiss you after a few hours, and pocketed your panties even though you pretended to be oblivious. You just don’t know. If you had a pretty girl in your lap, you would probably say the same things. Ask her on a date, make her feel wanted so she’s more giving when you slide her panties off.
It’ll pass.
And that’s what you tell yourself when you feel his large hands palm your ass beneath your sundress. You are teeth against him, nipping his tongue, biting the skin of his jaw, the meat of his neck, and the sharp groan that you pull from him in response makes you drip like a bitch in heat against his jeans.
“Take off your pants,” you whisper to him sharply, turning around and leaning over the center console to fish a condom from inside. You had discovered them months ago, and they should have been more than enough for you to dump your ex then.
“Shit,” you hear Toji hiss from behind you before your ass stings from his slap against it. You yelp, jumping from the contact and you hope he can see your cunt pulse from between your thighs in response. “Hurry up, baby.” 
When you face him again, you freeze, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. As you take him in, he snatches the condom from your hand and unfurls it on his cock.
Surprisingly trimmed with dark hair, he’s thick—not enough to be painful—but enough to enjoy the stretch so you can ride him until he flatlines and enjoy the ache in your thighs in the morning. It’s perfect; pale with a red tip that leaks into the tip of the condom, a vein along the side that you can’t lick without tasting latex. It’s a shame.  
He throws you that devilish smirk, eyes twinkling in pride before he taps his thigh and beckons you like the best ride at the carnival.
“Hop on, princess.”
Your fingers grip the hair at his nape when you feel him inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that you have to breathe through, and the feel of his hands affectionately stroking your back catches you off guard. You don’t hate it; in fact, you want to lean into it, but you don’t want to give him any ammunition for something you aren’t sure about. So you slide down to the hilt and listen to Toji curse sharply through the sudden heat of you before you start a steady rhythm that throws him off.
Within seconds, you increase your pace, riding him with an intensity that makes the air in your throat catch and drag along the sides. He’s got a satisfying curve to him that grazes those magical spots within you to make the grip on his nape tighten like a vice. Your head is foggy with an overpowering mist that makes your mouth loose and your inhibitions low.
“You feel so good,” he whispers, pulling you out of the delirium you were basking in to focus on him. His jaw is relaxed, hot air puffing from between an open mouth and onto the skin of your neck, a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead and the sides of his cheeks and there’s a slight furrow to his thin eyebrows as if he’s trying to concentrate.
You’re giddy with desire. “Let me guess,” you tease, lips brushing against his. “Am I tight?”
“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, eyelids hooded and upper cheeks darkening with a blush that spreads down his neck.
“Am I nice and hot?”
“Yes, fuck yes, baby.” 
It’s meant to tease, because every man that has ever slid inside of you in the past says the same shit, but to hear it from him brings a strange sense of satisfaction that you find yourself slanting your lips against his. He still tastes like the yellow cake that you never got, but the flavor is intertwined with the remnants of your essence that still lingers on his tongue that dances with yours. 
You plant your knees harder into the seat on each side of him, use your muscles to bear down and give you more control, and then you roll your hips, guiding him in and out in a tantalizing dance that elicits groans from him and makes him roll his head back against the headrest.
“Let me take you out,” he gasps into the air and you refuse to answer him—you can’t. It’s harder now to believe his sincerity because he’s delirious with lust. “Answer me.”
You growl softly and yank your hands from his hair to push down the straps of your sundress. You’re not wearing a bra, and he cusses like he just stubbed his toe as he watches your breasts spill free.
“Stop talking,” you whisper and yank his head forward, beckoning him to you and he catches on quickly, licking and sucking a nipple before pulling it into his mouth. The sensation makes you shudder, a gentle pleasure that your cunt appreciates and you pick up your pace on him again. “Stop asking me. Just let me fuck you.”
He bites down in retaliation to pull a squeak from you and licks over the sting in a half-assed apology. When you look down, his gaze is illuminated by the streetlights, a harsh glare that showcases his annoyance with your deflection, but his eyes droop when you squeeze around him in response.
You’re stuffed full of him, stretching along the sides, punching the air out of your throat with each bounce on his cock and your legs begin to burn with the build-up of exertion. Your nipples are wet and sensitive against his taste buds as he teases each peak into his hot mouth and it helps to mix that pot of pleasure in your stomach to life again. 
You can feel it, like a crescendo of waves crashing against a dock, but the waves are coming in quicker and more turbulent with every moan and cry that falls from your lips. You push him off of your chest, dig your fingers into his shoulders for more leverage so you can ride his cock like you have nothing left to lose.
His chest is blooming red, covered in a light sheen of sweat that dips between his pectorals and pools in his collarbones. Your bun of braids came loose when he was eating you out in the bathroom, and now some are heavy on your skin with sweat and plaster over your shoulders and between your sternum and you’re hot and sweaty and trying so hard to reign it in. 
He doesn’t buck up into you and you’re unsure if it’s due to laziness or the fact that he simply wants to watch you while he brings himself closer to climax. You hope it’s the latter. 
“Do you like this?” you pant into his mouth and nip his bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. Be a good boy and tell me just how I’m making you feel.”
He groans and lands another smack to your ass that makes you gasp and arch further into him. It's the right amount of pain that makes your pussy pulse in response, the right amount of manhandling that can take you higher in a second.
“You’re a natural, princess. You ever ride him like this?”
You shake your head and he smacks your ass again, harder this time and digs his fingertips into the flesh to let the sting linger. It's so good, and you can't help the whine that you puff against his lips as he smirks up at you with a proud disposition.
“He couldn’t handle it. Probably why he cheated wasn’t it? You were too much for him. You know how you like it and he couldn’t deliver.” 
You don’t answer him, but he’s right. He’s so right. He couldn’t stand it when you took control, hated when you asked him to do something that didn’t result in him being dominant, hated when he couldn’t even eat pussy without you having to ask. 
The feel of his fingers on your clit makes you jump and you poke your fingers into his nape again and pick up your pace, panting and moaning like you’re running a marathon as the pleasure rocks inside of you like a pendulum. 
“Oh god. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whisper, stomach burning.
You’re fluttering around him—pulsing and clenching and gushing over the thickest cock you’ve ever had and it’s glorious, you’re in fucking heaven.
The streetlight shines faintly into your truck, painting half of Toji’s face. He’s beautiful; that same annoying flicker of desire that captivated you when his green eyes met yours hours ago glimmers thin and dilated.
There’s a ruggedness to him that exudes masculinity, but glimpses into the depths of his eyes reveal a tender vulnerability that makes you wonder how soft he could be if he allowed you to get close enough.
The thought makes your cunt tighten around him, your thighs tense and fill with lactic acid and his fingers on your clit are unceasing, rubbing in a precise rhythm that makes you hiccup on a moan of incredulity. The hand not occupied with your clit is reclined across the headrest behind him and it makes him look unbearably sexy.
“I’ve never had a woman ride me like this,” he whispers, and you smile into his mouth, your kiss messy as you swallow down his compliment. He yanks you away and breathes that same insufferable ask against your lips.
“Let me take you out.” He rubs your clit faster, using the way you tighten around him as a guide to your pleasure, and his hand leaves the headrest to dig into the meat of your ass. “One chance. One dinner. I’ll give you what you deserve, whatever you want, princess. I promise just—”
“Stop it,” you whine and fight the burning sensation in your eyes. You’re so close, so fucking close and the storm inside of you is out of control but he won’t stop fucking talking. Won’t stop being so damn nice even though his cock is rearranging your guts in the nastiest way. You grip his hair and pull him closer to you so there’s no space between you to breathe. “Stop talking. Stop asking. Make yourself useful and make me cum.”
Thankfully he does. He scowls up at you behind the curtain of his hair but pinches your clit and you squeal, rolling your hips, riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The windows have already fogged up, the truck rocks with your movements, and you are consumed with a blissful incoherence that forces you to surrender and let your walls crumble.
Your thighs burn, your dress clings to your sweaty body, and the stimulation on your clit becomes almost unbearable as you whine with the need to cum. He hisses loudly into the car, bares his teeth for a second, and then his eyes roll before he’s slack-jawed and panting into stuffy air, a current of groans beneath.
“That’s it, Toji,” you gasp, voice strained as you teeter on the brink of an orgasm that threatens to overwhelm you. “Be nice to me just like you said and give me everything like the good boy you are.”
The hand not on your clit slips against the sweat on your hips, and you lick up the side of his neck, savoring the salt taste of his perspiration on his smooth skin, just in time to hear him. It’s faint and low, practically a whisper but he chants--
‘Fuck yes, fuck yes. So fucking good. Ride me, sweetheart.’
It’s tilted in a whine, pathetically desperate, but the sound of him does the trick because the flick of his fingers on your clit makes the biggest wave of pleasure crash over you.
You don’t get the chance to tell him you’re cumming, you simply yank his head back from the sudden force, tilt your head up to the ceiling and cum with an exhausted and wrung out ‘fuck!’ that you’re sure your uncle’s neighbors will hear a mile down the road. You’re dumbfounded with pleasure, dizzy with it and your belly is hot and simmering as you gasp and whimper at just how good it feels. 
He’s laying you back on the seat before you can catch your breath. You’re still coming down, still moaning to catch up but his large hands are under your knees and bending them towards your chest to chase his own orgasm. The edge of the seat digs into the crevice of your spine, and your hand flies out to smack against the back of the driver’s seat so you don’t fall but it slips with sweat, is hard to hold onto and you can hardly focus with everything that’s going on. 
His mouth is on you, stealing your breath that you still can’t control, swallowing your moans as he fucks you with a ferocity that pulls your soul from your body. He pulls away with a deep moan and stares down at you with a look that makes you anxious—like he wants to see you again, like he wants to come to another cookout with your rowdy family if it means he can bother you some more—like he really likes you. 
You know he’s going to try and say something that you may not be able to talk yourself out of, so you take the intense furrow in his eyebrows and the stuttering of his hips as a cue.
“You gonna cum?” you purr up at him, moaning weakly from the harsh thrusts that stroke you into overstimulation.
“Yes,” he answers without fail, eyes locked on yours. “Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck—”
Reaching up, you cup his cheek, unsure why but feeling an inexplicable need, and the words that fall from your lips help him across the finish line. 
“Cum inside me, Toji. Take what you want and fill me up.”
His eyes widen before they roll closed and he’s slamming against you three times hard and rough before the deepest moan you’ve ever heard slips past his lips. He pants heavily stuttering tiny thrusts into you as he comes down, the tips of his hair drip a few drops of sweat onto your neck before he lowers himself to rest on top of you. He’s too big for the seat and his knee digs into the floor of the truck to maintain his balance. His hot breath washes over your neck, slowly calming down, and in your daze, you realize that you’re holding onto his shoulders. 
The hard lines of Toji that you noted when you first saw him now feel gentle against you.
He rumbles your name into your neck and you’re cutting him off before the dopamine can speak for him. 
“We should get back inside before someone finally notices that we’ve been gone.” He abruptly lifts to look down at you, annoyance etched on his devastatingly handsome face. He wants to argue, you can taste it, but your fear wins. “My bitchy aunt has been at me all night, the last thing I need is her snooping.”
He’s quiet still, the edge of his lips curling into a dissatisfied frown. It stretches his scar in a way that takes away from the beauty of his face. Makes him look more alien and you have to pull your gaze from him. But he doesn’t argue like you think he would. He doesn’t speak or try to talk back or voice how annoyed he is.
He slowly pulls out of you and you immediately miss the feeling, ties off the condom, and pulls you up tenderly from the seat. Your skin is sticky and the truck reeks of sex. The high has worn off and all that remains is the overwhelming unease that rises like bile in the back of your throat. 
When you both are finally dressed and creeping out of the backseat, the cool air is a welcome feel to your overheated skin. It washes away your trepidation, if only for a moment. Toji looms over you, tall like a bear that you desperately want to sink your embrace back into, but he still doesn’t speak, and the crease of annoyance between his brows doesn’t leave. He should hold onto it. It will help him get over you. 
“Do you mind getting my purse from inside the house? I don’t want to go back inside just yet and I need to check my phone.”
Impatience emanates from his every pore, yet you can sense his anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. But he still doesn’t fight and makes his way back inside without a word.
You lied.
Your purse is in the front seat of your car—you threw it up there when you both snuck into the vehicle in the first place, but his attention was too busy trying to feel you up than pay attention to the satchel hanging off your shoulder. 
Once you see the front door close, you get into the front seat, start your car, and drive away without a second thought. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly as the temptation to turn back tugs at you. 
It may not be right to leave without saying goodbye, and lying to him has left a bitter taste in your mouth. Your family is too occupied with the fireworks and each other’s company to really notice your absence anyway, and you’re sure they’ll have no problem trying to distract Toji when he realizes that you’re gone. 
The grip on the wheel doesn’t lessen, but you roll down the windows and let the evening July air wash away some of the sex that still lingers on the seats.
***
“So you did fuck him,” your cousin snickers over the speaker of your phone a week later. 
It’s a Saturday night and you’re knee-deep in your wash day routine. It took you all day to take out your braids and the clear shower cap on your head traps the deep conditioner inside. You wipe away some of the excess near your ear.
You have Chinese waiting to be delivered, and you’re ready to finish your routine so you can go to bed. Your eyes are glued to your television playing some sort of nature documentary but your attention is elsewhere, specifically on trying to worm your way out of this conversation with your cousin. She’s called you every single day since the 4th and she’s done nothing but make you feel guilty about your abrupt departure. 
As you expected, your family didn’t really notice your absence. But when Toji asked your cousin for your purse and then realized you had lied, he sulked in a lawn chair for the rest of the night before Shiu drove him home.
“Yes, I fucked him. So what?”
“Soooo do something about it. Fuck him again? He lives in the same city as you and is here indefinitely. Make a move—”
“It was a nice night, but he was already trying to flirt with me as soon as he saw me and I still entertained him and fucked him and—I shouldn’t have done that…I should have waited, maybe tested the waters more. He only tried to ask me out because he was horny as hell.”
She’s quiet on the other line, and you look up at the ceiling in exasperation because you can feel her annoying logic rev up before she fires away.
“So you’re just scared? Your ex cheated on you because he was a spineless pissy boy who slithered away because you didn’t take his shit. That’s not a reflection of you, at all. I know you like to have it all figured out before you make a decision, but not everything works out that way. Toji saw a fine ass black woman who talks her shit and he made a move. He’s a nice guy...a little rough around the edges, but truly…a nice guy. Someone for you.”
James Attenborough elegantly voices something about the cuttlefish on the screen while you try to contemplate what to say. She’s right. You hate that she’s right. It’s why you two are so close but still you retort in the best way you know how.
“Girl, fuck you.”
Her raucous laugh vibrates over the speaker in delight and you snort and roll your eyes when the doorbell cuts you off. The prospect of your Chinese food makes your mouth water and you’re rushing to the door.
Only it’s not your Chinese food at the doorstep, it’s Toji Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro who is protected from the rain under the overhang of your apartment door with one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other clutching a container. The annoyed look that you last saw on his face is gone, replaced by a neutral and bored look that seems natural for him, even though his eyes don’t convey that specific emotion. Those green eyes are reminiscent of your uncle’s well-maintained lawn as they look down at you with a nervous glint. 
“Toji,” you breathe in disbelief. “How did you get my address…”
Your cousin squawks on the other line and swallows a giggle. “I’m gonna go—”
“Your cousin finally gave it to me.,” he replies simply and gestures down to the phone in your tight grip. “I’ve been trying to get it since you fucking left.”
“Damn, thanks?!” she barks at him. “Lemme get out of here, I’m getting another call anyway. Bye!”
You’re going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully and maybe in front of Shiu to get a few tears out of him if you’re feeling particularly evil. 
You know she’s right about Toji, but you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have fucked him in the first place and you should have thought of a backup plan on the off chance that your cousin was going to be annoying and nosy as hell.
You ignore his intense and heavy gaze, shifting in discomfort, scratch the back of your neck, and blanch in horror when your fingers brush the edge of your shower cap. You’re wearing a large t-shirt, your feet are bare and your head is covered in a shower cap with deep conditioner leaking from the sides; a stark contrast from the calm and collected woman who snapped at him all day a week ago. Mortification washes over you in a heavy wave, drowning your mantra of not giving a fuck about a man’s opinion, and you step back to grab the door.
“Listen…I’m waiting for food and then I have to get ready for work in the morning. So you need—”
“You have time to spare then,” he cuts off and walks past you. You round on him, indignant in your gaze.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Get out, Toji!”
“You want me to leave? Hmm?” he asks, goading you like you don’t know if you’re sure.
You’re not sure, but—“Yes, goddammit! I shouldn’t have left but I don’t do this sort of thing! The moment you met me, you only wanted to get in my pants. And that makes you trying to ask me out while your cock is inside of me, a lot harder to believe!”
He firmly places the container in his hands on your kitchen counter, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and gives you a look that either makes you want to melt into him or slap it off his face.
“Listen—”
You’re on the defensive now, backed into a corner and ready to pull every card you have to just make him go away. “You here for a quick fuck then? Because you got me to let my guard down and because we had such a steamy time in the backseat of my truck, you thought, what? You could just show up and bend me over my couch?”
That flicker of irritation is back on his face and it crinkles the edges of his eyes, makes him look nasty and hostile.
“Fuck, will you stop—”
“Wanna have a little ‘situationship’ while you get acquainted with your new life here? Have me get nice and comfortable and as soon as I ask for something more, you’re jumping ship. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it?”
A sharp growl leaves his throat and he glares.
“Girl—” he starts and immediately stops, eyes wide as saucers at the venomous gaze that you shoot his way. There it is, a hint of a name to make you feel small and insignificant. It reminds you of your parents when you used to talk back and they slid the name to you in a warning to stop talking. You hate it and it stings that you have to hear it from him.
“Get out,” you bark, seething with a rage that brings a sting to your eyes. 
He throws up his hands in frustration, looming like a bear from his place in your kitchen. “Will you just stop it!”
“I said—”
“Oh my fucking god—I like you!” 
His admission catches you off guard, cutting through your anger, and you stare at him in astonishment. His face is red with embarrassment, eyes trained up at the ceiling as if asking the gods to give him patience. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze from across the kitchen.
“You don’t do this sort of thing?” he asks, gesturing between the two of you. You can’t find the words to respond, still too shocked, so you simply nod. 
“What sort of thing is that? Flirting with you because you looked like the sexiest little thing in that backyard and I wanted your attention?” He’s annoyed, deep voice razor sharp as he speaks, but you don’t miss the step he takes closer to you.
“Me trying to make you feel better because your family is judgmental? Teaching me about the food you like because I’m not from here?”
He’s closer now and the air is thin again just like that night a week ago.
“Helping me win that little card game?” It’s spades, but you’re too lightheaded with how close he is to correct him. “Telling me about your family? What sort of thing is that? Hmm? Tell me.” 
You don’t have a retort. You’re too stunned to speak even though you refuse to let the annoyed expression on your face vanish. You want to hold onto what little shreds of defiance you have left.
“You aren’t mean. You don’t tolerate bullshit, you don’t fuck around, and you put people in their place. You refuse to settle for less, and I already told you that’s what I like in a woman…And I like you.”
What do you even say? You never expected to see him again, and your mind is muddled as if you’re submerged in water. Your heart feels too big in your chest, your body too hot and sweaty and you’re nervous. He’s angry with his confession, almost annoyed and you’re beginning to realize that it is an emotion that’s second nature to him even if it’s not as intense as you think it is. 
“Is that right?” you can’t help but test him, lifting a brow. You have to crane your neck just a little to look up at him.
He scoffs, the crease in his eyebrows smooths out and the scar on his lips twitches. 
“Yea, that's fucking right. So…” he takes one more step closer and his body is brushing against yours. He smells mildly of toothpaste and bergamot from another brand of cheap cologne and the combination makes you weak in the knees. “Let me take you out.”
It’s the same demand that you’ve heard so many times now, but this time, it feels more serious, more meaningful with a hint of desperation. In the kitchen light, you can see just how silky his raven locks are and you grip your phone and the fabric of your t-shirt to resist the urge to run your hands through them. 
“I’m listening,” you jest with a practiced air.
That wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, scar adding a devilish flair to his features, and your stomach burns with the realization that he’s too cocky for his own good, and you’ve unfortunately grown to like it. 
“Shiu has tickets for something here called…football? He’s taking your cousin and has two extra tickets. Come with me and show me how to win.”
You can’t help the snort that leaves your mouth and your stomach flips at the genuine confusion on his face. “We don’t participate in the game. We watch it. But it’s fun.”
“All the more reason for you to come with me.”
“I…”
It’s a compelling argument, all of it is. And you want to, you really want to give this a shot and just be vulnerable for once. Because Toji seems like the kind of man who would let you be just who you are and would never make you feel lesser than about it. 
The feel of his large hands cupping your cheeks pulls you out of your thoughts, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are mesmerizing, like the color of pine trees right before the sun sets and you feel yourself weakening completely.
“One date, princess.”
The deep timbre of his voice does little to help you and it’s worse because it’s just how he fucking talks. You’re not a royal, and you don’t have land, lots of money, or power, but you can tolerate ‘princess’ if it’s coming from his mouth. 
Just one date. You deserve it. You’ve earned the reward.
You wave away his hands from your face just so you can breathe a little easier. He chuckles but gives you your space, and makes his way to the door that you usher him towards. 
“Fine. Make sure you bring cash because it’s easier at the concession stands. I want a pretzel…and a hot dog.”
He snickers as he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring most of his face except for the ethereal glow of his eyes. His teeth shine from his bright smile and you roll your eyes in response before watching him open your door. 
“Toji?” you call, your voice softer…apprehensive.
He turns around to watch you shuffle to him, your feet and legs cold against the chill from the open door. You hand him your phone wordlessly and he takes the hint to insert his number. When he’s finished, you open your mouth to speak, lips shaping words that won’t come out—words you want to say. But you can’t. Not yet. Maybe one day.
For now, you throw him an annoyed eyebrow lift and grumble. “Parking is a real bitch, so pick me up early.”
You avert your gaze, frustrated at yourself for sounding so mean as usual. Because that’s just who you are. The bitter, mean—
A finger beneath your chin lifts your gaze to him and he kisses you full on the mouth, slow and reassuring, minty breath sliding into your mouth when he nips your bottom lip. The self-deprecating voice in your head finally quiets, smothered by a pillow held down by his scarred hands.
When he pulls away, that stupid smirk is on his face, but it’s not as teasing, and your heart does something weird in your chest that makes you swallow hard.
“Yes ma’am,” he replies finally to your demand.
You watch his eyes take in your form from head to toe before he kisses you quickly once more and ducks into the rain.
When you finally get your Chinese and place it on the counter to dig in, your eyes land on the container that was in Toji’s hands from earlier. 
You peek inside, and your heart does that weird thing again in your chest when you see a heaping slice of the yellow cake that you never got to have a week ago.
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Thanks for reading! You can find the sequel here!
461 notes · View notes
gojos-fr-bae · 7 months
Text
Stood up
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Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader
Genre: angst to fluff
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings: Cursing
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Three hours.
You waited at that damn restaurant for three excruciating hours receiving a pitiful look from the waitress and you just couldn't handle it anymore.
Your precious boyfriend had let you sit there and feel embarrassment flood you every time you caught someone staring at you before whispering to their date.
He couldn't even bother bother to text or call nor reply to your texts or answer your calls. And as if this all isn't bad enough this wasn't the first but fourth time that month and you couldn't take it anymore.
It's been so long you two spent time together. He always arrived home when you were already asleep and left before you could wake. You were the only one even tying to keep you two together and you were so, so exhausted. You couldn't keep giving your everything to someone and receiving nothing in return, after all you're only human.
And so, driven by pain, you ignored your tears and painful sobs escaping your chest as you packed all your belongings and wrote one last letter to your soon to be former lover.
It hurt you so much to leave knowing you may never love anyone the way you love him, but you had to do this for your own sake and if that meant walking out that front door and not turning back then so be it.
~
It had been a week since you left the house you shared with the love of your life and you had received nothing but silence from his end, and yet today you woke up to 45 missed calls and so many messages from the bastard but you couldn't bring yourself to open them. You knew that if you listened to even one of the voicemails he left your resolve would crumble considering the texts you also received from his students begging you to speak to him and talking about how much of a mess he is.
You were scrolling through their messages when you barely heard the gentle knocking on the door over the rain outside. You had been staying at your friend's that night and as far as you were aware she was spending the night at her boyfriend's so you had no idea who'd be at the door.
You got up, groaning from the headache your crying had caused and began walking towards the door. You opened the door, breath catching at seeing Gojo standing on the other side of the door. He looked up at you and his eyes began tearing up. They were swollen, red and had bags, his cheeks sunken in slightly. It felt like a dagger was jabbed into your heart and was being twisted. You couldn't bare to see him looking so broken.
"H-hi" he whispered, looking at his feet and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt so that you don't see him breaking or hear how his voice cracks.
"Hi"
"May I- umm, may I c-co-come in?" this time you heard how his voice wavered."
"Goj-"
"Please, d-don't call me that"
"Come in" You said, finally noticing how much he was shivering, his hair and clothes soaked.
"Satoru, did you, walk here?"
"Walk, stand outside the building trying to gain the confidence to enter what's the difference?"
"Oh no, I'm so sorry let me get you some spare clothes, I hope I have something that can fit-"
"No no, that won't be necessary I don't plan on staying long."
"Well in that case uhm... how can I help you?"
There was a heavy silence between you two as you stood in the doorway, waiting for him to respond.
"P-please" he croaked, tears beginning to fall down his face, "Please take me back"
"Satoru don't-"
"I'm so, so sorry. I'm such a pathetic and useless boyfriend and It's completely my fault that we split up because I stood you up and hurt you and I know I don't deserve to be forgiven but I'm begging sugar cube please, I can't live without you"
"Satoru you constantly disregarded me and our relationship. You never spoke to me, constantly stood me up and never even bothered to apologise ONCE, It's like you never even loved me in the first place!" You shouted, feeling your tears begin to blur your vision.
"I know and I'm sorry! I feel like and absolute piece of shit but I LOVE YOU Y/N! I love you so much it hurts, I love you so much I almost have a heart attack whenever you smile! And I love you because you are the only one who ever made me feel like that, only one who ever told me that I would be ok who ever held me when I cried, no one else but you!"
"Even if you do I can't keep carrying this relationship alone Satoru! I can't be at peace unless I leave"
"BUT YOU PROMISED!! YOU PROMISED NEVER TO ABANDON ME! PROMISED TO NEVER BREAK MY HEART AND I BELIEVED YOU! I STILL DO SO PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!" You were both sobbing now.
"Satoru, even if I said yes, I know I would never be your first priori-"
"I quit!" He pressed out quickly, looking up to meet your eyes and lacing your hands in his.
"Wh-what"
"I quit at Jujutsu tech immediately after reading your letter a-and I realised that you were right. You were right about everything! I had neglected and mistreated you so much when you deserved none of it and I'm sorry."
You were stunned. flabbergasted even. You knew how important Gojo was to the Jujutsu world and so did he. You were pretty sure that the world would fall into chaos, he was the only person keeping things in balance. And he quit...for you"
"Satoru-"
"Before you say anything, don't worry about money. I already have tons and once I'm head of the clan it practically doubles so I can spoil you the way you deserve to be"
"Goj-"
"And I promise I'll work harder to make you happy. I know I really don't deserve it because I'm a worthless piece of-"
"SATORU GOJO WILL YOU LET ME SPEAK!"
"Yes ma'am" he said, almost in a whisper.
"Did you really quit for me?"
"Yes"
"Do you really love me? "
"More than breathing"
"And are you really going to change?"
"Anything for you"
"Then if we give this one more shot things will really be different?"
"Yes"
"Okay, then let's do it, I mean what's the worst that could happen?"
His face lit up up before he pulled you into a bone crushing hug, burying his head in the crook of your neck.
"Thank you so much, I love you"
"I love you more sweetheart"
"Eh, doubt it"
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Yay
© gojos-fr-bae
571 notes · View notes
keerysfreckles · 4 months
Text
reunions — steve harrington
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pairing: steve x hopper!fem!reader
summary: during spring break of 86, y/n hopper flies back to hawkins indiana (dustin's request) and isn't surprised when dustin tells her the world might end again.
warnings: bit of angst (ends with fluff), use of y/n and she/her pronouns, a couple curse words
a/n: for my love :) @keerysbrowneyes
。゚•┈୨♡୧┈• 。゚
getting a call from dustin henderson was probably the last thing that y/n thought would persaude her to go back to hawkins after her father died.
after a pretty normal sounding phone call, dustin told y/n that a curse was back in hawkins. y/n knew that could only mean one thing, which explains why she was quick to find a taxi in the busy indiana airport.
the ride to the henderson household was quick, maybe twenty minutes, and y/n knocked harshly on the faded door.
the freshman with a curly head of hair and a baseball cap was the one to open the door, and y/n's worries subsided slightly as dustin smiled up at the girl.
"y/n!" dustin exclaims, before pulling her in for a hug, which y/n gladly agrees to. "i can't believe you're here!"
y/n chuckles, "well yeah, you called, why wouldn't i be here?"
after saying hi to claudia henderson, and petting the new cat of the household, y/n was sat on dustin's bed as he explained to her everything eddie munson told him the previous night.
"so what are we doing about it now?" y/n asks, once she takes in all the new information.
"steve's going to pick us up in," dustin pauses to look at his watch, "four minutes."
y/n's voice is softer than before and her heart beats faster in her chest, "steve's still helping?"
"yeah he is, why?" dustin's oblivious as he's packing multiple things in his backpack.
y/n and steve didn't leave each other on a bad note after the mind flayer situation from the fourth of july the year prior. the pair just haven't talked much since the byer'd moved to california.
dustin and max were really the only two to call the older hopper from time to time.
just as dustin said, four and a half minutes pass and steve's horn could be heard from outside the henderson house. y/n and dustin head to his bedroom door, but dustin stands in front of the girl.
"maybe you should stay here," dustin suggested.
y/n tilted her head in confusion, "weren't you the one who called me and asked me to fly out here to help you again?"
dustin nodded, "well uh- yes, but no one else knows your here. plus we're getting food for eddie right now. i promise after we can pick you up."
y/n thinks for a moment, and dustin's puppy dog eyes aren't helping her situation.
with an eye roll from the girl, she agrees, "fine, but you better come back after you deal with eddie."
with a quick goodbye, dustin's fast to neet steve, lucas, max and robin by the familiar red bmw. steve asks dustin what took him so long, and he just brushed it off by asking which store they were getting food at.
。゚•┈୨♡୧┈• 。゚
an hour and thirteen minutes pass, and y/n couldn't be more bored out of her mind. she was able to help claudia bake cookies, clean dustin's very crowded desk, and halfway solve a rubix cube. dustin barged back into his room, making y/n jump from the sudden noise.
"come on y/n! we don't have any time to lose!" dustin practically yelled. "i had to beg steve to come back here since the others are back at the trailer park."
y/n was quick to grab her jacket off dustin's bed and followed him out the door.
steve looked to his passenger side door once he heard it open, but was slightly confused once dustin wasn't the one in the front seat.
"y/n?" steve questions, his eyes as wide as they could be while y/n and dustin were fastening their seat belts.
"hi steve," y/n smiles and catches her breath from the previous running.
dustin pipes up from the backseat, "lovebirds, we don't have time to chat right now. drive steve!"
steve and y/n both ignore dustin's remark as steve pulls out of the henderson's driveway. the drive to back to the trailer park is silent besides the tears for fears song playing on the radio.
the only thought going on in steve's mind is why the hell y/n hopper is in his car. he took notice of the familiar flannel he's seen jonathan wear many times from the past three years, and the faded ac/dc shirt steve recognized from his own closet. how y/n stole it in the first place? steve couldn't question that right now.
after steve parks besides the table with the four other familiar faces y/n missed, steve pulls dustin aside.
"what is y/n doing here?" steve asks.
dustin shrugs, "we need all the help we can get steve, and she's joyce's favorite so of course she was able to come back here in such last minute."
steve's demeaner changes once he turns and sees y/n in a group hug with lucas, max, robin and nancy.
"i can tell you don't totally hate her being here," dustin smirks up at steve.
"hey, no!" steve's quick to dismiss dustin's idea, "okay it's not like that henderson."
dustin laughs and shrugs, "like what?"
steve just watches dustin walk over to the table, and after a moment the harrington boy follows suit.
as everyone sat at the table tries to figure out what's going on in hawkins, steve can't help but look at y/n. of course he's missed her, how can he not? he's kicked himself in the ass everyday for not calling her like he promised. as dustin's in the middle of explaining something to max, steve stands and grabs y/n's wrist.
"can we talk?" he whispers, and is grateful once y/n nods in response. the two walks over to his car and y/n leans against the side while steve paces back and forth.
"why do you seem so worked up?" y/n asks him.
"oh i don't know, maybe because it's another year with this stupid upside down shit. maybe it's because this year's even more stressful than the last. maybe it's because my parents haven't been home in six months. or maybe it's because you're here, and i can't see you getting hurt again from all of this."
steve finishes his rant and runs his fingers thorugh his hair. y/n's gaze softens at the state of the boy in front of her. y/n knew what steve meant by the last statement. steve was the only one able to keep her grounded once she found out hopper was dead, and that she was moving to california.
"steve," y/n voice is soft, in comparison to steve's quick rant. "are you okay?"
the boy's quick to shake his head, "no- no shit i'm not okay." he holds his head in his hands as he leans besides y/n against his car. y/n moves her arm to his shoulder as she stands in front of him.
"the only reason i'm glad you're here is because you're the only one who knows how to deal with me like this," steve gestures to himself. y/n also knew what he meant by this.
after every incident with the upside down, y/n and steve were always in y/n's room as they both calmed down from the events that happened.
"do you want a hug?" y/n asks, while holding her arms open.
steve nods before wiping any tears that could've fallen from his rambling and heavy breathing, and his shoulders instantly relaxed at the feeling of y/n in his arms again.
y/n took in the all too familiar scent of steve. she's missed him, everything about him. his smile, his kindness towards the kids, his hair, his jokes, did she mention his smile?
the two slightly pulled away, but didn't let go of each other.
"i'm sorry i didn't call you a lot since you moved," steve talked softly.
y/n shook her head, "steve you don't have to be sorry about that."
"no, i do have to be sorry y/n. i've been a complete dick to you since you left. i- i didn't call you like i promised. i wasn't able to comfort you when you probably needed it. i've basically ign-"
steve's words were cut off by y/n leaning up and kissing him. once she noticed he wasn't kissing back, she pulled away with a hint of concern filling her eyes.
"you kissed me," steve points out.
y/n nods, her hands not leaving steve's arms, "i uh- i did."
"why?"
"i know it um- calmed you down before. so i thought maybe to try it again. god, i'm sorry. i don't even know if you wanted it," y/n pulls away from steve, as a million thoughts fill her mind, "you could have a girlfriend. you might not even like me anymore like that. shit, i'm sorry."
y/n stops her rambling once she feels steve grab both of her arms, making her face him again after she started pacing back and forth.
"who says i didn't want it?" steve says softly, before pulling y/n back towards him as he's the one to kiss her on the lips.
y/n immediately melts into steve's arms. the pair couldn't care less about the stares and whistles they were getting from the others still sat at the wooden picnic table. steve only flashed his middle finger towards the group before running his hand through y/n's hair.
"as much as i don't want to pull away, we kind of need air," steve chuckles. he lips over his lightly swolen lips as y/n fixes her hair.
"are you guys done sucking face? we have an actual interdimensional being we have to fight," dustin has his hands on his hips, making y/n and steve laugh from their place besides steve's car.
"guess we should get back to them now?" y/n questions.
"mm, just one more," steve pulls y/n in for another kiss, to which the girl happily obliges to.
387 notes · View notes
reminiscingtonight · 6 months
Text
Everything Has Changed
Ana-Maria Crnogorčević x reader
Word Count: 1.6k
Love You More (Part Two)
[WOSO Masterlist]
Finishing your fourth ice cube, you look at the clock again. It’s the fifth time you’ve looked at it in the past couple minutes, impatiently awaiting the return of your wife. 
Lia had all but dragged Ana out after practice, saying something about how she needed the blonde to go shopping with her for some new furniture in her apartment. So pouting and feigning annoyance, you returned home alone. 
While you were slightly peeved at Lia for depriving you of some quality time with your wife, there’s a part of you that appreciated it all the same. It left you plenty of time to finally wrap up the gift that you had been waiting to give Ana. 
It’s been sitting in a spare duffle of yours, tucked between a couple old shirts and stolen hoodies. You bought it earlier in the week, immediately after you went to the doctor’s office to confirm the result of your at home test. 
It isn’t until you’re nearly all the way done with your next ice cube that you hear some muffled words through the door. Like a puppy to a bone, you perk up at the sound of keys in the lock.
This is something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. Up until last year, you and Ana have never played for the same club team. Lia’s the one who introduced the two of you to each other all those years ago. Having taken a quick liking to the Swiss when she first joined Arsenal, Lia took it upon herself to be your wingwoman until it became apparent that the blonde was the one for you. Countless blind dates set up by the brunette all seemed for naught when you vacationed with Lia and a couple of mutual football friends and instantly hit it off with Ana. Dating was superseded by an engagement, and a wedding came not long after.
So yes, most of your relationship was spent balancing long distance, but after her contract in Spain ended, Ana decided to come to Arsenal to be with you. You had already decided a while back that you’d play out your last couple years in England at a club that’s become so dear to you, and Ana took it as a win to go play for a club where her wife and best friend both played at.
So now you get to wake up to the love of your life, pull faces at each other as you scramble to make it out the door to trainings on time, dance around the kitchen as you try to make dinner (which will inevitably result in Ana stepping in when you burn it), and bask in all that domestic bliss the two of you missed out on in those early years of your relationship. 
“Honey, I’m home!” Ana shouts, a goofy grin on her face as she rounds the corner to the living room. 
You have a similar smile on your face, tilting your head up to receive the kiss Ana presses to your lips in greeting. Letting out a relieved sigh, Ana all but collapses onto the seat next to you. Chuckling, you give her head a couple scratches as she launches into a rant about Lia’s indecisiveness.
“After my fourth sigh Lia nearly shoved me over and said all I wanted to do was go home and cuddle with you, which of course was what I wanted to do, but I couldn't let Lia of all people be correct, you know? So I had to walk a couple more laps with her around the store until she decided she didn’t want anything from that place.”
“Number one best friend right here,” you chuckle, expertly slapping away Ana’s hands as she tries to tickle you for your jest. “Hey, hey! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Huffing, she rolls her eyes good heartedly at you. Though the pout on her face becomes real when you move to get out of her arms. “Where are you going?” she whines, hands scrambling to pull you back into her side. 
“Calm down, Ana. I’m coming right back,” you shout over your shoulder, quickly running to the closet to grab your gift. It takes some digging, but eventually you find it. 
With a skip in your step, you return to a sullen looking wife. Ana perks up at your return, hands instantly making a grabby motion towards you. 
“To reward your patience, I got you a gift.”
Ana blinks in surprise, mouth dropping open into an ‘o’ at the sight of the wrapped box in your hands. “A gift? For me?”
You laugh at her dumbfounded look. “Yes, I’ve got a present for you,” you repeat.
Eyebrows scrunching up, you can almost see the gears turning in Ana’s head. “I didn’t forget anything did I?”
Laughing, you press a kiss against your wife’s head. “No, babe, you didn’t. I just wanted to spoil you today.”
Settling into her side, you watch as Ana begins her careful work of unfolding your gift. Unlike you, Ana treats all wrapping paper with care. You’re the opposite, much more likely to tear and rip at anything placed in your hands. Now the impatient one, you start tapping your foot on the ground. You really hope Ana’s going to like your gift, but when it comes down to it, you can’t really predict the way she’s going to react. 
Finally finished unfolding, Ana pulls out a tiny jersey, eyebrows furrowing as she takes in the Arsenal logo on the front. You can tell she’s still confused as she flips it over to see the name on the back.  
There are so many letters there that the font is smaller than it normally is, the letters still nearly curling their way to the front. The two of you had hyphenated your last names after marriage, but professionally you still wore your own. When given the choice between which jersey to get, it wasn’t really a competition.
Wracking her mind, Ana tries to think why you got her this shirt. The last shirt you got your cat led to hours of glaring and hissing, even after you took it off her and gave her cuddles, so Ana knew it wasn’t for her. And the dog you shared was definitely too big to fit into something this size.
It’s at this moment Ana realizes the shape of the jersey. Or more specifically the way the ends meet together with a click, giving way to two tiny leg holes.
“Is this…” Ana trails off, fingers absentmindedly tracing her last name as she tries to calm her racing mind.
“I wanted to get one of my jerseys for the baby but for right now I’m more than happy to give them a jersey of the best player I know.”
Ana whips her head around, eyes darting between your face and your stomach. It’s obvious she doesn’t really know where to look, eyes a little wild. “Baby? Are you… is it… did it work?”
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nod. “I’m pregnant.”
It’s silent for a minute as Ana takes in your words. Her eyes have started watering, bottom lip quivering with the beginning of a sob. 
This is something the two of you have been waiting for for years. Of course your careers are important to you, but you both agreed that a successful career meant nothing without a family to share it with. After an injury took you out for the majority of last season, the two of you decided there was no time like the present and began looking into IVF treatments. However, despite all of your hardwork and prayers, nothing took. 
The two of you had just begun discussing alternative methods for expanding your family when you took your last pregnancy test. 
And it was positive.
Ana’s still trying hard not to cry when she cups your face, pressing her forehead against yours. “You’re pregnant?”
Nodding, you gently grasp Ana’s hands before directing them onto your abdomen. It’s this action that causes the dam to break, and Ana begins sobbing, quickly pressing her face into the side of your neck to muffle her cries. 
Soothingly rubbing your hands up and down her back, you whisper how much you love her and how amazing of a mom she’ll be. It takes a couple minutes before her cries die down, the blonde overwhelmed by the news of your expanding family. Eventually she pulls her head up, allowing you to wipe the tears from her face. 
“We’re having a baby,” she wetly laughs, pressing a kiss to your fingertips when they brush past. 
Grinning, you murmur those words back. Ana lets her eyes drop back down to her hands, to where they are still pressed against your stomach. Her eyes are full of wonder and love as she takes in all in. 
The two of you are having a baby. 
You’re going to be parents.
“I love you,” she whispers, voice full of emotion as she presses a kiss to your lips. Giving your hand a light squeeze, Ana leans down, lifting your shirt so she can press a light kiss against your bare abdomen. “And I love you too, my little dove. Your mama and I can’t wait to meet you.”
You don’t think anything can beat this moment--
(You didn’t think anything could beat your first date.
Or your first anniversary.
Or your second.
Or Ana asking you to marry her.
Or your wedding.
Or Ana moving to London to be with you.)
--at least until you see your precious daughter staring up at you with wide eyes, dressed in her little Crnogorčević jersey.
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🥃 Guess I’ll have to find something else to do with my mouth… 🥃
✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader
✎ Genre: Smutty smut smut smut
✎ Summary: Chan did not want to go to karaoke night, but good god is he thankful he did.
✎ CW: !!!Sewerslide joke!!!, drinking, swearing, random hookup, public makeout, oral sex, unprotected sex (please don’t fuck a stranger without a condom), rough sex, nipple play, choking, teensy daddy kink
✎ Word count: 2,804
✩ The song is Lovesick by BANKS, listen if you’d like 😈 ✩
❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥
Ice meets upper lip when Chan throws his glass back to get the last drops of his drink. He hasn’t been working on this one long, but the whiskey’s been watered down by the melting cube — it may have come watered down from the bar, to be honest.
Regardless, it’s his fourth drink and he’s buzzed enough that it doesn’t matter. And on top of that, he’s bored.
“Want another?” Minho shouts over the loud backing track and off-key, wailing vocals.
“Naur, I’m about ready to head out, I think,” Chan yells back.
They swore karaoke night was Tuesday, but apparently, it’s Wednesday. Chan just wanted to go home; Minho convinced him to stick it out. But the lights are too bright and the singers are too drunk and he’s never been more ready to leave a bar in his life.
Minho’s still nursing drink #2 and scanning the room with his dark eyes. It’s the usual crowd, and Chan lost interest in meeting anyone new around the same time that one guy absolutely butchered Someone Like You by Adele. And this rendition of We Don’t Talk About Bruno has him ready to blow his brains out.
“Oi, I’m gonna get some air,” Chan says, gesturing toward the door with his thumb. “Meet me outside when you’re ready to go, yeah?”
Minho nods in reply and turns his attention back to a group of girls huddled by the stage.
Chan pats his friend on the shoulder and heads to the door — and sweet relief for his eyes and ears — skillfully weaving through the crowd as he goes. His hands meet the cold metal of the push bar but pause as soon as he hears it.
“Please call me your baby, baby, baby.”
It’s a new song, a new girl. Your velvety voice quite literally stops him in his tracks.
“Look how long that you have kept me waiting.”
He turns around, almost in a trance, and moves in the direction of that beautiful sound.
“Oh, I know your love before I kissed you.”
Chan joins the crowd circling the stage. He’s not the only one absolutely transfixed right now.
“And now you have only made me miss you.”
It’s not only the way you’re singing, it’s everything about you. The way your long hair drapes over your bare shoulders, the way your hips sway back and forth with the slow beat, the way you’re gripping that microphone…
“Come get me. Come love me, baby, come love me.”
The magnetic pull between you is impossible to fight, and Chan’s pushing through the crowd to get right up to the stage now. It’s not dense, but moving past bodies requires some effort and even more apologies, and he’s not nearly as smooth with it as he was just a minute earlier.
“Ooh, aah, cause I'm lovesick, and I ain't even ashamed.”
His dark eyes travel up your bare legs, and he’s not ashamed either. Any anxiety he would’ve felt in this moment of obvious adoration has been numbed by the alcohol.
Luckily for you, the lights are right in your eyes and you can’t see any of your audience, including the handsome stranger whose gaze is fixed on your thighs.
“And I'm hard up, for some time in your sheets.”
Warm blood rushes to Chan’s cock, filling it up and stretching his jeans in seconds. The thought of you in his sheets…
“Would you be down to spend all your time with me?”
He absolutely would. And he stands there, almost eerily still, for the rest of the song. Head entirely empty of everything but thoughts of the siren in front of him.
“Cause I'm lovesick.”
You finish the song smoothly, but you have no idea how your friends convinced you to get up there in the first place. You’re nowhere near drunk enough for this, and you have every intention of immediately booking it to the bathroom to hide.
Lights dim as you take a tiny bow and step off the platform. You set off on a clear path to the restrooms before a big, broad stranger cuts you off.
His coffee-flavored eyes are wide and his lower lip is clenched between his teeth, and he just stares at you. It’s so intense, and if he weren’t possibly the most beautiful human you’d ever laid eyes on, it would be incredibly unsettling.
“Uh, excuse me…” you say, attempting to walk around him. But he grabs your wrist.
“I’m sorry, I… uh,” he stutters, staring down at your hands. Even he’s surprised at his urgency. What the fuck is he doing?
“I’m so sorry. I’m Chan,” he says, his firm grip on your arm disappearing before he continues. “You were, you are… wow.”
Eyes meet again, and his cheeks are flushed. But after that performance — and whatever the hell this is — yours are, too.
“Oh, thanks. I’m y/n,” you reply, finishing just before the next singer starts his assault on your ear drums.
You both wince, and his big lips turn down into a scowl. But his expression softens again when he not-so-slyly glances down to your chest and back up.
“You’re really beautiful, you know?” he asks, his husky voice straining to be heard over the music. “You here alone?”
Chan’s trying his best to feign confidence, but his heart is pounding. He hasn’t done anything like this in so long and you’re so sexy and he’s so… dizzy.
“Wow, straightforward, huh? I’m with friends,” you say, gesturing over to the huddle of girls by the bar, ready to pounce at the slightest signal of distress. “Very protective friends, clearly.”
“I can see that,” Chan answers. He rotates his hand in a small wave, but their expressions don’t change. No points to be won there. He’ll have to charm you on his own. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I don’t think you need another, honestly,” you say with a smirk. And you’re right. He’s speeding down the highway, two miles past tipsy and about to get off at drunk. But he’s also at his most confident. And that means he can say something sober Chan would never.
“Hm, you may be right. Guess I’ll have to find something else to do with my mouth.”
Your eyes narrow at him. He has this dumb smug look on his face while he waits for your reaction. The smirk only depends as more seconds pass.
“I guess I can get that drink at yours?”
Bingo.
“Shall we?”
Three texts, two attempts at calling an Uber, and one sloppy backseat saliva-sharing grope session later, you’re stumbling over each other up the stairs to Chan’s apartment.
Your hands haven’t left his body since you got in that Uber, and the same goes for his. Now you’re pulling at his hair, his shirt, his neck — anything to keep your mouths attached and get closer to privacy, to a socially acceptable place to be this feral.
Feet finally reach flat flooring and you shuffle to Chan’s apartment door. He has no clue where his keys are right now but he doesn’t particularly care. He’s focused on trapping your body between the door and him, pressing his palms into the wood and pushing his thigh between your legs.
Lips are past swollen at this point, and he’s focusing on your neck now, sucking and biting any spots that aren’t already coated in his spit. However many hickeys he’s already left on the delicate skin there — it’s not enough. And there aren’t nearly enough on your chest.
So, he heads there next, fondling one breast over your dress and nipping at your collarbones. Even if you’re only his for tonight, he’ll make sure you remember him every time you glance at your reflection for the next week.
One of your hands runs through his dark curls and the other grips the doorknob, trying to will it open. Keys are still an afterthought, though. His unoccupied hand is headed under your dress, between your legs.
He presses four fingers flat against you, and your head tips back against the door with a thud. He’s happy to discover that your panties are soaked through, and he can’t wait much longer to taste you.
If you two don’t tumble through that doorway soon, he’ll just have to take you right here in the hallway. But he’d prefer to have you laid flat, spread open, and writhing on his kitchen table. Time to find those keys.
Fingers fumble through his pockets, and of course he finds everything but what he needs. Phone, ID, cards, receipts, a condom, and more fall to the floor in his frantic search. Then, finally, keys. Fuck it, he’ll get the other shit later.
He makes quick work of unlocking the door and twisting the knob. The weight of your body pushes it open, and his hands reflexively go to your waist to keep you upright as you make your way to the table.
Chan swipes the miscellaneous papers and dishes to the floor and lifts you onto the cold wood. Lips reattach and he reaches for your pussy, slipping his fingers under the wet fabric to feel your folds.
You relax into his touch and slide your hips closer to the edge of the table. He drops to his knees and pulls you forward that extra inch to yank your underwear down your legs and onto the floor.
He sloppily sucks on your inner thighs, leaving a trail of red, swollen flesh on his way to your cunt. Once he gets there, he spits on you and dives right in to taste the combination of liquids on your sensitive skin.
Chan’s plump, pink lips are slick and saliva runs down his chin while he spreads your folds and dips in and out of you, savoring the flavor on his taste buds.
He locates your clit and prods it with a pointed tongue before flitting up and down. He alternates between targeting the sensitive bud to elicit more nectar out of you and lapping at your folds to indulge in the results of his hard work.
Chan has every intention of making you come with just his mouth, and the way you’re gripping the table and trembling and moaning makes him think that’s happening soon. And like clockwork…
“Hey, I’m… gonna…” you pant, trying your best to speak between breaths.
He doesn’t reply. He only grips your ass cheeks harder and buries his face further into you, and that’s enough.
Walls flutter around his tongue as you hit your climax, and you cry out loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He suctions his mouth against you to catch any additional arousal you have to give. It’s so sweet and tart, and he truly cannot get enough.
Your supporting arms give out and you collapse onto the table, satisfied and twitching from the aftershocks. Oh, but he’s not done with you. Not by a long shot.
Chan unzips his pants and reaches under his boxers to play with his thick cock. This is exactly what he pictured when he first laid eyes on you. Head thrown back, chest rapidly rising and falling, thighs parted, cunt dripping. What a beautiful sight.
“You want my cock, baby?” he asks, still stroking himself behind the fabric. He loves the reveal, so he’ll keep his length hidden for now.
You lift your head and lock onto his eyes.
“Please, show me.”
“I don’t know if you can handle it,” he teases.
You scoff at that pretentious shit.
“Try me, daddy.”
“As you wish, baby girl.”
He drops his underwear and unveils his veiny erection. It is impressive, but it’s even better that he knows how to use it.
His hands grip your hips, and he pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. He can’t hold back a throaty moan the first time his whole cock disappears inside you. It feels so fucking good, he forgets where he is for a second.
“Fuck me,” you hiss.
And then he’s back on Earth, pounding in and out of you at an unrelenting pace. Your legs wrap around his hips and your back arches off the table as you shudder beneath him.
Chan reaches for the straps of your dress, pulling one then the other down over your shoulders. He works the fabric down past your chest, freeing your breasts to bounce up and down with each thrust.
“Fuck…” he groans. How the hell are your tits perfect, too? The hardened peaks are just begging to be sucked, bitten, claimed.
He sacrifices a steady rhythm to put his lips on your skin again. His large frame descends so he can catch one taut nipple between his teeth. The bite isn’t too hard, but he’s pulling at the sensitive nub every time he rolls his hips.
You manage to pull enough air into your lungs to speak between moans, but he’s not sure if he heard you correctly.
“Say that again?” he urges.
“Ch-choke me.”
“Oh, fuck. Absolutely,” he growls.
His cock throbs inside you, and if he weren’t so excited about making you come again, he would’ve finished right then and there.
His huge hand engulfs your throat, pressing your neck down into the table.
“Smack me if I’m too rough, ok?” he says.
You respond with a half-hearted thumbs-up, too focused on the fire in your abdomen to think about much else.
He resumes those merciless thrusts in and out of your cunt, closing his hand around your neck just enough as he goes. He has no idea how he’s lasted this long and — as much as it pains him — he has to close his eyes in an effort to hold back his own orgasm until you find yours.
His field of vision is dark, but the sound of his balls slapping against wet flesh is hard to tune out. He can barely catch his breath and you’re whimpering and he can’t do this anymore. Good thing you can’t, either.
“Chan, I’m… don’t stop. Fuck, I’m, ohhh…” you cry.
“Me too. C-cum. Cum for me.”
He tightens his grip on your throat and jerks into you with one last powerful thrust. A choked sob escapes from your tortured throat and your walls clench around his cock, holding him there while he spills himself deep inside you. Your name is the only thing on his lips.
His fingers leave your neck and rest softly on your collarbones. His chest drops, and he lays his head on your breasts to try to catch his breath.
It takes a few minutes for the tremors to stop, but you both recover as best you can. Chan pulls out of you and disappears down the small hallway to get a towel for cleanup. You still haven’t moved when he returns, and a sly smile spreads across his lips.
“Oi, all good down there?” he chirps.
You respond with the same weak thumbs-up from earlier, making him giggle. God, he hopes this isn’t just a one-night stand.
He does his best to clean the mess, wiping his saliva from basically every inch of your skin. The towel can’t do anything for the tiny bruises, though.
Hickeys litter the flesh from your jawline all the way down to your inner thighs. And then there’s the thin outline of his long fingers on your throat. He really did a number on you, and he can only hope you won’t be too mad.
“So, still want that drink?” he asks.
“Hmm, maybe. If you’re up for it,” you mutter.
“Of course, what’s your poison? I have beer, whiskey, scotch, gin…” he says, padding over to his well-stocked alcohol cabinet.
You interrupt before he can reach the end of his list.
“I was thinking of something… else,” you purr.
He turns on his heels to re-route for the fridge, trying to remember what he has in there.
“Sure, like… watuh? Soft drink? Juice?”
He’ll run to the store for whatever it is if it’s not here. He’d do absolutely anything to get you to stay the night.
You don’t reply, and he turns again to meet your eyes. But your gaze is pointed down, aimed directly at his dick. He takes a second to process.
“Wait… you want…” he trails off and instead uses his pointer finger to gesture toward his crotch.
That same sly smile spreads across your lips this time. Jesus Christ.
Rehydration mission abandoned for the time being, he strides back to the table and climbs on top of you, propping himself up with palms placed on either side of your head.
“Ready when you are, baby.”
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neo-novaa · 5 months
Text
nsfw ; 16+
it started out genuine— it really did! you were clumsy in the kitchen, you lacked general cooking skills, and the embarrassment of nearly burning water had finally tipped the scales. you wanted to learn how to cook, and you had finally decided to bite the bullet to your pride and ask sanji for help.
he helped you with the small things: toasting bread, greasing pans, cutting up fruits into evenly sized slices and cubes— you were learning, just as you intended to.
but very quickly did you lose your audience as the crew found interest in other things, and all too soon did those short lessons began to last longer and start later.
and it was during those night-school classes did the dynamic begin to shift.
it went from sanji’s relentless flirting and your tireless quips to sanji’s hands on your waist and your lack of action against it. it was always strangely domestic with his slight grip on you and his chin over your shoulder. the only light came from the full moon sliding through the windows, and the only noises were your knife on wood and sanji’s words in your ear.
“you’re doing so well.” he murmured, warm breath against your neck. it was a relatively simple task, dicing up potatoes— and you told yourself that sanji was merely testing your focus. he seeing how well you could do with distractions trying to pull you out of your element— 
then sanji’s thumb breached the waistband of your pants.
you faltered for a second, and so did he— in your suspension he paused, and in your movement he proceeded. you kept focusing on the task at hand while one of his wandered down. it glided over your hips, brushed over your pelvis, and settled cupped around your mound.
you pushed the diced starch to the side, and sliced into a new one.
his middle finger brushed against your clit, and your knife all but clattered onto the counter. your knees buckled and your hips twitched at the sudden friction—
immediately, he pulls away.
“ah,” he tuts, and there’s an embarrassing amount of energy that you’re putting into making sure you stay on your feet— energy that almost goes to waste the moment you feel his lips press against your neck. “don’t stop.”
a potential nightmare flashed before your eyes: the relentless push and pull of sanji brushing you against your climax, only for you to falter and fall back to the beginning. the prospect of this ebb and flow was enough to almost bring you to tears.  fortunately for you, sanji’s only a man, and after only the fourth time you slip up does he finally give in, lifting you onto the counter and fucking his fingers into you until you’re seeing stars.
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maxybabyy · 28 days
Text
Daniel wins in Malaysia, crossing the line just before Max to take his first of the season.
The rush feels sweet, delicate. The car has been better this year, already pulled home a win for Max in his first race with the team. But it’s still not reliable, doesn’t chew out wins like the Mercedes does. So he knows he has to cherish this, doesn’t know when it will happen again.
He sits on the podium and pours the champagne into his shoe, drinks it to the sounds of the crowd and prays the moment will last forever.
Max drinks the shoey when Daniel hands it to him. “Daniel, no. Come one,” he says, shaking his head. He looks out into the crowd like someone’s going to stop them – his dad, maybe. But Daniel doesn’t care.
He doesn’t. The shoe isn’t too full when he hands it over, watching as Max lets the liquid spill over his chin, onto his suit. Max cheers, hands the shoe back with a laugh, and Nico looks at them like they’re both insane. Maybe they are, Nico too with the season he’s having.
It feels different like this, soaked in champagne with Max by his side.
Wins with Seb had never felt like this. Even towards the end, three wins under his belt, Daniel knew Seb still thought he was better than him. Doesn’t think the shoey would have gone over as well as it did with Max, but then, Max was a bit of an odd kid.
Most of the team comes out to the club to celebrate, dressed up and ready to party.
Max sticks to his side for the entire night, keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders so they don’t get separated in the tight crowd. “It was not so bad, I think. The drink,” Max tells him, yells over the loud music.
“Better be for what I paid for it,” Daniel responds, speaks directly into his ear. He can smell the sweat on his skin, the champagne he mustn’t have washed off well enough, soaked through whatever overpriced cologne Max uses now. “Are you even old enough to buy your own drink?”
It must be the fourth time he asks, but Max still laughs.
His mouth looks impossibly wide as he throws his head back. His lips look soft like this, sticky and pink with drink. He finds himself thinking whether his lips would taste like sweat too, or if the gin has left a trace on Max’s mouth, if the tonic would taste bitter on his tongue if they kissed.
“Always I am nineteen, you know this, Daniel.” Max says, knocks their knees together where they sit pressed together in the booth.
Daniel does, maybe. He remembers the party they had not long ago, Max sloppy with drink as he welcomed him in, warm hands heavy on his waist, on his hips.
“I was of course talking about the shoey also,” Max continues, points to Daniel’s feet like he would still be wearing the boots. “It was very good, no? For sweat, I think. Salty.”
Daniel laughs. His hand wraps around the curve of Max’s thigh, gives it a shake. Max’s entire body moves with it, sways with the motion, so Daniel digs his fingers further into the muscle, jerks him around until Max joins him.
The taste of the shoey has always been second to the bit; a bitter bite at the hand of victory. But it’s worth it, he reckons, to watch someone surrender to his charms.
It fits then, that Max would like the taste too. Daniel doesn’t mind it, can drink from almost anything if the crowd around him is big enough – the lone ashy still fresh in his mind. But it’s like, kisses after blowjobs. Fine separate but like, kinda gross when you end up with come in your mouth.
“I’ll take the compliment, Maxy,” he says instead, swallows what’s left of his beer. “It’s getting late, yeah?”
Max shrugs. His lips look huge around the tiny straw of his drink, cheeks hollowed as he sucks on it, making the ice cubes clink loudly. He’s been leaning into Daniel’s side for a while now, eyes heavy as he talks about the race, of the podium they shared. There’s still a handful of Red Bull guys left that could get him home safe, or Daniel could like, stuff him in a cab with his pocket full of cash, make him promise to sound off when he got back to the hotel. But, like.
There’s a group of ladies who has been looking at the two of them – Daniel more than Max, but not by much – dark eyes and pretty dresses, fans most likely. And Max came in second today, he deserves to celebrate too, doesn’t he?
Daniel squeezes his thigh again, tries to shake some life back into him. “Maybe we should head back to the hotel, continue the party there?” He says, smiles wide at the blonde who hasn’t stopped staring at him.
Max puts down his drink with a heavy hand, pushes his thigh against Daniel’s, shoves it further into his grasp. Daniel feels the muscle flex underneath his hand, the warmth seeping through his jeans. He’s getting bigger now, filling out in places Daniel thought would stay slim, no longer the scrawny kid robbed from the cradle.
“Yes, this is of course what I want also, Daniel,” Max says, blunt and firm, like it’s a fucking strategy meeting, and he’s already decided what tyres he wants to start on.
“Let’s find some ladies, then.”
Daniel is just about to nod them over when Max hooks his knee over his thigh, makes his hand slide further into the crease of Max’s groin. “It maybe could be just us also?” He offers. His face looks complicated when Daniel turns to watch, fat, pink lip sucked in between his teeth. His breathing comes out in pants, heavy and warm, and he’s close enough now that Daniel feels it on his skin. It makes him shiver.
“What, Maxy?” He says, teases. “Are you gonna make me feel good, baby?”
Max huffs, stares him down.
The thing is. Max probably would if Daniel asked. Get on his knees, mouth open wide to let him fuck into it. Daniel doesn’t know if it would be good, still doesn’t know what Max gets up to when he isn’t around. But he would try at least. Look at Daniel with those blue eyes, dick deep in his mouth and ask, This is what you want, Daniel? This is good for you also?
But it doesn’t. It wouldn’t work like that.
Daniel is half-hard now, from the atmosphere of the club, the release of the win. And Max may be handsome – pretty even, in his oddly shaped body – but he’s still a dude. And Daniel doesn’t. He isn’t like that.
“Yeah, nah, think I’m gonna give it a pass, mate.” Daniel says. He nudges Max back into his own seat, limbs folded into his body, and stands up. “Will you be alright, or do you want me to find someone to take you home?”
Max lets out a sharp breath and then seems to kick himself into motion. He shoves away from the booth, stumbles onto too long legs, and makes his way past Daniel, “I will of course be fine. Goodbye, Daniel."
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fruitytrollroll · 6 months
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scratching the walls, running laps, I actually barked out of excitement. ( RUFF, BARK, BARK, RUFF, RUFF, GRRR, GIMME MORE )
Okay okay, one more but that's it, I don't want to spoil anyone's appetite. 😏
u get a pickle cellar excerpt
🥒🪲✨
Prismo leads Scarab to a dim, greenlit cellar, where the air is cool and pleasantly damp. Enormous barrels line the walls, above which are equidistant embedded shelves, packed with orderly lines of gleaming, sealed jars. The faint scent of brine drifts on the air, like Prismo has brought him to a brackish tide cave.
When Scarab had begun his inspection in earnest, he had observed the trash and sundry littered about the Time Room with disdain, and had automatically sneered when he began to imagine how the rest of the Cube might look. But he hadn't expected this.
"Haven't been down here in a while," Prismo idly volunteers, which may go a ways to explaining that discrepancy.
"Is that why it's so much cleaner?" Scarab dryly inquires. He sees no reason to hide his censure.
Prismo smiles sheepishly. "I was about to clean right before you showed up! That's why I closed the doors. Wouldn't wanna sweep any 'shorts' into the bin by accident." He laughs unconvincingly.
The reminder of Prismo's strange verbal slip earlier only serves to convince Scarab of the necessity of this inspection.
"Go on, then," Scarab invites with a gesture of eloquence. "Regale me with your process."
For the first time since Scarab arrived, Prismo actually looks somewhat enthused--though it's a far cry from his usual energy. He must be incredibly hungover.
"Okay, so the cool thing about pickling is that it's totally shelf-stable..."
--
"... And the longer you wait to eat them, the better they taste!"
Scarab hums, lifting one of the jars and examining it under the acidic lights. "I was under the impression that time didn't move forward, as such, in the Time Room."
"Right?" Prismo gushes. "Just a little trick I figured out."
"Do tell," Scarab says, interested despite himself. As frivolous a pastime as this is for the guardian of the entire multiverse's continuity and continued stability, Scarab is aware that sometimes turning one's powers to unexpected purpose can yield discoveries which lend one greater control of over those powers, and greater flexibility in their use. Perhaps that is the appeal of having a hobby, he muses.
And if he is to one day be Wishmaster, then hearing Prismo opine on the nature of his powers will ensure Scarab is adequately prepared to do the job more justice than Prismo ever did.
"As Wishmaster," Prismo ostentatiously begins, "I basically have control over every dimension in the Time Room. Like, I may just be a two-dimensional being, but I can still move the walls, and any inanimate three-dimensional objects in this space."
Or me, Scarab thinks with a thread of unease--though fortunately Prismo can only hold him, not move him.
... As far as he knows.
"Making time pass in the Time Room is as easy as moving a wall, once you figure out how to manipulate the fourth dimension!"
"It's that simple, is it?"
"Well," Prismo says modestly. "It took me a while to get the hang of it. But hey! Who can argue with these results?" He gestures proudly at his crop of jars. "You wanna try some? You seem like a 'hot and spicy' kinda guy to me."
"Hm," says Scarab. Against his better judgment, he's considering it.
Then Prismo heaves a sigh, rather disproportionate to Scarab's answer, in his opinion. The god-auditor turns to look at the Wishmaster askance, and finds him staring at the floor, looking positively downtrodden. Surely he's not that invested in Scarab trying out his pickles?
Scarab almost opens his mouth to ask what in the world is the matter with the Wishmaster, but before he can, Prismo mutters dejectedly, "That's the last time I make an unauthorized universe."
Scarab goes very still.
"... An unauthorized universe?" he softly says.
Prismo's eye widens, and he looks guiltily at his god-auditor guest.
"Ah... crap."
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dont-f-with-moogles · 2 months
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The Envelope (Part 2) (NSFW) Dazai x Reader 1261 words
Cold morning. A tentative blue threaded with pale clouds. Mist had gathered in the corners of the windows. The double doors remained closed for now; you still had time to unload the gleaming cups and saucers from the dishwasher. Your manager - Uzumaki’s renowned, veteran barista - passed by the counter. His mouth was pulled to the side as though he was suppressing an uncomfortable smile.
“I, ah… think someone is trying to call you.”
With a wave of his hand he gestured to the lit smartphone which lay, singing idly to itself, nestled between a tray of glasses and the petty cash tin. A leaden weight had settled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t need to check to know who it was.
As you continued stacking the cups within a wall-mounted cupboard the phone’s melody ceased, only to be followed by the sound of a chime. One insistent ping followed another; a flurry of notifications without pause. With a pained sigh, you retrieved your phone. Refusing to scroll back and read the long reel of previous messages, your eyes settled on the most recent.
Not that I want you to rush back of course! It’s only a small fire after all.
There came the rapid tap of your thumbs in reply.
I told you this morning that I’m not coming back until after my shift.
Dropping the device down with a thud, you continued to put cups, glasses and cutlery away, all the while ignoring the series of shrill sounds which rang impatiently from your phone.
“Sounds like someone wants to talk to you,” the café owner observed, unlatching the double doors and releasing a flood of warm light into the long room. Rather than answer, you pretended to search for something in the dishwasher’s cutlery basket.
“Perhaps you ought to answer him?”
“What makes you think it’s a him?” you countered, looking up at just the wrong moment. The café manager’s smile was all-knowing. He was a people watcher; an inadvertent gatherer of secrets. He had held his position with quiet pride for many years, unobtrusively pouring coffee as the lives of his customers played out around him.
Lifting a small bag of sugar cubes, you began to refill the ceramic containers on the tables.
“...in any case, if you don’t answer, he might come up here.”
Hesitating, sugar tongs still in hand, you managed a derisive snort. It did not take long for your false bravado to cower upon itself. Thinking better of it, you stalked back to the counter to seize your phone.
I won’t be back til 6. Grab a shower or a coffee or some fresh bandages if you have indeed set fire to yourself - whatever you need, but don’t wait for me to get back. Spare key in the teapot.
The device had hardly touched the surface when its screen glowed in response.
Good to know there’s another spare. I took the key you hid in the sconce. Think I’ll hang onto it ;)
You do that. Think I’ll have the locks changed.
Ah! You’re driving me insane! <3
“Miss?”
“Coming!” you called, relieved by the distraction. A steady queue of customers had formed from the cash register, snaking out into the hallway beyond. Stifling a yawn, you poured coffee into paper cups, adding a dash of milk here; a shot of syrup there. Plastic lids were fastened on in succession. You stretched your arms and arched your aching back. Names were penned on cardboard. The morning rush was always this busy, only to be followed by… silence. There was the respite after the madness. The calm before the storm. Only a visit from your rather irregular regulars could break up the monotony now. The Armed Detectives from the fourth floor, with their wild antics and raucous laughter… You ground your teeth. Not that you were thinking about him though. Not that you were, even now, considering checking your phone for his messages. Too often you had witnessed those poor souls who fell for his superficial charms. They would weep, helpless, struggling to comprehend the reason for his sudden absence. How ignorant they were, never knowing he had already moved on to his next person of interest…
Even as you stood, reasoning so calmly with yourself, your hand was inciting a mutiny against your mind and body. You reached for your phone again.
Ditch work. Tell the boss you have a headache and need to stay in bed ;)
I think he might see through that brilliant scheme?
Cruel mistress! Don’t make me beg :(
This is on you. I’m not making you do anything.
Three little dots danced, taunting, as he crafted his reply. You set the device to one side each time the café owner strode past. It was more than your job’s worth to be caught sending messages to one of your regular customers.
As the manager stooped to clear one of the tables, your phone buzzed irritably.
Don’t pretend. And for the record, I hate being made to wait.
Wait for what exactly? You smiled; it wasn’t like you to behave so coyly but, somehow, his persistence had reeled you in like a spider’s silk.
Seriously? Don’t forget that I’d been trapped behind bars for WEEKS. You know I couldn’t stop thinking about you in there. I thought last night was all I needed but holy fuck, I already miss your pussy…
The weight in your stomach shifted. Something sparked, like flint on stone.
It’s 9:28 am! We’ve only just opened.
Well what time does your pussy open? Cause I’m
Heat flooded your cheeks. You felt your pulse beating in your throat; blood roared thunderously in your ears. You looked up - another poorly-timed gesture - to witness Ranpo glance away thoughtfully, his finger tapping his chin. The detective who saw through everything.
You dropped your phone with a clatter.
“I thought the temperature was mild today,” he observed dryly, such was his way of small talk. “Is it hot in here?”
“Yes,” you answered automatically, placing your phone face down before you could read the rest of Dazai’s message. Given the brief glimpse of the words hard scream beg and gag you could only assume it contained some tangible threats. You dusted down your black skirt self-consciously and reached to tighten the fastening in your hair, remembering that you had been forced to wear it loose today. Only its dark curtain, as it swung about the white frill of your collar, could hide the blemishes he had left upon your skin the night before. Incriminating marks which had branded you as his.
“Sorry, I uh- Let me pass you a menu-”
“Sweet curry,” Ranpo declared without pause. “And, not that it’s any of my business, but Dazai thrives on dysfunction. Nothing bores him more than having his own schemes go smoothly. I wouldn’t be so quick to give him the replies he wants.”
You gaped in astonishment. “That’s not- that’s-”
“One doesn’t need ultra deduction to read it in your distracted demeanour; the way you’re repeatedly picking your phone up, cursing to yourself… we’ve seen it all before. It’s the Dazai effect. Not to mention the circles under your eyes, your constant yawning…”
“Plus those hickeys speak for themselves.” Yosano had appeared behind him. “Pour us both a coffee - you look like you need it.”
Ruefully brushing your hair down against your neck, you turned away, poured out two cups and grabbed a blue Ramune from the fridge. What had ever made you think that sleeping with Osamu Dazai would have gone unnoticed by a group of professional detectives?
Part 1 (tw)
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thetrinketbox · 8 months
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Drunk again off another crush (Kensei x Reader)
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I wrote this for Kensei’s birthday and because he looks so hot in the new anime episodes. My man needs more fics about him! Also available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49015216 "Congratulations!" "Yeah, who'd've thought an idiot like you would figure out bankai?" "Three cheers for lieutenant Hisagi!" The boisterous cheering filled the bar, a crowd of shinigami clustered together like a flock of crows in their black uniforms. They clinked their glasses together for the umpteenth time that night, Hisagi grinning like a schoolboy. "Thanks, guys!" he said, his cheeks somewhat redder than usual and his hair all mussed up from Ikkaku and Renji constantly ruffling it, like you would to a puppy. From your little corner of the bar, you watched all this going on, trying to look happy about it even as your mood sank lower and lower as the noise and celebrating grew louder. It seemed churlish to feel left out. This was Hisagi's moment, not yours, a celebration of a milestone that not many shinigami ever achieve. You were happy for him; you knew how hard he'd been working to master it and improve his relationship with Kazeshini. When you'd first heard that he'd finally done it, there had been no doubt in your mind that he'd always had what it took. But although you'd helped to arrange this little celebration, even hanging up some of the decorations with some people from Ninth (you weren't even part of Hisagi's division), and though he'd thanked you when you congratulated him and even given you a quick hug that made you feel all tingly, that was about all that had been said. His friends had arrived, first Kira, Renji and Kira and then later Ikkaku, Yumichika, Iba and Rangiku and he'd been swept up in a little bubble comprised of lieutenants (or near enough, in Ikkaku and Yumichika's cases) and suddenly it was like you didn't exist anymore. Like you said, it seemed childish to complain that Hisagi wasn't paying attention to you. You understood he'd obviously mostly want to spend time with his closest friends, the ones who had fought alongside him the longest and seen him in action the most. Seeing their happiness at his success truly was an amazing thing.
But...was it unreasonable you felt left out? Envious? Wishing you could even come close to having companions that cared so much about you? You didn't think it was, so you'd turned to the nearest available source of comfort - alcohol. You were several drinks in now and even though you'd tried to look like you were enjoying yourself, you could feel yourself growing more and more distressed and isolated, sitting nursing a drink you'd stopped actually drinking a while ago, which had turned unpleasantly watery now that the ice cubes had melted, and you weren't drunk enough for that not to matter to you. You pushed it aside in faint disgust, but now you didn't even have the excuse of not wanting to spill your drink - now you were just sitting here feeling abandoned and stupid. As Kira poured Hisagi another drink, you caught something flicker in your peripheral vision and turned your head to see a captain's robe, a stark contrast to all the black uniforms. Shit, when had Muguruma gotten here? Or wait, he'd been here before, hadn't he? That's right - Mashiro had gotten her hands on a whole bottle of vodka and mistaken it for something much milder. She'd chugged damn near the whole bottle and passed out, and Kensei had been forced to take her to Fourth Division before she did anything else stupid - apparently she had a nasty habit of abruptly thrashing awake and kicking, and Kensei was one of the only people strong enough to keep her steady and not be winded by her famous legs, so he'd vanished for a good chunk of the evening. You couldn't help but wonder if he'd purposefully taken longer than he needed to, so he didn't have to listen to the racket of his subordinate and other lieutenants getting wasted - Kensei was the only person who looked like he wanted to be here less than you did, and the thought was oddly cheering. Misery loves company, and all that. A vague ghost of a smile flickered at your lips, but it died again like a blinking lightbulb. You admittedly didn't know Kensei all that well, except that Hisagi had been fanboying constantly since the official announcement that the three former captains had agreed to return to their old posts. Time had passed since then, but Hisagi still seemed rather starstruck by Kensei, which was just as well - you'd heard he was a hardass, and if you were being totally honest, he kind of scared you a bit. He was no Zaraki or Kurostsuchi, but something about his size, intimidating aura and I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude was simultaneously scary and a little alluring. You could feel where he was from anywhere in Ninth - his reaitsu was powerful and tinged with an unusual aura, probably thanks to the Hollow that lived inside him. You wondered if Kensei was like that all the time or if he relaxed a little more in his downtime. You were certain you'd never seen him smile. As if he could sense your gaze on him, Kensei suddenly looked in your direction, a scowl on his face. You quickly ducked your head to avoid his gaze, cheeks burning.
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It was time to go home, you decided. There was no point sitting here moping because senpai wouldn't notice you anymore. You knew how your moods were only amplified when you drank, and you couldn't see the night improving from here. You were stuck in a tar pit of self-loathing of your own making, and besides which, though you were friendly with one or two of the lieutenants, approaching all of them was kind of intimidating. They understood each other in a way other seated members didn't, working so closely with their captains and yet not quite being on their level. It was a weird limbo to be in, for sure. Slowly you got up from the table, and immediately nearly fell to your knees as you stood up. Fuck. The booze always hit harder this way, and it took a lot of concentration for you to skirt around the crowd of people towards the exit, weaving back and forth as you walked. Before you reached that glorious, blinding white rectangle of an exit, a hand suddenly grasped your elbow. "Where are you going?" a voice demanded. You turned around and your stomach did some kind of somersault as you found yourself staring dizzily up at Kensei himself. He was scowling down at you, as per usual, but he didn't seem particularly angry per se - he had a very severe resting bitch face, so it seemed. "Sorry?" you said, which was at least slightly better than "Whu?" which was what you'd been about to say. When you realised, he thought you'd gotten confused on your way to the bar/bathroom, you gave a little shake of your head. "Oh, I'm just - I thought I should go home." Behind Kensei came another raucous round of cheering and a facial muscle of Kensei's twitched. Clearly the celebrations were grating on his nerves as well - however fond of Hisagi he was, he was not the partying sort of guy. You didn't know Kensei that well, but you knew enough about him to know that every sound of glasses or bottles clinking and sloshing beer on the ground was no doubt grating terribly. "You're in no fit state to walk home by yourself." Kensei pronounced, but before you could get indignant over this, he sighed. "I'll walk you back to your quarters." What?! "Oh, um, that's kind of you, sir, but it's really not-" you demurred - the thought of walking home with Kensei Muguruma at your side was an alarming one. "It's not up for negotiation." Kensei overrode you bluntly, so much so that you found yourself unable to muster a second stab at refusing. His hand went to your shoulder, and he began steering you towards the door. "Come on. From here on, it's their problem if one of them passes out in a puddle of vomit." You paused and made a face at the idea. "Yessir." ~ You were right - walking with Kensei Muguruma was an intense experience. Granted, it wasn't like he was shouting at you for drinking or asking you tricky questions. Instead, he was surprisingly quiet, keeping an eye on your ungraceful gait out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise he seemed content to walk through the winding streets of the Seireitei - you'd told him where you lived, and it wasn't so far away that either of you felt the need to whip out Shunpo. Anyway, as Kensei had pointed out, the fresh air would help sober you up some. Despite that, though, the silence had a tinge of awkwardness to it. Kensei was doing you a favour, but you got the sense he was regretting having offered. Your mind was in a whirl of confusion and alcohol, and you wanted to find something to say to make the journey feel a little less of a daunting voyage. Kensei's reiatsu washed over you like a heavy wind that hints at a thunderstorm - occasionally your arm would brush his haori and the hairs stood up on your skin when it broke out in goosebumps. Kensei didn't seem to notice. "Why were you sitting by yourself?" he suddenly asked - not looking at you but keeping his eyes straight ahead. You're taken aback by the question and your answer is vague. "Oh, well...I'd said my congrats to Hisagi, so I didn't want to get in the way while he was with his friends. His other friends." you said, lamely. "It felt rude to just leave in the middle of his celebration." "Tch. His friends are spoiling him. Most people don't get a fucking parade thrown for them for achieving a bankai." Kensei muttered, and you shot a surprised glance at him. But though his words were dismissive, his facial expression wasn't disgusted or scornful. Perhaps grumbling was Kensei's idea of speaking fondly of someone. "Why did you come, then?" you asked, seized with a sudden boldness - perhaps Kensei's candidness was infectious. "You don't seem like a... party type of guy, sir." "I'm not," Kensei said, waving a hand impatiently. "But I don't begrudge the kid. I worked him hard, and he gave me the results I was hoping for. That deserves recognition." Huh. You gave a hum of agreement and turned your attention back to the path in front of you. It seemed Kensei was right - you did feel a little more sober. Walking no longer felt like a tricky task that required all conversation, though you didn't regret your decision to leave. You doubted anybody had noticed you were gone. "So that was the only reason?" Kensei pressed, startling you. "You were just too scared to talk to him around his lieutenant friends? Or were you hoping something was gonna happen?" You nearly choked on your own saliva at the blunt phrasing. Kensei really didn't pay much attention to social niceties, did he? You chewed on the inside of your cheek. You'd never examined your feelings regarding Hisagi Shuuhei in detail - you knew he liked Rangiku. Kensei knew he liked Rangiku. Everyone and their mums probably knew it. So having feelings for Hisagi had never really crossed your mind, because they were doomed before they'd even had a chance to take root. But explaining all this to Kensei made you uncomfortable, so instead you simply said: "We're just friends." "Really." Kensei drawled, and was it your imagination, or was he messing with you? It was hard to tell with his deadpan manner of speaking. "Yes, really." you said, a little huffily. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss it further." "Tch." You both fell silent again, and you could feel heat creeping up your cheeks. It occurred to you that perhaps Kensei had had some alcohol to loosen his tongue a bit himself, it was just nowhere near as obvious with him since he was so big and beefy - it would probably take enough alcohol to knock over a horse before he started to show ill effects. Though you didn't know who in their right mind would give alcohol to a horse. You knew where you were now, and you glanced at Kensei. "I can take it from here if you have somewhere to be." you said, then added belatedly. "Sir." "I don't." Kensei replied, and you snorted. "Why do you care about where I'm going or what I'm doing, anyway?" you suddenly asked him, feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something. "Thought you didn't want to talk about that anymore," Kensei said. "I'm not, I'm talking about you." you replied, bouncing onto the balls of your feet like that might help you reach Kensei better. He scoffed and glanced away, and you took a moment to admit his side profile, that firm jaw and the shape of his nose. The impressive fluff of his mohawk and were those piercings you spied in his ear? Hot. "Just noticed you around, is all." Kensei said, his throat bobbing when he covertly swallowed. "When you come by Ninth." Oh? "Oh?" you asked faintly. Kensei had noticed you? But why? There was nothing special about you and he was a captain, and a Vizard, to boot. Everyone was curious about them, even if the topic of the reason the reinstated Captains had been forced to leave was often skirted around. Was it possible you were hallucinating this and were still at that table, passed out drunk? Now Kensei turned to face you and you weren't able to pull your eyes away from him in time - specifically his bared chest, his firm abdominal muscles and that famous 69 tattoo emblazoned across his skin, the ink still bold and clear even after over a century. He caught you looking, but he didn't seem to mind it. "Yeah," he said, and his eyes slid to your lips, where a faint shimmer of lipstick still sat from when you'd gotten ready hours earlier. It was like it was choreographed. A beat of silence ticked between you, an internal debate that lasted both a moment and a lifetime. Then, before you had time to doubt, to convince yourself it was all in your head, Kensei moved, surprisingly quick for a man his size. You had no time to process before a large, gloved hand curved around the back of your neck and you were being pulled in for a hot, demanding kiss that left you breathless. You could faintly taste rum on his lips, and your back met the wall, Kensei's body shielding you from prying eyes. Your hands moved immediately to comb through his mohawk as he kissed you, and Kensei growled in response, his teeth pinching your bottom lip, enough to make you squeak. His hands roved up and down your body, one of them settling on your waist where you'd donned a brand-new sash for the occasion, his touch hot and firm and making you shiver deliciously. His reiatsu covered you, but this time you relished the staticky feeling of it, the tingling zipping across your skin. Fuck. you thought. No words were exchanged during all this. You'd both passed the need for them - your bodies did the talking plenty. When Kensei finally released you, straightening up to his full height again, you were amused to notice he had a smear of sparkly lipgloss collected on his bottom lip. You felt out of breath. "That was..." you said and broke off with a huff of breathless laughter. "Yeah," Kensei agreed, running a hand through his mohawk in a surprisingly self-conscious gesture that, at present, seemed like the most endearing thing ever. His eyes went back to your lips, but he didn't move to kiss you again. You understood - when you pushed yourself off the wall, the world wobbled a bit before righting itself. Sobering walk or no, you were still on the drunken side. You smiled awkwardly at Kensei, though pleasure squirmed in your stomach when he offered you a very slight one back. He reached out and his thumb brushed just underneath your bottom lip, wiping away some smudged gloss. You stood stock still while he did this, mesmerised by this simple movement. "Should I...?" you said, but you weren't sure how to finish that sentence. Kensei's smile turned into a smirk. "You're going to go home and sober up." he told you. "I think you've had enough excitement for one day." You licked your lips. "And after that?" you dared to ask. Kensei's smirk widened a bit, and his hand rumpled your hair. The next thing he said made your stomach clench and heat rush to your face. "And then you'll come by Ninth and we'll see if we can't find another reason to start celebrating."
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ghoultrifle · 3 months
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hear me out-
dom phantom ghoul fucking dewdrop. this motherfucker pulls out a rubiks cube and tells dew "you gotta cum as a i finish solving it"
easy dew thinks, he's not close yet, but he will be by the time ant's finished the cube. what dew didn't account for was the autism that upon being summoned, ant learned how to read from a discarded rubiks cube manual shoved in his desk drawer from when omega used to live there.
so it's such a shame when 10 seconds later, dewdrop doesn't cum, not even close, a terrified look on his face as he barely had enough time to realise he was fucked. such a shame that ant has to now fuck dew until he can solve the cube, hands shaking as his fourth orgasm rattles through him and he hasn't even solved the corners...
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