#his hairline is the same as it always was

[handful0fteeth]

so fragile (it's getting me off)

stranger kinks 3: boot worship

summary: you flirted with a boy at a party in front of billy, and he's going to make sure he doles out the proper punishment.

pairings: billy hargrove x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors DNI, explicit language, a lot of dirty talk, heavy degradation, roughness, mean dom!billy, sub!reader, edgeplay, face slapping, safewords, color system, possessiveness, honestly prolly more than a lil toxic but don't worry abt it

words: 3.7k words

You wish Billy didn’t smoke Newports.

You wish he didn’t smoke at all, to be fair – you hate how the stench of it sticks to his curls and clothes, and you especially hate the taste that lingers in his mouth after he finishes a cigarette. You’ve remarked on it many times, usually after you’ve abruptly ended a kiss because it was like licking an ashtray. His response was always the same: a roll of his eyes and a snide, “Don’t be such a baby.”

There’s something particularly foul about Newports, though, at least to you. Their odor is pungent, sharper, more determined to crawl all the way up your nose and get comfortable there so you can’t stop smelling them for hours. You think that maybe if Billy wasn’t puffing away on Newports right now, you’d be slightly less humiliated by your current predicament.

Slightly.

“I didn’t say you could slow down,” he murmurs, barely flicking his eyes in your direction. Like you’re not worth the effort it’d take to tilt his head down to look at you, straddling his leg, skirt hiked up over your hips, cunt grinding down on the toe of his boot. You huff. 

“My legs are tired.” They’re on fucking fire, more like. You don’t know how long you’ve been at this, only that the crickets surrounding Billy’s porch have started to chirp louder from the time you began, and the sky has ripened from a hazy, humid navy blue, thick with the promise of summer rain, to solid black. Sweat beads at your hairline and drips smoothly down the curve of your spine; the spots you’ve been gripping for purchase on Billy’s jeans are dark with your perspiration.

“Don’t care.” He takes a long final drag off his cigarette before stubbing it out in the crystal ashtray beside him. The butt hasn’t been smoldering for all of thirty seconds before Billy reaches for his pack and shakes out a new one, sliding it between his teeth and cupping a hand around the end as he flicks his lighter. 

“I’m sorry,” you say for the millionth time tonight. The cherry of Billy’s cigarette glows as he inhales deeply, and his free hand darts out to grip your face. You gasp, an action you almost immediately regret because he leans down and blows smoke directly into your open mouth. 

His laughter echoes into the night as you sputter and cough, and as much as it infuriates you, your pussy throbs in response to his blatant disrespect, and so you grit your teeth and dig your forehead into his knee as your hips rock faster on his boot. 

This is your punishment. Earlier tonight, at a party one of Billy’s “friends” (you’re not sure if the man could forge a genuine friendship if his life depended on it) was throwing, some random drunk guy made it his mission to get your phone number. Billy hadn’t shown up yet, and frankly, you were mad at him anyway – you can’t remember why now, thanks to the lust and embarrassment forming a near-impenetrable fog in your brain – so you entertained him. You were never actually going to give the guy your number; you simply liked the attention, and the knowledge that you were doing something that would make Billy lose his mind so blatantly was thrilling.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Billy snuck up behind you, a solid mass at your back smelling of Newports and rosemary and musk, one hand tangling itself so deep within your hair that when he pulled, it brought tears to your eyes, and he smiled that smile at you that only meant one thing: You are fucked.

He’d watched you half-assedly flirt with the drunken guy for about five minutes before deciding to interrupt, and that five minutes was enough to get him so worked up you could practically feel the anger rolling off of him in waves as he held you taut, eyes bright and shockingly cold, the curl of his lips feline in its threatening nature. It was like a warning, an assurance that if you weren’t in public, he’d have ripped your throat out right there with those gleaming white teeth.

Instead, he brusquely excused the pair of you and led you outside, his grip unwavering and his forearm so stiff against your back you felt a bit like a ventriloquist dummy being puppeteered through the sparse front lawn. The apologies tumbled from your mouth like rocks down a cliffside, but it was as if he didn’t hear you. Or, more accurately, he outright ignored you. Once the prying eyes of his peers were gone, Billy’s carefully contrived façade melted like candle wax until all that was left was this beautiful, blank-faced column of rage that pinned you against the door of his car so hard you knew you’d have bruises.

“The fuck was that?” he spat, and you opened your mouth to answer, but clearly, it was a rhetorical question because he slapped a hand over your lips before they could produce a single sound.

“I’m not around for five minutes and you’re already trying to give it away to some Hawkins hillbilly? Seriously, Y/N? Acting like you don’t belong to anyone, like I don’t fucking exist? What, I don’t give you enough attention so you wanna slut out for a fucking hick, is that it?”

You tried to shake your head no, and Billy laughed, a humorless, terrifying sound. 

“Really? Sure seemed like it to me. He touch you?”

You made a small, squeaky sound and shook your head again. 

“Good. Glad you at least know better than that. ‘Cause this?” He shoved his other hand beneath your skirt, cupping you through your panties and grinding the heel of his hand into your clit hard enough to make you yelp. “This is mine. Do you understand me? Fucking mine.”

He lifted his palm from your mouth, giving you silent permission to speak again, and, hoping to appease him, you tilted your head down and gazed up at him reproachfully through your lashes. “Yes, Sir,” you said softly, watching satisfaction flicker briefly in his eyes. 

“Oh, now I’m Sir? A few minutes ago it seemed like you barely even remembered I existed, but suddenly I’m Sir again, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, I…it won’t happen again, I promise.”

“No, it won’t. Because I’m gonna spend the rest of the night making sure it doesn’t. Now get in the fucking car.”

You didn’t even get two steps onto his front porch before Billy stopped you, tossed his Newports pack and lighter onto a rounded table, slumped into a wicker chair in front of you, and ordered you to kneel.

“You wanna act like a slut, then you’re gonna be treated like one,” he said, but when you instinctively went for the buckle of his belt, he swatted your hands away and forced you back on your haunches.

“You think you get my cock after how you acted tonight? That’s like rewarding a puppy for pissing on the carpet. And you, Y/N, were a bad puppy, so you won’t be getting a treat. Not for a long fucking time, and that’s if you’re lucky.”

The rough wood dug into your bare knees as you knelt, and Billy took his sweet time lighting up a cigarette and taking a few indulgent puffs before kicking out one leg as an offering. When you stared at him blankly, unsure of what he was implying – or perhaps hoping he wasn’t really saying what you thought he was saying – he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t act dumb. Hop on, slut.”

Now here you are – hurtling headlong toward an orgasm just from humping against your boyfriend’s boot. It’s humiliating. It’s the most degrading thing he’s ever had you do, and here you are, whining into his thigh and digging your nails into his jeans, huffing and so close, so fucking close, you’re gonna –

Thud.

Your ass hits the porch, a breeze whispering between your thighs before you’re fully aware of what just happened. Billy chuckles, tapping ash off his cigarette, brow heavy in shadow. His pupils have almost swallowed his irises whole, and his blackened gaze is like fire as it rakes hungrily up and down your body. “Don’t look so shocked. You think I can’t tell when you’re about to cum? Especially when you pant like that?” he asks. He shifts slightly on the chair, and the wet spot on his boot glistens as it catches the porch light. 

You squeeze your thighs together, and your entire body flushes once you realize you have soaked your panties all the way through and your skin is sticky with arousal. “I…I wasn’t,” you lie, knowing full well if he’d given you ten more seconds, you would’ve exploded and probably woken up half the neighborhood.

“Sure. You lost that privilege the second you started talking to the douchebag at the party, slut. Back to work.”

“How much longer?” you grouse, purposefully slowing your movements so you don’t give away how pathetically eager you are to resume your task. Your thighs tremble and twitch beneath you as you situate your drooling cunt back on Billy’s boot, and you suck the gasp that threatens to spill out back in once the pressure and friction you need are restored. He doesn’t even have to tell you to keep going, not this time – your hips move of their own accord. 

“Until I decide you’re done,” Billy answers. “Don’t be such a baby, like you’re not loving this.”

“I’m not,” you mumble, though the assertion rings hollow when Billy hitches his foot up slightly against your clit, and you moan. Motherfucker.

“You think that guy would be very impressed if he saw you right now?” he muses, taking a drag off his cigarette before setting it down on the edge of the ashtray. Smoke unfurls from the corners of his mouth as he grins down at you, making him look absolutely sinister. “Cause I don’t. I think he’d realize what a pathetic little whore you are and he’d laugh.”

The humiliation is almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. You duck your head again, teeth grinding behind trembling lips, but Billy snatches you by the cheeks again and makes you look at him. You brace for another cloud of smoke aimed at your face, but nothing comes – he just stares at you, long blond lashes twitching on lowered lids. His hand slides around to the left side of your face, cupping your cheek in his palm almost tenderly. As pissed off as you are, you can’t help but lean into his touch.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks, low enough that his voice is nearly drowned out by the hum of katydids around his porch.

“You.”

Crack!

Billy slaps you so hard across the face that if he weren’t cradling your head, it would’ve whipped to the side. You realize that’s why he’s holding you like this, so he can smack you silly without actually risking injury to your jaw or neck. The tears do fall this time, one or two slipping silently out of the corners of your eyes, and your cheek burns red hot from the force of the slap. 

“What was that?” Billy asks, and you quickly realize your mistake.

“You, Sir,” you amend. The edge of his mouth quirks into a lazy grin, and he brushes a thumb over your stinging flesh.

“That’s right. Even when you’re being a fucking brat, you’re still mine. You understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Am I ever gonna catch you acting the way you did tonight again?” 

You sniffle, shaking your head vehemently. “No, Sir, never. I promise. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Crack!

You cry out, and your pussy throbs as Billy brushes a lock of hair out of your face and laughs. “I didn’t hear you. You’re what?”

“I-I’m sorry, Sir,” you repeat pitifully. Fresh tears sluice down your face, dragging your eye makeup with them; your right cheek tingles fiercely, and the pain blends with the pleasure radiating from your cunt so sweetly that you almost beg Billy to hit you again. You don’t have to, though – you catch a glimpse of his hand out of your peripheral vision, swinging through the air so fast that it becomes a pale blur against the night, and pain sparks across your skin anew. The presence of your tears heightens the impact of his palm, and you can’t help but openly sob after the blow, eyes squeezing shut.

There’s a release in the pain, an odd kind of catharsis you’d only discovered once you and Billy had started dating. He was always rougher with you than your past boyfriends, but he never truly manhandled you until you’d begged him for it – quite literally begged, on your knees, with tears sparkling prettily in your eyes and your bottom lip pushed out in a pout. Billy teased out the masochist in you, little by little, until you drooled for the pain he inflicted just as much as the mind-numbing pleasure. 

Your safeword is always there, an everpresent and ever-accepted option in case it all got to be too much, but you’ve come to enjoy the thrill of Billy toeing the line of your boundaries; he’s never stepped past it, and the way he rubs a tear away with the pad of his thumb before pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head assures you that he won’t now.

“You gonna be good for me from now on?” he asks, lips moving against your hair.

“Yes, Sir,” you whimper.

The sound of Billy’s zipper coming undone makes your eyes snap wide open. You watch with reverence as he reaches into his jeans, leaning back and fishing his already hard cock out of his boxers. A moan rolls out of your mouth involuntarily as he wraps his fist around the thick, veiny shaft, stroking himself once before settling his grip at the base. He’s flushed dark red with arousal, and there’s pre-cum beading at the tip, and without thinking, without asking permission, you surge forward to lick it off.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Billy chides like he’s scolding a dog, forcing you into stillness by wrapping your hair around his free hand. He laughs, the sound breathy thanks to the steady pace he’s begun to jerk himself off at, and shakes his head.

“So greedy. Get off my fucking leg.” 

You obey, a task which proves difficult to undertake with Billy’s fingers still curled against the nape of your neck, and before you can even think to question his command, your face is rushing down toward the porch. You cry out, convinced for a moment that you’re about to receive a mouthful of splinters, but Billy merely holds you down, back curved painfully and your legs tucked beneath your torso, nose inches from the ground. Then, his boot's brown, glistening toe is beneath your mouth.

“Clean it off,” he says. His voice is gravelly and tremulous, the way it always is when he’s being pleasured, and normally, you’d be the one giving him all that pleasure – but all you’re being offered is to lick your own slick off of his shoe. You want to scream with indignation, you want to rip your head from his hand and plant yourself on his cock, you want to selfishly rub your clit until you cum, you want so much you could cry right now. Humiliation roils in your stomach and scorches your nerves, inspiring tears to well in your eyes again.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Billy snarls. “You wanna lick the soles clean instead?”

Your nose scrunches in revulsion. “No, Sir.”

“Then do as I tell you, slut.”

Your safeword bubbles in the back of your throat, and you sniffle; a tear plops fatly on Billy’s boot before rolling off the edge. Just then, you feel his fingers lax the tiniest bit, and he bends toward you.

“Color?” You relax a little and chance a look up at him through wet lashes. He’s still mad; you can tell by how his jaw is set and the furrow in his brow, but his eyes scan yours dutifully, searching for anything you may not be able to verbalize. You swallow thickly.

“Yellow,” you croak. Please slow down. You hardly ever call yellow and have never had to call red before, but you’re so raw from what feels like hours of edging that everything is getting to be too much; the thrill you’ve come to crave has begun to sour. Your entire body is buzzing, but not in an entirely pleasant way – it’s more like the staticky feeling before you get shocked than it is euphoric tingling. So Billy nods almost imperceptibly and guides you back into a sitting position, fingers loosening until he’s gingerly cupping the base of your skull, and his head lolls to the side as he gazes at you. His cheeks have begun to flush, and perspiration glitters on the bit of his collarbone peeking out from beneath his collar, and he’s so fucking beautiful, even (or especially) when he’s being mean to you.

“You alright?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do we need to stop for the night?”

“No, Sir.” Your cunt aches at the thought.

Billy eyes you for a moment, fist still lazily working his shaft, and when he comes to a conclusion, he sights contentedly.

“You wanna be a good girl and cum on my boot, Y/N?” 

Your heart leaps at the thought, and the irony is not lost on you. If he had asked you the same question earlier today, you’d have turned your nose up at him and scoffed. Now, it’s like he’s giving you the greatest gift you could ask for. 

“Really?”

He nods. “You still don’t get my cock. I’m not budging on that. But I s’pose you’ve proven how sorry you are tonight. So maybe you deserve a little treat.”

His leg has barely brushed the inside of your thigh before you’re straddling it again, grinding with renewed fervor now that you know he’s going to show you mercy. He chuckles at your eagerness before stretching his arm back and pillowing his head with his free hand. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, “make yourself cum for me. You like when I reward you, huh, baby?”

“Yes, Sir,” you moan, your voice already high and strained in your throat.

“You look so fuckin’ wrecked right now. Makeup’s all fucked, and you got that desperate look on your face, fuck. You like when I ruin you, huh?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” He knows how quickly you crumble when he talks dirty, and he always rambles when he’s close, so you dig your nails into his calf and rock your hips more insistently. Tension coils between your hips, tighter, tighter, impossibly tight until you’re right on the edge again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll back and incapable of making a sound beyond pitiful little gasps between clenched teeth.

“That’s right, good girl, fucking cum for me –” 

Just as the first throb of your orgasm reverberates through your core, Billy pushes your head forward and hooks his thumb into your mouth, forcing it open as thick, hot ropes of cum splatter against your face. You moan loudly and stick your tongue out further, trying to catch his release and only minimally succeeding. You shiver on his leg, cunt spasming and gushing slick into your panties, and Billy just laughs as he deliberately cums all over your face.

“Aww, there we go,” he purrs once he’s milked the last of his load from his softening cock. He shakes that hand out and flexes the fingers, while he uses the other to collect the cum dripping off your cheeks and smear it over your waiting tongue. “You look so much prettier with my cum all over your fuckin’ face.”

“Thank you, Sir.” No sooner have the words left your mouth does Billy stuff three fingers into it, the tips dangerously close to activating your gag reflex. You swallow around the digits and remind yourself to breathe through it, just as you’ve done probably hundreds of times when you take his cock in your throat, and Billy’s smirk makes your cheeks glow with pride. He thrusts his fingers in and out a few times, eyes following the stringy lines of drool that dribble from your bottom lip. 

When he releases his grip on your jaw, he wipes his hand on his jeans and juts his chin at you. “Swallow.”

You do, making a big show of tilting your head back slightly and gulping down all the drool and cum that’s puddled in your mouth so your throat visibly bobs with the effort, and Billy chuckles in approval. He sits a little straighter, scanning the pitch black pressing against the dim light of the porch while he tucks himself back into his jeans. You shuffle awkwardly off his leg when he prompts you, and your body is still buzzing from your orgasm so you almost don’t notice that your legs are numb and burning beneath you.

Almost.

“C’mon, up,” Billy says as he stands, a few notches in his spine cracking as he raises his arms above his head and bends backward in a stretch. He extends a hand down toward you, and you take it dazedly. He has to stoop and drape an arm around your shoulders to help you to your feet, and when you stumble against him on bloodless, trembling legs he laughs; you’re rewarded with a chaste kiss to the forehead for your effort.

“You might need to give me a second,” you warn, “I don’t think I can make it to your car like this.” Billy cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Who said anything about going to the car?” He takes a step back and reaches for the front door, deftly turning the knob and flinging it open. You stare into the black, yawning mouth of his home, cheeks heating slightly.

“I just thought–”

“We aren’t done, baby,” Billy croons, and that wicked, cat-like grin curls onto his face once again. Your stomach leaps, and your mouth drops open to ask what exactly he’s getting at, but before you can get the words out he’s cupping you between your thighs again.

“I haven’t punished this sweet little cunt yet.”

taglist:

@silky-luxe

@celestialwaavelength

@bornslippys

@pettydonuts

@littlered0000

let me know here if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

[zot3-flopped]

[rickybaby]

As a relatively new fan, am I being too touchy about posts like this? Because I genuinely don’t understand the obsession and why they set him up but will get ratty and jump on any criticism from other accounts?

https://x.com/stelenacore/status/1791775137580167285?s=46&t=4uvR9bJ_cC8K4wWbdclEGg

https://x.com/namedafterflour/status/1791474900512768151?s=46&t=4uvR9bJ_cC8K4wWbdclEGg

they call him baldy. we call him daddy <3

[zaggyzoo]

watching the dylan wang & bai lu drama bc i saw the poster and i was like.... i know that eyebrow. and that hairline

[ssweetleaf]

babies.

husband!steve harrington x wife!reader

summary: you finally tell steve that you’re ready for a baby.

includes: SMUT 18+, breeding kink, not really a daddy kink but he refers to himself as daddy lol, mating press, creampie, unprotected p in v

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Hang on— what did you say?”

Steve felt as if he was dreaming, completely delirious, struggling to stay on his feet when his knees started to buckle.

He clutched a quivering palm to his chest, as if in attempt to quell his heart, but nothing could sate the thick thumping that barrelled through his rib cage.

You smiled at him, a small, impish one that made his eyelids flutter and you stepped closer, smoothing your hands along his shoulders before resting upon the thickness of both biceps, squeezing only slightly— just for your benefit, of course.

You knew it was something he’d desperately wanted to hear for a long while, so you spoke slowly, hoping the few words you spoke would register properly.

Because this was real. Such a big step, something that Steve had always dreamt of, but you not quite. It took a good few years for you to succumb to the idea of raising kids; a pretty house and a small wedding— even a few cats roamed around your home, so you knew that something was missing, something you now wanted desperately in your life.

“I want to try for a baby, Steve.” You spoke, watching his doe eyes grow even rounder, little tears threatening to ebb while he felt all melty and gooey, moving forward to shakily cup your cheeks and bring you closer towards him.

Steve nuzzled his nose against yours, sighing out a big breath and sponging a sweet, chaste little kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I don’t know what to say, honey, I’m—” he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, his thumbs lazily circling the apples of your cheeks. “I’m so fucking happy.”

—

So, the two of you fucked like rabbits— for hours and hours, multiple times a day, the mere feeling of his raw length inside you had you creaming around him in minutes, and it was much akin for Steve, the soft, gummy walls of your cunt squeezing around him with no barrier between the two of you.

It felt like heaven.

Steve had insisted that you both have sex as regular as you could, the need to have you pregnant, to make it stick, needed to be quenched, and you nodded along like the doting little wife you were.

“My pretty honey,” he cooed, pressing your knees firmly against your heaving chest, holding you in a mating press whilst he fucked his thick cock into your spasming pussy.

Sweat beaded along his hairline, breathless from his hard thrusts— he had already came inside of you three times that same day, however you knew he wouldn’t let up until he saw those two red lines that told him what he’d wanted to hear.

“Gotta give you my babies, don’t I, hon?” He uttered, moaning breathily into the stuffy air— his full, round balls smacking against your ass with every inward thrust, so full of cum and ready to breed. “Gotta be thorough now, baby— want you nice ‘n’ round.”

He was babbling, words slurring into something almost nonsensical— his pretty lips sponged at any piece of skin he could find, mouthing and suckling with a desperation that shone in his honeyed eyes.

Your pussy practically sucked him in, letting his ruddy tip nudge at the spot so deep inside you, that had you clenching and fluttering.

“Fuck, jus’ wanna be a daddy so bad,” he whined, “and once we have our first, we’ll have another, and another, and another— oh fuck.”

He was fisting the pillow underneath your head, muscles drawn tight, trying so hard to keep his eyes open and not let them flutter closed— trying hard to keep his eyes on you.

“But don’t worry, honey baby,” he sighed with a smile, still thrusting as deep as he could, his thumb moving to rub at your clit. “You’ll still be daddy’s best girl— daddy’s favourite, I’ll make sure of it.”

You whined. He was so filthy, so crude, as soon as his big dick would slip inside of you he’d be gone, so stupid, completely pussy drunk. Silly boy.

“You ready for it, hon?” He cooed, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, “ready for my cum, pretty girl?”

You nodded, uttering a small ‘yes, Stevie’ through a moan and a sigh, clenching hard and quivering around him, ready to cum yourself.

The sheer need to be filled had you delirious.

“Yeah, gonna fill you up— gonna put a sweet baby in that pretty tummy of yours,” he hummed, “that sound good?”

“Sounds s’good, Stevie,” you whined, struggling to keep hold of your legs, your limbs shaky when you tried to keep your knees pressed against you. “Wan’ it so bad, want your cum— want your babies.”

He nodded fervently, hair whipping in every which way, dick throbbing in you hotly, the taut veins pulsing with every inward thrust— so, so close and ready to burst.

“I know ya do, hon— you ready to take it? You ready to take another load, baby?” He whined, squeezing his eyes shut, thrusts turning sloppy and erratic, “I know you’re so full, can barely fit anymore cum inside this poor pussy, huh?”

“Can take it, Stevie,” you spoke, fluttering your lashes, your lips all pouty and pink, “promise.”

And with one, two, three thrusts, he stilled inside of you, so deep, tip kissing your cervix before shooting his thick, pearly ropes of cum inside you, hoping to fill you with his Harrington prodigy, to make all the babies he could wish for.

Steve kept your legs raised, pulling them from your chest to place above his shoulders, keeping your back arched.

“Gotta make sure it takes,” he whispered, stroking at your calf before pressing a little kiss to your ankle. “think this is the one, honey.”

[inkdrinkerworld]

domestic hotch request for sitting in his lap bonus points if reader falls asleep !!

Sitting in Aaron's lap happens as much as you'd like it to, which is to say a lot. It's mostly because what you want you get, and Aaron loves to have you curled up in his lap.

You're in your pyjamas, a pretty silky nightdress, and Aaron in some plaid pants and a grey t-shirt. You're watching a sitcom on the tv while he finishes looking over a report from the last case.

Tiredly, you rub your eyes and make a big show of stretching and yawning. You know your husband sees you when his cheek jumps in effort to suppress his smile.

"Aaron," you're tired and achy and crawl over to him, your head in his lap like a kitten begging for attention.

"Yes, honey?" your heart picks up at how soft he sounds and the way one of his hands drop away from his file to hold the chub of your cheek. "Tired?" there's amusement in his tone and you scoot even further into his lap, knocking the file from his hand.

"Are you exceptionally busy?" he knows what you really mean to ask, 'Are you going to be busy for much longer or can we go to bed now?' He wishes he could say he's almost finished but he has three more reports to review and then he's all caught up.

"Come here honey," his hands reach for your hips, pulling you into his lap with a sigh and pressing his nose into your hairline. Aaron strokes your back as you tuck your head under his chin, closing your eyes as you listen to his heartbeat. "You can sleep if you want, I'll only be another hour."

You whine your distaste with that, but remain in his lap. Your fingers trace patterns on his forearms, eyes closed as you feel him pick up the file again.

It's not long before your hand's movement slows, your breath evening out and hitting Aaron's collarbones making goosebumps spread there.

You're both in silence, your deep breathing helping Aaron focus as he finishes the file. He tries, tries very had to make it all the way to the last section on the last file, but you shift in his lap and mumble his name in your sleep and his heart clenches.

Aaron loves that moment when you're fully asleep but you can't help but need him. It's a bit of an addiction he has, always wanting to be awake to hear you call for him.

You can't hear him, but he murmurs all the same. "We're going to bed, baby." he kisses at your hairline, slipping one hand under your knees and one behind your back as he carries you both to the bedroom, a plan to sleep in a little on his mind.

[avis-writeshq]

hi ! love ur fics <3

can i request reader as being a massive flirt publicly towards spencer but when its Intimate and Private, reader is suddenly Stunned and Speechless and Blushing and spencer kinda gets the confidence to Do Stuff

im sorry if that was the stupidest described ask ever achh but lov u !

pairing: s9!spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: established relationship, bombshell-ish(?) reader, fluff warnings: 16+ for kind of suggestive? he’s so in love UGH a/n: thank you for requesting !! wc: 1.22k

Spencer thinks that you are the most beautiful person in the world. He thinks that you’re glowing every time you walk into the room– no matter how upset or disgruntled you may be– and as cliche as it may seem, he’s certain that swarms butterflies fill his stomach and cloud his mind. In fact, he thinks that you have always had that effect on him, ever since he’s met you. You’re touchy, and despite Spencer’s general aversion to physical touch, he finds that he doesn’t mind your germs much. 

Very often he finds himself at your mercy, with the way your fingers brush against his face as if it’s nothing, as if that movement alone was something that you do with everyone (you’ve only ever done it with him). There are other instances where you’ve been very blatant in your attraction towards him, so much so that he ends up with his cheeks hot more often than not. A part of him is grateful that though you work in the FBI, it isn’t his division. He doubts he’d be able to see the end of it.

“Spencer,” you gush, curling your fingers into the ends of his hair. Or rather, lack of hair. “You got a haircut. You’re supposed to consult me first, you know.”

He laughs, looking up at you as you stand over him while he sits at his desk. “Is that what a good boyfriend is supposed to do?”

“Yes.” You speak with mock indignation, properly running your fingers through his hair from his fringe to the back of his head. “It’s so short.”

“Do you hate it?” There’s a momentary pang of unease that strikes at his heart. “Maybe I should have consulted you.”

“No, baby, it looks really good.” You smile at him, pressing a kiss to his hairline. “You’re warm. Do you have a fever?”

Of course I’m warm, Spencer wants to say while you continue to dote on him, your hands travelling to his collar next and brushing against his throat. You’re touching me in the middle of the bullpen. 

He opts to not say anything when he sees your knowing smile. You’re doing this on purpose. He clicks his tongue, squeezing at your waist lightly as you lean over him to kiss his forehead. He’ll let you win this battle; he’s going to get you back.

***

He doesn’t really know how to get you back. There are a few harmless things he’d thought of doing: sneaking into your department and hiding your mug on the top shelf (he fears that you’d ask someone, a taller more handsome someone, to rescue it for you), not wearing the tie you picked out for him that morning (he can already envision your disappointed frown and his chest aches at the imaginary you getting upset because of him), and putting toothpaste in your Oreos (he doesn’t want to die). 

All of these ideas go down the drain and he ends up not getting back at you for days. It doesn’t help that he’s been gone for a case while you’ve been stuck at home. It isn’t all bad, and a part of him wishes that he can hold himself to the same level of confidence as Derek when Penelope calls him with flirtatious motives. You do virtually the same thing. 

Your words are honey as you shower him with compliments, ending him with a simple “Hey, gorgeous.” 

It is enough to make his heart leap to his throat and his cheeks to warm to a pretty pink. There’s not much overlap between the Human Resources Branch and the BAU, especially considering that you assist more on the training and hiring side of things, so there aren’t many opportunities for you to fluster him when he’s out of the office. He finds that you always make an excuse.

“Hi,” he responds softly, avoiding the teasing gazes of Emily and Derek. “Is… are you okay?”

“Do I need to not be okay to talk to my lovely boyfriend?” 

You’re teasing him, poking fun at the way he so easily surrenders to you. He resists the urge to run out the room. 

“Stop,” he warns half-heartedly. He says your name quietly, tapping his fingers at the edge of the table. “Is there something you needed?”

He can practically hear you smile as you respond, the sound of your mouse clicking in the background. “Oh, yeah. My computer says that my storage is full. What do I do?”

“Your storage is full,” he repeats, smiling. “That’s why you called me?”

“It’s lunchtime in Santa Monica, right?”

He relents, cheeks hurting from how hot and stretched out they are. “Yes.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.” 

He puffs out a breath of air, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re lovely.” He can imagine you batting your eyes, your smile saccharine. “Don’t you wish that you were here, gorgeous?”

He’s definitely going to get you back.

*** 

Spencer goes to your apartment once the case ends, his eyes dreary with sleep and the horrors that he saw only a few hours prior. Your apartment key hangs next to his on his keychain– a limited edition Tardis charm that you got him for his birthday. He huffs out a breath, unlocking your door and stepping inside. He’s met with you dancing around in your kitchen, headphones on whilst holding a wooden spoon. A part of him is concerned with how easily he could slip into your home without being notice, but the other part can’t help but smile at how carefree you look, and he leans against the wall to stare. 

He doesn’t get the opportunity to stare for long. It’s comical, the way you jump upon seeing him, eyes wide as you rip your headphones off. 

“You’re back! You scared me.” A smile stretches across your lips while you press your palm to your chest whilst taking steps towards him. “Don’t do that ever again.”

Spencer laughs, toeing his shoes off and resting his hands on your waist. His head dips down to meet your gaze, peering up at you with a soft smile. “You look beautiful.”

Your cheeks glow warm and you break eye contact. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” He hooks his pointer finger under your chin, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I missed you.”

He notes the way you don’t respond, in some sort of daze while your lips part in both surprise and flusteredness. He understands your sentiments– it isn’t often that he initiates affection. 

“Did you miss me, too?” Spencer asks softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks. 

“Of course I did,” you croak out, heat building in your head. 

Spencer chuckles, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s doing this on purpose, flustering you to the point of no return. He kisses you again, one hand holding the base of your head while the other squeezes at the flesh of your waist. It’s dizzying, the taste of coffee on his tongue and the feel of his fingers in your hair. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs once he’s pulled away. His thumb rubs a line from the back of your ear to where your jawline starts, and he can’t help but chuckle. “Where did that confidence go, hm?”

reblogs are always appreciated!

[kenntolog]

𝝑𝝔 an: it’s been a looong time and i wanted to start from 0 so hey everyone!! enjoy this, and don’t forget to reblog if you do!

when nanami opens his eyes it takes a few seconds for him to properly understand where is he located, the sleepy haze still trying to tug him back into closing his heavy lids.

he blinks rapidly, recognising the neutral ceiling of his living room, the setting sun’s rays scattered around the room through the curtain covered windows and the soft cushions of the couch under his body. he also remembers how he was so tired that even changing out of his clothes was out of question as he just plopped down onto the first horizontal surface he found available, the thought of dozing off too inviting to ignore.

kento groans lightly, feeling his sore limbs ache as he tries to move them, but the sound is stuck in his throat when he turns his head to find you right by his side.

breath fanning lightly of the side of his face, your cheek smushed against the side of the pillow and your forearms as you kneel on the floor beside the couch, sleeping peacefully like you always do in his presence. he feels guilty when he imagines you coming back home to find him like this as you’re still in your work clothes, and the pain in your neck and back, from sitting like that for so long.

he sits up on the couch as quietly as he can, face cringing at the cracking of his joints. nanami’s eyes focus on your once again as he lets his touch startle you, fingers gliding over your hairline and eyebrows, the slope of your nose, your pouting lips and your relaxed jaw. expression so calm and etheral he almost feels jealous at how comfortable you look sleeping on the floor in a slumped sitting position.

you stir and bury your face in your forearms before inhaling rapidly and lifting your head.

the sleepy smile that stretches over your lips spreads warmth through his ribcage, his heart feeling it particularly well.

kento crouches down by your side, hand now cupping your cheek affectionately, “what are you doing here, my darling?”

“just wanted to sleep with you, ‘nami,” you mutter, barely understandable but nanami always knows what you mean, as you nuzzle deeper into his palm, clearly half asleep and ready to switch off again.

“‘should have woken me up, you know i’d never say no to a nap with you.”

you shuffle closer to him, raising your hands as a sign for him to hug you, but nanami opts on grabbing you under your shoulders and knees and lifting you up. as he hugs you to his chest, nanami feels flowers blooming inside everywhere you touch him, where your hands rest on him.

so sweet, so considerate, so lovely you are, making him smile just by existing by his side and being so good to him. he changes you out of clothes and does the same for himself, leaving the other things from your routine for later to not let the sleepiness get away.

and nanami holds you a bit tighter that evening, the corners of his lips upturned at all times when he’s with you.

[earthtooz]

x : CALL ME BACK : *+ﾟ

in which: ratio has been waiting for your call since you left.

warnings: FLUFF i promise, 1.6k wc, gn!reader, ratio being horribly in love and pining so badly, reader works as a space researcher, reader is a sunshine so this is basically sunshine x grump/asshole, written during his first release/ v1.6.

a/n: the way i wrote the synopsis made it sound like it was sad. maybe i'll write an angst version of the same prompt. anyways i listened to 'she calls me back' by noah kahan on loop when writing this, enjoy!

Dr. Ratio is not happy with you.

It has been three weeks and three days since he last received any sort of notification from you, any sort of indication that you were healthy and alive whilst traversing the universe. Typically, you would send daily updates of how your exploration was progressing, or new intergalactic discoveries of yours, regardless of whether or not he cared. 

(He cares. He cares more than his indifferent texts lead on. There’s a reason he always responds, after all, and it’s not just because you’ve been friends for almost two decades now.

To him, your constant messages and calls told him that you were thinking of him, and the more space he occupies in your mind, the happier he is; that is a theory he discovered years ago.

He happily listens to all of your rambles. He'll listen whilst in the middle of grading various papers or writing one of his own, he'll listen whilst eating, he'll listen to you as long as you reach out.

So where are the messages he was waiting for?)

Today is the arranged day for you to return from your new mission. Ratio has been counting down the days since he first marked it on his large desk calender, your return being the first event on his list. 

He is undeniably excited to see you, yet he feels petty enough to not make the trip down and welcome you by the docks, even if your ship’s landing zone is just outside the University.

It’s irrational of him to hold your inactivity against you. Perhaps you just encountered an inconvenience and lost your phone, or wherever you are does not have good reception to send a text halfway across the galaxy. He understands that your safety comes first on these missions, but he can’t help but feel neglected, and he curses the fragility of his ego for making him this way. 

The clock strikes another hour. From his office, Ratio cannot see the ships and come and go, but his ‘scholarly instincts’ are telling him that you are on your way. 

Not even ten minutes later, a figure comes barrelling into his office.

“There he is!” You exclaim exuberantly. It seems that the length of the mission did not erode your enthusiasm, and he’s grateful that it is as contagious as he remembers. “And here I was wondering where you were, did you dig your nose too deep in those encyclopaedias you love to memorise?”

You’re still in your research gear, hips and legs buckled to the brim with various equipment that are necessary to your work, and his heart beats guiltily at the sight. 

You came to see him as soon as you landed. He was your first destination after a tiring three and a half weeks away from home, not the comfort of your home or bed or shower; him. 

“Ha. Ha.” The purple-haired laughs dryly, getting up from his chair and rounding his desk. “Good to see you still alive.”

“What’s with the lack of energy? Didn’t you miss me, Veritas?” 

He did. More than you could ever imagine. “Of course I did.” 

Opening his arms for a hug, you all but run into his embrace, throwing your arms and anchoring yourself to the sturdiness of his torso. After not seeing you for so long, your familiar frame and warmth provides nothing but comfort. 

“Welcome home,” Ratio murmurs into your hairline. 

Your arms squeeze him tighter. “Good to be back.” 

After a few beats of silence, you step away from him and he reluctantly detaches himself from you. 

“I got you something,” you say whilst setting down your bag. Pulling out a suitcase, the purple-haired looks at you inquisitively. “It’s a chess board! I got you a new one to add to your collection!”

Ratio doesn’t bother correcting you that his ‘collection’ only has seven boards at most, but that does not negate his gratitude. 

Even whilst away, you thought of him, and that is a great victory.

“Thank you. We can play together, sometime,” he proposes.

“Oh, please. I could never beat you.”

“Giving up before you even start? That does not sound like the Y/n I know.”

“It’s not ‘giving up’, it’s picking my battles wisely. I could never best you in a game of chess, or any competition of intellect,” you laugh as if the idea itself was ridiculous.

“You shouldn’t discredit yourself based on your own assumptions. I think you make a very capable opponent.”

“I know your tricks, Veritas. Buttering me up just so you can chip at my armour and knock me down when I’m weak, have you no shame?” Your voice is light, with an air of joviality to it, and the purple-haired is enchanted. 

It seems that you don’t know him as well as you think. He finds no shame in hogging as much of your time as possible, even if it is through a game of chess that he will beat you at. He also hopes that you don’t know him well enough to hear the subtle desperation in his voice when he enquires if you’ll be leaving for another mission soon.

“I don’t believe so,” you tell him nonchalantly. “I’ll be stationed here for about two months. They’re expecting a detailed, twenty-page length report from me, so I guess I’ll be locked in my study until that’s complete.”

Ratio clicks his tongue. “Pity.”

(It’s not a pity. He gets to spend two months with you in compensation for the month that he was robbed of.)

“Not to sound self-absorbed, but why weren’t you there are the dock to pick me up?” You ask. 

“Were you disappointed?”

“A little. You’re always the first face I see whenever I come home. It was jarring to not see you amongst the crowd.”

Jealousy slashes at his chest, and he turns away from you to hide his sour expression. “I apologise, I must have lost track of the days.”

“You’re Doctor Veritas Ratio. According to your crazy schedules, there are 72 hours instead of 24 in a standard day, you never lose track.” 

Truth is a fascinating thing. By nature, it is black and white, but it’s perception is what traps fools. Humans have strived to discover an uncontested truth for as long as they have existed, but as long as opinions exist, it will constantly be revised and put together again, ambiguity heavy in the air that surrounds it. 

You, however, are even more fascinating with the way you can deconstruct him so easily.

“If you must know, I was… upset with you because you were not messaging me.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Your laughter is even more so.

Hubris can really kill a man. Ratio does not need to consult the texts of ancient philosophers to confirm that. 

“Really?” You choke out in between cackles. “I didn’t think such menial things mattered to you!”

“Normally, they don’t.”

“So, I’m a special case then?”

“I shouldn’t need to spell it out for you.”

“Veritas!” You coo, placing your hands on either sides of his face. “I am so flattered!” 

Dr. Ratio is a renowned scholar with eight doctorate degrees. The mere mention of his name will inspire hundreds, if not, thousands, of people who have the faintest lust for academia, spreading marvel and fear amongst students and professors alike. His achievements will be engraved and celebrated by the university for centuries to come, and his classes are so notoriously hard that the passing rate is 3%. 

And yet, here he is, reduced to putty in your hands.

Perhaps that is who he is at his core. Rid from him the alabaster head, the codex, and pride, you’ll be left with a man who is ardently in love with his best friend.

“Stop it, this is ridiculous!” He mutters, hoping to salvage his image at least a little.

You listen to his demands, separating from him with a hearty laugh. “So you really do like me, that’s nice to know.”

(It is far beyond ‘like’ now. Can you come back and hold his face again?)

“I like you when you’re quiet.”

“Clearly not if you loathed my virtual silence! Which, by the way, was caused because the planet I was on had horrible reception. I really need to switch cell providers, mine doesn’t even reach to half way across the galaxy, apparently.”

“Well. I am glad you survived the three weeks without reception, it must have been a formidable challenge for you.”

“Were you worried for me?”

Of course he was. Whilst you freely roam the expansiveness of the universe, the only thing that anchors him to you across the span of light years is a message. “You should stop asking questions you know the answer to.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” You lean down to grab the bags that lay at your feet, swinging them over one shoulder. Do you have to leave so soon? “Well, I better get going. I’m aching for a shower and a nap. Now that I have proper data and Wifi, rest assured that I will be texting you soon.”

“Cannot wait.” 

“Goodbye, Veritas! I shall see you soon!” 

‘Soon’ is a relative time frame. He can only hope that you won’t keep him waiting again.

The door clicks shut behind you, and not even five seconds later, his phone buzzes with a call.

“Sorry!” Your voice greets from the other end of the line. “Was just testing if my reception actually worked.”

“There is a reason your day job is a Space Researcher and not a comedian.”

“Can’t you at least laugh? Let’s grab dinner tomorrow at half past six, make yourself free, Veritas!” 

You hang up before he can even get a word in, and he’s left to stare at the blank screen of his phone with an idiotic smile.

Everything’s alright when you call him back.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[fiendishfables]

Can I please request dom! Lucifer eating you out? I just know that man is very talented with his tongue

a/n: say less, really; short and sweet lovin' from Luci

warnings: nsfw, eating out, cursing, dom dom Luci

words: 676

additional notes: Thank you all so much for 110+ followers! It means the world to me that you guys enjoy my writing so much!

"Luxury of the King."

Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

The white, silk sheets beneath you rustled softly. Gentle puffs of air left your lips, saliva coating their plush surface in a light layer. The familiar black dots began aligning along the edges of your vision. Chest rising and falling with erratic patterns; a light sheen of sweat adorning your brow, seeping lightly into your hairline. You felt and looked like the epitome of an absolute wreck.

And it was all because of the man who's head was currently buried between your legs.

Despite your clear state of overstimulation, he was a relentless predator. Well, his forked tongue, rather. It worked against and inside you, like you would be the last thing it ever got to taste. Flicking against you, tasting all of the sweet nectar you had to provide for him. He was determined to eat you dry.

"I-I'm sorry, darling. You just taste s-so...fuck...so damn good."

His mouth continued its assault against you, making sure to take his time and devour you all in the same set of actions.

If he could just stay in between your legs all hours of the day, oh how he could die a happy man. No worries or strife, just you splayed out for him, presenting yourself as a canvas for his tongue to travel. He gulped at the thought.

You truly were the best luxury a king like himself could have.

Lucifer knew he didn't deserve you. He always asked himself how he got so damn lucky with happening upon you, but he never got too curious upon questioning, nor greedy when it came to your services. This was enough to take him all the way to Heaven and back. What more could he possibly ask for, other than your lovely company?

He noticed how your hips were now beginning to move more, as if trying to get away from his relentless tongue. Just the thought of your sweet taste being abandoned from his warm, forked muscle made his pupils slit and eyes narrow. In response, he placed a gentle yet authoritative hand on your lower tummy, pushing your trembling hips downwards to the mattress; that's where they were to stay until he was done with you. You were a gift from Heaven he was sure, and Hell be damned if he didn't savor it. Just thinking that seemed like madness. Lucifer wanted to taste everything you had to offer him. Every. Single. Thing.

"Stay still. Don't you dare try to move away from me." He growled, voice dropping much lower than its normal octave, causing you to flinch in surprise. His head had come up and out from between your legs, almost enticing a whine from your throat at the loss of stimulation, yet a sigh of relief at the same time for the smidgen of a break you were currently being blessed with.

The sudden change in his attitude was a bit of a surprise, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't hot as hell. The puppy dog side of your boyfriend was what you were most used to, so seeing him act this way instead was a very nice change of pace. You could never be scared of him; your safe word was always at your disposal if you felt he was being too demanding or rough, and he knew it too. So unless you used it, he would continue with his advances.

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes and offered the best nod you could manage with the state you were in, letting your head fall back to its original position on the fluffed pillows, lungs grasping for any sort of air they could muster up.

He gave a low nod back, a sly smile gracing his lips as he licked around them in order to clear off the remnants of your juices that he had yet a chance to devour like the other servings he managed to obtain.

"Good..." He said with a pointy smirk, before lowering his head once again to get right back to work.

[diejager]

Hiii I wanted to know if you could do a ghost x hybrid!bunny reader?

Where she’s unaware she’s going through her heat cycle (her first) an she’s giving off a dandrufflike sex pollen, so she goes around the base trying to find him. The recuites are following her like dogs an eventually when he finds her (cause she got lost) he realizes that’s what’s going on and helps her out with her problems ☺️

And honestly if you could do anything with ghost x hybrid!bunny reader I would love love looove it 💗💗

Thank you so much for writing! 💗🐰

Bunny

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Bunny Hybrid! Reader

Cw: non-con drugging (unintentional really), sex pollen, heat cycles, bunny hybrid reader, Wc: 1.4k

Fun Fact! Bunny was originally and still is a British term of endearment for girls and young women.

For someone who’d joined Price’s TF for months now, you still couldn’t find your way through these winding halls and sharp corners that made the British base. It was like a maze to your twitching nose and droopy ears, always sending you down the wrong hallway or turning the wrong corner simply because they looked identical, and there wasn’t a plan for the whole base. You’d know, you had asked Price for one after getting lost trying to find the Mess Hall and having the fortune of stumbling into Gaz after wandering the halls of your temporary base.

You, once more, got lost on your way to the gym, the last place you had to search to find Ghost. You had searched the armoury, jumping between soldiers (mostly recruits who’d been sent to your base to train. Most sergeants and higher-ranked soldiers were given their small batch to overwatch.) while looking for your lieutenant, ignoring the dark stares the recruits sent your way. Their pupils dilated and face flushed when you walked past them, bumped shoulders and talked to them. 

While your search for Ghost in the armoury had been fruitless, the other - as equally flushed as the recruits when you spoke to them - sergeants and corporals about him, they advised you to look for the gym and training grounds, knowing the lieutenant would be there if he wasn’t in his room, his office or the armoury. With a grateful nod, you skipped down the corridor, having randomly chosen a path while completely lost. In your small, dazed mind, body heat skyrocketing, skin perspiring and cheeks flushed, you were oblivious to the longing stares people gave you when you walked past them and the number of recruits that had followed you.

They marched in synchronisation metres behind you, acting like a single-celled organism composed of many that followed its prey or another of their kind. Their hands were clammy, their skin heated to a burning red on their ears and cheeks, their hairline stuck to their skin, and their eyes were wide like lost puppies following a treat. 

You lost your way, having to stop and catch someone for directions. Coincidentally, a fellow operator was heading towards the training area, having to meet a teammate for their next briefing. She led you down a familiar hall (was it? Every wall looked the same to you, every spot and crack looked the same on every wall, it had your head spinning in every direction. You were still confused as to why others easily found their way around the whole base.) and pointed out some rooms for you to use as checkpoints when you travelled these halls alone. You thanked her profusely when you found the wide doors to the area you were trying to reach, grasping her hand and giving her a sweet smile, ears flopping at your optimistic movement.

When you reached for the door, you peeked your head through the door, squeezing out when you saw how crowded it was. Ghost preferred solitude and quietness, such a busy and filled room would be a nightmare for a reserved man. He dreaded interacting with people unless he had to (or unless you were part of his loving Task Force 141). Your scent streamed into a wide area, urging heads to turn your way, glazed eyes landing on your head, nose twitching and ears framing your face. They fleeted the room when you left, head tilted towards your scent, ripe and sweet.

You turned to look for the gym, remembering that it was on the other wall, the words gym displayed in bold letters on the door’s sign. You smiled giddily, practically jumping towards it, knowing it was the last place you had to look at. You found him the second you pushed past the door, his broad back standing out around smaller figures around the room even if he seemed to curl into himself on his place on the bench. You went straight his way, the soles of your boots thumping on the slick, shiny floor. It gave you away to the lieutenant who’d heard you walk towards him.

“Ghost,” you smiled, stopping beside his turned body, his sinfully slim hips twisting his skin-tight shirt that stuck to his abdomen like a second skin. “I was searching for you, L.T.”

He muddled silently at you, dark chocolate eyes wandering over your body, over your plush thighs, your round hips, your small stomach, your pressed breast, your naked collar and your face. He flickered to the men that filed in after you, a group of hungry, happy trigger recruits after someone way higher than them. He reeled in the need to growl, watching the way their eyes craved you, fucking you in their mind in every position possible. 

Then his eyes rolled back to you, seeing your flushed cheeks, dilated pupils and sweet grin. The scent that fell from your body was downright delirious, a sickeningly sweet musk that rolled off your body in waves of thin particles of your scent. The stare in your eyes was dazed, dream-like in the way that you gazed at him. It riled him, made him hungry and predatory. 

”You’re in heat, bunny,” he greeted back, voice coming out deeper and raspier than he intended, the low vibration in his chest appearing by itself from his restrained hunger.

He couldn’t fault the recruits that followed you like lost, hungry pups. You were delicious in the haze of your heat (the first one you’ve ever had, he thought. You’d spoken to him once about never having felt the full brunt of heat, they were supposedly painful and made the hybrid needy from what he’d learned. That scared you.), your scent enveloping you in a cocoon of arousing odour, pheromones that attracted males of your kind of human males to satiate your needs.

He couldn't, doesn't mean he wouldn’t because he would. He was faulting them for staring at you so shamelessly, eyes hungering for you. He wasn’t a perfect man, he was far from it, he was the worst kind to be deemed a perfect model. He was imposing, dominating, possessive and deadly, he was a ghost, the dead that came back alive, having no name or face to call his own. Just like the recruits, he wanted you, to take you for himself in the privacy of his dark room. He wanted to bite into those, soft, fluffy ears of yours, always drooping around your face, but never restraining you in combat (you fared surprisingly well, nearly as merciless as him, in combat, tearing down men twice your size with a knife if needed. You were ruthless to your enemy or those that aimed to hurt your little TF.). He wanted to make you cry, to grab your round tail and yank on it until you begged him to stop. He wanted to bite into the scarless skin of your neck, a perfect place for his mark. 

Bunnies liked marks, no? They loved affection and being taken care of, didn’t they? Although you were a hybrid - mostly human with some bunny genetics in your body - you still had some rabbit-like behaviours. He’d seen how you preferred veggies over meat, though you did eat meat on occasion to keep up with the growth of your muscles. He’d seen how you liked soft and smooth things, you had many blankets and personal items you were gifted or bought. He knew you liked jumping and scouting, a bunny's natural curiousity made it peek from beneath the tall grass at things that caught its attention. 

He, however, hasn’t seen how you act in the throes of painful heat, would you submit to a needy, aroused bunny that would ask anything of him; or would you jump him and demand attention, using him as you like. He stopped himself from wandering down that dark path, or at least for now until he got both you and him to his room for privacy. 

“C’mon bunny, let’s go,” he stood up, bag slung over his shoulder while his other hand rested on your lower back, the dip of your vertebrae and the start of your jerking tail. 

He glared at the cowering recruits as he moved between them, they has separated to form a path for you and Ghost. Black-painted skin, dark eyes and a skull-drawn balaclava made them flee, tails tucked between their legs. He held you closer to him, your hip flush to his as he led you to his quarters. That would teach them who you belonged to (perhaps you would show them who he belonged to).

[helen-with-an-a]

Badger

Hi. So this is a little thought I've had in my head for a while based on the fact that none of the English commentators can pronounce Ona's name properly.

Ona Batlle x reader

Description: You're convinced Ona doesn't like your nickname for her

Word Count: 4.2k

It had been a gruelling game, the ball rolling end to end creating little respite for any player. Goals were flying in left and right from both sides. It was a draw in the final minute of overtime and both teams were desperate not to share points. A spectacular tackle from Ona had prevented Hemp from scoring, allowing the ball to be collected and fed all the way back up the pitch. It had ricocheted around the City box before falling to your feet. It was instinctual, not thought or planning behind it, yet as the ball sailed pasted Roebuck’s fingers – it was like it was destiny. It was by no means your first goal for United, nor your first goal of the game. But it felt like it. The crowd erupted, the music drowned out by the noise and the rush of blood in your head.

The Blues had no time to score an equaliser. You watched as the seconds ticked down – City trying to press again, although the fight had clearly been lost in them. Finally, finally, the Ref blew the whistle. Old Trafford erupted. It had been an exciting game for the fans – lots of goals, tough tackles, harsh words, decent referring. As a player it had been exhausting but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ona was the first one to you, somehow making the distance in record time despite being further down the pitch.

“Mi hermosa superestrella!” She shouted as she threw herself onto your back. You stumbled slightly, your legs feeling like jelly as the adrenaline disappeared from your veins. “Mi maravillosa, hermosa, fantástica, increíble, magnífica, bella goleadora.” She littered each word with an array of kisses to your head, her arms wrapping around your neck as she made herself comfortable – clearly showing you she wasn’t getting down any time soon.

“Stop,” you whined, getting shy under her compliments.

“Nope, never.” She laughed again, squeezing her legs tighter around your waist in a hug. You discretely pinched the underneath of her thigh, close to the hem of her shorts. “Aye,” she squealed. “Can’t a girl compliment her amor de su vida after she had an incredible game?” She pressed a sneaky kiss to your jaw as you made your way towards the fans.

You knew the fans would be going crazy over your behaviour; you had never made your relationship a secret. Ona often featured in your monthly photo dumps, your Instagram stories showing carefully selected insights into your life. Her Instagram was the same, filled with private moments that neither of you minded sharing with fans. Videos of you after matches were all over the internet – hugs that lasted too long to be just friendly, kisses pressed into sweaty hairlines and shiny foreheads, your body being wrapped around her smaller frame as the final whistle went, neither of you leaving each other sides until you were sure they were fine after a tackle gone wrong.

You were walking you way around the stadium, laughing along to Mary and Tooney’s jokes as you fell into step with them. It was as you were passing Alex and Fara that you heard your name be called out. Instinctively, you turned – naturally bringing Ona with you as she was still securely wrapped around you. Alex was beckoning you over – a microphone outstretched and an expectant smile. You tilted your head back to look at Ona, expecting her to have loosened her legs by now. Yet her grip held firm, nodding in the direction of the TV cameras. You shrugged, readjusted her on your hips and came to join the women.

“And here we have Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” Alex said, laughing at the way you stood. Had she really just said that?

“Hi, sorry about this one,” you gestured with your head. “She always says her legs don’t work after matches.” You teased, the three of you laughing at Ona’s indignant squawk, yet she made no move to get down. Fara offered you a microphone, watching on as you looked around a little – struggling to figure out how you were going to do the interview with Ona on your back. Ona solved that solution easily enough, taking the mic and holding it where you need it. You squeezed her calf appreciatively.

“What a match, hey? How are you feeling?”

“Yeh, it’s insane. Derby’s are always hard, and we knew it was going be a fight today, but that was something else.” You chuckled, blowing a stray piece of hair from your face – thanking Ona absentmindedly as she delicately moved it away for you. “We all knew we had jobs to do out there and we just went ahead and did it. Not much more I can say really. I have absolute faith in these girls, and I think it showed today.” You hoped it was a reasonable response. You weren’t the biggest fan of the media side of football. Pre-recorded videos and challenges you could do no issue, but the live stuff - you hated it.

“And what about you, Ona? You were up and down that pitch today like a Yo-Yo.” Fara asked. You moved your head to the side, allowing Ona the space to talk.

“Sí. Again, I just did my job. It was this one that was putting them into the back of the net.” You blushed ferociously, thanking the lucky stars that you were already quite red from the match.

You continued the interview as quickly as possible – conscious that this was being streamed live to the BBC. You skin becoming redder with every passing compliment Ona threw you way. Of course, you gave them back just as often, but she wasn’t as embarrassed by stuff like that. Eventually, the interview came to a natural end.

“Thank you so much, girls, I’ll let you get back. Ladies and Gentlemen, Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” you heard Alex say as you turned away. You heard Ona groan in your ear as you carried on walking.

“Come on then, Señorita Badger.” You couldn’t contain your cackle as you helped her down to sit in your cubby.

“Detener,” she whined – her arms coming to cross over her chest. “They can never say it properly. It’s so annoying.” She moaned, burying her face in your clothed stomach as you moved to untie her braid.

“My love, they are atrocious at pronouncing non-English names, you know this.” You soothed her, allowing your fingers to card through her now-loose hair. “It doesn’t make it right, but it’s not personal.”

“It’s every game though. Every interview and time someone says my name its always ‘Battle’ or ‘Badger’. I can’t decide which is worse.” She complained, moving away from your body to look at you, pouting. You matched her pout; one had coming to cup her jaw and the other to lightly trace over the crease in between her eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, my lovely. I don’t know what to say,” you admitted. “But if it makes you feel any better, they’re always saying good things.” You tried a weak smile. “You’re our best defender.” You said honestly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. This time, she really did blush.

“Deja de mentir,” she sighed.

“I’m not lying. You are an incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly talented defender.” You laughed as her cheeks darkened yet again. “And all mine.” You finished off, placing a gentle kiss to her soft lips. “I love you.” You basked in the silence between you to a little longer before adding, “my little Badger.” Her eyes snapped open, scoffing as her mouth dropping open as you laughed loudly, scurrying away to the showers before she could retaliate.

You had been calling her Badger for so long now, that you had never considered what it might look like to others, or to her. After that day in the locker room, it had slowly become more and more integrated into your daily vocabulary. It started as a nickname you used to tease her, loving how riled up she became. But then you started using it in training, shouting it out when she did something particularly impressive. Eventually, it became like any other loving nickname. You were her mi amor, and she was your Badger.

It was something you hadn’t considered when you both made the move over to Spain. It was so normal at this point. Surely, she would have said something if she didn’t like the name? You used it all the time. You wanted her to pass you the salt and pepper? You felt sad and needed a hug? She was injured and needed comfort? You were pressed up against her in the Club dancing the night away? She had done something great in training? She was irritating the crap out of you? You were annoying her and being an all-round brat? She was always Badger.

It had never crossed you mind until Alexia brought it up after training one day.

You were walking out to the car, Ona tugging on your hand to hurry you up.

“Vamos, mi amor. Apresúrate,” she pulled you harder, taking your hand in both of hers.

“Badger, you go ahead.” You laughed as she pouted. “You’re the one going on a ‘La Masia day’. In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t raised here.” You teased, using your strength to pulled her back to your side. “I was told in no uncertain terms by Aita that this was a Catalan only event And that she loved me, but I needed to get lost for the afternoon. You need time with your people, and I am totally ok with that, Badger.” You smiled softly at her, melting as her arms wove around your waist.

“Ona, deixa d'estar tan enamorat i afanya't.” Aitana’s loud voice drifted from across the car park.

“A la merda, Aita. Que no tinguis núvia no vol dir que hagis de ser dolent.” Ona responded. You had no idea what she was saying but even with your limited Catalan, you recognised ‘núvia’ and guessed it was something to do with you.

“Go on, Badger. Go enjoy yourself, I’ll see you at home.” You cupped her cheek with your hand, giving her a gentle goodbye kiss. She squeezed you once more before running off after Aitana– shoving her as she climbed into the backseat.

“Do you want to come for a quick coffee with us?” A voice next to you made you jump.

“Fucking hell.” You turned to see Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid standing behind you. “Jesus, warn a girl next time.” You placed a hand over your heart and took calming breaths, glaring at Mapi as she chuckled at your reaction.

“We said your name like 10 times, chica.” Alexia smiled, taking your arm, and pulling you towards her car.

“Sorry, I was just … sorry.” You stared at the pavement, a bright blush rushing to your cheeks.

“Ella está enamorada” Mapi cheered, coming up to pinch your cheeks.

“You two are way worse,” you said, gesturing between Ingrid and Mapi. “Oh, mi vida, jugaste muy bien hoy.” You dramatically threw yourself at Ingrid, laughing with her at Mapi’s incensed expression.

“No sueno asi”

“Yes, you do.” You said at the same time as Ingrid. Mapi’s shocked face made you laugh even harder as Alexia unlocked the car.

“Maps, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. Even when you aren’t talking to her it’s always ‘mi vida’ or ‘mi princessa’ or ‘mi Tesoro’. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. It can be quite nauseating.” You goaded her as you took your seat in the passenger side. She gasped, jokingly offended.

“Al menos no llamo a mi novia por un animalito raro.” She clicked her teeth at you.

You eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Animal? You didn’t call Ona an animal, did you? Sometimes you joked she was a koala after the matches as she clambered her way into a customary piggyback – you often made teasing remarks that you didn’t need to see one during your time in Australia because you had one at home with you. But nothing repeatedly.

“Yeh, where did Badger come from?” Alexia asked. Ohhhhh. It clicked for you - sometimes, you could be quite oblivious.

“It’s not after the animal. English commentators and interviewers can never say her name. You must’ve realised that.” The Spanish girls nodded solemnly – often being a victim themselves of mispronounced names. “Well, it started off as a joke really, Alex Scott called her Ona Badger once and it kinda went from there really.” You explained, your attention drifting to looking outside the window

“Ona’s a better woman than me.” Alexia shook her head slightly. You turned back around, looking at her side profile as she drove you towards the coffee shop.

“How-What do you mean?” You asked, confused as to what she was getting at.

“If Olga called me Patella instead of Putellas, I’d go crazy.” Alexia laughed.

“Oh. She doesn’t seem to mind it. I … don’t think?” Did she mind it? She had never said anything to you about it.

“I never said anything when Olga called me Lex for a while. But it really got on my nerves.” She added, making you feel even worse about the situation. Does she really feel like that? Do you irritate her? It must do. What you had thought was just a joke and then an eventual nickname was based on the fact that someone couldn’t pronounce her name right. That would annoy anyone, right?

The rest of the afternoon passed in a daze, the coffee trip and drive back to the training ground carpark was all a blur. Your drive home and daily routine done on autopilot as your actions and behaviours played on repeat in your head. Did Ona hate being called Badger? She must do, right? Not many people in England had struggled to pronounce your name, and you had yet to encounter someone in Spain that couldn’t do it. Your thoughts rattled in your head – leading you to the conclusion that yes, Ona must not like being called Badger. You vowed to stop making her uncomfortable.

“Hola, mi amor.” Ona called as she walked through the door. You could hear the tiredness in her voice.

“Hey, Badg-baby.” You cleared your throat, hoping to cover up your mistake. “Hey, baby.” You kicked yourself mentally for your slip up. With all your internal worry, you missed Ona’s eyebrows scrunching in confusion. You seemed ok in yourself, a little distracted maybe, but nothing noticeable. You were standing at the open fridge, trying to figure out what to make for dinner – so it must be that, Ona decided. You must be distracted by what to make. She came up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your shoulder. You melted against her, like you always did. This helped calm Ona’s worries a little, beyond not calling her Badger, you were acting normal.

“What do you fancy for tea?” You asked, looking back at her.

“No m'importa, el que sigui més fàcil per a tu,” she said in Catalan. Her voice muffled by the fabric of your jumper.

“What was that, Bad-babe?” You asked her gently, recognising how tired she must be. You twisted around in her grip, closing the fridge door behind you. She looked up at you, a look of displeasure on her face. You chalked it up to her being tired from her afternoon out with the girls; she was actually annoyed that you had, once again, not called her badger.

“El que sigui més fàcil.” She repeated, still speaking in Catalan.

“The only word I recognised was fàcil, so I’m going to assume that mean quick and easy?” She smiled, as you let a finger trace over her freckles on her cheeks, something you always did when she was tired.

“Podríem fer la comanda?” She was still speaking in Catalan. Her tiredness often led to you trying to decipher Catalan – a language you were still trying to get to grips with. But you understood where she was coming from. If you were tired and then forced to speak your third language in your own home, it would not go very well. You really wracked your brains, trying to work out what she was saying.

“I’m sorry, B-honey. What was that?” You asked her, scanning your eyes cross her face.

“Order.” She said grumpily. You sighed, misunderstanding her mood again.

“Ok, my love,” mentally cheering as you didn’t slip up this time. “Let’s go to the sofa and we’ll order something.” You unwound her arms from your waist and pulled them over your shoulders, lifting her up as her legs wrapped securely around your hips. “My koala,” you teased, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she buried her head in your neck.

You hoped that Ona’s uncharacteristic mood was purely down to her tiredness. But after a full night’s sleep where she had refused to leave your arms – something that usually made her sleep like a baby – she still had an attitude with you. She had been fine when you woke up, a soft, sleep-filled smile gracing her beautiful face.

“Bon dia, mi amor.” She had croaked out, a gentle hum coming from her as you scratched at her head.

“Good morning, bad-baby.” Fuck, you had done it again. She pulled back from her beloved location (her face pressed against your neck, you giving her gentle scratches to gradually wake her up). With sleep still in her eyes, her hair a mess and that adorable pout, you couldn’t help but smile – you had, yet again, misattributed her pout for tiredness rather than the anger, and slight hurt, that she felt when you failed to call her Badger. She tried to think back to yesterday. You had very willingly let her go out with the girls yesterday after training, so that couldn’t have been it. Training had gone really well – you always had worked brilliantly as a pair. You had mentioned that you went out to coffee with Alexia, Ingrid and Mapi, maybe something had happened then? But you would have said something though, right? You were the one that was more open and in-touch with your feelings. You always communicated well with everyone around you, especially Ona. Yet, you were refusing to call her Badger. That name had originally been a joke, but eventually it had come to mean so much to her – it was something so unique to your relationship. Other couples could call each other baby, or love, or honey, or babe, or any of the Spanish equivalents. But only she got to be your Badger.

You were still behaving normally which is what threw her off the most. You made her the perfect cup of coffee – like every morning – giving it to her with a kiss to the top of her head as she sat at the table, trying to wake herself up. You held your hand out to her as you walked into the training centre, allowing her warm hand to intertwine with yours. You insisted she tie your hair back, humming quietly as she raked her delicate fingers across your scalp. You made her a plate of all her favourite foods at lunch. You let her rest her body into yours as you sat down, your arm coming around her shoulder as you talked to Lucy and Keira. You drove home with you hand on her thigh and the music blasting loudly. Yet you still hadn’t called her Badger. It was adding considerably to her strange mood – she wasn’t quite angry, but she wasn’t her usual bubbly self … grumpy … that was the only way to describe Ona today. Even Alexia and Patri had picked up on it, asking you if Ona was alright. You tried your best to assure them, telling them that she just hadn’t slept very well (a total lie – it was you that had lied awake staring at the ceiling as Ona’s breath puffed steadily onto your collarbone).

She led you into your house, scowling at you as you tried to make your way into the kitchen.

“Sentarse,” she growled at you, pointing at the sofa. You did as you were told – still very confused as to her behaviour today.

You looked at her, deeply puzzled, as she climbed onto your lap, her legs straddling your thighs. Her behaviour was not what you expected of someone that was angry with you. You pulled out every stop you could think of to help her relax; one hand on her waist, dipping under her shirt to rub at the smooth skin; the other came to cup her jaw, you thumb running repetitive strokes across her cheekbones. It worked, for the most part. She leaned into your hand, her breathing was less harsh, the crinkle in her brow disappeared.

“Oni, my darling girl, mi corazón, mi hermosa, el amor de mi vida. What is up with you today?”

“What is up with me? What is up with you?” She almost shouted, incredulous at the accusation that she had done something wrong.

“You’ve had a scowl on your face the whole day.” You explained, a finger coming to flick at her protruding bottom lip as exhibit A.

“Because of you!” You threw her arms up in exacerbation.

“Me? What have I done?” You tried to think of what you could have done to annoy her. You had stopped calling her Badger, you had let her choose what to eat for tea last night – not even complaining when she chose the place with the not-as-nice-but-just-as-expensive-Sushi – you had done everything as normal today, going so far to drag her away for a steamy makeout session in the bathrooms before practice. Was that what she was upset over?

“No m'has trucat, Badger” she whispered so quietly you could barely hear her.

“Oni, I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you.” You explained “What did you say?”

“You haven’t called me Badger all day. And last night. Did I do something? Have I annoyed you? You always call me Badger unless you’re angry at me. So ... What. Did. I. Do?” She exploded at you, a lone tear streaking down her cheeks. She rushed to wipe it away, but you got there first, kissing her cheek at the same time.

“No, mi vida. You did nothing wrong.” You looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers fiddling nervously together.

“Then what is it? Cos you haven’t called me Badger in over 24 hours now. Something is wrong.” She implored at you.

“I know you don’t like it, so I thought it would just be easier if you didn’t have to tell me and it be all awkward.” She waited a moment, hoping you would meet her eyes. When that was apparently not going to happen, she lifted your chin up with a finger.

“Who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked sternly. Just like the rest of the day, you misunderstood her emotions – thinking she was angry at you for figuring out her secret.

“N-no one.” You croaked out, trying desperately not to cry.

“Mi amor, who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked again, this time her voice a lot calmer.

“It was something that Alexia had said yesterday. She said that Olga called her Lex a few times and it really got on her nerves, but it took her a while for her to say something. And she also said that if someone called her Patella as a nickname, she’d go insane. And it just got me thinking that what if you don’t like being called Badger, ‘cos it’s a nickname based on someone saying your name wrong, but you didn’t want to say anything and I-” you were cut off by soft lips pressing against yours. You hummed throatily as Ona’s hands twisted into your hair, you grip on her waist tightening, pulling her closer to you.

“Don’t think ever again.” She said as you parted, her breath fanning across your face, drowning you in her scent. You must have looked confused, even with your eyes shut. “You said all of this was because you starting thinking. So, don’t ever think again.” You chuckled, pulling her back to you, your lips moulding together perfectly. “You are mi amor. And I am your Badger,” she mumbled between kisses.

“My Badger.” You agreed, shifting yourself underneath her.

“Recuérdame mañana que mate a Alexia por plantar esa estúpida idea en tu cabeza.” She grumbled as you pulled on top of you again.

“Whatever you say,” you started to suck a hicky into her neck. You pulled back slightly so you could see her face. “Badger.” Her kilowatt smile was all the confirmation you needed that Ona really did like being called Badger.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

[batterygarden]

pick your battles

cw: big bro! yuuta x fem & afab reader, dead dove do not eat, explicit, reader wears lingerie and a dress, yuuta is sweet but Controlling, nii-san use, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, mult. orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, cockwarming, size kink & slight pain with that, he's taller than you, yuuta's kinda a lifestyle dom, 2k words

18+, minors dni please

When you finally hear Yuuta’s keys jingling at the door you shoot up from your place on the couch—immediately alert from the half-asleep state you’d been waiting for him in. Then you’re rushing over to greet him, all eager in your frilly little stockings and garter belts, donning the tiniest dress you could get your hands on, all for your big brother. 

Yuuta’s tired eyes widen when he sees you, his breath hitching in the most satisfying way. He catches you when you run into him then, cradling you softly to his chest. The movement flows naturally—it’s routine. 

“Welcome home, nii-san!” 

“Thanks, pretty girl! Missed you today.” There’s a sweet kiss to your hairline. Then he’s running his eyes down you thoughtfully before leaning away.

“Step back for me, love, I wanna see what you’re wearing.” 

You do a little twirl for him, ruffling up your lace with the biggest grin.

“Where’d you get such a pretty outfit?” He asks, tone soft the way it’s always reserved to be for you—although you catch the barest hint of worry. 

“I ordered it! For you—thought you might get sick of the same old pajamas I wear around the house all the time.” 

He laughs lightly through his nose. 

“I’d never. You do look really cute though—I’m glad you bought it.” 

You're clinging onto his arm by the time he’s finished his sentence and playing with his fingers, practically climbing him like he’s your personal jungle gym. You always do that when he’s been gone too long—he knows it means you missed him extra. 

“Well I bet you’re hungry—let me make us some food. Then we can watch some TV, okay?” 

You make a noise of excitement. “Can we watch a movie tonight, yuu?” 

“Mmm not the whole thing, but we could start one. You know you’ve got class in the morning, pretty.”

Once you’re both fed, Yuuta lets you pick a movie to start—you settle on your favorite rom com. You don’t even get through the opening credits before you’re snuggled into Yuuta’s lap, latched to him like a koala while he holds you safe and secure. 

Much too soon, however, Yuuta’s turning off the screen—pausing it to finish another day; it’s late.

You frown, unable to hold back a plea of “c’mon nii-san, can’t we watch a little longer? Please?” 

His voice is still soft and patient but his expression is firm when he responds. “We talked about this, love. What’d I say?”

“Nii-san always knows what’s best for me.” You mumble, squishing a cheek against his shoulder in defeat. 

He rubs your back a bit. “There’s my smart girl. ‘T’s true, now let’s get ready for bed” 

Ultimately, when it comes to ensuring you make good choices, Yuuta has to pick and choose his battles with you. Your best interest isn’t always enough to make you a perfect listener—and he thinks he might go to hell for choosing pausing the movie as tonight’s battle instead of making you change into more modest comfortable pajamas. You even insist on keeping on your ridiculous thigh-high socks and connecting straps, leaving Yuuta wondering how conscious you are of their effect on him. 

Whether you predicted it or not, when you snuggle into bed with him that night, Yuuta can’t help but get so hard so quickly. 

It's only made more difficult the way your leg wraps so tightly around his—half on top of him too so your thigh is snug against his boxers while your core is only applying more and more pressure to the hardness of his hip. 

After barely a minute you’ve crawled all the way on top so you’re straddling him while he hugs you to his chest, your panties sitting snugly over the massive bulge in his boxers. 

You don’t wait long before you’re not-so-innocently grinding down again. And yuuta can’t act normal any longer.

“Pretty girl—“ his voice comes out strained, “how are you feeling?” 

Your answer is a needy “so sticky, nii-san. Can you help?” 

His hand glides over your ass to rub over the patch of your panties covering your pussy, feeling you there and finding you soaked. You whine at his touch. 

He pecks the top of your head, sighing before asking, “you want nii-san to take care of it for you?” 

You nod quickly. Then he’s using one hand to guide your hips so you’re still grinding down on him, helping you press your clothed clit more firmly against his cock with each thrust. At the same time he sticks two fingers in his mouth, covering them in spit before easing one into your dripping hole from behind, working you open before inserting another. 

It feels heavenly the way he goes so deep inside you—always hitting magic spots that somehow don’t exist without him there to find them. It’s toe-curling, and sooner than later he’s thrusting hips up to meet your frantic grinding and then you’re coming undone around him. You cum hard, clutching the fabric of his shirt so tight you’re sure you might tear it while burying your face in his chest, rocking your hips like mad with his help. Once you’ve come down, Yuuta wipes as much of your release out of you as he can manage with his fingers, likely to minimize the mess, before sucking them clean, rubbing your back soothingly all the while. 

You let your breath even out before you’re whispering the words—

“Nii-San I need more. Please.” 

There’s a pause before a soft laugh, then he’s tracing a finger under your chin so you’ll look at him. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yes. Please. I really do.” 

He exhales shakily, drawing shapes on your back while he thinks for a moment. 

“Alright, flip over for me.” 

Once you’ve done as he’s told, Yuuta’s planting a quick kiss on your nose before he’s crawling down your body, dotting kisses here and there as he works himself lower, a big hand caressing down your side so warmly at the same time.

When he reaches your panties he lays a gentle kiss on them, too, before he’s unclipping your garter belt so he’s free to slide them off. He pulls your stockings back up with care when they start to roll down with your disposed underwear, tenderly kneading over your legs like you’re his most cherished possession. 

Then he’s ghosting lips over your bare pussy, leaving you no time to feel shy. 

Not that you’d need to anyways—it’s nothing Yuuta hasn’t seen a million times before, your body has been bare for Yuuta’s eyes since he can remember. Yuuta’s seen you bathe and change and masturbate and put in a tampon. Hell, he put in your first tampon for you—you’d been running late to a birthday party and hyperventilating at the time. 

It’s disgusting and twisted how natural the sight of your freshly-orgasmed pussy is for him. He doesn’t even need to savor it before he digs in—starting by licking up the shiny release he didn’t clean with his fingers, swallowing every drop till his mouth is saturated with your tarte-sweet taste. 

Then your puffy little clit has his attention, and he’s tongueing it softly while returning his fingers to their place inside you, massaging the sweet spot that gets your tummy twitching. You’re panting by that point, thighs locked around his head, fisting his soft hair when he captures your clit in his mouth, syncing up the rhythm of his fingers to the rhythm of his sucking. 

There’s only a choked “nii-san” in warning before you’re gushing around him, pouring onto his fingers while he keeps sucking and fingering you throughout. You have to pull his hair to get him off you once you come down, twitching and overstimulated like he always leaves you—but still anticipating more. Because you’ve sort of got a routine when this happens, and it always ends with you cumming on his cock while he turns you into the sweetest cream pie that ever was. It’s always your favorite part. 

So it’s wordless when he rises to his knees while he’s still between yours, pulling down his boxers with one hand and rubbing soothing circles over your hip with the other while your senses drift back to earth. 

He starts pushing into you before you expect it today, though—startling you so you cry out, grabbing his arm for support as he leans over you. He stills at your reaction, cooing a sympathetic little aww at your scrunched face, asking “‘s it a stretch baby?” 

You nod, leaning into the hand he rubs over your cheek, holding your breath till he bottoms out.

Usually Yuuta’s thoughtful enough not to forget his more than generous size, but on some days he’s too needy to uphold his standard meticulous care. 

Tonight must be needy with the way he moans when you’ve taken the full length of him, sucking air through his teeth while he wills himself not to absolutely pound you straight away. Soft things like satin and flowers and little sisters need to be treated with extra care, Yuuta surely knows it. He needs self restraint—even though your face seems to have the words ruin me written across it in his eyes. The writing is usually a reminder to do the opposite, but any and all self restraint comes much tougher when your pussy’s around him. 

That he manages to hold off any movement til your eyes are open feels like a miracle. But when he sees your giant glassy pupils staring up at him, their expression pleading, he swears he almost empties his load inside you right then and there.

“G-god. You’re so cute.” He manages to say. 

You don’t need to respond, you just drift your stare to his glossy lips, letting your own form a little pout. 

“Kiss?” He always guesses what you need.

You nod, lifting your head to meet his lips passionately, tasting yourself mixed with his saliva. 

Then he’s moving, starting with a careful roll of his hips before grinding into you at a steady rhythm. And your bodies practically melt together—you’re moaning into each other's mouths, holding each other close, frantically rolling hips against hips. Connected by both blood and spit. 

It’s sweet like that for longer than expected before yuuta can’t stand the gentleness anymore, his thrusts growing harsher till your whole body is shoved up and down with each movement.

When he starts fucking you like this, like an animal who’s following his instincts, you can never last long. And soon you’re arching your spine as you’re thrusted over the edge again. This time somehow lasts longer than the others as Yuuta holds a steady rhythm, precisely hitting the same toe-curling spot inside of you over and over leaving you twitching and panting, unable to speak or hear or focus your blurred vision when you try to peek open your eyes. It is intense and mind-numbing the way Yuuta’s cock makes you cum, you don’t even notice Yuuta’s warning signs that he’s following quickly behind you—groaning all pretty for deaf ears. You feel it though when he finally fills you, rope after rope of sticky seed flooding your womb till you swear your belly feels fuller. 

Once breaths are caught and heart-rates finally return to normal afterwards, Yuuta finally starts to rise up off of you. You stop him of course, with a cried Nii-san and a wrap of your legs around him. 

He only sighs, knowing you’ll want to stay like this a while longer, rolling over so you can keep connected just with you on top. He lets you drift off to sleep finally then, vowing silently to wake you in a bit and clean you both off. He’s glad you’re finally getting some rest though—figures this is a battle he can let you win for the night—you’ve got an early morning, after all. 

thanks for reading, rbs and feedback appreciated <3

[jobean12-blog]

Had to be You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (enemies to lovers ish)

Word Count: 2,270

Summary: You and Bucky have been going at each other for months. He's grumpy and defensive. You're sassy and frustrated. Steve's had enough. So when Steve steps in to do something will it work? Or will it makes things worse?

Author's Note: At this point all I want is for Bucky to kiss me senseless for the rest of my life (and do everything else) but really. Kisses. Yes please. Anyway. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: some light mead comsumption, angsty ex talk, tension but softness, happy ending

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS! You get back here right now and open this door before I kick your ass!”

Steve’s chuckle only makes you angrier. “I’ll open it when you two make nice.”

“STEVE!” you screech.

His retreating footsteps have you banging your forehead into the thick metal of the door, muttering curses under your breath.

“Please tell me Stark has some hidden exit in here somewhere?” you sigh.

“I’m going to kill Steve.”

When Bucky’s speaks his first words since you got locked in the gym together you spin to face him, eyes hard.

“Get in line Barnes!”

“Hey, look at that kids, you’re agreeing already!” Steve’s voice rings out from down the hall.

With that last remark everything goes silent other than your frustrated huffs.

“Is this actually happening?” you whine. “Can’t you just break the door down?”

Bucky’s blue eyes stare blankly and you grow more agitated.

“Why the hell did he do this?”

You glare back in his direction, hands on your hips. “Because of your sunshine and rainbows attitude toward me!”

You spit out the words, letting them drip with sarcasm.

“MY attitude?” Bucky grits out as he sticks a finger in his chest. “Doll face. I’ve been nothing but a perfect gentleman to you.” That same finger spins to point at you now.

You face him fully and take a step closer.

“Grunts do not equal a greeting and barely answering questions and barely making conversation definitely does not show your gentlemanly side!”

Bucky opens his mouth to retort but you continue on. “And what about avoiding me all together!? What the fuck is that about?”

He runs his large hand through his hair and squeezes the back of his neck, setting his lips in a hard line.

“Fuck. Please tell me there’s still some of Thor’s mead in here,” he mutters.

“Why the hell would he leave alcohol in the gym?” you ask, your brows nearly hitting your hairline.

With a shrug Bucky starts moving about and searching under things. “He likes to ‘get drunk’” and he makes air quotes as he says it, “and then show us how he can still lift heavier weights.”

You can’t help the laughter that boils up and over but you quickly cover your mouth when Bucky gives you an unamused look.

“Here it is!” he chimes, seeming far too relieved.

You move toward him as you watch him take a swig from the bottle, the muscles in his neck shifting with every swallow.

“Save some for me,” you say quietly and hold out your hand.

He smirks.

“Careful doll. Too much of this and I’ll have to carry you out of here.”

As more of the mead circulates through your body you start to relax marginally, thoughts of killing Steve slowly fading.

Bucky has been sure to keep your consumption under control and other than feeling less murderous and calmer you’re lucid.

“So,” you muse. “It doesn’t look like Steve is coming back any time soon. And we’ve been quiet. No yelling or fighting.”

Bucky simply grunts in agreement.

“SEE!” you nearly shout. “That’s exactly what I mean. I say something and your answer is a grunt…WHAT. THE. FUCK!”

While waiting for his explanation you notice a slight pink flush to his cheeks and you find it hard not to throw him a triumphant smile.

Deciding to let him off the hook for now, you ask, “how long have you known your best friend is insane?”

To your surprise, Bucky laughs. A real laugh that has his eyes crinkling and his nose scrunching up.

You try not to stare too long but you find it difficult to look away.

“Are you drunk Barnes?”

His eyes meet yours and the corner of his mouth twitches with a boyish smile.

“You’re full of questions tonight doll. And for the record it takes a lot more than this to get me drunk,” he admits as his smile widens.

He shifts in his spot on the floor, his long legs now stretched out in front of him and you can’t help but focus on his thighs and the way his jeans pull tightly over the thick muscle.

“Who knew all we needed was a little alcohol to not fight.”

You chuckle and hold your hand out for the more.

He shakes his head no and places the bottle down on the floor before leaning forward.

“I don’t want to fight with you. Ever.”

At his admission, your expression hardens.

“Then why are you so….so… unfriendly?” you ask.

“Why are you always so sassy?” he shoots back. “Seems to me like you’re the one always looking for a fight.”

His answer makes you sigh.

“I don’t see you doing that to Barton or Steve…hell anyone else!” he adds.

He waits patiently, his eyes trained on you and his body straining forward.

With more nonchalance than you feel, you confess, “you’re kind of my type. And my dating track record sucks. So…you know…”

You motion to him. All of him. His long legs, broad shoulders, hard chest, sculpted arms and his perfectly handsome face.

Stunned, Bucky stares for a second too long and too fiercely.

Heat starts to tickle your skin as you feel your body react to his focused attention.

“Are you…” he starts, before clearing his throat. “Are you telling me that you’re attracted to me and that’s why you hate me?”

The tension is thick, stretching between you for many long seconds before you wrench your eyes away and look down at your hands.

“I don’t hate you.”

Your words are quiet and the next sentence that passes your lips is even softer. “I just have a hard time trusting men.”

When he doesn’t say anything you look up at him and see the hurt etched across his features.

“Are you sure it’s not just me you don’t trust?”

At his question, the realization of what he’s implying hits you and you immediately slide closer to him and reach your hands toward him.

“No Bucky. That’s not it at all. In fact I trust you with my life…just not necessarily my heart.”

When he continues to study you, his features softening, but doesn’t speak, you add. “It’s not your fault. Really.”

“I want to know why.”

“Why what?” you ask.

“Why you don’t trust men.”

His jaw is tight and his fists are clenched in his lap.

He’s clearly distraught over the fact that you’ve been hurt and you’re sure he’s thinking the worst. It melts you more and you want to reach out and trace the hard line of his jaw to reassure him.

“It’s not anything that bad. I’ve just been hurt. A lot. And not just in romantic relationships. Friendships too.”

He scowls. “In what ways?”

You shrug like it’s nothing.

“What is there to say? The first real relationship I was in ended when he found something better. He told me when we broke up, ‘why would I say with you when I can do better’.”

“That motherfucker,” Bucky fumes as he opens and closes his metal fist, the whirring metal sounds momentarily distracting you.

“Yeah. But that wasn’t the last. My boyfriend after that I found out was sleeping with my friend. Or I thought she was my friend.”

“Fucking hell. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

He stands slowly, visibly agitated.

“And we haven’t even gotten to my last boyfriend yet. Better sit back down.”

“I’m too fucking pissed off to sit,” he growls.

“Honestly, it’s more my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have dated him. He was just like the rest and when my friend sent me a video of the two of them fucking I was hardly surprised.”

You couldn’t look at Bucky anymore and you dropped your eyes.

“Guess I’m just not good enough to stick around for.”

“Fuck,” he exhaled. “Doll.”

He sat down in front of you, forcing your attention back to him.

“Please don’t tell me you really believe that.”

You give him an exasperated look. “After being dumped three times you kind of start to believe it.”

Suddenly, he kicks at one of the weight machines, making the metal creak and bend then he falls to his knees in front of you and takes your hands in his.

The smell of him surrounds you and you have no where to look but into his eyes.

“These men,” and he spits out the last word. “Fuck that, they aren’t men. These pieces of shit have no idea what a gift you are and they don’t deserve you. They deserve a fucking beating.”

“Bucky.”

You squeeze his hands. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he counters. “Tell you the truth? Tell you that you’re gorgeous, sexy, smart, and kind.”

His eyes drop to your mouth and he licks his lips.

“Hardly kind,” you scoff. “Look how poorly I treated you.”

He reluctantly drags his eyes from your mouth and determination hardens his gaze.

“Nah doll face. I get it now. And honestly, a lot of that is on me. I couldn’t understand why someone as perfect as you wanted anything to do with me. I put up my defensives the only way I know how.”

You whisper his name hoarsely and run your thumb along his jawline.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and he exhales.

Even if you wanted to you couldn’t stop the way your body moved closer to his and when he slides his hand up your arm and around the back of your neck your lips part in a gasp.

Just as you feel his warm breath tickle your skin the lock on the door turns and Steve calls your names.

You quickly pull away with wide eyes, shooting one last look at Bucky before you lift your eyes to Steve.

He stares between the two of you and then at the half empty bottle of mead.

“What…?”

“Nothing,” you and Bucky say at the same time.

Bucky jumps to his feet and holds his hand out for you.

You take it and let him pull you up and into his body. Your chest brushes his with your every breath and you’re right back where you were just seconds ago…under his spell.

It only takes a moment for your past hurt to flood back and wash away the desire you’re feeling and in the next breath you’re mumbling goodbyes and rushing off.

When Bucky finally finds you the next day the apology you’ve been wanting to give him spills out.

“I just want to say that I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting.”

He takes a step closer to you, crowding you against the door of your room.

“I really appreciate that doll, but I should be the one apologizing to you. I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Thank you.”

It’s all you can manage to say with him so close to you.

You can feel your pulse jump and when you hear the moving metal plates in his arm you look down at his hands to see them clenched into fists at his sides.

“Bucky?” you ask.

“I’m having a really hard time not touching you,” he explains in a pained whisper.

“Oh,” you breathe out.

He closes the space between you and your back hits the door. He slowly lifts his hand, caressing your cheek with his thumb and then slowly sliding his fingers down to stroke your neck.

The gentle dominance in his touch sets you on fire and you lean into him.

“I’m scared of getting hurt Bucky.”

The words tumble out and you start to drop your gaze but he stops you with the press of his fingers under your chin.

His eyes harden and he doesn’t speak.

You whisper his name, your voice shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just talking myself out of hunting every one of your exes down and skinning them alive.”

His voice grows with anger and you press a soft hand to his hard chest.

“They aren’t worth it.”

“You’re worth it.”

Taken aback by the intensity of his words you stare into his eyes, their blue color filled with longing and fierceness.

“Fuck doll. You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are, do you? I can hardly catch my breath.”

Your hand shoots to your mouth and you quietly inhale, nibbling your bottom lip to stop the smile that wants to break out across your face.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

You drop your hand from your lips and reach for him. “No.”

He tilts his head and inches closer, his mouth lightly brushing yours.

Your fists clench the front of his Henley and your eyes close at the light press of his lips. You stay like that, trying to remember to breathe.

He pulls away only enough to stare at your mouth and then traces his thumb across your upper lip.

“What is it?” you ask with a worried tone.

His thumb falls to your lower lip and he gives it the same attention, savoring the softness.

“Why won’t you kiss me?”

He drops his hand from your lips and as his fingers fall they trace the outline of your neck before his hand wraps around the back of it and he brings you impossibly closer.

“I’m worried that once I start…” he breathes against your lips. “I won’t be able to stop.”

When he presses his lips to yours he groans low in the back of his throat, his hands desperate to get you closer.

The way you taste, the feel of your lips, your gasps and moans…he can’t stop.

He can’t stop.

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @kmc1989 @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @littleseasiren @lizette50

[nomazee]

bsd characters and how they sleep (with you)

i fear i wrote this in twenty minutes in a feverish haze and have no idea how we got here... forgive any spelling/grammar errors but i hope it's cutesy characters: dazai, atsushi, yosano, chuuya, ranpo im taking requests!

°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.

dazai: 

ABSOLUTELY EASILY the clingiest one

will completely wrap his limbs around you from behind or from the front 

it’s so hard to pry him off of you in the morning it’s like he gets ten times heavier when he’s asleep 

also sleeps without socks but complains about being cold all the time 

makes the both of you sleep with not one but TWO weighted blankets some days 

it’s a little ridiculous but you put up with it because you love him 

he also runs SO COLD 

toes are freezing, hands are freezing, NOSE is freezing 

he sticks his nose into the crook of your neck when he’s clinging onto you 

you’ve only shrieked ONCE from the shock. maybe twice 

manages to stay still all throughout the night but that’s only because he’s too busy latching onto you like a leech

atsushi: 

too nervous to ask you to hold him so instead he’ll hold your hand while you sleep 

it’s the sweetest thing ever 

absolutely wakes up in the middle of the night if he feels your hand slip from his and will reach for it again 

it takes like a month of sleeping in the same bed for you to recognize all his little quirks and the things he likes 

you learn that he loves it when you kiss his hairline right before he falls asleep 

it leads to a lot more peaceful nights and he doesn’t wake up in a cold sweat as often anymore 

sometimes he ends up wrapping an arm around your torso while he’s asleep without even realizing it 

when he wakes up he doesn’t get embarrassed or anything but DOES pretend to be asleep until you get up so that he can stick to you for longer 

yosano: 

THE MOST VIOLENT SLEEPER 

sleeping in the same bed with her is a death wish most nights 

she rolls around, flails, will wake up in the middle of the night and mumble something unintelligible before hitting you in the face

she’s crazy! she’s your hot gf! you sit there and take it like the loyal spouse you are! 

her FAVE way to sleep is face down, starfish-pose on top of you 

yes you can’t breathe at all but yes the weight is comforting 

when she sleeps like that sometimes you’ll get a little treat during the night, and instead of hitting you in the face in her sleep she’ll kiss along your cheek all warm and soft 

sometimes that ends in her drooling on your face 

makes up for her drool and nightly attacks by waking you up with kisses (and bites on your CHEEK) and even breakfast when she’s in a good mood 

chuuya: 

he loves you so much but he is also dramatic 

which means… he has his own sleep routine and bed set-up and if it’s disturbed he will not get a second of rest 

he invests in a california king bed so that you can have your side and he can have his side 

he sets the thermostat to a certain temperature, picks out blankets depending on the weather, adjusts his pillows every night, sleeps with an eyemask… it’s a little bit overkill 

you don’t make fun of him for it because you know he’d kill you 

sleeps on his back with his hands folded on his chest like he’s in a COFFIN

also sleeps like the dead and you’ve woken up a few times crying his name because you thought he was actually dead

if you try holding onto him during the night he’ll flinch without meaning to and start mumbling curses to himself 

it takes you a while to get used to it 

he makes up for his stringent sleep routine by letting you nap on the couch with him once in a while 

he can handle that at the very least

will totally collapse right on top of you on the couch and fall asleep after a long day at work 

sedated immediately if you run your fingers through his hair 

lets out the cutest snores BUT DO NOT TELL HIM THAT OR HE WILL NEVER SLEEP ON YOU AGAIN!!!!

ranpo: 

so incredibly fussy 

moves around so much in his sleep and can never get comfortable 

is always pushing your head off your pillows and rotating them so that you can both sleep on the cold side 

kicks off his blankets just to complain about being cold and makes you lean over the bed to pick the covers back up and tuck him in 

favorite way to sleep with you is facing you with his arms wrapped around your neck 

this DOES end up in him accidentally choking you sometimes 

if he gets too hot he has no shame in pushing you away and OFF THE BED 

you put up with it because you love him and you wouldn’t have it any other way 

chews on your hair??? in your sleep??? 

you wake up with half your hair covered in drool 

have you seen that one video of the girl’s rabbit biting a strand of her hair clean off. that’s him. he’s the rabbit. 

has a weak spot for sleepy kisses AUUUGGGHHH 

will never initiate them but will always melt into your hands if you squeeze his face and give him a big fat forehead kiss

[matchamiko]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Daydreams about Yuuji

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: Oral (m -> receiving): sloppy, messy oral; masturbation: dirty talk; AFAB reader (use of girl, girlfriend,); established new relationship; mentions of oral (f -> receiving).

Daydreaming about giving Yuuji his first blowjob. Being his cute, soft, bundle-of-fun girlfriend for a few months before asking him if he wants to fuck your mouth, a little crudely in your tone but quietly, a whisper from your quivering lips. Quivering only in anticipation and the mere thought of him spread out, spilling down your throat. You’re painting your nails on a book on the floor, polish bottles positioned carefully so they don’t tip. A glass of iced yuzu tea sits next to Yuuji’s on the side table, forgotten in your concentration and forgotten in your distraction.

Your nails are long dry now, a pretty pearl that glimmers in the light. They’re fisted on your folded thighs, clenching and cracking when Yuuji shifts uncomfortably under the heat of your gaze.

“You wanna - what?” Golden thighs fog any semblance of sobriety you have left, craving the warm supple skin before you like a wolf to prey. He’s reclined on the foldaway couch he’d thrifted from the side of the road, gym shorts pulled tight over the very tops of his thighs and over his crotch. Staring down at you with sweat beading his hairline and his lower lip dropped open at your sultry admission,

“Please? Should I have said please first?” You shuffle towards him, not touching but so desperately obvious in your lust that Yuuji struggles on where to look, “please can I suck your cock? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

You two hadn’t had sex yet, not that it hadn’t come close. Something had always interrupted, whether it was a noisy neighbour or an irritating friend or mentor, or even the cat that roams your apartment as if it was his own. Kissing him was a dream, touching him made you too hot for your own skin and only he had made you come so far, fingers deep and a little clumsy but deft and strong in their wringing of your orgasm(s) on steamy summer’s afternoons tangled up on the couch.

So asking him for favours wasn’t really out of the question. Yuuji adored it when you politely asked for a kiss, positively beams at you before swallowing your radiating embarrassment with his lips. He’s not beaming now, not in the same way.

He’s - sweating. Squirming as he nods with a dry throat, swallowing and grinding his mouth shut. You’re picture perfect between his thighs, pearly nails digging welts into his muscle and humming at the give of the blonde hairs there. He’s afraid of what might happen if he opens his mouth, some kind of animalistic whimper or a loud sob? He feels rather pathetic before you, but gloriously so, bent to your will and your pretty painted nails.

“Bet you taste so good Yuuji,” you simper, lips picking out the moles and freckles leading up to his groin, “might give me some kinda oral fixation,”

Yuuji moans then, out-loud and deep from his chest. You grin wolfishly, fingers deft as they slip over the sweat resistant material of his shorts and up under his t-shirt. It’s tight, a little musty from drying in the bathroom and it gives way for the trail over his belly,

“Hold this f’me Yuuji,” broad hands hover over the edge of his shirt and then over you, biting his lip and then biting the fabric, “Mhm, thank you for letting me do this, been wanting to taste your cock for ages,”

“Yea-sh,” his voice is crackled and muffled by his shirt, spittle damping it but you’re pulling down the band of his shorts and suddenly it’s a little too real, hands raising to pause you, “Baby wait - I -,”

Anything he was going to say dies in a guttural grunt as you envelope the top of his weepy cock in your mouth. Hands that were intended to push you away grab you closer, cradling your throat and squeezing your shoulder.

“Mmmm,” you hum, one hand squeezing the base and the other squeezing his thigh, eyes rolling into the back of your head with the salty, bitter taste of him. Little sucks and kisses have Yuuji barely containing his groans and choked whines, hips flexing beneath you. The shirt has fallen to just below his pecs, belly tightening and flexing with every kick of his cock against your soft palate, but you don’t mind because he’s still trying to keep it out of your sloppy, drooly way, fisting the fabric and giving you a peak of a soft brown nipple, hard and aching.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please please please,” he babbles, the hand on your neck moving to the back of your head, shaking as he follows your bobbing movements. His dick is thick, long and warm in the cavern of your mouth, the mushroom tip pink and slimy with pre, and you swallow every drop a little over enthusiastically. Humming and moaning and whimpering, you’re practically dripping through your underwear, positive you’ve wet through to the carpet.

And when you breathe in through your nose and take him as far as you can, the tip of your nose just shy of his pubes; the two of you practically lose your minds. Yuuji trembles above you, hunched over and incoherent; and you shimmy your thighs together in a squeeze of relief, drool coating the base of his cock and tears skimming your lashes.

“Y-you’re so hot baby look at ya’,” he can see the way you’re wiggling your hips, craning over you with sleepy eyes and heavy pants, “why - why don’t you play with your pretty pussy? Seein’ as you’re practically milking me dry,” Yuuji’s words come out slurred and muffled, as if his mouth were socked with cotton. A large hand comes down on the back of your neck, sweetly holding you and a stark contrast to the way his cock jerks in the tunnel of your throat as you deftly skim your fingers into your shorts. 

The angle is all wrong and you can barely feel the hard bud of your clit but you can feel the pearly arousal that sloshes around your underwear, loud but not loud enough over the slurps and kisses over his cock. You make it work, squirming and widening your knees a little but it still isn’t really enough, not that it mattered because he’s enough, Yuuji is always enough to get you off whether he’s touching you or not. And the heavy head of his cock popping from the seal of your lips is just that right kind of salacious that has your mind fuzzy and dizzy with lust. 

“Ah - fuck!” Yuuji chokes on his spit, throwing himself back against the folded futon that serves as the padding of the couch, one arm slumped over his eyes as you focus your attention on the root of his cock, looking up at him through your lashes and fluttering them when your index finger catches on your clit. His breathing comes out in heaving huffs, chest expanding gloriously above you and abs flexing with every clench of his belly. It’s heaven to you, a vision you always knew would be one to keep locked away in the deepest caverns of your mind, something precious and treasured and so disgustingly debauched. You slow your ministrations for a moment, content with just watching the reactions your boyfriend has when you twist your hand, squeeze a little harder, suckle at the vein on the side of his dick. Yuuji seems to appreciate the little break, catching his breath and adjusting his hips, jutting his length into your cheek and it’s amusing that such a kind boy doesn’t even apologise for it. 

“D’you want me to make you cum? Or - do you wanna fuck my mouth?” a long, drawn out groan answers you and you return it with a long lick right up the thickening root of him, 

“I - get to choose?” Yuuji’s voice is hoarse, cracked and strained from his addictive noises, deep with lust and something a little darker, “Really?” 

At your nod, you delve back into the leaking warmth of him. Yuuji gives a strangled grunt and gives his hips a little experimental thrust, pulsing upwards into the deeper depths of your throat. He seems torn between letting you do as you pleased, and giving in to his most debauched fantasies. He’d been given oral before, blowies or whatever his friends called them but they were nothing like you, none of them paid attention to his every reaction and noise, none of them gave him any choice or option on what he wanted to do. So to have you licking him deep and soft and all things sweet, eyes open and questioning with little bias; he’s all a fluster. 

“You - you can do it, I want you to make me cum baby,” the words were supposed to be gentle, coaxing, all the things Yuuji wished he was to you but his jaw is set and his voice is more of a growl, especially when he spots your tongue lathing over the base, leaving a trail and a string of drool. He tips his head back, bottom lip tugged into his mouth and his thighs drop open further, 

“But make sure you don’t stop playing with that pretty pussy, want you to feel just as good as me,” a whimper answers him and Yuuji isn’t sure if he’ll actually last as long as he thought he would, as he conveyed through his words. And he definitely isn’t sure because you abandon his cock in favour of his balls for a moment, and he’s suddenly all tight in his belly. You’re still squeezing and jerking and flexing your fingers around him, but your wet little tongue is skimming over the soft skin of his sac and drawing them into your mouth with the most wanton moan he think he’s ever heard. You’re visibly more aroused than before, wrist working diligently in your underwear, stretched tight and a much darker colour than earlier, but Yuuji can’t focus on your pleasure right now, for once, for the first time in your relationship. All he can think about is himself and how good it feels to have his pretty girl absolutely worshipping his cock, and he doesn’t care that you’re getting sloppy in your clouded lust; you’re back to sucking him feverently and whining around the thick of him. 

“Gonna - baby you’re gonna make me c -,” His admission has you shuffling even closer, abandoning your poor, suffering cunt and slapping a gooey, sticky hand on his thigh to brace yourself. 

And it's the wet little smear you leave behind, webbing between your fingers and joining the pre dripping down his cock as you hold him with both hands that has him positively howling your name. Hips pulse into your face, forcing his cock deeper as it swells down your throat and shoots hot, wet and salty into your belly. A hand comes down to his hip, the other fisting the shirt over his chest and catching on his nipple with a startled yelp. You’re strong in your restraint, letting him thrash and writhe beneath you, keeping yourself rooted in his lap and swallowing everything you can, shivering at the taste and the feeling of his cock kicking and twitching with every pulse of his orgasm. 

“I gotta - you gotta get off baby,” you don’t realise that he’s come down, don’t realise that he’s still twitching but with overstimulation and softening against the limp muscle of your tongue, “I can’t, I can’t do another yet, m’sorry but -,” Yuuji, through the jelly-like jitter of his limbs, heaves you off the floor and into his lap with a grunt, “That was the best head anyone’s ever given me,”

You’re shy all of a sudden, as if you’re not still swallowing the remains of his spend and sporting the slickest arousal you’ve ever experienced. Yuuji kisses your nose with an appreciative smile, 

“Really? I just wanted to do it y’know? You make me wanna suck your cock all the time, s’just something about you,” you tuck your chin into your chest, almost giving in to the little kisses he pecks all over your face, stopping at your temple and deflating with a sigh at your admission, 

“You’re cute baby,” his cock twitches from where it’s nestled between his stomach and your cotton covered crotch, “But a meanie, I swear you’ll be the death of me, thought I was gonna black out at one point,” 

“Yeah, yeah,” your fingers twist into the fine hairs at the back of his neck, sagging into him and kissing him with a deflated breath. Yuuji licks into your mouth lazily, hands squeezing up the length of your waist and back down again, urging your hips into a soft grind. You’re still sat up on your knees, so all you can feel is the syrupy chafe of your underwear over your cunt and you huff, 

“S’okay pretty girl, I got you,” Yuuji smiles at your apparent distress, “You want me to return the favour huh? Let you fuck my mouth instead? That what you want?” his long, thick fingers trickle into your underwear, choking at the slick he finds there, slipping and sliding over the swell of your clit, “Fuck - you got so fuckin’ worked up, bet you won’t last long, not as long as me,”

“Just, I don’t know - Yuuji, please,” a little circle of your hips puts his fingers where you need them most, “Do something or I’m gonna cry,” he shushes you, kissing you again with a loud smack, 

“I got you baby, gonna make this pretty pussy feel better, I promise,” Yuuji physically flinches when he pulls his hand from between your thighs, covered nearly to the wrist with your arousal and he inhales deep, dark, nostrils flaring at your scent. His tongue drops between his fingers, slurping up to the knuckles and down to the callouses on his palms, eyes fluttering and reopening to stare at you, “You taste insane - fuck - ‘m gonna eat you so fucking good, you’re not gonna know what hit you,”

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