#i have to combo w/ the flare gun that i suck at using to get anything done at all

[goodtimeswithyourdad]

I HATE PLAYING PYRO ARGHHHHHHHHH

[wri0thesley]

If you are indeed taking requests, pls give me a fem reader and her first time w bruno or mista 🥺 fluff and smut combo pls

anticipation - mista x fem!reader (2.3k)

you and mista have been building up to your first time for months.

warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. first time/virginity. light fingering, piv, coming inside, mention of contraception.

Everything about Mista overwhelms you. The slow grin that spreads across his face when he looks at you, the drag of his knuckle along the small of your back, the way his eyes darken and his voice lilts when he says your name – you look at him, and you can’t believe how lucky you are that he wants you.

But sometimes, that want frightens you.

Sometimes, it frightens you how looking at his slow grin makes a heat spread low in your belly, how it makes you want to clench your thighs together and drag your own eyes away from his gaze. He’s so perfect, and you’re . . . you. You simply don’t feel like you’re good enough for him.

You’ve been skirting around the issue of going all the way for a few months now. You’ve kissed, of course – you’ve rutted against one another whilst making out, unhurried slow rolls of your hips in time with erratic heartbeats and murmurs of one another’s names. You’ve held hands, had his fingers brush between your legs over the clothes, maybe fondled a little bit beneath one another’s shirts--

But this is still new. And underneath Mista in bed, as he groans into your ear about how much he wants you, you can’t help the flare of fear that goes through you.

He pulls back, his breath catching in his throat, big hands hovering over your hips. This close, you can see the light in his dark eyes and the dusky blush on his tan skin, as he croaks out;

“I really wanna touch you, babe.”

You know that if you say ‘no’, Mista will pull back. He’ll cuddle you instead, and the comforting scent of him will wrap around you until you’re lulled to sleep by the rhythmic beating of his heart. Mista will not hold it against you.

But . . . the flush on his face tells you that he’s nervous too. And the pounding in your core tells you that you want him to touch you. If you’re both nervous, you think, maybe it will be easier. Fingers push up the hem of your shirt, brushing bare skin with a heat that has your heart beating too fast.

“I want you to touch me too,” you find yourself saying, voice soft and breathy. A crooked grin splits Mista’s handsome face. “W-wait--”

You reach up, just a little. Your thumb hooks under Mista’s hat, pulling it off him so that his riot of dark curls flops in front of his forehead. You smile at him shyly; it’s not that you don’t like his peculiar fashion style (being able to ogle his bare midriff whenever you want, gaze lingering on the dark patch of hair leading to what’s between his legs, is a plus) – but you love him with his hair all dark and messy. His grin doesn’t fade an inch as you toss the hat onto the bedside table.

“Wow,” he teases, “you’re gettin’ me undressed already. I didn’t know that you were so forward--” The laughs that bubble out of you both are nervous, and you’re glad that Mista is feeling unsure too. It’s not that you don’t want to – in fact, it’s that you want to so much. You like Mista so much. You don’t want to fuck this up--

“Can I take this off?” He asks, thumbs hooking under the hem proper, where it’s already pushed up. At your breathless nod, he tugs on the fabric, peeling it from your skin and gently pulling it over your head. “Wow.” He breathes soft, looking down at you, eyes devouring the curve of your chest. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Your turn,” you say – pulling at his shirt. Mista preens as his own clothing is taken off, clearly proud of his body; the defined, soft swell of his pectoral muscles, the light curve of his stomach (you know from previous experience that Mista’s stomach is a layer of softness with a brick wall behind it). There’s a tremble in his lip, though, so you bite your own and say;

“Guido—”

“Y’like it, right?” He asks, and you nod fiercely. One of your hands reaches out, gently squeezing at his chest; thumb brushing over his nipple, winning a soft hiss of air through his teeth. He blinks at you, slow and hungry. “You’re gonna get me too excited, babe--”

He takes your hand and slowly and deliberately presses it against the bulge in his skin-tight tiger print pants. You can feel heat radiating from him; stiff and hard and hungry.

“Y-you’ve already got me excited,” you tell him, and you shyly push down your jeans, wresting them from your legs so that you can spread your knees and Mista can see the damp patch on the gusset of your underwear clear as day. He groans aloud.

“Th-that for me?” He asks. The way he keeps stuttering is adorable. It’s so easy to forget that Mista’s just like you, when you think of the gun stuffed down his pants and the position he occupies as the right hand man of the Don of Passione – but this is a reminder that the two of you are just two people who love each other, young and in love, and desperate to do right by other.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Y-you can touch, if you want—”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I do want.”

Fingers brush your folds through the slick fabric, hot and thick. Your hips tilt automatically, searching for more stimulation, and Mista groans at the sight of you bending for him. They pry under the elastic, brushing your bare sex – and you swallow a moan, a soft noise escaping you at the sensation. Mista is captivated.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, “I wanna--” You lift your hips as he tugs at the underwear, and it too goes the way of both of your shirts. He presses your knees just a little further apart, looking between your legs like he’s just seen a treasure he’s been hunting for months. You’re slick with need, your body pulsing in time with your heartbeat. One of his fingers dips into your slick, brushing your clit and making you shiver.

“C-careful,” you whine, as he repeats the motion with his thumb. “I’m – s-sensitive--”

“You sure are, babe,” he breathes. “I’m gonna . . .” The tip of one of his fingers gently circles your fluttering entrance as a warning, and you give him a brief nod with your teeth digging into your bottom lip. He pushes inside, the feeling strange but not at all unpleasant – Mista’s fingers feel so much better inside of you than your own ever have. He reaches the first knuckle, and then the second, and then suddenly his whole finger is in you, gently pumping you whilst you get used to the sensation.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he breathes, his eyes seeking out your own. A shudder grips you at how intimate and intense it feels, to be fucked by his fingers whilst he looks directly into your eyes. “So tight . . . so hot--”

“Guido,” you breathe out again. “Please--”

You take a second finger, a soft scissoring motion to open you up. You haven’t actually seen Mista’s cock, but you’ve gotten a good feel of it, and you’re grateful for the way he prepares you, fingers deep inside of you. The muscles in your thighs tremble and clench under the onslaught of sensation, little whimpers dropping out of your mouth as his thumb returns to gently pet your clit. For such a big man, well-known for being rather clumsy, Mista is incredibly delicate with you – watching your face for the slightest twitch of discomfort and immediately changing the angle or the pressure. Where he’s touching you, you can feel heat and tension coiling together.

One of your hand flutters over his wrists as you mumble;

“I-if you don’t stop, ‘m gonna--”

“You don’t want to come?” His voice is dark and raspy. You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, too embarrassed to look directly at him as you say whisper-soft;

“I wanna come with you inside me.”

He groans at that, his fingers gently pulled out with a slick pop. His hands are shaking as he reaches for the zip of his trousers, shuffling out of them – and you can’t help but think how cute he is, with that flush on his face and tremble in all of him. He’s wearing tiger-print boxers, too, and you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you.

“H-hey,” he says, but he’s grinning at you with such softness in his eyes you feel knocked out by the sight of it, “these are haute couture, babe--” “Very handsome,” you say, with a soft laugh. “C’mere, tiger—”

Oh. He’s fished his cock out of his underwear, fisted in one large fist – you don’t have much to compare it to, but he looks thick. The tip is flushed dark, a nest of dark hair at the base, prominent veins running down the shaft – you want him inside of you as much as you’re afraid to have him inside of you.

He grunts as he readjusts himself and the noise sends a needy ache through you. You find yourself swallowing, your hands coming up to grip his strong biceps.

“You’re sure about this?” He mumbles, under his breath, not quite meeting your eye. “I . . . only wanna do it, if you are--”

“I’ve never been more sure in my life,” you say, and as the words spill out of you, you realise they’re nothing other than the god-honest truth. You look up at him and give him a reassuring smile. “K-kiss me?”

“Babe,” he mumbles, “if I ever say no to that, you’re dealin’ with an enemy stand--”

His lips meet yours; a little rushed and messy and wet, at the same time as his cock nudges at the cleft between your thighs. Your gasp is transferred into the cavern of his mouth, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders as he guides his hips forward and you feel the stretch of being opened up on his cock. You’re glad he prepared you with his fingers, but you’re not sure that anything could compare to the feeling of Mista stretching you out for the first time.

You whine wordlessly, suckling at his lower lip, as he continues to inch inside of you, slowly. He lets you adjust to feel of him, your walls clinging tightly to his cock with every new bit of him that’s sucked in by you.

He’s groaning himself, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you. Your mouths meet in sloppy, hungry kisses – more about the act of touching one another’s mouths than anything else.

“There,” he mumbles, pulling back. Both of your gazes are drawn to where the two of you are joined; Mista’s cock, and your sex stretched around it. “Fuck. I look so good inside of you.”

“S-so modest,” you say, as your hips roll instinctively. The feeling of his cock heavy in your insides is good, but your body is screaming that it would be better if he were to move. Mista groans at the feel of the gyrations, pulling back a little just to drive back in with a groan that gets that ball of tension and need rolling again.

He’s slow, not fucking into you in earnest. Both of you are enjoying the closeness, the pleasure that comes from finally being joined – but as time passes, Mista’s thrusts begin to get more sure. Your body adjusts to his size. The drag of his cock against your sensitive walls makes your entire body prickle with energy.

His familiar scent wraps around you. You memorise the sound of his breathing, shaky and gritty – you memorise the feel of how you mould to him, the way he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the whole world.

Nothing is important, in this moment in Mista’s bed, except the place where the two of you are joined as one. There’s nothing in the world except for one another’s bodies, the stickiness of sweaty skin on sweaty skin, the way that Mista’s thrusts are already getting messy and hungry.

“Please touch me,” you mumble, against his ear, and he lets out a stuttering groan. Clumsy fingers come to play with your clit, swirling the bud. He’s not as gentle as he was earlier, too lost in his own pleasure – but you’re more turned on, closer to the edge, and even Mista’s clumsy rubbing is enough to have you tossing your head back onto his pillows and groaning out his name, your tight walls clamping down around him.

The feel of you coming around his cock and under his fingers seems to push Mista over the edge, too; the way that your channel clenches and sucks at his cock, so that his hips jack-hammer inside of you in search of his own blinding pleasure--

You’d talked about protection before, and told him you were on the pill, so the sensation of him filling you with his release does not frighten you. Instead, the feel of his hot release coating your inner walls makes your toes curl. You feel completely and utterly claimed, completely and utterly his, happy in a way you’ve never experienced before as Mista groans out your name in a tearful prayer and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“I love you,” he’s mumbling against your skin, as his cock begins to soften inside of you. “I love you, I love you, I love you--”

“I love you too,” you breathe, and you feel his lips curve into a smile.