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f10werfae · 1 year

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Bimbo Babe

pairing: Steve Rogers x Bimbo!Reader

Summary: Y/n stupidly keeps shoving her tits and pussy into Steve’s face until he finally has enough and has to have them smothering his face (Dom!Steve) (Mean!Steve)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated/Disclaimer 18+

Chris Masterlist, Full Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Thank you Stevie” Y/n beamed naively, leaning up to press a glossy kiss onto the man’s stubbled cheek, feeling his large hands pull down her skirt once again. “Stop showin’ your ass off like the slut you are, s’not funny” He warned cocking a brow as she stared back seemingly innocent, “What you don’t like it?” She frowned turning around and wiggling her hips against him, not only was she a bimbo, but a tease.

“No panties either? Leaking all over my hand like a broken fountain, you really are a bimbo” He taunted letting his hands feel through her slick folds, all her juicy goodness lathering him in her sweet earthy scent. “Can’t help it, she needs attention” Y/n sighed out, she may not be the smartest woman, but she knew how to get her way; even with Steve Rogers.

Having joined the compound a few months prior as an assistant to Tony, Y/n found herself drawn to the blonde man in the tight blue suit, his bulge and ass teasing the world with each stretch. Their first intimate encounter was one to be remembered,,,

Steve had walked into the compounds laundry room to see Y/n with her tits out of her dress, her hands massaging them tenderly as she hissed out in pain, something about her period coming. “Can you help my tits Stevie? They’re so sore” She whined pressing her breasts together, the blue eyed man standing there wide eyes and bushy tailed, his cheeks a nice hue of pink as he nodded. Walking over he buried his face between her tits, letting himself be smothered by them, her scent filling his nostrils as he pushed the tits to fully cover his ears. His head moving around to suck on each globe evenly, even pushing the nipples together so he could suck them both at the same time, massaging the skin around them to help with her tension.

Spitting down the valley of her breasts he would make her suck her own nipple, joining her and kissing with it between their lips.

“Hmm thank you honey, they feel way better now” Y/n giggled after a good half an hour of Steve just playing and sucking her tits, simply putting them back into her top and walking away as if nothing had happened. As if what happened was somewhat normal, that’s when Steve clocked onto her somewhat lack of intelligence. Although it seemed as if she was only like that to Steve, dumbed out and ready to be taken.

“I think she’s just tingly, can you feel her out?” She whimpered pulling her skirt all the way up, exposing her pussy and ass to Steve, his fingers going in slow circles on her swollen lips, his other arm wrapping around her waist to bring her back closer to him; but this clearly wasn’t the best position.

Within seconds he had lifted her onto the counter, her pussy lips slightly parted against the cool marble as he bent down to look at her cunt, her little clit peeking out shyly as he smirked and leant closer to give it a kiss; watching on as he visibly saw her clench around nothing. “She’s so cute, it’s like she wants to kiss me back” Steve taunted using his pointer finger to rub slowly on her button, his lips kissing Y/n’s cheek sweetly.

Y/n could do nothing but squirm and whine at the sensation, her poor little head couldn’t even fathom the way he was touching her, all she knew was that it felt good and she wanted nothing more than for him to keep going. Turning her head she caught his lips with hers, pecking his reddish lips softly before throwing her head back as she felt his finget prod at her hole.

“Maybe you can put one in? Please”

“I don’t think so, I think i’m going to kiss your pretty pussy until she gives out on my tongue” He kissed his teeth once she jerked her hips forward, if this was the only time he’d be able to do this, he sure was going to savour it. Y/n spread open her pussy, the flesh glistening with her arousal, her face huffed and pouted out desperately.

Bending down Steve placed an open mouthed kiss right onto her cunt, his eyes trained on hers as she gasped, with his tongue pushing out spit to wetten her folds; strings connected his mouth to her warm soft centre. “First I caught you playing with yours tits, now your ass was hanging out, what’s next? You’re naked waitin for me on my bed?”

“I did that yesterday, but you weren’t home” She whispered spitting down onto his tongue which was outstretched, using her own saliva to soak her pussy. “Yeah? Is that why when I got home my pillows were wet? Did you fuck yourself dumb on my pillow?”

“Mhm I-I did” She whimpered as he pushed his tongue in deeper, licking a stripe up to her clit, his mouth suctioning around it to suck gently. “My dumb little baby, walking around half naked like some whore, aren’t I right?” He growled against her thigh as he sucked on it to leave a purplish bruise, putting a matching one on the other thigh, wanting nothing more than for her thighs to clamp around his head to smother him just like her tits.

“I’m not dumb! Im- Ow!” Y/n squealed feeling his teeth sink into her thighs, “Don’t play stupid with me, you’re my bimbo babe, my fuckslut” He smirked giving her pussy another passionate kiss, making her jealous that it wasn’t her actual lips receiving the same attention. It wasn’t long until his kisses turned into a makeout with her cunt, his tongue sucking and licking her clit, as if he was sucking her tongue; which was yet to happen but she hoped it’d be soon.

Y/n felt her stomach start to coil, his slow sensual kissed overstimulating her clit to a point of craziness, his hands locked onto her tits which he had grabbed out of her top, tugging on her nipples as if he was trying to milk them. “Come on baby, wet my tongue with your perfect pussy, m’ getting thirsty; or else i’ll havta knock you up n’ drink from those pretty tits instead”

Honestly Y/n didn’t mind either or, her brain clouded with nothing but want for the man in front of her, want that had started all those months ago.

Picking up the pace he started motor-boating her pussy, squeals and grunts leaving her lips as his tongue went crazy, his face covered in her juices. Steve chuckled like a mad man at the feeling of her thighs finally clamping around his head, her hole sucking in his tongue as she came around it, her body shuddering with each release.

“That’s my pretty bimbo, next I want your ass on my face, can ya do that for me or do I need to show you how to do that too?” I mean he does have America’s ass,,,

———

psa: I think this is my first Steve Rogers fic? Hope I did it justice😭

library blog: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

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Hope you all enjoy this Fic!

#chris evans #steve rogers #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x bimbo!reader #chris evans x female reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #chris evans smut #chris evans oneshot #steve rogers x y/n

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dira333 · 9 months

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Away from home - Oikawa x reader

Follower Celebration Request

A/N: Since I had quite some trouble characterizing him, I'd appreciate it if you told me how well I've managed

Your last roommate had been less difficult.

Granted, he’d only been on the lease for a month before he moved out again, and even then, you barely saw him.

But this guy is different. He’s been overly charming during the interview, to the point that it made you suspicious. Who flirts that much over a simple room? Especially when it had already been clear that he got it?

Oikawa Tooru is tall, good-looking, and aware of it. He’s also your roommate of one day and is already going on your nerves.

“The laundry.” You’re standing in the doorway to his room, laundry basket heavy on your hip. “You need to put it away when it’s done or I can’t use the washer.”

“Oh, I was going to do-” Tooru scrambles up from his bed where he’d been watching something on his laptop, his ridiculously floppy hair bouncing as he moves. He’s like a walking shampoo ad.

“Yeah, now.” You put the laundry basket down. “And I need it in half an hour when my load is done.”

“Sure thing, honeycup.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You had wondered, for about half a minute, how he was dealing with the culture shock that was Argentina. It had been tough for you, coming from America, but it had to be worse for him. You still remember how he blushed when you casually used his first name - like you were used to doing - before realizing that that’s not really a thing in Japan.

Was he as homesick as you? Did he miss familiar sights, the simple things like being able to get your favorite brand of chocolate in the nearby store instead of having to find a specialty shop and paying an arm and a leg for it?

You wanted to ask, kind of, until you walked back to his room thirty minutes later only to find your laundry basket still filled with wet clothing.

“Are you serious?” You ask. He looks up from his laptop, brows furrowed.

“What?” He asks.

“The laundry. I told you I need the basket.”

“I was going to-”

You grab the basket, lift it up, and turn it over, watching with a sick kind of satisfaction as it drops heavily on his bed - and partly on him too.

“I’m not your mom.” You remind him and storm out of his room before you can lose your temper even more.

A week later you’ve learned a few things about Tooru.

One, he needs longer in the bathroom than you. Especially in the mornings when you really have to pee.

Two, he has the worst diet you’ve ever seen and you lived with your diabetic grandfather until you moved here. How can he survive on coffee and Tortas Fritas and still look like someone cut him from marble a few hours ago?

Three, he never seems to sleep. Twice you’ve got up in the wee hours of the morning because your bladder insisted on it, only to find him up, watching sports on his laptop like a maniac.

Four, he owns at least five pairs of Alien-themed loungewear. That you know because he keeps forgetting to put his laundry away.

Which brings you to the fifth thing you’ve learned about him. He never, ever, ever puts his laundry away.

It’s a miracle he even knows how to start a washing cycle. But as soon as he presses the button he seems to forget that the machine even exists until you put the laundry basket in his room and insist that he hangs his clothes to dry. When you come back around and find that he hasn’t done that, you can either hang it up yourself to avoid the smell or nag him until he does it. Which in turn will lead to you nagging him about taking down the dry clothes. You suspect he just picks them from the clothes line whenever he needs to wear them, entirely foregoing his closet.

And you should be above this. He’s your roommate, not your friend. He’s a stranger and not part of your family. He’s not even a child, even though he acts like one. So even if you’re studying pediatric medicine, that does not mean you have to throw yourself in front of every man-toddler who seems to need your help.

But he does. And you cannot make yourself stop caring.

“Listen up, Buttercup.” You start the moment the door clicks shut behind him.

“Oh?” He asks, voice hopeful. The smile slips from his lips the moment he sees you.

Your hair is pushed away from your face thanks to the most ridiculous headband you own - it has two plush black crows sown onto both sides instead of cat ears because your little brother had both a sowing and a crow phase at the same time. You hold your spatula like a sword and point it at him.

“We’re cooking today.”

“I don’t need-”

“You cannot live by Tortas Fritas any longer.” You declare. “My medical degree will not allow it.”

“You don’t have a medical degree yet.”

“And you’re not Karch Kiraly but you sure act like him.”

That makes him perk up. “You know Karch Kiraly?”

“Who doesn’t?” You throw an apron at him. “Get dressed.”

“Do I have to?”

“Do you want to ruin your clothes?”

He makes a face like he’s hurting. “It’s just… it has crows on it.”

“Yes, my brother made it. You can use your own apron if you cannot handle some cute crows.”

The hurt look intensifies but he wraps it around his body, fiddles with the strings.

“You’re hopeless.” You step behind him and tie it closed, making sure to pull it extra tight as punishment for last week's actions.

“Do you have any allergies? Sensory issues?”

“I don’t like slimy food.”

“Well, you’re in luck, we’re not making slime today.”

Tooru is, surprisingly enough, not a fool in the kitchen. He knows how to cut vegetables without hurting himself and he manages not to burn anything.

But he talks. A lot.

His English is as good as your Japanese is rusty. His accent is kinda cute, but you choose to ignore that. His Spanish is downright criminal and you have to remind yourself of his awful laundry behaviors to keep from swooning every time he points at something and names it in Spanish.

“You’re very adamant.” You point out. “Your Spanish is good, you could probably slack off a day or two.”

The look he gives you has you shivering.

“Why should I slack off?” He asks. “What do I gain from that? Do you know how hard it is to get rid of your accent?”

There’s an intensity to his voice that makes you take a step back only to bump into the table behind you.

He stops, freezes, and for some inexplicable reason - ducks his head.

You stand there for a second, speechless and confused until he seems to realize that whatever he was waiting for isn’t coming. When he straightens up again, sadness washes over his face and you know that look - it’s Homesickness.

“Who are you missing right now?”

“Iwa-chan.” He turns around to flip the frittata. “He’s my best friend.”

“Did he ruffle your hair?” You ask, “Is that why you ducked your head?”

“No.” He laughs, still not facing you. It must be easier for him to be open like this when he’s not looking at you. “He’d throw Volleyballs at my head when I was misbehaving. I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Like you could scare me.” You joke, trying to downplay the effect he really had on you.

“Oh, I can be scary when I want to be, don’t you try me.” He turns this time, but the smile on his face ruins the joke. You like him more when he’s honest instead of charming.

“So that Iwa-chan.” You move to plate the food. “He’s your mom? Mom-Friend? Did he also make sure you did your laundry and went to bed early and ate healthy?”

It’s more meant as a joke than a real question and you falter when you realize that you hit the nail on the head.

Tooru seems to fold under your question.

“Yes.” He pouts. “I thought… Well…” He grips the edge of the sink, stares out the window instead of facing you. “The team I play for offers housing. I had a nice apartment all to myself.”

“But you need the reinforcement of a second person to actually get your life together?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even sound ashamed about it.

You step forward, as close to him as you dare. When he turns, you level him with a glare, stick your pointer finger into his ridiculous buff chest.

“You listen to me, you little shit. I am not your mother and I am not your Iwa-chan. I will not run after you and remind you to eat and take a shit and go to sleep. You are more than capable of doing it yourself.”

He opens his mouth to answer but you’re not done yet.

“If I catch you with another Tortas Fritas this month, I’ll whoop your ass.”

Tooru smiles so bright you can see a dimple forming. “Is that a promise?”

“Eat.” You turn away before he can see how flustered that comment made you.

Two days later you find him in the kitchen, making a ridiculous show of it as if he’s there to film an ad for an apron instead of cooking.

He’s bought an apron for himself. Something told you he wanted to buy an alien-themed one but couldn’t find one.

Should you tell him that Godzilla isn’t an alien? He seems pretty happy about the little guy destroying cities on the flimsy fabric.

It’s been a rough day for you. Both your period and your work studies have you rubbed raw. You want to crawl into bed, not think about the boy that came in today, the one who reminds you too much of your little brother.

“Hey, am I doing this right?” Tooru calls after you as you make your way to your bedroom to unload your stuff.

“For sure.” You croak out, half turned to look at him.

There’s something in his smile that makes it look wobbly. Not for the first time you wonder if he’s just as homesick as you are. You drop your bag on the floor in front of your bedroom door and walk back to the kitchen.

“What are you making?”

“Curry.” He waves his spoon around like he’s a magician instead of a cook. “My mother’s recipe.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever tried Japanese Curry. Can I try?”

“Of course.” Tooru grins proudly. “I made enough for both of us. And there will be leftovers.”

“That’s neat. What’s the special ingredient?”

“No special ingredient. It’s a basic recipe, I can teach you if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You lean against the sink, surprised when he pulls something from the fridge.

“Iced coffee. Thought you might like one when you get home.”

“You’re a godsend.” You groan and take the first sip. You’re not sure what’s more effective at waking you up, the caffeine or the coolness of the drink against the heat of all of Argentina.

“You shouldn’t drink that much coffee.” He points out when you’re halfway done with the drink.

“You shouldn’t tell me what to do.”

“You could sleep more.”

“I will when you do it too.”

He looks up, a grin on his face that speaks of danger. “Deal.”

“What?”

“Bedtime for both of us. Does ten sound okay?”

“You’ll never be able to get to bed at ten. Don’t you have to bingewatch sports for five hours at night to feel complete?”

“Ouch. I’m just doing research.”

“Mhm, or you have a fetish.”

He laughs at that, loud and carefree. You like him like this.

“Tell me about your mom.” It sounds a little too harsh, but he doesn’t seem to mind that you’re demanding instead of asking.

He looks different when he speaks of his family. Younger and taller, both at the same time. Like he allows himself to be vulnerable and grows above himself through that.

You wonder how he could ever think that his fake smile could work on women when his real smile is this attractive.

Days turn into weeks, into months.

Tooru is now the crowned king of the kitchen - after a few too many cooking battles that you’ve all sorely lost. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to cook, he just needs a reason to do so. He jokes it’s the smile on your face when you eat, but you don’t want to believe that.

It holds too many implications to believe it.

In turn, you’ve taken up all laundry duties. It’s a good system and you don’t have to nag him anymore. If he doesn’t put his dirty laundry out on Tuesdays, he will go without clean clothes for another week. Enforcing that rule has already gotten you plenty of pictures to use for blackmail, your favorite the one of him in a bright pink jumpsuit he was supposed to bring a friend. Pink suits his flustered face.

Iwa-chan is coming today. He’d told you about it weeks in advance when his friend booked the flight.Tooru has been like a headless chicken ever since and you’re happy for him, you really are, but there’s also a pang of jealousy. Why can’t your family take the time to visit you?

You know why, but it still hurts that you’re going to have to watch him be happy, pushed to the side in favor of his new friend.

“Hey.” He stops by your door, throws himself into a ridiculous pose like he always does and grins when you can’t help but roll your eyes. “I’m leaving in five minutes. Are you ready?”

You furrow your brows. “Ready for what? I told you you have to clean the apartment, he’s your guest.”

“No, to come with me, silly. I can’t go into the madness of an airport alone! What if someone recognizes you?”

“Well, they might do as a favor and kidnap you.” You joke and watch him pout. It’s ridiculous how cute that makes him look.

“Take that back.” Tooru whines and you laugh. “Never.

“Take that back!” He repeats, taking one step, then two, only to drop himself on you.

You shriek in surprise at the sudden weight, try to wiggle away but his face is so close, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes full of light.

You don’t really know who moved closer first. You, him, both of you?

But your lips meet and your eyes close and it’s just him and you and your joined breath and the softness of his lips, his weight on you and your hands in his ridiculous fluffy hair.

You don’t speak for a while, don’t need too. Exploring this is more important.

Eventually he pulls away to press his temple against yours, to squint into his eyes.

“You like me?” He asks, voice uncharacterally shy.

“I hate you.” You tease and move for his lips again. He pouts.

“Don’t tell anyone.” You whisper against his lips. “Okay? Don’t tell Tooru.”

“Just Iwa-chan.” He whispers back, caught in the feeling of it. “He’ll be able to guess it anyway.

You giggle against his lips, kiss him again, once, twice, until you can feel yourself getting lost in it again. But there’s a thought nibbling at the edge of your brain now and it gets louder.

“Tooru?” You ask when you pull back again. “Shouldn’t we leave for the airport?”

His eyes widen comically as he whips his head around to look at your alarm clock.

“Shit! He’s going to be so mad!”

Iwa-chan is a monument of muscle, a building of a man. He’s not that tall, at least not taller than Tooru, but he’s impressive in his sturdiness, arms folded in front of his chest as he glowers at Tooru.

Tooru seems totally unimpressed by that, even as you drag your feet, a little scared of his friend.

“Iwa-chaaaan!” He sings, drapes himself over his friend's shoulder. “I missed you!”

“Clearly you didn’t! You’re half an hour late!”

“It’s not my fault.” Tooru smiles coyly, pulling you close by the hand he’d been holding since you exited his car. “Can you blame me? I got distracted by beauty!”

“I…” You stumble. “I’m sorry. This time it really is my fault. But I kicked his ass on the way here.”

Iwa-chan’s lips quirk up into a hint of a smile.

“Good. I’ll leave the rest of the ass-kicking to you.”

You salute him, which has Tooru whining like a child and begging for mercy.

You pull at his ear, just enough to tease him.

“Come on.” You tell him. “You need to show Iwa-chan how well you cleaned your apartment.”

Tagging anyone who helped me - it was much appreciated:

@alienaiver @misfit-megumi @missalienqueen @amecchii @notsochillnerd @ur-local-simp @krishnaabhistha @fuzztacular

Hope I didn't forget anyone. If I did, forgive me!

my Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #Oikawa x reader #Oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines

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mintmatcha · 2 years

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You lean up against the door frame and watch. Mattsun hasn’t moved in a minute or so, his head buried into his phone as he scrolls endlessly. Every now and again he pauses, eye brows quirked, and then laughs to himself with a shake of the head. He’s still wearing his work clothes, but the suit jacket has been discarded and the tie has been loosened comically low. A green smear of wasabi is permanently ground into the elbow of one side of his otherwise pristine white button down, a remnant of late nights drinking after work.

“What’re you doing?”

Mattsun doesn’t even look up.

“Watching tiktok and putting the dishes away.” He jerks a thumb to the empty sink where dishes used to be. “I’m a multitasking.”

“I can see that,” you laugh, “Do you wanna have sex right now?”

Mattsun raises an eyebrow. Then, what you said seems to really hit him; the man looks up, puzzled, but interested. He practically throws his phone to the side, letting it slide across the countertop.

“Uh, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what brought this on?” he grins, coming over to you with open arms. “Did me doing the dishes turn you on that much?”

“I’m about to take a shower and I really don’t want to get sweaty afterwards,” you explain, gesturing to your gym clothing, “But I can see myself possibly wanting cock later tonight, so I figured- hey, why not just do it now?”

Your arms snake around his waist and you tilt your head just enough to welcome a peck on the lips. Mattsun snorts, but happily obliges, giving you the sweet contact you desire. “And yeah, the dishes thing is a little sexy.”

“Aw, but I like you right out of the shower.” Mattsun presses his lips against your cheek, then down the curve of your neck,his love quickly turning lewd. The sharp nip of teeth surprises you, driving you further into his arms. “You smell so good and you’re so soft-”

“But then I’ll get sweaty again and need another shower in the morning.” You press both hands against his chest, unsuccessfully trying to keep your distance. Your husband’s curls tickle against your neck as he silently chuckles to himself, worming his knee in between your thighs. With height alone he can manhandle you, reaching and grabbing wherever he wants. “I thought you liked me dirty.”

“You have a point-- I do like the nasty, sweaty thing.” At that, the velvet heat of his tongue flicks out and drags across your collarbone. You squeal and wiggle, equal parts ticklish and turned on. “When you’re all salty and-”

“Issei!”

You both dissolve into real laughter. His hands keep exploring, kneading and pulling your ass, exploring the plane of your back, and sneaking around to roll your tits in his hands.

Suddenly Mattsun stops, frozen mid-squeeze.

“Oh, man,” he says, eyes wide, as he realizes what this means. “If we do it now, I can do laundry afterward so we can get real messy and still sleep on clean sheets.”

He grins down at you. “No sleeping on the wet spot! Planning sex fucking rules.”

“Stop, I’m already horny,” you say, half joking, “Keep talking about doing chores and I’ll cum.”

“And people say marriage ruins your sex life.” Mattsun lets you go and brings his hand down against your ass, hard enough you yelp at the sting and stumble forward. “Get in that bed and I’ll dirty talk about vacuuming or something, you fucking freak.”

“You seem hornier than I am, weirdo!” you scold, skittering off towards the bedroom. Much slower footsteps echo behind you.

“Hey, you started it.”

#warm up

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erimeows · 1 year

Text

Yeah, Right

The first time Aizawa does it, he doesn’t think about the ‘why’. After all, it seems logical enough.

It’s All Might’s fifty-first birthday and Aizawa expects the fresh batch of new students to want to surprise the older man with something special for the day of. Only, when he gets to class that morning, he hears them all talking about how they’re too shy to so boldly approach their teacher and give him a birthday gift. While Aizawa imagines that All Might will get plenty of gifts and letters in his P.O. box, none of them will actually be from anyone he knows- random fans, even some stalkers- all people that he has no connection with.

Aizawa knows All Might well enough to know that the only people he wants anything from are going to be his students and fellow heroes- people he knows, people who care. Aizawa remembers that All Might doesn’t have a family to celebrate with and frowns as he sits at his desk listening to the children rattle on about the former number one hero.

When All Might walks in to take over the class for his heroics lesson, he looks Aizawa in the eye and offers a small smile. For whatever reason, said smile makes Aizawa’s heart skip a beat, so he doesn’t smile back. Instead, he leaves, rushing to the local grocery store even though he knows he’s supposed to be doing lesson planning. When he returns, he smuggles the little bouquet of roses and the box of chocolates into the lounge through his duffle bag.

All Might’s locker is always stupidly left unlocked (because ‘none of my fellow hereos would meddle with my belongings’, according to the older man), so Aizawa puts the presents there with a note but no name.

‘Happy birthday, number one. Hope you have a good year.’

It’s simple and plain enough to not give away who it’s from. Perfect.

Aizawa doesn’t feel too nervous as he shuts the locker and retreats to sit at the round table. It’s lunch time now, so the sound of loud teenagers bustling down the hallway rings in Aizawa’s ears. He buries his head in his hands and groans, only to have a more pressing problem when the door is slammed open just seconds later.

He glances up to see All Might, standing in the doorway, the front of his pink button-up shirt soaked with blood.

“All Might,” Aizawa stands up and grabs a washcloth to wet, then brings it over to All Might. He wipes the blood off of the older man and glances up at him with a scowl. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Oh, Aizawa,” All Might offers a weak smile and takes the washcloth from Aizawa’s hands so he can clean himself up. Aizawa stands there awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for an answer. “I’m fine! Just a normal day for me, coughing up blood, though I’m starting to run out of shirts that aren’t blood-stained… Maybe I should start wearing more red.”

“You’re coughing blood up that often? And in this quantity… That isn’t normal,” Aizawa scoffs, as annoyed as ever by All Might’s alarming normalization of his declining health. “When’s the last time you’ve been to a doctor?”

“Back after we fought Shigaraki and the Paranormal Liberation Front.”

“No, I mean for a normal check up. When’s the last time you’ve been to a doctor for something other than a grievous, hero-work-related injury?”

“Oh, I haven’t been since…” All Might trails off, tossing the washcloth in the dirty laundry and thinking to himself. Meanwhile, Aizawa moves to dig through his own locker for an extra shirt that All Might can have- God knows the former number one hero is never prepared enough to keep a change of clothes handy. Aizawa finds the largest one he has, an oversized black sweater that he likes to sleep in sometimes. It’s just long enough that it’ll fit All Might’s weirdly oversized frame perfectly, so Aizawa takes the shirt out and tosses it at the older man. “Hm… I actually don’t know.”

“You need to go see one soon, then,” Aizawa nags and sits back down in a lounge chair as All Might hides behind the lockers to change shirts.

“Why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

“Ugh, never mind,” Aizawa grumbles and gets up to head towards the door. Just when he thought he was getting soft for the man, All Might had to go and get on his nerves again. “God forbid I try to make you take care of your health for the sake of your students.”

“Aizawa, wait-”

“No, it’s fine. I get the point. You’re never going to prioritize yourself and nothing anyone can say will ever make you. Keep the shirt,” Aizawa puts his hand on the door knob and turns it. Then, he opens the door and leaves, calling back to a flustered looking All Might with- “I’ll see you later.”

The second time Aizawa does it, he wonders why the hell he finds himself doing this shit again. The first time it was because it was All Might’s birthday and he wasn’t sure if All Might would get anything from anyone else. Now, it’s the middle of autumn, and he’s unsure about his motives. He tells himself that All Might has seemed down lately- yes, that’s all it is- and that he wants to cheer him up for the students’ sake and definitely not for his own. It’s odd because the last time he did this, he had an awkward and tense interaction with the man right after that turned him off for a while, but… It couldn’t hurt to try again.

So, he spends time hand-crocheting and knitting some sweaters and scarfs for the upcoming season and packing them into a little gift basket. All Might still has a nasty habit of leaving his locker unlocked, meaning that Aizawa can get into it easily. He sneaks into the lounge early, unusually early, knowing that he’s the least likely to get caught at this time since school doesn’t start until seven thirty. Right now, it’s six.

The only person that ever gets to U.A. before seven in the morning aside from Nezu is-

“Mic,” Aizawa blankly states, unsure of what to do. He’s standing in front of All Might’s open locker with the gift basket in one hand and his other hand on the edge of the locker door to hold it open. Mic has just walked into the staff lounge and caught him red-handed. “Uh… What’s up?”

In an awkward series of little motions, Aizawa slams the locker shut and tries to hide the ridiculously large basket behind his back.

“Um… What’cha got there?”

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” Aizawa answers, then reopens the locker, shoves the basket in there, and slams it back shut.

“C’mon, now, don’t pretend that I didn’t just catch you leaving a gift basket in All Might’s locker! No wonder you’ve been acting so funky lately… And to think I thought I was imagining things when I saw him in your favorite shirt,” Mic says, much to Aizawa’s embarrassment and horror. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of him doing this coming off like that to anyone else- and maybe loaning All Might one of his favorite shirts that he used to wear all the time wasn’t the best idea, either, especially considering that All Might now wears the damn thing at least once a week with the claim of ‘since it’s black, it doesn’t stain easy!’. “Wait, are you two a thing!?”

“Absolutely not. He borrowed the shirt once and I let him keep it. As for the gifts… Well, I am guilty of that, but he doesn’t reciprocate said gifts nor does he know it’s me giving them,” Aizawa explains and guiltily walks away from All Might’s locker in favor of sitting down on the edge of the staff table. He sighs and shakes his head both at himself and at Mic. “So don’t tell anyone.”

“Hah! No one would believe me, even if I did want to go and betray you by blabbing about it,” Mic laughs and sits right next to Aizawa on the table top. Then, he looks over at the erasure hero with his big green eyes and a knowing smirk. “But are you seriously going to keep on with this until he retires from teaching?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you clearly like him, and this is your weird fucked up way of expressing it-”

“Hey!” Aizawa interrupts with a blush and a glare- or, as much of a glare as he can produce these days with only one eye. The other eye socket remains empty and covered by a black eye patch, thanks to a certain Shigaraki. “Don’t talk about me like that.”

“What? It’s true! I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Mic points out. It’s horribly, embarrassingly true. Aizawa used to hate All Might and everything he stood for, and he still tries to tell himself that he does, but… Things just aren’t the way they were back then. He watches All Might a little too closely and checks in on him all the time, even if it’s not in the most overtly caring and compassionate way. He does care about All Might, and they’ve grown to respect each other. He just never thought that it’d develop into those sorts of feelings; for the former number one hero, who’s far more popular than him, far more attractive than him, and over a decade his senior. “You’ve been doing this for how long now?”

“I don’t know,” Aizawa shrugs and crosses his leg over his prosthetic. Then, he crosses his arms as well and taps his fingers against his bicep. He can’t even meet Mic’s gaze. “A few months, maybe?”

“Exactly,” Mic yells a little too loudly and throws his hands up in the air. “You’ve been doing this for months instead of just telling the guy you have a crush on him!”

“I don’t have a crush on him,” Aizawa mumbles, hating the sound of such a juvenile term being thrown at him like this.

Crush.

Yeah, right.

“Really?” Mic presses. “Really? Look at yourself right now, Eraser!”

“We can continue this conversation never,” Aizawa gets up from the table, heads to the door, and looks back at Mic, who is sitting there with a ridiculously large grin. “And remember; don’t tell anyone about what you saw today.”

“Aye aye captain!” Mic responds with a mock-salute that somehow pisses Aizawa off even more.

As the ravenette leaves, embarrassed and confused, he can’t help but think about what Mic said.

A crush.

On All Might.

Yeah, right.

The third time Aizawa does it, he hears All Might start to talk.

Aizawa has had to come to terms with the fact that these stupid feelings he’s developed for All Might are, in fact, a crush- as Mic had so eloquently put it just a few months ago. Said crush has been festering for God knows how long and seems to only get worse with every season that passes.

So, by the time winter rolls around, he’s more on edge about the whole thing than he thought he’d be when he left the first gift basket for All Might back in June. Despite never caring about his appearance before, he finds himself tying his hair up (All Might said it looked good like that once), wearing cologne (one that All Might said was his favorite in an interview a while back), and putting a little more effort into his appearance than he would have just a few years ago.

It’s the day before winter break. All of the kids are doing cute holiday celebrations, gift exchanges, dorm parties, and more. They’ve already taken their finals, so there’s not much for the teachers to do aside from sit on their asses and enjoy the festivities. Aizawa doesn’t mind it. He even finds himself in a particularly cheery mood as he leaves another gift basket in All Might’s locker, this one full of holiday candies, a new blanket, and some fancy tea and coffee blends.

After leaving the gifts and making sure that no one is around to catch him in the act this time, Aizawa quietly closes the locker and moves to sit at the staff table before anyone can walk in.

He catches a glance of himself in the mirror and sighs. His hair is tied back all pretty, he actually bothered shaving, and though he looks as tired as ever… He looks better than he used to. The things people say about ‘glowing’ when they fall in love may actually be true. With a shake of his head, he ignores that train of thought in favor of pulling out his phone and reading the news.

Slowly, more of the faculty file in; Nezu, Mic, Vlad King, Nejire- who started working for U.A. shortly after graduating- and finally, All Might. The four sit near Aizawa at the table with Mic sitting right next to him and the others sitting across from him. They chat and talk about their plans for winter break as if Aizawa isn’t even there until Aizawa hears Nejire pipe up with-

“Hey, All Might, is that a new scarf? It’s cute. Where’d you get it?”

“It’s a funny story, but someone has been leaving these gifts in my work locker for months…” All Might explains, much to Aizawa’s embarrassment. Aizawa can’t help but notice that the older man is wearing his sweater. Again. The chunky crocheted scarf around his neck is made of black and red yarn, one of the many things that Aizawa has anonymously gifted to him since the summertime. “Everything from chocolates and flowers for my birthday to this scarf and custom-made sweaters. No idea who it is.”

“Oh, well that’s a simple problem with a simple solution!” Nezu suggests. Aizawa’s heart drops as the principal suddenly crawls into his scarf and sits on his shoulder- something he frequently does for warmth and height. His beady eyes remain trained on All Might. Meanwhile, Mic won’t stop nudging Aizawa with his foot underneath the table. “Would you like me to check the security cameras for you?”

“No, that’s not necessary, Nezu,” All Might answers with a dismissive wave. It takes everything in Aizawa not to let out an obvious sigh of relief. “After all, if they’re going about it like this, they probably don’t want me to know their identity.”

“You don’t think that it’s some sort of villain, do you?” Vlad King questions.

“Not at all. UA’s security is too strict to allow any outsiders in and all of the gifts I’ve received so far have been totally harmless. I had the same train of thought at first and even had Tsukauchi run everything I received through his forensics team to test for poisons and find any trackers or cameras that might’ve been hidden, but no one found anything. It seems like they’re totally innocuous, well-meaning gifts.”

“Do you think it’s a student?” Nezu presses, clearly somewhat concerned.

Aizawa suddenly realizes just how bad of an idea this was to start off with. Maybe he should stop and get a hold of things before he gets caught and makes a fool out of himself.

“No, they wouldn’t have access to the lounge unless they had some sort of quirk that allowed them to phase through things. I know we have a couple of those quirk users here, but I doubt that any of them would risk getting in trouble for something so dumb when they could just leave the stuff on the desk of the classroom I teach in. So, it must be another faculty member; another teacher, a janitor, cafeteria staff…” All Might continues rambling on about the many deductions he’s made. Aizawa almost calls him out for sounding so much like Midoriya, but he decides against it. “There’s so many people who work here that I haven’t bothered trying to narrow it down.”

“And that doesn’t bother you at all!? I’d be going insane!” Mic yells out, then sends a quick and knowing glance in Aizawa’s direction. Aizawa glares back at him. “What if you have a stalker or something?”

“I doubt it’s anything that severe. Either this is some sort of cruel joke or someone has a crush on me,” All Might shrugs. “I’d be surprised at the latter considering the form I’m currently in, but the gifts clearly have a lot of thought behind them and some people have weird tastes…”

At that, Mic burst out laughing, to which Aizawa quickly turns and scolds him.

“Mic!”

Mic only laughs harder. Aizawa doesn’t think his face has ever been this red, and All Might is looking between the two of them like he’s trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together.

“What’s so funny, Yamada?” All Might asks and narrows his sky blue eyes.

“Nothing, nothing,” Mic answers, but again, only laughs even hader. He puts his head on the table and buries his face in his arms. “Sorry!”

“So you’re just going to let this continue to happen?” Vlad King interjects.

“Basically. Either I’ll retire from teaching, they’ll come and tell me who they are and why they’re doing this, or they’ll get bored and stop. Whichever happens first. I don’t really mind either way.”

“What if it’s, like, a secret admirer?” Nejire continues. Meanwhile, Aizawa doesn’t know if he’s relieved or offended at the fact that All Might doesn’t seem to care very much about whoever it is that’s been leaving him presents in his locker. “Don’t you want to know who they are?”

“Not really. I know I don’t discuss it very often, but I do have my heart set on someone else… I just haven’t had the courage to tell them, especially since my retirement from hero work. So, it’s better that this person doesn’t reveal themselves to me; I’d hate to reject them after they’ve given me so many nice things. I want them to know I appreciate all these things they’ve gifted me, so I wear and use them as much as I can, but I also wonder if I’m giving them the wrong idea… Ah, I’ve got lesson plans to work on. I should get back to the classroom.”

With that, All Might stands up and retreats, leaving the rest of the staff to eat their lunches and chat amongst themselves- mostly about the upcoming holiday party that the hero commission is going to throw in about a week to celebrate the last year’s worth of hero work. They do it every year, but Aizawa never attends, finding that no one really cares whether or not he’s there aside from Mic. It always seems like a big publicity stunt for heroes to come and throw their money at the charities that are promoted there, for heroes to come and get interviewed by famous reporters, and for heroes to come and find more work with new teams or agencies.

Like a lot of hero society, the whole thing is about business more than it is a genuine celebration, but… if All Might is going to be there this year like he always is, Aizawa may go.

Eventually, the rest of the staff clear out, leaving Aizawa and Mic by themselves. Mic is the first to say anything.

“Eraser, aren’t you going to tell him about your feelings?”

“Has your quirk made you deaf or something? He said he’s in love with someone else! He’d just reject me, I… Should’ve never done this in the first place,” Aizawa sighs. His heart actually feels like it’s breaking from everything All Might said. “It was a stupid idea. Out of all the people I could’ve gone and caught feelings for…”

“But what if that person he talked about is you?”

“Really? Out of everyone All Might has ever met and known, you think he’s in love with me? Yeah, right,” Aizawa scoffs, looking at Mic in disbelief. “Be realistic.”

“I dunno, maybe? I mean, I could’ve sworn he was giving you ‘fuck me eyes’ while he was in here so perhaps-”

“There’s no way,” Aizawa interrupts, flustered. The idea of All Might looking at him like that… No. It’s impossible. For someone like All Might to want someone like him… “I look like a homeless person according to my students and everyone knows I haven’t been the same since everything that happened with the League of Villains and the Paranormal Liberation Front. And, just in case you forgot, I’m also more than a decade younger than him. I wouldn’t blame him for being completely repulsed by me.”

“Eraser… I’m sure if you told him, and he didn’t return the feelings, he’d be nice about it,” Mic tries to be comforting by putting a hand on Aizawa’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, pity kindness. That’s definitely what I want from him. As if this isn’t embarrassing enough,” Aizawa sarcastically huffs with a roll of his eyes. Mic just offers a guilty smile in return. “Honestly, Mic, you… Look, I appreciate you trying to help me here, but it’s better if I just don’t say anything, okay? He doesn’t want me back, and he never will.”

“If that’s how you really feel, I guess I can’t change your mind, but let me know if you ever want to ask him out, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

“Okay, catch ya later!”

With that, Mic stands up and exits the room, leaving Aizawa alone yet again. The ravenette sighs and holds his head in his hands.

Asking All Might out?

Yeah, right. Because that’ll go swimmingly.

Aizawa doesn’t get the chance to do it a fourth time. Instead, U.A. is closed for winter break so the students can go home and spend time with their families for the holidays. While a few of them stay behind, they celebrate in their own way, leaving the teachers to attend the hero commission’s holiday party. It’s thrown at some fancy venue with a ballroom, that of which Aizawa can’t be fucked to remember the name of. Mic drives him, anyway, so it’s not like he has to know what it’s called or where it’s at.

Once he gets there, Mic splits from him to go be the social butterfly and casually functioning alcoholic that he’s always been. He downs drink after drink, but thankfully, Nezu is nearby keeping an eye on him so Aizawa doesn’t have to (for once). Aizawa takes the opportunity to lean back against one of the less crowded walls and scan the room.

Since the end of the conflict with the PLF, any interest in Aizawa and his involvement with the U.A. scandals has died down considerably, so he’s almost returned to the familiar comfort of no one knowing who he is again- so much so that none of the paparazzi or reporters bother trying to snap pictures or get an interview with him. Though many heroes would feel stiffed by this, Aizawa is relieved as he watches All Might, who is currently experiencing the exact opposite.

At first, All Might was happily chatting with the other heroes and dancing with a lot of them (which made Aizawa somewhat jealous, but that’s another story). Now, All Might looks uncomfortable, though he does a great job at putting on a front and answering all of the reporters’ questions as if he isn’t becoming a nervous wreck with every second that passes. Eventually, All Might directs them to Mount Lady, who is currently dancing with Kamui woods. Those vultures take the opportunity to go take as many implicating photos as they can, which gives All Might the time to make an escape and slip outside of the venue. Aizawa grabs a coffee from the bar and follows the former number one hero, who he finds sitting outside on a bench a few yards away from the front door.

“Parties aren’t much your scene these days, are they?” Aizawa asks, standing behind the bench and slumping his shoulders.

“Heh,” All Might laughs, then shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“It seems like I can always find you out here when you feel out of place… Outside in the freezing cold, all by your lonesome, sitting on some bench.”

“Would you like to sit?” All Might offers.

“Sure,” Aizawa sits down next to All Might and sees that the blond is shivering due to the cold, even in a nice sweater and a scarf. So, Aizawa holds out his hot coffee and asks- “Want a sip?”

All Might looks at the coffee, then at Aizawa.

“You don’t mind?”

“Kids are petri dishes, and I’m around them all the time just fine,” Aizawa shrugs. “I doubt you’ll get me sick.”

All Might takes the cup.

“There’s no alcohol in this, right?”

“Right. I know you can’t really drink anymore. Plus, I’m not really stupid enough to drink at this sort of thing unlike all of our coworkers… I’d hate to slip up and let something embarrassing out to the press. I know those damn vultures would take full advantage of some poor inebriated idiot here- hell, they do it to Mic every year.”

“That’s true,” All Might laughs and leans back against the bench. It’s taken him a couple minutes, but he seems comfortable with Aizawa’s presence now. The smile on his face is beautiful underneath the pale moonlight, practically glimmering. Aizawa feels his cheeks burn red and prays that All Might doesn’t notice. Pausing, All Might drinks some of the coffee before continuing. “I remember last year when they got him to admit to that fling he had with Vlad King, those two were in hot water for a while… Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

“Sure.”

A few moments pass with the two men passing the coffee between each other, drinking, and chatting away. Aizawa can’t help but notice that All Might is acting a little differently- a little more at ease than he normally would. Aizawa isn’t sure how to place it until All Might sets the drink down on the middle of the bench and holds out one of his large hands.

“Hey, how about a dance?”

“Hm?”

“I think you’re the only one of our coworkers I haven’t danced with tonight,” All Might says offhandedly, which makes Aizawa’s face fall. Is it really just a platonic offer? Almost as if sensing his disappointment, All Might rushes to retract the invitation, panicking. “Then again, I understand if you aren’t interested! I know being in the spotlight isn’t really your thing and-”

“We can dance out here, if you want,” Aizawa interjects. The soft lull of the waltz music from inside can be heard echoing through the open windows. “I can still hear the music.”

“That actually sounds pretty nice,” All Might stands. “Mind if I lead?”

“Not at all.”

So, hand in hand, the two dance together outside of the venue, unbothered by the press or their fellow heroes who would ask questions. All Might’s hands are calloused and warm, and he smells like the cologne Aizawa bought him not that long ago.

“You know, it’s rare that you dress up like this,” All Might remarks, and it’s true. Aizawa wore a suit for the occasion at Mic’s pestering. He even shaved and tied his hair up to make himself look somewhat nice. Though, he didn’t expect All Might to notice. “I don’t think I’ve seen it since that last press conference.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” All Might smiles. “I like it.”

“Well, I like you,” Aizawa spits out before he can think better of it. He freezes, tripping over All Might’s feet. All Might wraps an arm around his back and pulls him into his chest to catch him. Embarrassment washes over Aizawa like a shower that’s way too hot. He rushes to explain the words away. “Wait, that’s not what I-”

“I like you, too,” All Might blurts out, much to his relief. On one hand, Aizawa is happy, but on the other, he doesn’t want to admit that Mic was right. “And um… Thanks for the stuff.”

At that, Aizawa blinks and pulls away, flustered.

“You knew it was me?”

“Well, no,” All Might answers, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “But Mic’s pretty hammered in there and-”

“He told you, didn’t he?” Aizawa huffs and facepalms with a shake of his head.

“Maybe?”

“He’s awfully lucky this just so happened to work out,” Aizawa sighs and reaches forward to grab one of All Might’s hands. Much to his delight, All Might laces their fingers together and stands by his side. “But I guess since the cat’s out of the bag, we can take this inside, right?”

“Yeah… I’d like that.”

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #erasermight #erasermight fic #eraserhead #all might #yagi toshinori #shouta aizawa #shota aizawa #fluff #oneshot #oneshots #drabble #drabbles #post-canon #post-war

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doeeyeseddie · 1 year

Note

Pia pls, something with "sweater weather" 🥹💛

frida, it's 32°c outside and as far from sweater weather as it could be, but this was very fun to write, thank you 💘

send me a soft prompt

[read on ao3]

Winter in LA isn’t cold by any means, and having grown up in El Paso, Eddie should be used to lower temperatures – but he’s been living in LA for six years now, and clearly he’s become used to LA temperatures instead.

So when he wakes up on a cold December morning and the other side of the bed is cold, he grumbles unhappily as he gets out from under the cozy blanket, and looks for a sweater to put on over his sleepshirt.

He finds one of Buck’s thrown haphazardly over the back of the chair Eddie has in his bedroom, and pulls it over his head. It’s soft and smells like Buck, and Eddie breathes in deep once before going on the search for the man himself.

He finds him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter holding a cup of coffee and reading a book. His back is halfway turned, so Eddie gets a good look at the bold letters spelling out DIAZ on the back of the sweater he’s wearing. His stomach does a somersault and he pads into the kitchen, causing Buck to look up from his book.

“Hey,” he smiles, putting down the coffee and lifting his arm so Eddie can tuck himself under it in search of Buck’s warmth.

Once he’s wrapped around Buck completely, his cold nose pressed to Buck’s neck, he mumbles, “Morning.”

Buck presses a kiss to the side of his head. “You okay?”

“I missed you,” Eddie says, and doesn’t even feel ridiculous for it. “The bed was cold without you.”

“Sorry,” Buck says. “Do you want coffee?”

“In a minute.”

Buck lets his book close without putting a bookmark in it and wraps his second arm around Eddie too. He’s barely taller than Eddie, but sometimes Eddie really likes being tucked against his side like this, kept safe from the world. Especially when the world is cold and gray, like today.

“Love you,” he says eventually, lifting his head.

Buck smiles and meets him for a short kiss. “I love you, too. Coffee now?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, reluctantly taking a step back. “Thanks.”

Buck presses the button on the coffeemaker he’s programmed to make Eddie’s coffee (perfectly, unfortunately, which is why Eddie hasn’t thrown it out yet), and turns back to look at him again, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says, and Eddie shimmies his shoulders a little to make him laugh. It’s true he’s wearing a pair of Buck’s sweatpants too, which he forgot when he grabbed the sweater, but it’s not like they don’t share clothes all the time.

They sit at the kitchen table with their coffees, feet tangled under it, and start planning their day.

Breakfast in a bit, once Christopher is up, then laundry, grocery shopping and maybe some Christmas shopping, evening plans to be determined once they know if Christopher’s got any or if he’ll be spending it at home with them.

Buck gets up to look in the fridge and start writing their grocery list, and Eddie watches him, the same somersault feeling in his stomach as earlier.

“You look good in my clothes too,” he says, and Buck looks at him over his shoulder from where he’s half sticking his head inside the fridge. “You look good in my everything.”

Buck’s smile goes a little confused. “I– thank you?”

Eddie shakes his head with a laugh. “I just mean– you look good in all of my things. My clothes, my kitchen, my bed, my house. My life.”

Buck closes the fridge door and turns around to face him fully, eyes soft. “Eddie–”

“I love you,” Eddie barrels on, “and I want you here with me all the time. You should move in with us.”

“Yes,” Buck breathes, and he’s crossed the kitchen within a second, cupping Eddie’s face between his hands and sliding onto his lap. “Yes.”

Eddie has half a mind to worry about the chair – or maybe a quarter, because the biggest part of his brain is focused on Buck in his lap.

“Yeah?” he asks, hands running up Buck’s thighs on either side of him to settle at his hips.

“Of course,” Buck says, and he’s smiling so wide his eyes are almost disappearing. “I hate leaving here.”

“And I hate when you leave, and I know Christopher does too.”

Not that Buck leaves much, these days. Honestly, this is more of a formality at this point, but Eddie really does hate whenever Buck goes to the loft instead of coming home with him, so he can’t wait to be rid of the thing.

“We can throw out your bed and move mine here instead,” Buck suggests, and Eddie glowers at him playfully.

“What’s wrong with my bed?”

“Come on now, you know mine is more comfortable. And bigger.”

Eddie, who spent a lot of time in Buck’s bed especially in the early days of their relationship, when Buck still felt awkward knowing Christopher slept just down the hall, does know that.

“Okay,” he agrees. “I guess we can keep your bed.”

“Make it our bed,” Buck says, and Eddie wants to make fun of him for being a sap, but he’s pretty sure his face is showing exactly how much he likes it.

“Sap,” he says anyway, and Buck’s hands that have migrated to Eddie’s shoulders, move back up to his face.

“You love it,” he grins. “And you’re just as much of a sap, Mr “You look good in my life”.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says happily. “You’re moving in with me anyway.”

“I am,” Buck crows. “You’re never getting rid of me now.”

“Good,” Eddie says, and tilts his head up.

Buck gets the hint and bends down to kiss him, softly at first and then deeper when Eddie opens his mouth and pulls him closer by the hips. He runs a hand up Buck’s back and feels the letters on his sweater under his fingertips.

He never wants to get rid of Buck, no. He’s gonna marry this man.

#buddie #911fic #911 #buddie fic #pia writes #ask #leothil #frida tag

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lbxbx · 5 months

Note

I’m down so bad for j hope right now the only solution is a lobotomy

Hey! No one's getting a lobotomy on my watch LMAO

Work from home | JHS mini drabble

tags: smut, little to no plot. word count: 1200

“I’ll call the creative team and have them prepare the slides for our meeting tomorrow with our client.”

It’s similar to all the meetings from home you had, dressed into a fancy button up with either a panty or sweatpants. It’s almost one hour left before you get to log off and end your day, your office slash dining table was a frightening mess, two coffee cups, the leftovers from our breakfast, an unbelievable amount of shredded papers and tissues, and your pair of socks that you had taken off a couple hours ago when your legs felt hot. You were always like that when you were focused on your work, you wouldn’t pay enough attention to the surroundings of you whatsoever.

“Of course Y/n, and tell them to have the slides ready by tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll be sure to call the marketing team to stay in touch with them.” Your boss who’s also working from home answers you.

You hear the door to your house unlocking before you look at the time, Hoseok is back earlier than usual. He flashes you a smile and your eyes struggle to stay focused on the screen and you fight the urge to smile back at your man when you’re in the middle of a meeting.

“I’ll be back in a second sir, let me get the notes I wrote earlier.” You mute your video call and getup to hug Hoseok and grab his thermal cup from his hands. “Hi honey.” He wraps his arms tightly around you carrying up from the floor. “Hey, how’s your day? You’re back early.”

‘I’ve been thinking about you the entire day.” He presses his lips against yours. “I miss you too, but hey, I’m in the middle of a meeting, I’ll log off in like an hour you can probably shower until then and rest a little so we can have dinner.”

He looks at the dining table behind you before turning his gaze towards you. “Are you doing okay?

“Yeah, the chaos means I’m being productive” You kiss his lips again. “Go change, I have to get back to my meeting.”

He nods and takes his thermal cup to the kitchen, washing it and taking his time to clean it along with the other dishes, before heading towards the bedroom, taking off his suit and putting it in the laundry basket and taking a quick shower. It’s the bare minimum, but him doing the dishes and putting away laundry made you flip head over heels for him.

He gets dressed and walks back towards your make believe office and smiles subtly before picking up your used cups and tissues and taking them back to the kitchen, he takes a couple of trips back and forth to clean your surroundings and makes sure you’re all comfortable while you’re being productive.

It grabs his attention when you argue with your boss over a stupid thing, the stern tone in your voice along with your posture moved something inside him. It makes him think how this strong woman holding up a meeting can grow weak and vulnerable in his own arms when you’re in bed with him.

Hoseok’s intrusive thoughts always got the best of him, and when it comes to you he’d grow week too. So he gets down on his knees and crawls under the table closer to you. Right when he spreads your legs to sit between them you nudge his shoulder to stop when you’re mid talking.

And he’s totally unbothered, he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls it further down to your ankles. And honestly it’s not his first time doing this, so you know your hopeless attempts of stopping him will end up failing, he simply just gets what he wants, and right now he wants you.

He presses one kiss onto your cunt and usually he would savor how you taste and verbalize how much he enjoys your taste on his tongue, but he got used to eating you out in the middle of your meetings so he stays quiet.

He hooks your arms onto your thighs and pulls you towards him a little to reveal more off your cunt to him.

And you are trying to hold on in front of your lap top camera and you barely can, one hand is under the table running through his hair and tugging onto it, and the other one is supporting your chin in a desperate try to cover your mouth, and it works.

Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head when he wraps his mouth around your cunt, enveloping it entirely in his mouth to slurp on it and eat you out like it’s his last meal alive. He would kill to see your face trying hard to hide the pleasure but too bad the dining table is in the way.

“Yes, I’ll have everything ready by tues—tuesday.” You almost choke on your words when he fucks your cunt with his tongue, his fingers circulating you bean to deliver more pleasure and it’s about to drive you crazy.

Your chest heaves faster and you tug harder on his hair when he bops his head to fuck you with his tongue and you feel your stomach tightening, he forcefully pushes your legs back open when you try and close them around his head, and to deliver even more pleasure he pushes in his index and middle finger and slowly beings to move them in and out of you, this time his mouth enveloping your clit and sucking onto it.

“Mmm.” Escapes your mouth and clear your throat to try and mask it, you could easily predict Hoseok and you know he’d be smirking and he’d be totally proud of himself to make that little moan escape of out you.

He doesn’t think again before pushing in his ring finger and fucking you repeatedly with all his three fingers while flicking and sucking onto your tiny throbbing bean, his tongue even collects your juices and his own eyes close at the sweet taste of you that he never gets sick of.

Your fingernails almost dig into his scalp when you feel yourself about to release, your legs are still trying to fight his strength and close but he’s way stronger than you are. He curls his fingers against your spot and doesn’t stop, and you can clearly hear the wet sound from your pussy and you wonder if the can hear it.

“Y/N, any thoughts on that?” Your boss asks and you immediately answer with a shaky voice. “N-no, all good, so good.”

You fight the urge to call out his name off of the top of your lungs when you finally cum, you feel the entire orgasm in you back and shoulders and your body heats up more than it already is, and he’s still fucking you through your orgasm, your cunt repeatedly clenching around his soaked fingers.

“That’s all for today, we’ll see you tomorrow morning” Your boss finally ends the meeting and the camera finally turns off.

“Fuck you, Jung Hoseok.”

“You’re welcome, next time maybe we can show them that this mouth can do other things too.”

#bts x fem!reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #jung hoseok #jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok smut #jung hoseok fic #jhope #jhope x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop imagines

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starsurface · 7 months

Note

Hello again!! I really liked the Little!Hanzo & CG!Kuai Liang HCs :D could I ask for more please? Thank you!

-🦈

I've got you!!! :D

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Kuai Liang w/ Regressor Hanzo Hcs pt 2

🦂 Actually such a sweet baby 🥺 (when he isn't angry or having a tantrum

⛄️ Kuai’s doing laundry? He wants to help too!!

🦂 Kuai Liang will let him put the clothes in and tell him what buttons to press

⛄️ Or instruct him, with detail, if they're doing hand washing

🦂 Kuai's making something yummy for dinner? He wants to help too!!

⛄️ Kuai Liang will let him stir and mix, but is super cautious of him getting near the stove

🦂 Luckily though, Hanzo’s fireproof, so (with Kuai Liang's help) maybe he can put the cookies into the oven

⛄️ If he's had a bad tantrum, or just a hissy fit in general, he'll overdo it and try to do task he knows he can't so while small

🦂 He wants to show Kuai that he loves him and he didn't mean to get all fussy and mean

⛄️ Also doesn't want Kuai to leave him because he acted out and shouted and kicked and was naughty :(

🦂 Don't worry, the moment Kuai Liang sees him do this, he'll call him out and they'll talk about it

⛄️ Hanzo overall doesn't real lIfelike sweet treats like candy, and he's rather prefer something like dark chocolate or traditional Japanese candies over other things

🦂 Ice cream, however, does NOT count as something sweet!! >:(

⛄️ Or, that's what Hanzo tell Kuai Liang

🦂 Hanzo usually doesn't over indulge while he eats

⛄️ But he has eaten an entire carton of ice cream by accident while he was tiny (and got really upset over the fact he let himself do that)

🦂 Don't worry, Kuai Liang told him that he doesn't feel guilty for eating his treat, and he knows he didn't mean to eat all of it

⛄️ Kuai Liang also watches Hanzo’s ice cream intake now, just so Hanzo doesn't panic and cry again

🦂 Luckily, Hanzo really likes Kuai Liang's homemade ice cream, and Kuai Liang will make small containers of it so he can have some

⛄️ If Kuai Liang made dinner, Hanzo’s Teddy also gets a plate, there are no ifs and buts

🦂 Also the one time Kuai Liang tried telling Hanzo that Teddy doesn't need to eat, Hanzo bursted into tears and claimed Teddy was gonna starve

⛄️ Teddy has his own special plate, and Hanzo gets to eat off it because Teddy is a ‘slow eater’

🦂 The first time Kuai Liang had to clean Teddy, Hanzo completely freaked out

⛄️ Teddy was a prize Kuai Liang got for him on the first date they went to, and has been there through Everything.

🦂 Man has a spot on the bed by now, fr

⛄️ Hanzo knew that the more he fussed, the more damage Teddy could get (it was a stain but needed to be cleaned quickly)

🦂 He sat teary eyed for hours, clinging to Kuai Liang and trying not to cry

⛄️ Hanzo cuddled Teddy until the next day, Kuai Liang kinda got shoved to the side

🦂 Kuai Liang has totally never gotten jealous of Teddy at all (lier)

⛄️ Don't worry, Hanzo can cuddle them at the same time

🦂 He'll sit in Kuai Liang's lap, and Teddy can be in his lap!! :D

⛄️ Hanzo got sick once and regressed super small and was not a happy camper >:(

🦂 He couldn't do anything!! And Dada still had busy Grandmaster work, and he couldn't cuddle him because he might get Dada sick

⛄️ And then Teddy was taken away the next day so he could get ‘disinfected’ (Kuai Liang tried taking it when Hanzo was sleeping, but Hanzo woke up to Teddy gone)

🦂 And he had to take yucky medicine, and he felt too warm but also too cold

⛄️ Baby boy was NOT having a good time >:(

🦂 Luckily, Kuai Liang gave him a bunch of cuddles and loving the next day to make up for it (and Teddy was warm from being taking out of the dryer!!)

⛄️ Even while small, Hanzo really likes to play and scratch Kuai Liang's head

🦂 The only problem is that the smaller he is, the more he tugs hair :(

⛄️ Most times he doesn't notice, and the tugs are small

🦂 But other times Kuai Liang's thinking about buying a wig, just in case

⛄️ But how could he say no to his baby? Especially when he's doing ‘🥺’ after?? Accidents happen!!

🦂 He will get a small scolding if it wasn't an accident though

⛄️ Not that he ever would!! . . . Unless Kuai was making a bad joke 😒 (But it's literally not his fault!!)

🦂 When he's big, one of his favorite date activities is pottery making

⛄️ Little Hanzo really likes painting said pottery (sometimes they'll make something and leave a paint aside)

🦂 Hanzo isn't very much of an active regressor

⛄️ Is super content with laying in bed and cuddling all day

🦂 What does Kuai mean they need to have potty and munchies breaks? No they don't >:(

⛄️ Such a sweet baby, even if he's got some angry moments <3

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I hope you like them, I had to made them during this super loud, super flashy party I went to. :(

I can always do more or remake it!!! :D

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twoidiotwriters1 · 2 years

Text

Copycat: Agent Zero —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

Words: 1,764

Phase Four Masterlist

Previous chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Rolling In The Deep’ -by Adele

xxx: Snowballs

"Something feels off."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't like this."

"Leave it alone," Marko warned him. "The sooner you guys get through this, the sooner we go home."

"He's right," Cat said from her place near the window. "Nothing Peter's doing is going to hurt you. If you try something, though, you'll have to worry about what I'll do to you."

Max looked at her. "Are you a superhero or are you a reformed criminal?"

"I was an Avenger."

"No clue of what that means."

"I'm really good at fighting but I'm not good as a person."

"May?" Peter walked into the room, in the distance, she began to hear police sirens, but she didn't think that was the problem the spidey senses were trying to point out.

"What is it, Peter?"

Cat put a hand behind her back, ready to fetch her blaster. Peter's eyes went from person to person unsure of what was going on, and he was making the already unstable men nervous.

THWIP!

He trapped Norman's hand against Dum-E. The older man smiled. "That's some neat trick... that sense of yours."

"Norman?"

"Norman's on sabbatical, honey."

"The Goblin," Peter looked at May first and then at Cat. The message was clear: get out.

"No more darker half? Did you really think that I'd let that happen? That I'd let you take away my power just because you're blind to what true power can bring you?"

"You don't know me."

"Don't I? I saw how she trapped you, fighting her holy moral mission... we don't need you to save us— we don't need to be fixed!" He looked at Max. "These are not curses, they're gifts."

"Norman, no—"

"Quiet, lapdog!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Peter insisted.

"I watched you from deep behind Norman's cowardly eyes— struggling to have everything you want while the world tries to make you choose," he laughed. "Gods don't have to choose. We take."

Cat felt drawn to his speech, inside her something tugged at the restraints keeping her under control.

"May— run."

Cat seized her blaster while May ran out of the apartment. Max pulled the neutralizer off his chest and summoned the arch reactor from the laundry room. Norman ripped Peter's webs and attacked him.

She turned to May and pushed her out of there, then she ran just in time to see Max throwing Otto out of the building through the wall. She lifted her blaster and pointed at him.

"Put that reactor down!"

He laughed. "What? You gonna stop me with that thing?"

At her feet, she saw Flint Marko sliding away. Max was absorbing more power than she could possibly handle, even while copying his powers. Dr. Connors was trying to escape from the truck, she could hear him.

"Copy! Go find May!" Peter was trying to shake Norman off.

"But—"

"Make sure she's okay!"

Max smiled at her one last time before leaving, she growled, running to the exit.

"Mouse, check the surveillance cameras and tell me where May is!"

"She's going down the stairs on the second floor."

Cat teleported right behind the woman and May screamed. "It's me, it's me! Keep going, we need to leave the building!"

"Where's Peter?"

"He's fighting Osborn—"

"You can't leave him!"

"He asked me to get you!"

They ran to the lobby, something cracked above her head and Cat grabbed May, pulling her back. The ceiling crumbled in front of them, Norman and Peter were in the middle of the mess. The Daily Bugle and several police cars were there, Cat was glad to be wearing a mask.

"Stay here," she told May. "I'll help Peter."

"Have this!" May handed her the Goblin's cure.

Cat teleported behind Norman, she stabbed the man's neck and pressed the button to release the liquid. He moved away from Peter, trying to punch her in the face.

"What the..." she grabbed her spear. "Why is the serum not working?!"

Peter rolled over. "He was making his own cure!"

"Peter!"

"Now's not the time, C!"

Norman approached her menacingly. "You are not like him. Your eyes, there is an absence in them... your loyalty to this boy is holding you back..."

"If you get any closer, I'll kill you," she extended her spear.

He cackled. "Go ahead! Show him how it is to get rid of what stands in your way when you have the guts!"

"Webs!" Cat urged him.

The boy was too injured, she hadn't seen him this way ever since he'd been hit by a train. He tried to stand and coughed, falling to his knees.

"Fine," Cat took a shaky breath. "Let's have it your way, Goblin."

She threw her weapon and he caught it, he tried to stab her but she moved away. Norman was impressibly strong, he wasn't bleeding, and he didn't even have bruises.

Peter was tired, Cat drew out her blaster again and decided to leave the spear.

"Weak!" Norman shouted, and threw her weapon.

Cat grabbed the blaster with both hands and put it in front of Peter. The spear went right through it, and when she looked, the blade was a mere inch away from the boy's throat.

"Are you okay?" She gasped.

Peter nodded wordlessly, May threw a big rock in Norman's direction.

"May, go!" Peter shouted trying to get to her but stumbling over the debris.

"You tried to fix me," Norman tilted his head towards them. "Now I'm gonna fix you."

"May run... please..." Peter got up again with Cat's help, he was shaking.

Cat looked in time to see a glider flying in. She opened her mouth to scream 'Watch out!' but the warning came at the same time May was thrown forward.

Norman jumped on top of his glider. "Peter, Peter, Peter... no good deed goes unpunished. You can thank me later."

He grabbed something and pressed the top of it, then he threw it toward May. Cat teleported and used her cape to protect May. The Goblin escaped not without throwing a second bomb at the police cars outside the building. Cat shook off the dirt and rocks that had fallen on top of her, and cupped May's face.

"Deep breaths, can you do that for me?" Cat moved so Peter's aunt had more room. "What were you thinking, huh? I told you to stay away..." May coughed, and Cat hushed her gently. "Here, put your arm around my shoulders..."

She helped the woman up, and Peter stumbled once again trying to stand. She quickly urged him to cease trying.

"I'm fine..."

"Mouse?"

"Vitals are a little wanky, but stable."

"Stay there, we're coming to you."

Cat guided May towards her nephew, and she moved away when they hugged each other. She looked around the room with a terrible dread nestling inside of her. "Osborn's a piece of shit..."

Peter grimaced. "I think I broke my ribs..." he looked around as well, then at Cat, her cheek had blood smeared on it. "This is all my fault..."

"No..." May started.

"I should have let Strange send them back—"

"You did the right thing. They would've been killed. You did the right thing."

"I was the one who fucked up," Cat sighed. "If only I hadn't let Tony —or any of the adults back then scare me... your identity would've remained a secret and Mysterio would've left you alone. I should've vanished from your life sooner—"

"Cat..."

"I should've dealt with it alone. I was a coward!"

"Cat, this happened 'cause I made it happen. You said no and I didn't listen. I'm the one to blame. These guys were never my mess to fix."

May looked at them in outrage. "Oh. What Norman said? My moral mission?"

"No, May—"

"No, Peter, you listen to me. You two have a gift. You have power." She placed one hand on the boy's chest. "And with great power, there must also come great responsibility."

The boy stared at his aunt. "...yeah, I know."

May turned to Cat. "Stop blaming yourself for what others did. What matters is that you keep pushing back, and you'll keep pushing back until you've won."

Cat looked down at her feet and found the spear laying a little further to the right. She bent down to grab it.

May's knees gave up and she fell again. Peter was quick to catch her and carefully placed her on the ground. Large vehicles stopped outside. "May, we need to leave, what's going on?"

"I'm okay," she spoke, but her eyes were losing focus.

"Yeah, you're okay, what happened?" Peter knelt in front of her.

"Just have to... catch my breath."

"Okay, well, catch your breath I'm right here. Take your time..."

Cat looked at the doors anxiously. "We need to go."

"Hold on."

"Peter..."

"She needs a moment," he insisted.

May's hand slipped, and Cat's insides froze when she noticed there was a small pool of blood growing under the woman's body, she spoke in a whisper.

"Mouse?"

"Her pulse is slowing down to a critical point."

"What can we do?"

"You're not equipped for this."

"Peter, we have to take her to a doctor."

"She's not gonna make it."

She took a long, determined breath. "Did you hear that, Peter?"

"Yes," he answered quietly.

"Are you okay?" May asked weakly.

"Somebody help!" He screamed at the people outside. "I need an ambulance, please! Somebody—"

"What happened?" May insisted.

"Nothing happened," he turned back, lovingly stroking her hair and accidentally smearing blood on it. "You're okay, you're okay..."

"Let me just... let me catch my breath."

"I'm right here— I'm right here, I'm right here..."

Cat moved to stand in front of Peter and May to protect them. Damage control had heard Peter's screams but they hadn't believed him, they were loading their guns. Her voice trembled. "I'm so sorry, but you need to say goodbye now."

Peter didn't respond, but she knew he'd heard her. He got closer to May. "You're okay... it's just me and you."

"I no longer detect a pulse."

"May?" Peter said weakly. "May?"

Cat didn't dare to look back, the sight would throw her right back to the moment she'd lost half of her family. She couldn't go back, not right now when Peter needed her the most.

"Will you look at me, May? Please?"

"Mouse was keeping track of her vitals—"

"What are you doing May? Will you just wake up and talk to me, please?"

The men outside were approaching, Cat grabbed the bag May had brought along. "Peter, please just listen to me..."

"Okay!" He choked out. "I'm going! Oh, God... May..."

A car stopped between them and the armed man. Happy. Her chest tightened. "Let's not make things worse!"

"Get out of the car now, move!"

Happy was dragged out of the vehicle, she tried to run toward him but Peter seized her ankle. She looked down at him, and therefore at May's body.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" he whispered to his aunt.

—It was supposed to be me— I'm sorry...

Cat squeezed her eyes shut to get rid of the memory, she lifted Peter as gently yet as urgently as she could.

"Parker and Copycat, come out with your hands up!"

Cat grabbed Peter and disappeared inside a cloud of brimstone.

Next Chapter—>

Taglist.

@mikaelsonwhxrebae @ieatpanicattacksforlunch @jesuswasnotawhiteman @siriuslysirius1107 @greengarsstuff @itsyagirl01 @23victoria @espressopatronum454 @jkthinkstoomuch

#twoidiots writing #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #copycat fic

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clockwork-reveries · 4 months

Text

why the neoterics do not live with each other

"Castro." Amp stood in the doorway of the living room. Crescendo did not look away from the TV as he continued rapid pressing buttons on his controller, optics darting rapidly to help him fulfill a task that emulated the ones that were before it. "Castro," Amp repeated, tone slightly firmer. He crossed his arms. "Crescendo, Damian just called." Immediately Crescendo put his controller down. "Is he oka-" "I lied." Amp walked into the room but remained near the doorway. "You can't keep do-" "You were appointed laundry since Wednesday. Yet, the load hasn't decreased at all. Why?" "Uhm." Crescendo bit his lip. "I forgot, I really did. I'll finish up this match n' get to it right away. Is that good?"

It must have been, as Amp left him to his own devices. Static spoke up from the kitchen after a couple seconds: "How do you forget about something like that, though, man? I mean, I'd understand if there was other chores, but Amp compulsively cleans the house, LOCK is learning how to establish a routine by doing the tasks by doing stuff we don't like, and we don't eat." "I dunno. Maybe I also lied to Amp 'cause I don't like doin' chores."

Static sighed.

"Do you want me to do it? You can keep playing COD." "No, no, no. You're always too damn nice to me, dude. I'm not datin' you 'cause I needa free servant." "If you're not gonna do it now, I get the feeling you're going do it never." "Ughhh. C'mon, Estático. I already said no." "STATIC! If you're gonna chip in around here, could you just like, start with the rent? Oh, wait, you're unemployed!" "Shut up, RK."

#scifi #robot character #crescendo castro #static anela #amp #rk #indeterminate #original characters

0 notes

talenlee · 2 years

Text

Big Pile Of Bookkeeping

New Post has been published on https://press.invincible.ink/big-pile-of-bookkeeping/

Big Pile Of Bookkeeping

I make a point of trying to write about what I’m experiencing and thinking about and feeling, not because it’s some grand pcinriple but because it’s a lot easier and I’m not particularly creative about why I write, just that I write. The result is that when I’m not partaking of much that I think makes interesting writing subject matter (‘not making content’) I tend to trail off about it. Sometimes that’s things that I think ethically, I should not share, like spending a lot of time taking care of my niblings, or students’ work and input.

Sometimes it’s like what happened today.

Today, I spent a lot of time organising and tidying up sections on a draft document for my PhD. It is a scary document. I am very cautious about messing up something in it. I do not like how long it is and I do not like that it is so short. This is not interesting, in my mind, to share.

But it is very mentally draining, so I didn’t have a ton of brain space to write. What I did instead was do some graphic work on a game jam game (which, you know, you might see soon or not, I don’t know how it’s going to pan out at this point). I did some looking around for artists who might be interested in making Touhou art for this month’s prototype.

Bit by bit, little tasks bound up. I did the bins. I did some washing. I put away some laundry. I set up a Retrospring. I got myself on the same Mastodon instance as Fox. After some struggling with validators, I got back into an instagram account. I opened up old email addresses I’d forgotten and finally got the passwords saved, properly, and set up proper forwards so I would stop missing emails from it. I repositioned stuff on my desk, and vacuumed the area, including my Tonberry, my Gligar, my Wobbuffet, and my little Aiba plushie. It’s so many little things, so many things that a year (years?!) of neglect have let build up into a shape that made it hard to work in this space.

Oh, and I spent an unfortunate amount of brain-empty time today, logging in every single Dominator I have on the Homecoming server and making sure that their interfaces was standardised.

What?

I mean, I like it when the interface for the game (which I can customise to my wants), behaves in certain predictable ways. For example, no matter the character, when I press ctrl+1, I want to toggle on a travel power, and I want that to toggle off as well. I also like keeping my hands in reasonably narrow positions – so my WASD hand presses buttons 1-4, and modifies that with the control and alt modifiers.

I know, riveting.

This was something I could manage, a little brain-rotting experience of formally tidying up little pieces across things that don’t matter. Logging in and out is a few minutes, thirty seconds, forty seconds, screenshotting and checking things to make sure that like sat where like does, so swapping from character to character was minimally confusing.

I tidied up my journal. I wrote in my method doc about different platforms for getting audience attention to my creative work. And this is one of the things that’s on my mind a lot. Right now I’m spreading the places I’m on. Personally, I try to make sure that each place I put stuff is different; that way you can sort your experience with me, meaning that if you (say) want to skip the Magic: The Gathering stuff you don’t have to see it, and I don’t feel like I’m repeating jokes in different rooms to see who laughs at them.

On the one hand, I like the idea of letting you control your experience like that. On the other hand, I think that asking you to manage fifteen different ‘Talen Venues’ to see all the stuff I do sucks. I think of this blog as the central repository for what I do… which now I say that makes me wonder about how many times I”ve done stuff on other sites and not made it readily accessible here. Hmmm. That may be a thing to address.

Then I set up a Tumblr poster: something that could take my posts here and post them on Tumblr, like it shares links on twitter. That involved trying something totally new and unguided… and it worked. It worked out pretty okay. Doing that opened up to me that I’m going to need to make a new sidebar, something that links you to my spaces on the internet, to make it easier for you to access it ‘me’ and the things I make.

Anyway, see ya tomorrow.

0 notes

dialovers-translations · 2 years

Text

DIABOLIK LOVERS LOST EDEN Imajin Webshop Tokuten Drama CD “Perfect & Without Fail! The Sakamaki Family’s Secret Technique to Highly-Efficient Housework・ Final Edition”

Original title: パーフェクト間違いなし！逆巻家的効率家事術・決定版」

Source: Diabolik Lovers Imajin Webshop Tokuten Drama CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Toriumi Kousuke, Katsuyuki Konishi & Hirakawa Daisuke

Translator’s note: Imagine being alive for hundreds of years and still not knowing how to do the laundry, lol. This CD definitely made me realize that aside from Reiji, all of the S brothers have absolutely 0 household skills. They basically all need momma Reiji to take care of them or they’d be at a loss lol. Then again, don’t we all need a man like Reiji in our lives who can take care of all those annoying household chores? :p

→ LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

The scene starts with Reiji cooking in the kitchen.

*Sluuurp*

Reiji: …Mm. A rather fine taste. I suppose this will do. Just as I thought, when one wants to be picky in regards to the ingredients used when cooking, it is much better to do it yourself rather than leaving it up to a Familiar.

Right. I should prepare the side dishes while this is simmering on the stove. Efficiency is key when it comes to cooking.

Laito enters the kitchen.

Laito: Ah! Gosh, Reiji, this is where you’ve been. Honestly, I looked all over for you.

Reiji: …Laito? Do you need something from me?

Laito: Check this out! My shirt is a disaster!

Reiji: …!? How on earth did that stain get on there?

Laito: Kanato-kun is unbelievable, you see! He snapped after I teased him a little and decided to dump his pudding’s caramel sauce all over me!

Reiji: I have no words for this. Why don’t you hurry up and take off said shirt so you can wash it? The longer you wait, the harder it’ll become to get rid of those stains.

Laito: Mmh, mmh, my thoughts exactly! With that being saidーー

Laito takes off his shirt.

*Rustle rustle*

Laito: Here you go! Good luck with the laundry~! See you~!

Reiji: …!! Hold it!

Reiji stops him in his tracks.

*Thud*

Laito: …!? What are you doing!?

Reiji: What do you mean? As you can tell, I am currently very busy cooking. Do something about the dirty shirt yourself.

Laito: Eeeh~? But I don’t want to! I’ve got places to be, you know?

Reiji: Then why not have one of your Familiars do it instead?

Laito: Listen, I put one of my Familiars in charge of my laundry the other day and I swear my shirts shrunk as a result. So if I’m honest, I’d rather not rely on them anymore.

Reiji: That’s not my problem.

Shuu enters the kitchen as well.

Shuu: …So this is where you’ve been.

Reiji: Shuu…? …!? Why are you walking around like that!?

Shuu: I spilt tea all over my shirt when the cup I had sitting on my side fell over after I dozed off. So I took it off.

Reiji: Then why not put on a fresh shirt right away? I can’t believe you’re walking around the manor shirtless…How shameless!

Shuu: My fresh shirts weren’t in their usual place. Reiji, it’s because you haven’t been doing the laundry, right?

Reiji: It’s not my fault. …For one, why must I wash your shirts?

Shuu: You work faster than the Familiars and the end result is better.

Laito: Exactly! Everyone in town talks about how even the most stubborn stains are no match for you! …There you have it, so can we please rely on you for this one?

Reiji: I have never heard of that rumor before. No point in trying to butter up to me. For one, I am not your personal servant. I am in no way obligated to do your laundry.

Laito: Eeh~? You’re so petty!

Reiji: Petty? I believe you are in no position to call me such. For one, your ways of always leaving others with the dirty work instead of personally taking care of your own business is the issue. Allow me to use this opportunity to tell you this, but I believe that you lot have become even more slovenly than you were before. I believe it is about time that you start putting in some effort to look after yourself, no?

Shuu: Haah…Oh shut up. Nevermind then.

Laito: Eh? What are you going to do?

Shuu: I’ll do it myself. I just put the clothes inside the machine and press some buttons, right? …It’ll be done by the time this guy stops rambling.

Shuu walks away.

Reiji: Hmph. If you know how to do it, then just do it yourself from the very start. …Well then, Laito. If even Shuu is willing to do his own laundry, you should take a lesson from him as well.

Laito: Eeeh…~? Fine, guess I have no other choice. Geez…Fine…

Laito walks away as well.

Reiji: Good grief…They finally left. That being said, I am rather surprised that Shuu gave up so easily. But well, I suppose it is a good thing. Now I can concentrate on cooking.

Well then, in regards to the mashed potatoes I’m serving with this dish, I’m conflicted whether or not I should add nutmeg to them…While I probably should leave it out if I want to stick to the traditional French style…If I would rather prioritize optimizing the aroma, then…

The scene shifts to the hallway.

Laito: Aah, god! Why did it turn out like this? …Anyway, I still can’t believe that Shuu would offer to do his own laundry. I mean…Has that guy ever washed clothes before? Oh well, not that it matters.

Laito enters the laundry room.

*Thud*

Shuu: This’ll do. Now I just gotta press this buttoー

Laito: Wait! Put mine in there as well!

Shuu: Sure, I guess.

*Rustle rustle*

Shuu: Now we just press this button, right?

Laito: Ah, no, no! You have to put in detergent first!

*Thud*

Laito: Hmー But…How much of this do we put in?

Shuu: Whatever feels right, I guess?

Laito: But look, you spilled tea on your shirt, right? And mine has some pretty nasty stains on there as well. I wonder if we should put a little extra?

Laito starts pouring detergent.

Shuu: Oi…Aren’t you putting in a little too much?

Laito: Eh? Don’t ask me! You’re the one who said I should do whatever feels right!

*Thud*

Shuu: Haah…What a pain. Anyway, let’s get it going.

*Beep*

The washing machine turns on.

Laito: Well then, I suppose I’ll go kill some time until it’s done.

Shuu: Oi Laito…It’s acting weird.

Laito: Eh? …Uwah!? …Where did all that foam come from!?

Shuu: Oi…Is this how laundry’s supposed to work? At this rate, it’s going to overflow from the machine sooner rather than later.

Laito: W-Well…I do feel like this isn’t quite right.

Shuu: Guess I’ll turn off the machine for now.

Laito: Eeh!? But if you turn it off now, our shirts will be covered in foam, right?

Shuu: …Right. Guess we’ll wait a bit longer and see how things go.

*Cling cling*

Reiji: Mmh, a perfect line-up, if I may say so myself. Not only the main dish, but even the sides turned out immaculately. I suppose I should go and serve it while everything is still hot. That being said…Out of my brothers, the only ones home right now would be…

ーー Now that I think of it, I wonder what happened to those two? Well, I’d love to believe that they wouldn’t be struggling with something as easy as washing a couple of shirts but…I suppose I shall go check up on them.

Reiji walks away as the scene shifts back to the laundry room.

Shuu: …Oi. Why is there foam everywhere?

Laito: Good question…I have no idea either. Well, I guess I might have added a teeny bit too much detergent…

Shuu: Haah…Anyway, I can’t see it ending well at this rate. Let’s turn off the machine for now.

Laito: Right. But even just getting to the machine is a challenge with all of this foam.

Shuu: I don’t want to hear your complaints, go and turn it off.

Laito: …Fine. …There.

*Beep*

Laito: Phew…It’s off. So, what are we going to do now?

Laito tries to walk back but slips on the foam.

Laito: …Uwah!?

*THUD*

Shuu: …Ah! You idiot! The detergent!

More detergent pours out of the package.

*Beep*

Laito: Ugh…Owowow…Ah! God! Now I’m covered in foam as well!

Shuu: I never told you to trip and fall, did I? Anyway…We have to do something about this foam before Reiji finds out.

Reiji enters the room.

Reiji: You two…Would you care to explain this situation to me?

Laito: R-Reiji…

Shuu: What do you mean? We were doing the laundry.

Reiji: Do not be ridiculous! How did you turn the whole room into a sea of foam just from washing some clothes!?

Laito: Well, you see…We figured it’d be smart to add in a little extra detergent to get rid of all the stubborn stains so…

Reiji: So? Not only did you decide to waste detergent for nothing, but you also thought it would be a fine idea to put yourself in the laundry? …This is not the time to be playing with bubbles. Anyway, I will turn off the machine for now. If this keeps up, the whole manor will be drowned in foam.

Reiji tries to approach the machine.

Reiji: …Ugh.

*Beep*

Reiji: Haah…Honestly, I cannot even imagine how much detergent you used to yield this kind of result. …Have you never heard of the term modesty? I am at a complete loss for words. I cannot believe it.

Shuu: Say that to Laito. He’s the one who went ham with the detergent.

Laito: Eh!? You’re putting the blame on me!? I didn’t hear you complain though!

Shuu: I never told you to put in that much, did I?

Reiji: Haah…Putting in a large amount of detergent does not guarantee a better result.

Laito: Eh? Really?

Reiji: Yes. When using detergent, the stains are removed by the surfactants, which are compounds that lower the surface tension of a liquid….

Shuu: And now in English, please?

Reiji: …Anyway, there is no direct connection between the amount of detergent used and the removal of stains. If anything, you might end up putting more strain on the fabric because it will need to be washed for much longer to get rid of all the detergent.

Laito: As to be expected of Reiji! You’re basically like a laundry professor!

Shuu: No wonder you’re the talk of town.

Reiji: Once again, I do not know of such a reputation. This is basic knowledge. You two are the strange ones for being so ignorant. …More importantly, what are you going to do about all the foam in this room?

Shuu: I mean…We have no other choice but to wash it away, right?

Laito: Well…I guess so.

Shuu: It can’t be helped then. Oi, Laito. Pull the hose from the washing machine. We can use that to spray waーー

Reiji: Halt. If you add water to it, it’ll only create more foam, don’t you think? The whole floor will get wet as well.

Shuu: Then what do you want from us? Should we just leave it like this until the foam disappears naturally?

Reiji: What a foolish thing to say…If you leave the foam on for too long, it’ll damage the floor.

Laito: Then why doesn’t the ‘Professor’ think of a good solution? Something quick and easy that’ll get rid of this large amount of foam.

Reiji: Haah…Let me think…If we use the theory I explained earlier, it might be possible. …In other words, if we add some kind of substance other than substance which can help reduce the surface tension…I believe it should be able to get rid of the foam for now. Then it should be easy to wipe the floor dry afterwards.

Shuu: Hm…? I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it’d be pretty swell if you could do something about it.

Reiji: Hmph! Of course I can. How about you start using that brain of yours to start being a little more efficient in life as well?

Shuu: Sure. I’ll leave the rest to you though. You’re the Professor after all.

Reiji: Hah?

Shuu: I’m gonna ask one of my Familiars to go buy me a new shirt. It’s much faster and takes less effort.

Laito: Ah…! I see! Now that you mention it, we had that option. I guess it’d be easier for me to simply buy a new shirt as well. But before that…I have to fix up myself. Guess I’ll go take a shower. That being said, I’m leaving the rest up to you~

Shuu: See you.

Shuu and Laito walk away.

Reiji: Wha…!? You two…! Where are you going!? Waitーー!

…Looking back at it, if I had simply done everything myself from the very start, I would have been able to tackle it much more efficiently and successfully. I should have known better. I cannot believe I still had faith in their ability to look after themselves…I suppose I still have a lot to learn as well.

ーー THE END ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #shuu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #laito sakamaki #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers drama cd #drama cd

297 notes · View notes

angry-geese · 3 years

Note

Can I request nsfw+fluff gojo x fem!reader? (established relationships) Just gojo being horny and needy after weeks not seeing reader due to work. (Uuuu and may I add breeding kink too <3 ) Lmaooo what's wrong with me✋🏻😔 I love your works btw and just take your time💕💕 here *slides a cookie 🍪 *

YESSSS gojo + breeding kink is top tier. i got a little carried away with this one lol

When We Meet Again

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: shameless smut. oral (fem receiving), creampies, mating press, unprotected sex, fingering, fluff and smut. slight somnophilia (kinda??) fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

jjk masterlist

It's well past midnight by the time he gets home.

Save for a single light in the kitchen, the apartment is dark. Leftover pastries sit out on the counter, covered with a bowl to keep bugs from getting to them, alongside your keys, and an empty mug of tea. A grocery list has been stuck to the fridge. A rack of dishes sits beside the sink, drying.

You're not in your usual spot on the couch. He's not surprised. It's late. And though you don't have work in the morning, you were never one to stay up so long. You must have gone to bed already. You might have stayed up had he bothered to tell you he was coming home. But he didn't. His plans changed at the last moment, and not even he knew he'd be back so soon.

He hates being gone this long. He misses sleeping in his own bed. Sometimes he forgets just how cold a bed can be without someone else in it.

The door to your shared room is open. Though it's dark. There's a faint green glow from the alarm clock on the side table. The moon is full enough tonight to provide a bit of light; a pale silver glow fills the room. And there you are, curled up on his side of the bed. In one of his shirts. A black button up that’s a bit too big for you, with sleeves that hang well past your fingertips.

It's not like he can refuse. If he’s getting called out to help, then there's probably not someone who can go in his place. The strongest doesn't really have time to take a vacation. He’s on call 24/7. Between his teaching job at Jujutsu Tech, and the major clans of Jujutsu society constantly demanding his attention, he’s rather short on free time.

It was a tedious job. Not worth his time. Not particularly tough, albeit time consuming. But the previous two sorcerers came back with nothing. And so he was sent out. Cleaning up someone else's mess.

The first week he called every day. The job wasn’t supposed to take any longer than that. Or so you both assumed. As the second rolled through, your calls grew shorter, and less frequent. He found himself frustrated with the lack of contact. It wasn't either of your faults. Your work called for you to be out during the little free time he had. Overtime. When you did have time to call each other, you were often exhausted, and short with him. The distance was putting a strain on your relationship.

The worst part of it all; he couldn't fuck you. And for a man that could go multiple rounds in a day, that was miserable. His love language is touch. Not being able to hold you was… well, miserable.

You don't really know the extent of the effect you have on him.

He's too tired to change, and he showered before he left, so he strips to his boxers and pulls his side of the blankets aside. Tomorrow is laundry day anyway. You always choose Sundays for laundry day, because that's the day before you have to go back to work. There's just enough room between you and the edge of the bed for him to slip in.

When something makes him stop dead in his tracks.

It's your voice. You’re calling out his name. You aren't awake, and though you do sometimes talk in your sleep, tonight is different. When it does happen, it's usually nonsense. Soft, endearing babble that he can't help but listen to. He says your name, softly, but you don't respond. Enough moonlight streams in through the window to see your face. Your brows are knit in concentration—possibly frustration—and sweat beads in your hairline.

Are you having a nightmare?

The bed dips under his weight as he sits, resting a hand on your thigh. Your skin is rather warm, he notes. You roll over onto your side, burying your face in his pillow. He pulls the blankets up, tucking them around your shoulders, as you’ve kicked them down by your feet in your sleep.

There it is again. You say his name, but there's a level of desperation behind it.

There's no denying the wetness between your thighs. You squeeze your thighs together in an unconscious attempt to get some relief. Your breathing is labored.

It's only a moment later that the realization kicks in.

The grin that splits his face can only be described as malicious in nature.

His hand creeps higher on your thigh, nudging the hem of your—his—shirt up. You’re not wearing anything underneath. The sight of your slick cunt is nearly enough to make his cock stand to attention.

His gaze falls to the curve of your hips, just barely illuminated by the moonlight. He likes the light of you in his shirt a little more than he likes to admit. Though he’s never been quiet about how much he appreciates your body.

Your body freezes the moment his thumb grazes across your slit. So does he. You’re so wet. Must be a real nice dream. You roll onto your back, your legs parted slightly. The soft gasps and moans that leave you are like music to his ears. Gojo takes this as an invitation to continue, his hand moving further up your thigh, lazily tracing circles into it.

You must've missed him more than he expected.

Your body registers that someone is touching you before it registers just who is doing such. In your sleepy, dream-ridden state you don't recognize the figure in front of you. In the dim light of the room, you can make out a mess of white hair, and the reflection of dark, round glasses shoved up into his hairline. Gojo’s eyes practically reflect in the dark.

You jolt awake, sitting up. “Jesus christ-”

“‘S just me, Mochi,” he says, though it does little to settle your nerves.

If you weren't awake before, you certainly are now.

“What? You watch people in their sleep now?!” You scold. “‘Toru- you scared the hell out of me!”

You flop back on the bed. The blankets pool around your hips. You reach to pull them back up, finding your bed colder than usual.

"You were calling out my name." He says.

"Oh," you say, and though there's little light in the room, he watches your face flush, "must have been dreaming about you."

“Wanna recreate what you were dreaming?” He asks. Rather smugly, might you add.

You roll your eyes. “Go to sleep.”

"Scoot over then. I'm gonna fall off the bed."

This prompts an evil sounding giggle from you, followed by a: "fall then."

"Alright," he says, rolling over to lay on you, throwing his arm around your waist. You’re effectively pinned under him, as the awkward angle won't allow you any leverage to throw him off. He attacks the exposed part of your neck with kisses, sucking hickeys into the flesh of your neck and shoulders. His hair tickles your skin.

“‘Toru- stop!” You squeal. “Let me go-”

“Not until you apologize,” he says, planting a wet kiss on your jaw.

“Never!”

“Then I guess I won't let you go.”

His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush to his chest. One of his hands finds your own, his fingers lacing with yours. His legs tangle with yours in a way that holds them in place. Worming out of his grip in this position would be a near impossible task.

You suppose there’s worse fates than this.

It would be easier to stay awake if he wasn't so warm. Or if he didn't smell so nice. Or if he wasn't softly rocking your body with each breath he takes. His thumb traces soft circles around your knuckles. Gojo’s breath is warm against your neck, making goosebumps rise along the soft flesh. The steady sound of it is almost enough to lull you to sleep.

"I missed you." You say. Your voice is almost too soft to hear.

“I know.” He says. His arms give your midsection a reaffirming squeeze. “I missed you too.”

“How was work?”

“A shitshow,” he says, leaning to nip at your earlobe, “but I get to come home to you, so it’s not all bad. How’s everything been around here?”

“Quiet.” You say. “Kinda boring without you. I wish you told me you’d be home tonight. I would have done something special.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision.” He says. “I didn't expect to be home so soon either.”

“We should do something tomorrow, then,” you say, “a new ramen place opened up down the street. You know where the old bakery used to be? They leased the place out.”

Gojo hums in response. Ramen sounds nice. Especially now. But he’s too tired and too horny to worry about food. Why have ramen when he has a meal right in front of him? Or a snack, as he often likes to call you. To which you roll your eyes, but there's no denying how he makes you blush.

You take back what you said about finding it easy to sleep. He’s moving around a bit too much for that. Gojo isn't subtle about it either. Nothing about the man is. He foregos subtly in favor of announcing nearly everything he does. Loudly. Who would dare stop him?

But you guess it's part of his charm. His dorky, sappy charm. You’ve kind of signed up for it, so you’re not complaining.

You scoot away from the edge of the bed a bit, thinking he needs more room. Gojo pulls you back to his chest, thinking you’re trying to run away from him.

“Quit squirming.” You hiss.

“Sorry Mochi,” he says, “just tryna get comfortable.”

And he really does mean it. But he’s been gone from you for so long that he's forgotten how nice your body feels against his. A little too nice, he’ll admit. Phone sex is nice, but it's not the same as the real thing. It gets old after a while. His hand doesn't quite compare to yours. Or the real thing. Something hard presses against your thigh from behind.

That's when it clicks. You just smell so nice. Your body is so warm against his. You look so nice in his shirt. Can you really blame him for getting hard?

You aren't sure he knows that you know. You shift a bit. It appears you’re only trying to get comfortable. His grip around your waist loosens, allowing you to settle a bit closer to him. You can't help it if your shirt rides up a bit, exposing the perfect curve of your ass. He prefers you in nothing at all, though the sight of you wearing his clothes is certainly a nice one. Any sight of you is. Gojo is shameless in the way he adores your body.

Once settled, his arms return to your waist. His head falls into the crook of your neck. He’s doing little to hide the tent he sports in his boxers. Maybe he thinks you don't notice. Or maybe he’s trying to ignore it.

“Stop that,” he says.

“I'm not doing anything,” you say, with the same evil giggle as before.

“Why do I not believe you?”

His lips find your neck, sucking a dark mark into your pulsepoint. The sudden sensation of lips on your neck makes you squeal. In your ear he coos every sappy nickname in the book that makes you blush.

You hardly notice as his hand trails lower. Your legs part just enough for him to slip his hand between them. He does nothing but seek out your warmth. Yet.

A familiar tension returns to your stomach. It's not unpleasant.

So that's what he was doing. Not that you’re complaining.

“Missed you, Mochi,” he says, gasping at the wet feeling of your cunt, “missed you so much. You have any clue what it's like being around all those weird old men all day? For days on end, no end in sight?”

It always surprises you just how bad the man can be with words, yet how good he is with his mouth.

His fingers find your clit, drawing lazy circles around the bundle of nerves. Your breath catches in your throat. You can't deny how nice his long fingers feel inside of you.

“Seems like you’ve missed me too.” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Whatever you want to think, old man,” you say. Though you have missed him. You always do. But there's some fun to be had by teasing him.

“Old man?!” He sounds genuinely hurt. “Don't be like that. I know you like having me around.”

“Oh really? What makes you think that?”

His fingers move to press into the tight entrance of your cunt, his thumb brushing across your clit. The soft gasp that leaves you is practically music to his ears. To give him credit, he is good with his hands.

“Did you think about me while I was gone,” he coos, “did you touch yourself while you did it? I did. Couldn't keep my mind off this sweet cunt of yours. I think I want a taste.”

Your only response is a soft moan. Heat pools low in your stomach, growing in intensity with each skilled movement of his hand. He moves so you can lay on your back. Your hands find the sheets, holding them in a death grip. Gojo nudges your legs further apart with one of his knees.

The kiss he pulls you into is uncharacteristically soft, and needy. He moans nearly as loud as you when you nibble on his bottom lip, hips lips parting, allowing the strong muscle of your tongue to explore his mouth.

Your hands work to undo the top few buttons of your shirt, exposing your breasts. His free hand comes up to grope appreciatively at your tits. Gojo has never been shy about how much he adores them. Or shy ever, to his credit. You’re his, and he would show you off to the world if you’d let him.

But sometimes he prefers to steal you into his domain, and hold you there. Close. Where you’ll always be at his side. The one place in this universe he can truly promise you’ll be safe.

You hardly notice as his kisses trail down your neck. Down the valley between your breasts. Working the last few buttons of your shirt open with his long fingers. What you do notice is the sudden absence of his hand.

Your legs part to give him room to settle between them. His head rests on your stomach. His warm breath tickles your skin.

"You gonna let me have a taste?" He asks, nipping at your thigh.

You swallow hard, eyes locked on him. Slowly, you nod.

You gasp at the feeling of his warm tongue, licking a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound. He's not touching you where you need him most. And that frustrates you. You buck your hips up towards his mouth, eliciting a soft laugh from him. He can't tease you too long. His cock is painfully hard, leaking against his thigh in his boxers. He can only hold himself back for so long.

You freeze at the feeling of a hot tongue against your clit.

Gojo eats pussy like a starving man, presented with his favorite meal. He does nothing short of savoring you. How you smell, how you taste, how you sound. He's shameless in how he adores this. Gojo moans nearly as loud as you at the taste of your cunt. Sweeter than his favorite dish. Meant to be savored.

You can't deny that he's good with his mouth. His tongue works circles around your clit, drawing gasps and moans from you.

Heat builds in your stomach, drawing you closer to your impending orgasm. One that comes upon you far sooner than expected.

Maybe you’re more pent up than you thought.

Your thighs clench around his head as you cum hard. He lets you ride out your orgasm on his tongue, working you through it with his skilled mouth. He’d stay with his head between your legs forever if you’d let him. Which you don't, as overstimulation soon registers in your lust addled mind, and you shove his head away.

The lower half of his face glistens in the dim light, wet with saliva, and your own slick. He’s far from subtle in the way he licks his lips, or groans at your taste. He may have gotten a bit too excited. It's not unlike him to get carried away. How can he resist a fertile cunt like yours?

“I think you should taste yourself,” he says. His hands move to cup your face as he pulls you into a kiss. You taste yourself on his lips. His hardened cock grinds against his thigh.

“‘Toru-” you whine.

“What's the matter baby?” He coos. “Use your words.”

“Fuck me.” You say. “I need you, ‘Toru. I need your cock in me.”

“Why didn't you say so?” He says, though the desperation in his voice is palpable.

He wastes no time in shoving his boxers down his hips, freeing his cock.

He’s not the most intimidating in size, but his cock is nice, and fairly thick, with a slight upward curve. The patch of hairs towards the base are soft, and white. Generally you don't need a whole lot of prep to take him. Which is helpful when he can't keep his hands to himself, and insists on fucking you in the bathroom during dinner. As much as he likes to take his time with you, he’ll take you anywhere you’ll let him. At work, or over every flat surface of your apartment. Not a single room of your home was spared. Not that either of you mind.

“Gotta work you open first,” he says, “don't want you to be too tight, do we?”

Between his saliva, and your own slick, you put up little resistance. He’s able to slide one finger in. Then a second, with no issue. His fingers curve, stroking your g-spot. His thumb works soft circles around your sensitive clit as he works you open with his fingers. Really, this is unnecessary. Your cunt is practically dripping with your own arousal.

He makes a show of licking his fingers, groaning at the taste of you. Gojo really has no shame.

The moan he lets out as he sheathes himself is truly sinful.

It's another moment before he starts thrusting.

Gojo needs a moment to collect himself. He’s been working himself up for hours if not days. All the nights he spent, thinking of what he’d do to you once he got home. He’s gone over this day in his head about a hundred times.

The sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the room. His taunts turn into senseless babble. Strands of praise mixed with Gojo’s overall dorky remarks. Pleas of your name, calling you mochi, baby, honey, and every other sappy nickname he can think of. His head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. He’s not going to let you leave this bed until you’re thoroughly marked up.

Tension grows in your stomach like a rubber band being stretched tight. Your previous orgasm has left you overly sensitive, and leaves another orgasm creeping up on you sooner than expected. His hand falls to your stomach, working lower until his thumb finds your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub.

He presses your legs further back, shoving them almost to your chest. The stretch leaves a pleasant burn in your hips. Your body isn't really meant to bend this way, though it’s not completely uncomfortable. It's not long before he has you into a full mating press, rutting against you desperately, fucking you into the mattress. The bed frame groans in protest with each of his thrusts. Deep, and unrelenting. Gojo’s cock curves in such a way that hits your sweet spots just right, leaving you writing under him.

“Gonna put a baby in you, Mochi,” he says, “gonna breed this pretty cunt of yours.”

You nod along desperately. You want nothing more than for him to cum inside, filling you completely.

He silences your moan with a kiss, his teeth clashing against yours. His tongue presses past your lips, exploring the wet cavern of your mouth. You can still taste yourself on him.

A line of saliva connects your lips as he pulls away.

“Not gonna ask you to take all of it,” he says, “but take everything I got.”

And with that, he can't hold back any longer, painting your womb white. Gojo’s cum is normally thick, and there's normally a lot of it. Today even moreso. Two weeks away hasn't helped with that. Cum runs down your thighs in streams, ruining your sheets.

The elders aren't going to be happy that he’s so reckless with his precious seed, but Gojo couldn't give a damn. The elders can talk all they want. That's all they're good for. He gets to cum in a warm place, and that's more than any of the others can say.

He practically collapses on top of you.

Gojo shifts so less of his body weight is on top of you. And though the room is rather warm, you find yourself nuzzling into his body, seeking out his warmth. His arms have always given you a sense of security, especially when wrapped up in them. They find your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest.

For a moment the two of you lay there, basking in each other's warmth.

You’ll have to get up in a bit anyway. To clean yourself up, and change the sheets. And get a new shirt. Probably another one of Gojo’s. He’s never been against seeing you wear his clothes. They never stay on you for long, though.

You pry his arms off, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, but he notices, and tightens his grip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, sounding rather offended.

“To get a drink,” you say, “I'm thirsty. Why? Do you want one too?”

“You think I’d let you go after just one round?” He asks. “You’re not leaving this bed until I’ve fucked you full of my cum.”

You're in for a long night.

#jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #not osha compliant #goose answers #ask!#anon #gojo is just very breedable

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myers-meadow · 2 years

Text

Thomas Hewitt snippet

Contents: short snippet of a longer multichap fic I'm working on for a Thomas Hewitt x female OC. OC is a victim, so there is lot of bad stuff just under the surface.

Rating: Teen and up?

I thought this was an interesting bit to share as I have many dreamy thoughts of life at the Hewitt House as I bake a cake for my birthday <3. I will work on this and finish it sometime, but it's long and tough to get the energy for larger projects, but I won't forget about this story.

Divider by @/thyming

When I came down the stairs, accompanied by the hulking butcher, Hoyt was at the breakfast table, leering at me. Luda Mae was making tea by the counter. She looked over her shoulder, stopping her movements as she saw me.

“Nice to see you finally took what belonged to you, boy,” Hoyt said with that nasty smirk of his. His gaze trailed over me, and even though this hid more than the broken dress I wore before, it felt as if I were nude. The butcher wrung his hands.

“Well, this isn’t proper,” Luda Mae started. “Thomas, get her something to wear. You know where the pile is.”

The pile- that must be the stuff they stole off of previous ones.

“The boy may prefer ‘er like this,” Hoyt said and I took that as a good moment to hide behind the butcher. Luda Mae tsk’ed.

“I don’t, so off you go. Go with him, too,” she said to me. “We’ve been doin’ some thinking, you can be of use to us yet.”

“Got it, ma’am,” I said, and following the butcher closely as he exited, resisting the urge to clutch his arm. The ‘pile’ was located in one of the spare rooms. There was tons of stuff, not just clothes, but toothbrushes, hygiene products, menstrual pads, soaps, books, hair brushes, sets of keys, passports. My stomach churned at the sight of it, but with the butcher right there, already digging through the clothing pile on the bed with those large hands. Shirts in all colours and sizes, jeans, some fancy blouses, and many, many different dresses. He pinched a cute baby blue one between his fingers and held it up. With shaky knees, I came closer and took it from him.

“I’m afraid that’s a bit small for me,” I mumbled, “but I can try it on.”

He took it back without hesitation, putting it by the footboard. This close his breathing was audible; steady, deep, unsettling. He found another, floral, puffy sleeves, a bit frilly for work on a farm, but it looked the be a good fit. His brow furrowed as he saw me take it from him, free hand reaching for the hem of my shirt. This was what he wanted, right? His gaze bore into me, and I pressed the dress back in his hands to take the shirt I was wearing off. His eyes widened in the split second he realised what was happening, and he briskly turned around. He held the dress out for me. I pushed it over my head, pulled my hair from the opening. The back had a little button, but it was tiny and difficult to reach.

“Sir, there’s a little button, could you help?” I asked, keeping my voice polite, but feeling tears gather behind my eyes. The dress smelt of the laundry detergent I used when I first came to the United States, nostalgia and longing overtaking my thoughts. The fabric was soft against the skin, worn. Someone loved it very much, and that thought made first tear fall. I turned around and let the butcher fiddle with his large hands in my neck, keeping my hair over my shoulder so he could see, and finally he popped the button through the loop. I tied the waist tie in a small bow. Would my favourite clothes be here one day too? They were still in a bag in my car, but who knows where that is. Who knows when they’ll discover where the car even is. It should stay there, safe for me to return to.

I twirled back around to the butcher, still fiddling with the bow. “Do you like it? Is it pretty on me?”

His eyes roved over me as if that itself was an act of devouring. Finally he gave a slow nod, but that didn’t mean as much as the look in his eyes. Even with a lot of his face hidden, his eyes were terribly expressive. I wiped my hands on the skirt, not noticed they were sweaty. The moment broke when he stepped past me and we returned to the kitchen.

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shokobuns · 4 years

Text

“𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭”

in which you slowly give into your desires.

PAIRING: maid!zenin maki x f!housewife!reader

GENRE: smut, some fluff, some angst, slowburn (ish)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: nsfw, 16+ smut, slowburn ish?, mentioned misogyny, infidelity, unhappy arranged marriage, angsty marriage, overstimulation, fingering, oral (f receiving), kitchen sex, sex in shared bed, face sitting/riding, 69, exhibitionism, squirting, light degradation, praise, pussy slapping, finger sucking, spit kink, consensual panty stealing, masturbation (f), first time for oral, slight corruption, implied dumbification, dom!maki. slight mommy kink, humiliation (kind of)

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Honey.”

You peck your husband on the lips goodbye before he’s out the door with a briefcase in hand and his suit as neat as ever. Staring at the leftovers, you sigh before eventually picking up the plates and pilling them in the sink, scrubbing off the sticky mess of maple syrup. Soap suds cover up your gloves as you lather them in bubbly water and plan out the rest of your day. The dishes, the laundry, a few episodes of that one show you barely pay attention to, lunch, more dishes, more laundry, a start on dinner.

You can’t help but wonder — Is this it?

You love your husband, something you remind yourself repeatedly when he’s gobbling down on the rice on his dinner plate and when he’s leaving his dirty clothes all over your bedroom floor. You love him. You want to bear his children, want to raise them, want to do the chores so that he doesn’t. You want to cook, to clean, to do everything for the sake of his pleasure. It’s what your mother insisted, it’s what she did, and it’s what her mother did. You love your husband.

Is this it?

Twenty years old, a husband with a stable living, something that can suffice for the rest of your life. All you need is to do your chores, give him your body, be his prim and proper wife. It sounds fairly easy, another thing that your mother insisted, so what is it?

Why do you crave more? Why do you have to remind yourself that you love him, love this life at all?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on your door. When you open it, you’re met with the sight of a tall girl with glasses. She’s in a black maid dress that stops at her knees, complemented by the white apron that flows along with the part of the skirt, ruffling at the end. She has a bag hanging on her shoulder and her expression shows slight amusement at your surprise. Surely, she’s at the wrong house, right?

“Are you (Y/N)?”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter out, not realizing that you were staring, “Uh, w-who are you?”

“I’m Zenin Maki, but you can call me Maki,” she observes your figure, noticing the sly nervousness radiating off of your expression, “Your husband hired me. Said he wanted someone to help you out.”

“O-Oh.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” You move to the side, watching the woman scan your house. It’s slightly messy, a result of your husband not cleaning up after lounging in the living room, and she doesn’t waste time to clean it up, rearranging the decorative pillows and helping you carry the leftover dishes to the sink. Just as you’re about to put on your gloves, her hand comes out to grab your wrist and the other takes it out of your hand. “Don’t. I got this.”

You step back, watching Maki put on the gloves herself, lathering the dishes as you did before. You don’t know what to do, standing there awkwardly as she places them in the dishwasher. It’s a given opportunity to observe how her skirt stops right above her knee, flowing out naturally and modestly accentuating her body. Her headband compliments the look, her hair tied back with bangs covering up her forehead, stopping short of her glasses. Warmth creeps up your neck to your cheeks and you sharply look away, focusing your vision on the bowl of apples on the center of the dining table.

“You can rest, Miss. But I’m going to need help putting away the dishes later. Is that okay?” She asks and you turn around to give her a nod. “Is there anything else you need done?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, you really don’t need to-”

“I was hired to help you out with chores. Please, do not worry about me.”

You sigh in defeat, looking directly at her face, her pretty face. She had a sharp expression, piercing eyes that can bore into your soul, defined cheekbones. A sensation of uneasiness rested in your lower belly and you realize you’re staring when she waves a hand over your face. “Hello? Miss?”

“S-Sorry! I was just thinking about something!”

“Oh. Well, I was just asking if you can help me put some of the dishes away just for today. I don’t know where everything is and I don’t like disorganization.”

“Of course. Of course.”

“You need anything else?”

“Folding the laundry, for now, I think? The clothes should be dry. Everything is upstairs.”

She follows behind you as you bring her out to the terrace where your laundry hangs on a string. Dresses, button ups, and ties of earth toned colors adorn the area and you touch the fabrics. The sun had definitely done its job. Maki is already setting up the ironing board that was previously laying in the corner of your bedroom and gathering your husband’s work attire together. When she’s done flattening the creases on the pieces of clothing, you take them, hanging and folding. With her help, you were finished in half the time it usually took you.

“Thank you, Maki. Really, I appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Miss. Your husband hired me to do my job and I am happy to help.”

As you hang your last dress, you give her a smile.

—

“Honey, I’m home!”

Your husband’s voice sounds throughout the house as he’s met with the sight of you and Maki laying out plating foods and placing them on the dinner table. He smiles and you walk towards him to greet him with a hug and a kiss. Maki continues with the task, sparing a glance at the both of you. “You didn’t tell me you hired a maid,” you whisper to your husband, “Though, she has been very helpful.”

“I’m glad, Honey.” He replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Kind of curious as to why you hired one in the first place.”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s have dinner, alright?” He shoots you a grin before looking over to Maki. “Feel free to stay for dinner, Maki!”

“I’m alright. I should get going anyways—”

“Nonsense!” You husband eagerly responds, pulling out an extra chair just for her, “My dear wife here says you’ve been helpful.”

“I have classes.”

“Oh. Well you might as well take some home!” You suggest, walking over to your tupperware cabinet.

Before you go back to your husband, you plate some food for her to take home and make sure she makes it back to her car as she walks out the door. You let out an involuntary sigh, leaning against the doorway and feeling content that you now have an extra hand.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Why do we need a maid?”

“Simple,” he grabs your hands from across the table, “I think we’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to have kids, silly woman!” His laughter booms throughout the entire room, “I mean you’ll have to get off birth control and everything, but I think it’s time.”

You laugh nervously as he leans in for a kiss. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know about this.”

“What?” He stands up, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, “Why not?”

“I’m just kind of, uh, scared? I don’t know if I’m ready and we just got married a few months ago, you know?”

“Come on, don’t be scared,” he reassures you, kissing your cheek, “I hired Maki to be our maid to lay the stress off of you. I offered her an in-house job, which she’ll be starting next week, just so that you could rest easy while you’re pregnant.”

“In-house? Is she going to live with us?”

“Of course! She’s a college student, so she doesn’t mind getting paid and living in a house,” he explains before going back to the topic, “So please. I want you to have our baby. We can start tonight.” He suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

“O-Okay.”

—

The next few days, the cycle continues.

Maki comes in the morning, usually just about right before your husband leaves for work, and she helps you throughout the day. Doing dishes, folding clothes, cleaning the bathroom. Most of the time you help her, usually against her will, but it leads to a calm and comforting silence when you work together. She’s moving in soon, two days to be exact, and you think it’s time to get to know a little bit about her.

One problem; She’s reserved, which intimidates you, and you’re too scared to start a conversation.

Eventually, you’re going to have to break the ice. So you do it as she’s ironing the clothes and you’re putting them away. You think up a few basic questions, mulling them over as to not make her uncomfortable because you want to get to know her.

“My husband tells me you’re in university right now. What’s your major?”

“Sports science.” She replies bluntly, continuing her task.

“Oh, cool cool,” you try to figure out a way to continue, but come up blank. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk.

“What do you do when your husband is not around?” She asks curiously, as if she sensed your desire to hold the conversation.

“Chores, usually,” you frown, “Sometimes I watch TV, but I wish I was able to do other stuff. I really like painting, too. But I haven’t done much of that ever since we got married.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to become an artist. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, but my family wanted stability for me so they introduced me to a family friend’s older son,” you smile, memories of your younger self filling up your head before a sense of sadness falls over your expression, “They said this would be good for me. And it is. My husband is a good man, I have a roof over my head and dinner on the table everyday, you know. I’m not complaining,” you pause, reeling out of your own thoughts, “Sorry if I just overshared.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she reassures you, “Just out of curiosity, how old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“That’s funny, I’m twenty one.”

“You’re closer to my age than my husband,” you laugh, folding another white button up before placing it in a drawer, “We are in very different positions.”

“Yes, we are,” she chuckles, “A struggling college student and a cool housewife.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say cool—”

“Nonsense!” She grumbles, an attempt to mock your husband.

“Nonsense!”

The both of you laugh and you realize how she seems almost angelic. The look in her eyes that was once piercing and intimidating was soft and heavenly. Her cheeks are flushed red and her smile was alluring. Before you even realize it, a feeling of warmth settles in your lower belly and it gets harder and harder to take your eyes off of her. Her chuckle was music to your ears and you’ve internally decided that it was one of your favorite sounds.

—

“Goodnight, Honey.”

He plants a kiss on your sweaty forehead before turning his back towards you, opting to hug a pillow on the side instead. Everything is wet, sticky, and gross, but before you can say anything, your husband is already fast asleep, little snores filling the air of the master bedroom. You lay down for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling in the dark until you gather up the last of your willpower to get up and clean the mess between your legs.

It was an okay night.

Sure, you came, but it was just boring. There was nothing to it, only the huffs and groans and praises from your husband as he lived out his fantasy of finally being able to breed you. You’re happy to provide him, as long as it makes him happy, because he loves you and you love him. Even if you have to clean up the mess yourself, even if you don’t finish, even if that rush of loving emotion that everyone seems to describe never hits you.

You’re happy.

That’s what you tell yourself anyways. Yet, your fingers rub furiously on your clit while the other pumps in and out of your dripping cunt. You’re close and you pretend that it’s her fingers You pretend that it’s her fingers that you’re clenching around, her mouth leaving soft kisses from your neck down to your exposed breasts. You pretend that you’re tugging on dark hair, asking for more, but when you come down from your high, the ringing in your ears stops suddenly and the snores overtake your hearing once again.

Maki.

It’s wrong, disgustingly wrong, but there’s no way to escape her. Not when she’s in your house in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. She helps with everything, things that you didn’t even consider yourself, talks to you about the things you like. And you know that her favorite color is black, her family would have much rather preferred if she went the same route you did, and she likes junk food a little too much.

You also wonder when you should tell your husband that you definitely have not gone off those pills.

—

“Miss?”

“Yes?” You respond, a grocery bag in your arms filled with different fruits, vegetables, and meat. Although you've made a few additions to your list and you were unsure at first, but as Maki empties it, her eyes light up at the sight of the bright little bag.

“You got chips?”

“Well, yeah. They’re for you. I know you liked them.”

She beams at you and it’s almost blinding. There’s an odd flutter in your stomach and you ignore it, but it only becomes stronger when she rips open the bag and munches on the whole thing in seconds. The small satisfied moan from the first bite has you internally celebrating. She looks at peace. All she’s doing is eating a bag of her favorite chips, yet it fills you with some unexplainable feeling of warmth. You make another mental note to buy even more next time.

—

“What do you think of him?”

“Who?” She asks, sitting up on the couch as she watches you get lost on the canvas in front of you.

“My husband.”

“Oh,” she pauses, her hand coming from under her chin to think, “He’s pretty cool, I guess. He also pays me which is pretty cool, you know.”

“Come on, I won’t tell him,” you insist, coming close, your hands involuntarily brushing over hers. She doesn’t pull them away, letting you rest them, enjoying the extra warmth.

“I mean, he’s a man, alright.”

“What does that even mean?”

“No offense,” she continues, finding the least rudest way to say it, “He’s kind of basic, you know? Which isn’t bad but he yells at the TV when watching football, has you light his cigarettes, and waits for you to serve him food. Just your typical husband things, I guess.”

“Are you saying my husband is boring?” You ask with a stoic face, watching the fear fill her eyes.

“No, no! That’s not what I—”

“Kidding,” you chuckle as she purses her lips before joining along, “I was just curious.”

“Well, why?”

“I don’t know,” you say, sighing as you think of all the times he did anything romantic for you, “He’s a good man, you know that, right?”

“Well, of course.”

“He brings me flowers, gives me goodnight kisses, tells me he loves me, but—” you pause, afraid to finish the thought. Your heart pounds at the mess of ideas on your mind and you’re ashamed, “I don’t know if I feel that love thing those people always talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

She’s intrigued to say the least. You’re fiddling your thumbs with a nervous smile on your face. All the while, the music you put on fades in the background until it’s only the two of you, hearts beating fast, blood rushing to your cheeks. When you finally look her in the eye, she doesn’t miss how glassy they look and that’s when her suspicions are confirmed without a verbal sentence — you’re unsure.

“He- Well, I don’t know. Forget I said anything about it,” you clasp your hands together before getting back to work in the kitchen, “And please, don’t tell him.”

Uncertainty, you’re most definitely full of it, but Maki is almost sure she’s figured it out before you have and she likes to think that she’s gotten to know you. She’s picked up how you play with your fingers when you’re unsure, how you smooth down your dress when you try to keep your composure, how that your smile loses genuinity while you’re at the dinner table. She decides it’s not her business, she’s only the housemaid and you’re just the housewife she works under.

But she’ll always be there for you with open arms if you need it.

—

“We gotta make breakfast, Maki.” You poke her side, waking her up from a deep sleep.

You’re already ready for the day, the top half of your hair already tied in a bun and a lilac colored dress adorning your figure. She’s caught off guard when she opens her eyes and you’re sitting up on the side of the bed poking at her hip. Her vision is blurry without her glasses, but she can clearly smell the sweet scent of vanilla perfume. Taking in a deep breath, she sits up, too, reaching for her glasses on the bedside table.

And her sleek, black hair cascades down her shoulders, though it’s slightly messy, you’re tempted to run your fingers through the soft looking strands. You’ve seen Maki in her maid uniform at home, jeans when she goes out to shop, but the sight of her in a satin night dress was different and your breath hitches when the blanket falls off the upper half of her body. It’s a loose fit and she looks absolutely ethereal, almost like an angel.

She turns her head to the side and you fake cough, trying to make up for staring a little too long. “I know your day doesn’t start yet, but I was hoping to get some help on breakfast today. Is that alright with you?”

“Of course, Miss. I’ll go get ready right now.

“Cool.”

You walk down to the kitchen, preparing a pie crust for your quiche and reading through the recipe you were given by a friend. By the time you blind bake the crust, Maki joins you in her usual attire. “Need anything, Miss?”

“While the quiche is baking, I just need you to make some cookie dough. Just the usual, my family is coming over later.”

“Of course.”

She gets to work right away, finding the ingredients immediately as you fill up your empty pie crust and dance around the kitchen. Right after the quiche is placed in the oven, your hips sway along with the music that plays in the radio. It’s all soft and slow, Maki smiling at your antics while you jokingly attempt to serenade her. She’s mixing in the chocolate chips into the dough and you walk forward, energetic and lost in the song.

You don’t think much of it when you grab her hip and your faces come closer together. One second, you were playfully dancing around your kitchen and the next, your breaths mingle, the gap between the two of you closing. It’s her who decides to lean forward, soft lips meeting together, your back suddenly meeting the edge of the counter. Her hands rest on the surface, each on either side of you, and her lips taste like cherries. Your hands come up to her cheeks as your mouths meld together until it’s hard to breathe.

You pull away first, remembering that your husband is still sleeping upstairs. “What are we doing?”

“Don’t know,” she replies, her hand starting to trail under the skirt of your dress, “It feels right, though.”

“Should we stop?” You mutter, just barely enough for her to hear.

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

It gives her the extra rush of courage to get under your dress and push your body until your back is flat on the counter. Luckily, there was nothing underneath except for a pair of plain black panties, a damp spot right in the middle. Her thumb presses on your clothed clit and by the way your body squirms she knows you’re sensitive which only adds to the sadistic fun of pulling down your underwear at an agonizingly slow pace. “Need you,” you breathe out, your legs being positioned on her shoulders, “I need you, please.”

“I got you, Baby. Don’t worry.” She replies with a smile, her breath hitting your wet cunt.

Your breath hitches as her tongue trails up from your hole up to your sensitive pearl and she moans at the sweet taste of your arousal. Her hands keep a firm grip on your thighs, holding them open as you bite your lip to contain your moans. He’s right upstairs, you think, but any thought of caution starts to leave you once her soft lips wrap around your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves causing your knuckles to turn white as they grab onto the edge of the counter.

Your husband has never touched you like this. Ever.

The feeling of her mouth is foreign, but welcome. Before you know it, the grip on one of your thighs loosen and two fingers slip into your soaked cunt. She’s gentle at first, the pumps of her digits ever so delicately pressing against your g spot, but once you hike up the skirt of your dress and thread your fingers through her hair, she speeds up, hitting hard and fast. “M-Maki— Shit!”

You squeal when her tongue starts massaging your clit and your walls clench despite being empty, “Such a pretty girl,” she coos, watching in awe at how your slick coats her fingers, “Such a pretty pussy.”

Lewd praises and squelches fill the kitchen air as the coil in your stomach builds and snaps until your cunt is gushing all over her. Your back arches as you reach your high and she leaves a trail of kisses from your thigh to your sopping pussy. Bringing her fingers to your mouth, she gives you one command.

“Suck.”

You obey, wrapping your soft lips around her digits, swirling your tongue and she gives a graceful smile, brushing a thumb over your flushed cheeks. A sheen of sweat covers your forehead, but the sound of footsteps brings you out of your thoughts. Maki pockets your underwear, giving you a wink, before washing her hands and taking the nearly forgotten quiche out of the oven.

By the time you hear the footsteps of your husband, you’re decent, minimal signs of physical exertion just barely noticeable. She’s going through her usual routine of plating your food in front of the two of you, doing the dishes, laundry, everything. You want to say something, you really do, and you’re left with your own questions.

At night, you’re left pondering the strong women with silky black hair whilst in the arms of your husband.

—

Two days.

That’s how long it’s been since you’ve gotten the most mind blowing orgasm of your life. Your panties are still missing, though you don’t mind knowing who has them. And when you think about the things your mother has told you repeatedly about your perfectly structured life, it crumbles with each second. When you look at the face next to you, the indifference in your heart starts to become more and more prominent.

And even though you should feel guilty — well, you do — you also don’t regret it at all.

You still do your chores as expected, make the bed, cook dinner. You still organize the laundry, do the dishes, and tend to your rose garden. You still disinfect, fold, and have sex with your husband who’s indifferent to your pleasure every night. Almost every domestic activity was accompanied by Maki, who often sought to take over or help.

Yet, she wouldn’t even look at you.

She wouldn’t say anything that didn’t pertain to a grocery list or a command and it was infuriating. Still, you were determined to bring it up — how could you not? As you fold blankets on the couch and think, you call out her name. “Maki?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

Your heart drops a tiny bit, it was an expected response based on the fact it felt like she was avoiding you, but you still had to swallow the lump in your throat. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” She asks as you’re looking down on the rug, trying to focus on the pattern instead of the woman in front of you.

“I’m just sorry I brought it up. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that we did whatever that was,” you take a deep breath as forming tears blurred your vision, “I’m sorry that I can’t fucking do this, Maki. I don’t love him. I can’t love him.”

She sighs, scooching forward and closer to you then pulling the half folded blanket from your hands. “You shouldn’t be sorry. This was my fault.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You’re just, I’m just—” you inhale again, trying to find the right words to say, “You’re different. You’re different from him in all the best ways. You listen to what I have to say, you care about how I feel.”

“That’s something that any good friend would do—”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Oh.”

She brings her fingers to your chin, nudging your head up until you’re looking her in the eyes for the first time in days. She gazes at you, appreciating every curve and every mark on your skin. You take this as an opportunity to lean in, planting a soft kiss on her lips. She doesn’t stop it, instead indulging in the act, cupping your cheeks.

It soon becomes hungry, her tongue slipping past your lips, you being rolled over onto your back as she slips her hand under your floral dress. She presses a finger against your clothed cunt, causing you to gasp and throw your head back. At the same time she leaves sloppy kisses on the exposed skin of your neck and you struggle to form a coherent sentence.

“M-Maki, stop,” you whimper and she pauses, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Oh?” She smirks, giving you another breathless kiss, “Wanna put that mouth to use, Baby?”

“Yeah,” you breath out, “Wanna make you feel good, Mommy.”

Her expression is filled with pride as she drags her fingers across your face and into your mouth. You comply with the silent command, wrapping your lips around the digits and sucking softly, swirling your tongue around them. “Good girl.”

You let out a hum while she discards her panties somewhere on the ground and her bare cunt hovers over your face. It’s intimidating, yet the sight of her glistening folds makes you wet. All you wanted to do was taste her, drink up all of her juices, and when you finally do you can’t get enough. Despite the lack of experience, you do what you think would feel good, giving experimental licks, noting when her body twitched and when she would let out a saccharine moan.

“Fuck — you’re doing so well,” she coos, carding her fingers through your hair, admiring the sight of your half lidded eyes and the feel of your tongue, “You sure this is your first time eating pussy?”

You hum in response which sends vibrations throughout her body, causing her to throw her head back. You grip onto her lower back, desperately bringing her wet cunny closer to yourself and she rolls her hips, grinding herself on your mouth. You’re already addicted, lapping at all of the cum she has to offer, watching intently as her mouth forms an o shape and she soaks the lower half of your face.

“Such a good fucking girl, aren’t you?”

She gets off your face and you smile with pride, tugging off the rest of her maid uniform until she’s completely bare in your living room. Every curve of her body fills you with even more lust and you’re sure your panties are soaked just from the sight. Her thighs are defined, muscular even, and you kiss them before going back to her ruined pussy, lapping at all the slick.

“You’re so pretty, Maki,” you utter, your breath hitting her neck as you come back up to her face.

She pushes you backward until you’re flat on your back, pinning your wrists together before ripping off your panties. Maki wastes no time, two fingers entering your hole and curling with every thrust. “You got this wet from eating me out?” She questions cockily, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the shell of your ear along with a nibble, “You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you whimper in between breaths, “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah?” She responds, watching you come undone underneath her.

Your orgasm builds up with every pump, the coil in your stomach tightening. She fastens the pace, every movement being calculated, her fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. Her fingertips manage to brutally hit the spongy spot inside of you, causing your legs to shake. Your back arches when her lips wrap around your clit, the simultaneous stimulation making your body tremble in delight. You’re gushing all over her fingers and she stares in awe as your slick drips down your thighs.

“Can we go to the bedroom?” You request meekly, barely recovering from your last orgasm.

“Of course, Baby,” she beams at you, body gleaming with a sheen of sweat, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Maki picks you up bridal style with almost no effort, pressing kisses all over your face on the way upstairs. When you finally get to the bedroom, she lays you down gently, almost as if you were a delicate piece of glass. But the moment of soft intimacy doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last when her pussy hovers over your face with her head buried in between your legs, licking hot stripes on your folds, sucking on your pearl while her fingers brush on your legs before finding their way back to your ruined cunt. Your tongue presses on her slit and her hips lower until your mouth is full of pussy. Her sweet taste is addicting and concurrent moans only heighten the pleasure, vibrations shooting through both of your bodies. Her thumb circles your clit furiously as she pulls away from your cunt to speak.

“You like this, don’t you? Ain’t this the same bed where you get fucked by your husband?” She questions demandingly, slapping your cunny.

You whine into her cunt, the sudden pain causing your walls to clamp around nothing. She laughs sadistically, pinching your clit, biting at your inner thighs.

“S’good, such a good little slut,” she coos, her nose tickling your clit as her face inches closer, “Bet you like getting fucked by your maid, don’t you?”

You can only respond with a squeal, her hand laying another blow to your aching pussy. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I got you.” She reassures you, mouth ravaging your cunt, slurping every drop of cum you had to offer. She’s close to her own orgasm, you can tell by the way she rides your face, soaking the lower half until the sweet droplets slide down your neck. You massage her clit with your tongue as she comes down from her high, but after yours, she doesn’t stop.

Instead, she continues to feast on your cunt like a starved woman, the pressure in your stomach building for the nth time that day. Coming again almost hurts, but she ignores the high pitched wails spilling from your lips, the sounds only encouraging her to keep sucking until your body trembles. At this point, you’re light headed, vision gradually becoming blurry. Your walls are pulsating, your mind is unable to process everything at once.

Especially the shocked man who stands in the doorway of your bedroom.

And at that exact moment, you let out a sob as Maki sadistically looks your husband right in the eye, her mouth still devouring your overstimulated cunny with fervor. Your hole leaks milky white, staining your shared sheets and you cry out her name, hopelessly gripping onto the plush of her ass for stability, digging your nails into the flesh. When she pulls away, a string of spit connects from her mouth to your pearl and her pupils are blown, cheeks covered with your arousal, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

As if there was no one in the room, she readjusts her until her face hovers over yours, her swollen pussy present on your thigh.

“Open.”

You comply readily and she grabs your face with one hand, squishing your wet cheeks so hard that they start to ache.

“Good girl.”

She spews into your mouth, watching the blob as it glides down your tongue and you swallow obediently before she comes down for a sweet kiss. The taste of yourself makes your head dizzy with lust. Let it be known that the horrified figure standing in the doorway could never make you feel as good as the maid.

Oops.

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