#Bulk chocolate boxes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

riverbends · 3 months ago

Text

BLUEBIRD

(andrew “pope” cody x f!reader)

part one: wingspan | mdni | MASTERLIST

this fic is a continuation of this concept.

synopsis: your daughter leads you to the brooding, shark-eyed man who quietly lingers down the aisle.

tags: ANGST, season 4 pope, more angst, age gap, heavy yearning, very brief mentions of violence, eventual smut wc: 2.4k (i definitely intend to write much longer chapters) cat says: this is set some time around s4ep1 and the perspectives shift back and forth.

He finds you here again. The same day, two weeks later.

Only, this time, he can’t hide from your child, who springs up on her toes upon seeing him linger by the bread racks. Ten feet away, give or take. As soon as she tugs on your sleeve, he blinks and shifts his attention to a bag of rye bread slices in an attempt to feign intrigue with something other than you.

Still a blur in the periphery of his sight, you lean down to catch her whispers while she cups a little hand around your ear.

“Ohhh,” you coo in a hushed voice. He hears you laugh then, and it seizes his heart. He has nowhere to run; nothing to conceal him. A ‘deer in the headlights’ kind of dread. His throat dries and tightens when blurred shapes approach his right flank. Your daughter is dragging you toward him with all the might in her four-year-old body. “Slow down, please, Sam,” you try to warn her.

He’s left with no other choice but to glance to his side and acknowledge the two of you (The haunting image of something he could’ve had, once upon a time, if Smurf didn’t get into his head. Another woman, another child, neither of which he felt he deserved).

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you smile apologetically, feeling the ache of regret gnaw on your innards. You see his jaw tense. His arms remain firmly crossed and you take note of the way they bulk up and swell under his shirt sleeves. A vein snaking along his freckled forearm. “She just really wanted to say hello,” you look down at your child, who beams and swings her hand with yours. He looks down too, stone-faced and unconcerned.

A fading purple welt brands his cheekbone and it draws your attention to how worn he looks. Little nicks and scars peppering his nose with the ghost of someone’s locked fist crashing into the cartilage. You notice his hand curling over his bicep as shades of yellow and red bloom like withered flowers under the marred skin of his knuckles.

He must be a handful of weeks out of an old fight, and you wonder what kind of man throws his body into a torrent of violence and then gifts a kid—and quite morosely at that—some snacks (presumably) out of the kindness of his heart.

For a moment, you’re mortified by the possibility that your daughter has mistaken him for the wrong man. Or that he, for whatever reason, has entirely forgotten the random interaction he initiated in the parking lot two weeks ago. The box of chocolate pretzels he bought for your daughter is still sitting half-empty in your pantry.

“Hello,” Sam waves with her free hand, but she’s suddenly shy after all that nagging and pulling. She moves to wrap herself around your leg, squishing her face against the side of your thigh.

Pope watches you rest your hand on the crown of her head, and he has to chase his breath while keeping a straight face. Lena echoes in the back of his mind. Haunts him. Your child is probably a few inches shorter than she would be, though he’s not even entirely sure if she’s still the same height now. He knows it’s a ridiculous notion that his niece could have grown so significantly in only a matter of months. But even a day without her feels longer than a lifetime, and then some.

Pope has also never really been smooth with people, let alone beautiful young mothers such as yourself. Wouldn’t blame you if you confuse his muted wonderment with blunt apathy.

You’re flooded with relief when he finally nods at her, even when he says ‘Hi’ in a colourless tone. You wonder if he’s ever spoken to a child before. It’s a little sweet, nonetheless.

“That was really kind of you,” your voice pulls his eyes back up to you, “buying the pretzels for her last week. I don’t know how you noticed.”

You search his face as if the set of his features will give him away and answer all your multiplying questions. It’s pathetic how much the gesture had moved you—a memory you haven’t stopped revisiting since that day he found you and Sam by your car. When was the last time somebody paid attention to her? To you?

“Just mildly observant,” he shrugs. Mildly doesn’t even begin to cover it, but you don’t know that.

You wouldn’t say that you find his stare to be too unnerving, but it’s not exactly comforting you either. His eyes are a shade you can’t properly distinguish and the way he looks at you seems to darken his irises significantly. Pupils blown wide; colour, swallowed up. You might as well be trapped in some configuration of a microscope, your myriad cells all laid bare for his study.

Sam decides she longer has any interest in the man and circles around your legs to look at the rows of bread beside you. She’s crouching by your feet, attempting to count past thirteen and repeatedly starting back at one. You look up again to find his eyes boring into a fraction of your bare collarbone.

All this time, his body has been facing the bread racks while his head is angled to the right. You wonder if his neck might be sore.

Your hands sink into the pockets of your shorts, “You really didn’t have to, but thank you. Again.”

He leaves a pause like he has to chew on your words before finding his own.

“You couldn’t afford it,” he says. “Wasn’t a problem.” Maybe you’re kidding yourself, but he sounds a touch softer. Again, you’re trying to figure out where he could’ve been when you had to say no to Sam and how much of the conversation he remembers. No matter how much sense you try to make of it, nothing about him seems to add up.

“Money is tight,” you say with a nod before averting your eyes almost in shame. Like you’re trying to sand down the sharp corners of your deficit so as not to further humiliate yourself. But, to Pope, you don’t do a very good job of it. Hiding your shame, that is. He can’t figure out how to communicate his sympathy without coming on too strong.

Before he can stop himself, he tilts his head, asking, “Where’s her father?”

The bluntness of it stuns you a little bit, but then you’re laughing again, as soft as the first time. His insides liquify at the sound.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you sigh, “I’m not sure these days. Probably the other side of the planet.”

You say it so casually, but you still can’t get a laugh out of him. He’s scanning your face like he knows you’ve got more to say, and you probably do, but you’ve never cared enough to remember her father’s name because he sure as shit doesn’t remember hers.

“He doesn’t support you?” Pope presses before he wonders why he even bothered asking. Who, in his life, can stand up and say that their father actually acted like one? Out of all of his mother’s lovers, who had been the least deplorable? How many of them had actually cared about anything besides themselves?

He once thought that Baz, at the very least, would break the cycle of abandon.

You glance down at your kid, wary of her ears, before manoeuvring around her and stepping closer to him. The proximity has him feeling lightheaded, but he pivots to face you with his whole body this time. You lower your voice, sharing half-secrets with a brooding stranger in a grocer’s aisle.

“We weren’t really together,” you start, a little scared that he might think differently of you now (You don’t know that it’s near impossible to scare him off with whatever you’re about to confess). “I was young—too young. He was older. And charming, at first.” Your mind revisits old memories like spoiled milk.

Something burgeons deep inside him, closely comparable with the need to disinfect. To clean. To wipe your skin free of the residue of that man. He doesn’t think it makes you dirty, not in the slightest. But he sees it as a stain on your life and he finds himself incensed by the idea that you’ll have to spend year after year trying to scrub it all away. Betraying his better judgement, he has already half-convinced himself to do it for you.

“How young?”

You think on it for a moment, swallowing a knot of worry. “Eighteen.”

Pope remembers his sister, then. Youth: so forcefully ripped away.

“What about him?”

“He was in college,” you shrug. The bastard never actually disclosed his exact age – one of the many things you’re too embarrassed to admit. “Hosted ragers every weekend and breezed through study. Sam’s almost five now and I still try to convince her that I had her all by myself. But I can only lie for so long.”

Pope can guess that you’re in your early twenties, a little younger than Deran. He’s only met you twice and he can already feel his resolve burning. There is a temptation to keep you here until you’ve told him every harrowing detail you can recall from the moment you learned Sam was growing in your belly up until now.

If you couldn’t afford an extra item on your grocery list, then he’d wager you really don’t have anyone at all. What he feels now is foreign to him; has him abandoning logic and sense when he plucks his wallet from his back pocket.

“What?” You’re laughing nervously as you watch him thumb through folded cash, holding out three 50s and a 20 like he’s just giving you simple change. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t do anything to encourage you to take it either, but the notes are just loosely lodged between his index and middle fingertips. He moves his hand a fraction forward. You start shaking your head when you realise he’s being serious. “No, Jesus Christ, I can’t. I don’t even know your name.”

“Andrew,” he says it like it scraped his throat on the way out, but his eyes soften when you repeat it under your breath. A sacred thing on your tongue. He almost asks you to say it once more.

“I still can’t take this,” you shake your head again, smiling like you’re apologising. He is adamant in his stillness. “Look, I appreciate it, really. But—”

Before you can anticipate his movement, he’s swiftly slipping the cash into the front pocket of your shorts, tucking it in further even when you try to move away from him.

He steps back when you surrender, his arms hanging limp at his sides. You’re both frozen on opposite walls of the aisle with nothing but four feet and a heavy silence between you two. You start to breathe a little fast when guilt boils beneath your chest.

“It’s too much,” you bow your head and bury your face in your hands, conflicted. Under most circumstances, you’d take offence to the size of his insistence, the way his fingers demanded space for the notes in your pocket. The way he almost crowded you against the shelves behind your back, despite your attempts to swat him away.

But there were fractions of seconds where you caught the troubled crease in his brow as he fussed with your hands and your shorts. Part of his containment had cracked and sent pure anguish flashing across his face, like he’d fall apart in front of you if he couldn’t make you accept his offering. Didn’t seem motivated by pity, but rather driven by some anxious necessity.

You sniffle and audibly exhale into your palms.

His hands twitch with the ache to move. To fix. Bruised and bloodied as they are, he is overcome with the urge to wrap them around your wrists and uncover your face. Not to force you into baring the shame you’re trying to mask, but to fervidly show you that he is no stranger to it—the kind of shame that careens out of helplessness.

“For her,” he says quietly, almost pleading across the gap. Sam looks up at Pope from the floor. “Take it for her,” his voice wavers and he’s not entirely sure if he’s still referring to your child, or the one he entrusted to a family in the suburbs. The child for whom he would’ve moved mountains. And wouldn't he still? Isn't that why he continues to buy whatever he used to feed her and let it expire in the pantry? Isn't that why he's here?

You pull your hands away; eyes, glossy and red. The sight strikes him where it hurts, and he kicks himself for putting you under pressure.

He shifts on his feet, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean,” he pauses briefly, trying to breathe again, “to come on so strong.” Pope watches you dig the cash out of your pocket and reconfirm to yourself exactly how much he’s given you before you’re shaking your head again.

“Fine. I’ll…I’ll keep the 20,” you sift through the green notes in your hands, “but I am not taking the rest—”

“No, no,” he backs into the bread racks, a hand motioning in the air for you to keep the money to yourself. The moment you try to speak again, he’s off. Leaves you with nothing but a flat “goodbye” before charging down the aisle like you’re suddenly the last person he wants to see. Your heartbeat resounds in your skull.

Sam babbles about something but it’s nearly indecipherable because that man seems to have dragged all the sound away with him. Her calls accumulate and you’re pulled back into yourself. While you reluctantly slot all $150 into your wallet, your daughter reaches into the basket he left on the ground.

“What’ve you got there, Sammy?” You try to smile, coming to crouch down beside her.

Two jars. Smooth peanut butter and sweet strawberry jelly—that’s all he left. Of course, this aisle just indicates that he was initially looking for bread.

“Hmm,” you watch Sam twist the jars in the basket. “He’s a little funny, don’t you think?” You ask Sam, smoothing her hair back from her face, “An adult man shopping to make PB&J.”

You wonder, then, if he had intended to make sandwiches for a child, and have you prevented him from doing so? Did you really scare him away? You stall with Sam a little longer, guarding his basket with the pathetic hope that he might return.

One moment, and another longer. Your knees grow sore. You take the ache as your cue to leave.

next part

#andrew pope cody #pope cody #andrew cody #andrew pope cody x reader #pope cody x reader #andrew cody x reader #shawn hatosy #animal kingdom #the pitt #dr abbot #jack abbot #dr abbot x reader #bluebird riverbends #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader

607 notes · View notes

bigwishes · 1 year ago

Text

Big's Perma Bulk!

(Community Requested Story, about me perma bulking) What's good bros! It's your favourite wish granting genie here to go on my own transformation journey. Normally I send this kind of thing off to another writer but a lot of you wanted me to be transformation using my own Genie gifts so I've waved my hands and started it off.

I made sure to completely forget about what you guys wanted for me to make it even more surprising but considering all you lot drool at a bicep vein I think I'm in good hands.

After waking up I definitely didn't have anything to worry about. I knew all of you just wanted me to become some big sweaty himbo. Just take a look.

Big arms, thick thighs and a solid chest. I won't lie if I were to make a choice I would of ended up so much bigger than this but hey, it's what you all wanted to I guess I gotta get used to being a himbo stud.

Woah...I guess day two was a little different. I'm a lot bigger ladz so cheers for that but damn, some of this definition is starting to fade. It looks like I'm sliding more to the tank side of the spectrum that the stud side. I'm pretty sure if I move wrong this tank is gonna split in too and my fucking stomach won't stop rumbling, every time I walk in my kitchen I down half a box of cereal, fuck, I should probably take a couple sandwiches back to my desk before I load up some games with the boys.

'BUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPP'

aw fuck, sorry about that ladz but damn. I woke up this morning and my stomach feels so tight, it feels like my abs are about to split in half. My shorts are so tight around my ass.

Damn what the fuck did you guys wish to happen to me? A slab of muscle instead of abs is one thing but fuck my gut is so bloated, ah man

'UURRRRRRRRRRPP!!!'

whoops, sorry dudes, fuck this is so tight but I still feel hungry, maybe a protein shake and a bowl of rice wont gut, surely this can't get any tighter.

ahhh fuck what time is it? 3am?? why the fuck am I so hungry. I didn't even know it was possible to feel hungry and bloated at the same-

BUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPP

ah man, what do I have in the fridge, mmmmm half a pizza, well I'm sure a couple of slices won't hurt. I hit the gym pretty hard today, its probably my body wanting to fuel up. mmm yeah just 3 maybe 6 slices and I'll be good for the night, probably best to turn the light switch on so I don't make a mess...

w--what the fuck happened to me! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I'M SO FUCKING BULKY, OH FUCK

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRPPP

DAMN....fuck well....at least it doesn't jiggle, probably just bloated from how much I've been eating recently, who knew having such big muscles would make me so hungry all the time...

hmmm, I probably shouldn't leave just 3 slices of pizza in the fridge on their, own, that's not even a snack, 9 slices is alright at this time of night yeah?

On the bright side, my muscles have continued to blow up to freakish size, my bicep is bigger than most dude's heads. On the other hand....I can't shift this tank around my mid section. I've been trying to eat less to get my abs back but fuck I can't help it, my stomach growls and I gotta eat enough to feed at least 3 people or else it feels like my stomach is gonna eat itself. It's okay, Ill just cut when summer rolls around, use this time to grow as big as I can, bet my abs will look fucking insane in a few months/

Guess the bright side is I can order that nice chocolate cake with my pizza tonight...I'm pretty sure it's cheat night tonight, or was it last night? hmm, no yeah it is definitely tonight?

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP

ah fuck, wh- UUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP

what happened - uurp - to me?

a few *hic* days ago I was a lean mean lifting machine

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPPPP

and now...fuck *hic* uuurp- I'm a big, bulky brute

fuu-UUUUUUUURPPPP-ck, my gut is so tight, moving feels like a chore....I'm so fuckin stuffed and hungry at the same time. Who knew my fans would want me to blow up into a 300lsb bulky beast...

damn...I need a shower but, I could really go for a double cheese burger and a snickers protein thick shake, I'm sure it can wait -uuurrpp- maybe I should grab a couple protein bars for the road..

BUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPP!!!!

I can still feel the spell under my skin, I wonder how much bigger these guys will make me, or what else they'll do...

#male transformation #muscle #muscle transformation #male tf #tf story #transformation #gay transformation #reality change #musk

1K notes · View notes

tinyd3ath · 4 months ago

Text

🎀🩰 Bulking Weight 🎀🩰

“Come on mama, fuck! Just be a good girl and take it so I can give you all my cum. That’s what you want right.”

Bakugou gets a little insecure about the extra weight he gained while bulking, and you fuck the insecurity out of him.

Originally posted on A03

🎀🩰

“This was so much fun.” You practically bouncing with joy. It’s been forever since y’all have been on patrol together.

“Whatever dumbass, don’t slow me down.” You throw a glare his way.

“Don’t forget I’m still your wife, your ass will be on the couch if you keep talking to me like that.”

He scuffs in response knowing not to test you, but still wanting to have the last “word”. You giggle at him. You find it cute how unbothered he tries to seem.

Today seemed to be a pretty calm day for patrol. So far you’ve only broken up two fights, saved a cat, and taken pictures with a few fans.

You guys got a call that you can end the day early since it’s been pretty slow all over the city. You two are walking back to the agency now. Bakugou can feel the excitement rolling off you. He can’t help, but crack a little smirk. Seeing his pretty wife practically glow with excitement lights something inside him. He thought he’d be over all the puppy love by now, but watching you walk down the street smiling while the sun hits your skin making your cheeks look like those caramel/chocolate commercials makes him just wanna sink his teeth in you. In a good way of course.

“What are you so excited about anyways?”

“I was planning on watching the new game of thrones series when we got back, and now I get to watch it earlier than planned” You squeal.

Gosh you’re such a nerd. He never understood why you like those British shows. They all look like their bodies, and breath smell like ass. Yeah, the fight scenes are cool, but other than that what do you watch it for?

He was too busy thinking about how weird your taste in television was to notice a group of teenagers boys walking down the sidewalk towards y’all. He’s shaken out of his thoughts by the force of the tallest in the group shoulder checking him.

“Watch old man.” The tall box dyed blonde says to Bakugou. The kid’s friends all snicker. Bakugou stops , and turns to the group.

“Didn’t your parents teach you to respect your superiors? Especially the ones out here keeping your ass safe.”

The blonde teen just rolled his eyes.

“You should be less worried about my parents, and more worried about your beer belly. Fat ass.” Before he can stop, and think about it Bakugou goes to grab the kid by the collar. But you are quicker, and grab his arm before he can do so.

“Come on I wanna go home.” You plead with your eyes for him to let it go. He really wants to teach these fuckers a lesson, but his need to please you outweighs his need to rub some random brat’s face in the dirt. He grunts in agreement, and lets you drag him away. He can hear the boys laughing as y’all walk away. But all he cares about is getting his pretty wife on the couch surrounded by your favorite snacks.

You use your quirk to knock the kid on his ass before you guys get too far. Teenagers fucking suck.

—

While sitting on the couch with you later he couldn’t help replay what that brat said earlier. He noticed he’d gained a little fat, but it’s because he’s bulking. Was it really that noticeable? Why haven’t you said anything? He started to feel as if he led you on.

When you first meet back in school he wasn’t all jacked, but he was far from fat. The body you feel in love with. The one you loved so much your panties would get wet just from looking at isn’t the same anymore.

Did you still even find him attractive?

Bakugou can’t bring himself to ask you about it. He says that he’ll just watch you carefully to see any signs of discomfort . The problem was you look so unfazed. He can’t tell if it’s because you haven’t noticed, don’t care, or if you’re trying to look unbothered to not hurt his feelings.

His feelings weren’t hurt, maybe his ego was a little bruised. But the fact you’re the type to go around problems that aren’t problems to protect other’s feelings only adds to the uncertainty.

What Bakugou didn’t notice was that you picked up on his discomfort. You noticed the long looks in the mirror after every shower. The not wanting to cuddle every night like he usually does. Most of all the lack of intimacy.

You guys haven’t had sex in almost a week. Every time y’all start to get hot, and heavy he just eats you out the rolls over and says goodnight.

Head is great. But fuck, you wanna feel the weight of your husband on top of you as he makes love to you.

You decid you’ve had enough. Whatever is worrying him so much you’re going find out and fix. At dinner you decide to finally speak about it.

“Katsuki.” Almost immediately Bakugou looks up at you.

“Yes?” Worry lines your face. Bakugou starts to panic thinking something happened to make you upset. Just as he was about to ask if you were okay you cut him off.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been acting different. You haven’t been as affectionate or intimate. Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

Now he really starts to panic. How could you, his beautiful perfect wife ever think you were the problem? How could he not be attracted to you? You were hand crafted by God himself. You are the only woman he could ever love. Never once had he ever questioned your beauty. Even in school when he thought you were annoying, he still found you breathtaking.

“Are you crazy there’s no way I couldn’t be attracted to you.”

“Then what’s the problem?” He pauses, and shaky breath in. Should he lie, or let you know that some punk made him a little insecure?

No, he can’t lie to you. For this whole ‘death do us part’ thing to work he’s gonna have to be honest with you. Even if it makes him uncomfortable.

“…I’m afraid that you don’t find me attractive now that I’ve put on some pounds.” He’s too embarrassed to even look up from his plate. There’s silence for a minute. He starts to worry that he’s actually right. But when he looks up to see your face it’s filled with nothing, but love. You get up from your seat, and walk over to him. You reach out to stroke his cheek.

“There’s nothing that would make me stop loving, or finding you unattractive. And I have noticed the extra pounds, but honestly it’s kinda doing it for me.” You giggle at his stunned face. You pull him in for a kiss. It starts off tinder. Full of the love you two share. But with new found confidence Bakugou starts to get impatient. He missed this. Your body against his. The kiss becomes more intense as he pulls you closer to him.

He lifts you by the back of your knees, and carries you to your shared bedroom. You let out a squeal as you’re dropped on the bed. Bakugou chuckles at you, but you aren’t given enough time to say anything about before he reconnects your lips. He starts moving his kisses lower, and nips at your jaw.

Between nibbles, and kisses Baukgou breathes out “God I’ve missed this”.

You let out a startled moan when he goes lower, and sucks your nipple through your thin shirt. You feel his lips curve into a smirk at your reaction.

You start to get impatient from all the nipping,and kissing. You’ve been deprived of him for too long. You whine as you tug on his shirt letting him know you want it off. Bakugou can’t help,

but coo at you, and give a kiss to your pouty lips.

“I know pretty girl, I know. Just let me taste you first baby.” He peels your clothes off before laying between your legs. His mouth waters every time he see your beautiful cunt. He watches as more slick leaks from you. He uses his thumb to spread it across your lips, before giving your clit the tiniest rub. It’s a ghost of a touch, and it drives you crazy. You start whining down at your husband begging with your pretty eyes for more, and who is he to tell you no? He replaces his hand with his mouth.

He loves the smell, and taste of you. He never thought there’d be a day he would be obsessed with a vagina, but after y’all’s first time he’s been hooked. He licks you like it give him just as much pleasure. The room is filled with your moans, and the sloppy sound of your dripping hole and his mouth . You grab at his hair, and start rolling your hips up into his face. Bakugou’s eyes rolling back at the feeling of you rubbing your juices all over his lower face and nose.

Bakugou sucks your clit between his lips while flicking the tip of his tongue against it. The clinching in your stomach gets tighter, and you know you’re close. But when he slightly nibbles on your clit you know it’s over. You cry out as you ride your orgasm out on his face. After you calm down Bakugou sits up on his knees to see your fucked out expression, and heaving chest.

As good as him eating you out was, it wasn’t what you wanted. You tug at his pants with pleading eyes, expressing what you really want.

“What pretty girl you can’t use your words?” He says in that mockingly sweet voice. He likes seeing his pretty wife like this. All desperate, and sparkling eyed. It’s impossible not to get hard while watching you squirm, and beg for his cock. It’s when you pout up to him all big eyed, and desperate that he gives you what you want. No matter how hard he tries he can’t say no to you. His beautiful sweet wife. If he could he’d give you the universe. He pulls his shirt off, and tosses it across the room. He then removes his belt, and pants leaving him in just his underwear. He starts to feel a little uneasy showing all this extra skin to you, but seeing the hungry look on your face burns it all away.

You feel yourself getting wetter as you stare at your husband’s changed body. You felt the extra weight, but seeing it makes you so much more hornier than you expected. All his bulging muscles. Instead of being lean like before he’s fuller. His stomach has become slightly rounder, and his shoulders, chest, and biceps meatier.

“Fuck I need you.” A evil smirk breaks out across Bakugou’s face.

“Come get it baby.” You tug his underwear down causing his cock to flop out. The swollen pink tip leaks with precum. You give him a few strokes before leaning down, and giving the tip a sweet kiss. You suck the tip into your mouth while wiggling your hips in the air knowing how much he loves seeing your ass move. Bakugou groans at the display. But you only get two head bobs in before he’s pulling you off, and pushing you on your back.

“That can wait for later. Weren’t you just begging me to fuck you. I gotta give my baby what she want.” He smugly says to you.

Bakugou pushes your knees apart and, taps his fat dick on your pussy. He enjoys watching the slight jiggle of your fat lips. He sit his dick between your lips, and lets his dick sit snug between the two. He thrust slowly. His tip catching your clit with every upward thrust. He loves watching the contrast of his dick sliding between your brown lips.

After an impatient “Katsuki” he lines his tip up with your hole, and slowly pushes into you. You both can’t stop the low whines from leaving your lips as he stretches your tight spongy walls around him. He looks to make sure he wasn’t hurting you, and almost blows his load right there.

Seeing your mouth agape, and face scrunched up in pressure causes his dick to twitch inside you.

He can’t stop himself from breathing out a “Fuck baby” at the sight of you laid out so pretty. He starts moving at a steady pace. He leaves kisses all over your face, and shoulders. He can’t stop himself from telling you how good you are between kisses. Something about your gummy walls makes his mind go foggy, and his tongue loose.

“You’re doing so good baby.”

“Taking all of me so well.”

“Come on pretty girl give it to me.”

“Can’t believe this pretty pussy is all mine.” The steady pace was amazing while you were getting use to his size again,but now you were getting impatient and wanting more.

Bakugou is caught off guard when you suddenly pulled him down by his neck, and cross your ankles around his waist. You can’t stand the no skin to skin. All you want is to feel the weight of your husband on top of you while he beats your walls in.

You look up at him with glossy eyes, and beg “please Katsuki, i need more”.

And who the hell was he to tell you no. He gives you one last peck before getting up on his elbows, and thrusting into you like it was his only purpose in life. Your squeals plus the sloppy sound your cunt starts making, makes his mind go hazy. All he can think about is getting you to cum on his cock then stuffing you full of his cum.

You reach between your bodies to give your clit the attention she’s throbbing for. The added sensation makes you squeeze even tighter around him. It’s too much for you both. Bakugou can’t even hold himself up anymore causing him to lay his full body on you,and starts humping into wet soft heat. He subconsciously starts sucking and licking on your neck like a fucking virgin that’s having their first kiss.

You can’t stop your sobs. It’s all too much, and not enough at the same time. You feel so full, yet you want to suck him in deeper. His tip rubbing against your cervix isn’t enough. You want him inside it, smearing his cum against each area of it.

“Katsuki, fuck!” you wail.

“Daddy please!”

“It’s okay baby you can take.” He coos at you.

“No I can’t, it’s too much!”

“Come on baby take it for me.” He pulls you into a sloppy kiss. When you pull apart he says

“Come on mama, fuck! Just be a good girl and take it so I can give you all my cum. That’s what you want right.”

You get out a little ‘mhm’ between sobs.

You feel your climax on the tip of your tongue. He can tell you need a little something more. Bakugou reaches his hand up, and rolls your nipple between his fingers before giving it a pinch.

Your climax hits you like a wave, and drags Bakugou down with you. He continues thrusting making sure he covers all your walls with his cum.

You two lay there holding each other after coming down from your highs. You run your nails through his hair while waiting for your heartbeats to go back to normal. After a few minutes you decide to break the silence.

“You know, nothing could make me stop loving you.” Bakugou feels an intense swell of emotion in his chest. He tries to hide his red cheeks, and teary eyes by burying his face between your breast.

“Fuck how’d I get so lucky?”

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #aged up characters #bulking #thick men

459 notes · View notes

thesevro · 2 months ago

Text

your poison

Synopsis — Caleb receives Valentine's chocolates as per some odd tradition at the DAA, where only the handsomest and prettiest get to collect chocolates from a particularly scandalous band of DAA student pilots. He shares them with you, of course. But when you catch him in the break room, he notices that those chocolates might have had... a very particular effect on his favorite girl. But he's your best friend; of course he'll help you through it. [18+ Love & Deepspace] Caleb/Fem! Reader Version MC/Reader is also a DAA pilot cadet Content tags: porn with plot! since caleb is yearning, penetration, p in v sex, AFAB Female reader, non-consensual drug use (aphrodisiacs), spiking, virginity loss, cunnilingus, confessions, overstimulation, Caleb gets all mean and edges you a bit too Word count: 5.2k words Trans Male Reader Version (If you wanna top Caleb) Cis Male Reader Version

EXPLICIT 18+ CONTENT BENEATH THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

—

“Ohh, you got another box!”

You run up to Caleb and poke him in the side until he opens one of the pink boxes full of Valentine's chocolates. The delight in your smile has him grinning back at you.

“I’m praying this happens again next year,” you tell him with a mouth full of chocolate. He presses another chocolate into your mouth as you open your mouth to speak and you smack at him but continue your words nonetheless. He snickers at your big-backed, chipmunk-like expression. “What a way to be welcomed to the Administration.”

“I don’t think I want this to keep happening,” he says, tone teasing, “I feel so bad for the poor girl who didn’t get any. Now she has to share with me.”

He pouts down at you.

You know he isn’t really sad about it.

“Calm it, I already know you’re for the community.” He side-eyes you at that. “It’s tradition for them. Even I’m thinking of giving a box to someone next Valentine’s. Everyone here is a hot pilot-in-training.”

You don’t notice the way he suddenly goes alert. Your hand hovers over the box as you contemplate which chocolate to shove into your mouth next.

“Huh.” He pretends to give your words some thought. “Who’s this someone you want to give chocolates to?”

“Let me think. You, of course,” you say casually. “Since you’re a good friend and all, and your height makes you kind of cute. But I wanna make sure all the cuties here at the DAA feel special, so I think I’ll be buying in bulk.”

He’d bash his head into the next wall if you weren’t here right now.

“I’m flattered,” he deadpans. “Will that be your way of confessing to someone?”

“We’re flight cadets. I might have considered doing that in university, but at this point I just want to make new friends.” You shake your head at him, picking up a chocolate and pushing it onto his tongue. He gets the feeling you’re trying to shut him up. But you did pick his favorite, and he ends up savoring the tang of lemon that spreads through his senses. “We’re here to be fighter pilots. Don’t tell me you’re still thinking like a teenager!”

—

“Caleb.”

His head tilts upward. He turns back, a smile already coming over his face at the sound of your voice. He tilts his head backward to meet your gaze as you stand over him. Lucky that you didn't get caught wearing another cadet’s jacket. His larger Aerospace Av jacket clearly doesn’t fit on you. But he likes the way it looks, keeping his favorite girl warm.

“Why so serious, pipsqueak?” he teases, curious about your lowered tone.

“Was there—” you swallow, the intensity of your gaze fading as you look away from him. Almost like you’re embarrassed. “Was there something in those chocolates?”

“Huh?”

You shove your hands deeper into the pockets of your casual sweats, and your eyes dart around the room, where other cadets are busy closing flight reports or enjoying their own boxes of Valentine’s chocolates. You lean down and whisper into his ear.

“What the fuck,” he says, appalled. He looks up at you like what you just whispered in his ear could only be a lie.

“I’ve been trying to—” your words falter. While he feels like tracking the person who drugged the chocolates, tying a boulder to their ankle and lifting him them with his Evol to throw them into the nearby river, the image that crosses his mind is impossible to resist. You were trying to satisfy yourself?

Your fingers between your legs. Your thighs spread apart. Your wetness, your moans—

“Just—listen, we’ve always been close. I don’t wanna file a medical report for this!” you say in a whispered shout. “I’ll report the girl, there are still some chocolates left and I can write up the ratio between aphrodisiac and regular chocolate later but—nobody can know about this.”

He blinks. Caleb touches your forearm in concern, rising from his seat.

“But you let me know about it?”

“Because I need—” None of your words are flowing coherently. Each sentence is embarrassment incarnate. And you seem to look at him differently, your eyes having glazed over the moment he touched you. He watches the open part of your moist lips. “I need h-help.”

He gawks at you. Mouth closed, but expression indelibly shocked. “You need help. You… you need my help? You need help from me?”

You fidget, agitation burgeoning with each passing millisecond. “It hurts so much. No matter what I do, it won’t go away.”

No matter what you do.

It hurts.

That awakens an instinct inherent to Caleb.

“You know what, never mind.” Your words become a quick, jumbled mess. “I’ll tough it out. It’s too much to ask for, I’m sorry, it’s so weird and I shouldn’t have asked, I guess just don’t come in my room—”

“There’s nobody in my room. Let’s go.”

He takes your hand.

—

He closes the door with urgency. Like you’re injured and all he has to do is bandage you up quickly.

“Caleb, are you sure?”

He hesitates. He can’t look at you, because he knows if he does he’ll do all the things he has ever wanted to do. Even if you need it, he will make no room for his selfishness.

“You know, you can leave if you want!” You laugh. The distance between him and you only stretches from his bunk to the door. It would only take several steps to cross, but he knows that the actions he’ll commit that will follow are impossible. “I mean, I don’t think I can go back to my room anymore since even my legs are hurting now, but if you can keep the rest of your bunkmates out of the room for a few hours I might be able to—”

“Do you think I’m not good enough to help you?”

He finally crosses the space.

When he approaches, you almost feel trapped. His gaze is almost as powerful as his Evol, rooting you to the space in front of his bed. He stalks towards you like a predator closing in on a vulnerable mouse.

You scramble for words. “No, I don’t want to force you into doing anything. I know you’re a virgin!” A nervous laugh bubbles in your throat. “It’s not like I’m your girlfriend.”

He finally reaches you, but doesn’t stop when his space invades yours. The backs of your knees hit the bed. You feel the breaths from his words as he speaks. “Yeah, I know I’ve never touched anyone. But it’s because I want it to be someone close to me. Someone who's always been close to me.”

He tilts his head at you. The aphrodisiac truly works wonders. His proximity has altered the levels of oxytocin flowing through your core, has pushed the rush of four different hormones to unreached heights all at once. Your body detects him in ways you’ve only just now discovered possible.

“You need to get fucked?” he asks.

You swallow as you look into his eyes. “Only if you’re willing, Caleb.”

He looks down. You realize he’s looking at your lips. “Push me away if you want me to stop.”

His fingers come up to hold your chin. Caleb steals your first kiss.

The aphrodisiac has explosions of need and feeling bursting in your body. You immediately pull him closer, mewling with pleasure as you kiss him back. He makes a noise against your lips. He uses his weight to press you forward, a hand coming to the back of your knee, and takes your legs out from under you.

Caleb presses a hand to the back of your head to cushion your fall, but none of it registers in your head. You spread your legs for him, the ferocity of his lips on yours on his a fiery rush. Soon he realizes he can finally release a hunger he’s been hiding from you nearly all his life. He shifts on the bed and grips your hips to grind you into his cock. Through the stupidly thick layers of fabric, you feel his hardness drag against your folds.

“I want to see you,” you say into his mouth. You tug at his shirt and he rips it off, allowing for only a millisecond to exist where his lips aren’t on yours. You caress the hard planes of his torso and he shivers at your touch. Half-naked above you, he grinds his dick against your combat trousers, moaning at the stimulation and the feel of your mouth on his.

“Take my shirt off,” you tell him. His breathing is labored. Synapses connecting rapidly all so he can memorize every millisecond of these moments with you beneath him, of how it feels to kiss you, to be between your legs and to have the permission to bare your body to his waiting eyes.

“(Name)...” He gives a pleasured sigh at the very sight of you. “You're so beautiful.”

He moves to give you one last kiss. It’s chaste. When his lips leave yours, he kisses downward along your skin, savoring how the skin on your collarbones feels on lips. How the rise of your soft breasts fills his eyes, and how they fit into his hands as he cups one to bring your nipple to his mouth. He tongues it in an experimental circle, inexperienced and unfamiliar with what you like. But when you breathe a lovely sigh of his name, legs tightening around his waist, he knows he’s doing all the right things. He slides further down your body, lips parting from your nipple with a soft pop.

Smooth as butter on a hot knife, Caleb kisses every inch of your skin for the first time, until his head is between your thighs. He smirks up at you, fingers curling around your trousers and around the waistband of your panties. He catches a glimpse of pink.

“Let me taste what you’ve been doing to yourself.”

—

You’ve never known Caleb to be this cruel.

He let you cum on his tongue. But he wouldn’t let up until you were kicking at him, pushing his face away and sobbing for him to stop at the overstimulation. He kept on insisting he had to stretch you out for his dick. And you didn’t really believe him, because no man could ever be so big.

He was.

When he pulled it out of his fatigues you practically jumped on him, overstimulation all but forgetten as the aphrodisiac kicked hormone production in your body into overdrive once more, but he knew you’d hurt yourself if he let you take control.

Caleb has pinned you to the bed. Cock wet with lube, and only the tip inside you.

He has you begging and begging for his dick, struggling against his Evol as your cunt weeps, mind and nerves stimulated past the point of pain by the aphrodisiac.

“Please please pleasepleaseplease I need it—” you gasp, arching into him, bed squeaking wildly as you try to shove the rest of him inside. Why does he have to be so cruel? Can’t he see you’re in pain? That the aphrodisiac is ruining you, frying your neurons until all you can think about is his dick, his big, stupid fat fucking dick—

“Need what?” he still has the gall to ask. You squeeze around his tip. Tight enough you might just be trying to suck him in. His face twists at the feel but he still manages to be dumbly cocky. “You gotta tell me how I can help you pipsqueak.”

“I need your dick!” you beg. Tears prick your eyes as the throb in your cunt spreads through the rest of your body until you feel like a fresh, aching bruise—nothing has ever hurt like this. You don’t think he can see it. Low-grade aphrodisiacs, the kind most can afford in Skyhaven, don’t typically have this effect according to the cases you’ve read. Whichever girl put this type of aphrodisiac in his chocolate must have drained her trust fund just for it.

It’s why he has the nerve to be so mean. He doesn’t know how much it hurts. Well. Quite good, then, that you’ve little sense of dignity left and will beg for it until he’s fucking his cum into you.

“I need to feel you fuck me,” you say in a sobbed sigh. Rendered immobile still by his Evol, you can only wiggle your hips pathetically, trying to slip him inside you. You even push out your breasts and make sure his eyes fall on them. Through the haze of it all, you see him watch as they jiggle with your movements. “I want you to fill me up with your cum. I want to hear you moan in my ear as I take your cock and have you fuck me so hard all I can think about is how big my best friend is inside me.”

You start babbling, unaware of the serious expression that has taken over his face the second the words ‘best friend’ left your mouth, “I want your babies, I want to be so full of your cum I get pregnant tomorrow, I need it I need it I need it—”

“You think I’ll be good enough for you? Will just your best friend’s dick be enough?”

You don’t pick up on the scorn in his tone. The hatred for the phrase ‘best friend.’ It’s too subtle, so unlike Caleb that you could never conjure a universe where he’d speak to you that way. You simply beg, again. Not as nicely though.

“If you don’t nail me to the bed with your dick right this second I swear on Gran’s life I’ll crash into your craft on the next aerial pursuit—”

“Be quiet for me for a second.”

He tuts. The moment you feel his hips shift, you shut your mouth. Your legs tighten around the backs of his thighs. He begins to slide inside.

“Oh,” you moan softly. Caleb focuses on it. Your open mouth, your mussed hair. The way your body writhes impatiently beneath him. You’re already such a mess and he hasn’t even started. Three inches in, he feels the precum dribbling out his cockhead. When he realizes all of it is filling you up he nearly blows his load then and there.

“You’re so hot,” he groans, breaths fanning across your face with his first thrust. Your name is reverence on his tongue as he moans it into the air.

It’s your first time. You know for a fact it’s his, too. The stretch of his cock is heightened, impossibly good. You hold him close and whimper. You never would have thought it could feel like this.

“Don’t make those sounds,” he whispers, unmoving. It’s then that you become conscious of the unmistakable, harsh throb of his dick inside you. He’s close already. “Fuck, (Name),” he sighs again.

“Caleb,” you say. Something in your voice has him pulling back from your neck to cradle your face. Your eyes still glisten with tears. He softens, forehead touching yours.

“You gotta give me a few minutes,” he chuckles, voice low. “Think I’ll cum if I move.”

“I don’t have minutes,” you shoot back at him in a whisper, but having his dick inside you has returned some of your coherence. “Caleb, please—”

“Shhhh,” he soothes, his hand gripping your hip. His thumb rubs circles into your skin. “It’s okay babygirl. I’ll make sure you cum more times than I will.

“I’ll move, okay?” he tells you, lips brushing yours with the words.

His hips shift. You both groan as he thrusts back inside, a slow, scooping motion that rubs against a spot inside you even your fingers have barely touched.

There’s so much grace to his movements. Strength in the very way he holds his body. You feel safe beneath him, solid. You know he’ll take care of you, as he has a million times in the past and always will.

Your core burns, but you let him take it slow. Nothing will be able to take away the sense of safety and love that fills you in this moment. He throws his head back and you hold the back of his neck, cupping his face with a hand as he fights the waves of an impending orgasm. Caleb only provides a few moments for restraint. Once the approach of his orgasm dwindles, his hunger soon takes over.

“Am I…” he swallows, watching with furrowed brows as you pant beneath him, savoring the sight of your face twisted in pleasure all because of him. His hips ram into yours. The feel is hard. Bruising. His skin slaps wetly into yours with every thrust. “Am I the only man who’s seen you like this?”

Your mind goes blank. You blink up at him, attempting to comprehend, but he never stops pounding into you with this newfound rhythm. Your body gets looser and looser until you’re practically limp beneath him, mouth open, only able to take his cock and nothing else. You grasp weakly at his bicep for purchase.

“Was I the first one you thought about when the aphrodisiac kicked in?” he pants out. “I should be the only one you think about doing these things with.

“Now that I…” he huffs, swearing under his breath. “Now that I have you like this… nobody else will ever be able to. I’m the only one who will ever get to see you this way.”

“W-what?” you stammer, raising your voice against the slick noises of him beating your clenching hole with his dick. “B-but isn’t this just sex—”

Something flashes across his features. You know him so well, but you can’t identify the emotion that fills his eyes now.

“Really?” he asks. His voice has deepened.

You start to ask him a question, but he leans back and pushes a hand under the small of your back. He lifts you easily and uses his Evol to drag a pillow under your back. You shiver at how deep he gets with the change in angle. But that isn’t where he lets this end. He unwraps your legs from around his waist to push them up and over his shoulders.

He fucks you into the rickety bunk mattress, and you cry out louder than the bed can squeak. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You dig your nails into his hips, reaching for him wherever you can, the feel of him so deep inside you unbearable. Your pussy gushes, so wet for his dick that every thrust he makes gives a sloshing, sloppy noise.

“Caleb, st-stop—I can’t—”

“I’ll make you see that nobody can make you feel as good as I do.” He gives a rough chuckle. “Even if I’m just your best friend.”

He leans forward, your legs still hooked to his shoulders, bending you in half until every single inch of him fucks into you with every thrust. Your back arches and you struggle as sensation overwhelms you. Your walls squeeze his fat cock, so warm that he feels he might cum at the next thrust. And the next. And the next.

His eyes barely leave your face. Your embarrassment begins to grow with it. You close your eyes, breaking away from his gaze. Try to cover your face with a hand.

Caleb immediately reacts. He leans, folding you until your feet are just above his head, your pussy practically tilted to the heavens. Like this, he’s able to reach for you and pin your hands away from your face.

“Don’t be selfish,” he says. Almost commanding you. “I want to see how good I make my girl feel.”

You sob. His girl. Yes, you're his, you're his. Your climax is building rapidly, the sheer stretch of him overwhelms your brain. The noises he makes above you are so delicious. You can’t believe you can make him feel this good. Caleb is vocal about his pleasure, moaning unabashedly with each thrust. In between his sweet, noisy moans he murmurs nearly drunken praise about how good you feel wrapped around his dick, how tight you are, how prettily your hole is taking his cock.

“C-can you feel—mmmghh” —You squeeze tight around him— “Can you feel how wet I am for you?”

His body lurches. Some of his weight is lifted from your hands as his head rolls back and he gives a loud, sexy moan.

“D-don’t talk like that pipsqueak,” he pants.

“Make me cum then,” you answer. You’re so close it hurts. “Make me shut up.”

He takes your challenge in stride. He leans forward until the backs of your thighs are pressed into his chest and he’s practically thrusting vertically downward into your pussy. You feel his balls kiss your ass gently as he adjusts to the position. Then his musculature steadies above you, his hips piledriving downward. His balls slap into the skin of your ass.

“In this position, you can’t escape me,” he says, thrusts merciless and wet. His gaze encompasses you, impossible to avoid. You blink up, tears on your lashes, into the beautiful supernova of his eyes. “I’ll keep you here until you drench my dick in your cum three times, pretty pipsqueak.”

With these words, he wraps his arms around you, his arms coming around your legs so that the entirety of him envelopes you in his embrace. He cradles your head and brings his lips to yours. You press passion into his mouth, your tongue sucking on his until he pulls your head backward to further expose you and drive his tongue into your mouth. You moan as he sucks on your lips.

“My gorgeous girl,” he moans into your skin. “You’re mine, yeah?”

“I’m all yours, Caleb,” you say. “Only yours now.”

“Only now?”

He changes the pace, moving his hips in circles so that his pelvis grinds into your throbbing clit. You can’t help but squirm at the stimulation when all he was giving you was his dick earlier.

“What about tonight?” he asks. His voice reflects this new insecurity of his, but there’s an edge to it. It’s possessive. Dangerous. “What about tomorrow?”

“Caleb, why do you keep talking like this—”

He’s too greedy to let you reply. And too afraid to. With eager fingers, he reaches between your thighs to swiftly gather your mixed fluids and finger your aching clit with his thumb. Without hesitation, his thrusts return to that hard, pounding rhythm at the very same time. You squeal.

“Caleb!” you scream. “Caleb!”

You feel him grin against your neck. But you aren’t really all there anymore. Your back begins to arch off the bed. Head lolling, hands clawing at his shoulders. He doesn’t bother to try shushing you. The barrack master can eat shit for all he cares when you’re like this, screaming his name until your voice is raw and hoarse enough that it cracks down the middle with your moans.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. “Caleb, you feel so good, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum—”

He pulls back to watch. It’s almost like taming a wild mare as he presses his forehead to yours and you buck against him, writhing wildly with the effects of the aphrodisiac heightening your pleasure and his unrelenting fingers on your clit. You squeeze around him, impossibly tight. He feels his balls draw upward. Drool spills from the corner of his mouth as his eyes roll back into his head. Your moans and his mix together as your sounds spill into the air.

He tries to draw in that pupil of focus once more so that he can memorize you as you cum on his cock. Eyes fluttering, he looks back down at you. His eyes trace your breasts, how they bounce forward with each of his thrusts and how your nipples have peaked from the stimulation. Your beautiful face is open with pleasure. Lips bitten and raw because of kisses he gave you, trembling with high-pitched cries of his name. It’s all you can say through your pleasure. Almost as if you worship the man bringing pleasure to your core.

“I’ve loved you,” he murmurs in an almost incoherent slur as you cum around him, with your hands holding tightly onto his and your pulse beneath his fingertips, “Every moment we’ve been alive. I am so in love with you it hurts. Knowing that you just won’t feel the same. You can’t. But if this is what I’ll get, if this is what you’ll let me have and you let me take care of you like this, then I can just forget. I’ll pretend that you love me too when it’s just the two of us like this.”

When you look up at him, your orgasm fading, you see that same emotion return to his face. He’s looked at you this way so many times before that his confession now gives way to finally show you what it is. You lift a hand to his cheek and he presses into your touch, desperate, fearful perhaps of the way this will end, his eyes closing, his face pained.

You give yourself a few moments to recover. You’ve never reached such pleasure before. And it’s him who gave all of it to you. As he always does. Caleb—calm, encouraging, and bright. Your beloved provider.

“Caleb.” Your voice is so soft, so soothing that the pain on his face eases a bit. “All I have are words. But that’s not enough for me to show you just what I feel for you.”

He opens his eyes to return your gaze. He waits for you to continue. But he seems to be drawing in on himself, as if he’s preparing for the hurt your words will bring. You, more than anything, want to prove him wrong.

“What do I need to do?” you ask. “What do I need to say? What can I show you that will prove I have always felt just the same?”

He leans back and adjusts your legs. You wrap them around his waist once more. But he doesn’t come back to hunch over you and hold you close to him. He’s stopped moving completely. Caleb turns his face away from you, countenance rife with embarrassment.

“I don’t need your consolation,” he says.

“You’re right, you don’t.” You hold his hands in yours, rising slowly, and he helps you until you’re fully upright in the seat of his lap. Still, he won’t look at you. “You need the truth.”

You grasp his hands in yours, pulling them towards your chest. You pepper kisses along his skin, cherishing the hands that have fed you, held you, helped you, and cared for you.

“Yeah, I might have jumped on a grenade for you before,” you begin. He can’t help but shake his head at your words, because while you did do that at 13:29 on a hot afternoon in April, he can’t help but narrow your consolation down to something insincere. You hold his face so he can’t look away from you, continuing, “But when we were kids, you were the only one I wanted my partner as. You were the only one I’d snatch extra candy for from Ms. Xia. I’d win every stupid game the other kids wanted to beat me at so none of them could be your partner. And you always kept losing your basketball a secret from me, but I was the one who’d climb the tree in our backyard just to get it back every time you lost it because it was your favorite one.” You smile at his expression. “You always thought it was the wind, huh?

“You have always been there for me.” Your fingers brush over the apple of his cheek. “But I think you sometimes forget I’ve always been here for you, too. It’s always been you and me, Caleb.”

You clutch his hands to your chest. “And here, at the DAA…” You swallow. “I think I’m learning to fall in love with you.”

There’s a flurry of movement, and you gasp as he gives your mouth a hard, bruising kiss. You’re pushed flat back onto the mattress as he moves his body over yours.

“I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. Then he begins to thrust. There’s an ease to his movements, a sense of freedom. As if he’s finally let go. His hips undulate backward and forward, slowly. He savors this connection with you.

The kisses he presses into your lips are slow. Soft. You hold his face as he makes love to you, as he cherishes your body without that earlier hunger, that fearful desperation founded by the belief that he’d lose you the moment you left his bunk. That you’d be rid of him the second you—

“Don’t look away from me, Caleb.”

You pull him back from the spirals tracing dark, angry paths into his mind. He doesn’t shy away from your gaze.

“Pipsqueak,” he says. He never thought he’d say this childish nickname like this. “(Name). I love you. So much more than you realize.”

He doesn’t need you to say it back. He’ll wait as long as it takes, until you fall for him as deeply and as painfully and with as much yearning as he has for you.

“Inside me,” you whisper, giving him permission for something he’s dreamt of for years, the peak of intimacy he has always wanted to share with you. Only you. He presses his mouth to yours in gratitude.

That’s all it takes.

He doesn’t part from your mouth as he cums. As greedy as him, you swallow his moans as his cock marks your insides white with his cum. You caress his nape, your touch gentle on his cheek as he shudders through the most powerful orgasm he’s ever had in his life. His arms encircle you and he holds you until you're pressed chest-to-chest against him, his moans reverberating against your body. He can’t stop moaning your name against your lips, his voice raised in pitch, shaky. A pleasured sob of your name fills the air as it leaves his mouth. He savors every syllable of your name falling from his lips, because it’s the first time he’s said it this way. With all of the love he truly feels for you. With the intimacy he has always yearned to have you bask in.

He collapses on a hand when he finishes. Tries not to fall on top of you. But you pull him in close and he lets himself go limp above your body. Your heartbeat thuds against his chest, rhythm rapid with the aftermath. There’s not a single centimeter of space against your body does that his doesn’t fill. You stroke his hair, fingers smoothing the disheveled locks. You feel him relax further, muscles losing their tension in your warm embrace.

“You love me?” you ask.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Even if you let me or you don’t,” he says, “I’ll always love you. I won’t ever stop showing it.”

“I think you more than showed me today,” you mutter.

He gives a little chuckle.

“Give me time?” you say. “I’m still learning that I’m falling in love with you.”

He nuzzles into your neck. His lips give your skin a gentle kiss. “You can take a hundred years and I wouldn’t regret a single second I spent waiting.” He wraps his arms around you. “I’ll wait for you, pips.”

—

Some things I noticed about the way I wrote this

I couldn’t help but want to write from both their perspectives, so the story kinda jumps povs in terms of who’s feeling or doing what

I really wanna know your thoughts

Is it not smooth? Too many jumps from Caleb’s to MC’s pov? Let me know u freaky ahh

#love and deepspace #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #l&ds caleb #lads caleb #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb/reader #caleb x reader smut #caleb/reader smut #caleb/reader fluff #lads caleb x reader smut #lads caleb x mc #lads caleb smut #caleb love and deepspace smut

206 notes · View notes

mmochammoss · 2 months ago

Text

Big Baby

Kirishima had always been a romantic.

Always wanting to do the brave and manly thing of never trying to suppress his feelings about something and follow his heart. So when he fell for you, it was all in. Every bit of him, heart and soul.

You were his best friend first. Then his girlfriend. Then, after a heartfelt proposal during a late-night walk on the beach where he almost tripped over the ring box, his fiancée. And now, his wife.

Being married to you was everything he hoped it would be. Absolute perfection. Full of laughter and romance and soft mornings tangled up in each other. Your natural closeness, even when you two were just friends, always made your relationship feel so perfect to him.

How could he not fall in love with you? You knew everything about one another, you practically finished each other’s sentences. Even when you were both busy, him with hero work, you with your own schedule, coming home to each other made every long patrol and media interview worth it.

And then came the next step.

You’d taken the test on a whim after feeling weirdly nauseous three mornings in a row. You didn’t even wait to check it alone, he sat on the bathroom floor with you, both of you staring at the little pink plus sign like it was a bomb about to go off.

You cried first. Then he did. And then you were both laughing and hugging and somehow crying again. It was perfect.

The first few days after the news were surreal. Kirishima floated through work like he was made of helium, grinning like an idiot whenever anyone asked why he was glowing.

Then your symptoms started.

At first, it was just a little fatigue. You’d come home after a short shift and fall asleep on the couch mid-conversation. Then came the queasiness, the smell aversions, the craving for pickles dipped in Nutella (which, yes, he tried out of solidarity and immediately regretted). You swore your back was already hurting, even though it was barely week six.

And through it all, he doted on you. Rubbing your feet. Holding your hair back when the nausea got bad. Buying heating pads in bulk. Reading every baby app and prenatal forum he could find.

But what he didn’t expect… was to start feeling a little different too.

At first, it just felt like stress. He chalked it up to nerves, to excitement over becoming a dad. But then his appetite went weird. His moods started shifting. He would cry at random videos and got more and more forgetful over things of varying importance. He even felt a little bloated from time to time.

But he didn’t want to scare you too, so he kept it to himself.

But every time he watched you groan from the couch or gag when someone cooked fish on TV, he felt it too.

He swore he was just being dramatic. He was known to get in his head a little, overthink things, and spiral a bit when it came to people he cared about, especially you. Maybe he was just really, really in tune with you. I mean, he loved you more than anything so that made sense, right?

But then came the dreams. Not bad ones, necessarily, just intense. Vivid. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, clutching his stomach or holding his chest, sweating and confused. One morning, he woke up crying and couldn’t even remember why. You had kissed his forehead and chalked it up to nerves. He let you. He didn’t want to worry you.

You already had enough on your plate, growing a whole human and all.

So he doubled down. Tried to muscle through it. When he got emotional at weird times, he blamed it on dehydration. When he craved chocolate milk at 10:30 a.m., he told himself he was just low on protein. When you curled up on the couch, groaning about your back, he told himself the reason his back hurt, too, was because he’d pulled something at the gym, not because his body was mirroring your pregnancy like some kind of hormonal sponge.

Still, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it… It was just so freaky.

He’d been feeling like this for weeks now. And the symptoms just kept persisting. He began to worry, trying to make sense of whatever was happening to him without alerting or alarming you. Maybe he was overworking. Maybe it was stress. You were only a few months into the pregnancy, after all, so maybe the idea of being someone’s dad was still sinking in.

But it didn’t explain why he cried with you during a romcom meltdown or why he’d devoured an entire jar of pickles in one sitting when you said you were craving them. He didn’t even like pickles!

He reached his breaking point over something stupid. Like, really stupid.

Kaminari had just walked into the agency kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes, when he spotted Kirishima standing by the fridge looking vaguely miserable and clutching a bottle of orange juice like it had personally offended him.

“Yo, morning!” Kaminari greeted, voice light. “Why do you look like you just lost a push-up contest, dude? Y’feeling okay?”

Kirishima barely looked at him.

“Don’t start.”

Kaminari blinked. “What? I’m just saying, you look kinda rough, man-”

“I said, don’t start!” Kirishima snapped, voice sharp enough to cut the air between them. “Can you please just stop talking for once?!”

The kitchen went dead silent.

Kaminari recoiled a little, blinking. “Whoa. Okay.”

Kirishima froze like he didn’t even realize he’d raised his voice. He sighed immediately, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit. Sorry. That wasn’t…I didn’t mean that.”

But Kaminari was already backing off, holding up his hands. “No, no, it’s fine. Totally fine. I’ll just… leave you to your juice-based crisis.”

He left the kitchen quietly, and ten minutes later, the rest of the squad knew.

They gathered in Mina’s office, discussing their favorite dad-to-be’s not-so-graceful fall from grace.

“I’m telling you, it was weird,” Kaminari said, arms crossed. “Like, yeah, I joke with him all the time, but I’ve never seen him snap like that. Not at me.”

“It’s not just you,” Mina agreed. “He’s been off for weeks. He forgot my birthday dinner. Mine. He never forgets that kind of thing.”

“He started to cry a bit during our last patrol together when some kid went past us crying in a stroller,” Sero added, sipping his drink. “Like, actual tears. The kid wasn't even crying that hard.”

They all turned to Bakugo.

“…He tried to hug me after training a few days back,” Bakugo muttered like it physically pained him. “I know that he can be an emotional dumbass sometimes but that was…different.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “Okay. Yeah. That’s not just stress.”

“Exactly,” Kaminari said. “So what do we do?”

“We sit his ass down,” Bakugo said plainly. “Before he combusts.”

“Or gives birth,” Sero joked under his breath.

They all groaned.

But the decision was unanimous.

Bakugo’s office was the last place Kirishima expected to get ambushed. But the second he stepped inside, summoned under the vague pretense of “team coordination”, he knew something was up.

Sero was lounging in one of the chairs with his arms crossed. Mina sat on the edge of Bakugo’s desk, legs swinging. Kaminari was trying to appear casual and failing. And Bakugo was behind his desk, arms folded, staring Kirishima down like he was about to jump down the redhead's throat.

“…Hey?” Kirishima offered.

“Sit,” Bakugo barked.

Kirishima blinked. “What is this?”

“A wellness check,” Mina said sweetly. “For you.”

Kirishima hesitated, then sat slowly in the empty chair across from Bakugo’s desk. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

“You tell us, man,” Sero said, leaning forward. “You’ve been off. Are you guys fighting or something? Or is the baby stressing you out?”

“No, no,” Kirishima said quickly, hands raised, “we’re good! She’s amazing, really. I’m just… I don’t know, man. I’ve been off.”

Bakugo scowled. “You keep getting worked up over the dumbest shit. You don’t wanna eat at lunch or you’re only snacking on stuff. You gettin’ sick or somethin’?”

“No!” Kirishima says, looking at the floor, feeling a bit embarrassed that he’s been so obvious this whole time.

“You skipped out on my birthday dinner last week,” Mina added, “and then you bit Denki’s head off in the kitchen this morning. Which, like… I get. It's Denki. But still.”

Kaminari held up a hand. “I deserved it. But that’s not the point.”

“The point is,” Bakugo said, voice low but firm, “you’ve been acting weird for weeks, and you’re obviously not fine. So either you start talking, or we start guessing.”

Kirishima groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’ve just… I don’t know what’s going on with me lately, okay?”

He looked up at them, brows furrowed in frustration.

“I’m tired all the time. I’m either starving or just straight up nauseous. I’ve been forgetting shit. I keep feeling all self conscious about how I look and stuff. I’ll get these like, random body aches and pains. I keep having the weirdest, craziest dreams. And one minute I feel like I’m on top of the world and the next it’s like I’m having a depressive episode or something?”

He ran his hands down his face as he continued, “I cried during a cereal commercial yesterday, guys. A commercial. For cereal. And I thought maybe it was stress or not sleeping right or whatever, but it’s been weeks. I didn’t want to dump it all on her while she’s already dealing with so much, but…”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“One minute I feel fine,” Kirishima said. “But then the next minute I feel like absolute shit and I just dont know how to get myself under control!”

The room went quiet.

Then Kaminari whispered, “...Bro. Are you pregnant?”

Sero snorted. “Dude, you caught it. Your wife’s pregnant actually got on you.”

The two of them laughed while Kirishima slouched back in his chair, pouting a bit.

Mina blinked. “Wait. I think I’ve heard about this? Sympathy pregnancy is a real thing, right?”

Within seconds, she had a WebMD article open.

“Boom,” she said, holding up her phone. “Couvade syndrome. Also known as a sympathy pregnancy. Happens to expectant fathers—nausea, mood swings, food cravings, weight gain... oh my god, Eijiro, you are pregnant.”

He stared at the screen in horror.

“No way,” he muttered. “This is... real?! I thought I was just going soft or something.”

“You are going soft, idiot,” Bakugo growled, “but luckily there's no baby growing in you.”

Kirishima groaned, “Great. I can’t even support her properly without turning into some… hormonal time bomb.”

Kaminari patted him on the back. “Nah, man. That’s peak husband behavior. You’re literally feeling her pain. That’s the most Kirishima thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Still,” Sero added, “you might wanna tell her. Like soon. Before you start lactating or something.”

“What?!”

That night, Kirishima took the long way home.

His friends had told him to talk to you. Not in a teasing, “dude you’re gonna sprout boobs” kind of way, though yes, that had happened, but in a genuinely concerned, “you need to let her in” kind of way. And they were right.

You deserved to know what was going on. What he’d been feeling. What he’d been trying to hide.

He just didn’t want to worry you. You were the one actually going through it, actually growing a whole new human with your body. He didn’t want to turn the spotlight on himself or make it seem like he was somehow stealing your thunder.

But when he stepped inside the apartment and saw you curled up on the couch, a heating pad tucked behind your lower back and an open bag of dried mango slices resting on your bump, all those reasons melted away.

He couldn’t keep this from you. He never liked keeping anything from you, he loved you. So he had to be honest with you, no matter how crazy he sounded.

You looked up at him and smiled like you always did when he came home. “Hey, baby.”

His chest tightened.

He dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room in just a few strides. You didn’t even get the chance to sit up before he was kneeling in front of you, arms wrapping around your waist, face buried in your belly like he was trying to hide himself from you.

“Whoa,” you said, laughing softly as you pet his hair. “Hey, what’s all this all about? Rough day at work?”

He exhaled shakily, then looked up at you, eyes glassy and red around the edges.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Your smile faded a little at all this sudden emotion. “What for?”

“For being weird lately. For snapping at people. For not telling you what’s going on.”

You blinked, concerned now. “What’s going on, Eiji?”

“I think I’m having… a sympathy pregnancy,” he admitted, cringing a little. “Apparently, it’s a real thing. And I didn’t even know it was a thing until the guys sat me down and showed me an article about it but… I think I might have it….”

You stared at him for a second, processing.

Then your face split into a wide grin. “Wait…you’ve been having pregnancy symptoms?!”

He groaned. “Please don’t laugh.”

“I’m not! I swear!” But your shoulders were already shaking. “Is that why you cried during that diaper commercial last week?”

“Yes,” he mumbled into your belly. “And why I bought six tubs of mint chocolate chip ice cream I didn’t even want.”

You tried not to giggle. “And why you yelled at a pigeon for looking at you funny during our last walk?”

“Well no, that one was personal,” he said flatly, and you lost it.

He let you laugh it out, and even cracked a smile himself when you kissed his forehead between hiccups.

“But seriously,” he said softly, pulling back enough to meet your eyes. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. You’re already doing so much, and I didn’t want to make it seem like I was trying to steal focus or—”

You stopped him with a gentle kiss.

“You’re not stealing anything,” you said, brushing his hair back. “You’re just sharing it with me. That’s the sweetest thing in the world, Eiji.”

“But I’m not the pregnant one,” he said.

“Yeah, but apparently your body didn’t get the memo.” You cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “You’re allowed to be overwhelmed. To feel things. To take up space. Especially with me.”

He leaned into your touch with a soft noise of relief.

“Besides,” you added with a smirk, “if I have to push this thing out in a few months, it’s only fair that you feel a little uncomfortable too.”

He laughed, chest shaking as he wrapped his arms around you again, this time careful not to squish your belly.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” you giggled. Running your hands through his hair.

“My perfect pregnant husband.”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro fluff

194 notes · View notes

reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeko · 9 months ago

Text

Sebek Zigvolt crush head cannons 💚

my first post on here uhhhhhh hiii feel free to request if you enjoyed reading this :)

❦ Sebek is the type that when he develops a crush, he has no idea it’s a crush. Like he’ll assume he’s sick with some human disease and think he’s dying. After extensive research, as well as “help” from some of the other freshmen. He learns it’s not some human disease. He still isn’t sure what it is though, so he turns to the only source that could know what this sickening feeling in his heart is. Lilia.

❦ When Lilia tells him it’s love, (after copious amounts of teasing from the older) Sebek is confused. This isn’t like the love and admiration he feels for Malleus. It’s different, it consumes him and it makes him feel awkward. If he sees you around your other friends, it’s instant jealousy. Why weren’t you hanging out with him? Don’t you know they’re not fae that are training to be royal guard? He is the only one that can protect you. Sure Jack may be absolutely bulked up but still! Sebek has muscle too!

❦ okay maybe it’s slightly more obsessive but still! He’s a sweetheart when the two of you are alone. Need help carrying your books? He’s already there grabbing them for you. Can’t reach something in the Alchemy lab? Luckily for you he had extras so you can take some of his! Can’t find your notes for magical history and you have an exam next period? He’s next to you offering his notebook and scolding you softly about the importance of placing things where you’ll remember them. He’s quite literally your number one helper. Other than Malleus, you’re the only thing on his mind!

❦ He didn’t even know how to confess at first. Spending hours going through romance novels in the library to try and gain some sort of idea on how to tell you he loved you. Even turning to using Lilia’s computer to search up the most romantic ways to express his love. Eventually, the older fae saw his struggle and decided to help. So, with new found knowledge, he gathered the things Lilia had told him to and went on his way to confess.

❦ Sebek had shown up to Ramshackle the very next evening, a bouquet of your favorite flowers wrapped in small lights, candied fruit, and a box of chocolates in his arms. He had tried to dress up abit, only to get poked fun at by Silver and Lilia. So instead he wore his dorm uniform, hoping it was formal enough. Nervous was an understatement. He was terrified as he cleared his throat and knocked on the door, silently praying that Grim didn’t answer.

❦ He luckily got his wish, watching as you opened the door, a small smile on your face as you looked up at him curiously. “Sebek?”

❦ He could feel his face burning a bright red as he bowed, offering you the gifts as he kept his eyes trained on the ground below. “[Name], it has come to my attention that I have developed romantic feelings for you.” His loud voice seemed to grow quieter the longer he spoke.

❦You were stunned for a moment, slowly taking the gifts from the fae with a small smile. “I’m flattered Seb…” He winced slightly, preparing himself for rejection. “Do you reciprocate my feelings, [Name]?” He straightened out his back, face still burning red as he looked down at you. Giggling softly, you nodded. “I do Sebek.”

❦he begins courting you immediately, granting you scary dog privileges from any students that think It’d he okay to treat you with disrespect. Like I said, he’s a sweetheart, practically putty in your hands.❤️

#sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst wonderland #idkhowtopostmbyall

177 notes · View notes

thelampisaflashlight · 1 year ago

Text

Dew, on a video call with Aeon: "Okay, Sparkles, this shit ain't rocket science; You're looking for the size 4 overnight pads, but instead of the bulk pack that has 40 in it, you're gonna get two of the mid-sized packs, because they have 33 a piece and that means 66 pads, but it'll be half the cost, since they're on sale, got it? Then we won't have to get those for a while... hopefully..." Aeon, staring at a wall of hygiene products: "Dew, I'm scared, why are there so many-" Dew: "Now is not the time for fear, Sparkles, that will come later, if you don't come back with the goods before Cumulus wakes up." Aeon, looking at the display, flipping the camera so Dew can see: "What's a tampon and why are the ladies on the box playing tennis?" Dew: "...To sate their bloodlust. How should I know? Fuckin' marketing bullshit, should have more dinosaurs and cool stuff like..." Aeon: "Vampire bats...?" Dew: "I like the way you think." Aeon: "...Why's there a random chocolate display over here?" Dew: "Focus, young one, focus." Aeon, filling up his shopping basket: "...Can I get a toy while I'm here? They have toys here, right?" Dew, sighing: "You may get one toy... But." Aeon: "But?" Dew: "...You have to get something for Cumulus, too." Aeon: "Done and done." -much later- Cumulus, being handed a grocery bag of random items: "Aw, buddy, what's this?" Aeon: "A sacrifice for the blood moon." Cumulus: "...For the blood moon." -taking out a stuffed t-rex with a shirt that says 'get well soon'- "...You're lucky you're cute."

#lamp rambles #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #aeon ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc

373 notes · View notes

jd07201990 · 1 year ago

Text

So… Does anyone know how many bouquets of roses, or how many boxes of chocolates it’ll take to survive my new Wife’s wrath, when she see’s her adorable, creative, intelligent boy… after I accidentally shipped him off to the equivalent of Football Boot-camp, so we could have our honeymoon alone in Cancun. Honestly! We were all going over the options, the two last resorts being we don’t go on our honeymoon, or Jason would have to stay at his grandpa’s house in the middle of nowhere a few states away. Clearly, we were desperate, so when I found the pamphlets for what looked like a regular old summer camp out in the woods, with a lake, and a whole slew of other activities, I jumped on it, especially since the price for the entire summer was $2100 bucks! Where I really screwed up, was not reading the pamphlet I was filling out, which was absolutely not the super happy fun time in the woods experience… It was ROTC for Football Jocks. I learned this only when I drove out to pick him up, 3 months later, and well… you can see what trudged up to me from across the parking lot, huge battered old sneakers pounding the pavement as he absentmindedly gnawed on a protein bar in his meaty, calloused fist, while his other hand absentmindedly adjusted his shorts. Just like all the other bulked up brutes marching off to their dads and coaches, his chest was bare, and bouncing with every step. When he’d crossed the distance, he grinned this dim, dopey grin, and grunted, “Thanks for pickin’ me up Dude. Can we stop by Wendy’s? I’m fuckin’ starving!” He punctuated this by stuffing the last of the protein bar in his mouth and yanking the door to my car open, the fiberglass handle cracked in his hand. He looked at the two halves, chuckled with that deep, rumbling Jock tone, and got in, dumping the pieces on the seat next to him. It didn’t take long for the car to fill the distinct funk of athletic prowess, especially when he kicked off his size 14’s and put his feet up on the dash. I nearly gagged, and despite the heat outside, rolled down the windows to air out. As we pulled into the driveway, my wife was on the lawn, waiting with a little bag, excited to see her boy again. When the sweaty ape of a jock got out lumbered up to her, wrapping his beefy arms around her, she looked terrified… for a second… then her eyes narrowed on me. When Jason finally let go of her, he gave her that same, blank, dopey grin, all the intelligence gone from his big wide eyes, and held his fist out… she looked at it incredulously, and he chuckled, “You’re supposed to bump it, Ma… with your fist” Well, the last 6 months have been tough, but Jason, or, “Jay” as he reminds us often, has absolutely blossomed at school. Although his grades could be better. The shock of his summer “glo-up” or as his oafish, grunting new friends like to tease, “blow-up” hit a few of the teachers harder than others. Although the Coach of the football team had nearly offered me his ’69 Camero to have Jason on the team after seeing him plow through reps in the football team’s gym. I said it was tough, because our house is essentially a second Locker Room for Jay and his small army of sweating, smelly behemoths. There is a never-ending pile of laundry from countless practices, the gym, and just hanging out with his friends. My wife has somewhat gotten used to her little boy calling her, “Bro” accidentally… every other day… and despite the change, he’s still her boy, there’s just, a good bit more of him to love. I will say, he’s a great kid, kind of dumb, a bit crass, and stinks like a gym bag more often than not, but when you dig a bit deeper into those dim, wide eyes, there’s still that adorable boy, underneath a pile of muscle.

465 notes · View notes

thistleraven · 4 months ago

Text

OnlyFins Sequel WIP Snippet

For TNVMana on ao3 who mentioned Kate's response to Peter saying they met on OF, enjoy the beginning of the sequel to OnlyFins:

~*~

The thing about New York City that Peter always forgets, is that—while it has a population of over eight million people—it is also the smallest town in the world.

"Peter? Is that you?"

Peter winces. If he's going to be perfectly honest, he would like not to be recognized at this exact moment. For one thing, he's barely awake and he knows he looks like hell—he knows his hair is a mess and he's wearing jeans from yesterday and one of Wade's shirts. He's also wearing Wade's crocs, which are bedazzled, neon yellow, and have manicured toe jibbitz sticking out of them. Peter hates them—thinks they're absolutely hideous—but they were the easiest things to slip on when he woke up and remembered that they're out of coffee.

And because Wade Wilson is a fancy bitch who doesn't own a regular coffee machine but a stupid gourmet Nespresso contraption, Peter's up at 8am looking like a gremlin in stupid gourmet grocery store about to spend way too much money on stupid gourmet coffee pods.

(Normally Peter doesn't mind the Nespresso machine, or the stupid little gourmet pods, because Wade is delighted by them. Wade likes all the fancy types of drinks it makes and the stupid little gourmet flavors and he likes to dance around, shaking his ass, to the sound the machine makes when it's churning out his stupid gourmet lattes and cappuccinos. And Peter, well. Peter likes it when Wade's happy.

It's just that Wade's been gone for two weeks on a mission and Peter was really, really looking forward to sleeping in with him. And sure, Peter could have said screw it and just ordered coffee in this morning, but…Peter's missed the coffee dance. He wants to see the dance.)

So here he is, standing in a Citarella with boxes of overpriced coffee pods in his hands with flavors like Toasted Sesame and Spanish Orange Biscuit and Ciocattino—because god forbid they just say "chocolate"—when New York does it's little small town thing.

He turns to face whoever-it-is, and almost drops the coffee.

"Kate?"

"Omigosh it is you!" Kate Bishop says, beaming. She smacks the arm of the guy next to her, who turns around and is—"Bruce! Meet Peter!"

The whole world seems to slow down as Bruce Banner turns around and sees Peter Parker's face for the very first time.

"Hi Peter," Bruce says politely, if a little bored. Which makes sense, because Bruce has no idea who the hell Peter Parker is, let alone that he's Spider-Man.

So this, obviously, a disaster, but Peter sends a quick prayer in thanks that it wasn't one of the more enhanced-sensed supers, or Tony with his JARVIS glasses. Peter would have been made in a hot second, and even in Peter's worst nightmares he's never been outed as Spider-Man while wearing bedazzled toe-crocs.

"Hi," Peter replies, a little breathless. Don't panic, Peter, don't panic. Something must get through though, because a flicker passes over Bruce's eyes.

Luckily, whatever it is gets derailed when Kate adds, weirdly smug for some reason, "Peter is Wade's boyfriend!"

Bruce's eyes go wide and he coughs. He blinks a few times and seems to actually look at Peter.

Fantastic. Peter watches in dim horror as he takes in Peter's face (sleep crusty, bed head), his shirt (baggy in all the places Wade's bulk dwarfs him) all the way down to his feet (Toe. Crocs.) He feels his face go hot and he waves weakly.

"It's, uh, nice to meet you, Bruce. Sorry—I normally look, um. Better than this."

"Sure," Bruce agrees easily. There's a thread of laughter in his voice, which Peter can't blame him for.

"Wade got back yesterday, right?" Kate asks, too-innocent. Peter narrows his eyes at her, because she knows good and well he got back last night, they were on the same mission.

"Yeah," Peter replies, suspicious.

Kate grins lasciviously at him. "Late night?"

Aw, jeez, come on, Kate. Way to call him out in front of what is supposed to be a complete stranger. Peter feels his face get hotter and just makes a strangled non-committed sound. It does nothing to dull the bright look of mischief in her eyes. She reminds him suddenly of MJ, and Peter makes a quick vow to never, ever introduce them.

"Anyway, Peter's a scientist, too, Bruce," Kate says, probably as a means to take pity on him by not saying that he does OnlyFans. Unfortunately, it's in fact now a new level of horrifying to Peter. His academic nightmares have never included toe crocs either.

"Something about protein rope? There was a while Wade couldn't stop talking about it but I couldn't be entirely sure it wasn't an innuendo."

Goddamnit, Wade. Peter's torn between annoyed frustration at his inconvenient blabbing and helpless affection that he cared enough to include Peter's research in his idle chatter.

"Not an innuendo, though, given Wade, I see where you might have gotten that. No, it's high tensile silk protein fiber."

Peter wants to shove the words back into his mouth the moment he says them. Kate won't think about it, but Banner's not an idiot. The less he knows about Peter and his research the better, lest he starts putting one and two together and gets webs.

It's too late, though. Bruce brightens. "Oh? That's interesting. Looking into plastic replacements?"

"Among other uses," Peter agrees. "A non-toxic, biodegradable, strong and flexible fiber could have a lot of uses. Bandages, rope, fire-suppressant—"

Bruce's head tilts curiously. Jeez, Peter, think of literally any other use that Banner doesn't associate with Spider-Man, come on—

"—and, uh, fabric, obviously," he adds quickly. "Wade wants me to make him dresses in it, but I don't have that kind of money."

Kate snorts. "Well, make him pay for it, he's got the cash."

"Fair enough," Peter laughs. "But even if I had the money for the material, it's more about the lab space."

"The lab space?" Bruce asks thoughtfully. "I take it your school won't provide it?"

"Ah, no, not unless I do my Ph.D there. Graduated last fall with my Masters."

Kate and Bruce congratulate him—which Peter politely accepts while wondering how fast he can extricate himself from this situation without looking even crazier than he does already.

Then Banner drops a bomb on him.

"Well, if it's lab space you need, you're welcome at the Tower. Stark's got tons of space, he won't miss one lab."

Peter is, for a brief second, stuck entirely in twain. Peter Parker, the scientist, is over the moon at the idea of getting his grubby mitts on Stark's tech for his webs. Spider-Man, the anonymous vigilante is screaming blue murder at the idea of stepping foot in the lobby of Stark's giant AI spy machine of a Tower unmasked, let alone having his webs processed there.

As such, instead of any intelligent answer he might have summoned, Peter makes a garbled sound like a dying goose.

Luckily, Bruce takes it as being overwhelmed instead of the debilitating existential alter-ego crisis that it actually is. He waves off Peter's goose malfunction.

"Seriously, Peter, it's no problem. I would say any friend of Wade's, but that's not true. You're special, according to Kate. Just come by the Tower and tell them your name. I'll make sure they set some space up for you."

"Um," Peter manages finally. How does he fix this. How does he get out of this?

"Oh!" Kate interrupts. "That reminds me! Can you guys watch Jeffrey for a couple of weeks? I was going to text Wade about it today, but might as well ask you now that you're here."

Despite the absolute riot of emotions happening in Peter, he can't help but brighten immediately.

"Of course, you never need to ask. We're always down to watch Jeff."

"Great!" Kate claps cheerfully. "Ooh, can you come in on Friday and bring him home with you? I'm trapped in a meeting right before I fly out, it'd be a huge help."

Well. That was a trap. A trap that Peter walked directly into. An adorable, land shark shaped trap, but a trap nonetheless.

Doomed, Peter says, "Uh. Sure?"

Kate beams at him. "Thanks, Peter!"

Peter feels a little like he's been stream-rolled. The similarity to MJ is once again uncanny and deeply, deeply cursed.

"You're welcome?" He offers weakly.

"Kate," Bruce says, "Sorry, Peter, but speaking of meetings—"

"Oh my god." Kate slaps her hand against her forehead. "I totally forgot. We're on a snack mission—"

"For a meeting that we are late for," Bruce adds dryly. He waves his phone which is lighting up with an unflattering picture of Stark. "Nice to meet you, Peter. I'm looking forward to seeing your fiber in action."

Oh, don't worry about that. He's already seen it in action, Peter thinks hysterically. Peter can't help but flash back to the last time he had deploy his webs to the keep the Hulk from smashing a too much. He had not been a happy camper.

"Right," Peter manages after what is probably an awkward beat, "Um. Nice to meet you, Bruce. Nice to see you again, Kate."

Lies, terrible lies. Peter went out to get coffee and his life became about twelve million times more complicated in the span of like ten minutes.

Kate and Bruce whisk away, leaving Peter holding his stupid gourmet coffee pods, wondering what the hell just happened.

A pimply teen walks by and snorts. "Nice kicks, dude."

"Fuck my life," Peter says seriously and then has to apologize when he gets a scandalized look from an elderly woman.

Great. Just great.

#onlyfins #onlyfins sequel #wip #my writing #spideypool

66 notes · View notes

skyguygeneraltano · 6 months ago

Text

Headcanon the Skywalkers have a sweet tooth but for different things

Padmé just loves taffies like the saltwater kind and just has a bulk of it at her desk and Anakin brings her some each time he comes back from a planet. One time Obi-Wan was visiting and talking and tried to take one and Padmé without thinking slapped his hand away.

Anakin is obsessed with pastries. Like cakes, cupcakes, pies and everything in between. Obi-Wan once saw Anakin go through five cupcakes and three muffins in one sitting and was just “what😀”. Obi-Wan tried to be that one parent to put veggies in the brownies and Anakin was just out of commission after tasting it.

Luke is a chocoholic. Like one day Han was looking for a blaster and he opens up a box in Luke’s quarters and he was just “dammit kid” as instead of weapons Luke just have chocolate and more chocolate. Han tried to take one and Luke burst in (feeling a disturbance), and shooed Han away for trying to take away his “babies”

Leia is a gummy bear, jelly bean, and licorice enthusiast. Like she just loves the colors and different flavors. Han tried to take a licorice one time and Leia gave him a glare that could blow up the Death Star. Han realized maybe it was better to not get between the twins and their sweets.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #luke skywalker #leia organa #han solo

56 notes · View notes

iandarling · 8 months ago

Text

Domestic gallavich headcanons

Mickey makes their eggs in the morning while Ian brews the coffee and sets the “table”. They eat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. It’s quiet and comfortable. Ian squeezes Mickeys thigh as he sits down next to him, smiling into his coffee cup. He swallows his meds before he digs into the scrambled eggs and sausage Mickey prepared. They exist in their own silence and comfort for a few moments before their day fully starts.

For their first valentine’s day together Ian buys Mickey a card which he says he hates, but Ian has seen him staring at it fondly with tears in his eyes. Ian finds it more romantic that Mickey takes advantage of the sale after valentine’s day to buy him a fuckton of roses and chocolates that were on sale.

They get a costco membership. Or rather, Ian gets a costco membership, but Mickey doesn’t mind it once he learns about the free samples. They buy a bunch of rotisserie chicken for the whole family, stock up on juice boxes for Franny and Freddie, buy water bottles and gatorade in bulk. They also have cheap tequila which Mickey loves so it’s a win win.

After work they like to sit on their balcony with a cold beer and dinner. Ian usually cooks while Mickey watches and talks. Ian loves listening to Mickey talk about anything and everything.

There is a new Club who wants them to deliver edibles twice a week. Mickey negotiations a good deal so Lip and Iggy can work part-time for them while still earning a good deal

One day while out grocery shopping shopping Mickey spots those flavoured straws that he used to see in all the adverts growing up. Plastic straws filled with chocolate, strawberry, or banana flavoured powder that would change the normal milk to whatever flavour you wanted. He never got those as a kid — Terry saying it was a waste of money, and he was too young at the time to steal them himself. As a teen he forgot about them, too preoccupied with everything else, but now as a 26 year old he could afford them. Mickey slips two packs of them into the cart before Ian sees them — he will lie and say there for Franny if he asks, but really he’s just always wanted to try them. That night Ian sees him staring at the stupid pack of multicoloured and flavoured straws. Ian doesn’t laugh at him, and they try each flavour together. The strawberry one is the best.

#mickey milkovich #gallavich #ian gallagher #shameless #your honour they are husbands #gallavich headcanon #my post #gallavich headcanons #one day i might write this as a fic

109 notes · View notes

monsterfactoryfanfic · 10 months ago

Text

I'm transcribing an interview Aaron King did with me about Detente for the Ravenous and I had to stop and clip out their answer about what they think constitutes good writing. With the story breaking about NaNoWriMo supporting AI text generators, I was just reminded how fucking good it feels to hear someone talk like they give a shit about the craft.

Transcript below the readmore.

"The first time, no, the second time I dropped out of college, I moved to a different town and I was working at an old timey confectionery and ice cream place. So four to five days a week, I would go in and put on black pants and a nice white shirt and an apron and a paper hat. And I would either be scooping ice cream or washing dishes or helping the owner's dad, an 80 year old man named Oscar make homemade chocolates and stuff. So we were on a main floor of a building. We had the ice cream shop, we had a coffee shop, and then we had a basement where we stored all this bulk candy that we ordered from people. And we had the place where Oscar would make these chocolate turtles: almonds, caramel, chocolate. And one day Oscar was like, “Hey, look at this.” And he took me to the basement stairs and he pulled down this plywood slide that he had constructed on a hinge that would cover the right half of the stairs. And he took a big box that we just received and put it at the top of the slide and shoved it down. And he was like, “What do you think of that?” And I said, “Well, that saves me a lot of time carrying stuff down the stairs.” And he was like, “Yeah, every day you try to improve a little bit. You try to make this place a little better.”

And I just like was almost crying because this man that could you know, not lift anything was so old, was still just like making these weird little changes around here and thinking of other people other than him. That's one of the things that I just carry forward in this process of making stuff is just like… I will never be a Will Jobst. I will never be “insert name of my favorite writer here.” But I'm driven to make these things. There's no reason for me not to make them. I might as well try to get a little better every single day. And sometimes that means reading and sometimes that means sitting down and doing some hard self assessment and figuring out where the weaknesses are. Or how to get better or how best to spend my time. Sometimes it's fun. Sometimes it's really hard. But I don't… I'm not going to become fucking William Faulkner, you know? I'm not going to become Louise Erdrich. But that's poison brain, to try to like become and overcome them or whatever. I think it's just, if this is something I'm going to do, no matter what, I would like to get a little bit better at it every single time I practice it. Then hopefully someone will put that on my gravestone. “Tried a little bit every day. Here lies Aaron King.” "

#detente for the ravenous #aaron king

101 notes · View notes

satinwhispers · 19 days ago

Text

Frat Boy Chris personality and background.

Core Traits

• Blunt: Says exactly what he thinks — no sugarcoating, no filters. Even when it stings.

“That dress looks better on the floor, so I don’t know why you keep wearin’ it.”

• Straightforward: Doesn’t play games, doesn’t drop hints. If he wants something, he says it. If he’s done, he leaves.

“Don’t text me any dumb shit. I’ll come get you when I’m free.”

• Easily Irritated / Frustrated / Angered: Short fuse. Low tolerance for whining, fake people, or being told what to do.

“Why are you cryin’? Again? Jesus, Bambi.”

• Emotionally Guarded / Rarely Empathetic: Keeps his feelings locked up. You’ll never hear him say “I’m hurt.” Even if he is. (Never towards Bambi)

“You think I care? I don’t. It’s nothin’. Drop it.”

• Teasing / Sarcastic: He roasts to show affection. Will mess with Bambi on purpose just to see her pout.

“You think that’s a side-eye? Try again, baby deer.”

Sexuality & Experience

• Highly Experienced: Has done almost everything sexually, knows what he likes, knows what she likes.

• Kinky: Light D/s tendencies. Likes teasing, light choking, edging, control.

• Not Submissive: At all. Refuses to let anyone dominate him

Relationships

• Not Jealous: Doesn’t care who looks at Bambi. He knows she’s his.

• Protective:

• Over Bambi — especially physically. If someone touches her wrong, it’s over.

• Over the stuff he gives her — plushies, necklaces, snacks. If she loses them or lets someone touch them, he gets pissed.

“Where the fuck’s the one I gave you? Don’t tell me you lost it.”

• Not Clingy: Rarely initiates contact or affection. If he ever does, it’s subtle — a hand on her thigh when he’s high, an arm over her shoulder.

• Sensitive About Dating (BEFORE DATING BAMBI): Gets tense or weird when the subject comes up. His past relationship (with Goldie) left scars, and he doesn’t talk about it.

“Why you bringin’ that up? Thought we weren’t doin’ all that ‘boyfriend’ shit.”

Fears & Weaknesses

• Very Few Fears: He’s not scared of much — violence, rejection, risk — but:

• Emotional vulnerability

That’s his Achilles’ heel.

• The idea of loving someone and being hurt again? Makes his stomach twist.

• Has a Breaking Point: Usually when Bambi is genuinely hurt. Not crying over candy — but if someone really fucks with her? That’s the one time you’ll see Chris’s mask crack.

What Chris does on his free time

1. Sorting Pills, Gummies, and Edibles

Chris always keeps his business tight. He’ll sit at his desk or the edge of his bed, headphones in, sorting little baggies of:

• Pressed pills (Adderall, Xanax, etc.)

• THC gummies (sometimes homemade)

• Edible chocolates

He has a whole system — rubber bands, color-coded labels, sometimes even writes the dosages in Sharpie. If Bambi’s around, he lets her sit and watch, but not touch.

“Don’t eat that one. That’s not the fun kind, that’s the drool-on-yourself kind.”

2. Drug Runs with Matt

He rides with Matt when they need to re-up or drop off bulk orders. He’s usually quiet in the car, handling the deals while Matt distracts or smooths things over.

He keeps a box cutter or small blade tucked in his hoodie pocket. Just in case.

Sometimes Bambi doesn’t even know he’s gone — he tells her he’s out “handling shit.”

3. Counting Money / Inventory

In his room, door locked, hoodie sleeves pushed up. He counts:

• Crumpled bills

• Rolled coins (he weirdly saves them)

• Venmo and CashApp receipts

Sometimes, Kitty or Nate catches him doing math in a notebook. Chris is obsessive about not getting shorted.

4. Doing Homework / Staying On Top of Classes

Chris isn’t a bad student — he just doesn’t care unless it affects his schedule or money. He knocks out essays at 2 a.m., headphones blasting music, Red Bull and Bambi’s snacks nearby.

“I ain’t failin’ no fuckin’ class. Not lettin’ them take me out over some group project bullshit.”

He hates group work. Never answers the chat. Always does the whole thing himself.

5. Spending Time with Bambi

Usually in his room or at the girls’ house. It’s casual. Quiet. Sometimes sexual, sometimes not.

He’ll:

• Let her eat his snacks (and complain)

• Sit beside her while she watches TV or plays with plushies

• Lie down with his head in her lap while she plays with his hair (only if he’s high and pretending not to like it)

• Tease her relentlessly until she whines or pouts

“You’re so spoiled it’s insane. You gonna cry again if I eat your candy?”

If she’s sick or overstimulated, he slows down — gives her space or makes her favorite candy.

6. Hanging with the Frat Bros

He’s always around Matt, Nate, sometimes Nick (though Nick keeps distance). They’ll:

• Pass blunts around

• Watch sports, roast each other

• Handle deliveries or setup for parties

• Scheme dumb shit like selling “fun” Rice Krispies at the next event

He likes the chaos, but never drinks heavy at their parties — someone has to stay sharp.

Things Chris Makes for Bambi (Regularly + With Intent)

Despite his tough exterior and blunt attitude, Chris has a quiet, methodical ritual of making custom sweets for Bambi based on her moods and needs. He never makes a show of it — he just notices when she’s running low, grumbles to himself, and starts prepping another batch like clockwork.

1. Chocolate Peanut Butter Covered Pretzel Clusters

When Bambi Can’t Sit Still

Salty, sweet, and textured — the clusters give her something crunchy and satisfying to gnaw on when she’s fidgety, restless, or pacing around.

• He makes them with real melted chocolate and smooth peanut butter.

• Presses them into bite-sized lumps on parchment paper.

• Keeps them cold in a little ziplock bag with her name scribbled on it.

“Here. Sit down and eat some. You’re wearin’ out my fuckin’ carpet.”

2. Honey Chamomile Hard Candies

When She’s Overstimulated / Crybaby Over Small Stuff

These are mellow and soothing, meant to quiet her system without knocking her out — sweet enough to distract her, calming enough to let her melt into a blanket or his hoodie.

• Infused with dried chamomile and raw honey.

• Poured into tiny bear- or flower-shaped molds.

• Wrapped in soft wax paper with twisted ends.

“You cryin’ again? Jesus. Open your mouth.”

3. Strawberry Milk Taffies

When She’s Hyperactive and Needs to Come Down

Soft, chewy, and creamy-sweet. Perfect for when she’s bouncing around, talking a mile a minute, and Chris just needs her to breathe and slow down.

• Hand-pulled and wrapped one by one.

• Subtle vanilla base with real strawberry puree.

• Packed in a pink tin labeled “Chill the Fuck Out – ♥ C.S”

“Mama, chew it slow. S’posed to calm you, not rot your teeth.”

Routine + Quantity

• Chris always makes packs of 50.

• Keeps them in labeled containers:

“Sit Down,” “Calm Down,” “Stop Crying.”

• Makes more immediately when one batch runs out. He won’t even let her ask — he notices the day she hits the bottom of the jar.

“We’re out already? Goddamn—fine. Don’t touch anything. I’ll make more tonight.”

Things Chris Buys for Bambi!

1. Fawn Plushies

He buys them without asking. Every time he sees a soft-eyed deer in a store window, he thinks of her face when she cries — big-eyed, pouty, in need of comforting.

“Saw this stupid lookin’ one and thought of you, kid. Here.” (It’s not stupid. It’s her favorite one.)

2. Dimoo World Figures (Pop Mart)

Chris acts like he doesn’t care about her “little weird-ass toys” but lowkey keeps track of which Dimoo set she’s missing. Once he even traded with some guy off Instagram to get her a rare one.

“Don’t cry, kid. Look — I got the cloud one. You’re obsessed with cryin’ so it fits.”

3. Sanrio Plushies (Cinnamoroll, Keroppi, Pochacco)

He pretends to hate Sanrio — says it’s “baby shit” — but always ends up grabbing her at least one plush whenever he hits the mall for drops.

“Keroppi? Who the fuck names a frog that? Whatever — you like it.”

(It ends up in her bed every night.)

4. Jewelry

Simple pieces. Mostly silver. Necklaces she wears under her sweaters. Rings she fidgets with. Earrings shaped like stars or hearts or deer.

“Put this one on. I like that one. Makes your neck look good.”

5. Press-On Nails

Not just any — the exact ones she sends in screenshots with sparkles and hearts. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just tosses the pack on her bed like it’s nothing.

“You gon’ scratch me up next time we fuck, huh?”

6. Reese’s Cups (duh)

He buys them in bulk. Like Sam’s Club-level bulk. He knows she’ll hoard them and cry when they’re gone.

7. Strawberry Milk (the Nesquik kind)

He calls it “your weird-ass drink” but always keeps a few in the fridge — just in case she storms into the frat house needing a fix.

8. Chamomile honey candy / chocolate pretzels / soft chews he makes himself

When she’s too hyper, overstimulated, or crying again — he’ll hand her a Ziploc bag. No words. Just:

“Here. Chill out.”

Bonus!! (Other little things Chris gets Bambi)

9. Keychains (tiny plushies, glitter B charms, or little frogs)

10. Hair clips & ribbons (he likes seeing them in her hair when she’s in his bed)

11. Socks (the dumb cute ones with peaches or clouds — she wears his sometimes too, so he buys extras)

12. Lip glosses (because she always loses hers — he keeps one in his car “for emergencies”)

13. Matching hoodie or T-shirt (he’d never say they’re matching, but they are)

Chris’ background related to dating

Chris has only had one real relationship before Bambi — and it left him fucked up in ways he doesn’t talk about. Back then, before the drugs and the parties and the “don’t care” attitude, Chris was softer. Still blunt, still a little cocky, but with more heart showing. He used to over-explain himself, used to think love meant fixing things no matter how hard it got. But his ex, Goldie, broke that out of him.

Goldie was sharp-tongued, high-maintenance, and manipulative in ways that didn’t look like abuse until they were already neck-deep in it. She’d tear Chris down in front of her friends just to laugh, make him feel small when he was vulnerable, and twist his words until he stopped trying to explain himself at all. What started as playful teasing turned into constant criticism — about how he dressed, how he talked, how he felt. She didn’t want a boyfriend; she wanted someone to control.

By the time Chris walked away from her, he was exhausted, emotionally burnt, and convinced that being soft got you stepped on. So he toughened up. Hardened. Became the version of himself everyone sees now — closed off, no strings, no softness unless you earn it, which is very rare. It’s why, even with Bambi, he was all push-and-pull in the beginning. He liked her, wanted her, but couldn’t trust it. Not right away. He couldn’t figure out if she was real — or just another Goldie in softer packaging.

But Bambi didn’t push. She whined, cried, got under his skin — but she never made him feel small. And over time, Chris started letting her see the parts of him he hadn’t shown in years. Not all at once. Just enough. Enough for her to know he wasn’t heartless — just scared of handing it over again.

✧ More headcanons, drabbles, and scenes coming soon!

Inspired by : @sturnioz

#dealer!chris #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #frat boy chris #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

20 notes · View notes