#It was hard to gauge which was closer

[loptrcoptr]

Your “my god how out of touch am I” moment of the day is: I keep getting comments on this fic I’m writing that are like “worth waiting for the update”, “this was worth the wait” and I’m so confused because I have been posting chapters… every ten days at most? what wait, that’s a fast schedule, I thought! And the chapters are between 5k and 7k words each! Each! The fifth chapter is currently sitting pretty at 10 fucking k so I’ll probably have to split it in half…

But I’m dying over this I think it is wild lol. Do people not remember what it was like to have fics that updated every six months, if that, for nearly a decade? Is this something no one else remembers? Have we gotten so into instant gratification culture that waiting a week for 5 thousand words of fanfic is a long time?

This is all so wild to me so I guess I’ll go write another 5k about it lmfao

[xoamiiren]

FORGIVE AND FORGET , ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 silly arguments

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, they try to ignore you after a petty dispute. PAIRING. sulky bf!enha x sorry gf!reader GENRE. fluff WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, post argument, petnames

authors note ୨୧ they’re all whipped for (y/n) 🧸

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HEESEUNG

The silence in the apartment was thick, almost suffocating. You had been tiptoeing around it for hours, trying to ignore the gnawing ache in your chest. But as time passed, the weight of Heeseung's absence, even though he was just a few rooms away, became unbearable.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. You took a deep breath and left your room, determined to make things right.

The soft glow of the gaming room greeted you as you stepped inside. Heeseung sat at his desk, headphones snug over his ears, fingers deftly moving across his controller. His eyes were glued to the screen, but you knew him well enough to see the tension in his posture—the slight furrow of his brows, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tight.

You approached quietly, trying to gauge his mood as you stood behind him. The sounds of an in-game explosion filled the air, and you pretended to be interested, your gaze lingering on the screen. But it was no use—Heeseung didn't acknowledge you, his cold shoulder a sharp reminder of the earlier argument.

Enough was enough.

With a small sigh, you reached out and gently turned his chair toward you. His eyes flickered with surprise, but his expression remained stubbornly neutral, his gaze sliding away as if you weren't even there.

You didn't let it deter you. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, then another to the other side. When he continued to ignore you, you moved closer, placing tender kisses along his jawline, silently pleading for his attention. Heeseung turned his face away, his resistance wavering but still there.

A faint smirk played at the corners of your lips. You weren't giving up that easily.

You lowered your lips to his neck, brushing them against his skin, feeling the slight shiver that ran through him. He tensed, but you could sense the walls he'd built around himself starting to crumble. You pressed on, kissing the warm skin of his collarbone, peeking out from the edge of his hoodie.

Heeseung's breath hitched, and you felt his resolve begin to melt away, his shoulders relaxing as he subconsciously leaned into your touch. Still, he tried to hold onto his anger, his hands gripping the controller as if it were the last line of defense.

But you knew you'd won when his character faltered on the screen, losing the match in a flash of red. He let out a frustrated sigh, finally meeting your gaze. The anger in his eyes had softened, replaced by something warmer, something that spoke of surrender.

Without a word, Heeseung wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down onto his lap. The tension between you dissolved in an instant, replaced by a comforting sense of closeness.

"You’re impossible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice low and affectionate as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent.

You chuckled softly, your fingers threading through his hair as you settled into his embrace. "But you still love me."

Heeseung grip tightened around you, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I do."

JAY

Jay had been avoiding you all day. When you tried to cuddle him in bed that morning, he rolled right out, leaving you alone with the cold sheets. When you tried to sit and listen to him play his guitar, he sighed, put it away, and left the room without a word. Now, he was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his focused, hard eyes as he chopped vegetables for dinner.

You couldn’t stand the silence anymore. With a determined shuffle, you made your way into the kitchen, standing beside him. The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board filled the room, but all you could focus on was the distance between you two. You watched the way his jaw tensed, the way his hands moved with precision, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Finally, you groaned softly and latched onto him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Jay," you whispered, but he didn’t respond. You squeezed tighter, hoping to break through the barrier he had put up.

"Jay…" you tried again, sliding your hands up under his shirt, resting them on his chest. You couldn’t see it, but his breath hitched, and a blush crept up his cheeks.

"I'm sorry…" you muttered, voice filled with genuine regret. The sound of chopping stopped, and the room fell silent. Slowly, Jay turned to face you, his expression softened, the hard edges of his irritation melting away.

“That’s all I wanted to hear, baby,” he murmured, pulling you into a warm embrace.

The tension dissolved as he held you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The argument felt like a distant memory as you found comfort in each other's arms, the quiet kitchen now filled with the warmth of forgiveness.

JAKE

You knock gently on Jake's door, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment. No answer. A pang of guilt twists in your chest as you slowly turn the handle and peek inside. Jake is curled up on his bed, his back to the door, the soft glow of the setting sun casting a warm hue across the room.

Taking a deep breath, you slip inside and quietly close the door behind you. The bed dips slightly as you crawl in beside him, but he shifts away, his silent rejection a small but painful sting. You try to wrap your arm around his waist, hoping for just a little closeness, but he pushes it off with a huff, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

You sigh softly, rolling over to face the opposite direction, feeling the heavy weight of the silence between you. The minutes tick by slowly, each one a reminder of the distance that shouldn’t be there.

Just when the silence starts to feel unbearable, you feel Jake’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you back toward him in a tight embrace.

His breath is warm against your neck as he whispers, voice tinged with frustration and affection, “I can’t! I can’t stay mad at you…”

A soft giggle escapes your lips, the tension in your chest easing as you lean back into him. “I’m sorry, Jake…”

He squeezes you a little tighter, his voice softening, “I know, love. I know.”

In that moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the petty argument fades into the background, leaving only the warmth of your connection, stronger than ever.

SUNGHOON

Sunghoon could outlast anyone in the silent treatment game, and right now, he was proving it. It was day three of his cold shoulder, and you were growing more frustrated by the hour. Unlike him, you couldn’t stand to let an argument linger for more than a few hours, but Sunghoon? He was the Ice Prince, and he wore that title with pride.

This morning, you decided to take matters into your own hands. If words wouldn’t thaw him out, maybe a more direct approach would. After he left for a bit, you took the time to get dolled up, wearing the dress you knew he adored, with your hair perfectly styled and a hint of his favorite perfume lingering in the air.

When Sunghoon returned, you greeted him with a soft smile, hoping to see some sign of forgiveness in his eyes and admiration for his pretty girlfriend. But instead of acknowledging you, he glanced your way, then walked straight past you and out to the balcony with a book in hand.

Your frustration peaked. You had tried everything—apologies, subtle hints, even this!—and yet he still acted like nothing had happened. As you watched him settle into a chair outside, calmly opening his book, you finally snapped.

You marched out onto the balcony, snatching the book from his hands with a huff.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression…expectant? Surprised. Then, to your utter confusion, he smirked and let out a quiet laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you demanded, feeling your anger and confusion mix.

He leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eyes. “I forgave you two days ago... I just wanted to see how long you could go like this. Impressive, love.”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. “You mean—”

Sunghoon shrugged, his smirk widening. “I knew you wouldn’t last as long as me.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Hoon… that’s so stupid.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone softening as he reached for your hand. “But it’s kind of fun, isn’t it?”

Rolling your eyes, you sat down beside him. “Next time, just tell me you forgive me, okay?”

“Alright,” he chuckled, pulling you close.

You handed him his book back, and together, you settled into a comfortable silence. As you leaned against him, the tension finally faded away, replaced by the warmth of his presence. Reading together, the world around you seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you on that peaceful balcony.

SUNOO

You hesitated outside the bathroom, listening to the faint sound of Sunoo humming softly as he went through his nightly skincare routine. You knew he was still upset, but you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked when he was focused, even if he was giving you the cold shoulder.

Gathering your courage, you pushed the door open and stepped inside, hoping to join him for the last part of his routine, a ritual you both cherished. However, the moment you entered, he pulled off his sheet mask with a swift motion.

“I’m finished,” he mumbled, his tone clipped, before he brushed past you, leaving the bathroom.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the silent treatment as you watched him walk away. Not willing to give up, you followed him into the living room where he was already curled up on the couch, surrounded by an array of snacks, ready to watch his favorite drama.

You crept closer, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, before softly asking, “Can I watch with you?”

Sunoo shrugged, rolling his eyes slightly, but you noticed how he scooted over to make room for you. It was a small gesture, but it gave you hope. You pouted softly as you settled beside him, the space between you feeling like a chasm.

The drama played on the screen, but the tension between you both was hard to ignore. The silence stretched on, making the atmosphere even more awkward.

Finally, Sunoo turned to you, his gaze serious and alittle sad. “I didn’t like what you did, baby… it wasn’t nice.”

His words were gentle, but you could hear the hurt behind them. You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, apologetic kiss, “I know, Sun… I’m so sorry.”

He looked at you for a moment, searching your eyes, before finally softening. His arm slipped around you, pulling you closer as he let out a small sigh.

“Just don’t do that again, okay?“

You nodded, snuggling into his side, relief washing over you as he pressed play on the drama. The warmth of his embrace and the familiar sound of the TV made everything feel right again. The argument was forgotten as you both got lost in the show, the comfort of being together making the night feel perfect once more.

JUNGWON

Jungwon was upstairs in his bedroom, the soft sound of pencil on paper the only noise breaking the silence. He was hunched over his sketchbook, eyebrows furrowed as he worked on a drawing—something he often did when upset. And right now, you were the reason for his frustration.

You took a deep breath, hesitating outside his door before gently pushing it open. His gaze flicked toward you for the briefest moment before he returned to his sketch, pointedly ignoring your presence. The tension in the room was thick, making your heart ache with guilt.

Stepping fully inside, you spotted a stack of scrap paper on his desk. An idea sparked, and you grabbed a piece, quickly doodling a tiny strawberry with a smiley face and little arms, dancing cheerfully across the page. In a small speech bubble, you wrote, "Jungwon, I'm sorry, and I love you."

Gathering your courage, you crumpled the paper into a ball and, with a playful smirk, tossed it at his head. It bounced off lightly, causing him to pause. Jungwon glanced over at the crumpled paper before picking it up and smoothing it out. When he saw the doodle, the corners of his mouth twitched, fighting back a smile.

He scribbled something on the paper before tossing it back to you. Unfolding it, you found his response: a doodle of a sulking Jungwon with crossed arms and the words, "You better be."

You giggled, grabbing another piece of paper. This time, you drew a tiny version of yourself with big puppy dog eyes, holding a sign that read, "Forgive me?" You sent it flying toward him.

Jungwon caught it, his resolve cracking as a small laugh escaped him. He grabbed his pencil again, quickly sketching a doodle of the two of you, now with a heart between your cartoonish figures. He added a note: "Only because you’re cute."

You beamed, heart swelling with relief and affection. Without thinking, you rushed over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. “I really am sorry, Jungwon,” you whispered, resting your cheek against his.

He finally turned to look at you, his expression softening. “I know,” he said, his voice gentle as he pulled you into his lap. “But next time, don’t make me wait so long to forgive you.”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Of course not.”

He smiled, pulling you close as the two of you settled into a comfortable cuddle, the earlier tension melting away as you both laughed about your silly doodles. The argument was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of being wrapped up in each other’s arms.

NI-KI

Ni-ki’s usually playful and laid-back demeanor was nowhere to be found as he sulked in his room, still miffed from your earlier argument. But you had a plan—you knew just how to get him to forgive you. When you found him playing music on his speaker, you flopped beside him on the bed, flashing a smile.

“I like this song,” you chirped, hoping to break the ice.

Ni-ki didn’t say a word. Instead, he quirked a brow and hit the next button on his phone, the song switching immediately. You suppressed a grin at his pettiness but refused to give up. It was later in the day when he moved on to practicing dance moves in front of his mirror, you tried to join in, matching his rhythm with exaggerated precision.

He stopped mid-dance, a sigh escaping his lips as he grabbed his water bottle and headed out of the room, leaving you standing there with an amused expression.

The final act of your mission came when you found him sprawled on the couch with headphones on, eyes closed. Without hesitation, you gently flipped onto his chest, resting your head there and closing your eyes. You felt his body tense beneath you, but he didn’t push you away.

After a moment, he grunted, pulling his headphones down around his neck as he wrapped his arms around you, unable to resist any longer.

“You’re annoying as hell…” he muttered, voice laced with defeat.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement, snuggling closer, knowing you’d won him over.

[lovelivision]

‎FLUFFY AND CUFFED 𝜗𝜚 ݁₊

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𐔌.pairing — gojo satoru / reader

‎ ‎ ‎── word count: 4.4k

❥ summary... gojo shows up late for valentine's day, good thing you have something you can use to teach him a lesson on making you wait...

warnings.ᐟ ── 18+ only, smut, pwp, swearing, dirty talk, use of restraints, handjob, fingering, p in v penetration, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy), mating press, slight overstimulation, creampie, slight dacryphilia, afab!reader, no pronouns used !!

A set of distinct and easily recognisable rhythmic knocks on your door alert you to Gojo’s late arrival, he was supposed to be here nearly an hour ago. When you open the door it’s clear that you’re displeased with him and his lateness, your brow raised and gaze waiting for him to explain.

Though you can’t even see your boyfriend enough to admonish him appropriately, a large bouquet of your favourite flowers blocking him from your view. Pulling them away he looks at you with big, sad eyes, and you hate how it’s actually working on you. It’s hard to stay angry when he’s that cute, he doesn’t need to know that though.

“Happy Valentine’s?” He smiles sheepishly.

Stepping to the side, you open the door more, “Get in here.”

He walks into your apartment and gives you the flowers, “I’m sorry… I know I’m late.”

“And why are you late?”

“Okay well, I was going to be here on time but then I couldn’t find your favourite flowers so I was checking all the stores I could and then I got lost a little bit but then I found them and then a lot more time had gone by without me realising…” he stops and awkwardly scratches the back of his head, smiling, “bad time management on my behalf, I am really sorry though.”

Maybe you should be a little angrier at him, but you can’t find it within yourself to mind all that much. Not when he went to so much effort just to get you your favourite flowers. “We missed our reservation you know?”

His head drops like a scolded puppy, “I know.”

Walking past him, you move to place the flowers on the countertop. He’s following behind you devotedly.

“Are you mad?” He asks, trying to gauge how much trouble he’s in right now.

You think on it for a moment, this could actually be used for your benefit, “A little…” you spin to face him, “which means you’ll need to make it up to me.”

Nodding quickly, “Anything.”

The smile threatening to break on your face can’t be hidden, “I’m so glad you said that!”

He leans forwards, closer to you, “You planning to do something dirty to me?”

“Absolutely.”

Grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down, standing on your toes so you can press your lips to his. Gojo reacts immediately, hands on your body and gripping at your hips, tugging you in even closer. His kisses urgent, quickly stealing the lead from you when he licks into your mouth, tongue brushing up against yours.

You’re getting lost in the kiss, head pleasantly fuzzy with his lips on yours. Arms rounding his neck and pulling up into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Frenzied kisses growing sloppy, parting just so he can suck on your lower lip and make you whine before giving you more full kisses.

It’s hard to stay focused on your objective when he kisses you like this, all thoughts melting as the only thing you can think about quickly becomes him. Him and his lips and his tongue and the hands he’s got on your hips that are now sliding up under your shirt.

Bare skin on yours warm and grounding enough for you to pull back from him, lips parting with a string of saliva connecting them. Heavy breaths leaving you as you work to control yourself, “This is not what I meant.”

“I know,” he hums, “I just wanted to do something dirty to you.”

It’s annoying how weak he has you for him, “You’re lucky I like you.”

He corrects, “I think you’re in love with me actually,” nuzzling his face into your cheek, “now what exactly is it that you want to do to me?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” You smile and take his hand in yours, walking him back to your room.

“Aww, we don’t get to fuck in the kitchen?”

“What? Of course not,” reaching under the bed, you pull out the box you keep hidden and present a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs from it, “How would I restrain you to the bed if we’re in the kitchen?”

Gojo’s brows raise in shock for a moment before his face turns suggestive, “Well aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“You got no idea, pretty boy,” pointing at the bed for him to sit on, “now get comfy.”

“Whatever you say, sweetie,” he coos back at you indulgently as he situates himself on the mattress.

“Shuffle down,” you instruct, to which he does, back flat to the bed.

Taking his hand, you cuff a single wrist and then thread the chain around your headboard before cuffing the other. Successfully restraining him with his arms up, you give the cuffs a last tug to ensure their sturdiness. They’re not exactly police grade but you’re sure they’ll hold up… probably.

Gojo leans his head up, “If you’re gonna keep me like this, the least you can do is take your shirt off for my viewing pleasure.”

“I’ll consider it,” readjusting so you’re sitting on his lap, hands dragging down his front.

“Don’t be stingy.”

“Are you forgetting that this is because you failed to show up on time for our date and not meant to be for your benefit?”

He smiles at you, “If it’s not for my benefit then why am I so looking forward to it?”

Tilting your head at him, “Because you’re a pervert?”

“You might’ve gotten me there.”

Humming at him as you start opening his shirt, delicate fingers slowly slipping each individual button undone. Letting your nails slowly drag down his freshly exposed skin. Purposefully trailing over his nipples and not bothering to hide your smile at the soft way his hips jut up. Hands stopping at the waistband of his pants before trailing them back up and leaning over him, face hovering over his like you might kiss him only not to.

He huffs at you, “Tease.”

“I thought you liked teasing,” you caress the side of his face and brush your lips over the highest point of his cheekbone.

“I like teasing you,” he pouts, turning his head to the side hoping to catch your lips with his only to be left disappointed when you pull back and tap the tip of his nose with a single finger.

“You’re cute.”

“If I’m so cute then pull my cock out and sit real pretty on it,” he beams at you, “please.”

Shuffling back, you start to unbutton his pants. Chirping back, “Maybe.”

Tugging his pants off him completely, leaving him only in his boxers and trailing your way back up his inner legs with your soft touch. Watching him squirm under you and getting a kick at how sensitive he seems to be already.

Gojo watches with bated breath, anticipation making him all too eager for you to touch him directly. Arms itching to reach forward, hands aching to touch and tease you only to be stopped by the cuffs. As much as he enjoys this little game he thinks he may have put himself in a bad position, he just loves touching you so much.

“Satoru,” you call to him, a little surprised when you pull his cock free, “you’re already this hard?”

His words are barely bitten back, eyes locked on the way your smaller hand grips him, “What can I say? I like making out with you.”

“Are you sure you don’t just like being handcuffed?”

“I think we both know I’d much rather be touching you,” breath catching in his throat as your thumb swipes over the tip of his dick.

Smiling evilly at him, eyes crinkling, “Maybe you should be on time then.”

“I said I was sorry,” he whines softly.

“You also said you’d do anything to make it up to me,” looking through your lashes at him, “were you lying?”

“Of course not.”

“Then–”

“–But I am gonna get to…” Words softly trailing off as he watches you let the saliva collected in your mouth dribble down to his cock. Shivers running down his spine as it makes his dick that much slicker, your hand using it as lubricant to gently start jerking him off. How could this possibly be a punishment when this sight is so arousing, your touch so good he feels lightheaded.

“Hmm?” you hum at him, taunting lightly, “you’re gonna get to what?”

There’s no reply from Gojo, his teeth biting into his lower lip as the soft flush of pink on his skin darkens a few hues more. It’s cute how he’s holding back the sounds he wants to let out, brows pinched in pleasure as he carefully keeps his eyes locked on your hand stroking him.

Deciding it’s your turn to be a relentless tease tonight, you coo at him, “C’mon ‘Toru, what were you gonna say? I wanna know.”

His big eyes look up at you, confusion on his face as he struggles to reply, “Wh– what?”

You loosen your touch, keeping it featherlight just to make it that much more frustrating for him, “You said you were gonna get to do something to me,” thumb dancing just under the head of his cock, “I’m wondering what that was.”

Gojo’s hips try to thrust upwards for more friction but your grip is too light to give him what he’s seeking. He’s barely even registered that you’ve spoken, not until you’re pulling your hand back. His eyes growing wide and frantic, “Fuck– no, don’t stop touching me, please.”

“Gotta answer me,” fingers lightly stroking his length.

It takes him a moment to remember what you had even asked of him, expression sweet and confused before a cocky smirk find its way onto his face, “I was trying to say– hng– that I am gonna get to touch you tonight.”

“I’m not sure why you’re suddenly so sure of yourself, Satoru,” hand wrapping around him properly again, “after all, you’re the one in the palm of my hand right now.”

Beginning to fuck him with your hand with the intent to make him cum, thumb brushing up against his sensitive tip. You’re relishing in all the sounds and faces he’s struggling to hide, the composure he’d mustered up completely slipping from him. All that’s left is this beautiful man falling apart under you, his hips rutting up recklessly, so hopelessly turned on and overwhelmed after all the light touches you had given him.

His breaths are heavy and he can’t control his moans, damn near whimpering, “I’m close– hah– oh fuck!– so close just–”

At the mention of his impending orgasm, you pull your hand away, enjoying the way his cock twitches pathetically at the loss of your touch. His eyes wet and lost when he looks up at you, hands struggling against the cuffs.

Blinking up at you, whines barely hidden in his tone, “No, I was so– sweetie, I was so close.”

“‘Toru…” you start, leaning in a little closer. “Why did you think I’d let you cum that easily?”

“Maybe because you love me?” He tries.

“I love you so much,” you grin at him, “but I hate being left waiting so I need to ensure you remember not to do it again.”

He groans in disappointment at your answer, “Do I need to say sorry again?”

“I don’t know, say it and we’ll see it.”

“I’m really sorry for showing up late, sweetheart.” Eyes pleading with you, “I promise it won’t happen again.”

You pretend to think on your answer for a moment before standing from the bed, a small noise of concern leaving him, the cuffs clattering against the bed frame as he tries to follow you.

You reassure him, “Be calm, Satoru. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then come back.”

“I could do that or I could take off my clothes, which would you prefer?”

It’s like his eyes light up at the prospect of you undressing, “Take off your clothes.”

“That’s what I thought,” rolling your eyes lightly.

Making a bit of a show of it as you slip your pants off before your shirt follows. Letting your fingers slip into the waist band of your panties, lingering there as you play with the elastic. Gojo’s eyes are trained so dedicatedly on your lower half, waiting impatiently for you to bare yourself to him.

Too bad you’re feeling especially wicked tonight but it is his fault, plus having him like this is incredibly rare and you’re enjoying controlling the pace. Hands leaving your panties as they are and instead crawling back into his lap, smiling pleasantly at his whined complaints.

“Noo, take them off.” Eyes flicking to yours, “Both your bra and panties, I want them off.”

“How about this,” you counteroffer, “pick.”

“You’re so evil.”

“If you don’t pick then they both stay on.”

More disappointed groans pulling from his chest before he firmly states, “Lemme see your tits.”

You scoff at him, “Only because you asked so nicely.” Despite his too sure attitude you follow through and pull your bra off.

He’s itching to touch you, again, seemingly forgetting that he’s restrained to the bed and struggling against the handcuffs. “This is so unfair,” he complains.

“Mhm,” you dismiss him easily.

Keeping your composure has been a little hard, especially when he’s so big and waiting for you. Apparently you’re unable to hide your desire for his cock because he smugly says, “If you want it that bad… sit on it.”

Well now you don’t want to, you don’t want to let him win, not when you undoubtably have the upper hand in this situation. “Your overconfidence will be your undoing.”

“I may be confident but never overconfident,” he argues back. “You can’t hide how bad you want it, pretty. I know that look in your eye,” his gaze travels further down, “also your panties being drenched are a dead giveaway.”

“Your taunting doesn’t make me want it more,” you stroke a singular finger from the sensitive head of his dick down his whole shaft, enjoying the shudders that run through him at your light touch.

“Come onnnn,” he drags out the words, whingeing about it, “just sit on it, please. You’re so fucking wet I can tell. Fuck yourself open on my big dick, I’m begging for it, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think you deserve it though,” holding his length in your grasp again, touch alternating between firm and so light it’s barely there. You have every intention of driving him mad.

Building him up oh so slowly, letting him rock into you before holding his hips down with your free hand. He’s so dazed and lost in your touch on him, wishing for so much more as you tease him cruelly. Tip leaking precum profusely, twitching under your movements. Gojo’s abdomen keeps pulling tight, whole lower half fighting to fuck up into your fist.

“Hah– You said you were only– hnng– ‘a little’ mad at me,” he whines as your hand pulls away again, “being awfully cruel for someone only a little mad.”

“I disagree,” you hum thoughtfully, “I think you’re lucky that I wanna touch you so bad after you ruined Valentine’s dinner.”

It’s a little more than frustrating how horny you are right now, cunt aching to be stuffed full by him. Standing on your knees only to take him in your hand again and let his cock head rub against your soaked through panties, his precum adding to the mess and making them that much slicker.

Gojo feels a shock go through him at the sight, your gaze all cloudy and borderline cock drunk. Brows pulled together and focusing hard on his dick, so fucking wet that the glide against your panties is smooth and creamy.

He’s finding himself quickly reaching his limit, patience is a virtue and it’s not one he possesses, no matter how hard he tries for you. “Fuck this,” he grunts.

You’re not paying him any mind, not until he’s forcefully pulling on his cuffs. Breaking the chain on the bed frame and lunging forward in record timing. The feat of strength alone is impressive, you didn’t think he’d be able to do it that effortlessly, “Satoru, what– why–”

He has you on your back now, “I did tell you I was gonna get to touch you.”

Both his wrists still adorned in the pink fluffy cuffs like bracelets, it’s the last thing on his mind now that he can finally put his hands on you. Greedy in how he gropes at your body, large palms playing with your tits, fingers pinching your nipples just to make you squirm like you did him.

“‘Toru– hng– this isn’t fair–”

“Maybe not but you weren’t fair either,” he grins, eyes holding wicked intent as he leans down and envelops a nipple in his mouth.

Tongue swirling around it, humming with joy at how you whine back at him. Back bowing into him and his warm touch, your hands move to his hair, threading through it. Pulling away, he flicks your nipple with his tongue and then collects both your hands in his one, holding them above your head in place by your wrists.

Pushing back on him is even less effective than him struggling against the cuffs, his hold has no give, “This was not a part of my plans.”

“That’s funny…” his large hand splays out across your sternum, slowly dragging it down your torso until he moves to cup your cunt in his palm, “because it was always a part of mine.”

Huffing back at him, “I wasn’t the late one– ngh–”

Teasing fingers tapping at your sopping pussy over your panties just to make you jump and quiver, “I’m doing you a favour,” he soothes, “you’re so fucking needy that it was making my heart break, sweetheart.”

“Shut up– hah– no I’m not.”

“Don’t lie,” the sound of fabric ripping registering in your mind only to be replaced by a wet slap, his fingers lightly slapping your dripping cunt, “your devoted boyfriend knows when you’re craving it.”

Defiant in your reply, “I think you’re– hnn– confusing me with your own need.”

“I’ll never deny how desperate I am for your pretty pussy, sweetie,” overwhelmingly proud of himself when he slips two fingers into your cunt. “I’d give us what we both need right now but we both know you couldn’t take it,” he’s leaned in like it’s some secret, those two fingers fucking into you, scissoring them just to ready you for his dick.

Moans tumbling from you despite your best efforts, eyes wet and mind hazy, “Next ti– hnng– oh!–”

“Mhm,” he hums chirpily, signalling for you to try speaking again. Barely glancing your way, too busy watching how deep his fingers are inside you, adding a third just to fuck you open that much more. Distractedly muttering, “You’re taking ‘em so well, I’m surprised you didn’t sit on my cock when I asked.”

“Next time–” you force out, body writhing underneath him, “Next time, I’m– hah– I’m using rope.”

He’s touching you so purposefully, brushing up against all the spots that make you go crazy without actually letting you cum. “Better find some good rope then,” his fingers slip from you and you whine at it, it makes him smile, “because nothing is gonna keep me from your pussy.” He’s presenting his hand for you to see, to look at how creamy you are on his fingers, “Not when it’s always so happy to be played with by me.”

You don’t even get to complain about what he’s said or the fact that he’s not touching you anymore, too quick to slide his dick through your folds. Not even teasing you like he usually would, already pushing into you, opening you up on his cock as carefully as he can.

Gojo tried really hard not to rush but he’s impatient and needy, he’s surprised even himself with the restraint he’s shown. Barely finding it in himself to work you open before stuffing you full how he’s been itching to do ever since he kissed you in the kitchen. Long and moaned whines sounding from him, head dizzy at the feeling of your cunt greedily sucking him in.

Eyes lazily drawing up from where he’s about halfway inside you, up to your torso, to your pretty face. Expression fucked and dazed, dopily watching how he sinks deeper into you steadily. It feels like his heart does a backflip in his chest, shudders wracking his body at how starry eyed you are. He’s losing his mind, feeding off your lust for him, consumed with how good all of this is making him feel.

Everything is overwhelming you, head so full of him that you’re faint. Hands still fighting against his grip on you and getting nowhere and it’s not like he’s even trying especially hard to keep you in place, his focus solely on your pussy right now. It’s completely unfair how easily he turned this around, having him under you and whining was so nice.

Suddenly, his hips slam the rest of the way into you, his pelvis hitting yours and making your stomach flip. Pitiful and surprised mewls leaving you at the fullness of being completely fucked open on his cock. Eyes damn near rolling to the back of your head with it, no doubt if your hands had been free they’d be digging into his skin.

Drawn out moan leaving him before he grins idly, “Just– hnn– making sure you’re still with me.”

“I wish– ah!– I wish you were still– hnn– cuffed,” you pout back at him.

Finally, his hand lets go of your wrists, holding both his hands out for you to see, “Technically still am, sweetheart.” Moving to press on the back of your thighs, crudely bending you in half. So much so that he’s leaning down into your space, breath tickling against your ear, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel like I’m going fucking insane.”

The bend of your knees slip to his elbows as he lowers himself even more. The way he’s handling you feels so obscene it’s embarrassing, “Satoru, this posi–”

Whatever you had to say about how he’s folded you into a mean mating press is immediately caught in your throat and turned into lewd moans. Hips drawing back and fucking forward so quickly he nearly takes the wind out of both of you. Thrusts harsh and desperate and messy and so so sharp, cock dragging deliciously against every part of you that it has your toes tingling.

“Fuck– fuck this is– hnnn– I love you so much,” he rushes out urgently, “I love you, I love you, I love you–” he needs to say it, you need to hear him say it because he’s going to fuck you like he doesn’t.

If you were overwhelmed before than you’re completely drowning in sensations now, pleasure shaking you to your core. The sound of him fucking your cunt sloppy and loud, no doubt making a mess out of your bed. You can barely take in a breath before he’s knocking it right back out of your lungs. He’s fucking so deep and somehow, despite his unrestrained and almost feral demeanour, so accurate. Every thrust perfectly hitting your sweet spot, wrecking you just that little bit more every time.

Words failing pathetically, dying into moans every time, not that he really seems to be listening anyways. So addicted to the slick glide of your pussy that he’s barely capable of thinking of anything else. Hips moving on their own, he’s not even sure he could stop himself at this point.

Gojo feels like he might’ve died, cunt so heavenly he feels like he should start praying to it daily or something. “I can’t– fuck– feels so ffucking good– hah– I love you so much,” his face turns and catches sight of the most beautiful thing imaginable, you – fucked dumb and crying over his cock. “God– I’m so fucking sorry for being late but– hnng– worth it.”

He licks away your tears and then presses kisses to your cheeks, softly biting into the soft flesh there, so overwhelmed by everything that he doesn’t even know how to express himself anymore. Both ecstatic and disappointed that he’s so so close to cumming, he wants to cum deep inside you, he wants you to be so full of him that it leaks from your pussy but he also wants to keep fucking you, he wants to see how much you’ll cry over how good it feels.

It's insane how precise and simultaneously wild his thrusts are, your legs kicking slightly against the completely devastating and persistent pleasure he’s delivering over and over again. There’s no warning, you couldn’t warn him even if you were capable of anything but drooling. Your orgasm sudden and earth shattering, shaking and whimpering under him, hot all over as the pleasure washes over you wave after wave.

You’re so shaky, you feel so fragile as you cum all over his dick. Not that that stops him though, your orgasm only spurring him on. His lashes fluttering, you’re creaming around him so deliciously that he might pass out, greedy cunt sucking him right back in.  

“You’re so– hah– how am I meant to– hnn– fuck–” he looks deeply into your lost gaze, shivers running down his spine at the look in your eyes, “you need to take everything I’m about to give you.”

That’s the only warning he graces you with before he’s shoving himself into you to the hilt, balls deep and dumping all his cum inside you. hips grinding and rutting into you as he rides out his high, pitiful whines leaving him that he’d consider feeling embarrassed over if your pussy wasn’t his literal heaven on earth.

He’s so unwilling to pull out of you, wanting to keep everything he’s given you firmly inside but you whinge from underneath him and he knows that you can’t be comfortable. Showing mercy and control, he moves so he can roll the both of you. Still not daring to pull out of you but carefully swapping positions so that you’re laying peacefully on top of him.

Cheek pressed to his collarbone, somewhat struggling to get your breathing completely even again. Energy completely drained as you drool onto his skin, seconds away from passing out. Gojo’s hands stroke up and down your back calmingly, it makes you feel warm and not so exposed.

“Happy Valentine’s,” kissing the top of your head. “I am really sorry for being late,” he reiterates.

Your tongue feels heavy as you mumble out, “Then stay cuffed next time.”

𝒂.𝒏. and we're finally finished !!! i am genuinely SO sorry that these weren't all put out in a timely manner but in my defense,,, i only decided i wanted to do something for valentines the day before 😭 having these all done feels so awesome though and i hope you guys enjoyed !! thanks so much for reading ❣️

[⚠︎] — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[bbybhr]

⋆·˚ ༘ *Horror story's comfort⋆·˚ ༘ *

You need to learn to rely on them... they have a solution for that OR arcane women scaring you with horror stories so they could see you clinging to them [absolutely fluff].

Ambessa

It's late. A storm rages outside the heavily fortified windows of medarda's estate, rattling the thick glass.You're laying beside her on a chaise lounge, your body stiff, pressing yourself not to her body but to the backrest, watching her twirling the wine in her glass. The relationship is still new enough that seeking comfort feels... abnormal, But ambessa, senses your slight unease with the storm, decides this is an opportunity. for comfort, and perhaps, for… demonstration.

"Storms like this," she begins, her voice calm, "remind me of the siege of Fae'lor. The sky wept for three days, and the wind carried the screams of dying right through the stone walls." She pauses, gauging your reaction. You edge slightly closer to her warmth. Good.

"The defenders," she continues, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more intense, "believed they were protected by ancient forest spirits. Superstitious fools." She takes a sip of her wine. "They performed nightly rituals, leaving offerings of blood and bone." Her eyes flick towards the shadows in the corner of the room. "Some say the spirits did answer. Not with protection, but with hunger."

You swallow hard, trying to appear unaffected, but the combination of the storm, the flickering firelight, and her chillingly matter-of-fact tone is getting to you. You subtly shift closer, your arm now brushing against hers.

"On the third night," Ambessa goes on,putting down her glass on the low table beside the lounge, her voice barely above a whisper now, compelling your attention, "our scouts reported… movement within the trees. Shapes that were not quite animal, not quite man, drawn by the scent of fear and desperation. They say those unlucky enough to be caught outside the inner walls..." She lets the sentence hang.

A particularly loud clap of thunder makes you jump, letting out a small gasp. You instinctively press close against her side,hiding your face in her chest, seeking solace from the storm outside and the one she’s conjuring inside. Success. Ambessa's arm comes around you immediately, pulling you firmly against her solid frame. Her earlier narrative coolness vanishes, replaced by warmth.

"Easy now," she murmurs, her tone shifting. "Just ancient history. Long dead ghosts." Her hand strokes your back reassuringly, though there’s a faint smile playing on her lips, hidden from your view. "And even if they weren't," she adds, her voice regaining its confident edge, "they wouldn't dare trespass on Medarda soil. Not with me here." She holds you tightly, enjoying the feel of you clinging to her, seeking her strength.

Sevika

You're huddled together in your small living space, than... power flickered out momentarily, plunging you into near darkness, the only light now coming from the burning tip of her cigarette. The relationship is still finding its footing, so even though you're scared, you can't exactly voice it. Sevika, sensing your nervousness in the dark, sees an opening.

"Dark like this," she begins, her voice low and gravelly, cutting through the silence, "reminds me of the stories they tell about the sump." You instinctively shift closer to her on the worn sofa. "Said sometimes... they'd pull things up from it that weren't fish, weren't junk." She takes a slow drag from her cigarette, the tip glowing brightly before fading. "Things that had too many limbs, or eyes that glowed green in the dark, hungry."

Her voice is flat, matter-of-fact, which somehow makes the story more chilling.she puts her cigarette out, in the ashtray on the table beside the couch, before continuing "One crew vanished entirely. Found their dredger adrift weeks later, empty. Just... slime trails on the deck and this godawful clicking sound echoing from the empty cabins." She deliberately makes a soft clicking sound with her tongue.

You jump, letting out a small squeak, and grab onto her arm, hiding your face in her neck. Bingo. A faint smirk ghosts across Sevika’s lips in the darkness.

"Just stories," she says dismissively, like she didn't just try to scare you. her arm, the flesh-and-blood one, comes around your shoulders, pulling you firmly against her side.like she’s securing you. "Probably just chem-mutated eels or sump-crocs." Her hand gently caressing your skin, gentel and kind despite her nonchalant tune. "Still," she adds, her voice dropping again, "wouldn't want to meet one alone in the dark." She tease further but quickly comfort you with the next sentence, "Good thing you ain't alone, huh?" She enjoys the feeling of you pressed against her, seeking refuge, confirming her strength and your reliance on it. The scary story was just the bait; the real prize was feeling you instinctively turn to her for protection.

Grayson

It’s a dark, stormy night, perfect for staying in. You’re sitting together on Grayson’s comfortable sofa. Seeing you jump slightly at a loud clap of thunder, a playful, slightly mischievous glint appears in her eyes.

"You know," she begin casually, "this weather reminds me of an old case file I found in the cold archives. Never officially solved. They called it 'The Watcher on Widow's Walk'." She lowers her voice slightly, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "Supposedly, on stormy nights like this, people reported seeing a figure standing in the dark, watching the houses near the sump."

You try to look nonchalant, but you lean a little closer. Grayson notices, hiding a small smile. "The reports were always vague," she continues, "Shadowy figure, glowing eyes according to one witness... probably just reflections, of course. But then things started happening. Objects moved in locked rooms of the same houses that reported the figure. Whispers heard when no one was there." She pauses dramatically. "One family fled their house overnight, claimed the watcher had started appearing inside, tapping on their bedroom window..."

Another crash of thunder punctuates her story, and you can't help it ...you flinch hard, pressing close against her side, grabbing her arm. Mission complete. Grayson's arm immediately wraps securely around you, pulling you into a protective hug. "Hey, hey," she murmurs soothingly, her playful tone gone, replaced by warmth. "Just an old ghost story, sweetheart. Probably kids playing pranks, or subsidence causing strange noises." She holds you tightly, rubbing your back. "Besides," she adds, her voice dropping to a low, reassuring whisper near your ear, "even if there was a watcher, he wouldn't get near you. Not while I'm here." She enjoys the feeling of you clinging to her, finding comfort in her.

[nanaslutt]

call me baby

pairing: choso x reader

contains: fem reader, pussy rubbing, panty-fucking, cream pie, dirty talk, sensitive!Choso

note: someone sent an ask for this w/ gojo or geto… but i couldn’t stop thinking abt it w/ choso…

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"What should I do?" You asked Choso quietly as he slid his large thighs under yours, gripping the fat of your thighs to pull you closer to him so his erect cock was pressed right against your clothed cunt, only clad in your panties, which had started to become sheer where your hole was pressed against it from how much you were leaking. 

"Just... lay there and don't move, let me do all the work," Choso said, a blush spread across his porcelain face as his eyes stayed trained on your cunt which pulsed and throbbed under his gaze. "The girl in the video sounded like this felt good for her, let me know otherwise please." He added, his eyes flitting up to yours so he could see you nod in acknowledgment at his words.

Once Choso saw you nod, he dropped his gaze back down to your cunt. He grabbed the base of his dripping cock in one hand and pressed it against your clothed cunt, rubbing the head of his leaky dick up and down your pussy. Your stomach clenched each time he rubbed the fat tip against your clit, the stimulation making your toes curl.

Choso kept looking up at your expression to gauge whether or not this was feeling good for you. He licked his lips as he watched you stare where the two of you were connected with a slack jaw, your lips making a pretty o shape as you stared at his thick cock rubbing against you.

"I can feel how wet you are through your panties, it's so cute," Choso mumbled, his voice coming out less confident than he would've liked. You swallowed hard, feeling your face suddenly grow hotter at his words. "You're dripping too y'know... that's not all me." You said, your face screwing in pleasure when he pressed his fat tip harder against you, pushing it right under your clit.

Choso blushed deeper, his cock twitching at your words. "You're right, I just like doing this with you so much." He said honestly, giving himself a couple of quick strokes along his shaft to calm himself down. You smiled at that, your hand reaching down to place itself over his, which gripped your upper thigh in support. "I like doing this with you too Cho." You replied, tilting your head at him.

Choso moved his hand down his cock so he was gripping his length about halfway. He pressed his cock against your clit and started thrusting against you, wetting the already wet spot there even more. He used his hand like a pocket pussy as he thrust into it, making sure each time he thrust forward against you that his head was pressing right against your clit.

"Does that feel good?" Choso asked, his eyes looking up to your face for approval. You gasped and whined quietly each time his bulbous head pressed against your clit, stimulating it just right. "Y-yeah, keep going, Cho." You nodded, retracting your hand from his to join the other and slide underneath your shirt to massage your tits.

Choso pouted at your blissful expression as he took in your words, all the while he kept rubbing his cock along your pussy, further wetting your panties and making them almost completely sheer. "Good." Choso nodded back, swallowing whatever saliva was in his dry mouth before he looked back down to your cunt. Choso then pulled your sticky panties away from your pussy, revealing a sliver of your bare folds to his greedy eyes before he slipped his cock against you and covered his tip with your panties.

He testingly rubbed his cock along your wet folds, the head of his cock brushing past your clit and poking through your panties right above it, the pink material of your panties that was covering his cock making it look so cute. "So warm..." Choso whispered, choked gasped and moans falling from his lips as he slowly thrust his cock back and forth along your pussy, letting the folds of your cunt hug the underside of his dick.

He placed both of his hands on your thighs and pelvis, his hands almost forming a triangle in the middle as he used his thumbs to press his cock against your pussy, letting him pick up his pace now that he had his cock secured by his thumbs to make sure the head of his cock would rub your stiff bud no matter how fast he went. 

"C-choso-" You gasped, a little louder now as he rubbed against you with more vigor. You squeezed your tits under your shirt, your lithe fingers playing with the stiff nipples for extra stimulation as your body shook and slid along the bed with each thrust. "Let me see." He said vaguely, his eyebrows furrowing as he fucked his cock against your pussy. You tilted your head at him, confused at what he was referring to.

"Y-you're playing with your chest. I want to see, can I?" Choso elaborated, his honest words making you feel hot all over. You nodded before releasing your breasts, your hand slipping out under the shirt to push it over your chest, the fabric bundling by your collarbones as your tits were revealed to his greedy eyes.

"So pretty, touch them again, I wanna watch you touch them," Choso begged, his words coming out more desperate the longer he rubbed his cock against your folds. This felt so much better than he expected. The man in the video was silent so he wasn't sure how good it would feel for him but now that he was actually doing it, he had no idea how he stayed so quiet. Choso was a gasping and groaning mess, much unlike the man in the video--his cock was always quite sensitive though. 

Obeying his wish, you grabbed your tits once more, massaging them in your hands as you alternated between pinching your nipples and squeezing the fat of them together. Choso's brain nearly short-circuited as he watched the fat of your tits squish between your fingers--he wished so badly he was the one touching them instead. "God, they're so pretty, I love your tits." Choso groaned, his thrusts against your cunt becoming more erratic, making your body jerk forward from the intense stimulation. 

"F-fuck, t-thank you, baby." You whined, your hips absentmindedly bucking against his. Choso felt all of the blood run to his cock at the nickname, he swore his heart skipped a beat. "B-baby?" Choso repeated, his eyes flitting between your cunt, which was now meeting his thrusts, and your face, which was screwed in pleasure from his doing. 

"Yeah, I called you baby, is that okay?" You asked, smiling at the way he pouted when you repeated the pet name. Choso nodded, his lips pressing together and folding in on themselves as his head tipped back, revealing the muscles in his neck. "I-I think it's going to make me cum." Choso groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as his head was tipped back. 

"A-ah- what is?" You asked through a moan when the two of you fell into the perfect pace, your hips humping upwards each time he thrust against you, his leaky head rubbing your clit perfectly. "That name, I like when you call me that." He answered, his chin falling back down as his eyes locked onto your cunt and your hips that were eagerly meeting his thrusts as you worked yourselves towards your orgasms. 

"You're so cute Choso." You smiled, the expression quickly getting wiped off your face as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, your orgasm building steadily in your pelvis. "I-it's not just that. You're so warm, and wet, and your face is so cute when my dick touches you right here." Choso said, emphasizing his words with a stronger thrust against your clit. 

"And you sound s-so cute, y-you're gonna make me cum." He said, his thrusts losing their rhythm. You were whining at his words, your eyes fluttering back in your head as you let his wet cock work you over perfectly. Your hands squeezed your tits harder to stabilize yourself as you felt yourself right on the edge of your orgasm. Everything was so slippery, the wetness between the two of you had completely ruined your panties, and they were soaked through from your fluids.

"G-god Choso, I-i'm close." You whined, your eyes fluttering back in your head as your head tipped back against the sheets, rolling around as you braced yourself for such an intense orgasm. "M-me too, fuck me too." He chimed in as he forced his eyes to stay forward in their sockets so he wouldn't miss a thing, he needed to see your face when you came. 

"I-inside baby, cum inside please, I need it." You begged as something came over you last second. You think you might die if he didn't fill you up right now. Choso's dick twitched at the name, he wanted to ask if you were sure but the use of the pet name shortened the time before he was about to cum in half, so he trusted your words as he heard them.

"O-okay, shit, I'm gonna cum inside you." Choso groaned, his head nodding rapidly at your words. He pressed his thumbs down against his cock, the appendage sliding down your cunt and finding your entrance as it slipped in with ease, thanks to how wet the both of you were. Choso's thumb replaced his cock as he rubbed small circles over it as he quickly started a sloppy pace and fucked into your heat with reckless abandon, his tip hitting your g-spot with every thrust and effectively pushing you over the edge.

Your hand shot down to the sides of your body as your fingers gripped the sheets tightly. Choso watched as your eyes screwed shut and your mouth fell open in a silent scream before you were spasming all over his cock. "Shit- so tight-" he moaned as he felt your walls squeeze around him ten times tighter as you came.  

You looked so cute, your face screwed in pleasure, your body jerking uncontrollably, the feeling of your cum dripping out around his cock that was plugging you up. Your moans were like music to his ears, his cock pulsed with the need for his release before he was stilling inside you, his thumb still working sloppily over your clit as he continued to work you through your orgasm as he came.

"Cumming- fuck- c-cumming-" Choso groaned as he released rope after rope into your already sopping wet cunt. You whined in oversensitivity as he continued to roll his hips against yours, fucking you full of his cum. The veins in Choso's neck bulged out as he came with such intensity, his cock throbbing as he filled you to the brim with his seed. "Fuck, thank you, baby, thank you." You whined weakly, gasping against the sheets as Choso rode out the last waves of his orgasm inside your cunt, letting your walls milk him of all he was worth.

Choso flopped forward, keeping his softening cock inside you as he laid all of his body weight on top of you. You groaned dramatically as he semi-crushed you with the weight of his very muscly body, but the feeling of the warmth from his skin seeping into yours prevented you from saying anything. Your hands reached up to wrap around his back, your nails softly scratching along his soft skin as he groaned into your neck in appreciation, trying to recover after such an intense orgasm.

"Was that okay for you..." Choso had the audacity to ask as he buried his head in your neck, his warm breath tickling the skin of your neck when he spoke. "That was perfect Choso, you always make me feel so good," you said, holding back a giggle as you continued raking your nails over his skin. "We should probably clean up soon though." You added after a couple of seconds.

"Five more minutes... this feels good," Choso mumbled, his words almost coming out incoherent from the sleepiness in his voice. Choso's love for the simplicity of things like back scratching filled you with so much love you wanted to explode. You knew 5 minutes would turn into 2 hours, but you couldn't find yourself to care much when you heard him start to practically purr into your neck.

[annwrites]

⸻being billy's best friend, who he's in love with, would include:

· ꒰a/n꒱: fem!reader | gif | pink dividers

The day you meet Billy is his first day at Hawkins High.

You're assigned as his cute lil' tour guide, who's supposed to show him around the school—making sure he knows his ins & outs, & has all his ducks in a row before leaving him to his own devices.

He doesn't pay much attention to what you're saying, however. He's far more focused on watching your backside sway as you flit from classroom to classroom, and veer around various corners, babbling and pointing things out, which you deem to be of interest, all the while.

You're a sweet, studious little thing, he gauges right away. If you weren't, the principal wouldn't have specially picked you for the job of metaphorically holding his hand as he catches his bearings from the absolute sense of whiplash this podunk town has given him.

He's been here only a handful of days, & already he despises it. But, as he observes you with a smirk, he thinks there might be a couple things worth paying notice to.

"So," you chirp while turning back to him with a swaying skirt. "Do you have any questions so far?"

Billy trails his eyes along your feminine form, drinking in even the most minute of details. He takes a small step forward, while you remain rooted, and he presses a callused palm to the painted brick wall behind you while gazing at your flushed face from beneath hooded lids, framed by long, dark lashes. "Mhm. Just a couple," he says while idly chewing his gum.

You blink up at him. "Fire away."

He gives a light shrug, then tenderly runs the back of his index finger down the soft skin of your arm. "Just wonderin' what you all do for fun around here, doll."

You grant him a smile which radiates warmth. He then wonders if you're this personable to everyone, or if his sexual allure is to thank for having such a pleasant time at your side this sunny Monday morning.

"Well, there's a few things. During the summer, most people go to Hawkin's Pool. There's also the Starcourt Mall for shopping, and it has a small movie theater on the third floor. Speaking of movies, we also have a drive-in that's about twenty minutes from here, as well as Hawkin's Video for rentals. Oh, and the Hawkin's Arcade, as well as a roller-rink. The latter-most is my personal favorite."

The more you drone on, the more his interests wane. This place really is a lackluster shithole.

The hell is an arcade in comparison to the goddamn ocean, anyway? Sometimes, if he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel soft grains of buttery-brown sand sifting between his toes, and the incandescence of the sun's rays soaking into his pores as he stands on the damp shore before wading into gentle, lapping waves.

But each time he opens his eyes, it's always to a rude awakening of a small town full of morons and cow shit.

"You like the rink, huh?" he inquires, trying to glean a scrap of information about your personal interests to better suit his flirtatious ways when he inevitably makes a pass at you.

You nod enthusiastically, causing his pink lips to twitch in amusement. Bubbly, he muses. Adorable.

"Well," he begins while smoothly tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "Maybe we can make that our first date. Say," he bobs his head from side-to-side. "Friday night?"

Your eyes bloom wide and he grants you a wolfish smile, thinking he has you.

"You just got here," you blurt out, prompting a snort from his wide, freckled nose.

"Well," he says with a salacious lick of his lips, which leaves them glistening beneath fluorescent overhead bulbs. "Just thought maybe you wouldn't want to stop being my own personal tour-guide with just the school. Maybe we could take our own private trip around town, too."

He comes even closer, ready to strike. "I've got my own car. A Chevy Camaro. Ever been in one?"

You chew your lip for a moment, and he grants you the time to mull it over, knowing you'll cave. They all do. Being Billy Hargrove means always getting what he wants. When it comes to attractive women, at least.

He thinks this, until you turn and begin heading down the hall once more, expecting him to follow behind like a lost, obedient puppy. "Your fifth period class is this way."

Meanwhile, Billy remains where he is, staring after you, quickly cooling, while wondering what the hell just happened.

Billy quickly deems you a challenge meant to be overcome & conquered.

You're precocious & exuberant—sometimes annoyingly-so—but he also finds it endearing.

Not that a dark storm cloud such as he would ever admit to thinking as much.

Honestly, you seem so oblivious to his carnal interests in you that he begins to wonder if maybe you're just into chicks instead.

Billy leans a broad shoulder against the locker beside your own while studying you. "So, what is it, then? I don't have the right equipment for you?"

You glance to him with a raised brow, curious as to what he's talking about. "Hm?"

He leans in, enveloping you in his signature scent of pungent tobacco, sharp mint chewing gum, and oaky cologne. You find it a bit dizzying. "You batting for the other team?" he explains slowly with a creased brow.

You flush. "No."

"So you like guys?" he presses.

You turn back to your locker and step onto the base of it so that you can reach a purple notebook on the top shelf. "Yes."

He frowns in indignation. "So it's just me that doesn't do it for you?"

You blanche and slam the top of your head off of the metal bar above you before stumbling down while clutching at your injured scalp with your free hand. "Ow..."

He smirks. "Need me to kiss it and make it better, baby?"

You brush your shoulder against the door to your locker, shutting it securely. "We could just try being friends, y'know? Just because we're each of the opposite sex doesn't inherently mean something more has to develop."

He raises a well-groomed brow. "I don't do friends, sweetheart."

You cock your head to the side. "How come?"

He comes up short when he finds himself lacking for a halfway-decent answer that isn't too intimate, thus leaving him open to mockery. Not that he really thinks you that sort of girl.

Because I don't do attachment, is the reply which floats to the forefront of his mind, but he can't speak such a sentiment aloud.

"I know what I'm after. Hanging out at the arcade ain't it."

You smile. A gesture which is meant to put him at ease, but the look in your willful eyes says otherwise—like that he shouldn't have opened this can of worms in the first place. "We don't have to go to the arcade. We could just drive around town, go to the park, or—"

He barks a laugh. "So we can have a sweet little picnic together? Sure sounds like a date to me."

"Not if we don't label it as one. Context is important, y'know?" you insist.

He feels adrift right now. You actually want to be his friend. He hasn't had that yet. Not here, at least. Not for...a long while, really, if he's being truthful.

He's developed quite the adept hand at not only keeping people at arm's-length, but willing them away at any given moment when he senses that they're verging into delicate territory he refuses to allow them permittance to. Such as into his heart, or the house he lives in. Or matters of his childhood.

It's easier to maintain the particular crafted image he's designed of himself that way—if he remains an enigma. Besides, chicks like mystery.

Except you, apparently. Pain in his ass that you are, even if you don't mean to be.

But this is you opening a door for him, and inviting him into your life, while simultaneously asking to be a part of his. Does he really want to reject the offer you've extended?

Does he want to keep being alone?

He decides that he can always renege later if he comes to regret this—just blow up in your face in a fit of anger, thus pushing you out, and away, for good.

"Fine. But I'm not doing some damn picnic."

You beam up at him, and he wants nothing more than to lay one on you.

He knows then that keeping his anger under wraps isn't going to be a source of concern with you, but wrestling control of something else which lies just below the belt will.

Billy Hargrove is absolutely fuckin' pussy-whipped.

And he's not even getting any, is the worst part.

The two of you have spent an innumerable amount of time together the last few weeks.

All because being with you is so intoxicating.

Because you're so goddamn nice to him—sweet, even. Just not on him, unfortunately.

He still makes passes at you every now and again, but you usually just brush it off or give him a look which says, quite plainly 'I know what you're doing, William Hargrove, and it's not going to work'.

He doesn't give up, though.

He ain't no quitter.

Nevertheless, he looks forward to seeing you.

Every. Single. Day.

He put an end to you needing to take the bus that first evening, after the discussion at your locker where he tentatively agreed to be your friend.

He'd caught sight of your dress disappearing through a crowd of obnoxious kids.

So, he followed along, wanting to stake a public claim.

Not that you saw it as that, innocent thing that you are.

Just as you were heading up the steps of the rumbling yellow bus which would drive you away, he gripped your hand in his and pulled, sending you tumbling backward into his chest as he hauled you—his strong fingers laced between your own—across the lot and to his car.

He didn't open the door for you, though.

Nor did he understand why he'd been so damn eager to race out the front entrance of the school in search of you in the first place.

Maybe because for the first time in a long time, he felt happy or excited about something—anything. Excited that...someone finally wants him around.

That a girl does. For more than just sex; his body.

And so he's been practically glued to your fuckin' side since then.

The first handful of days, he tried to keep a healthy distance, figuring you'd either finally give in to his irresistible charisma, or you'd grow bored of spending time with him because he's not something you're used to. After all, you already have a life here. Garnering familiarity with a stranger takes effort. Especially him.

Instead, however, you've given him your undivided attention.

He walks you to each of your classes, sits with you at lunch—playfully stealing items off your tray, but always nonchalantly & inconspicuously easing his own between the two of you, so as to ensure that you have enough to eat.

He drives you to and from school—even bothering to wait for you by the passenger door of the Camaro some mornings—golden curls hanging over his forehead as he pops your door open for you and shuts it gently behind you.

The two of you develop a sort of routine.

You educate yourselves on the other's mannerisms and habits.

"Knock it off."

Your lip twitches as you press the window down button again.

"Keep it up and I'll pull over right now."

Zzzzzip goes the window, inviting a tepid breeze in.

Billy sighs exasperatedly while shifting gears. "I should bend you over the hood of the car and spank you until your ass is raw for the way you're gettin' under my skin right now."

The window is then returned to its previous state of being submerged within the top seal, and Billy fills to the brim with disappointment.

Sometimes, he thinks you do shit just to be a tease; to rile him.

Like the Friday evening he came inside your house with you after school so you could change before you dragged him to the roller-rink.

You'd told him you'd just be a minute, but he had opted for being naughty instead when he snuck inside your room and silently watched you strip.

He hadn't anticipated that you would be changing everything, however, until you hooked your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and they pooled around your feet on the vacuumed carpeted floor.

When you turned to head for your dresser to retrieve a fresh pair, you had shrieked in terror at the sight of him watching you before falling backwards into your closet, sending a cascade of sweaters and dresses down upon you.

He'd meant to make you aware of his presence, but once you were nearly naked, the words got caught in his throat.

But your display had been unexpectedly hilarious—like something out of a damn comedy movie—so he began to laugh. Full on cackling and snorting. He even blew a snot bubble as he doubled over onto the floor.

Initially, you were fuming as you emerged from your makeshift pile of polyester and cotton—looking like a pissed-off kitten—until you saw how happy he was.

And you softened in an instant.

He never laughs. And all his smiles seem so empty all too often. So, to see the rare sight of him filled with joy...it filled you with love and blooming warmth between your breasts.

As you crawled toward him—still pantyless—his guffawing turned, instead, into an occasional chuckle.

He dragged you between his legs, then shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your bare shoulders before kissing your forehead and apologizing for spying.

Even if he by no means tried to seem genuine about it. Because he wasn't.

Having the knowledge that he was the first and only man to have seen you like that changed something within him.

He became...far more protective after that day.

Possessive, even.

Billy flops back onto your bed while gazing up at your gauzy white canopy, and he reminiscences on the first time you invited him in with a smile.

You'd cheerily shown him around the house while holding his hand—he appreciates how soft and smooth your skin is in comparison to his own—pointing out favorite knick-knacks and such here and there, before explaining how your dad recently remodeled the bathroom across from your room, and how you tried, quite poorly, to help by nearly knocking over a bucket of paint while dancing to pop music on the radio.

It had sounded like something you would've done.

And then you'd led him into your bedroom, thus causing his heart to lodge itself in his throat at the vision of the appealing downy bed found in the middle of it, piled high with pillows, and shoved against the wall to the right.

As he stared, and wrapped his mind around just how girly and cleanly and organized you are, you gushed about all your decorations and how you just adored one of your records, simply because it's pink and heart-shaped.

He had wanted to kiss you so fucking badly that day. Had wanted to lie you back on your bed, after slowly undressing you, before teaching you everything he could about the pleasure that can be had from a female body.

He's already aware just how overly-sensitive your own is.

He discovered as much one Saturday while tickling you relentlessly on the floor until you were breathless and giddy with giggles. He only ceased when you began to keen, begging him to stop before you wet yourself.

Finally, you emerge from your closet—he had promised he wouldn't watch this time—while holding up two different dresses.

"Which one?"

This is what he had meant about you being a tease.

You're clad in only panties and a sheer bra, which has everything practically on display between its decorative lace pattern.

He swallows thickly while feeling an erection swelling in his jeans.

"You tell me 'just friends', then stand in front of me like that," he hisses from a sense of building frustration.

You blink ignorantly, then glance down, as if you've forgotten the fact that you're not wearing any clothes. "Woops."

He crosses his arms with a frown. "I'm supposed to fuckin' buy that?"

You lift your head again. "You've already seen everything, anyway. And I've changed in front of girlfriends before. You're my best friend now, so—"

"I am?" he interrupts, taken aback.

You nod—the dresses bouncing in your grip. "Yes. We spend all our time together. Do you not...consider me yours?" you ask apprehensively.

He stands while shaking his head lightly, but not in reply to your question. Rather, more in a 'what am I going to do with you?' sort of way. He fingers the hem of a dark blue dress with little white flowers printed across the material.

"You know I'm not gay, right? I don't give a shit about fashion." His heated gaze bores into your own. "You could go naked for all I care."

You roll your eyes.

"Actually, scratch that," he says, continuing. "Because the only one who gets to see that much of you is me."

You open your mouth to reply, until he takes the blue dress from you, letting the hanger dangle from his finger. "This one."

Billy spends nearly all of his time at your house now.

Initially, his dad was up his ass about where he was taking off to all the time.

Billy had feared he'd get himself locked up if his old man even attempted at keeping the two of you apart.

It's like you're a piece of him now. The one he hadn't known he'd been missing, until you fell squarely into place in his directionless life.

As such, he refuses to let anything come between the pair of you.

When he informed him that it was a friend that he was donating all his time to, Neil had cut him deep by sneering 'What friend? Last I checked, boy, hardly anybody wants you around."

His words always hurt so much worse than his fists.

"Shouldn't be a problem that I'm away from home more often now, then. Should it?"

Neil had stalked closer, causing Billy to shrink into himself like a frightened little boy.

"What friend?" he'd spat.

"A girl from school."

"Another one of your fuckin' whores you keep on the side, huh?"

For the first time since he was young, Billy stood at full height, finally seeing just how many inches he has on him. He puffed out his chest and stared him down before stepping forward, and forward, and forward, Neil being the one to stare at him in fear.

"Don't you ever fucking call her that again."

Billy has been reticent in disclosing his home life to you.

Partly because he’s so envious of your own.

That you and your parents are the proper definition of a ‘nuclear family’.

Your mother is just as kind as you—he comes to quickly see where you inherited your temperament from—while the both of you are, without quarrel, your dad’s whole world.

Hell, your old man even helps Billy change his oil once.

Not that he actually needed the help—he’s done it numerous times on his own—but it had been…much appreciated, nonetheless.

He always looks forward to being home with you.

Billy emerges from the bathroom—your dad really did do a great remodeling job on it, while you and your mother’s feminine touches can be noticed right down to the bar of soap he just used—to hear you rummaging around in the kitchen.

Billy clears the corner, then leans against the entryway to the sun-drenched room you stand in, watching with a sense of relaxation as you place a nonstick pan on the stove-top. You glance to him then while fixing your hair into a ponytail. “Are you hungry, baby?”

His heart fuckin’ stops.

No one has called him that since…

Since…

That simple pet name alone is enough to nearly bring him to tears.

His ocean-blue eyes sting with them, but he forces them back, along with the lump in his throat.

To make it somehow worse, you didn’t even say it in a flirtatious way.

It was just…in a…hell, in a sugar-sweet maternal way.

Finally, Billy nods shyly. “I could eat.”

You open the fridge then. “Is grilled cheese okay?”

He smiles slightly while vibrating from nerves. “Sounds perfect.”

You begin doing it more: referring to him by terms of endearment.

At first, he wonders if you’re finally flirting back.

But, terrified that if he makes any sort of comment about it, you’ll permanently cease this new behavior, he keeps his mouth shut.

He gets antsy when it gets to being awhile between you referring to him as ‘baby’, ‘sweetie’, ‘sweetheart’, etc, however.

Honestly, he can get down-right cranky about it.

Like some spoiled snot-nosed little brat who’s not getting his way.

But when you ask him why he’s being moody, he never lets on the real reason.

He typically just makes up easy-to-swallow bullshit excuses.

You turn the dial for the radio down before turning toward Billy with furrowed brows.

He braces for a barrage of questions: Is he feeling okay? Is he hungry? Does he need something? Did you do something which upset him (as if you could ever)?

But even your mini-inquisitions make him feel better all on their own; a sign that you care. That you worry after him.

“Are you sure that you’re okay, baby?”

His lip twitches and he fills with a small sense of satisfaction.

“Just fine, doll,” he replies coolly while loosening his grip on the steering wheel and unclenching his jaw. Even his taught shoulders sag.

“So,” Billy says while capturing one of your checker pieces. “Guess who’s trying out for the basketball team at school next week?”

Your head shoots up. “Really?” you ask with excited astonishment.

“Mhm,” he hums, trying to play it off with a casual shrug. “Wanted to know if my little good-luck charm would come and sit on the bleachers so I have a better chance of making the team.”

He lifts his head while pinning you in-place from beneath his lashes. “If I get drafted, I could give you one of my extra jerseys to wear to all our games.”

Because you’re the only one I can count on coming, he thinks, but absolutely does not say.

You stare at him for a moment—you can certainly be a bit of a space-cadet sometimes; not that he doesn’t find it charming when he catches you occasionally gazing across the room at nothing while he presumes elevator music is playing in your head—and then you launch yourself across the board game between the two of you while tackling him down onto your fluffy pink rug, sending checker pieces scattering across the carpet.

You pepper his face with tiny kisses and a luxuriant smile forms upon his lips at the affection you’re granting him without reserve.

You’ve never been one to hold back when it comes to showering him with love and kindness.

Finally, you pull back while smoothing tangled curls from his forehead. “I’m so proud of you for putting yourself out there, sweetie.”

He slides his hands down your waist. “You’ll come then?”

You press your forehead to his. “Of course.”

You reassured him numerous times that whether he’s chosen or not, you’re immeasurably proud of him.

But he wants this. Not necessarily because he’s hyper-passionate about the sport itself, but because without surfing…lifting weights only does so much to keep his body in-shape and his mind focused.

Because when he allows it to drift, it’s always to thoughts of inevitably losing you.

Do you still not want more? Do you not…feel what he does when you’re alone together?

He’s tried to force some sort of emotive reaction from you in varying ways as of recent, to see if this…feeling is truly one-sided.

Like inviting you over one afternoon—an extreme rarity that he opts for his house instead of yours—and popping a movie in the VHS player before suddenly ‘getting bored’ twenty minutes in and deciding to lift weights right in front of you instead. While shirtless, no less.

Billy flexes his abs while putting on quite the show…that you’re not even lending your attention to.

“Thinkin’ I should up how much I’m lifting,” Billy grunts while curling a steel bar toward his slick chest.

You turn your head in his direction and stare at him with mild interest. “Oh?”

He bites his lower lip while assuring his stance—hoping he looks like a delectable piece of eye-candy. “Seventy just doesn’t give me much of a challenge anymore. Maybe I should go for ninety.”

“You could look at yard sales.”

He settles the weight back on his bench press. “Huh?”

“For new weights. I think people sometimes sell them at yard sales. Garage sales, too. Or—oh! Maybe an estate—”

He steps over to you then, closing the space between you as his wide form comes suffocatingly close. He leans down with his biceps bulging on either side of you. “You can be a real airhead sometimes, y’know?”

You glower at him. “That was mean. I was trying to be helpful.”

He smirks and a droplet of sweat slides off his chest to instead soak into your top. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing. Think it’s kinda cute, actually.”

He gives you a peck on the lips before returning to his toilsome hobby, leaving you flabbergasted at you and Billy having had your first kiss.

You flush more often when you’re around him now.

So, too, does he give you more pecks on the lips.

But still, nothing more seems to grow between you.

Even during tryouts, he shows off. It feels like his mind is split in half—one portion focuses on the ball he’s dribbling across the gleaming, polished court, while the other hopes you’re impressed by his physique as he seamlessly dodges his opposing classmates.

But when he allows himself a split-second to look at you, you’re on the edge of your seat—practically breathless from anticipation—with eyes only for him.

And once he makes the final winning throw, you nearly trip over yourself as you bound down the reverberating metal steps of the gym’s bleachers to instead throw yourself against his damp chest, and he lifts you into the air.

He tries to kiss you with the knowledge of just how many pairs of eyes are watching, but he’s jilted when you pull away.

Getting tired of wooing you with nothing to show for it, he opts for a more…assholish route.

He hooks up with a girl from school.

And he hates the entire evening he spends with her in his bed.

He can’t get her out the door fast enough.

The clarity that hits him once he finishes in his condom is blinding.

Only one girl revs his engine now.

Nevertheless, he wants to evoke a sense of jealousy from you.

“Sorry about last Friday. Me and Vicki hooked up, so I was busy.”

“Oh.”

He glances to you, watching as you stir soggy cereal around a little plastic bowl.

“That’s it? We’re best friends. Think I’m at least due a high five for nailin’ her finally.”

You gather your untouched breakfast and suddenly stand. “I’m going to throw this away.”

Billy watches as you walk sullenly across the cafeteria.

What if he went too far?

You’re hurt. He can tell.

But it doesn’t engulf him with thrilling fulfillment. Instead, he feels like dogshit.

You don’t even return to the table once you’ve disposed of your uneaten food. Instead, you make your way out and across the hall to the girl’s restroom.

He waits for you at your locker.

And when you reach it…you’ve been crying.

He can tell.

He really fucked up.

But y’know what? It pisses him off a little, too. You getting all emotional—trying to guilt-trip him—when you were the one who made it clear that you desire nothing more than friendship between you.

“You not like her, or something?” he presses while crossing his arms defensively.

“I’m happy for you, Billy.” A beat of silence. “I’ll get your jersey back to you tomorrow.”

His hackles stand on-end. “What?”

You pop your locker open then. You haven’t looked at him once all morning.

“So you can give it to Vicki to wear. I’ll…keep my distance. I know some girls can… People… They don’t always like it when their partner has a friend of the opposite sex. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

He’s such a fucking moron.

He always does this. Always ruins everything. Give him something good and he won’t stop until he’s destroyed it—turned it to shit.

“We’re not…” he grasps for words, feeling like the rope which binds the two of you together is slowly fraying and that the last fibers are about to snap, causing him to lose the only thing he has left.

Again.

“We’re not going together. We just…screwed. That’s it. I don’t want anything else from her.”

You close your locker then while shaking your head. “No wonder why I refuse to date in high school.” you look at him then with red-rimmed, glassy eyes, and a sharp jolt of pain shoots straight through his chest. “You’re all after one thing.”

That’s why.

Why you’ve not asked for more.

You think… You think that he’d use you up and toss you aside, too.

Not that it’s right that he did as much to Vicki, as well as a parade of other chicks.

But…he didn’t love any of them.

He never has.

Until…

Until you.

Final class of the day: Math. Which is Billy’s favorite, but your least.

He’s helped you with your arithmetic many times, and had been quite pleased to see your grades much-improved before long, all thanks to his aid.

Halfway through the worksheet you’re all completing together, the teacher calls you to the front of the class to solve an equation.

On your way there, however, the boy seated in front of Billy snorts. “I’m surprised Little-Miss-Airhead can even solve how to get her locker open.”

Billy’s rage rears its ugly head, and he grabs the back of the shitstain’s shirt in his fist while jerking him backward, forcing the front legs of his desk off the floor. “Call her that again,” he growls lowly from between clenched teeth. “And I’ll beat your ass behind the bleachers once the final bell rings until you’re coughing up a mouthful of teeth.”

He releases him then, sending the prick sputtering for air.

Your eyes briefly meet with Billy’s, and you give him a small, solemn smile. Thank you.

Billy is ready to crawl out of his skin on the way home, but he knows he needs to say something.

He has to fix what he’s nearly broken.

He’d rather die than lose you.

“The jersey is yours. I gave it to you for a reason. Besides, with…Vicki…” he trails off and grips the wheel impossibly tighter.

Meanwhile, you remain eerily silent, willing him to continue.

“It wasn’t even fuckin’ enjoyable, alright? I couldn’t get her out the door fast enough afterward. And, yeah, maybe I used her for sex. As if plenty of chicks haven’t done the same to me in the past. But she’s not some victim of a broken heart. We both had our reasons for screwin’ each other.”

You remain still while watching trees and street signs flit by the window you gaze out of. “Can’t imagine what those would be.”

“To make another jealous.”

You turn cautiously toward him then, not wanting to make the thought-process which just went through your mind blaringly obvious. “W-who?”

He shrugs. “For her, her ex.”

“And…you?” you ask while nervously fidgeting with your tinkling charm bracelet.

He glances to you with an arched brow. “You really gotta ask?”

You blink with wide eyes.

He returns to the road ahead. “Guess it worked.”

By that weekend, everything is back to normal between the two of you.

Well, ‘normal’ is a relative term.

Because your dynamic has most-assuredly shifted.

Like during breakfast or lunch, when Billy sits next to you, he’s begun testing the waters by sliding a callused hand up your naked thigh, to just above the hem of your skirt.

Neither of you make any pertaining comment to how the aforementioned limb trembles as he stares into your eyes with a wavering look about him—just waiting to be told to get his paws off.

You’ve also started giving each other fleeting pecks on the lips before you get out of his car when he drops you off.

You occasionally hold hands in the halls at school as well, and Billy glares daggers at any facet of the male population who dares to look at you too long for his liking.

The pair of you can’t help yourselves before long from toeing the invisible line that’s slowly eroding away, leaving no boundaries to be crossed, because they no longer exist.

Like when you emerge from the shower one Friday after school, ready to change into something more comfortable so the two of you can watch a movie together on the living room couch.

And you drop the item on your bedroom floor, letting Billy take his fill of your naked body.

You’re quivering from nerves—of course you’re self-conscious; terrified he’ll be disgusted. Until he pads over, takes your hand in his, and forces you to cup his erection.

“See what you fuckin’ do to me?” he breathes before retrieving a pair of panties from your dresser and kneeling to slide them up your bare legs.

He does grin with amusement when he goes to find you a shirt, only to find one of his own stuffed into your pajama drawer, however.

You’re laid back on the couch, while Rocky plays quietly on the box TV that’s but a handful of feet away.

Meanwhile, Billy is sprawled across the sofa as well, but he’s resting wholly on top of you. His lean frame presses against your body, radiating heat across every inch of your exposed skin.

You continue your ministrations of massaging his scalp—as his head is currently resting between your breasts—while your other hand rubs small, soothing circles along the middle of his back, beneath his shirt.

The movie is only halfway through when he begins to snore.

And you can’t help but smile in contentment at the fact that he feels at-ease enough to fall asleep in your arms.

You close your eyes then, too, while brimming with giddiness at this intimate moment.

When you wake, it’s to Billy’s head shoved beneath your shirt and him suckling at one of your nipples.

“Billy! What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t retort. Instead, he merely trails his wide, wet tongue along your horripilated skin, cresting the valley between your breasts before bestowing his undivided attention upon your opposite nipple.

 You whine while arching your back and wiggling your hips, and Billy merely slides a hand under your shorts while grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing.

“Ah! Billy—”

“Tryin’ to concentrate,” he mumbles before lapping at your right breast again.  

You lie there, and your eyes flutter closed as warmth blooms between your thighs and wetness begins to seep from between your legs.

With you trapped beneath his heavy weight, however, there’s little-to-nothing you can do to relieve the growing pressure which is forming in your panties, due to him.

The same can’t be said for Billy, however.

Eventually, he pushes your shirt up and above your head before situating it behind your neck so you can each have a full, unperturbed view of one another.

And once you do, he takes your left breast in one hand while slipping his opposite in his pants so that he can slowly stroke his throbbing erection.

You swallow thickly, finding that your mouth has suddenly gone dry.

“You know how many times I’ve jacked off to the thought of you?” he rasps.

Your skin is flushed and your eyes are glassy, while your ears are lightly ringing, but a moment later to do you finally shake your head after having ingested what he’s asked you.

“Too many,” he states before diving down and capturing your lips with his own.

Each time he strokes himself, his knuckles brush against your pulsating cunt.

You whimper in frustration against his lips and his exploring tongue that slips along your own with deft experience, while lifting your hips, wanting to grind against him—against anything so as to gain a modicum of friction to relieve your swollen clit.

Finally, he eases his pants down, then shoves his hand inside his briefs again while situating the tip of his cock against the front of them.

“This what you want, baby?” he asks between breathless pants.

You nod enthusiastically. Yes, it is.

He releases himself then, only to hook his index fingers under the waistband of your shorts.

His darkened eyes meet yours, you nod, and then he pulls them down and off your body in one fell swoop before dropping them onto the floor.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he coos, and you promptly do as you’re told.

He runs his thumb through your slick folds while cursing under his breath. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

His eyes flit to yours. “Anybody ever told you how pretty this pussy is, baby?”

You shake your head.

He smirks. “Course not. ‘Cuz I’m the first. Gonna be the only,” he murmurs before easing a single finger inside you.

You gasp while throwing your head back, then cross your arms to tug the shirt you’re wearing the rest of the way off.

And once it’s no longer of consequence, you’re entirely bare before him, leaving your body at his complete disposal to pleasure and tend to the sexual needs of.

Billy begins to so. So achingly slowly does he pump that single finger in and out of your red-hot heat while only occasionally swiping the pad of his thumb along your twitching clit.

Tears brim in your eyes from frustration, but it only makes him impossibly harder.

“Not gonna let you cum anytime soon, sweetheart. Not until I’ve decided you’re good and ready to.”

You whimper his name while your walls pulse around his thick digit.

And then he eases in a second one.

“So tight, angel. So fuckin’ wet and pretty and perfect.”

“Squeeze my fingers, baby. There you go. Good girl.”

“Oh, I know, honey. I know how good it feels. Shh.”

“That’s it, sweetie, just let your pussy do all the work. Your body knows what it needs. What to do.”

“Such a good girl for me, huh?”

Finally, once Billy’s hand is absolutely covered in your slick, he removes his fingers from inside you, and just as you feel ready to burst into tears from the loss of something to clench around, he begins to stroke his swollen erection, using your own arousal as a natural lubricant.

He lays his body atop yours once more, and you spread your legs wide before throwing them each over his hips.

Through his briefs, he presses his weeping tip firmly against your pussy and you gasp in satisfaction while turning your head to the side and he begins to nibble on the sensitive skin of your neck with his lips and teeth.

He slides the bulbous head up to your clit, then back down, and you shudder in pleasure.

He plants small, wet kisses up to your ear before moaning into it, saying so many dirty, and wonderful things to you.

“You like my cock, baby girl?”

You nod while sliding your fingers into his soft curls.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I thought so.”

“Take your time, baby. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

“You’re fuckin’ dripping for me.”

“Wanna slide my cock in that needy little hole so bad.”

“I’d fill you up until you’re stretched to your limits. Make you feel so goddamn good while I have my way with you.”

“Cum so fucking deep inside. Let you squeeze out every last drop until my balls are empty.”

“C’mon, baby. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Your hips undulate against him and you’re no longer even trying to contain the ridiculous mewling sounds which escape your lips or get caught in your throat.

All you can concentrate on is the feel of him. How impossibly warm you are all over.

His hard, erect member prodding against your entrance and teasing your clit repeatedly.

Between the two of you, the front of his briefs are absolutely soaked through now; your fluids mixing together.

Billy’s tongue is practically fucking your mouth, willing you to take advantage of everything he has to give you tonight.

Finally, he returns his fingers to being inside of you—but three this time, which slide in so easily.

He curls them upwards and gently massages a hidden ledge between your legs.

You arch your back and he takes a taught nipple into his mouth while scraping his teeth carefully along the pink tip.

“S—so…close,” you stutter as your body trembles.

He licks a searing path down to your navel. “I know, baby. But not like this.”

Your eyes pop open just in time to take notice that his head is now between your legs.

“Gotta have you coming another way,” he says with a wink before he swipes his tongue through your folds and begins to suck on your clit.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, no longer thinking straight.

Billy positions your legs over either of his shoulders while burrowing the tip of his tongue inside of you.

You turn slightly toward the right, wanting more attention on your clit.

And then he hits it just right and you squeal his name, begging him—“right there!”

He groans into you before grabbing either of your hips and pulling you down toward him.

His eyes flutter closed as he loses himself to it—to you.

You whimper and whine and gasp, all while he remains concentrated on the task at-hand.

And then that pressure begins to build.

You curl your toes, arch your back, tighten your muscles.

Billy becomes practically animalistic with need when he clocks what’s about to happen.

He’s moaning and groaning against your weeping entrance, unable to help himself.

He feels like he’s about to fucking cum all over his briefs just from pleasing you alone.

Something which has certainly never happened before.

Finally, you reach your crescendo and you say his name in a garble of letters between other words which only half make sense as you begin to fall.

And once you’ve calmed, Billy gives your cunt one last kiss before crawling onto the couch again beside you and pulling your naked body flush against his own as you begin to shake.

He tugs a blanket from the back of it while wrapping you in it, and then his arms around you while you cry softly.

“I love you,” he whispers while tenderly kissing your forehead. “I love you.”

You’re each inseparable from the other from that night forward.

He calls you every evening to tell you goodnight and that he loves you.

You always say it back. Sometimes, with a teary voice, which, in-turn, makes him an emotional mess as well.

He’s happier than he’s ever been.

And he doesn’t even try to hide it.

So Neil does what he can to destroy his own child’s joy.

He gets physical one night.

Something about Billy forgetting to take the garbage out on the right day, and how he’s always drinking up all his beer.

Once Neil has gone to bed, Billy tears out of the driveway headed in one specific direction.

It’s almost midnight when you hear a soft rapping at your bedroom window.

You’re initially frightened and think to get your parents up.

You’re grateful that you didn’t opt for doing as much when you see that it’s just Billy, however.

But…something is wrong.

He’s…he’s crying.

He climbs in through your window and collapses into your arms in a heap of tears and apologies, and the explanation for his sorry state comes out in a nonstop barrage of words.

Everything comes spilling out.

From his childhood, to his mother leaving, to his being forcibly moved here with a new family he wants no part in being a member of, and being threatened near-daily by his father.

You hold him close while stroking his curls and giving him soft, comforting kisses on his damp cheeks, ensuring him over and over again that everything he is saying about himself is absolutely not true.

He is not stupid.

Not worthless.

Not a waste of space.

Not a piece of shit.

Not a bad son.

Not a bad person.

Not a weak, pathetic excuse for a man.

And no, you are not going fucking anywhere. He is your life now. Period.

And he most certainly does not deserve the things which have happened to and been inflicted upon him.

“Baby, I am so sorry,” you say, choking back a broken sob. “I’m so sorry she left you behind. That he has done this to you.”

He curls around you and you cradle his head in your hands. “So, so sorry, sweetie.”

Eventually, you coax him into bed with you. He strips down, then climbs in next to you and buries his face between your breasts while quietly sobbing.

All you can think to do is hold firmly to him as he lets it out. As you repeat soothing words and grant him comforting, maternal gestures.

And then Billy tells you the truth.

“I don’t just…see you as my girlfriend or best friend now.”

You remain silent while you press a handful of kisses to the crown of his head. “Tell me, baby.”

“You’re—” he stops, swallows down the bile rising in his throat, then takes the plunge. “Sometimes…you feel like… The way you treat me… Like the mom I lost.”

You begin to sob again while repeating how much you dearly love him, and how happy that makes you to hear. You assure him that he has always been, and will always be, safe with you.

The next morning, you’re each worn thin, but Billy kisses you anyway.

Trails his hands along your body.

Slips a gentle hand between your thighs.

You don’t need words for this.

For what you’re each saying with your eyes alone: it’s time.

You nod toward your bedside table, and he slides open the top drawer, and then his brows furrow at the small collection of prophylactics he finds inside.

You rest a dainty hand upon his chest. “For you.”

It’s slow, and tender, and you each weep slow, quiet tears at this last piece falling into place in your relationship.

Billy glides his hands up your back while you gaze down into his eyes with absolute adoration and commitment.

You rock your hips slowly against his; his erection positioned firmly inside of you, where it belongs.

Where he does.

You had read about this position in Cosmopolitan once—lotus flower? A beautiful name for a beautiful way to make love, you think.

You cup the back of his head while softly pressing your lips to his. And then you smile. “I’ve always thought your curls were so adorable.”

He actually blushes.

So you kiss his pink-hued cheeks.

Billy swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I love you,” you begin while cupping his cheek. “William Hargrove. Do you understand me?”

He nods, and you watch as tears brim in his ocean-blue eyes.

“I will never love another man. Only you. You are my world. My everything.”

He rests his cheek between your naked breasts, and you hold him there, where he listens to your pounding heart.

“I’m so glad we found each other. That you came here. But one day, when it’s right, we’ll go back. Together.”

His cock twitches.

“You are everything I could’ve ever wanted. Beautiful, kind, selfless, loving, strong, and so, so smart.”

He moans while guiding your hips with his hands.

“You’re perfect. We’re perfect for each other.”

He groans, and his cock strains where it’s lodged inside you.

“I’m yours, Billy. Forever and ever. Maybe the stories are true,” you whisper while leaning back just enough to look into his eyes again, and you swipe tears from his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. “I found my prince charming.”

Billy tangles his fingers in your hair then and forces your lips down upon his own as he finally climaxes.

Shortly before graduation does Billy present you with a ring which once belonged to another woman he had once loved.

Though, in a different way.

He’s shaking, and he stumbles over his words, while practically gasping for breath.

He pours his heart and soul into the proposal he’s making to you.

You get down on both your knees as well, and wrap your arms around him while granting him kiss after kiss after kiss. “Yes, of course I’ll be your wife. I don’t ever want to be anything else.”

Your parents are so glad for you.

Even if the news of your faraway move brings them both to tears.

But they knew this day was coming: their little girl growing up, finding love, and moving away to discover her own life somewhere else.

Your mom clutches you to her as Billy stands at the passenger-side of the Camaro, waiting for when you’re ready.

Ready…to let go of this: your childhood home and the town that raised you… You need only look at your future husband to know it’s a fair trade, though. Besides, you’ll both come back to visit once you’re completely settled.

Your father shakes Billy’s hand, then pulls him into a bear hug. And you watch them both battle against brimming tears as he forces Billy to promise him that if things don’t work out, that he’ll call him immediately, and he’ll get you both back home, and you’ll all figure things out together. To not be ashamed if California doesn’t go as planned—that this is a huge step, not to be taken lightly.

Billy merely nods, mutters a ‘yes, sir’, then quietly tells him: “I’ll be glad to get a new father once I’ve married your daughter.”

Finally, once goodbyes have come to a close, you jump off the front porch steps and into Billy’s arms while squealing with excitement.

You watch from the passenger seat, while holding tightly to your fiancé, as your parents grow smaller in the rearview.

But you know, as you look upon the man next to you, that everything is just as it should be.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon @shes-an-odd-bird

[murdrdocs]

it's faye and uh you mentioned something abt joaquín taking virginities? yeah 😌 i'm gonna need u to expand on that

well yes ofc

joaquín is genuinely shocked. he's sitting beside you, elbows pressed into his knees, his head cocked to the side as he looks at you. "seriously?"

you nod once. "yeah. seriously."

he leans back into the couch, spreading his legs and crossing his arms over his chest. staring off into the distance, blinking blankly, he lets out the tiniest wow and continues to exist in this stupor that he doesn't break out of until you giggle.

"why're you so—" you gesture vaguely with your hand, "about that?"

"no, i'm not trying to be rude or anything about it. i'm just shocked."

and things don't change immediately. briefly, you were worried that he would be oddly fragile with you after finding out, hold you at arms distance, overly ask for your permission to do things that you never had any trouble with doing before. but joaquín was still joaquín. things were still the same between you both, until you were standing in the center of your bedroom, chests pressed together, tension finally having come to a breaking point between both of you.

his hands aimlessly roam, fingers touching every single part of you even with your clothes on. and with your clothes off, it's ten times more glorious. laying back on your bed, completely at joaquín's mercy, you're letting him in on so many levels—letting him do what he thinks is best for your body, providing your input here and there. letting him alter the aura of your bedroom, letting him make a memory that you're sure you'll never forget.

obviously, he checks up on you throughout. either verbally through curt sentences that are easy to digest and even easier to answer ("this okay?" "like that?" "'m gonna go here, is that okay?"), or through little glances. he communicates so much through his eyes, you aren't even sure if he's aware. with his eyes lifted to look at you and his eyebrows raised as his fingertips glide through your folds, he's gauging your reaction but there's a sense of pride within there as well. when your breath hitches and you sit up on your elbows when he scissors your entrance open, he squints for barely a second as if a smile was going to start from his eyes.

then his dick comes out and you can see the cockiness descend onto him. pride in his eyes, a sly grin on his lips that tugs one side up higher than the other. he licks his lips and sits back on his haunches in front of you, the warmth from his hand resting on your knee slowly heating you up. you've seen his dick before, the two of you have done some things in the weeks between you telling him about your virginity and this, but seeing joaquín bare in this capacity is something new entirely. you're cold and nervous, goosebumps prominent on your skin.

"you wanna help me out here?" he's already hard. his cock is keeled over from its own weight, resting over a thick and corded thigh that you have got to sit on one day. but you still nod and scoot closer, spitting in your hand throughout the journey so by the time you're right in front of him you can just wrap your hand around the tip and glide your hand down his length.

joaquín sighs immediately upon contact, his head lolling to the side. the hand on your knee slides up to your thigh and then your back, his other hand resting on your jaw. he pulls your face closer to his, kissing you once and letting it linger before he speaks. "you ready?"

you nod, and after letting yourself indulge in the feeling of stroking him a couple more times, you lay back while he puts the condom on.

and you know what to expect. you've heard stories, good and bad. your expectations have been set at a comfortable spot, not too high or too low, but your experience with joaquín is still better than you could've hoped.

not just because of the way he physically fucks you, which is something you can quickly see yourself getting addicted to, but because of his demeanor throughout the entire thing. when he's using his hips to glide his cock in and out of you in a steady rhythm, reaching deeper and deeper each time, he has this manner about him that makes it obvious that he's enjoying himself even despite your inexperience and reliance on him. actually, you think he's enjoying himself so much because you’re relying on him.

joaquín is nothing if not a pleaser. he quite literally lives to making sure other people are safe and happy, it's his job and his self-proclaimed purpose in life. so this, fucking you for the very first time, and making sure your experience is as good as it could possibly be, is everything to him.

he's so obviously grateful that you're willing to share this with him. his forehead rests against yours at one point, your noses nudging, and you both just breathe together. it's so intimate, more intimate than you could've imagined.

there was a moment there, though, one where you can see the beginnings of joaquín losing himself. when you've loosened up completely, having gotten used to being opened up for him, and you were steadily being guided towards the edge, you asked him for more. no, you begged. and joaquín gave you just what you wanted.

his hips snapped with each drive, his movements sharper than they'd been throughout the entire ordeal. messily, he swiped across your clit with his thumb, pushing you closer and closer towards his goal and not straying far behind you. it was rougher, but not careless at all. you wanted more of that for another time, you wanted him to completely lose it with you. but for now, you completely reveled in the way joaquín gave you an orgasm, one that only began to fade when he stuffed his cock completely in you with one final shove, his pelvis notched against yours and his balls resting against your ass.

by the time you came down and everything was cleaned up, distantly, you were ready to do it again.

[bettystonewell]

ANOTHER NOTCH ON HIS BELT

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night - or - Dean replaces intimacy with sex. MDNI 18+ only 1.2k words

Tags: lil’ bit of SMUT, casual sex, Dean needs a hug, light angst

A/N: Summary inspired by the lyrics of the song “Tough” by Lewis Capaldi.

He loves the sex. 

Needs it. 

Craves it. 

The closeness it gives him. The warmth of someone else surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing below or on top of him. He doesn’t care. 

Even with the scrapes and bruises he doesn’t remember which ugly bastard he ganked giving them to him, he’s not ashamed. He just wants to fill up his heart with affection to get him through the next death he knows is inevitable, no matter how hard he tries.

It’s something he can’t escape, except maybe for the night. Tonight, if he’s lucky.

As she pours him another cup, and places the pie he ordered beside his now empty plate, he pretends not to notice. It doesn’t mean he’s not watching. He just continues to hold the conversation with Sam while listening to her greet someone new.

Her voice carries like silk over the chatter of people and the ringing coming from the door. Her hands are clean, her skin soft and inviting as she pulls out her notepad and pen. 

He flicks his head up to exchange a glance, and she actually winks at him. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“Sammy?” He looks his brother’s way, but brings his gaze back to her the second he’s answered.

“Thanks,” he says and reads the badge pinned to her blouse aloud. “That’s a pretty name.” 

The girls in these dives they eat at are always perfect in his eyes. Their lives are just so, even if they don’t see it. 

No scars, at least not from weapons. Pliable flesh he can sink his fingers into. Grab, smooth, lick, taste. Sweet perfume that would fill a home he knows has things littered with the apple pie life he once thought he wanted. 

He’ll tell no one he still does.

He’ll also never tell Sam that’s the real reason he doesn’t bring them to the motel anymore if he can avoid it. It’s easier to leave them when he wakes up and feels out of place.

She walks away, back to the counter whence she came with hips that sway in time to the tick of the dusty old clock on the wall. Past the other patrons and tables full of more coffee and mediocre food. 

Chicken served in nugget form. Sandwiches lathered in sauce. It may be swill and smell closer to ass than edible, but if he plays his cards well, he’ll be devouring something far better tonight.

“Don’t wait up,” he says after downing the scalding liquid in one go. He’s done with waiting. Just needed the last boost of confidence before he goes in for the kill.

He stands up and grabs his phone. Brushes down his jacket, checking there’s nothing on it from the hunt, and looks up to the smile that caught his eye again. 

She’s watching him.

“Don’t do the hot coffee thing,” Sammy bitches, as he walks away.

But while Dean ignores him, a split second frown sours his face. He refuses to let his baby brother see the remark stings. 

It’s not about dipping his stick in the oil, but he’ll let Sam believe it is. The facade is easier than admitting the truth.

He steps up to the counter, where she’s taking some other chumps order, and raises the cup he never put down to gain her attention. There might be a suave grin thrown her way. Definitely a twinkle in his eye.

“Can I get another, sweetheart? Hot, and…just like you?” There’s a wag of his brow now.

“Sure thing, hun,” she says with a chuckle that makes her even more desirable. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is.

He wants to taste. He wants to touch. He wants her arms wrapped around him while he holds her tight. So he takes the opportunity presented to him. A brush of his fingers on hers when she hands the smooth ceramic back to him. Lingering as he gauges for any reaction. Any hint that she’s interested in being his comfort for the night.

“Thanks,” he says through a grin of goof and charm, and she smiles. Doesn’t even move her hand, and he knows he’s in with a chance.

“Can I get you anything else…?” she asks.

“Dean.” He winks.

“Dean,” she repeats, and he wants to hear it again. Underneath him. On top of him. Legs wrapped ‘round his waist as she chants it into his ear. 

He’d settle for it once if it was on her doorstep, following an ‘I had a good time last night,’ and so he’s bolder. His choice of words, just as. “Any chance you’re getting off soon?”

And she chuckles, hearty and soft. Nods her head in consideration, tongue playing with her cheek as she looks him over nice and slow. “You don’t beat around the bush, huh, Dean?” 

“Depends on the carpets,” he says. 

It’s cheesy and cringe and doesn’t even make much sense, but it works. She’s placing the pot of coffee down, leaning in closer to him, hovering over him a couple of hours later in a room that’s both foreign in foundation and comfort.

Plush bedding that’s clean. No smoke or dust or grime in sight. 

A light that never flickers and appliances that don’t buzz.

There’s a thigh on either side of him, bent at the knees just as he wanted. A sheen of sweat between. Her hands, warm and soft, creep over his skin, tracing patterns with tingles that curl his toes and tense the muscles in his shoulders and glutes.

His arms pull her down on him, pushing himself further into her. Giving her more of him, and she moans. He does, too. The squeeze of her walls on the covered tip of his dick is wonderful, but it’s the look in her eyes that does it for him. 

There’s a connection, now, even if there might be none come morning. This lust that he can mistake for adoration is what he needs. What he craves.

He’s wanted. She feels. Her body is alive, and she cries his name. 

“You like that, baby?” he asks with a snap of his hips, savouring the next sound she makes. If they go another round, he’ll do it again. When he’s alone with just his hand, he’ll chase it with the memory of her trembling lips, thighs and chest.

He’s pulling her tit into his mouth. Wide to capture as much of her smooth skin as he can. He’ll remember the saltiness, too. The way her nipple pebbles as his tongue swipes over and around it. The way her pelvis rocks.

She’s grinding down on him. Her fingers are tugging into his hair, and as her nails scrape down to the nape of his neck, he’s pulling her stomach to his. 

He’s grabbing her ass and raising it up. He’s chasing both their highs.

And when it hits, and he feels his balls tighten, and her around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth, he’s burying his nose into the junction between her hairline and ear. Inhaling the soap and shampoo. Her perfume. The sweat on her skin. He’s taking it all in and holding her tight.

In this moment, she’s his. 

The closeness she gives him. The warmth of her surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing on top of him.

He craves her.

He needs her.

And he’ll continue to, because it’s not just about sex. He loves the intimacy.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[moonlitshines]

fragile hearts.

bakugo katsuki x f!reader

angst, hurt and comfort. toxic rs (?) happy ending.

aftermath of the screaming competition you’ve had with your boyfriend last night.

Synopsis: You and Bakugo were dating for years already but having a romantic relationship with him doesn’t mean that he’s less meaner to you. Yesterday, he was really tired from training and overworked. When you tried to take care of him, he snapped and said hurtful things for the nth time. This has been happening over and over already.

You were laying down on the bed while scrolling on your phone. Him, on the other hand, is busy with his computer, playing a game and acting unbothered. Both of you refusing to talk to each other.

You heard him sigh to himself. His focus shifts ever so often during his match as he sneaks a glance at you from his peripheral vision. He knows he snapped at you yesterday, but at the same time he was frustrated and tired after having practiced the same move over and over for hours on end. That was no excuse to snap at you, of course, but he’d never admit that. But even while feeling a pang of guilt in his chest, Bakugo keeps his mouth shut and continues to watch his match.

The game comes to a pause and he looks over again at you. The guilt starts to eat at him more as he thinks about what he said to you yesterday. He feels the urge to say something, but his ego and pride holds him back from doing so. He sighs to himself again before deciding to talk to you.

“Hey.”

You didn’t, however, said anything and just keeps scrolling on your phone. That made him want to approach you, thus he sits on the bed right where you are and gives you a sidelong glance. Seeing you scrolling on your phone and looking like you don’t want to talk to him, you heard him sigh to himself again.

“Hey, can we talk?”

You just took a quick glance at him, “About what?”

It’s not like you really don’t know what he wants. He didn’t fail to notice how you respond curtly. He doesn’t know if it’s because you’re still mad at him or not, but he chooses his next words carefully. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s being defensive towards you.

“I want to talk about yesterday… because I know I got a little heated and… said some things I shouldn’t have said to you.”

He keeps his eyes on you, trying to read your expression to gauge what you’re thinking. He is honestly pretty worried that you’d give him a negative response… and quite honestly, that you’d just ignore him and not talk to him at all, which he honestly thinks he deserves but still doesn’t want to happen.

“I just… need to get my head focused and I kinda lost my cool,” he says quietly as he struggles with his words. Bakugo isn’t good with verbal emotions but he really wanted to express himself to you without saying the wrong things.

“It’s fine. I apologize for bothering you, too. Sorry, I’ll let you focus now,” you muttered.

“Is that it?”

You didn’t fail to notice the frustration in his face as he said that. He wasn’t sure if it’s because you’re not even remotely forgiving to him and you’re just going to disregard his attempt at trying to talk to you… or if you’re not interested in talking at all. Either of those two things makes him extremely frustrated as his ego is telling him to just ignore it, but his heart is telling him to keep going.

He furrows his eyebrows and grits his teeth while holding back the urge to get snappy with you. He takes a deep breath and clenches his fists… thinking carefully on what to say next.

“No… I don’t… I can’t just…” he pauses and looks at you for a second before he grabs your wrist, “…Don’t just say ‘it’s fine’ and brush it aside.”

He moves closer to you and looks you in the eyes. He is really trying hard to get you to say something more than just ‘it’s fine’ right now. He needs you to say something… anything. He doesn’t like this kind of tension between you two, especially since he is the reason for it.

He tightens his grip on your wrist slightly before continuing to speak. This clearly shows how frustrated, worried, panicked, and guilty he is with the whole situation.

“Please… talk to me. Don’t act like you’re just okay with it because I know you’re not.”

You were looking down, trying to act fine when it really wasn't, “It’s fine, Katsuki. Really,” you said in a low voice so he wouldn't notice your voice shaking.

He scoffs with frustration at you. He hates how you keep just saying the same thing over and over, as if you can’t even be honest with him. This whole situation is really testing his patience.

“No, it’s not fine. You won’t even talk to me!”

He says while gritting his teeth and furrowing his brows. He is trying really hard to not lash out at you, but you’re really pushing his buttons right now.

You scoff and almost rolled your eyes as you heard him. You recalled what exactly he said yesterday when he snapped at you, you were just doing what he wanted and now he’s still gonna snap at you for doing that? Shouldn’t he be happy?

“I’m just not meddling with your business.”

He lets go of your wrist as he leans back and runs his hand through his hair as he tries to rein in his frustration. He is honestly getting to the boiling point at this point because you are not saying what he wants to hear.

“You’re not gonna mess with my business? You’ve always meddled in my business,” he says dryly. He can’t even help but chuckle bitterly at how hypocritical that sounds as he feels the irony of the whole situation.

You didn’t respond. This is what happened last night, too. You know for sure he’s gonna keep going and repeat all the things he already said. Like what always happens.

He scoffs silently to himself as he looks at you, “You’ve always been around me and now all of a sudden you don’t want to meddle with my business?”

You were keeping your head on the ground, trying not to snap because you know it won’t help. And it’s his job, not yours.

“Isn't that what you wanted?”

He furrows his eyebrows as he gives you a perplexed look. He doesn’t know what you’re trying to get at, which is even more infuriating for him.

“What do you mean what I wanted? I never said I wanted you to not meddle with me,” he says in a slightly annoyed tone as he looks at you with a sharp glare.

“Yeah, that’s not what you said last night,“ you replied, getting tired of him acting like it’s not his fault why you’re acting this way.

He scoffs as he looks away, clenching his jaw. He didn’t expect you to bring that up so casually. The memories of what he said last night came rushing into his mind and honestly… he is starting to regret it.

“…That’s not what I meant… you know that.”

“It is pretty much what you meant. There’s no way you didn’t mean it one bit when you brought it up so many times.”

“Can’t you just forget that I said those things?”

Hearing that, you scoff and roll your eyes. Forget it? Just forget everything he said? How can you just forget it when everytime he snaps at you, it was the same thing he says over and over? There’s no way he didn’t mean it, right?

He can hardly reign himself in anymore. The frustration and agitation is getting the better of him. He is clenching his fists so hard now with a murderous glare in his eyes. He looks like he’s about to explode at any second from this whole situation.

“Why are you acting like this? Are you really that petty because I said some shitty things?”

He raises his voice and steps even closer to you, his eyes fixed on your face. At this point, he’s already lost his cool.

He continues, his voice is getting louder and louder as he talks.

“I told you to stop meddling in my business, so what? All of a sudden you’re acting like I told you to piss off and not talk to me anymore?!”

You scoff for the nth time this day, “I’m just minding my own life. Like you told me to.”

His grip on your shoulders tightens as his fingernails dig into your skin, it starts to hurt. The tension in the air is so thick you can cut it with a knife. He’s clenching his jaw so hard it looks like he’s about to gnaw all his teeth at this point from how strained he is because of all this.

“Katsuki.. you’re.. hurting me. Please, let go,” you said weakly, almost whispering. You closed your eyes shut as you felt his grip just tighten even more, you were already feeling his nails digging right on your skin, despite wearing a sleeve.

He just scoffs and lets out a dry, bitter laugh. He tightens his grip on your shoulders even more as he locks you in place. He continues to glare at you as he speaks with a cold and sharp tone.

“Why? You deserve it. If you’re being difficult, you should expect me to be rough back at you,” he said as if he was out of his mind.

“You’re so frustrated you don’t care if you hurt me?” you asked as if you don’t already know the answer, considering how he acts right now and whenever he’s tired and snapping at you.

“Let go, please. You were hurting me verbally.. through words.. just a day ago. And now you're.. doing it.. physically. You don’t even care anymore?” you muttered in a weak tone. You were tired and you can’t take anymore of this anymore.

He furrows his eyebrows and his grip on your shoulders tightens even more. He clearly doesn’t like you bringing that up, but he keeps his cold glare on you as he continues to respond.

“You still deserve it and should’ve seen it coming for you acting like this. After all, I gave you a way out when I told you to forget about it, but you just kept acting so damn cold.”

Your eyes just widened at his response. He’s.. not thinking clearly. I deserve him hurting me physically because I did what he wanted? Because I chose to stay out of his business like he told me to? Was it my fault?

You couldn’t take it anymore. You keep your eyes shut, preparing yourself to ask the question you never thought will cross your mind.

“Katsuki, at this point.. shouldn’t we just.. end this?”

He stops and freezes as he hears that word come from your mouth. He looks at you with his eyes wide as he feels a wave of shock go through his body.

“End this..?”

He says with a disbelieving tone. He can hardly believe the words that just came out of your mouth. With that, he lets go of your shoulder. You put a hand on it, considering how it hurts so much. He was gripping it like he intended to make you bleed.

As he lets go of your shoulders, he steps back, staring at you with a surprised and disbelieving look.

“What do you mean end this? Do you…”

He stops, the words getting stuck in his throat. It’s almost as if his mind can’t even process it.

“Do you mean end our relationship?”

He says, his voice sounding strained. His eyes are locked on your face, searching for any answers to the hundreds of questions swirling in his head right now.

You didn’t say anything, and your silence was his confirmation. He stops and stares at you. He can’t believe what you just said. It feels like someone had just suddenly ripped his heart out from his chest.

“Why…. Why do you want to end this?”

He asks, his voice hoarse and weak. He feels like he’s about to collapse from the wave of disbelief and shock that just hit him.

He steps closer to you and grabs you by the shoulders, looking at you with a desperate look. He just can’t understand what you’re thinking, and is desperately trying to cling onto anything that can salvage this whole situation.

“Can you just… can you explain why…?”

He says, his voice cracking from trying to hold back the emotions in his chest right now. You shut your eyes again. You chose to ignore the pain in his voice because you know how weak you are when it comes to him.

“I tell you what’s wrong, that you hurt me. You mock me and try to make it my fault. This just keeps happening over and over again. You don’t want to change, that’s why it’s happening again and again. It’s tiring,” you finally said, finally saying what you have been holding back out loud.

He falters as he hears you say that. His grip on you loosens as he stares at you, trying to process the words you just said.

“I…. I hurt you? Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

He can’t help but look at you, his expression now looking like a mixture of guilt, regret, and disbelief in himself. All this time, he thought you were just fine and didn’t know that he was hurting you with how he was acting.

You try not to roll your eyes as he asked that, “I did tell you! All you replied was that I deserve it!”

He stays silent at your reply. That’s right. You did tell him. He remembers now that you did, but he got so caught up in his anger that he brushed you off.

“…I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quietly. He doesn’t know how to make this better anymore, the regret of his actions now weighing heavily on his chest.

He steps even closer to you, his arms now reaching out to wrap around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest. He buries his head against your shoulder, his grip on you tight and desperate as he tries to hold back the flood of emotions in his chest right now.

“I… I’m so sorry,” he finally said.

It’s as if he’s at the verge of sobbing right now. He feels so guilty and remorseful for what he’s done to you, and now it’s all crashing down on him at the thought of losing you.

You didn’t do anything as he hugs you, didn’t hug him back. You just let him.

His voice is weak and shaky as he struggles to keep it together. His body is trembling from the mixture of emotions in his chest right now as he continues to hold you tight against him.

“Please… please tell me I can fix this…” He whispers against your shoulder, his voice raw and strained as he clings onto you, desperate to hold on.

He keeps his head buried against your shoulder, his hands gripping the back of your shirt tightly. It’s clear that he is trying his best to rein in his emotions right now, but he is on the verge of breaking down due to the guilt and regret that is crushing his chest right now.

“Please…. I’ll do anything, just don’t… don’t end this,” he practically pleads with you, his voice cracking slightly from his struggle to keep it together.

That was your last straw. You sighed, knees starting to give up. You were weak. Weak when it comes to him. You can’t handle it when he shows his emotions.. his vulnerable side. You’re weak and so hopelessly in love with him.

You didn’t say anything but wrap your arms around him, hugging him back and burying your face against his chest.

The moment you hug him back, he lets out a shaky exhale of relief. It’s at this point that he lets go of the last of his self control, and just breaks down into your embrace.

His whole body trembles as he clings onto you tightly, his arms wrapping around you as he buries his head against your shoulder. His body feels like it’s collapsing at this point as all the emotions in his chest just come out.

His chest is heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his body and mind overcome with an overwhelming tsunami of emotion.

“Please... I’m sorry... I’m so s-sorry...”

He keeps repeating it apologetically as he hugs you even tighter, his hands clenching the back of your shirt. It’s like he’s scared that if he lets go of you, you’ll just disappear and leave him forever.

“I promise... I’ll change. I’ll do anything to be b-better for you... Please, j-just.. don’t... leave me....”

It was your first time hearing him talk like that, admitting that it was his fault, and that he will change. For you. It was the first time you see him act like this. He was scared to lose you. So scared. And you don’t want to leave him either. Despite all the things that happened and what he did, you can’t help but want to be the one who stays beside him, protect him, take care of him, and love him.

“I’m.. holding you onto that,” you muttered in a soft, weak voice.

He nods vigorously against your shoulder, his arms around you hugging you even tighter. There’s a slight sense of relief in his body now after hearing that you’re not leaving.

“I will... I promise,” he says, his voice shaky and vulnerable as he holds you like he’s holding onto dear life right now. He has no plans of letting you go any time soon.

He takes a deep breath as he continues to hold you tightly in his arms. His body is still trembling slightly as he clings onto you, the whole emotional outburst leaving him feeling weak and vulnerable. He continues to bury his head against your shoulder, not wanting to let go just yet and wanting to stay like this with you for as long as possible.

[zph]

mixed with love and sweet vanilla. | scaramouche x gn!reader

in which scaramouche tries out a new chapstick, and he wants you to test it out. kissing ensues.

notes: lots of kissing, short&sweet (literally), established relationship, very indulgent, fluff

based on this post | masterlist

“Could this-?” Scaramouche grumbles, his face trapped between your palms. “Could you have waited for me to actually sit down before you started being weird?”

A swift kiss to his nose cuts him off. “Do you want me to stop?” You already know the answer but you patiently wait for his response.

He narrows his eyes at you, blinks then suddenly pulls you down with him, and onto the couch where the plush pillows soften your fall. He snickers at the yelp that escapes your lips.

Down below, you were at a full view of his sly grin and that shiny tint that decorates his lips. You followed the way his mouth moved, the warm red faintly shining just enough to spark your curiosity.  “I said wait. Not stop.” He snickered.

You merely rolled your eyes, then tugged him closer to where you sat, until his legs wrapped around your hips, and your hands locked behind his back.

From here, a quick smell of a sweet fragrance wafts into your nose, the scent only compelling you for another kiss. You look up, expecting him to find amusement in how you hover over his face; but instead, he greets you with an expectant look, eyebrow furrowed with a note of impatience.

So, this was his plan all along.

And so, with one gaze and one tilt of his head, you drive in to gingerly press your lips against his, gentle and slow, just to bask in the feeling and taste.

Is that…

Moving away, you immediately went to gauge the flavor on your tongue. Vanilla. His lips were sweet like vanilla. “…Is this one new? I swear you never wore it before.”

You feel how he rubbed his thumb up and down the column of your neck before he angled his head so his lips drew nearer and nearer until…

“Ha, you are imagining things.” He whispers.

But this time, Scaramouche closes the distance, no longer tolerating the separation. “Just too obsessed.” He says, but you feel the corner of his lips rise as the rumble from your chest lets out fits of laughter in response.

Did he really wear this just so you could have an excuse to kiss him?

“Do you have more of that chapstick?” your voice comes out breathless, and his hand begins to trace from your nape to jawline.

Then he taps once. Yes.

“Is it in your bag?”

…Another tap, more hesitant this time. Yes.

So, you pull away, ignoring the whine that escapes his lips, and poke around his bag for the stick.

One beat, then two until your hand finally lands on the item; the smooth contours of the stick feel familiar in your palm and you quickly discard the top with a squeeze.

Then when your gaze finally shifts back to him, you find him regarding you with a deepening frown and hard stare, as if you personally offended him somehow.

“Are you done?” he says flatly, tugging at the fabric of your shirt.

With a chuckle, you beckon him closer by the waist—the latter which begrudgingly complied—and rested your hand on his shoulder, angling the chapstick to his lower lip and shutting him up with a soft grip on his jaw.

Sweet is the word you’d describe when you notice how he subtly melts in your arms: the slight blush on his cheeks —not too visible but just enough where it paints on his skin with a fine coating, and the glint in his eyes as he roams around your face, mouth agape and peering up through his long lashes.

And the worst part? He just watches.

He watches as you move about, deliberately slowing down to spread the formula evenly. The way his hand now found home on your back, his fingers ghosting up and down your spine. Or the way his throat bobs when you adjust your position, stealing glances down at your lips each time you lean back.

Sweet is the taste when you couldn’t help but sneak another kiss as you watch the flutter of his eyelashes shut close without hesitation. The proximity between your faces and the way he follows your mouth even after you pull away: a sugary indulgence.

In contrast to the bitter palate he normally prefers, it was here in this moment where the sweetness rang out into soft giggles and slow touches— into love as sweet as his lips.

One tap. And your finger gently smudges the creamy red tint on his lower lip, matching the one that paints his eyes.

Another tap and he is once again pressing your bodies closer until his smile is rightfully back on yours, both sharing the taste mixed with love and sweet vanilla.

[alluringwaves]

silence between us! draco malfoy ೃ࿔*:

draco malfoy x fem!reader

a late-night confrontation with draco malfoy sparks a tense, charged exchange that forces both of you to confront unspoken feelings hidden beneath years of rivalry and silence.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the dark hallway, distant yet growing louder.

You were leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed, staring out into the empty corridor, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling that had settled in your chest. It was late, and the castle felt eerily quiet, save for the occasional gust of wind through the old windows.

And then, like clockwork, Draco appeared.

His platinum blonde hair gleamed even in the dim light, and his eyes, cold and calculating, immediately fixed on you. He didn’t say anything at first—he never did. But there was always something in the way he looked at you, something that made your stomach flutter, something you couldn’t quite ignore.

Draco stopped a few feet away from you, his posture casual but confident, like he always thought he owned the space around him. He studied you for a moment, the silence stretching longer than it needed to.

You weren’t about to break first.

“Staying quiet was never your strong suit, was it?” Draco’s voice cut through the stillness, as if he’d been waiting for you to speak. His tone was mocking, but there was an edge of curiosity in it, as if he was trying to gauge your reaction.

You rolled your eyes and pushed off from the wall, standing up straight. “Well, you could do something about it,” you replied, your voice laced with defiance.

Draco’s smirk deepened, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flash in his eyes—something unreadable. Something more than the usual arrogance.

He took a step closer, his shoes clicking against the stone floor, and your breath caught slightly at how close he was. You didn’t move back, though.

If he wanted to push this—if he wanted to test the waters—he would.

“I could,” Draco murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “But I’m not sure I should. What would you do with that?”

His words hung in the air, heavy, as though he was daring you to respond. And you hated that you wanted to.

“What exactly is it you want, Malfoy?” you asked, leaning into the challenge.

There was no hiding the frustration, the confusion, the curiosity that had built up between the two of you over the years. There had been moments—too many of them—where you were almost sure he felt something too.

But he’d always been so impossible to read, so distant, so infuriatingly Draco.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he replied too quickly, his words dismissive but his body language said otherwise. His hand, which had been hanging loosely at his side, now twitched, as if resisting the urge to reach out.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Then why are you standing here?”

He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair in frustration. “You always ask the hard questions,” he muttered, his voice now tinged with something almost… vulnerable? No, it couldn’t be that.

You tilted your head, studying him. “That’s because you’re full of nonsense, Malfoy. You never say what you mean. You never say anything real.”

Draco seemed to stiffen at your words, and for a brief moment, his usual icy exterior faltered. He looked down at his feet, as if considering something, before looking back up at you with that same unreadable look in his eyes.

“I’m not really good at this… talking thing,” he confessed, his voice quieter than usual. There was a strange vulnerability in his tone that you hadn’t expected, something raw and unpolished.

Your breath hitched slightly. “You never are.”

He took another step forward, his gaze intense. “Maybe I’m trying, then. Can’t blame me for that.”

The air between you both had shifted, thickened, and now it felt like you couldn’t breathe properly. His proximity, his presence, was suffocating, but in a way that made you want more.

Draco was standing so close now, your hearts almost in sync with the rhythm of the moment. The space between you was tight—too tight for words, too tight for logic.

He was waiting for something.

And you didn’t know what, but for once, you didn’t want to back away.

[lostintransist]

The Boys' Home | Part 6

*If you asked to be on a tag list and you haven't been, please ask again. Somtimes I think Tumblr eats my comments.

Part 1 | AO3

You loved them. Swear to any God you love your boys but FUCK! Sometimes the urging from childhood, the lizard brain screaming for peace, made it really hard to not lose your mind at them. All four of your boys were whining, fighting, and being a general nuance to each other and you. The grocery store would never be the place for them to fight like this.

Once a week during the summer you had to make a grocery run. Four growing boys at home every day meant they roved through any accessible food like locusts. If your local store offered pickup you would pay a decent amount to use it. It would save you from days like this.

Seth, at eleven, should have known better than to let Darren, at six, cause him so much distress. But being a preteen is a bit like being in hell so who knew how much he could hold back the yelling? Darren also fought with Sam, also six, and Reggie, ten.

Frankly, they all needed a nap and would argue they didn’t. The full moon incoming tonight helped only to fuel the chaos in their small bodies.

They had argued over who got to sit where and then during the drive over Reggie looked too long at Darren who screamed about the offense. Sam had started screaming that Darren was being too loud and then Seth tried to make them stop, by yelling. The nitpicking and annoyance at the others existing continued into the store. Halfway down the freezer aisle and that much closer to freedom. Glancing down at your list you curse in your head— you forgot about the milk and butter you needed. Of course, those marketing masochists had to put them in the back corner of the building.

As always you made note of where your boys were in relation to each other, the cart, and any other customers. Not many people in the freezer section today; a teenager who slowly read labels through the glass, two old men, shock white hair figuring them to be grandfather age, and the one man in a hat who ran numbers on the calculator on his phone.

Pushing the cart, and all four boys who have lost the privileges of walking without holding on, just beyond the freezer you needed you turned your focus away for two hells-damned seconds. No sooner than the blast of chilled air cooled against your skin than the yelling started.

The crinkle of the vegetable bag below your fingers did not drown out the sound of a different plastic screaming and small, roundish objects hitting the ground. Side-stepping and slamming the door shut you held back the yell by the thinnest of margins.

“Boys!” The mom voice came out in full force. “Enough! Clean up every grape you spilled.”

Four panicked faces stared up at you.

“Now!”

They scrambled to pick up each of what now appeared to be one hundred-plus tiny fruits rolling away in every direction. Movement had you looking up from the offending mess you see every man but one disappearing around the corner. You would call them cowards but you were interrupted.

“Powerful mum voice you have there,” John remarked as he watched your boys pick up every grape flung wide in their tomfoolery.

Glancing at your new neighbor you gauge the sarcasm as low. The tilt of his brows reads more as impressed and slightly annoyed than anything else.

“It’s a talent. My mom voice is stronger than my teacher voice.”

When Sam lifted a handful of grapes, bad intentions in his eyes, you let out two quick hisses of air. All the boys paused and glanced at you. Everyone but Sam turned back to their task as they realized they were not the child in trouble. Eye contact with your boy and a quick head shake were enough of a redirect to avoid further problems.

“Never could quite figure out how my mum could call us all to order so easily. Watching you do it makes me wonder which is stronger, my captain voice or your mom voice.” John has now joined you as the boys scoop and deliver their mistreated goods back into the bag.

A light smile drifts over your lips, even as your chest remains tight.

“I bet the mom voice would work well on your Johnny, and probably Kyle. Jury’s out on Simon,” you wink when John catches your eye. “Bet if I caught you with it I would get a reaction though.”

John let out a belly laugh, big enough to drift. An older woman toddled past the other end of the aisle. Well guess the conversation would be town-wide by desert.

“You know what? I’ll take your bet. What are you offering?”

The boys were nearly done. Thinking fast you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“If I win you agree to man the grill for the neighborhood meetup you can make it to. Next one is in two weeks.”

They were always hosted at your house, which is fine but that meant you were in charge of the grill. Mostly you were in charge of the grill because the last time any of the men had touched it they left it so gross you banned them from touching it again. You hated cooking meat. It freaked you out that everything might not be fully cooked.

Folding his arms John nodded slowly, as if thinking it over.

“Seems like a good offer. If I win I ask for deserts for our next poker night.”

A fair offer. Equal in labor, skill, and expectation as to what you would demand as your winnings.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” offering John your hand, you shake on it.

“Got a good grip there teach,” he patted you on the shoulder.

Something about that interaction tickled your brain. But as the boys were finally finished cleaning up the mess they had made you needed to leave it.

“Good. Hands on the cart,” you fired off the command.

“But mom!” Seth cried, affronted in only a way an eleven-year-old can be.

“But Seth!” You whined back before dropping into a deadpan expression. “Kid we have two things left to grab. You can grab the cart or I can ask John here to take you home.”

Neither looked terribly impressed with the option. They made eye contact before Seth grabbed the wire of the cart with a sigh.

John lifts a brow at you.

“Welcome to small towns John. You can and will be used as punishment by other people’s parenting,” you reply with a shrug and a grin. “Alright boys, let’s go.”

He chuckles behind you as you push your full cart and the four dour-faced children who want nothing to do with the buzzing lights of the store. Once the milk and butter were secured the boys convinced you to buy some popcorn. Shareable snack acquired you were able to direct the chaos toward check out.

This step moved fast. Seth and Reggie both scampered to the end of the second conveyor belt and bagged all the groceries the cashier sent their way. Darren and Sam touch every fucking thing within their limited reach until you threaten them with getting put in the cart.

Mary Ann is your cashier today. She had been one of your students two years ago, passing math and even taking online math courses through the community college two towns over. Her dad, Richard, talked about her going off to a fancy college once her associates were done. You had offered to write her a letter of recommendation if ever she needed or wanted it. Mary Ann was a good kid. She might now be twenty but until you were dead, she would be one of your kids.

“Heard you snapping at the boys in the freezer aisle. Everything going okay?” Her hands don’t stop moving even as Mary Ann asks the question.

The eye roll is unstoppable.

“The hooligans need a nap,” Darren and Sam start to protest but you ignore them and finish your sentence. “There was an incident with the grapes. We got it all cleaned up though.”

“Oh good,” Mary Ann scanned the last item and tapped a few buttons on her side. “Your total is—”

She got cut off by Reggie wailing like a hot brand had been taken to his ass.

Slamming your card against the reader you cursed the heartbeats until it beeped. Reggie was now screaming for you and Seth was yelling. Once the awful beep that always made you think your card declined sounded you were snatching Sam and Darren by the hands and snapping at Seth and Reggie to ‘push the fucking cart and if you don’t quit screaming in here.’

The violence of their voices continues. Reaching the van you turn it on, plug in your phone, turn on the most bass-heavy song you can find in a short glance, and up the volume. Seth and Reggie climb in first, to the way back followed by Sam and Darren who click themselves into their booster seats. They all know that if you are turning on the bass it is to drown them all out and screaming will do nothing but cause you to roll the windows down and turn the volume up even higher.

Was it good parenting? No. But it kept you from wrecking the fucking van so it wasn’t the worst choice you could make. Loading the groceries in the back you give in to your anger a tiny bit and slam the door closed. Angrily stalking the cart back to the corral and sending it careening in also helps a bit.

Parenting is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, and most of that comes from confronting your own damn issues. Sometimes though? It is hard because it’s hard to be near a person learning to be a person.

Each child is given a bag or two to take inside and deposit on the counter before they are free to disappear into the woods or up to their rooms. The absence of them in your space and face lets you take the deepest breath and scream into your hands. The small bones shake from the force of your yelling.

“Okay. You can do this. Fuck, the full moon is tonight and then you should get your children who don’t hate that someone breathed near them back.” Taking another deep breath you start putting everything away, still talking to yourself. “We can have chicken nuggets, mac’n’cheese, and salad. Popcorn and a movie before bed and then a large glass of something for me.”

Face in the freezer as you rearranged everything to fit as Simon’s voice from outside scared you into a shriek.

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

Boys Masterlist | Masterlist

@leahnicole1219 @harperstyles @sigynxlokiwifelover @fluffysmiko @lily-bug3 @demothers-empty-blog @literallegendicon

[sturnioz]

Fb Chris helping bun put shelves up at her place in exchange for head

just realised this will be the first time chris has been at her place .. crazy.

you teeth gnaw at your bottom lip as the door creaks slightly when it opens and chris steps into your small, cluttered bedroom, and you can feel the weight of his presence immediately as he glances around, taking in the trinkets that are sprawled across your desk in silence.

you watch him closely, noticing how his tongue prods at his cheek, a blank expression settling on his face as his gaze lingers on the scattered books and various items you haven't found a place for yet.

"nice room, kid," he murmurs, flicking a sonny angel that teeters on the edge of your desk. it topples over with a loud thump against the wood, and you can see a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"thank you.." you reply quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as your eyes dart away from him, instead looking down on the instruction manual for the shelves you desperately want to put up — the reason why he's here.

getting chris to agree to help you assemble your new shelves was hard.

you easily could've done it yourself, but the thought of dealing with complication instructions alone felt a little overwhelming. so you craved a quick solution, and chris was your first choice... a reluctant one.

you found yourself begging him more than you'd like to admit, refusing to take his initial 'no' as the final word. each time you approached him, he pushed back, his responses short and blunt like always.

but you were persistent, asking again and again until you finally offered him a deal — a promise of something in return which immediately piqued his interest, and much to your surprise, he agreed.

he will put up your shelves, and you will give him head as a thank you.

"let's get this shit over 'n done with," chris says, rolling up his sleeves with an exaggerated sigh. he adjusts the cap on his head, the brim casting a shadow over his eyes as he grabs a piece of wood, inspecting it for a moment as he turns it over in his hands before looking at you. "where d'you even want these?"

you point to the empty wall, your voice hesitant. "uh.. maybe there? above the bed?"

"above the bed?" he repeats, his eyebrow arching sceptically as if you've suggested something stupid. "what? so this shit can fall on you while you're sleepin'? don't be an idiot, kid."

your eyebrows knit together in frustration at his response. then you frown, tilting your head to the side, trying to gauge his reasoning. "then where else?"

"above the desk or somethin', i dunno," he shrugs as if it should be obvious.

you nod slowly, deciding to go with his suggestion as you begin gathering the tools needed for the job, moving around your room, passing each item to him as he calls for it.

the sound of the drill fills the silence, and you can't help but steal glances at chris as he works, the muscles in his arms flexing as he manoeuvres the drill; his brows furrowing deeply, and his jaw tightening with concentration.

a grin spreads across your lips as chris finally steps back, wiping the sweat from his brown with the back of his hand with a huff, surveying his handiwork.

"a'ight, s'all done, kid," he tells you, his fingers flexing as he shifts his gaze between the shelves and you, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "what're you even gonna put on 'em anyway?"

you're already moving, excitement bubbling within you as you start gathering your books and a few artificial miniature plants — the thought of finally organising your space making you happy.

you place the items on the sturdy shelves, arranging them, and adding a few of your favourite scented candles that have been scattered around the room.

"hey, don't put so much shit on it, jesus." chris scoffs, his shoulder hitting yours as he steps closer. he practically pushes you aside, evenly arranging the items you've chosen on the shelves. "gotta leave some space, kid. 'cos if this collapses after i spent my time puttin' it up... m'gonna get pissed."

"your shelves are messy." you counter.

"yeah, but am i gonna cry when it breaks? no. you will though." you try to be offended at that, but there's some truth in his words. you may not shed any tears, but the thought of your new shelves crashing to the ground fills you with a sense of dread. they cost a lot more than you'd anticipated, and the idea of losing them so quickly makes you freeze.

"no i won't.." you protest weakly, though even you can hear the uncertainty in your voice.

"mhm, a'ight," chris hums as he licks his lips, taking a few steps backwards toward your bed as his hand comes down to unbuckle his belt, the metal clanging. "c'mere, bun.. come show me how thankful you are, yeah?"

[fuctacles]

If you saw the snippets where i fucked up the timeline no u didnt.

<< 16 | 0 | 18 >>

"What's his name?" Steve asks, playing with the bunny's paw. The only time he let go of him since last night was to use the bathroom.

"Frankenbunny," Eddie answers, and smiles when Steve snorts after hearing it. "My grandma made him from fabric scraps grandpa would bring from work. I've made the vest, though." He stretches and blinks his eyes open properly, in time to see Steve's impressed expression.

"Really?"

"Well, Wayne helped," he added. "It's actually made from the same jacket I turned into my vest." 

"Oh, that's so cool!" Steve turns the bunny around to take a better look at the details. The tiny vest even has frayed edges and Dio stitched on the back. "You guys match."

Eddie snorts. 

"Yeah, we're both full of stitches," he points out dryly. 

Steve hums, pressing the toy closer to his face. It's something he's done before sleep, too, but last night Eddie wrote it off as a drunken mirage.

"And both pretty handsome fellas," he says, face half-hidden behind the bunny. He opens one eye, looking from under his eyelashes shyly, trying to gauge Eddie's reaction. 

Which, Eddie would love to know and understand as well.

"Oh, I don't know," he shrugs, reaching out to poke at Frankenbunny's face. "He doesn't have the signature Munson dimples." When in doubt, joke, as the Denial Decalogue says. 

Steve hums. 

"Yeah, I guess he can't hold a candle to the real thing. Not as talkative, for one."

Eddie can't help but stare, still leaning over his friend as he processes what he's heard. 

"You like my constant yapping?" he asks in surprise. Even his uncle seems tired of it, at times. Only his players appreciate his word flow, but that's with benefit to them.

"Of course." Steve focuses his attention back on the toy. "When you talk, I don't have to, I can just listen. And that's good because I tend to say some stupid shit," he says, almost absentmindedly. "This way, I'm not the dumb one in the room for once."

The casual innocence of his voice makes the meaning of his words miss Eddie completely until the air waves hit his other ear. 

"Oh, you little..."

As Steve's cheeky smirk grows, he pounces. 

Frankenbunny falls away, the hands holding him now focused on guarding all the ticklish spots. 

"Eddie!" Steve laughs, trying to grasp his wrists and squirm away. "We need to be quiet." 

"Should have though of it before being a brat!" Eddie grins at him, doubling his efforts and moving to pin him in place. 

Steve makes a distressed sound and writhes under him, bending hard enough it dislodges Eddie off of him but also, off the bed. He falls down with a surprised squeak.

"Sorry!" Steve barely suppresses his laugh when he looks down at him. "You alright?"

"No," Eddie groans, splayed on the floor. "I got back-stabbed."

"The dramatics are intact, you'll be fine," he rolls his eyes and steps over him. Eddie makes an even more wounded sound, but Steve ignores him, choosing to look for something comfy to wear instead. He throws a tshirt that doesn't smell of barbecue at Eddie's face, mistakenly assuming that's it—they are going to leave his bedroom and start on breakfast for the others. 

Wrong.

As soon as he has a pick of clothes in his hand, and is trying to get to the bathroom, Eddie grabs his ankle. He makes an undignified yelp and lands on the other boy. Which, serves him well. 

They roll on his carpet in an impromptu wrestling match, grinning at each other and muffling their laughs, trying to get the upper hand. 

Until Steve snaps his teeth at Eddie.

They freeze, two pairs of wide eyes staring at the other in silence. 

Steve moves first, backing away and almost falling over Eddie's knees. 

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that," he explains quickly, scrambling to get off his friend. Eddie doesn't stop him, just stares openly at the mesmerizing specimen in front of him.

"That was so fucking hot."

"I don't know why I did—what?" Steve sits back on his haunches, eyes even wider as he stares at Eddie. At his wild hair splayed around his head, at his flushed face. The sliver of skin visible where his shirt has ridden up while they were roughhousing. 

"What?" he parrots, licking his lips nervously. 

"What did you just say?" Steve presses, voice turning desperate, pressing. But Eddie seals his mouth into a tight line. Lead by a hunch, he looks for his answer down the line of his body.

"Hey!" Eddie protests, sitting up and pulling his shirt down. But it was too late, the tent in his pants has been seen. "What the fuck, man?!" he hisses, his face red and eyes wide in panic. 

"Sorry, I—" Steve bites his lip. "But I snapped at you? That's weird, right?"

"Well, I'm apparently into weird, so..." Eddie trails off, looking away. Pointedly avoiding Steve's searching eyes. 

"You're into it?" he prods, but all Eddie can give him is a shrug. It's too fresh of a feeling to properly explain. Hell, he hasn't full came to terms with it himself yet. 

"Is it like a... a sex thing?" Steve tries again. 

"Maybe? Probably? I don't know!" Eddie snaps defensively, folding in on himself to hide his thankfully wilting erection. 

Steve's silence is terrifying, and when he looks up, he finds his eyes still studying him.

"Quit staring, man," he mumbles, squeezing his thighs together. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Steve shakes his head. "It's fine, it happens. But just... don't move for a second."

"It happens," Eddie is muttering mockingly, when the rest of his friend's words register in his brain. "What?" But Steve is already too close, and he can't escape. Not that he wants to. "Steve," he says quietly, between a warning and a plea, when warm breath hits his neck.

Steve is sniffing him. At the crook of his neck, where undoubtedly his embarrassment has gathered in a pool of sweat.

He's terrified in a way that has nothing to do with fear. Worried what Steve might smell on him, when his surprisingly cold nose brushes his skin. 

Or maybe it's him running hot with whatever has just transpired. 

Eddie flinches at the touch and Steve moves away, his eyes big and warm with something he can't read. 

"You're fine," he says, and it sounds more like a relief of his own than reassurance for Eddie. "I'm into weird too."

Eddie looks at him quizzically, until he realizes it's not Steve's face holding his answers. He trails his gaze down, and immediately aims it back upward, over-correcting towards the heavens, where maybe he'll get some guidance.

"Shit," he croaks out from his closed up throat. Steve is way too close to him too, from his impromptu sniffing session. Eddie coughs to clear his airways. "Why did you smell me? Is it that bad?" he jokes, but has a feeling Steve won't take the out. Not with the curious way he's looking at him. 

"You smell like want," he answers with painful honesty. "Embarrassment."

Eddie blushes at that one. Well, yeah. Popping a boner in front of your, uh, something, will do that to a man.

"But also joy, affection," Steve continues. "And no fear."

"Why would I fear you? We were just playing around. It's not like you're gonna bite me," he focuses on the safest option. He's not unpacking his feelings for Steve first thing in the morning. Maybe after a coffee. 

It's Steve's turn to go beet red. 

"Sometimes I want to."

"What?" 

He shuffles back sheepishly. 

"Sometimes I see you and I really, really wanna bite you."

Eddie stares at him.

"In like, a werewolf way?" he asks dumbly, earning himself a flat look.

"I think we've established this is not how werewolves are made. I meant in, like, a playful way," he explains. "Like, I'm so excited and happy I can't hold it in anymore, way."

He wants to ask if it's a pack thing, but bites his tongue, not sure if anyone has even taught Steve pack rituals. The guy is going through pure instincts alone, and should be supported in it, so really, there's only one thing he can say.

"Well, why won't you?"

They stare at each other in stunned silence, until a clatter comes from downstairs.

"Steeeeve! The express is doing it again!"

Eddie deflates with a groan, falling back onto the carpet. What the fuck did he just say? He won't survive this crush. Steve will be no help, as he's now hovering over his body.

"We'll get back to this," he says quietly, in a promise or a warning, before clambering upright and out of the room, yelling at Robin.

"Do not press the fucking button!"

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot @dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1 @stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible @bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets @ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight  @eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

[liliththeimp]

Nap time (fem! Reader, NSFW)

Guess whos ovulating!!

Me, it’s me. I’m ovulating. I’m the horn ball.

im in the mood to repost a chapter from my AO3 like an idiot cause I’m dry and i forgot i even write it

(Also inadvertently called him Simon instead of ghost n i didnt proof read it, so if ghost is hiding in there, ignore his ass)

cw: p-in-v, sleepy sex, cock warming, somnophilia

-----------

there was something so tranquil about nap time, the late afternoon sun peeking through the windows to cast a soft glow across your body,  tangled in the sheets with your shirt hiked up your abdomen and legs tangles in the blanket.

something that felt so secure and safe in the supple mattress that made Simon feel so comfortable with you.

he had his mask off, now that you two have been together long enough- you were able to catch him without his mask off every so often and today was one of those days.

Simon had come home from work, tired and hot and grumpy, and you were there to greet him with open arms and bath time, and after scrubbing away the day laying in your small form, he had take you to bed. Simon haphazardly dressed in pure sweats without boxers, to collapse onto the pillowy comforter with you, who also had a lack of underwear and clad in nothing but his borrowed t-shirt, curled under his arm and fast asleep like a doll.

Eventually, simon stirred, seeing how peaceful and cute you looked while you slept understanding that to have someone so willing to fall asleep around him meant you trusted him, and that meant everything.

he gave a slight stretch, rolling over to see your exposed skin glowing from the subtle sunlight and it send a slight wave of blush to his cheeks, washing his ears in a pink tint.

Not only that, but he woke up with an erection, of course.

Simon groaned quietly, because you looked so peaceful, he didnt want to wake you. He wanted to be comforting, not sexual in the slightest- but oh god, how cute you looked, how easy he could take you in this moment and to see you wake up moaning his name first thing had made him hard all over again.

he rolled over, wanting to quickly fix the situation before you woke up and realized he was gone, maybe retreat to the bathroom? His mind had wondered hurriedly until it hit him.

you had mentioned (very shyly, knowing how odd it must have been to ask such a request of Simon,) that if he ever felt comfortable, he could fuck you while you slept- which was also another leap of trust he was amazed you gave him- and you’d let him do anything to you while you slept.

Cue his cock twitching against his sweats again.

He fell back onto the pillow next to you, looking to your form again and he held a hand out, inching slowly towards your hip to stroke from your waist to your thigh, and you didnt move- you stayed silent with soft breaths leaving your parted lips.

he pressed a bit harder, looking to you to gauge how much force he can give without waking you up, and you only slightly stirred from the impact, another soft breath leaving you as you tilted your head in your sleep.

Simon pulled his hand back, palming his cock through his sweats and quietly whining as he rested a head against your shoulder, moving you closer to spoon him so he could grind into your ass.

He gave a slight hiss, holding your hips as he felt you arch your back in your sleep, feeling your bare heat against his cock made him jerk his hips forward, right in between your thighs.

slowly, his hips piston in between your thighs, feeling how subconsciously wet you became for him, letting breathy whimpers leave your lips in your sleep; but still unaware all the same.

his hand moved from your hip to hike up your shirt further to reveal your breasts, kneading it a bit as he thrusted again, biting his lip as he groaned quietly.

Simon decided that, to edge himself out, he toyed with your body a bit more. his hand slid from your breast down to your clit, slowly circling his digit around as he moved his mouth to softly lap at your nipple.

The feeling you bucking your hips unconsciously made his lips quirk upwards in a cheeky grin, moving his hand behind your ass to fumble with the waist band of his sweats, pumping his shaft for some release before slowly toying at your sick folds with his tip.

A hitched sigh left him as he felt you contract around his length, pushing ever so gently to not wake you, but the tightness forced a grunt to leave him and he gently moved his full length inside.

Upon finally reaching your cervix, he heard you moan in your sleep, soon adjusting your head to press further into the pillow while your hips rolled against him in your sleepy state.

Simon smiled again, dragging his member back out and forcing back in with a controlled thrust, only jerking his hips slowly to earn those soft whimpers that left your lips.

Moving just a bit faster, he mewled into the crook of your neck, purring from your unconscious contractions around him, feeling the way you still got effortlessly wet for him. It enough to make him want to live in this moment forever, with his cock buried deep inside of you to feel the bulge from your belly with every rut.

Simon continued to work his way into you, grunting and moaning at every drag against your plush velvet walls enclosing him with need. His hands held your hips back against him, moving your hips for you like you were some toy for him. His cock twitched deep inside of you at the expense of his release, letting out an exasperated but quiet grunt from his climax and slurred a curse into his breath.

You let out a sigh of your own satisfaction, the sudden aggressive jerk pulling you into consciousness, yet still sleepy and halfway aware, with the only feeling of bliss closing in on you while his hands pawed into your hips to set you even further on his cock

“S…imon,” You simpered through a quiet breath, looking over your shoulder as Simon tilted his head towards you with a smile, pecking your lips as he stayed buried inside of you with his arms tightly draped around you.

“Don’t mind me, love…just go back to sleep.”

———

yooo hoped you liked it boo, ik its kinda short and a bit bad but idrc.

requests are also welcomed with open arms (and open legs,) so if you want go ahead n comment I’ll write for you lol <3

[leclerc-hs]

lucifer - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: you purposely try to make Charles jealous at a party which ultimately leads to some dirty consequences Warnings: SMUT, bad writing, curse words, 18+, choking, slapping, spitting Word Count: 1,657 Author's Note: this was a request from an anon 'Charles jealous and possessive please' that I wanted to make halloween related. Feel free to send more requests!!! Also I apologize for how dirty this might be. I was in a moooood.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"You are so in for it tonight," your best friend spoke into your ear with a small laugh. "You look hot. Charles' palm will be twitching once he see's you."

It was funny. How irrational the both of you became when the mixture of alcohol and other people were involved. 

You and Charles were not a couple, and the mere thought of dating him was utterly inconceivable at most times. He exuded an air of insufferable arrogance that grated on your every nerve. His incessant self-assuredness and overconfidence were more than enough to drive you to the brink of frustration.

But, the sex. Oh boy, the sex. It was as if pushing each other’s buttons was your own secret form of foreplay.

Your outfit was minimal to say the least. An angel. The innocence of your appearance was almost complete, aside from the subtle hint of revealed skin that added a touch of allure. A tiny white dress graced your form, its delicate lace fabric clinging to your figure. Attached were a pair of feathered wings that extended from your back, imparting an air of ethereal elegance. Completing the ensemble, a fluffy white halo, nestled on your head by a dainty headband, bestowed an angelic aura to your attire.

It was an outfit that sent looks your way for sure. Looks that you didn’t care about. There was only one pair of eyes you truly wanted to capture. But you wouldn’t let it be known. There’s no fun in that, right?

Though the night was still relatively young, your friend’s apartment was already deemed a mess. Plastic red cups and glass bottles scattered across most surfaces. The ever-shifting multicolored lights transitioning from crimson to rich purples cast a unique and enchanting ambiance throughout the room. 

You felt your thighs press together as the mere memory of the rough fuck from a few weeks ago slips into your mind. It was a pestering memory that reminded you just how much his jealousy ate at him. You wanted it. You needed it. 

You could feel him before you saw him. The burning gaze of his eyes lingering on you as you leaned against a wall talking to another guy. A guy, whose name you don’t quite remember, was cute. His humor had you in stitches, keeping you fully engrossed in his presence. The music reverberating against the walls made it hard to hear, resulting in the need to stand closer to one another. From an outsider, his proximity appeared intimate. Almost too intimate for Charles to bare the sight of. 

You weren’t flirting at first. At least you weren’t until that memory popped into your head a few minutes ago. You were merely testing the waters, curious to gauge how long it would take for him to crack.

“Do you want another drink?” The guy, who might’ve been named Daniel, leaned in closer so you could hear him over the music. His lips nearly brushing against your ear as he raised his voice. 

That seemingly was the last straw. Because before you could even answer, you felt a presence slightly to the left behind you. There was no need to even turn your head; the identity was unmistakable. The firm grip of his hands on your waist, pulling your back to his front, left no doubt on who it was.

“I got it from here,” He was short with his words, so assertive. Leaving little to no room for Daniel, you think that’s his name, to argue. There was no space for Daniel, or whatever his name might be, to push back. You couldn’t see the expression Charles wore, but it must have been far from pleasant, judging by Daniel’s hasty retreat. 

You still hadn’t gotten the chance to look at him. Or his costume. He was already guiding you down the apartment hallway, weaving through the crowds of people, and pushed you into the nearest bathroom. You heard a quick sound of the lock on the door. Much like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom was decked out for the occasion. Instead of its typical white-yellow lighting, crimson hues filled the space, casting an eerie sensuous glow. 

“It seems I still have to remind you who you belong to,” his voice was a low sultry murmur as his lips grazed your ear, sending shivers down your spine. In front of the mirror by the sink, his towering figure dwarfed yours. Finally, your eyes locked with his in the reflection, the intensity of the moment palpable. 

The irony of his outfit threatened to draw an unintended moan from your lips. A devil – the symbolism was anything but planned, completely coincidental. It was as if some silent alarm was blaring, one that everyone else seemed to hear, except for the two of you who were right in the thick of it. The connection between you was undeniable, transcending mere physical attraction, and it was clear as day to all the observers. 

His hands were relentless, firmly gripping your ass and thighs until you were panting. His touch was so tantalizing that even the lightest brush of his fingers left you dripping and needy for more.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you lied through your teeth. Charles elicited a mockery of laughter, his lips brushing your skin, as he pressed you firmly against the cool granite countertop. Goosebumps arose on your skin from the contrasting temperatures. Your skin burned with an intense heat, in stark contrast of the cold granite countertops. 

“You were too busy acting like a fucking slut to notice.” He sneered as he lifted the ends of your dress above your waist, revealing that you had been bare underneath all along.

You smirked back at him through the mirror, “couldn’t have panty lines now, could I?” A sharp slap echoed off the walls of the tiny bathroom as his hand collided with the skin of your ass. You were soaked already. Full of anticipation. You both were so full of need; Charles couldn’t even wait to pull his pants all the way off. 

“Such a fucking tease,” were the last words he said before slamming his cock into your entrance. A yelp of surprise escaped your lips as a powerful and sudden thrust rocked through you, causing you to place your trembling hands on the countertop to steady yourself. 

“Oh my fucking god.”

“Fucking hell. You’re so fucking tight poupée,” Doll. He sounded like he was in pain. “Squeezing my cock like the whore you are.” His hands gripped your hair as his hips snapped at a rapid pace into you.

“Who’s got you so hot and bothered tonight? Hm?” He starts. It seems as if you just can’t shut the fuck up tonight though. 

“Daniel.” You mutter the words with a smirk on your lips. Testing his patience, pushing the boundaries to see just how far you could go, a playful and daring challenge in the heat of the moment. 

He offered no words back. Just another hard slap to your skin. You shrieked from the burn of the slap, no doubt leaving your skin red. 

You gazed into the mirror, determined to etch this exact moment into your memory. One hand fisted your hair tightly as he pulled it back, the other groping your breast harshly. He continued to roll your nipples between his thumb and middle finger, pinching them just how you liked. The shadows of your feathered wings were visibly shaking with each thrust. It was so fucking hot to see.

“God, do you ever just shut the fuck up?” He muttered between each thrust. If it wasn’t for the loud music in the background, the whole apartment would’ve heard you. The room smelt of sweat as he worked into you harder. You could see his skin start to glisten under the red hues in the mirror. It was so erotic; you almost came right then and there.

"We all know its only my cock you want."

Charles was on the brink of insanity from the way you squeezed around him. Just relentlessly pounding into you that your hips will no doubt have bruises on them from the bathroom countertop.

With an intense, forceful pull on your hair, he tugged you upright, your back arching as your head tilted back, allowing you to gaze up at him, your eyes locking almost instantly.

“Please,” you begged. You were so close. Your pussy was growing sensitive with each thrust.

“Open,” He was so assertive. You surrendered. He spat directly into your mouth, and you swallowed without hesitation. His arm moved around, and his hand settled on the front of your neck, much like a piece of intimate jewelry. He applied just the right amount of pressure, sending you over the edge. 

“Look at you, hm?” Charles edged you on through your orgasm. “Such a fucking slut for my spit.” 

“Yes.” You couldn’t even deny it. You literally were. He pressed your face back down into the sink as he moved in quick pulses. It was as if each pump of his cock was claiming you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You swore you blacked out. You barely acknowledged the feeling of him pulling out and spilling himself all over your backside, rubbing the tip of himself around your skin. His strength held you in place, leaving you panting against the cool of the granite. 

He quickly cleaned you up, pressing a light kiss to your ass before pulling your dress back down. He gave two small pats to your butt as you stood up and faced him.

His thumbs slowly pressed under your eyes, wiping the dried tears and smudged mascara from under them away. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered lightly as you leaned the full weight of your head in the palms of his hands.

You felt a tug on your heart as your stomach did somersaults. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be no strings. 

You were completely wiped out. Almost limp in his arms from being freshly fucked. 

“Wanna get out of here?” He zipped his pants back up while you tried to manage your hair back to a semi-decent look. 

“Yes.”

——————————

soooo what do you guys think? please feel free to leave requests!!! I love new ideas xoxo