#POKES MY FINGERS TOGETHER A LITTLE NERVOUSLY

[exlimix1a]

🌼✨ART VS THE ARTIST! ✨

[moechies]

giving older bsf toji a bj cs u dont have any money on u for gas 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

oh mi gosh. dis is absolutely so filthy ‘nd absolutely perfect for him . dis is how grimy he is in my mind.. (modern au where toji is RICH $$)

“toji.”

“hm, darling?” you look upon the questioning man sitting besides you, one strong hand that guides the steering wheel of your own car. he insisted to drive, and in what position would you say no? you’d never pass up an offer to be passenger princess.

“i-i forgot.”

“forgot what?”

“forgot money for gas, toji.”

“are ya dumb sweetheart? goin’ t’get gas n the one thing ya forgot is gas money?”

“‘m s-sorry toji, can you lend me? please? promise i won’t forget next time!”

he scoffs, knowing well that he would’ve paid nonetheless. but watching you nervously scramble yourself together, anticipating a response from him is too adorable, he thinks.

“yeah, but ya gotta pay me back.”

“course i will! gonna give it back as soon as we ge-“

“no sweetie. not with money.”

your head turns slow to the man, already shooting you a evil-intentioned smirk. his free hand comes down to scarce over the evident bulge that pokes through his sweats, indirectly instructing you.

“with your mouth, honey.”

he chuckles when your face flushes red, how unexpecting.

with over 3 years of close friendship, the man had assumed that you at least would’ve noticed; his stares that pierce into your skin, touches that linger a little too long, and the constant absence of your favorite panties. what a naive little thing you were; he loved it.

if you didn’t know his true intentions then, you’d definitely know now.

“c’mon, y’want me to fill it up right?”

“t-“

“the tank sweetie. the car. don’t you want gas?”

you huff when he chuckles at your flustered expression. your small fingers dance across his bulge, his own hand messily slipping under the band of his sweats, releasing himself. he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when you gasp, fawn like eyes that immediately shoot up to meet his gaze.

“s-so big..”

“mm, you think so?” he teases.

his hand slithers to the back of your head, fingers playing with one or two strands of your hair.

“c’mon, be good..”

he smiles at you coyly, desperate even, and it makes your heart and your cunt clench.

with slight pressure from the man’s hand, you find yourself lowering onto the tip of his cock. your puffy lips press against the warm slit, an immediate groan that spills from his lips,

“no action recently?” you tease, facing him with a slight smile,

“shaddup princess. yer lucky you’re cute.”

you snicker, separating your slicked up lips to wrap around the thick of his cock head. your tongue presses against the slit once again, tasting the sweet substance that coats his dewy slit; more that spews from the teasing licks.

“don’t t-tease.”

you hold yourself further onto his cock to accommodate his length, a light gag that elicits from your throat. tears brim in your eyes when you feel your jaw begin to ache, but the needy man pays no mind when he begins thrusting into your warmth.

oh and when he feels a warm tear fall onto the skin of his thigh, he nearly cums.

“heh.. there you go, see? ya can do it.”

you hum around him, the light sensation that drills right through his sensitive cock.

“g-gunna cum. shit.”

and with a few shallow thrusts, his cum brims. it’s warm, and thick, but you swallow without a second thought. you pull yourself off to meet your eyes with his, vision daisy and face fumed with a sweet blush once again.

“hah.. gonna have to fill you up, darling. we’ll worry about the car later, kay?”

[redeyerhaenyra]

Divine Hammer

Summary: You bring up something new to Simon. He's more enthusiastic than you expected.

Warnings: What else but smut, HEAVY UK slang usage (me and si come from the same area of England our slang is v similar) Simon slaps reader once, fem reader, oral(f), fingering in BOTH holes, pussy juice as lube, anal duh, simons fat cock, sprinkling of a size kink, mean Simon, kitchen sex mmm, no beta we die like soap (sorry), lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: Listen the taboo of anal just gets me going alright , also this has been in my drafts since JAN 9TH help

Wc: 2.5k

Simon's stare was unnerving. Well, it was always unnerving, to a degree. But he found ways to utilise it. Deadpan humour, emphasising points of conversation, scaring away would-be hookups from you in the pub. But here, it was unnerving in a whole other way.

It felt… intrusive.

Simon stared at you like he could see through your clothes, your body, into your mind to expose your deepest darkest fantasies. You squirmed under his penetrating gaze, tugging at the hem of your jumper.

After a little while of silence, you shook your head, scoffing at yourself;

“-No, nevermind um.. I'm.. s-sorry that was weird-” “Didn’ say tha’ ”

You gulped, gaze nervously fixed to the floor. Simon was still. Staring. At you. Never before had you felt so exposed, too embarrassed and, if you were honest, a little scared to look at your boyfriend face-on.

“Was just wonderin’ since when my bird was such a slag.”

His baritone words rolled down your spine, sending sparks of a deep, taboo satisfaction through you. You whimpered, and hid your face in your hands.

“Don’ act like a prude love, we both heard what you wanted just now.” “I shouldn't have said anythinnnggg-”

Conceptually, anal had… a certain taboo charm to it. From your perspective at least. Sure, it wasn't technically the “right” hole… it wouldn't feel the same, but the idea had always fascinated you.. intruded your shadowed thoughts at night with your fingers rubbing your clit and edging nervously to an opening further on than your cunt.

So, gently, you'd broached the topic one time you were both in the kitchen together- thinking, in hindsight foolishly, that it'd be something he'd instantly dismiss, or at least… talk about later. In the bedroom. Not in the middle of the kitchen… but now here you stood, in the hole you'd dug for yourself;

“On the contrary, I'm relieved you've finally admitted it to yourself.” His footsteps were heavy against the floorboards as he approached you. Confused, you peeked out of the gaps between your fingers to look at him;

“W-what?” “Don't be fuckin’ coy w'me love.” Simon towered over you, cadging you next to the kitchen side.

“Always suspected there was some depraved shit up here, yeah?” He poked your temple with his index finger, “Turns out my intuitions were correct then?”

“T-thats not-” “Oh yes it is sweet’art.” Simon's eyes grew more intense by the second, even more than before- you struggled to even picture them in your mind for fear of his retribution.

“Ay- fuckin’ look at me when I'm talking to ya.”

He could have been a lot harsher with the small smack he delivered to your cheek, but that knowledge did nothing to dull the pain, and your eyes watered a little at the sensation. He grabbed your cheeks between his fingers, squishing them till you pouted and shaking your head lightly, as if to keep hold of your attention.

As if you could look anywhere else…

Forced to return his ferocious gaze, you crumbled, knees bucking like a fawn under you- Simon grabbed you and roughly hauled you back up, manhandling you to bend over the kitchen counter. You allowed him to, biting your lip in an attempt to muffle your unintentional sounds of appreciation.

It earned you a harsh smack to your rear, and Simon's big paw of a hand tugging your hair. He leaned over you, “ ‘M not ‘avin any of tha’ yeah? You're not gonna be hidin’ how much of a slut you are from me anymore sweet'art.”

The juxtaposition of his words and the way he sweetly kissed your temple after he said them was almost comical. The grip on your hair disappeared, replaced with firm and consistent pulling at your clothes until you shuffled out of them- Simon wasted no time running his warm hands up and down your body, rumbling out various admirations of your physical form.

He slunk down your body, nipping and pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down your back, and then to each of your cheeks, all the way down to your pussy. Earlier on, when you'd ridden yourself of your panties, Simon had laughed at how wet they were. “Already?” He'd asked, “Y'that turned on already? Whore. Like a bitch in heat f'me, ey?”

He had no further comments to mock you with, not now at least. He was busy approving of the view of your wet cunt in front of him- out of the corner of your eye you spied him nodding to himself as if he were appraising fine art.

You huffed, a little impatient, petulant you wiggled your bum at him- only all you got from him was another spank.

“Be patient.” He said curtly.

You whined, but otherwise did as you were told, meekly resigned to your fate as Simon's personal eye candy.

“Why ya’ into it then?” You made a noise of confusion, Simon huffed.

“This.”

One of hands had moved to idly grope and squish your bottom while he'd been down there, and now his thumb creeped ever so slowly over to press on your rim. You keened- suddenly understanding what he meant.

“Well?” His thumb pressed in deeper, you gasped- “I-i don't know!” “Hmmm…”

You could tell from his tone he didn't quite believe you. He kissed your cheek again.

“I'm sure I'll find out.”

With that said, his thumb remained almost gently rubbing at your hole, his free hand moving to pull his balaclava up over his nose- wasting no time in burying himself in your cunt. He sighed contentedly at the taste, smell, feel of you, lazily lapping at your cunny with his broad tongue. His thumb still rubbing you in slow circles, almost.. in a comforting manner.

There was no one more intimidating than Simon- at least out of all the people you've ever met, and yet here he was, eating your pussy like it was a home cooked, three-course meal. You looked over your shoulder, and bit your lip; The visual of big bad Simon Riley on his knees for you, make you shiver and clench.

Simon seemed to be secretly a telepath however, as the way he suddenly roughly pinched your clit between his index finger and thumb- tugging on it cruelly, came off as a punishment. You whined loudly, panting into the counter, drooling a little. Vaguely, you could hear Simon humming thoughtfully to himself. He released his hold on your poor clit, though quickly replaced it by rubbing small, soothing circles on it instead.

It quite quickly becomes a lot more intense, Simon grunting in approval as he plunges his thick tongue into your cunt. Your breathing is staggered, coming out in short, little huffs- you reach behind you to tug at Simon's head, shoving him closer. Again, he groans in appreciation, eagerly nuzzling between your thighs closer, the rhythm of his tongue and fingers rubbing at your clit increased a hundredfold;

Like lighting, your orgasm crashed through you, the noises that left your pussy- wet, squelching, the drip of your juices against the floor, should surely have had you feeling at least some shame, but no. You were too twitchy, too fucked stupid on Simon's tongue to care.

With much reluctantance, Simon hauled himself off of your puffy pussy. He'd gladly stay nestled between your kegs for the rest of him life, at least from further away, he could admire his work.

At this point, you thought perhaps he'd finally get to the meat of what you'd suggested.. Simon wasn't finished yet though- two of his deliciously thick fingers were swiftly shoved into your sopping pussy.

You cried out at the sudden penetration, shivering and trembling.

“What? ..silly cow.” Simon told you gruffly, somewhat annoyed that you'd dare disturb his probing at your cunt with your exclamation of surprise. You whined at his degradation, but were still coherent enough to recognise the underlying affection in his tone. Huffing, you leaned forward to lay your torso fully on the cold, sideboard. The cool temperature of the marble was sharp and sudden, but soon soft and gentle to your hot body, palliative to your hard, puffed up nipples.

He lazily pumped his fingers inside you for a few moments, before curling his fingers forward, dragging against that spongey spot deep within you, and eased his fingers out of you.

You were left huffing and panting like an animal into the counter- Simon had cupped his two fingers- the ones that was just inside of you- just under your clit.. then abruptly he slid them upwards, slowly, pressing down hard.

You squeaked, struggling not to quiver too hard. Simon's fingers kept creeping up and up and up, gliding firmly over your cunny, finally halting at your rim. The hot, wet sensation of Simon rubbing your own slick into your hole as lube had you trembling.

“How's tha?” You heard Simon mumble from behind you, his accent had gotten a little thicker. It always got thicker when he was “in the zone”.

“Oh.. uh..” Seemingly irked by your lack of response, your boyfriend slapped your clit harshly with the back of his hand.

“G-good!! It's good! Good!!” You choked, and whined again when you heard Simon chuckle lowly at you. He tapped his fingers twice on your hole- you nodded shyly at him;

Simon hummed, cautiously easing one of his broad fingers covered in your slick into your ass. The noise of utter debauched pleasure you let escape your throat was nothing compared to Simon's groan-

“Oh fuck that's tight..”

God it was, you felt how hard your greedy hole swallowed up his thick finger. You huffed and puffed- vainly attempting to breath consitently, but your body was too sensitive, muscles pulled too rigid inside you to keep your thoughts on one thing alone.

Simon was your rock, somewhere in the thousands of feelings inside you, was a certainty that he was holding back. Taking it slow, just for you.

You felt the hazey cloud of sex overwhelm you, rendering you more or less unable to speak, only babble incoherently into the counter, your pretty eyes filled with tears as Simon took his sweet, sweet time opening you up.

By comparison to how rough the pads of his digits were, they were remarkably soft with you, even as Simon squeezed one more of his fingers in you. You coughed and hiccups at the fullness of it.

“Tha's it.. good girl.. cmon.. open up luv.. there we go..”

You head him whisper, and you moaned impatiently. You wanted to politely express your readiness for his dick, but all the you were able to whine out was “C-cock-!”

Simon laughed, which was always a nice, comforting rumble. “I know sweet'art, gotta get you a little looser f'me first yeah?”

Even as you keened and begged, Simon would not budge. Occasionally, if he was feeling particularly mean in that moment, he'd flick your poor clit harshly, you'd squeal and twitch. This continued for a while, and by the time he deemed you “ready” you might have passed out, the electric fizzles of pleasure that sizzled between your legs kept you awake.

Simon could tell you were tired, he was gentle with the way he slipped his hand under you tummy to push your bum in the air, and tender with how he cradled your hip. Your clit was kindly soothed with slow, small circles rubbed in by his middle finger.

You sobbed into the side- “cock…” you babbled, sniffing and feeling sorry for yourself. You felt a kiss to the base of your neck;

“Mmmm.. I know baby, I know, m' so mean aren't I?”

Vaguely, you heard yourself murmuring in agreement. The metallic sound of Simon's belt loosening and then his zipper coming down had warm excitement flutter over your body.

You felt the heat of his dick before it even touched you, whimpering when it finally did. Simon rubbed his thick cock up and down the apex of your thighs, right up to hole and then back down to your clit. When you would whine at him, he'd hum right back.

God, he was so much bigger than you. He leant over you and covered your entire body with his bulk. You felt him throb at your rim. A kiss was levied at your neck- “Y’ready?” He asked, voice low, and you babbled back something that sounded like impatience. Simon chuckled and kissed your neck again, bracing one strong arm against the counter next to you.

All of a sudden he was inside you, not all the way but he was inside you and that's all you could think about. You gasped, inadvertently holding your breath and then once more remembering to breathe. Simon had stayed silent throughout this.. you reached backwards for him with one hand;

“Si?” “Y-yeah, yeah m’here, g’ve us a minute love-”

His voice came out ragged and shaky, and from the sounds of it he was doing the same forgetting-to-breath thing you were.

You both needed occasionally little breaks from him sliding his cock inside you this time, either of you would cum too quickly. But soon, all of him was pressed snugly inside you. You drooled on the counter and Simon's head had dropped to rest on your back, taking slow, steady breaths, grounding himself.

The both of you stayed like this for a while. It was almost peaceful. Soft. Till Simon decided he was fine to move and dragged his dick alllllllll the way back out and then in again in one thrust. It left you choked for breath, Simon too, he was more vocal this time than any other time you'd fucked.

Neither of you lasted long, specially not after your boyfriend had clasped his big paw of a hand under your leg, and lifted it up onto the counter next to you, an entirely new and more intimate angle. You were cumming before you even realised Simon had crept his hand down to pinch your clit. He was so mean about it too- that same hand then came up to shove to of his fingers into your mouth, creating a spit-slicked mess. And when he came it was an event:

He threw his head back and moaned more desperately than you'd ever heard from him before. The rhythmic squelch that narrated your encounter kept going even after he'd cum, if anything it was louder now. His and your cum dripping down out of you and puddling on the floor beneath you. Still, meekly, Simon kept thrusting into you, as if the orgasm was too good to end. Though finally it did, Simon's weight all but collapsing ontop of you.

You stayed like that for a while, still connected. Basking in your respective afterglows. Simon kissed your neck again and you croaked out a satisfied noise;

“Fun..” The man behind you laughed, “Yeah fun was it? Just fun eh? Just fun~?” Cruelly he reached under you to tickle your sides- you squealed; “More than f-fun!!” and that seemed to sate him, releasing you.

“Yeah, s’what I thought…..” He drummed his fingers on the counter..

“Bath?” “bath….”

[6okuto]

WEDDING MOMENTS

gn!reader | kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, hinata, atsumu, osamu, ushijima

hello everyone i'm back 🫶 these are more reception moments than wedding but y'know. give me a break man...

KUROO leans in and whispers in your ear as you dance, “is it bad i want to go home and just lie in bed with you now?” “why are you whispering as if someone can hear you?” you snicker back. tetsurou shoots you a cheeky smile. “so it looks like i’m saying something romantic.” you hit his shoulder, and he only laughs before pulling you into a tight hug. you wait for him to let go before replying. “idiot. but no, it isn’t. my back and feet hurt.” he hums, and you can feel his fingers tapping your back. “do you think it’s possible for newly weds to sneak out of their own wedding reception?”

BOKUTO is walking down the aisle again as everyone disperses to talk or get ready for the reception. you walk up to him, curiosity piqued as he bends down. “what are you doing?” “huh?” he drops a few petals that he was clutching. “crap—hi, baby. i’m just, uh, picking up some of the flowers to take with us. i saw someone do it online, and i thought we could press them or put them somewhere,” he explains softly, as if a little embarrassed. your heart flutters at the thought, and you smile before reaching down yourself. “we better get some flowers, then. and a ziploc bag or something.”

AKAASHI relaxes and rests his head against yours while you watch your guests mingling and dancing. you reach for his hand and intertwine fingers. “you okay?” he nods in response and presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. “yeah, i can finally calm down and not worry about something terrible happening.” “mm, something terrible could still happen.” “love of my life, can you please give your husband a break?” keiji blows air against your skin, eliciting a laugh from you. his tone is light, and you can feel him smiling even while you apologize.

HINATA takes one of the polaroid cameras that you got for the guests. you watch as he poses and takes a picture of himself before handing it to you. “do you want me to take a selfie?” he nods with a grin. “yeah! and also sign it so i can put it in my wallet, or maybe the back of my phone?” his sentence ends as a question to himself. you get your phone so you can check your appearance before mimicking your now husband’s pose. “sho, i swear if mine is bad i want a redo,” you say. he sputters as he looks at his forming photo. “well that’s good because i definitely screwed mine up. i’m like half in the frame.”

ATSUMU’s knee bounces as the video of your relationship the both of you got done nears its end. you shoot him a look, but he doesn’t seem to notice, gaze fixed on the scene. that’s when you hear a familiar voice, but unfamiliar clip start to play. “it’s, fuck, what day is it? november 13, and i’m pretty sure i need t’look for an engagement ring,” your now husband says into the camera. you gape, shock evident across your face. atsumu’s voice is soft as he says your name. “i love you, really. and if you’re seeing this then i didn’t fuck this up, and you decided to marry me, and i’m probably ‘bout to have a heart attack,” he nervously laughs. you turn to atsumu next to you, whose face is flushed red. “don’t look at me, the video isn’t done yet.”

OSAMU keeps holding your hand, and if he isn’t holding it he’s probably thinking of doing so. you don’t mind, finding comfort in the way he rubs the back of it. you’re sitting together when he silently reaches for it again. “i’m pretty sure you’ve held my hand more today than this entire week.” osamu rolls his eyes but smiles. you stare as he gently takes hold of your ring and fidgets with it. “sorry, can’t stop thinkin’ about how we’re actually married now.” you stare at each other, and he rests his chin in his palm. with his other hand, he brings yours up to press gentle kisses against the ring and your skin. “just another excuse to stay close t’you.”

USHIJIMA looks over when you poke his shoulder, and quickly realizes you’re trying to feed him some cake. “say ahh,” you sing song. it’s a half-joke, and you don’t fully expect him to accept, but he leans forward and opens his mouth, hand underneath the fork to catch any crumbs. despite his serious expression and stature, you can't help but think he looks cute. “i know we picked this flavour, but does it taste good?” you ask. wakatoshi nods. “it was a good choice.” he gets a forkful for who you assume is himself. but instead he lifts it toward you. “do you want to try now?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist

[anantaru]

— taking care of his wounds

including xiao, scaramouche, diluc, childe x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & angst, crack, mentions of blood, sweet n cute

— xiao

"you do not have to do this."

"but i want to!"

deep down inside, it was imperatively embarrassing for xiao to have you mend his wounds and scratches— especially considering the fact that you were seeing him this way for once, a shelter of vulnerability and weakness, as he always seem to put it.

a good for nothing who cannot even be strong enough to defend himself, let alone the person he fell in love with.

keep in mind, you were very much aware of your boyfriend and his cruel views on himself, precisely the hurting words chosen by him, which he would insult himself with on a daily basis.

as punishment? one can only guess or say that much, but there was a translucent underlining that only a handful of people were able to take a grasp on.

"and you‘re my boyfriend xiao." that happiness in your voice, he couldn't get enough of it. but you always add the right words into the mix, catching a bolstering blush on xiao‘s handsome face the sweet moment he picks up your chosen name for him.

'boyfriend' was he worthy of such a name? he shivered, it took all his self control to not run off from this vulnerable moment.

"i‘m also worried." and you sigh so sweetly against him, melting your skilled fingers into his flesh and filling all the cold emptiness within his heart. "i don't want you to worry." his voice almost breaks in midst his sentencing but it's low, his words mumbled, "you could find someone better than me."

it's a graven fear the man held for what felt like an eternity. to see you leave one day due to his weaknesses.

because every time he experiences you taking care of him, yes, xiao does turn embarrassed— his eyes twinkling open wild, but he feels that static, as if he could actually reach the heavens behind the sky.

he suddenly hisses when you began to wrap a small cloth around a bigger wound on his hand, sneakily sealing your lips over his roughened up knuckles to kiss each and every one of them.

"there will never be someone better than you, xiao."

— scaramouche

"how childish."

scaramouche's face was mounted in a discomforting tinge while he gazed at the cute, little, not to mention pink, band aids covering the majority of his face and chest. "shut up."

you shake your head, laughing at your boyfriend's bright, assessing eyes while he hopelessly attempted to wholly conceal the agonizing pain bound within his facial features, keeping them in check with a hard look, brows criss crossed and squeezed together, "you're using too many of those."

"i wouldn't have to if there weren't that many scratches all over you."

but above and beyond, there it was; a crucial, meaningful expression that sneakily slipped past his own eyes— your current state, when you lock away the smallest amount of warm tears glinting nervously, finishing it with a soft smile, not wanting to make scaramouche feel even worse.

what confused you, and, frankly, scared you in the first place was the severe rarity of this situation— it was uncommon for him to get this beat up, this littered up with scratches and bumps, you can still remember the mere seconds earlier, when he showed up in front of your door step— dirty clothes ruptured and ripped, his bottom lip popped open and blood sliding down his chin, eyes low lidded, barely any life behind them.

by all means, scaramouche was doing better now, with the help of you and your quick responses doing wonders. needless to say did he too, catch a glimpse of your distress when you suddenly had stopped mending his wounds.

"hey." he pokes your left cheek, once, twice— "hey," and his comforting, warm voice ever so softly slips past your ears.

"i'll be okay, besides, i will take it as an insult if you think that is enough to end me."

and judging by the hitch of your breath, scaramouche felt a rambling burn deep inside, at nothing but that distraught look on your person. He opens his eyes wide, steady as glass, before sloping his head towards you, a faint, transient smile lightening his bruised face when you lean in to kiss his lips, tenderly, but compelling enough to lift the worry off your shoulders.

— diluc

patience— and the adequate plenitude of pressure were the very two notions you had channeled tonight, with your trembling hands slowly dapping the blood off diluc‘s injuries.

you truly cannot remember the last time he had shown any signs of recklessness in his usual behavior when it came to fending of intruders, so whatever must‘ve happened today had to be of graven importance or a powerful enemy catching him off guard.

"thank you." he suddenly speaks, but averts his eyes, and although his voice was raspy and chill, diluc managed to quickly snap you out of your stinging thoughts. you move to his face, tilting his chin up to catch an ideal view on the main bruises around his left cheek, allowing you to tackle those as well, "for doing this i mean."

at his words, you stop your hand, smiling serenely, almost angelic.

"you don't have to thank me for this."

"—but, do you want to tell me about what happened?"

diluc's face twitches when you retorted back to brush a splotch of dried blood from his jaw— you noticed how his lip was busted open, this thought again, of someone hurting the love of your life, it compared to sharp needles jabbing at your skin, over and over until drilled in its entirety.

but he didn't, diluc would never tell you about anything dangerous, not even when he showed up to your home, looking like that. "i rather not." there it was, that brave smile he'd manage to put on whenever he found himself in a situation like that, regardless, worry gnawed away at you, your gaze piercing through him like a freezing blast of ice.

"yet worry not." all of his attention was on you as he slants close to take your cheeks in his roughened palms, feeling them shake against your skin awakened a murky, dull feeling where you wanted to just cry in his arms, "i'd never let someone hurt you."

sigh, deep down, you wonder if diluc will ever comprehend that seeing him like that was already hurting you, was already pulling the hot air off your seized throat and clenching your heart with dread, feeling as if you could not breathe.

instead, you smile kindly at him, foreheads resting against each other, overcome by a dark sense of silence.

— childe

"hah! you should see the other guy!"

excessive boasting upon boasting, your sweet childe was out here acting like he had just experienced the best day in his entire life— a certain smile, brighter than ever witnessed before, if it wasn‘t for his black eye and bloody nose breaking the illusion he attempted to portray.

however, in contrast, childe found it exceedingly cute and appealing whenever you were severely worried and concerned about him— as is someone was ever able to greatly harm nor scratch the overenthusiastic harbinger. "you really shouldn‘t be this reckless sometimes."

you sigh deeply, then shake your head, mending the bigger wounds with a wet cloth first so they were clean and ready to be wrapped up.

but, important side note, you being brightly concerned for him made his heart flutter unexpectedly and childe suddenly expels a large wave of pride, "but you love it when i'm reckless."

"i do not."

"you don't?!" his smirk fades.

"i want you to be save." you kiss the corner of his mouth, and a vast deal of weariness sweeps over you, claiming your energy with it when you remember that this wasn't possible.

ajax was a harbinger after all.

his voice, now thick of seriousness, greets you closely, "don't worry about me." he speaks so idly, listlessly and without a care in the world, as if he doesn't care about his own wellbeing. and it left a bitterness littering on the tip of your tongue.

"because as long as you have everything in your life, i too will be fulfilled." with that, childe kisses you, all around passionate, needful and telling. on the assumption that he longed to show you his determination to protect you in a different way than solely using his own choice of words.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[xsublimelimex]

Playing Mermaids

CW: Diaper play (including messing) & breastfeeding kink

Disclaimer: all characters depicted in this story are consenting adults over the age of 18. If you are NOT 18 or older, click away now!

“Mommy mommy mommy!!!” shouts my sweet little girlfriend as she runs into the kitchen slamming into me. “Woah woah woah baby” I clutch her biceps so she doesn’t fall over. Unfazed her bouncing doesn’t stop her tiny tits bouncing in her thin crop top, her nipples poking out from the chill of the AC in the house.

“Mommy I was just watching mermaids on the tv and they looked like they were having so much fun swimming around and mommy please I really really wanna go swimming in the pool now please mommy please!!!” she quite literally begs with her hands clutched in front of her giving me puppy dog eyes. I raise and eyebrow, “Now sweetheart before I answer your request, I need you to think back and tell mommy what you did wrong.”

She pauses her bouncing and scrunches her eyebrows together thinking. “Uhhh I dunno mommy, because I was running…?” She questions her high pitched excited voice lowering as she realizes her mistake. She looks down and twists her fingers together nervously before looking back up at me with her lip pouted and her lashes fluttering.

“Yes exactly, does mommy allow you to run in the house like you just did?” I question in my best stern mommy voice, one I usually don’t need to use. She lowers her eyes again and shakes her head.

I lift her chin up and she looks at me with her beautiful bright eyes. “The answer is no I do not because it’s dangerous and you could have hurt yourself or even knocked mommy over. Now what do you have to say for yourself?” I ask her moving my hands to my hips. She slips her thumb in her mouth to self soothe and mumbles around it. “I sowwy mama I pwomise nu running in da house for me eva again!” Her little lisp with her thumb in her mouth is just so fucking cute it’s hard to not just grab her and cuddle.

I soothe my finger down her rosy cheek and lean down and press a light kiss on her forehead. “Good girl. That’s what I like to hear, now hurry you little butt to the bedroom so I can change you into your swim diapie.” A big smile overcomes her face and she bounces. “Yay yay yay you’re the best mommy ever thank you thank you!” She exclaims, I slap her diapered butt and usher her out the kitchen. She speed walks ahead of me up the stairs and to our bedroom.

I step into the room and find her already spread out on the floor with the changing mat underneath her. Her legs are spread Eagle and she’s sucking on her thumb quietly. “Aw Baby you look so scrumptious.” I coo as I bend down and give her sweet chubby face kisses. She giggles and her free hand clutches my arm.

“Give me one second sweetie.” I stand and pull out what I’ll need to change her and sit back down between her spread legs. Wordlessly I pull off her crop top and her small tits spring to view, I also pull down her shorts. Now she lays just in her full diaper. “Alright baby let’s get you into your swim diaper and your swim top. But first let’s clean your little booty, is there a poopy in there sweetie pie?” I question as I rub the top of her diaper eliciting a moan from her. “I dunno mommy I no thinks so.” She mumbles around her thumb. I slide my hand down and squish her diaper. “Hmmm I guess mommy will just have to be surprised.” I say teasing her even though I smelt her stinky butt before I even entered the room.

I prep the wipes before I start pulling back the tabs of her diaper as she watches me intently. I pull her diaper down and surprisingly all I find is a piss soaked diaper. Her soft little chubby cock nestled so cutely against her balls glistening from her piss. “Oh sweetheart, are you having trouble making pushies?” I question as I rub her soft thigh. I guess that smell was her farts, poor baby girl.

She blushes and nods. “That’s okay baby no need to be shy mommy will help don’t you worry.” I coo and tickle her tummy. She giggles and wiggles around, “mommy swimming!!!”

“Okay okay I hear ya!” I joke and wipe her pretty cock clean with a baby wipe and her bum. “One second sweetie mommy just has to do one little think before I put in your swim diaper.” I get up and grab the glycerin suppository and a bit of lube and bend back down between her spread thighs. I spread the lube onto the supportutory and with my other hand I spread her cheeks to get a good look at her pink hole and she squeezes it shut just as I go to push it in. “No mommy I no wan it.” She wiggles and whines. I lock eyes with her and give her my best mommy stare. “Honey you need this you haven’t went poopy in two days now sit still and relax your little hole for mommy.” I tell her in a sharp no nonsense tone. She quiets and stopes wiggling. She spreads her legs again and suckles her thumb. I spread her cheeks again and look at her now relaxed hole. “Such a good girl I love how you listen to mommy. There we go there we go.” I say as I push the suppository into her small hole. She grunts as it slips in “ah” and I rub her thighs. “See it wasn’t scary at all now was it?” I question and she shakes her head.

“Now let’s get you into your swim diapie.” I grab the swim diaper and put her feet through the holes and slide it up her legs.“Lift your butt for mommy.” She lifts her butt and I get it over her cock and butt. She shifts around and reaches and pushes down on the front of the diaper. “Is the princesses cock not in the right position?” I question and without her answering I slip my hand in and move her cock into a more comfortable position but before I can slip my hand out she begins to piss into my palm. “Oh baby you’re going potty in mommy’s hand!” I explain and press down on her little piss hole. “I sowwy mommy I couldn’t hold it.” She says in embarrassment covering her pink cheeks with her hands. “It’s okay honey I know you can’t control your bladder, you’re mommy’s little girl after all!” I attempt to calm her, I don’t love my hand from her diaper because I don’t want her to think her little accident upset me. Slowly I rub the tip of her cock as she pisses and she moans “mommy”.

“There we go sweetie, such a good girl pissing your diaper. Next mommy is gonna need you to make pushies okay?” I tell her.

“Okay mama I try make pushies!” She tells me in a serious tone or what she thinks is a serious tone. I can’t help but smile, “good girl.” I pull my hand out and it’s soaked in her urine. “Mommy will be right back sweetie I just need to wash my hands.” I tell her as I head to the bathroom attached to our bedroom. I come back and she’s still in position rubbing the front of her diaper with her eyes closed.

“Uh oh is mommy’s good girl being bad?” I question with my hands on my hips. She quickly pulls her hand away, “sorry mommy my princesses parts were tingling.” She covers her face in shame.

“Don’t be embarrassed sweetie but I better not see you touch that little cock without mommy’s permission again. You hear me?” I bend down and help her slip on her swim tank top. “Yes mommy.”

~~~

I’m laying on the day bed with my back propped up sipping a lemonade with my book watching as my sweet girl splashes around and swims like how she thinks a mermaid swims like. She’s quite possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Soon I’m gonna have to reapply her sunscreen, I don’t want her soft skin getting burnt.

She swims to the stairs and clutches her tummy. “Mommy I no feel good. My tummy really hurts.” Seems the suppository finally started to do its job. “Come to mommy baby I’ll help.” I call her over and she walks to me with her back bent and her arms clutching her stomach. I grab her arm and cradle her in my arms. Her wet body soaking my bikini. I brush her hair from her face as she moans in pain. “Shh it’s okay baby mommy is here now, I want you to take a deep breathe for me.” She breathes deeply, “Good girl, now i want you to make pushies.” She nods against my chest and scrunches her forehead.

I slip my hand down to her tummy and push just as she pushes. She moans in relief as she fills her diaper with her poop. “There we go such a Good Girl messing your diaper in mommy’s lap.” She grunts out as she keeps pushing and filling her diaper. “Ah mommy it’s so warm I can’t stop making poopy it keeps coming out.” I stroke her face and kiss her lips.

“It’s okay baby let it all out mommy will clean your stinky little butt up once you’re all finished.” I coo and she nods against my heavy breast and pulls my bikini top down my big double DD tit falling out. My nipple is already hard and leaking milk. “You want mommy milk baby?” I question quietly. She nods and whines opening her mouth and drool leaks out. “Shh it’s okay here you go sweet girl.” I slip my nipple into her mouth and she matches in right away sucking hard. I hold the back of her head just as my eyes shut in ecstasy.

Oh fuck that feels so good. I slip my hand between her legs and her little cock is pushing the soaking wet diaper out and I brush over it briefly eliciting a moan before I slide my hand against wet bottom. I press down and squish her diaper smearing her mess against her and she pushes her butt back against my hand liking the feel. I pat her bum and and move my hand back up and rub her chubby cock through the diaper. She moans in pushes against my hand searching for more. “You can come whenever you want baby.” She moans and nods suckling harder.

I need to see her little tits. I push her top up with my other hand that’s around her and her tiny tits spring to view. “So perfect baby I love those tits, only for mommy’s eyes to see.” She pulls my other tit out and plays with my nipple rolling it in between her fingers. I moan and rub her cock faster. She clamps her thighs closed and rides my hand. My nipple slips from her mouth and she moans as milk dribbles out across her chin. “Oh yes mommy yes I’m making cummies in my messy diaper.” Fuck she’s so sexy.

“Good Girl cum for mommy.” I praise her and slip my nipple back into her gaping mouth. “Now keep suckling on mommy’s tits.” She moans and licks my nipple before her rhythmic suckling resumes.

[shibaraki]

TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: todoroki shouto is the ideal roommate. he is tidy, quiet, considerate, and one of your dearest friends. you almost wished he were a tactless slob. it would certainly make navigating your feelings for him easier.

tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, pro hero shouto, quirk support engineer reader, living together (and they were roommates!), mutual pining, fluff, alcohol, other character interactions, domesticity, jealous shouto, a little angst, minor oc, love confessions, making out + frottage

wc: 14K+

a/n: I wrote a little bonus sequel for this au about their first date which you can read here !! [+4K]

Shouto’s home strikes a dissonant note with you.

You’re a statuesque centrepiece in his living room, staring out his tall standing windows, paneled wall to wall and making for a beautiful view of the city. There’s a soft shine to it, iridescent from corner to corner. A privacy film to block any view into the apartment from the outside, you’re guessing.

Despite your closeness you’ve never had reason to visit until now. There’s far too much space for one man, you think. Jarringly, it’s as if you’ve stepped into a studio display. A picture perfect bachelor pad— but really, what bachelor pad needed three family sized bedrooms?

It feels awfully lonely.

Shouto heaves the last of your boxes onto the kitchen island with ease. The muscles in his arms flex under his loose shirt, fabric briefly tightening. Unfair, you think. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Back straightening, you watch Shouto roll back his shoulder and rub at the joint. The movement causes the hem to lift and flash a pale swath of skin, his shorts hung low on his hips. The weight in your arms is somehow heavier with his eyes turned onto you.

“You can set it down,” he says, his tone full of warm mirth. The disbelief must be written plain on your face. Your fingers tighten on the corners as he walks over. Tilting his head, the red strands that have been haphazardly pushed back into white slip over his forehead. You watch his gaze dart over the label scribbled onto the card that reads ‘toiletries’.

“I know. I’m just…” your jaw shifts and you swallow, a frown etched into your brow. “I don’t know. Got a little lost in my thoughts”.

“Feel free to change whatever you like,” his mouth curls into a small smile, scar wrinkling by his eye. You are taken by just how happy he looks to have you here. Shouto seemed the type to appreciate his own space. “I want you to be comfortable”.

“Whatever I like?” you echo teasingly, shucking the box up in your embrace and bumping his shoulder. “Famous last words. Maybe I’ll decide to renovate your other guest room into a mini workshop”.

Shouto exhales a quiet laugh. The air around him is displaced by an ephemeral wave of heat that seeps through your sweater; it cools back to room temperature as quick as it came.

“I wouldn’t oppose it,” he says, and your breath catches. Reaching to poke at the box, he adds, “Do you want me to help you unpack?”

You begin to shake your head. “No, no. I can do all that, don’t worry,” you demurred nervously.

“It wouldn’t be a problem”.

Memories of all the things you managed to salvage in the wreck flicker across your mind's eye. Mugs and plates, a few clothes, oil stained tools and various other inappropriate things you’d rather die than have him accidentally discover.

But he’s staring at you like a restless puppy. You relent, “Maybe you can put away the kitchen stuff then”.

After Shouto retreats you are left adrift to navigate the narrow corridors. The room he directs you to has the biggest guest bed and it shares a wall with his own room. You shuffle in, processing your surroundings. Your linens are freshly washed, tucked in tight at the corners, and they smell like him.

You lower another box on top of the bed and sit by the headboard. The mattress yields. Admittedly it is much more comfortable than your old bed used to be. Soft, you sink into a foamy embrace, smoothing a hand over the matching pillowcases, then reaching up to the shared accent wall.

Reality has hardly set in for you yet. It’s been four days since you lost your home, most of your earthly possessions along with it, and the life you had spent years building. The villain that managed to frisbee a car through your living room had been apprehended but not before destroying half the city block.

Shouto immediately volunteered his own place. You have been close friends for years now, having met during your second year at UA as a support course student. You’d worked with Yaomomo on redesigning her costume for your portfolio and managed to worm your way into their quaint friend group.

Your initial crush on him all that time ago burgeoned into something you’re too anxious to put a name to. When he first suggested you live with him while the city fixed everything you’d wanted to refuse. So far lack of proximity has been your only saving grace.

But you really had nowhere else suitable to stay. A hotel would be too costly in the long run. Your other friends are scattered across different prefectures and those who are in the city are too far from work.

Shouto practically sparkled when you agreed, plucked right out of a shoujo manga.

You remember this as your fingers curled into a loose fist and gave the wall a quiet knock. All the tension accumulated in your shoulders relaxes at the dull sound. “Atleast it isn’t thin,” you mused.

There’s a large closet adjacent to the bed, deep enough that you could crawl inside comfortably. Windows that stretch above your head and overlook the busy streets. You notice that same iridescent sheen, alongside a large blind connected to the control pad fixed by your doorway. They roll down as you fiddle and remind you of those old school projectors from the pre quirk era.

The walls are almost entirely bare. Your imagination drifts to the countless books and photo albums you managed to bring, envisioning them taking up the empty space. It makes you wonder what Shouto’s room looks like. You squash that thought.

When you rejoin him he stands with his back to you, blades shifting under the material as he plays with a small round object held between his fingers. Closing the distance you realise it is one of your stress balls.

His expression is entirely relaxed, bright with a little child-like satisfaction. He pulls at the flexible rubber, rolling it under his thumbs, flattening in between his palms. Your novelty mugs are lined up in the open cupboard right beside his own, entirely forgotten.

As not to startle him you call out gently, “Hey”.

Your voice stalls his movement. Shouto pivots and meets your eyes; they widen as you laugh, amused by his forced nonchalance. He clears his throat, “Hi. Are you happy with the room?”

Humming an affirmative, you sidle up next to him and poke at the ball. “It’s fine, thank you. Nicer than my old place”.

Redirecting his attention to the ball, he squeezes it so hard the foamy rubber protrudes through the gaps in his fingers and lets go, smiling as it retains its original shape. “I liked your old apartment,” he murmurs. “It suited you”.

“Because I’m a mess, you mean?” drawn back into Shouto’s orbit, you lean against his left side. He mirrors your weight until you are like two pillars braced against one another, standing uselessly in the middle of his obviously unused kitchen. Your heart aches recalling all those nights he spent at the agency doing unnecessary overtime. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come back here.

“No,” Shouto huffs lightly, passing the ball hand to hand. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he bumps you with his hip, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour so you know where everything is”.

You are guided back to the genkan; it’s gorgeous, modernised with a calligraphy feature wall that breaks up the light colours. There is a narrow door leading to a coat room and two white cabinets under a granite countertop housing a small decorative bowl painted in Deku’s colours. Inside are your keys and his, the chains entangled.

Very quickly you realise Shouto doesn’t even know where ‘everything’ is. He opens the cupboard doors hesitantly, in a way that suggests he had no idea what is in them. One filled by his shoes and slippers, the other left empty.

The coat closet holds a few jackets you only ever see him wear in winter. He pinches the waterproof puffy sleeve between finger and thumb with a curious sound. Quietly, “I forgot that I had this”.

“You wore it once and Bakugo said you looked like an ugly toasted marshmallow”.

“That’s right,” a smirk pulls at his lips, mouth thin to restrain his laughter. You dip your chin to hide how infectious it is. “He hated it. Maybe I should take it with me tomorrow and wear it around the agency”.

“Please don’t. He’s coming to see me later in the day and I need him in a good mood”.

Shouto glances at you from the corner of his eye, sunlight reflecting through the blue iris. You would recognise that air of mischief anywhere. “I mean it, Shouto!”

“The day after, then”.

“As long as I’m not in the line of fire,” you snort, itching absentmindedly at your forearm where the skin feels tender. Probably bruising after carrying everything up. “Antagonising Pro Heroes should be listed as a hobby on your wiki page”.

You fall in line with his footsteps once more and keep pace until he stops by another door. There’s a laundry room and a separate toilet by the genkan, first door to the right. Upon opening the door the white toilet lid lifts.

You gasp and clutch his bicep, far too excitable to register how firm it is. “You never told me you have a happy toilet. What the hell, Shouto?”

Still nestled in his palm, you notice Shouto squeezes the stress ball until the foam is straining under the stretchy skin but you say nothing of it. He swallows and echoes your words, “A happy toilet?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it's happy to see you! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns with his cheek between his teeth, exhaling a warm puff of air through his nose. “Yeah,” Shouto rasps. “It’s cute”.

The entrance leads to a hallway, opening at the end to an open plan living area and kitchen. A black and white palette, dark stained wood flooring from room to room. You stand by and watch fondly as he opens every half empty drawer. The sectional couch is a welcome splash of colour— deep royal blue, huge, L shaped and plush, facing a 60 inch TV held up by a cabinet with a few books and photographs inside.

You toe at the fluffy grey rug laid out under the coffee table. His place is spectacular, sure, but it isn’t Shouto. While left unspoken it seemed you both knew that. There’s an abashed pinch to his expression that’s endearing, yet sad; you thought he might be embarrassed by how threadbare his home life appeared to be.

“You ever use that thing?” you ask, pointing to the TV. Predictably, Shouto shakes his head.

“Not very much. These days it feels like I only come here to sleep,” he leans over to pick up the remote from between the cushions and balances it on the arm of the couch. “Every few months Uraraka and Midoriya will visit to order food and watch movies with me. You can use it whenever you want”.

The bathroom is opposite your bedroom doors. He taps his own in passing but does not open it. You step into a bright, white tiled room with a double vanity sink and murmur in awe. Above are ceiling lights that give a soft glow, giving it a warm toned hue. Behind a glass door is a bowl shaped bathtub, big enough to fit two.

“Damn…” you whisper, running your fingers over the control pad connected to the tub. There’s a big bath cover propped by the wall. “A sauna button, too?”

“Not that I need it,” he muses, standing by the doorway, hands loosely interlocked as he observes you navigating his space. Intuitively, you get the sense that this is the beginning of a true paradigm shift. His offer had been the fork in the road and your agreement took you down a path soon to be irreversible.

You could survive seeing him at work or out with the mutual friends you shared. You’re not sure how you’ll weather the domesticity that comes with living together.

The reflection in the mirror shifts awkwardly and you grimace at how hard you’re trying to act like a normal human being. This is just Shouto: your good friend and longtime supporter. Just the man you might possibly be in love with.

“We should probably talk about ground rules and stuff,” you begin, hoping it’ll wipe that gentle look off his face before you say something stupid.

“Ground rules?” Shouto pushes off from the door frame with his back straight. He tilts his head, sight following you closely as you scoot past him back into the hallway.

“Like a chore rota and stuff. Rules so we can live in harmony or something. And you still need to let me know how much I’m paying you”.

“But I don’t want you to”.

You pause mid step and turn to stare at him in soft incredulity. “Why not? It’s only right I contribute”.

Steadfast, he holds your gaze and bluntly says, “I have a higher income than you. There’s no need for you to pay me rent”.

“Way to rub it in”.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh at the rare wobble to his voice and knock your hands together as a sign of forgiveness. His eyes squint into a smile. “It just feels unfair for me to ask that of you”.

The hallway falls dim as clouds gather, casting shadows that make the private bubble you’re in seem that much smaller. “But I want to,” you reassured him. “Come on— forty percent?”

“Thirty”.

You hold out three fingers up on the right and five on the left. You try again, “Thirty five?”

“Thirty,” he doubles down, covering the entirety of your left hand with his own. You feel his thumb skim your inner wrist and your resolve breaks.

“…Fine”.

Shouto grins boyishly and you do not acknowledge the flutter in your stomach.

The first few days are cautious despite your desire to behave as normal. At night you found yourself acutely aware of Shouto’s presence behind the bedroom wall. Your senses latched onto every muted bump and creak; the quiet drew thoughts you so valiantly avoided the surface and you could do nothing besides parse through them.

It made sleeping difficult.

You’d wondered if Shouto was having the same issue but the drowsy gait and hair plastered to one side of his head only ever spoke of a good night's rest. He wears loose silk pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips and an inch or so longer at the leg so they always caught under his heel as he walked.

Seeing him relaxed and fumbling like a fawn before his morning tea felt as if a big star was fizzing in your chest. It’s strange, in a tentative way, not an uncomfortable one.

The dust settles and a chore rota is scribbled out on a white board and pinned to the refrigerator with a worn All Might magnet. Your hours are less hectic so you offered to do the weekly shopping. Shouto volunteers for the laundry— his sister set the machines up for him when he first moved and he hasn’t moved the dials since— and taking out the garbage. Together you build a precariously clumsy peace, a mimicry of home.

Things started to change.

A kaleidoscope can take on an entirely new pattern with just the subtle turn of the lense. Weeks lapse. You stopped asking for permission and he no longer sought reassurance that you were happy. Existing parallel to one another, your lives fit seamlessly, though not without effort.

You’ve never known him to be a tactile type of guy— back when you rushed to hug him at graduation he’d brandished his diploma like a weapon before noticing it was you. Now, Shouto playfully hip checks you in the kitchen, he sits closer than he needs to on the couch and texts you at random throughout the day. He brings you a treat if his route overlaps your commute, keeping it hot in his left hand. He even greets you by the door on the rare occasion he finishes a shift first.

Your heart is fatter than ever and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it or where to put it down. After the city has rebuilt your apartment block and deemed it safe you’ll be returning to a normal you don’t recognise anymore.

You’re finalising the upgrade for Dynamite’s summer gauntlets when your phone buzzes on your bench. The vibration carries it closer to the edge and you scoop it up before the inevitable fall, cursing at the oil smeared around the case. The screen lights up.

shouto : 1 minute ago

There’s an image attached with no explanation. You are met with the open skyline, dense clouds of every shape and size dotted across a blue canvas. Shouto’s arm is in the shot, finger pointed towards one cloud in particular.

You squint at it. Zoom in on your phone, tilt it to the side, flip it in the editor and outline it— and nothing rings a bell. It’s a white blob. 

Another notification drops down at the top of your screen. You wipe your hand against your overalls and open it. 

shouto : just now 

ヾ(=^・ｪ・^)

Your nose wrinkles as you glance back to the photo. Granted, it does have two pointed edges that could be interpreted as cat ears if you squinted. Maybe. This isn’t new — he burned his toast three days ago and took a picture simply because it looked vaguely feline. 

you : delivered 

aren’t u supposed to be on patrol? 

The message turns to ‘read’ quicker than expected. You panic and click off the conversation, setting the phone face up on your workbench and reading from your locked screen. Lately, despite living together and seeing one another every day, Shouto seems to have more to say to you than ever. 

shouto : just now

Divine intervention. We should get a cat. 

The use of ‘we’ pings around your head like a pinball. Ever since the initial dubitation smoothed out he's become much more flippant about things— treating your situation as though it were permanent. 

An intern shuffles into the workshop with a thick binder. Not one of yours, you realise. One of Mei’s. They blink curiously as your phone buzzes again, loud where it clatters on the hard surface, and you bite down on your inner cheek, hard, keeping your feelings at bay. 

When handed the papers you breathe in recognition. They’ve been coordinated into two groups, and you’d know that logo anywhere. “The costume applications for the upcoming UA students! I wondered why they hadn’t come in yet”. 

“Yes, for 1A and 1B. Hatsume-san said these ended up on her desk,” they said, gesticulating nervously, “and that I— I should give them to you?”

“Well If not for you I’m sure these would’ve ended up buried under all her discarded prototypes,” you demurred, offering what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you”. 

Abruptly, your phone gives another violent jerk and disrupts the moment. The intern squeaks, rigidity returning to her posture, and scurries out with a rushed goodbye. You sink into your arms, forehead pressed to the cool metal. Surely you aren’t that scary.

Turning the screen, you read the texts and sigh fondly.  

shouto : 4 minutes ago

An older cat would be nice. 

shouto : just now

Should we order tonight? 

My treat. 

Your gaze lifts to find the time at the top of the screen. It blinks back at you, the hour changing. Not long until you can head out. 

you : delivered 

it isn’t a treat for me if it’s more cold soba. give me variety or give me death (งಠ_ಠ)ง

The cursor flickers. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating on the final letter. Something so minor that feels bigger than it has any right to be. 

“Stop being ridiculous,” you mutter, sending it before your mind can change. 

you : read 

be safe ok? I’ll see you at home. 

When he doesn’t reply you figure he’s returned to his job, thus you return to yours. 

Dynamite was once again trusting you with his gear. Bakugo had been extraordinarily protective over his initial design in highschool. Great bulbous things strapped to each wrist, grenade-like appearance, so big that his arms became pendulous and swung away from his body as he walked. The shoulder strain was immense. 

You fought tooth and nail to get him to accept your adjustments. Now every summer you remodelled the gauntlets to be lighter and ventilated, and in winter you added in insulation and flexibility. 

Respectively, the gauntlets still weigh a lot without additional stored nitroglycerin. You lift, bending at the knees and groaning as you lower them both down into a protective case, slotting into foam padding for protection. No doubt they’d end up rough on the first day but you still wanted them to arrive without a scratch. 

Evening draws near. Closing the lid, it gives a satisfying click. You fiddle with the lock pad and calibrate it to open only for Bakugo’s thumb print before lugging the case to the built-in vault in your workshop, where it’ll be kept over the weekend. 

Mei’s lab is directly opposite your own. Despite the dense soundproofing and reinforced steel concrete the jarring screech of a saw echoes throughout the hallway. You press your hand to the towering door, muscle fibres wracked by vibrations. Bidding her goodbye would be futile— she’s been working on a new patent for months now. The rest of the world fell away when she got like this. 

Heading through to the main lobby, you greet those passing by with a nod, exchanging hurried words. It was always as though time didn’t exist here. People worked all hours, any hours. Flexibility was a point of pride for your company, and seeing someone eat breakfast after midnight wasn’t uncommon. 

You preferred a regular schedule. Routine keeps you moderately sane. A cool breeze gusts through the sliding doors as you duck into the street; you hiss at the immediate change in temperature. Patting down your coat pockets you dig out your phone, sending a one-handed text to Shouto while you slip in your earbuds. 

Cacophonous bustling of the streets now muffled, you scroll through a playlist and click at random. An upbeat melody carries you to the station, scooting through the throngs of people and tapping your card at the barriers. 

You pick up the pace, scurrying onto the train right before the doors close. A stranger glares, looking over your dishevelled state with judgement. You find a narrow corner, left standing on the far end of the carriage, squashed up against the window to make room for other passengers. 

Conscious about the volume. you turned down your music a tad and sank into the confines of your coat. Shouto’s apartment is miraculously closer than your old one, meaning the commute is much shorter, and your time spent in bed is much longer. Three stops pass and the sky begins to bruise. Purple hues blend gently into red, the sun a fiery hearth on the seam of the horizon that blinks abruptly between the passing buildings. 

When you reach home Shouto still hasn’t texted back. You bend to arrange your shoes, coat hung beside his terrible winter puffer. The floor is cold under socked feet, pottering through to the living room in search of the TV remote. 

You flinch as the newscaster's voice blurts out of the speakers. Shouto must have left it on the news channel this morning. Watching the scene unfold on the screen you feel your heart climb your throat. 

Shouto is a hero— a number of your friends are. Villain fights are not only inevitable, they’re a requirement. The truth of it doesn’t make reality any easier to swallow. Uravity is a welcome sight. She’s fighting diligently alongside Shouto, up against multiple villains seemingly working in tandem to destroy the area. 

You always thought villains were a good example of how versatile and powerful even the most innocuous quirks can be. Topspin can morph their limbs into a whirling top, and with years of training has gained the ability to form small tornados using momentum. Another you recognise is Cryo, a woman capable of making her body intangible similarly to Lemillion— though she is able to freeze you temporarily if she phases through your body. 

There are others, too. Criminals you don’t recognise. It’s been a long time since a big group tried to organise in this manner. You worry at your lip, bracing against the back of the couch for support. What you find most concerning is they don’t seem to have a goal. Just mass destruction, plain and simple. 

“Come on,” you think anxiously, nails digging into the cushion as you watch Shouto brace a falling building with his ice, creating an emergency slide for those left inside to escape. You’ve always marvelled at his parallel processing skills— Deku, too. Their thoughts must be running a million miles a second. 

The cameras switch to highlight the other heroes and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. You exhale, physically deflating, feeling the weight of your phone in your pants pocket. Clean up would take a while once the battle is won; curry night is off the table. 

That’s fine. You could forgive it as long as he came back in one piece. 

Evening sinks into night. Shouto comes home after you’ve retired to your bed, though you aren’t asleep yet; you took to staring at the ceiling, waiting for a call from the hospital that you hoped wouldn’t come. 

The distant sound of his boots hitting the floor has relief flooding through your system. You strain to listen as he makes his way through the apartment, deliberately quiet. You hear him head straight to the bathroom. The echo of running water muffles after the door closes with a soft click. 

You check your phone once more, scanning over the recent updates and not finding much. You consider leaving him alone. Villain fights are hard on the body and the heart. Shouto likes space to process things before he speaks on them, and so you don't want to overstep. 

That sentiment dissipates steadily. Five minute intervals that feel like hours. Shouto is in the bathroom for a long, long time. You are seated on the edge of your bed with the covers pulled back when he finally comes out. 

Warm light streams beneath your doorway. Muscles clenched, you daren’t move an inch as a stretch of shadow moves across. Shouto stands outside your room and you stare, silently urging him to knock and give you an excuse. 

After a beat, Shouto turns away. He flicks off the bathroom light and shuffles down the hallway, away from his own bedroom. Your feet tentatively touch the floor and you slide off the bed with hands held out, careful not to knock into any furniture on the way. 

Goose pimples raise across your forearms. You’re in sleep shorts and a ratty old shirt on a cool spring night. No wind and no clouds, the moon hung high and bright. You have never seen the city so eerily still at this hour. 

The air always retains the warmth of his body for a while, and you feel it lingering when you step into the hallway. 

Voice kept to a whisper, you softly called for him, “Shouto?” 

You find him sitting in the middle of the couch. The blinds are up, moonlight flooding in. Shouto is a solid silhouette outlined in white. 

“Did something happen?” 

The fight ended up dragging on for a while, so you’re in the dark. Details about casualties were steadily being released to news outlets as the heroes dug through the remaining rubble. You’ve yet to hear of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, which is a relief. 

He lifts his head, “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you”. 

“You didn’t,” Shouto’s gaze follows as you shuffle towards him, footfalls loud on the hardwood floor. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

The silence is suffocating. Your vision adjusts to the darkness, stuck on the downturn of his mouth and pallid eyes. “We’re friends right? Friends share their burdens,” you try again, awkwardness leaking out with every syllable. “I’m here for you”. 

He looks away. There’s a dark, disquieting bruise blooming on his jaw. Subconsciously, Shouto presses a finger onto the bruise and the blood beneath it recedes, paling and returning like the tide. 

You don’t sit too close— worried proximity might be suffocating. The couch arm is firm under you, feet propped on the seat cushion. Shouto wets his lips, as if to alleviate the gravity of his words. 

“A group of school children were in the theatre when it collapsed,” he rasps. His hand curls into a tight fist, sparks of fire diminishing between his knuckles. “They were young. No older than ten”. 

“You blame yourself”. 

Turning to you, light casts softly across half of his face, pooling in his left eye. “I was a second too late and now—” he stops, the words caught in his throat. 

“Because of my mistakes those children are stuck with the traumatic memory of being trapped under all that rubble. I... I could hear them screaming”. 

You gulp and slide down onto the couch, guided by the urge to touch him, “Hey. But you got them out safely, yeah? They’re okay, Shouto”. 

His eyes crinkle a bit, if only a trick of your own, and you take it as permission to reach over. One by one you unfurl each finger, massaging your thumbs into his palm to smooth away the crescent marks. 

“We got them out,” he amends quietly, taking a brief pause to find the right words. You spend it appreciating the nicks in his skin, scars and rough edges, proof of his tenacity.

Shouto closes his hand around your own, staring dolefully at the point where your bodies meet. You see it for what it is— a request for comfort — and your palms kiss as you realign your fingers, holding on tight. 

“You know what I think?” 

He hums, curiously peering up through his damp bangs. 

“Those kids? They won’t just remember the bad stuff,” you smile, as tender as you feel, “I think they’ll remember how at ease they felt when Hero Shouto opened the way with his ice to save them. And now they know a hero will always come”. 

The strain bleeds from his bones and his expression opens up in quiet wonderment. “Really?” he asks, his voice small, mouth finally curling. Your heart gives a squeeze. 

“Really,” you affirm, knocking your knees together. Shouto’s smile widens, chin tucking to hide it. “Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“No. Just bruised up,” he says. An idea clicks into place. 

“Good. I’ve got something we can do to make you feel better,” you scramble to your feet, weight shifting as Shouto’s stare lingers on your bare legs. It feels as though the moon is casting a spotlight, and you resist the urge to pull your shorts down. 

“What is it?” 

“Mug cake!” you exclaim happily, bringing your hands together. Adding an afterthought, “and a movie, too. One you haven’t seen yet”. 

Shouto tilts his head, amused, but stands with you all the same. You notice then that he's changed into a pair of sweatpants, cuffed at the ankles. The t-shirt he’s wearing has a Pinky logo branded across his chest in bubble font. 

“Mug cake?” he repeats. 

“Cake in a mug,” you ribbed, poking at him. You start toward the kitchen. “Come on, it’ll only take like five minutes, tops!” 

“Do we have cake ingredients?” he muses, following close behind. You flick on the recessed light over the stove and root through the cupboards, trying to ignore the natural warmth of his body beside yours. 

“We have everything,” you insist. “I would know. I do the shopping, remember?” 

Hovering unnecessarily close by, Shouto leans back against the counter and observes you with fondness as you list off the ingredients under your breath. It shouldn’t be so magnetising— you can feel something in your chest being drawn in, as though you were two unlike poles meant to come together. 

Meeting his gaze, you look away and try to tame your giddiness. “Quit staring and find me two big mugs”. 

You breathe a little easier when he does as you ask. Two large ceramic mugs are placed on the counter— a hideously priced vintage All Might mug gifted by Midoriya, another with cat ears on the rim and a tail curled into the handle. 

“Will these do?” he murmurs. You startle at the closeness of his voice, nearly dropping the teaspoon in your hand. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Yep. Thank you”.

He nods, satisfied. “Tell me what else to do”. 

You grab another teaspoon and hand it to him. The joy in his eyes gleams, so pleased at the opportunity to help. “First we need to put four teaspoons of flour and caster sugar in our mugs, then add two teaspoons of the cocoa powder. You follow?” 

Shouto mirrors each action, always glancing back to your movements to check he was doing so correctly. It is unbearably endearing. 

“Now we add an egg in each— one sec,” the fridge light bursts through the dimly lit kitchen, and you squint, grabbing two eggs from the tray. You give him an egg. “Now crack it into the mug and stir”. 

You’ve ended up with the All Might mug. Using it is nerve wracking; all you can think of is how expensive it was, but the cat mug is Shouto’s clear favourite. Gently, you tap the egg on the counter. A hairline fracture forms on the shell. You push your thumbs in, prying it apart over the mix, letting the whites drizzle. 

Shouto is… faring well enough. There’s clear viscous liquid all over his fingers, and his shell is broken in three, but the yolk made it in. 

You laugh quietly at his sheepish expression as you pass him some tissue. He wipes his hands, leaning to observe while you add three teaspoons of milk and vegetable oil. “Where did you learn to make these?” 

“During my apprenticeship,” you admit. Graduation hadn’t led to immediate incredible offers like it had for Shouto. You needed to get your foot in the door first, which meant working awful hours with shit pay and little recognition. “I was trying to save up back then, so I ate a lot of crap like this”. 

“I’ve never tried it,” he says, repeating the steps as you had shown him. Your fingers brush with a pass of the milk. “I wasn’t allowed treats as a child so I guess I didn’t develop much of a sweet tooth”. 

“That’s just like you,” you grin, tearing open the bag of chocolate chips and shaking them in his direction. “Always gotta drop depressing lore in the middle of a nice moment”. 

The truth about the Todoroki family had been outed during your first year, right before the war. It’s a subject Shouto can joke about now that time has mostly healed over those wounds. Granted, his relationship with his father was cautious at best, and his older brother was locked away in a private facility for a good few decades, but things were better. 

“Did you hear me?”

You blink, startled out of your reverie, “What?”

“I said I have plenty more material but you zoned out,” Shouto raised a brow, dipping into the bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over his cake mix, “Where did you go?”

“Ah…” you take his mug and set it beside yours inside the microwave, turning the dial to the two minute mark. “I was just thinking I kinda want to kick your dad’s ass”. 

Your heart leaps. You will never be sick of Shouto’s laugh; it’s like hearing his soul. The sound is rich and warm over the loud hum, glass plate turning, mixture bubbling. 

“Don’t worry about that,” the laughter tapers off into an affectionate murmur, body naturally leaning into you, “he’s been kicking himself for years now”. 

“Good—!” the microwave pings, and your soul jumps out of your skin. “Jesus. Why is it always so much louder at night?” 

The mugs are still hot. You press a kiss to your stinging fingertips and step aside; Shouto takes each cake out one at a time with this left hand wrapped around the mug. “Show off,” you pout. 

A sweet aroma fills your senses. They’ve risen well. You lightly scratch the top with your spoon, pleased by the firmness. “We did pretty good,” you chirped. 

“Smells good,” Shouto notes, cradling his mugcake to his chest as though something precious. “Are we watching a movie?”

“Yeah. Let’s pick while it’s still hot”. 

You cast a fleeting look at the counter before you walk around the kitchen island, putting the minor mess to the back of your mind. Bouncing back onto the couch, you run your free hand down the cushions in search of the remote. 

“Where’s the—” Shouto sits to your right and passes it to you. “Did you pull that out of thin air?” 

“Yes. I have a third quirk called ‘remembering where I put things’,” he grins, dodging the half hearted swat you send his way.  

“You’re a real comedian. Just for that I’m picking what I want to watch”. 

Infuriatingly, Shouto looks happy about that, “You know what I’d like anyway”. 

In the end you choose Ponyo because he had not yet watched it— a fact you deemed criminal. You watch his expressions soften at the vibrant scenery, idly pushing the tip of his spoon into the cake. He scoops out a piece and brings it to his lips. 

You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth. Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don’t say them. 

Only then do you let yourself eat yours. The spoon sinks into the sponge, a faint waft of heat bursting from the centre where the chocolate chips have melted. It’s just the right side of fluffy. 

Comfortable silence hung over your heads, masked under the clinking of your spoons against the mugs. 

After the soft thud of an empty mug meeting the table, breaking through the quiet, Shouto speaks. 

“Bakugo mentioned you today,” he says. “Asked me to pass on a message”. 

You hum to indicate that you’re listening. “He said ‘hurry the fuck up or kiss my sponsorship goodbye’, verbatim”. 

“I’m not sure I like those words coming out of your mouth,” you laugh, shoulders shaking with it. Shouto tips his head back, lips twisted to hold laughter of his own. “What a bullshitter”. 

Bakugo liked working with you too much to pull out. Even if he didn’t, the man was a hard nut to crack and refused to trust anyone else with his gear. 

“Are you almost done? Working on his gauntlets, I mean”. 

“They’re finished,” you responded, cheek resting on the heel of your hand. Shouto repositions his hips, turning his body to face you in your periphery while you watch Sousuke and Ponyo eat ramen. “Good and ready for the summer. Now he won’t level half the city when he sneezes”. 

“Thank you for your hard work,” comes his mirthful reply. “Oh, and Uraraka says hello. She wants you to go to the get together tomorrow night”. 

“You know I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, right?” 

He huffed a laugh through his nose. A soft sound that has satisfaction singing through your veins. “I wasn’t planning on going so I forgot to mention it”. 

You run your tongue along your molars. There’s still a lingering chocolate taste. “You aren’t going to go?” you ask, tone trended downwards, plainly implying your disappointment. It wouldn’t be so odd. While you’d befriended Momo and some of class B before ever meeting Shouto, you’re not sure you want to be there without him. 

“I will go if you do,” he eyes the way your shoulders relax at that, attentive to a fault. “They can pick on you instead of me”. 

You roll your eyes with exasperated affection and arms crossed over your middle. “Tomorrow?” mhm. “Is it at that place Denki likes?” mhm. “Thought it might be. Guess I can be your buffer for a few hours”. 

“I’ll let them know,” Shouto murmurs. Colour dances across his skin, shadows moving with the picture on the screen. Ponyo dunks her head into the depths alongside Sosuke and the room is suddenly awash with vibrant blue, and you witness an unwelcome epiphany cross his mind. 

Stated like a huffy accusation, he says, “You know, you’ve worked on most of my friends gear, but never mine”. 

“You never asked,” you reminded him. “And you had connections in my industry already because of your… Endeavor. But I would’a jumped at the chance to get rid of that first costume you designed”. 

Cheek pressed to the cushion, he smiles. “What, was the glacier too much?” 

“It was so ugly Shouto,” you bemoan, leaning closer with your dramatic outburst. “The worst part was it covered up half of your pretty face. Now that’s just bad for branding”.

A soft intake of breath. Shouto’s lips part and you are caught in his awestruck stare. His voice deepens as he asks, “You think I’m… pretty?” 

You swallow and muster up an easy grin, nudging his thigh with your foot. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty, you goof”. 

His eyes lower, pensive for a moment, and then flicker back to the movie. Ponyo is sleepy, and the boat has shrunk, and Sousuke has big tears rolling down his cheeks. 

You can’t help thinking it was the wrong thing to say. 

Eventually the noise settles into static; the kind that makes the shadows seem a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. You burrow into your hoodie, pulling the collar up over the bridge of your nose as Sosuke and Ponyo are reunited with his mother in a vast underwater paradise. 

The earlier exchange weighs on you. Stealing a quick glance at Shouto, you feel your anxiety chip at the expression on his face. Somewhere there, beneath the scar tissue and laughter lines and eye bags, is a small boy watching in awe. 

Neither of you speak until the film comes to an end. Your head bobs along to the final song, drawn into a bubble of nostalgia. Through the thick of it, you hear a whisper. Shouto says your name and there’s barely any strength behind it, uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace, his left arm now outstretched, the intention clear. 

Shouto looks right back. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the small smile on his face. You crawl across the couch cushions and curl under his arm, turning your cheek to watch the credits play out.  

“You looked cold,” he belatedly adds. “Is this ok?”

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years Shouto is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. 

Swallowed by warmth, you guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as the faint tremors dwindle and your bones thaw. Fatigue creeps up, making your eyelids heavy. 

Quietly, “Better”. Then you mumble, “And I do think you’re pretty, Shouto”. 

“Hm?”

“Was bein’ a bit of a coward earlier,” you continue, a sleepy drawl to your words. A yawn pulls at your jaw, nose flaring with it. You think you could sink right into him, like a hot bath. “Shouto’s pretty… all… all the time…”

Your weary eyes gave in to the rhythmic stroke of his hand, consciousness drifting away. Soft dreams undulate, drawing you in, pushing you out. There’s a familiar face. They turn into your palms when you cradle them. Your stomach clenches at the sudden weightlessness and you grasp at their shirt, worried you might float away. 

When you wake up you are in your own bed again. It returns to you in fragments— Shouto’s arms around you, his rumbling laugh, the tangible intimacy that had hung over your heads. Realising he must have carried you to bed you turn over to groan into your pillow. 

Eventually, what draws you out into the open is the smell. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad out into the living room, searching for Shouto. Leggings, your mind whispers. He’s milling about the kitchen in his workout clothes; a little pair of shorts overtop and a green hoodie. 

“Morning,” he says, placing a small plate onto a tray. You notice two bowls have already been prepared. “I made breakfast”. 

The greeting dies in your throat when he looks up. A stream of dewy morning light illuminates the room, reflecting on the pale surfaces, creating an ethereal view. He combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking the longer strands behind his ears. Your gaze strays from the bruise on his jaw— now turning a sickly shade of green— to the food on his tray. 

“Wow,” you mumble, feeling hunger twist in your stomach. “This actually looks edible. What’s the occasion?” 

It’s a traditional breakfast. A bowl of rice, miso soup with some vegetables, a rolled egg and a plate of grilled fish. Shouto sets a pair of chopsticks down. “No special occasion. I just wanted to cook for you”. 

“God. You are so…” you wave your hands at him, too overwhelmed by the sudden flush of tenderness. 

He blinks, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “You just gestured to all of me”. 

“I just woke up and there’s a prince using my shitty old rice cooker. Forgive me,” you remarked groggily. It feels as if your entire being is a soft spot that he won’t stop prodding at. 

Gathering the tray in your grasp you avoid his stare and make way to the dining table, his quiet chuckle close behind. You sit, unnerved by his presence and fighting off dregs of sleep. The seat is cold under your thighs. “Thank you for the food,” you murmur. 

Chopsticks tucked in the crook of your thumb and finger, you pick up a rolled omelette. The egg tastes sweeter than expected— mixed with more sugar than required, you think, but it’s good, and you finish in the next bite. 

“Are you not leaving for work?”

Shouto hovers across from you; his hands rested on the back of another chair, and stood silently. “How is it?” he deflects. 

Your teeth sink into a tofu cube, umami flavours bursting on your tongue. You hum your approval, making a show of it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Shouto. Really”. 

Over the years you’ve come to learn that Shouto reacts to praise in subtle ways, and often smiles without his mouth. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice and see it in his spirited stride. You watch as his shoulders straighten. He’s alight, peacocking his pride, and you’re not sure he realises it. 

“There’s a secret ingredient”. 

You pause mid chew, swallowing thickly. “If you say love I’m moving out”. 

Shouto tempers his amusement with a shake of his head. Stray hair falls forward to frame his cheeks.  The chair reclines back on two legs as he leans. “My mother told me that making a meal for someone is a simple way to show gratitude,” he continued. “Thank you for taking care of me last night”. 

Heat simmers under your skin, all buzzing energy and jitters. The sincerity is disarming. Had this been a dream you would’ve kissed him. 

Shoving another tofu cube in your mouth you chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “Don’t thank me for that,” your initial playfulness softened to reciprocate some of his vulnerability. “I know I’m not a hero but I’ll always be there for you in whatever way I can”. 

Whatever his response is, you don’t hear it. Shouto murmurs inaudibly, eyes falling closed with a long exhale. Your only respite is the warmth in his gaze when he looks back at you. “I need to leave now if I don’t want to be late. But I’ll see you tonight?”

You hum an affirmative, nodding around the white rice pinched between your chopsticks. It falls apart gently on your tongue. Covering your mouth, you say, “I’ll be there”.  

Shouto steps away with some finality, readjusting the hem of his shirt. The fabric hangs loose around his hips, emphasising how tight his shorts are. You mentally kick yourself. 

“I’ll text you, then”. 

The day passes frustratingly slowly after Shouto leaves. You technically could be sifting through the new student’s designs, but all you can think about is how charged the atmosphere had been this morning. Retiring back to your room to scream into a pillow or two, you eventually find yourself getting ready. 

Shouto let you know he would be going straight from the agency. He had clothes in a locker here— casual, some jeans and a sweater, which at least allayed the fear of being underdressed.  

You pull on one of your nicer jackets, holding the lapels close to your chest as you step out into the cold evening. Dark cumuli gather in sparse clumps across the darkening sky; as mercy has it, the wind is pushing them in the opposite direction.

The place isn’t far. You don’t frequent it very often but liked it well enough despite management being a bunch of rich guys playing dive-bar dress up. The low ceilings, vintage mismatched furniture and dim red lights created an intimate atmosphere. 

People loved the idea of finding a hole in the wall that nobody else knew about. The catch was everybody knows, but not everybody can get in. 

Flashing above the door in green neon lights is a sign grimly reading ‘The Love Shack’. The first thing you notice is the strong woodsy smell masking the faint scent of alcohol. There’s a floral tinge to it that you have trouble pinpointing. 

You head inside and greet the bouncer standing by the entrance. He’s a big guy, standing around 6 feet 9, mutton chops swallowing a great deal of his face. Resting on his bald crown are a pair of comically small sunglasses. 

Before he can ask for your name it is being hollered across the bar. A few heads turn and you dip your chin to shield from prying eyes. Uraraka is bounding over, Mina hot on her coattails. The pair topple into you with canorous laughter clear over the music. 

“You’re here!” Uraraka effused, grabbing at your shoulders and shaking them. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Shouto has been keeping you all to himself”. 

Mina slumps against you, echoing Ursraka’s words with a slurred whine. “Holy shit. Are you guys already tipsy?” unsteady on your feet you try to keep them upright. 

“No,” Mina tittered, pink lips jutting into a pout. She pokes at your cheek. “You’re just too sober!”

You startle. Another hand, large and hot, splays at the small of your back. The bouncer grunts and encourages you in the direction which they came from. That appears to spur the girls on— you’re dragged to the far end of the bar, a wide booth nestled just around the corner, hidden from view. 

You’re met with a chorus of cheers. Kirishima, Jirou and Shinsou beckon you forward. Bakugo is nursing a pint, offering you a wordless nod. Momo shakes her head as Denki attempts to climb out and greet you despite being trapped by the table, patting his back when the effort is fruitless. 

“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” you grin, helplessly charmed by your friend's excitement. Uraraka ushers you into the booth. You scoot up beside Momo, the group packed in like sardines to make room. 

Mina bends to press a wet kiss to your hairline. It leaves behind a sticky impression of her lips. “Let me go grab you a drink, babe!” she chirps, skipping off toward the bar and immediately draping her upper body over the black countertop to wave the bartender over. 

The conversations resume, an easy atmosphere settling over your group. Though you aren’t entirely from their world they do well to involve you, asking for your thoughts, trying to make you laugh. Jirou blushes under the red lights when you bring up her latest album, sending you an appreciative grin. Mina returns holding an impressive amount of drinks, her fingers slipping dangerously on the condensation. 

You are one strawberry daiquiri in. There’s a muted yet pleasant buzz under your skin, no doubt aided by the good company. Still, you cast an anxious glance around the room, curious about Shouto’s absence. A soft tap to the knee draws your attention. 

Momo turns to whisper in your ear, “Shouto said  he’ll be here on the hour,” answering that unspoken question. Your cheeks fill with an indignant breath, embarrassed by your own transparency. 

“We aren’t attached at the hip, you know,” you rasp childishly. It’s a lie— you’ve lived with Shouto for only three weeks and you have already forgotten where he ends and you begin. Momo laughs, hiding it behind the back of her hand. 

“Could’a had me fooled,” Bakugo interjects, scoffing behind his drink. The glass tips and he drains the last of it. “Your name is all I hear outta his mouth these days. Starting to think he doesn’t know any other words”. 

You hold up an accusing finger, “Quit reading our lips, dickhead”. 

The other bares his teeth, gums and all. He moves his hands in recognisable patterns at a deliberately slow pace, as if talking down to you. ‘Fuck you’ he signs. 

“Oh!” Kirishima claps abruptly. You startle, almost knocking over your drink. He’s so big that it rocked the table. “Check this, Bakugo. I’ve been learning more signs, you gotta tell me if I’m doing ‘em right!”

“Fuck do I look like to you?”

“Like my handsome best bro,” is his smooth reply. Cheeks red as his hair, a cocksure grin flashing his sharp teeth; Bakugo softens, clicking his tongue in feigned annoyance, betrayed by the twitch by the corner of his mouth. You think Kirishima is like an overgrown stray that manipulated Bakugo into being his human. 

Whatever he clumsily signs must have been obscene, because Bakugo roars with laughter.

“Who the hell taught you that, shitty hair?” 

The hour comes and goes. Rings of water collect under the glasses. Shouto is five minutes late. You displace the group, accepting Uraraka’s loose lipped complaints as she is forced to scoot back out the booth. Pinching the fat of her pink cheek, she’s placated by the promise of another round on you. 

“I’ll come with,” Shinsou offered with a lazy wave. 

“Thanks,” waiting for him to get to his feet, you smile. You liked Shinsou well enough. Working as an underground hero meant you didn’t get to see him too often. 

You approach the bar. The man working behind it has gossamer insectoid wings on his back, sprouting from two long slits in his fitted shirt. They glint in the light, colours refracting iridescent, reminding you somewhat of a church window. 

He comes over as he catches your eye, wiping down the sticky surface. You’re honest enough to admit he’s handsome. Rugged with a baby face, hair falling over his forehead in loose curls. There’s an easy air about him, and when he flashes a crooked grin you feel the alcohol a little too thick in your veins. 

Tattooed forearms brace against the bar and he leans into your magnetism, “What can I get ya?”

“They’ll have the same as last time,” you reply. “I think the tab should be under Kaminari’s name?” 

He nods, eyes skimming over your form, “Won’t be long”. 

You turn to find that Shinsou is staring, kissed by a reddish glow. His mouth downturns into a smirk. “I don’t think he even noticed I was here,” he drawls. 

Defensiveness prickles over you. “Don’t think anyone has,” you lightly knock your arms together. “You’ve been quiet tonight”. 

“Not my scene,” Shinsou sinks forward, propped up by his elbow, and rests his chin in the cradle of his hand. His heavy lidded eyes never stray. “But I can’t say no to free drinks”.

The barman works the taps in your periphery but you remain focused on Shinsou. There’s a new scar across his cheekbone, right where his persona mask ends. Another over his mouth, a thin line of rough tissue that cuts through his five o’clock shadow. The mass untameable hair on his head has been cut shorter, tapering around his neck. 

“Leech”. 

“Look who’s talking,” his smirk widens. You watch his gaze slide over your head and dread swirls in your stomach at the gleam in his eye. “I think your nepo baby boyfriend just got here”. 

“Not my boyfriend,” you hiss under your breath. He holds his laughter between his teeth. “And don’t call him that!” 

Shinsou laughs into his palm, low and rumbling. You hear the fond invocation of your name as the heat of another body appears at your back. Met with brilliant teal and stormy grey, Shouto greets you both apologetically. 

Perking up self consciously, you say, “You made it!”

“Hi. Sorry, I got caught up and lost track of time”. 

You’re happy to see him. He’s in fitted jeans and a dark button up shirt over an old black turtleneck. Heterochromatic eyes slide from your smiling face to Shinsou’s own disinterest, then drawn to the drinks that have steadily begun to accumulate on the bar counter. 

“Ah, let me get you a drink—” you wave over the guy who served you, though it is hardly necessary when he’s already observing. He saunters over with a pint of lager, setting it beside Mina’s garish rainbow concoction. 

“Everything alright?” 

Squinting at the messy kanji on his name tag, you think you can make it out. Kei, it reads. “Would we be able to add another to the tab? Our friend just made it”. 

For some reason Shouto crowds in closer, the cool press of his left side seeping through your shirt. Kei barely pays him any mind. “No problem,” a cold flush crawls across your back when he winks. “Anything for you. What’ll it be?” 

“I’ll have a highball,” Shouto interjects. You frown at his sudden sharp demeanour, and lean your weight back in hopes of comforting him. The air warms up. 

Kei’s enthusiasm fractures imperceptibly, “Alright. Let me get started on that for ya”. Shinsou snorted, his head dipped to his chest and shaking; you think you aren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever this is.

“Shit. You really are petty,” Shinsou speaks up after Kei departs to the other end of the bar. “I always thought Midoriya was exaggerating”. 

“Petty?” you echo, squinting at your roommate with a soft pout. Shouto fixes his gaze to the bottles lined across the wall and looks as though he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“Highballs are tedious to make,” Shinsou turns his back to the bar, leaning against it with his drink in hand. “You definitely chose that on purpose”. 

“I didn’t,” Shouto monotoned. “I like whisky”. 

“I’ve never seen you drink whisky,” your voice lilts into suspicion. Shouto narrows his eyes, pointedly avoiding yours. A terse beat passes, and you inhale with defeat. “Oh, whatever. Go say hi to the others while we bring the drinks”. 

Shouto blanched. “I can help—”

“I’ve already got a big strong man here to help me,” Shinsou scoffed. There’s an umbrella resting on the lip and a purple straw in his mouth. You put a hand on Shouto’s bicep and squeeze, “You need to let Momo know you’re here before she sends out a search party”. 

The contact visibly placates him. You watch after him as he makes his way to the booth. Slurred over the low music, he turns the short corner to be met with a cheer in much the same way you had. 

“You two are ridiculous,” Shinsou murmurs, amused exasperation clear in his tone. Splitting the drinks into two groups to carry, you ignore his remark and the fondness swirling in your chest. 

Kei appears and sets the highball down. A tall glass of liquid gold, three carved ice cubes fizzing at the bottom, a lemon garnish on the rim. “Thank you,” you tell him, pleased when he reciprocates your sheepish grin. 

You let Shinsou take it— your hands are already full and slipping. The others have pulled Shouto into the booth and sandwiched him between Denki and Mina, whose distinct voices are overlapping as they try to get a word in. 

Denki stops mid sentence as Shinsou slams the drinks onto the table. You do the same, albeit much more carefully. He lists them off one by one, sliding the glasses over to their persons. Shouto’s comes last. 

“And in a surprising turn of events we have Todoroki with a japanese highball”. 

Shouto accepts the drink with his right hand and a straight face, ignoring the harmonious ‘ooh’ that reverberates around the booth. 

Bakugo points his pinky at him, “And since when do you drink whisky?” 

Petulantly, Shouto mutters, “Since now”. 

Ultimately deciding to pull up a chair, Shinsou sits at the head of the table while you are squeezed on the end beside Bakugo; he side glances, raising his brow in acknowledgement. 

“Dude, now that we’re all here, let's have a toast!” Denki exclaims, literal sparks of joy bouncing from his crown. Everybody groans. 

“I’ll hear your toast bro,” Kirishima lifts his pint, the wonderful enabler that he is. Shouto meets your gaze across the table and raises his own with a shrug. 

“I, uh…” Denki shrinks under the pressure. “I dunno what I was gonna say”. 

“To a quick death,” Shinsou proposed, halfheartedly holding his sake in the air. 

“Hear hear,” muttered from beside you, Bakugo’s eyes fell closed. You snickered, alcohol weakening your inhibitions as you hook your chin over his shoulder. He allows it. 

Momo voices her disapproval and tips her glass, “To good health”. 

“To Chargebolt,” Jirou adds, a grin splitting her cheeks, laughter already bleeding into her words. “Seen him at his best, seen him at his worst, and still can’t tell the difference”. 

“Oi!” 

“To a livable minimum wage!” Uraraka hiccups. All the blood in her body seems to have rushed to her face; expression comically determined, betrayed by her spasming diaphragm. Everyone lifts a glass. 

The night crawls on. Another round, then two. Kei refills your glass, never without a flirty comment. You feel thawed from the inside out, a silly smile fixed to your lips. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, from the too-forceful kisses given by Mina, the rough pinch of explosive fingers. 

You might as well be engaged in a game of musical chairs; the only one refusing to surrender his spot is Bakugo. Jirou and Momo slink away somewhere private— ‘private’ being behind the vintage jukebox right by the bathrooms— and Kirishima scoots over to wrap you up in a side hug and pushes all the air from your lungs. Uraraka drapes herself across your front. Shinsou surrenders as Mina sits in his lap. Being with them is as innate as breathing. 

Maybe you didn’t fight a war together but they still embraced you as their own. And Shouto watches with that terrible, awful, shoujo twinkle in his eyes; you flush hot whenever you catch him, inundated by the desire to reach across and kiss him.

Your pulse is quick and movements slowed. A pleasant buzz circulates around your body. After the third round Shouto begins insisting that you stay put. “Okay,” you conceded tipsily. “Tell Kei I said hi”. 

Shouto leaves with a vaguely constipated frown. 

Bakugo cackles and refuses to tell you what was so funny. Momo returns to the sight of you clinging to the stubborn hero’s arm, cursing his name. “What are we laughing at?” she muses. You notice a few things first: there’s a fresh bruise on her neck, a button on her dress undone, and a glass of water in her grasp. 

Disheveled Momo is a rare treat. You’d tease her about it, if Bakugo did not immediately jump at the opportunity to tease you first. “Just gearhead and halfie being oblivious idiots,” he surmised. Another snort bursts from his nose. “‘Tell Kei I said hi’. Shit. Should’a seen his face”. 

“Bakugo,” Momo chides, attempting to disguise her own amusement. “Go easy on them”. 

He clicks his tongue, shaking you with a rough shrug of his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel and fuck already”. 

Your mood tumbles, dampening as you sulk, “Shouto doesn’t want me like that”. 

“Yeah, right. And vice prez didn’t just get fingered by the jukebox”. 

“Bakugo!” Momo’s voice is stronger this time. She whips her head toward the other patrons and back, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I did not get… fingered,” she protested with a sharp whisper. 

“What’s that?” you feign ignorance, drowsy and loose lipped. “Momo got fingered?!”

Making Bakugo laugh feels a little like winning the lottery; having him throw an arm around you as he does it leaves you dizzy with accomplishment. You curl into his side, shoulders shaking. You mouth an apology across the booth and Momo stretches to take your hand, stressing her forgiveness. 

Shouto shatters the jovial atmosphere. He returns stiffly, his glare set in stone, and places a drink you did not order in front of you. After a quick sniff you realise that it’s water. 

“Once you’ve drunk that we should head home,” he says. It’s posed as a suggestion but you hear the instruction. Not wanting to irritate him any further, you begin to sip. 

Momo’s brow pinches with worry. “Is everything alright, Shouto?” 

He breathes harshly through his nose, coming out in a puff of cold air. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I’m sorry to cut the night short, Momo,” his face softens. “It was good to see you”. 

Astonishingly, Bakugo says nothing. His arm snakes from around your back. You finish the water with a big gulp, resurfacing for air. “Done,” you wipe the back of your hand across your lips. 

Shouto steadies you while you awkwardly scoot around the booth. Momo gathers you both into a hug, her kind hand stroking the length of your spine. “Text us when you get home”. 

“We will,” you promise, saluting as you’re gently pulled away. “See ya on Monday, great explosion murder god dynamite, sir!” 

The others have dispersed amongst the small crowd. You mourn not being able to say goodbye to them all. Shouto cinches around your waist and guides you to the door. You can’t complain— instinctively sinking into the embrace, surrounded by his cologne— but you do wonder what the hurry is. 

You waded through the mass of people until you both finally made your way out into the open air. The breeze encourages you closer to his front, cold and refreshing in your lungs. Already you feel as if some of your drunken enthusiasm is dissolving. 

“Shouto?” his pace slows mercifully, coming to a stop underneath a streetlight. The bulb blinks in five second intervals, dousing him in sickly orange. “Are you mad?” 

A warm hand hooks your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye only to avoid looking back. His lips part to speak, and when nothing comes they close. “I’m not mad,” he intoned quietly, thumb skimming over the line of your jaw. Your breath catches. 

He seems so… guilty. 

“I think you are,” you observe, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You bring his hand down and intertwine it with yours. The alcohol must be making you brave. “But if you’re not ready you don’t need to tell me”. 

Some colour returns to his skin. Shouto huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so—” cutting off that train of thought, he tugs you forward and wraps you into a hug. The crook of his neck shields you from the cold, and for a few short moments all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears. 

“…Have you ever felt like there are things you want to say but there’s something that always stops you from expressing them?” 

You take note of how his grip tightens, warm nose squished into your cheek as if he thought you might run. Shouto is nervous— rather, he’s making himself vulnerable to you. “I have,” you murmur. 

He bows his head to burrow into your shoulder, “Then, would you give me the chance to say them?” 

What you hear is: will you be patient with me? 

“Now?” you ask gently. The light overhead flickers again and your vision swims. You’re realising now that his impulsivity might simply be because he’s drunk. “Don’t you want to talk at home?”

Shouto shakes his head. “If I say it now you can change your mind and go back”. 

That’s worrying. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, “…Okay”. 

You expect him to let go but he doesn’t, though he does loosen his hold, as if giving you the chance to leave. Following a deep inhale, Shouto solemnly admits, “That guy at the bar. Kei. He asked me to give you his phone number”.  

“He did?” 

“Yes,” he says. 

“So where is it?” 

Dread and fatigue curdled in your stomach. You hear the moment Shouto swallows his caution. The atmosphere sours as he admits, “I burned it”. 

You step back, leaving his arms limp at his sides. He looks betrayed. Like you’re testing the strength of a promise you don’t recall making. This was not a good time nor place to talk about this. 

“My feet hurt,” his eyes widened in confusion. “I’m cold and I’m drunk and my feet hurt, Shouto. I want to go home”. 

The request registers slowly. You watch his face fall, gathering a facsimile of a smile. “Okay. Then let’s go home”. 

Your chest aches. You want to cry. You scramble for his hand and squeeze it tight, hating the despondent tone in his voice. “We’re too drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” and that seems to lessen the rigidity in his bones. 

From then on, the walk is done in heavy silence. Your thoughts are muddied and loud, emotions bouncing back and forth between resentment and uncertainty. 

Underneath all of it is a seedling of hope that you daren’t nurture. 

The atmosphere clings, following you all the way home, suffocating as you stand a metre apart in front of your respective bedrooms. You bid him goodnight, hand lingering on the handle. Anticipation sits like a stone in your chest. 

You lie in bed waiting for him to knock. 

He doesn’t. 

Next time you open your eyes you wince at the throb behind them; it pings around the inside of your skull and you groan into your pillow. 

There’s movement in the apartment. Shouto had always been an early riser. Cold relief washes over you at the confirmation that he was here. Last night filters through your mind. One scene after another you try to make sense of it all. 

Kei had been genuinely flirting— you didn’t really think to take it seriously at the time. It was harmless fun, and you figured he was just the type that enjoyed teasing. 

Shouto must’ve realised it early on. That was the reason he stepped in and kept you away from the bar. But that didn’t line up right with the reality you knew, because the only reasonable explanation for his behaviour would be that— 

You shoot upright, kicking off your covers, and immediately feel it rebound. Thumbs pressed to your temples, you massage firm circles into your skin until the pain dulled. 

Holy shit. Shouto was jealous. 

A strange blanket of exhaustion settles back over you, as though your muscles have atrophied. You slide down the headboard and stare up at the marks on the ceiling, all sprawled out like dropped skeins of yarn. Suddenly your bedroom was a refuge from an inevitable relationship altering conversation. 

Shouto had been jealous of a man vying for your affection. Your Shouto: gentle, placid, considerate, patient, funny, beautiful Shouto. 

“Fuck,” you whisper into the emptiness. You can hear the coffee machine brewing in the distance. You’re torn between screaming into your hands and jumping on the bed. 

You settle on getting up. Slowly. It’s clear you had been drunker than you thought; your pyjamas are on back to front. You tremble as you slip your arms through the sleeves and right the collar, padding over to the door. 

Shouto wanted to talk last night and you stopped him. Guilt gnaws away at you. All that courage was shot down. Pretending to forget about it isn’t an option— you had to do this. 

The plan to be stealthy is squandered by the hinge on your door. A harsh squeak reverberates through the apartment. You huff, lowering from your tip toes, and walk towards the kitchen. 

Another body enters the hallway. Shouto turns on his heel and nearly drops his mug as you almost collide. Reflexes hammered into him, he catches it in one hand and manoeuvres you away from the hot splash with the other. 

“Shit. Did it burn you?” he breathes, bringing your hand up to his mouth. A chilly puff of air blows over your skin and you shiver. 

You clear your throat and try to find your voice. “I think you got it. Thank you, Shouto”. 

The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. You try not to feel hurt when he drops your hand like hot coal. “Sorry,” casting a forlorn look at the half empty mug and the small coffee puddle at his feet. Lips pressed into a thin line, he says, “I was bringing you some coffee. Thought you might need it”. 

Delicate tendrils of steam dance and dissipate into the air. You gently cup your hands around his and receive the mug, a small smile pulling at your mouth. His eyes are keen and searching as you take a drink. 

“I definitely needed it,” you tell him between sips. The coffee paves a hot path down your throat to your stomach— the warmth spreads, seeking to fill the spaces between. All the earlier fear is washed away.

The time you spend observing one another feels like a short eternity. You watch hope visibly thread into his features, brighter; the way he always should be. 

Softly, you ask, “Do you think we could talk about last night?”

“Yeah,” the word comes in a whisper. Head inclining, Shouto nods in one slow motion. Then, louder, “I should clean up, first. Where do you want to…?”

“Where?” you repeat. The thoughts in his head are written plainly across his forehead and you longed to rid him of them. Tilting and raising your brows suggestively, you tease, “Bedroom?” 

Shouto gives an amused huff and the remnants of caution are blown away like seeds in a dandelion clock. His steps are lighter, a subtle bounce to them. Light filters into the living room and your spirit is buoyed by giddiness and wonder. 

What had you been so afraid of? 

You wait in the crook of the L shaped couch, legs curled beneath your body, facing the tall standing windows that overlook the city. Your headache has lessened into a quiet echo. 

While he mops up the coffee you finish off the last drops in your cup. You take a moment to appreciate your surroundings. The emptiness you once felt in this room no longer exists. Blankets strewn across the cushions, small crochet coasters, pictures put into frames, books left face down to save the page, things out of place— it felt so lived in. 

It felt like home. 

You sit up when footfalls approach. Shouto is pretty in the late morning light, under eye shadows and all. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“Not much,” he confesses. His weight shifts before he finally decides on sitting beside you, turning to mirror your posture. “I thought I might’ve messed things up”. 

You stretch to put your mug on the coffee table and his eyes follow attentively. “Shouto, you didn’t mess anything up,” he wrings his hands together in his lap, searching your face for dishonesty and finding none. “Though you probably shouldn’t have burned up that guy's number”. 

“Probably,” he affirmed. The hair on his left side is pressed flat to his head. You count the creases on his cheek, stopping at the healing bruise on his jaw. The movement of his full mouth draws you back, “I am sorry for that. It was childish of me and I took away your choice”. 

You hum, shuffling closer on your knees. Shouto’s expression is beautifully open, and you understand it, because your heart beat is thrumming just the same. “Next time, give me the number so I can ask you to burn it myself”. 

Shouto’s fiddling halts. It’s a relief. You thought if he pulled at that hangnail any more he might unravel in front of you. A crease forms between his brows, “What?” 

“I don’t want anyone else’s number. I…” losing some of your strength, you close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply, continuing on an exhale, “Last night, you were jealous”. 

It’s not a question. Shouto nods, his hand making an aborted reach for your own but thinking better of it. 

You slide your palm against his. Your fingers fill the spaces between his knuckles. Shouto holds on tight and you ask,  “…Why?” 

A nail traces random shapes into his skin. You watch him watching your finger, mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. He steels his resolve, an internal monologue you aren’t privy to. With spine tingling cadence, he says, “Because I’m in love with you”. 

You’re not sure what you anticipated. There isn’t much that could prepare you for such a long awaited admission— for something you’d only daydreamed about hearing. The hunger in your heart rears its head, seeing his words as permission to want. To take. 

Shouto carries on, incognisant to your plight. “I made peace with my feelings a long time ago. It’s not something I wanted you to worry about”. 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him. “Deciding things for me”. 

“I don’t want you to make peace with them. I want you to share them. With me,” Your eyes meet as he peers up. There’s a stray kiss curl by his temple, white and soaking up the sun. He shudders when you twist it gently around your finger. “I love you too, dummy”.  

Heat prickles at the back of your neck, feeling the shift in atmosphere. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. A slow blooming grin pulls at his mouth as the reality sets in. 

“Yeah. Oh”. Giddiness bubbles in your chest like water in a wellspring and you let go to cup his face. Shouto leans into the cradle your hands form, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb skims over the scar tissue. His ears are warm. 

Guided by fleeting impulses you press a quick kiss to his left eyelid, and he sucks in a shaky breath. You move lower, nose bumping his cheek, to press another to the corner of his mouth. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, feeling like you were on the delicate precipice of something incredible. His mouth turns to chase yours, bicoloured eyes peeking beneath his lashes. 

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and it comes like a puff of steam. “On the mouth this time”. 

Your lips tremble as you try not to laugh, aligning with his. You kiss him, petal soft and gentle, and feel it when he smiles. Tentative, derived from uncertainty and unfamiliarity. 

Shouto’s cool fingers slide around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. Don’t go anywhere. You answer in kind— hands sliding down to his chest to guide him back into the cushions and feel his heart racing as you settle your knees either side of his hips. You barely part for air, and Shouto follows your lead. 

“Again,” he mumbles. 

The intensity grows. Shouto kisses like it’s his last. Strong arms wrap around your waist, wandering hands mapping out the topography of your body. Somewhere between, your tongue dips into the seam, biting his bottom lip and plucking a whine right from his mouth. Heat flutters low in your abdomen; hips squirm between your thighs, his chest pressed to your own. 

“Shouto,” you groan, pushing harder, needing to be closer, threading into the soft hair at the back of his head. Fingers curl into the fat by your hips, they pull, rocking you into his lap. Invigorated, Shouto nips at your lips. Arousal spikes through you at the cool exhale— his tongue slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, wet and cold. 

“Fuck, is that—” you pant, head falling back as he begins to leave a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “S’that your quirk?” 

He hums an affirmative. The sound is resonant, deep in his chest and satisfied. Smug. You feel the impression of his smile against your jugular. Static fills your brain. Your thighs clench, rutting forward to relieve the ache between your legs, imagining all the things his mouth could do. 

At some point you part to catch your breath. Your foreheads come together, sharing awed laughter. Shouto cheeks are pink and there’s a soft smile on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips.  His hand moves to cup your jaw, rubbing small circles into the cheekbone.

“We should… slow down…” his chest heaves, eyes swallowed by his pupils. They fall to his lap, right where you’re pressed to his cock. You file away the lazy slur in his voice and wonder if that’s where all his blood went. “…I want to do this properly”. 

Figures that he would have more willpower than you; though you get the sense if you pushed, he’d give, and every surface in the apartment would see you laid out. Gathering your thoughts is made much more difficult as he kneads at your thigh, heedless to your struggle. 

“Okay baby,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his brow bone. His ears turn red and you’re alight, “You like that?” 

Shouto tucks his grin against your shoulder. Like before, he locks both arms around your back and holds you close. You comb your fingers through his hair, overlapping white and red, a long tender moment passing. 

“You love me,” he whispered apprehensively. Then again, thick with wonderment. “You love me”.  

It’s unbelievable to him— and that’s unbelievable to you. Shouto is easy to love, moreso than anyone you have ever met. All clandestine glances, soft spoken words and inside jokes; a book of every witty little thing you’ve said, keeping your words close, giving importance to the things you enjoy; he’s gag gifts and thoughtfulness and open arms, the reason all your hot drinks never go cold, he’s the cream that never melts. He’s home. 

You cradle him to your chest with no intention of letting go. The sun crawls higher, casting a warm blanket over your shoulders. 

“I do,” you reply. “How could I not?” 

[harmonictechnicality]

Grocery shopping with Steve Harrington should not be such an arousing task, but it is.

It so is.

Eddie swears on all of his calloused fingers that watching Steve strut down the cereal aisle with his little shopping cart is better than hand stuff.

Seriously. He always walks a few feet behind Steve, just to get the perfect view of that award winning ass (Eddie made him a trophy for it last Valentine’s Day - it’s on their mantle).

They’ve been together for what? Eight years? And it never gets any less sexy. Watching him reach for the granola bars on the top shelf, stretching his annoyingly tucked in shirt.

Eddie pretends to peer through imaginary opera binoculars as Steve reads over the nutrition label. Steve flips it over a couple of times because he always forgets which brand he likes better - the blue box or the red box. Eddie never reminds him that his favorite is the blue box because the whole charade is too adorable.

But once Steve figures it out, he tosses the blue box into the cart, and Eddie always lets out this rumbly throat sound at the sight.

Steve turns his neck to look at Eddie. “This again?”

“This always.” Eddie catches up to Steve’s side at the canned food section, slides his hand in Steve’s back pocket. “Never not this.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bends down to grab a few cans of chicken noodle soup. Which holy fuck, seeing his boyfriend at a 75° angle holding his favorite soup preference? Eddie might as well be packaged and placed on the shelf. Cause his mind is turning to liquid. He’s becoming a bowl of horny broth at the sight of Steve all domestic and bent over.

Eddie quickly flicks off his jacket because the entire store just warmed up exponentially. Global warming doesn’t have shit on Steve Harrington holding discounted canned goods.

Steve lightly smacks Eddie's arm. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’ll pull your self onto my self.”

“Really?” Steve snorts. “That was the best you could come up with?”

“Yeah well, the lower quadrant of my brain shut off the second I visualized your ass dimple in the middle of the bread aisle.” Eddie explains, untucking one edge of Steve’s shirt.

“Sorry for the inconvenience to your grocery-kink brain.”

“You should be.” Grocery kink. Steve with a shopping cart kink. Eddie has both, no doubt.

And it’s totally true. The bread aisle is usually where all hope is lost for him. Fluffy breads, kneading dough, squishy carbs all around them. Steve’s sides are just begging to be squeezed in that aisle (amongst other places). The deli employee outwardly gawks as Eddie pokes at Steve's waist, pinching any area of skin that he can get his hands on.

"Just making sure the products are nice and fresh!" Eddie shouts to the employee, hugging Steve firmly from behind. The poor meat-slicing guy laughs nervously before scurrying into the stock room. Honestly, Eddie should probably feel more sympathetic but it's so hard to focus on anything else when Steve kisses his cheek. Accepts his weird affections fully.

"These people don't get paid enough to put up with your shit." Steve is laughing as he says it though. Clearly not that bothered by all of the attention he's getting. That's part of the reason they work so well together. They're absolute attention whores, equally.

"Okay, cut it out." Steve wiggles out from Eddie's grasp. "You're gonna smush the sourdough."

Eddie freezes. Mulls over the consequences over the next thing he's about to say. "Is that an invitation?"

"Ew."

"You said it."

"You twisted it."

"How could I not?"

"You need help." Steve turns down the next aisle, still speaking as he stays on task. "Preferably the kind that involves a person with a legal pad and a couch that you can lie down on."

Eddie snickers, thoroughly loves it when Steve bites back. Makes the chase feel like it just started, even after all these years.

He keeps it together for roughly twelve more minutes, which is probably a record. Eddie also deserves a trophy on their mantle for that - he's gonna hint to Steve about investing in one whenever they get back home.

But the aisle where Eddie’s composure levels malfunction entirely, is the frozen food section. See, whenever Steve opens the door to get milk or eggs or whatever essential dairy item they need, a rush of frigid air blows out. Makes Steve’s already bitable skin all bumpy. His neck is covered in little chill bumps, all of his baby hairs stick up with his raised skin.

This is the only instance where Eddie mildly wishes he were a cannibal, just to give Steve a little chomp. A little nibble at his change in skin texture. Eddie's not even sure why the chill bumps send him over the edge but they do - every damn time.

“Baby, we’ve talked about this.” Steve says once Eddie gets him pinned up behind the corner freezer in the very back.

"There were no snoopy old ladies around this time." Eddie licks all the way up to Steve's ear, tugging gently around the edges. "I checked."

Steve huffs once before taking Eddie's face with both hands, kissing him deep. The rest of his body is cold from the surrounding freezers, but Steve's lips are warm. Hotter every time Eddie's mouth connects to his again. Steve still tastes like the nectarine samples they had back at the produce aisle. The taste drives Eddie to suck on Steve's bottom lip, drinking up any leftover flavor he can. Make Steve's natural pout even more plush than it normally is.

He untucks the rest of Steve's annoying polo - lets his hands slide all the way around, landing at the small of Steve's back. Eddie presses his fingers into Steve's skin, making him shiver. Causing more chill bumps to rise. Ones that he created this time.

They've kissed like this over a thousand times by now, but it always feels different. It’s a new kiss on a new day.

And Eddie couldn't give a single fuck if the deli employee or the snoopy old lady saw them making out next to the lactose-free cheese selection. He'd show off his stupidly gorgeous boyfriend everywhere, make a complete spectacle out of it every damn time.

Steve would let him do it too. Eddie bets that Steve would let him get away with a full anarchist uprising if he wanted. Which he does. Kinda. After they're done kissing, obviously.

They stop only because Steve lets his lips part and his fingers drag down Eddie's chest. And whenever Steve does that move, he's approximately thirty seconds away from moaning explicit words. Loudly too. Eddie knows all of Steve's physical indicators by heart now. It’s practically Eddie’s native language, he would speak only that one if he could.

Eddie takes the cue to stash all of his hormones away - goes back to dotting small pecks all over Steve's face. He needs to get Steve laughing instead of panting. It's safer that way. Eddie isn't trying to get arrested in a supermarket for christ's sake (although that would make one hell of a story for family reunions).

They're sort of blotchy, all pinks and reds, as they get to the checkout line. The cashier must think their complexion is permanently like this. Every time she’s seen them, they’re blushed-up like Vegas showgirls. Eddie is immune to the embarrassment of the situation. He's pretty sure Steve is too - he can tell by the way Steve is still leaning all over him while he fumbles to get his wallet open. All love-drunk and kittenish.

They head back to their car, and Eddie gets one last look at Steve's signature shopping cart strut. He sighs dramatically - crushed inside that he'll have to wait till their next grocery run to see it again.

"That's it." Steve says after Eddie sighs for the fifth time. "You're returning the cart."

"Why?"

"It's punishment for your ridiculous behavior."

"Rude."

"Necessary."

"Fine." Eddie snatches the handle and stomps all the way to the cart corral at the front of the store.

This is an outrage. Steve should know that his sexy cart-walking encore is the best part of Shopping Day. Seeing him walk further away before returning - always doing a little hair ruffle thing as he comes back. It's Eddie's own version of Baywatch and Steve is ruining it.

He slides into the passenger seat, slamming the car door to emphasize his anger.

"Steve Harrington, I'm so fucking mad at y-"

Eddie can't even finish his sentence before Steve's mouth is on his. It's a messier kiss this time, Steve is doing all the moving while Eddie tries to figure out what's going on. He pulls back, raising both eyebrows.

"I get it now." Steve answers Eddie's nonverbal 'what the fuck' question.

"Get what?"

"The shopping cart thing." Steve looks Eddie up and down. "I get it."

Holy shit. "Were you checking me out?"

Steve nods. Shrugs. Nods again.

"How much time do you think we have before the ice cream melts?" Steve motions to the backseat, tucking in his lips, hiding a smirk.

Oh. That. They're doing that.

"I'd say we have..." Eddie checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist. "More than enough time."

They haven't had desperate car sex like this since their first year of dating. It's so good that Eddie wonders why they stopped having desperate car sex.

For the rest of the car ride home, they're obnoxiously touchy-feely. Eddie's hand stays glued to Steve's overpriced jeans. The denim is much softer than any pair of jeans that Eddie owns. Maybe that's why they cost a fortune.

Steve takes one hand off the steering wheel whenever there's a straight shot - rubs his fingers over Eddie's knuckles. Bounces off his rings like stepping stones.

They're nauseating. If Eddie saw any other couple act like this, he'd throw tomatoes ate them. Taunt them mercilessly.

But Steve Harrington is the prototype that future scientists will use one day to build their genetically flawless human race. So Eddie is allowed to be as nauseating and revolting as he wants.

Their plan failed. The ice cream is completely melted by the time they get home. But who fucking cares? Eddie is dating someone with his same weird shopping cart kink and that's all he could ever ask for.

And besides, that just means that they’ll have to go grocery shopping again.

[assexpansion]

Accidentally making your girlfriend's mom grow instead of her and trying to hide/cover it up

You nervously swiped the keycard to the hotel room door. Decently loud music and moving shadows on the bedroom's neat furniture met you.

"Hello? Pam? It's me, just me. You can come out." You called into the room.

Finally, you saw a black curved shape about 5 feet high crest the corner. Dread filled you as you recognized the ball to be your girlfriend's mom's new tits, entering the hallway before she did. Then, there she was in all her glory, smiling beautifully with her extreme porn-star tits and a hand on her hip.

"Just you, huh? Well, isn't that a shame?" She asked in a flirty, sarcastic tone.

She wobbled back into the room, leaving you dumbfounded. She wasn't supposed to look like this! The growth hormones weren't meant for her! You pulled at the uncomfortable stiffness forming in your pants as you tried to figure out just how much trouble you had caused. You followed her into the room. Pam eyed herself up in a mirror, adjusting her top to expose more of the huge, taught spheres. She swiveled around and eyed her figure up with a carnal vanity. Finally, she stooped low and swept her fingers up her exposed cleavage as if savoring just how fucking big her breasts were.

"You know, I don't think my daughter would have appreciated these as much." She said absent-mindedly. "I've been considering a breast-lift for a few years, but this... is so much better."

She emphasized her point by turning to you with a hand under each tit. She removed her hands to let them fall, but the pale globes barely drooped. You gulped as sweat began to form on your brow.

"But... y-you know we have to k-keep it a secret, right?" You questioned her, lining up behind the mirror so you could take in her preening.

Her eyes met yours in the reflection. "A secret? Why would I keep these hidden?"

"Because..." You began.

"Because they were meant for someone else?" Pam asked, smiling back.

You had seen the effects beginning while picking up her daughter for a date, how her shirt was a little too tight over her C-cups. Then, when you went to drop her off, Pam was sporting full-blown, firm F-cups in a red negligee. Now, they looked twice that size.

"Yes." You admitted sheepishly.

Still holding your gaze in the mirror, she carefully pulled down her shirt. More and more cleavage seemed to billow into existence as she stretched the collar. Finally, her swollen nipples, reddish and visibly throbbing, poked out.

"I wonder... if that matters... anymore." She breathed out in pleasure every few seconds while rubbing around the angry tips of her exposed tits. "And what... would my daughter say... if she caught you... and her big-boobied mom... in a hotel room together? I wonder."

You couldn't tell if you were being seduced or blackmailed. Either way, your cock was annoyingly stiff and you tried to discretely hide it by letting it run down the leg hole of your boxer. Her eyes shined.

"And if my flat-chested daughter isn't around to take care of that. I wonder who could?" She asked, turning around to face you, still teasing the ends of her huge tits.

"This whole... debacle has gotten me so... pent up. So if you promise... to let me drain you." Her eyes flickered to your poorly hidden cock. "I'll stay inside, wear whatever sweaters can hide these. I'll even fake sick so no one will know... for however long that'll last."

Pam continued, slinking toward you and fondling her now-pointed nipples. "I'll do it all. Hide these... from the world. For just... a taste."

Your member was practically popping out of your pants, so it was a no-brainer to free it, especially when she made an offer like that. She unceremoniously dropped to her knees, tits wobbling like hell, and greedily mouthed the tip of your cock. Spittle hung from between it and her lips as she pulled away in delight. Pam looked up at you.

"Our little secret, right?" She whispered, hefting her breasts up so your penis was squished between the two spheres.

You nodded in submission as she began to suck your tip and work your cock with her tits. You were already so close, but she kept going.

"Our little secret." You whimpered as you came.

[roosterforme]

Stud On Board | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: You're nervous to meet Bob's friends for the first time. Initially you think they are poking fun at you, but then you realize that's not the case. When it becomes obvious that it's your boyfriend they're picking on, you make it a point to let them know just how much of a stud he really is.

Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, swearing

Length: 2100 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more!

"I'm a little nervous to meet everybody," you whispered to your boyfriend as you zipped up his jeans. You wiped the corner of your mouth, making sure your lips were clean before climbing onto his lap. You'd gone on four dates with him before he very nervously asked you to be his girlfriend, and since then, for the past month, you'd been so happy.

"Don't be nervous, Sweetheart," he replied, leaning closer to kiss your nose as he cradled you between his body and the steering wheel of his truck. "Everyone is going to like you. What's not to like?"

"Bobby," you said, adjusting his crooked glasses on his nose. "They are a tight knit group. If one of them doesn't like me, none of them are going to like me."

"Well, I like you plenty," he promised, and you turned to look out the window at his friend Jake's house where the Memorial Day party was in full swing in the backyard. "And Nat knows I'm wild about you. She told me she's happy you're coming with me."

You kissed him softly and then opened the door and started to climb down with his help. "I can't believe I get to meet the famous Phoenix."

Bob laughed. "She's larger than life. Hang on tight." 

And you did. You laced your fingers through his and let him lead you around the cute little ranch house and into the cozy backyard. Someone was grilling, there was music playing, and you saw a couple of kids blowing bubbles. But before you could take in anything else, there was a woman with dark hair and wide brown eyes in your face. 

"Bob. She's stunning."

Your boyfriend chuckled and pulled you a little closer. "Sweetheart, this is Nat."

"Oh!" you said brightly. "I've been looking forward to meeting you!"

"Holy shit," Nat replied, just shaking her head. "Good job, Bob. I mean, it's nice to meet you," she said, offering her hand and shaking yours. "Bagman is grilling some burgers, and there are drinks in the cooler."

"You want me to get you something to drink?" Bob asked, pecking you on the cheek. 

When you nodded, you watched Nat drag him away as she whispered, "Fucking hell, Floyd. You could have warned us that your new girlfriend looks like that." 

You rolled your eyes. Nobody usually made much of a fuss over you. When you turned to see what the group of kids was up to, you nearly bumped into a tall man sporting a mustache. Like a pornstar from the 80s. You almost laughed as he said, "Hey, I know we didn't come here together, but how'd you like to leave with me?"

"Excuse me?" you asked, bursting out laughing. "Did you really just say that?"

He shrugged at you, looking very smug. "My name's Bradley. We haven't met before. I'd definitely remember you."

You told him your name, and you were about to add that you came here with Bob, but then your boyfriend strolled back over with two cans of beer. He handed you one and kissed your cheek again.

"Oh, Rooster, this is my girlfriend," Bob said, and you watched Bradley's jaw drop as he looked at you, his eyes dipping down below your neck to the top of your dress as he blushed. 

"Sorry," he muttered, and he fist bumped a confused looking Bob as he walked away. 

"What was that all about?" your boyfriend asked. 

"Nothing," you replied with a smile as you sipped your drink. "Can we get some food? I'm starving, and I need to put something in my mouth right now."

"Really?" Bobby asked, cheeks flushing as he ran his fingers along the back of your hand. "You didn't get your fill in the truck?"

"Bobby!" you gasped, always a little surprised when he said something dirty to you. He was such a gentleman... usually. "I got my fill of you in the truck, but I need to make sure I have energy for later." You winked, and he was practically tripping over himself as he followed you across the patio toward the grill.

And that was where you met Jake. "Hey, pretty lady," he drawled. His accent was southern and cute, but nothing like Bob's, which you'd already gotten used to hearing whispering the sweetest things while he made love to you. 

"Hi," you said carefully as he studied your face. You were already feeling like maybe you didn't get off to the best start here, and the look he was giving you felt like a confirmation. 

"Damn it, Bob," he groaned, turning to look at your boyfriend. "Well done." Then he handed you a burger and told you to help yourself to some potato salad and snacks on the picnic table. 

"I don't think they like me," you told Bob as you dumped some pretzels onto your plate and sighed. 

"They do!" he insisted. "Just give them a chance."

"I'm trying," you promised before you bit into your burger. And thankfully Phoenix came back over and started chatting with you which made you feel a lot better. She asked you about work and told you how good Bob was at his job.

"He always makes sure he keeps everyone safe," she said, looking at Bob with appreciation in her eyes. "He's a great team player."

You smiled at her as Bob blushed. "He told me I could come visit him on base someday," you said as you wrapped your arms around him. "I'd love to see your Super Hornet."

"Bob, you'll have to let her check out your cockpit one day," Nat said with a chuckle. "Maybe she's not familiar with that yet."

"Oh, I'm very familiar with that," you whispered, just for Bob, and his cheeks turned a deeper pink still. 

"Sweetheart," he muttered, and you promised him you'd behave. 

Then someone was reaching for your hand and pulling you away from him. "You're Bob's?" he asked. And before you even answered, he said, "I'm Fanboy. I mean Mickey. Come play horseshoes with me. I'm terrible and nobody else will be my partner."

You waved goodbye to Bob and Phoenix while you laughed and joined the game. "If you're terrible, what makes you think I'd want to be your partner?" you asked as he finally let go of your hand. 

"I'm sure you don't, but I didn't give you a choice. That's Payback and Coyote," Mickey told you, and two more men waved at you. "We're playing against them." 

"Damn," they said in unison before the taller one added, "You're Bob's new girlfriend?"

"Yeah," you said, waving awkwardly. "It's nice to meet you."

"Are you sure you didn't get lost or something?" Jake asked you when he strolled over. "Really? Bob?"

You looked at all the guys and then over to Bob on the patio. "What do you mean?" you asked Jake.

"Don't listen to them," Mickey said loudly, cutting him off and handing you a horseshoe. "They're just jealous."

"Jealous?" you asked, starting to feel sick. They didn't like you. For some reason, you'd done something wrong. You tossed the horseshoe, but it was a terrible throw, and now you were embarrassed. "Can I ask what I did wrong? Because Bobby is so sweet, and I really wanted to make a good impression on his friends."

Mickey's eyes went wide. "You didn't do anything wrong!"

And that's when you heard Payback tell Coyote and Jake, "It's like beauty and the geek. I don't understand how it happend."

"Are they talking about me?" you asked Mickey, and he parted his lips like he was going to say something to you, but he turned to them instead.

"Guys, knock it off."

"I don't understand," you whispered, and finally Mickey showed you some sympathy.

"They all think you're hot. And they can't believe you're dating Bob."

You felt warmth flood your cheeks, and the other horseshoe almost slipped from your fingers. "Oh."

"Seriously, just ignore them," Mickey said, shooting the others a nasty look. "I like you. Everyone likes you. Let's play horseshoes."

So you played for a little bit as his words started to sink in. It just didn't make any sense. Bob was every bit as handsome as the rest of them. And he was sweet. Even sweeter than Mickey, who was currently trying to include you in the conversation. And Bob was so funny; last night he had you laughing so hard you had hiccups. 

Not to mention, Bob gave you the best sex of your life. Sure, you hadn't been intimate with him for more than a few weeks, but he was very attentive. He gave you everything you asked for. 

"Hey, Sweetheart," he said and you turned to see him strolling up to you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you wanted to kiss him until his glasses steamed up. 

"Bobby," you whispered, handing the horseshoes to Bradley so you could give him a proper hug. 

"You having fun?" he asked, rubbing his hands in soothing circles on your back. 

"Yes. Mickey and Phoenix are really nice. And the rest of them... I think they must grow on you over time?"

Bob started laughing and said, "You're not wrong."

"Hey, Four-Eyes, you and your girl want dessert?" Bradley asked, tossing one of the horseshoes up in the air and catching it.

"Um, y-yes," Bob said, clearly flustered now. 

"Four-Eyes?" you asked, scoffing at him. Were they making you feel a little awkward because they thought Bob was nerdy? "Wait, are you making fun of Bobby?"

At least Bradley had the decency to look a little embarrassed as you glared at him. "Yeah," he answered quietly.

"You think he's a nerd?" you asked the other guys, gesturing at Bob. 

Bradley shrugged. "Yeah, kinda." Jake, Coyote and Payback all looked like they wanted to agree.

You looked up at your boyfriend, and you could tell he was still embarrassed. He could barely meet your eyes as you pressed your palm against his chest. Then you could feel a smile creep across your face as you made sure you were loud enough for everyone to hear. "I think he's a stud." Then you kissed him hard in front of everyone, and sure his glasses were crooked when you were done, but you liked that about him.

"You do?" Bob asked softly. "A stud?"

You nodded up at him as you fixed his glasses. "You wanna leave, Bobby? I keep thinking about sucking your cock in the truck like I did earlier. I'm dying to feel your big dick down my throat again."

Jake let out a little strangled noise, and Bradley dropped a horseshoe on his own foot. Now the other guys were gaping at Bob, and they seemed to stand a little taller in his presence, suddenly impressed. 

Bob licked his lips and stared at you, completely entranced as you kissed his cheek. "Yeah. You know what, I think we should head out," he managed, his voice a little hoarse as he tightened his grip on you. 

"You're leaving?" Nat asked, walking over with a slice of cake. 

"Apparently Bob isn't as innocent as we thought," Hangman drawled, looking at your boyfriend with new appreciation. 

"It was nice to meet everyone," you told them, lacing your fingers through Bob's. "I'm going to go take care of Bobby. But maybe next time we can stay for dessert?"

"Make Bob bring you to the Hard Deck on Friday!" Nat called after you as you led him away. "I need more estrogen in my life!"

"Will you take me to the Hard Deck on Friday?" you asked him sweetly. 

"I'll take you anywhere you want, Sweetheart," he replied, still looking at you like he couldn't believe you were his.

You turned to wave and said, "See you on Friday!"

And then Bob pulled you close as he led you back toward his truck. "You didn't have to say all that stuff in front of them and call me a...stud. I'm used to them picking on me a little bit for being nerdy and having glasses and everything. I mean, I know it's true, Sweetheart."

You just laughed and shook your head at him. "Come here, stud." You pushed him up against the side of his truck and kissed him, slipping your tongue between his lips and tasting him. You rubbed yourself gently against the front of him and whispered, "Do I look like I deserve anything less than the sexiest, sweetest boyfriend?"

He swallowed hard and grunted, "No."

"That's what I thought. Now get in the truck, Bobby. I have something I want to show you."

----------------------------

Bob is a stud. Just try to argue with me about that fact. Thanks to @bradshawsbitch and @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls!

@beyondthesefourwalls

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@endofdays56

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@wkndwlff

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@yanna-banana

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@shrimping-for-all

@xoxabs88xox

@cottagecori

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@chicomonks

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@ohgodnotagainn

@ahumanwallpaper

@paintlavillered

@roostette

@seitmai

@tigermoon3

@noonenuts

@amiets2

@cruelmissdior

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@angelbabyange

@milestellersgirl89

@annoyingsmartass

[trulyumai]

diverting your attention

pairing: carmy / reader

synopsis: bored, you show up to the restaurant, hoping to see your boyfriend and his infamous French fries that he only made for you.

warnings: cussing, light shoving. fluff mostly!

enjoy!

jesus, the restaurant was busy. a line ran out the door, swerved to the right and took up most of the sidewalk with customers waiting for their chance at the food.

carmy couldn’t blame them. he’s been on top of things— his team has been on top of things, listening, working together finally after what seemed like years of bickering and useless nonsense.

his hands moved fast. chopping meat there, seasoning and mashing over here.

there was no end, everyone had their station—their place.

“cus, your girls here!” richies voice boomed past him as carmy worked diligently to scrape away at the newfound mission to potatoes.

“uh huh,” not hearing him, but giving an answer he sliced the remainder of the vegetable before wiping his hands clean; always ready for a new task.

“Did you even fucking here me you dimwit?” A scowl remained on Richie’s face as he side eyed the white shirted man.

Another mumble left the cook and that was all Richie’s temper could take.

With a hard shove to the back, carmys attention was finally diverted. Turning back, the chef violently put his hand up from the startling touch.

“What the fuck, man?!”

“I. Said. Your. Girl. Is. Here.” With every pause on the intonations a poke found its way across carmys chest.

“Okay, okay. I fucking heard you.”

“No you didn’t!” Richie retaliated, moving past him to grab at the now chopped vegetable.

“And you took my fucking task you asshole.”

Carmy eyed him.

“Maybe if you weren’t so slow all the damn time.”

A high pitched version of carmys words came out as an argument, only making the man roll his eyes in such a childish play.

Rubbing his hands dry once more carmy moved towards the front of the kitchen.

And sure enough, there you sat.

all pretty and perfect and— did he say pretty?

sweating from a newfound nervousness carmy itched at his neck, a bad habit that he couldn’t seem to scrape away, no matter the amount of threats and glares you sent his way.

“hey pretty girl,” carmy stood just above you, next to your seated booth, more to the side and cut off from the rest of the avid enjoyers.

“bear!” you smiled, already opening your arms for a tight embrace.

he always smelled so good. musky, heavy. it was the manliest scent you’ve ever had the opportunity of smelling. yet there was always something sweeter there— cinnamon? no, cherries? possibly—

“baby?” warm fingers found their way under your chin, instantly bringing you back to the busy food chain your surrounded in.

“mmh, sorry hunny what was that?”

“i said I’ll be a little late tonight. more people showed up than i thought they would and uh, I’ll probably be pulling an all nighter.” guilt bit at the man’s tongue, already sensing your disappointment.

but you hid it well, a pretty smile lit up your face still, your hands met with his rougher one, smoothing and tending to it out of habit.

“that’s okay, i understand,” you looked past carmy to see Richie, motioning you to get the attention of the man.

noticing your distracted eyes, carmy turned his head and saw his cousin quickly motioning him over to the back.

“—I, i gotta go baby but listen,” eyes on your doe ones, he leaned in.

warm breath met with your cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile as the man bent down so close to your face.

“ill bring by those French fries you love so much,”

“with the seasoning?”

“with the seasoning.” carmy laughed

you couldn’t help but let out a little squeal, wrapping your arms around the neck of your boyfriends shirt.

“ill see you soon, okay?”

you nodded.

“okay.”

A kiss, light and soft was placed on your lips. It lasted only a second before the man waved sympathetically before turning his back to you, flipping Richie off in the process.

satisfied, you fled the scene with a hankering for a soda and heavily seasoned fries only your boyfriend could provide.

[mustainegf]

okay but what if like james and you where play fighting and tickling eachother and hes like "god i love your giggle" and you start making out while being all giggly and blushing together (I WORDES RHIS WRONG BUT OMGGG)

AWWWW DUDE

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ¹⁹⁸³

James and I giggled while we sat on his bed, with him going through his record collection to brag to me. James and I had known each other since junioryear, wed always been close, closer than most friends, but never THAT kind of close. At least not yet.

Our chemistry was obvious though, and if you couldn't tell by our constant giggles in class or the way we'd look at one another from across the room, well, that's just how much we liked each other.

And this time wasn't different.

We were sitting next to each other on his bed and we were having a great time. He found an old record and held it up.

It was Motorhead. "Look at this!" he said excitedly as he put it onto the record player and turned it on.

"This is so good." I nodded in agreement because it was very good.

"Fuckin' love Lemmy.." James smirked, bobbing his head to the song, he was so cute, just like a little puppy dog.

There's nothing cuter than a man who likes music.

Especially when that man looks like James does.

I playfully poke his side, making him smile and flinch. "You're so cute," I laugh.

He blushes a bit and tries to act cool about it.

"Yeah?" That damn boyish charm of his had me hooked, he knew what to do, he knew how to get me.

My heart was fluttering for some reason, and my body was getting hot, sweaty even. The more I stared into those blue eyes of his the more anxious I felt; the more anxious I got the hotter I got.

"Yeah," I chuckle, trying to blush off the feeling in my stomach. James responded with his fingers darting to my sides.

He tickles me until I can barely breathe. I yell and kick my feet, but he doesn't stop until I promise to let go. Then we both fall back onto the bed, still attacking each other playfully.

I giggle and shriek between laughs, trying my best to shove him off. "Stop it!" I gasp.

He responds by snickering and grabbing me tighter. My face is burning red from all the laughing and his grip is strong.

We both pant as we stare at each other, frozen now, gazes locked. "Hey..." James catches his breath, swallowing deeply as his cheeks begin to go pink.

I give him a quick nod. "Yeah... Hey.." My voice gets softer as we start breathing together, as our bodies connect, I feel myself sweating again. I don't know why I'm getting nervous all of a sudden.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, trying to figure out where things stand. His brow furrows, he thinks about his answer for a moment before answering.

"Just.. You." He smiles sheepishly, slightly blushing."... Me? Why?" I raise my eyebrows, shifting a little against him. "Cause you're my best friend... and um, you're really pretty." He admits shyly.

I smile softly, raising my hand to gently caress his cheek with the pad of my thumb. "James..." I whisper, gazing into those icy blue eyes.

He gives me a bashful grin, taking his hand to rub mine. His voice quivers with nervousness. "Y-yeah?" I lean forward and kiss him slowly, passionately.

The instant my lips touch his they part and we devour each other. He presses his lips harder against mine, moaning sweetly into my mouth. We move closer together and soon enough I feel his arms wrap around me.

We hold onto each other tightly as our tongues find each other. After a few minutes we break apart, breathing heavily, smiling innocently.

We sit there staring into each other's eyes. No words spoken. Just our hearts pounding. This whole thing feels so surreal right now.

A sly grin began to slip into his lips. James shifted from overtop of me, leaning to turn up the record before leaning back over me and finding my lips with his again. I could feel him smiling against my lips.

We continued kissing for a long time, exploring each other's mouths with our tongues. Eventually, we lay down beside each other, snuggling close under the covers.

After a while of laying there we realized that the album had finished playing. So James switched it over to Side B.

Before long we found ourselves tangled up in each other's arms once again. We kept kissing and caressing each other slowly, completely wrapped up in the passion of the moment.

I couldn't stop myself from giggling onto his lips, pulling back as the weight of what was going on finally hit me.

James looked worried. "Are you okay?" he asks nervously. I tried to calm myself down by taking deep breaths. "Yeah," I respond after a moment.

"I'm fine, I'm sorry. I just..." I pause and sigh.

"I can't believe we're doing this." I run my fingers through his soft blonde hair, noticing the brownish tint in it. "You're so beautiful." He whispers, sliding his hands over my arms.

I quickly peck his lips with a giggle. "So are you, Jamsie," I chuckle quietly.

He moves closer to me, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and running his other hand across my chest. I scoot closer too, and we press our foreheads together as we lay there, lost in each other's gaze.

"I love you by the way..." James mumbled, slowly turning his head to look into my eyes.

It was too late to think before I told him. "I love you too." It came spilling out of my mouth before I could even register what I'd said. But when I did, I knew nothing else mattered but me and him.

[indifferent-depravity]

Pussyfooting

Minors DNI 18+

CW: age gap

A/N: don't forget requests for everything are open so if you'd like to see anything from me feel free to drop it in my ask box :)

buy me a coffee!

help me escape abuse

my Etsy shop

~~~

With Gemma out looking after a sick Abel, you graciously take over all her shifts, not even giving her a chance to object. The office at the club's garage was an easy gig, half of it was just waiting for customers and organizing paperwork, giving you little to do for most of your shift. But you can’t complain as your eyes wander back to the window into the garage where Chibs is working on a car.

Your eyes trail over his body, thighs pressing together at the sight of his bare arms straining as he works. Your eyes lock when he looks up, a smirk growing on his face as you duck your head down, a deep blush crawling across your cheeks. You quickly mess with the paperwork in front of you as the door opens, trying to look busy to hide your embarrassment.

A hand covers the page and your breath hitches, eyes slowly moving up the arm to find Chibs in front of you. Your mouth goes dry at the playful smirk on his face and you swallow, feigning nonchalance as you speak, “Chibs! Did-did you need something?” You ask, nervously tapping your nails on the desk.

Chibs leans closer until you can smell the cigarette smoke lingering, “Was jus’ wondering what you were thinkin’ when you were staring at me just then.”

You laugh nervously, pushing the chair away from the desk and him. You move to stand in front of the filing cabinet, blindly shuffling through its contents. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I-I wasn’t staring!” Your voice sounds shrill and you squeeze your eyes shut, grimacing inwardly.

“No? Didn’t realize you kids changed the definition of staring.” Chibs murmurs and you can hear him move behind you, swallowing hard as his hands settle on your hips. He spins you around, hovering his lips over yours, “No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart, I never said I didn’t like the attention.”

He leans in and you tilt your chin up with a shaky sigh to meet him, letting your eyes fall shut. Your lips barely brush against each other when someone yells for him in the garage. Chibs curses under his breath, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment and then he’s gone with a gentle squeeze to your hips.

You groan and drop your head against the cabinet, shifting uncomfortably as wetness causes your panties to cling to your cunt. You clear your throat and sit at the desk when you catch Chibs watching you, your face burning as he winks at you.

~~~

You weave through the crowd gathered in the clubhouse, letting out a grateful sigh as you push your way out into the cool night air. You lean your back against the wall and light up a cigarette with a satisfied hum, taking a slow drag.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You choke on the smoke, quickly tipping your head up to exhale. You eye Chibs as he mirrors your position and gestures silently toward your cigarette. You hold it out, breath catching in your throat as he leans forward, eyes holding yours as he takes a drag, his lips just barely brushing your fingers. He gives you a smile as he exhales and you smile back, shakily bringing the cigarette up to your lips to delay responding. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes slide down to your mouth as you wrap your lips around the cigarette, tongue poking out to wet his lips.

“Shouldn’t you be knee-deep in croweaters vying for your attention by now?” You ask in a light tone and look at the dark garage in front of you, passing the cigarette to him without looking.

He snorts and takes a drag, watching the smoke curl in the air. “Some of us know when it’s time to stop fucking everything with two legs and a pair of tits.”

You roll your eyes, turning to give him an amused look when you see him already watching you.

“When they know they found their old lady.”

You stammer and turn back, heat crawling up your neck at the implication. “Y-Yeah I guess they do.” You take the cigarette and finish it off, dropping it onto the concrete and crushing it beneath the toe of your boot. You stand there for a while, a deafening silence growing between the two of you.

“Sweetheart.” At the pet name, you look over at him, heart skipping a beat at the heat in his gaze. Chibs cups your cheek, pressing you against the wall, “I’ve been meaning to ask-”

“Chibs! Aw, man, Clay’s been looking for you! He wants you in the chapel.”

Chibs growls, shooting the prospect a dirty glare, “Get the fuck out of here before I shove my foot up your ass, prospect!” The prospect puts his hands up in surrender, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to go back into the clubhouse.

You giggle, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stifle the noise. Chibs raises an eyebrow, giving you an amused look which causes another giggle to fall from your lips. You stretch onto your toes and press a kiss to his cheek, “Don’t want to keep your president waiting.” Your eyes linger on his for a moment before you slip away, smiling inwardly as you catch him pressing his forehead against the wall with a groan as you rejoin the party inside.

~~~

“I don’t know what to tell you, baby. If you had brought her in a couple of weeks ago like I told you, it would’ve been an easier fix.” Gemma gives you an apologetic look as if that makes the knowledge you’ll be out of a car for the rest of the week any easier.

You run your fingers through your hair with a sigh, “I know, Gem, thanks for trying.”

You turn to your car in the garage, trying to figure out how you’ll survive without your car when your eyes wander to Chibs, the sleeves of his coveralls tied around his waist, exposing his arms. Gemma sidles up next to you with a smirk, “You know, it’s a lot easier to just fuck the man instead of pussyfooting around.”

Your face heats up at her teasing words and you splutter, quickly diverting your eyes to the floor, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She scoffs, “Mhm, sure, sweetheart. Everyone knows you and Chibs have a thing for each other and you’re just too chicken-shit to say something.” She looks you over for a moment before sticking her head into the garage, not giving you a chance to protest as she yells his name over the din of people working, waving him over as he turns around. Gemma nods her head towards you, “They need a ride home, do you mind taking ‘em? I would but I’m going to be here late doing paperwork.”

Your head jolts up and you glare at her, mouthing at her to knock it off. Chibs nods, “S’long as they’re okay riding a motorcycle, I don’t mind.”

Your heart skips a beat at the thought of riding behind him on his motorcycle and you shake your head, giving him an apologetic look, “You don’t need to do that, I-I can just walk home.”

“It’s no trouble, what kinda man would I be letting you walk that far?” The look on his face tells you that no arguing would get you out of it and you give him a small smile. “We can go whenever you’re ready.” He says and walks in the direction of his motorcycle, wiping the motor oil off his hands with a grease-stained rag.

Gemma narrows her eyes at you as she hands you your things, pushing you out of the office with a quick kiss on your cheek. You mumble curses at her under your breath as you walk toward him. You stop short, your words dying in your throat at the sight of him on his bike, sending a silent prayer to whoever is listening that you could keep it together long enough to get home.

He smiles when you reach him, holding out his hand to help you onto the bike. Your heart races as you take it, using it to steady yourself as you swing your leg over the bike. He looks back at you with a grin, guiding your arms around his waist, “Hold on tight, sweetheart.” You give him a nod, tightening your arms around him as he starts the bike. A grin forms on your face as he speeds off, closing your eyes as you enjoy the wind whipping through your hair.

You’re almost sad as he slows to a stop in front of your home, your heart still racing from the ride as you loosen your grip on his waist. You climb off the bike, suddenly feeling cold as you shift your feet nervously. Leaning down, you quickly kiss his cheek before stuttering out, “I- uh I wa- th-thanks for the ride, I’ll see you at work.” You close your eyes with a slight grimace, turning on your heel to escape before you make things worse for yourself.

“Sweetheart.”

You flinch when his hand catches your wrist, heart stuttering in your chest as you hear him get off the bike. You’re about to give an excuse to leave when he tugs on your wrist, making you stumble into his chest. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes slowly sliding up his chest to find him watching you, his face unreadable. “Chibs?”

Chibs cups your cheeks, his lips hovering over yours as he murmurs, “Call me Filip.” He kisses you passionately, stealing your breath away. It takes you a minute to respond, curling your fingers around his wrists as you stretch onto your toes to kiss back. He lingers close to you when he finally breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours with a sigh, “Baby, I- tell me you want this too, I need you to want this.”

You nod against him, closing your eyes as you whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Come inside?” You grin when he agrees and gently tangle your fingers in his, a buzzing excitement replacing your anxiety as you tug him to your front door.

Chibs wraps his arms around your waist when you drop his hand in favor of opening the door. He lightly kisses your neck and your keys nearly slip from your hand as you try to find the right key. He nips at your skin, drawing a soft whine from your throat, “Ch- F-Filip you need to stop distracting me.”

He hums, tugging you back against him, pressing the hard ridge of his cock against your ass, “Say my name again, sweetheart.” You moan and try to blindly get your key in the door, knees growing weak as he ruts against you. You finally get the door open and he urges you inside, pressing you against the door the minute it shuts. “C’mon baby, say it again.”

His hands roam over your body, sneaking underneath your pants to palm your ass. You gasp, arching into him, “Fuck, Filip.” You pull him down into a searing kiss and roughly push his cut off his shoulders, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, “Take your clothes off, now.”

“Bossy today, aren’t ya?” Chibs chuckles and pulls his shirt off, throwing it to the side before tugging your shirt over your head.

You give him a devilish grin and flip your bodies around to press him against the door as you dip your hand into his coveralls, fingers brushing the heated skin of his cock, “You can take your time next time, need you to fuck me right now.” He groans, thumping his head back against the door as you slide your hand over his length. You attack his skin, nipping and sucking marks over his neck and collarbones.

“Fuck- sweetheart it’ll be a bit difficult to do that if you keep touching me like this.” You hum, still moving your hand over his shaft, grinning against his skin as he bucks into your touch. Chibs grabs your arm, swallowing a moan as he forces you to stop. You press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, giving his cock a final squeeze before pulling away.

“Come and get me then,” You say with a smirk, making a show of peeling off the rest of your clothes as you make your way to your bedroom. Your cunt throbs as you hear his boots hit the floor with a heavy thud and you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, slowly teasing them down your thighs. You giggle as Chibs wraps his arms around you, hand sliding between your thighs with a groan.

“God, you’re so fucking wet f’me, aren’t you?” You whine as his fingers find your clit, digging your nails into his arm, “Been thinking about this pretty pussy wrapped around my cock for weeks now.”

You tip your head back against his shoulder with a sigh as he sinks his fingers into your cunt, “Maybe-maybe you should stop lollygagging and fuck me then,” You say with a quiet moan, your knees weakening from his touch.

Chibs growls and pulls his fingers out of you with a light smack to your ass, spinning you around to face him, “You’re going to get in trouble if you keep mouthing off to me, sweetheart,” He grips your thighs, hoisting you into his arms as he moves to sit on the bed. Your breath hitches as his cock slides against your cunt and he grins, delivering another smack to your ass that has you clenching your thighs around his hips.

You let out a breathless laugh, reaching between you to press the head of his cock against your entrance, “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” Before he could answer you sink down on his cock, a whimper bubbling out of you as you stretch around his length. He swears, digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass as he bottoms out inside you.

You shiver as Chibs drags your hips against his, working you over his cock, “Oh, I think you’ll find out, sweetheart.” He growls, surging forward to capture your lips in a deep kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth as you moan into the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your hips, the drag of his cock inside you making your toes curl.

He presses his thumb against your clit and you break the kiss with a gasp, throwing your head back as you shudder against him. “Fuck- ‘m so close, Filip,” You whimper, another shudder running through you as his cock presses against a spot deep inside you, “I want you to cum with me please, I need- I need to feel you.”

Chibs groans, pressing his forehead against yours as your bodies mold together. “It’s alright, sweetheart, let go. Cum for me, cum on my cock.” He coaxes you over the edge, rubbing circles over your clit as you let out a broken cry, clenching tightly around him as you reach your climax. He follows you quickly, letting out a quiet moan as he fills you with his seed.

~~~

You poke your head into the garage, “Filip! What’s the status on the gold century? The customer wants an update.” He shouts a reply and you shoot him a smile, turning pink when he returns it with a wink.

“When did you become Filip?”

You can hear their jeers at his reply even through the door and you groan, grimacing when you turn around and see Gemma looking at you with a smug smirk. You glare at her, “Don’t even start.”

“So… he a good lay?”

[ameliora-j]

therapist!steve x bully!eddie x reader is so good omg like literally drooling icl

please write more if you can <3

content: therapist!steve, bully!eddie, innocent!reader, power imbalance, pussy eating, degradation, semi public sex, voyeurism, modern!au, ass eating, impact play, masturbation (m!receiving), DARK CONTENT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG MDNI

after your session, you look up at eddie. “i… i know dr. harrington said that i like… ‘graduated’ or whatever,” you swallow thickly… nervously. “but um… i-if you wanna hang out or whatever we can” you smile shyly.

“awww…” eddie mocks softly, smiling a bit as he tucks a hair behind your ear. “you’ve liked being my little toy, haven’t you?” he teases.

“y-yeah…” you whisper. “yes, sir” you blush softly. he hums, kissing your head softly and silently taking your hand. the two of you walk to the parking lot together, eddie leading you to his van.

he opens the back doors and ushers you in. “since you’ve been such a good little girl for me, i suppose i should reward you” he hums softly, climbing in behind you. you blush softly, gazing at him with wide eyes as he pushes you back to lay against the few blankets on the floor and traces your thighs.

“i know this little cunt is still wet and leaking with my cum right now” he mutters, running his fingers over your slit through your thin little panties. “can feel it seeping out… sticking to these puffy little pussy lips” he hums.

he pushes your underwear aside and laughs. “god it’s so swollen… looks like i really destroyed this little virgin pussy” he mocks, slapping your clit a few times. you moan with each his, and eddie laughs at you once more.

“god you’re still so fucking pathetic” he whispers, spitting on your cunt. “wonder if this cunt tastes as good as it looks” he mumbles. licking a bold stripe through your cunt. your head falls back and you moan, your hands flying to grip his hair.

he shoves your hands away, pushing your legs so that your knees press to his chest. “hold them” he growls, spanking your ass. you nod and follow his order, holding your legs back to let eddie do as he wanted. he leaned down and spit on your cunt again, this time watching it trail down to your asshole.

eddie moans quietly, poking his tongue into your puckering rosebud. he pushes your cheeks apart, circling his tongue around in your hole and thrusting it a few times. he pulled back and spit on it, pushing a finger into your ass as his mouth reattached to your pussy.

you whine softly as your phone rings and eddie chuckled darkly. “answer it” he growls, nipping your clit. you shriek, nodding as you quickly follow orders, answering your phone. you’re practically gasping for breath as eddie sucks roughly at your clit, pushing a second finger into your asshole.

“hi yn, you forgot to book your next appointment” dr. harrington informs you.

“um… h-hi doctor…” you stammer through squeaks and moans, unable to hide them as eddie assaults your cunt with his mouth. “j-just… um… s-same time next week” you moan as eddie pushes a third finger into your ass and shoves his tongue into your pussy.

he licks around as if his tongue is looking for buried treasure, moaning as he slurps lewdly at your dripping cunt. “are you alright, yn?” he asks, and eddie chuckles against your pussy.

“tell him what i’m doing” eddie growls. “tell him what his filthy slut of a patient is enjoying right now” he mocks, slapping your pussy.

“i-i… eddie’s um… he’s eating my pussy and fingering my ass” you moan into the receiver, pushing eddie’s head closer.

“oh?” steve smirks as he undoes his pants and pulls his cock free. “well then lemme hear how good he makes you feel, pretty girl” steve mocks.

eddie smirks as he hears this, working twice as hard to make you cum. he slurps at your juices, nibbling on your clit as his fingers twirl around in your asshole. you’re sensitive from the brutal fucking he just gave you, even more turned on at dr. harrington’s low moans on the phone and the slick sounds of him wanking his cock.

“eddie fuck i…” you whine. “i’m gonna cum” you breathe, causing both med to groan.

eddie hums, pulling back just to harshly spank your clit a few times. “i’m not gonna stop if you do” he taunts. even with his threat in mind, the second that his lips attach to your clit and suck harshly at the same moment that his fingers curve in your asshole, you’re a goner.

your legs squeeze around his head, hips grinding up into his face as you hold him against your pussy, moaning loudly and singing praises to his name. true to his word, eddie continues to eat you out. he forces your legs wide open, continuing his assault on your sticky pussy as tears spill from the corner of your eyes, all while dr. harrington listens on the other end of the phone.

[mt-oe]

OK, MIZU X VERY CLINGY READER?? like reader deadass will NOT let go of Mizu unless necessary and mizu will tease reader about it in a loving way. like just imagine reader snuggling on top of Mizu and resting their head on her abdomen and she just says something in a teasing voice like- “mm you just gonna keep holding onto me like that, love?” OH MY GODSOMEONE NEEDS TO MAKE MY BRAIN SHUT UP PLS😭

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

Thank you so much for the very cute and sweet request <3 Finally, a reason to push my drunk reader agenda forward www

Also, sorry if this took longer than usual. Hospital wifi sucked and my draft didn't save ;; I had to re-write a whole chunk purely from memory.

Not sure what is considered as 'lightweight' or whatever since I never really thought of those things when I drink, so if it's too much or too little then..oopsies.

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, short, mention of vomiting (mild), she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

It was already a few hours past midnight. Mizu was laying down on the couch, reading a random book she had found in the book store. 'The Honjin Murders' was the title. The cover looked cool and even had a knife on it, so it definitely got her attention. Because as much as she didn't want to judge a book by its cover, she's only human. We have our moments like that.

On her chest was her girlfriend, eyes closed, and cheeks flushed and warm. An occasional mumbling noise or a slurred-out random question like 'do you think I can fight a bear with my bare hands?' would come from you. Mizu wouldn't admit it but she was having the time of her life right now.

You had just gotten back from a girl's night out with your friends. A little way of catching up after a whole semester of not seeing each other. Akemi and the others invited her too, but she wasn't really a big fan of the effects alcohol had on her body and opted to stay at home.

Upon opening the door, the sight of your heavily flushed face, drunken unconscious smile and the disheveled appearance of Ise and the other girls greeted her. You all reeked of alcohol, heavy perfume, and a bit of tobacco. "Umm..girlfriend delivery..?" Akemi chimed awkwardly, sweat dropping at the miffed look on Mizu's face.

She narrowed her eyes in response to the little joke as her eyes landed on you. "I was hoping you'd bring her back conscious," she said in a low tone, making them laugh nervously. You were being held up by two of Akemi's friends, face heavily flushed, hair tossed out of the hairdo you put it in earlier, and your lipstick was replaced by a thin sheen of saliva. With a sigh, she gently wrapped her arms around you before picking you up bridal style, cringing at the smell of beer coming from you.

The moment you felt her warmth around your figure, you opened your eyes slowly, blinking the blurriness brought by intoxication off before letting out a grunt. She felt you tilt your head upwards, looking at her before furrowing your eyebrows together, finger raised up to poke at her chin. "Would youu...rather have...urgh..my nipples are rubbing against my bra."

Yep.

That was definitely her cue to bring you inside.

After bringing you in, the 'full caretaker girlfriend' mode in her brain switched on. She immediately helped you get dressed into something comfy, removed your makeup and did your skincare for you, and handed everything you said you needed even though you didn't need it. Hell, she even shoved her finger down your throat to help you vomit.

You were her little intoxicated princess tonight.

Once she was done helping you out, she completely expected you to go to sleep after. Little did she know that you've decided to be the clingy-type of drunk tonight. A small strangled-like gasp escaped her throat as you pulled her by the back of her collar, burying your face on her neck. "Nooooo don't go!" you cried against her skin.

She tried her best to get you to sleep, knowing full well that you were going to be the grouchiest hungover in the morning, but whatever she tried didn't work. Watching youtube videos, having a staring contest with you, playing slow songs. Now, she was stuck with you laying on her chest as she read her book.

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" you asked her, speech still a bit slurred. Mizu raised an eyebrow at your odd question. Realistically, she knew she wouldn't, but reality didn't really matter when it comes to love. Only her girlfriend's happiness did.

She closed her book slightly to look down at you. Her breath hitched slightly as your glossy eyes looked back up at her, melting at the adorable sight. "Of course I would," she answered, giving your head a little pat.

"Liar," you huffed, closing your eyes as you nuzzled against her. "I see you step on worms all the time. You'd step on me too."

She huffed back at you with an amused smile. She could feel the pout in your voice. "I promise I wo—"

"It's okay," you cut her off with a drunken giggle. You looked back up at her, trying to lift your head but the remaining alcohol in your system allowed you to do so for a few seconds before you crashed back on to her chest. "I'd let you step on me."

Mizu rolled her eyes at your response. "You're very drunk. You know that?" she asked you, setting her book down on the carpet to pinch your cheek. "How did they even get you this drunk?" The playful exasperation was heavy in her voice.

You grinned at her, snuggling your face in between her breasts. "Well.." you trailed off, giggling a bit. "We haaad...Jager in a pretty preeeeeetty frozen little shot glass, then we washed that down with beer.."

A slight shiver went down her spine as she felt your hot breath against her collarbone. Her hands moving your hair to cool you off a bit. "Then..we had Cuervo. Then we tried this...this..cocktail that tasted like chocolate.."

"No wonder," she sighed, wrapping her arms around you. Although Mizu had admittedly had her fair share of bad experiences with drunks (mostly leading to fist fights), she had to admit, you were definitely the cutest one yet. "Next time, try to drink a bit more responsibly, okay?"

You shook your head at her words, wrapping your arms around her tighter. "I don't want to drink responsibly. I want my girlfriend," you whined, making her snort. You were definitely still too drunk for this conversation. "My girlfrieeeeend.."

"And who's your girlfriend? What's she like?" Maybe if she played along, she could finally get you to sleep. Blue eyes watched you sigh, melting into her arms with a dreamy smile. "My girlfriend is...my Mizu!" you answered, laughing slightly as your head rested against her breast.

She could feel your arms hold onto her tighter, weight pushing down against her's as you started to get a bit more excited. "She's the prettiest, coolest, grumpiest person ever..and she's mine!" you rambled, an amused laugh escaping her lips at your words. "H-Hey! Don't laugh!"

Mizu smiled at you apologetically as you continued to pout at her in drunken grumpiness. "Sorry, sorry. How 'bout we go to bed and take a nap so you can see her in the morning?" she asked, still playing along. "No! Dun' wanna!" you replied in a bratty tone, huffing once again. "You're staying with me!"

Your arms held on to her tighter, legs wrapping around her's almost possessively. "Mmm..So you're just going to keep holding on to me like that, love?" she said teasingly. At your nod, she chuckled and lifted you a bit higher so your head rested against the pillow, nestled near her neck.

Slowly, she felt your body relax, fingers releasing their grip on her shirt. The rhythm of your breathing becoming steadier, the depth increasing. Once again, she picked up her book and continued to read, wanting to pass a bit more time to make sure you were fast asleep.

However, while she was half into the book, you suddenly lifted your head again. She raised an eyebrow, a bit taken back at the sudden movement. "What is it, love?" she asked, getting ready to get whatever you needed just in case.

Your eyes blinked sleepily before you leaned your head down, planting a kiss on her lips. "G'night..I love youu," you mumbled with a soft little smile before crashing back onto the pillow. She blinked in both surprise and mild astonishment.

A goodnight kiss?

While drunk out of your wits?

Lord help her.

There was no way she could fight off a smile after that display. How did she score such a cute wife? Mizu had to take a few deep breaths to keep herself from laughing at how cute that was. Who cares if you woke up grumpy from your hangover? This was definitely worth it.

[gogogodzilla]

day 16, toys

natasha romanoff x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, jealous!reader, use of ball gag, use of double-sided vibrator, reader has electricity powers, slight dom! natasha, takes place during Black Widow, afab reader kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You rested your head against the cool glass of the window as Natasha drove you to a safe house she knew. You’d just lost the only family you ever knew, and the loss still stung deeply in your chest. 

She grabbed your thigh and rubbed soothing circles on it, bringing you out of your thoughts. 

“It’s beautiful out here,” you commented, giving her a small smile. 

“Just wait until you see where we’re staying,” she grinned, and the lilt in her voice made you nervous. 

You’d stayed in some sketchy places before, and maybe you’d gone a little soft lately. But, nervousness gnawed at you regardless. 

As Natasha drove, the area surrounding you became more and more desolate. She came to a stop down a winding path. Your eyes widened as you took in the small metal trailer settled in the middle of a clearing. 

Natasha got out of her seat as you sat bewildered. 

“C’mon, hun,” she urged before shutting the driver’s side door, pistol held at her side. You joined her with a sigh, electricity arcing through your fingers as the both of you approached the trailer. 

Natasha’s footsteps were silent as she stalked toward the door. She opened it with one hand and made her way into the trailer. You followed wordlessly as she scanned the inside of the trailer. Finally, she kicked open the door to the bedroom and chuckled at the man sleeping soundly in the bed. 

You raised a brow and she put a finger to her lips. She leaned over the foot of the bed and tapped the man’s foot, a smile dancing on her lips. He jumped up, eyes flicking between the two of you. 

“You’re in my bed,” she noted, straightening. 

“I’m not even under the covers,” the man defended himself as he slowly got up. He led the two of you toward the front of the trailer. 

They talked for a few moments, and you observed as the man explained all the facilities that came with the trailer. Natasha stood at the bar and thumbed through the various IDs the man provided for both of you. You stood behind her, looking out the window in front of the sink. 

A lull fell over the two, and he leaned in, “Are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Natasha answered, her voice wavering. You straightened and hovered protectively behind her. 

The man shrugged, “I hear things. Something about the Avengers getting divorced…” 

You scowled, and Natasha placed a placating hand on your thigh. Rick was someone you could trust, she’d said. He’d done her a huge favor by helping the two of you. Still, you didn’t like him poking around in your business. 

Natasha bowed her head for a moment. “It’s fine. Besides, I have all I need right here,” she said, snaking a hand around your hip. A warm feeling swelled in your chest at Natasha’s display of endearment. 

The man’s eyes flicked between the two of you. You’d never made your relationship known to the public, but you also weren’t exactly hiding your feelings for each other. 

“Well,” the man clapped his hands together, “seems like you’re all set. Don’t call me if you need anything.” 

The man headed toward the door, chucking a little at his own joke. You narrowed your eyes at his back as he walked to his own car. Natasha pulled you away from the door, shutting it and blocking your view of the man. 

“No need to get your hackles raised, baby,” she joked, grabbing your chin with one hand. 

You pursed your lips and tugged your chin out of her grasp, pouting. She pulled you to her, bringing you into a tight hug. You stood there for a few moments with your arms at your side. Finally, you relented and wrapped your arms begrudgingly around her.

She released you and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips. “I like it when you get jealous, babe,” she teased before heading out the door to grab your bags from the car. You rolled your eyes before following her. 

Later that night, you sat on Natasha’s bed going through her dresser drawers, curiosity and boredom pushing you forward. Your hand landed on an array of leather attached to a silicone ball neatly coiled in the back of the bottom drawer. Your fingers danced over the gag, insides alight with excitement. You lifted it out of the drawer and nearly jumped out of your skin as Natasha’s footsteps neared. 

She watched you from the doorway, a black plastic bag in one hand and a beer in the other. You raised a brow, “You use this on all the girls you bring here?”

She smirked and moved forward to grab your chin, “Only for your pretty little mouth.” She pressed the bag into your palm, took the gag from you, and set it on the dresser. The bed squeaked slightly as she sat next to you, “I figured that if we’re going to be out here for the foreseeable future, the least we could do is have a little fun.”

You were skeptical, but nonetheless opened the bag. Your hand wrapped around the smooth surface of the small cardboard box and you pulled it out. The box was white with a blue device on the front. You gave Natasha a quizzical look as you attempted to decipher the Norwegian on the back of the box. 

“It’s a vibrator, baby,” she chuckled and your cheeks flamed. Her fingertips flitted over the top of your thigh, and you weren’t sure if it was nervousness or excitement bubbling in your chest. 

The bed creaked slightly as you both shifted and before you knew it her lips were on yours. You’d thrown the box to the side, too focused on the taste of Natasha. The air around you crackled with tension, and Natasha’s hands drifted up to cup your face and bring you impossibly closer. 

You scooted back, your lips still tangled with Natasha’s as you reclined on the plush mattress. She threw a leg over your abdomen, straddling you and trapping you between her thighs. Not that you were complaining, of course. 

She gripped your chin and turned your head, allowing her to brush feverish kisses along the soft skin of your neck. Your breath caught in your throat as she sucked a lovebite against your pulse point, and your hands ventured under the hem of her shirt. 

She trailed kisses up the side of your neck. A peck on your jaw, then your cheek, and finally your lips. You sit up and tug her shirt up and over her head, your lips immediately returning to hers. 

Your hands snake around her back and undo the clasp of her bra, which she eagerly slid off. Your fingers trailed up to fondle her breasts, and her hips jutted against your own. 

You pulled away panting and tapped her thigh, “Let’s get these off.” 

Her lips curved into a smile, “Look at you being bossy.” Nevertheless, she hopped off of you long enough to remove her jeans. The bed sunk under her weight as she crawled forward and helped remove the clothes that were separating her from your flushed skin.

Natasha pushed you backward and hovered over you.

“So perfect,” she murmured as her eyes raked over your naked form. She moved to touch where she could, tracing her hands over the column of your throat, down to the valley of your breasts, over your ribs, then over your hip bones. A soft whine left you as she avoided everywhere you needed her. 

She tsked and leaned over you to grab the ball gag. “As much as I love those pretty little noises you make…” she trailed off, and you opened your mouth for her. She was gentle as she clasped the buckle behind your head. Your lips wrapped around the silicone ball, and you took a deep breath through your nose. She took the vibrator out of its packaging, her eyes glued to yours. 

 Her hands skirted over the insides of your thighs as she positioned herself between them. She hooked her arms around your thighs, keeping you in place. She pressed kisses along your inner thighs, and you bucked your hips against her grasp. 

She pulled you towards her and licked a tentative stripe through your folds. Your whine reverberated against the ball gag. Her fingertips dug into your thighs as she latched onto your core. You arched your back against the mattress as her tongue expertly circled your clit before dipping down to tease your entrance. 

You tangled a hand into her scarlet locks, aching for something to ground you. She kept her plush lips attached to your clit as she slid a finger through your folds, gathering your slick. 

Slowly, she sunk a finger inside of you and you gasped as much as you could against the gag. She pumped her finger a few times before swiftly adding another one. Her pace was brutal, quickly rocking her fingers against you while her tongue continued its ministrations. 

She pulled away and the whine that escaped you was almost pathetic. She placed a placating kiss on your inner thigh before grabbing the vibrator and running it through your folds. 

You bucked your hips and clenched against nothing, desperate for anything she’d give you. Drool was slipping out the sides of your mouth, and you huffed a breath through your nose. 

She turned the vibrator on and circled it around your clit, and your hips jumped against her. The vibrator quickly replaced her fingers inside you, and you felt your release rapidly building within you. 

Your breath caught in your throat as Natasha lifted her hips and lined the other end of the vibrator up with her entrance. She threw her head back and let out a soft moan as she sunk down onto the vibrator. 

She grabbed the backs of your thighs and snapped her hips against yours. You let out a breathy moan against the gag, and she reached down to knead your breasts. She trailed her fingers up to wrap lightly around your neck as she ground against you. 

Your moans were increasing in pitch and frequency, and the air seemed to crackle around you. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” she panted as her her hips stuttered against your own. You furiously nodded your head as that familiar coil tightened inside you, seconds away from snapping. 

You gripped her forearm as your orgasm ripped throughout your body. The energy within the air made your hair stand on edge, and a high-pitched whine escaped you as the ceiling light above you brightened and then blew with a loud pop. 

Natasha jolted against you but continued her movements as she followed you over the edge. Once pleasure edged into overstimulation she pulled out of you, panting. 

She turned off the vibrator as she slowly pulled it out of you. You arched your back at the loss, and she rubbed a soothing hand across your thigh. She hovered over you to undo the buckle of the gag. 

Natasha pressed a kiss against your temple and then your jaw as she set the gag to the side. “Did so good for me, baby,” she praised, trailing her fingertips up your side. 

“That was fun,” you grinned. Your gaze moved up to survey the damage you did to the light. “Got any spares?” 

Natasha laughed and shook her head, “Nope.” 

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “Guess we gotta head into town.” 

“Yep.”