#and when i get a sit on the train hmm
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batsandbirdbrains · 1 month ago
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Hmm okay but picture this
Every time Dick has introduced his little brothers to his friends, they get annoyed and snippy and act like they’d rather be literally anywhere else or with anyone else. They constantly treat Dick like he’s annoying and they can’t be bothered to be around him, and usually Dick can just put up with it, ignore it, laugh it off. Because he loves his little brothers. They don’t really mean it. He has to tell himself they don’t really mean it.
But after several years of this happening anytime he brings his brothers around the other titans, or some friends he made on a mission, or literally anyone he knows, it starts to get to him. He stop inviting them to things with him, thinking they must not want to go anyway. He stops asking if they want to hang out with him at all. He’ll go whenever they call him, he’ll always help them if they need it, but he’s tired of being the one to always ask first to do something.
He’s just so tired. It’s like no one wants him around at all. It’s exhausting, trying to put on a happy face all the time.
So imagine his surprise when Jason asks him to go hang out with him and a couple friends. When Jason’s face relaxes at the sight of Dick walking through the door, and he tugs Dick over to a couple new friends he’s been going on missions with and he tells them, “This is my brother, Dickie. You probably know him as Nightwing.”
And these two can’t believe they’re in the same room as Nightwing. Jason looks like he won the lottery. Dick’s just happy Jason actually called him his brother today.
Then the next weekend, Tim begs Dick to help out the Young Justice team with training. Dick agrees, because of course he does. He’d do anything to help his brothers.
“Guys! My brother’s here to help with training!”
“Which one?”
“The best one, obviously,” Tim scoffs, then he tugs Dick into the gym and looks back at him with a shy smile on his face. Dick thinks his heart might explode after hearing Tim say with actual seriousness that Dick is his best brother.
A week after that? Damian asks him to come to the manor, says it’s urgent, and Dick rushes there, only to find Damian sitting with a notepad, waiting eagerly for him.
“What’s up?” Dick asks, sitting on the couch across from him. “Are you alright? You said it was urgent.”
“I have to write an essay for school,” Damian says, his face very serious. “It’s supposed to be about my favorite role model.”
“I mean, Jason is really the one who’s good at essays and stuff-”
“Yes, but Todd is insufferable,” Damian says quickly, then looks down at his notepad. “And besides, he is not my role model. So his input would be useless.”
“Damian?”
Dick is so confused. Damian all but pouts at him.
“You are my role model, Richard. I thought that was obvious.”
“Oh,” is all Dick says, but a smile spreads across his face. “Oh, okay. Well, yeah, okay. Do you have, like, questions you want me to answer or something?”
Damian moves to sit next to Dick, and they go over the essay prompt, and Dick answers a few questions. Helps Damian figure out how he’s going to structure his essay.
A few weeks later, Damian shows off the A he got on his essay, a small smile hidden behind the paper as Dick looks on.
Dick keeps the essay up on his refrigerator with a magnet Damian got him from the zoo. It has an elephant on it. It’s right next to the postcard Jason sent him the Gotham Airport as a joke, and the punchcard for the boba place he goes to with Tim. Two more visits and they get a free drink.
Maybe his brothers don’t hate him so much after all.
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bueckets · 4 months ago
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Office Hours
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Pairing: student-athlete!Paige x tutor!reader
Genre: enemies to flirting to losing your mind, paige is a little shit, slow burn but not really, tension so thick it’s basically a third character, paige is failing bio and somehow it’s your problem, cocky athlete x academically unhinged girl, tutoring sessions turned emotional warfare, dirty shirley temples, smut incoming
Description: Paige Bueckers is failing biology, and you're the unlucky tutor assigned to drag her out of academic disaster. What should be a simple arrangement becomes anything but, thanks to her complete lack of focus, relentless flirtation, and the infuriating way she manages to get under your skin—and into your head.
Between chaotic study sessions, surprise bar encounters, and more sexual tension than should legally exist between two people trying to discuss mitochondria, it’s clear that the real test isn’t the midterm. It’s whether you can make it through the semester without either making out with her—or killing her.
One thing’s for sure: Paige isn’t the only one getting schooled.
WC: 9.6k (and growing)
Notes: im back?
The library is way too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your own breathing sound deafening, where every shuffle of paper or tap of a pen echoes like a gunshot. It’s the kind of silence that should be perfect for studying. Should be.
Except Paige Bueckers is sitting across from you, and Paige Bueckers doesn’t give a single shit about studying.
Instead, she’s leaned back in her chair like she’s lounging courtside instead of being one bad test score away from academic probation. She’s got her long legs stretched out beneath the table, sneakers tapping lazily against the floor. Her hoodie—way too oversized for someone whose entire existence is dedicated to agility and precision—is slouching off one shoulder, and she’s twirling a pen between her fingers like she’s dribbling down the court with a shot clock winding down. The sleeves are bunched up just enough to show her forearms, strong and lined with faint muscle from years of training, but the only thing working right now is her mouth.
Grinning. Smirking. Teasing. Doing everything but reading the goddamn textbook in front of her.
“Alright, Paige,” you sigh, pushing your notes toward her for what has to be the third time. “We need to focus. You will fail this class if you don’t start studying.”
Paige doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t move an inch beyond a lazy stretch that makes her hoodie ride up just slightly, flashing the waistband of her shorts. Her smirk deepens like she can feel you noticing.
“Yeah,” she drawls, tilting her head, “but then I’d have to take it again next semester. Which means more quality time with my favorite tutor.”
You stare at her. She stares back. The kind of look that feels like a staredown before tip-off except way less athletic and way more are you seriously this insufferable?
She holds the eye contact, easy as anything, while you struggle to remind yourself that she is only your student, not a professional flirt sent to ruin your life. Her eyes gleam in the dim library lighting, playful and sharp at the same time. Her lashes are unfairly long, brushing against her cheeks when she finally blinks.
Your heart rate picks up. Not from that. From the academic crisis happening right now. Obviously.
“You’re not failing on purpose, right?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.
Paige tilts her head, pretending to ponder, lips pursing slightly. “Hmm. No, but if I did, would that be kinda cute?”
You groan dramatically, dragging a hand down your face. “I am this close to committing academic misconduct and just taking the test for you.”
Paige gasps. Actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in faux offense. “Wow. I knew med school was intense, but I didn’t realize you were out here ready to commit federal crimes for me.”
“That’s it,” you announce, pushing back from the table. “I’m done. I quit. Find someone else to teach you about mitochondria.”
You barely make it an inch before Paige reaches across the table and hooks two fingers around your wrist, tugging you back down like you weigh nothing. Her grip is firm, all strength and control—like she’s grabbing a rebound, like she’s got her hands on the game ball in overtime. Your pulse jumps again, this time definitely because of that.
Her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary before she releases you. But she’s still watching you, expression softening just slightly around the edges. “C’mon, stay,” she says, voice lower now, like a secret. “I promise I’ll actually pay attention this time.”
You cross your arms. “Oh? And what changed?”
She leans forward this time, elbows on the table, chin propped on one hand. The lighting catches the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. She’s smiling, but it’s something different now—something slower. 
“Figured out that if I fail,” she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “I won’t have an excuse to see you anymore.”
Your brain does a full system reboot. Error. What the fuck did she just say?
“Wh—Paige.”
She just winks, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip for half a second before her grin spreads, slow and satisfied. “What? That was cute, right?”
You grab your pen and point it at her accusingly. “You are so goddamn lucky you’re good at basketball, because if you had to rely on your brain—”
“I’d still get by,” she interrupts smoothly, shooting finger guns at you. “People tend to go easy on the charming ones.”
Your mouth actually falls open. Not on purpose—just an involuntary reaction to the sheer, unbelievable audacity of this girl. She’s failing biology, hasn’t written down a single note, and still has the goddamn nerve of a mathlete coasting through an easy A.
You snap your jaw shut, you refuse to let her see how flustered you are. You refuse. “Okay, charming one, then explain the process of cellular respiration.”
Paige squints, lips pressing together as she sucks in a breath through her teeth, nose scrunching like she’s really trying to make something shake in that head of hers. “Uh… it’s when cells… respire?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly through your teeth. “We are so, so fucking doomed.”
She just laughs, kicking her feet out beneath the table, accidentally knocking her knee against yours. “Relax,” she says, her grin widening. “You love tutoring me.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah,” she nods, completely sure of herself. “You totally have a little crush on me.”
You let out a dry, incredulous laugh—one of those sharp, breathy ones, all eyebrows raised and head bobbing. “Yeah, sure.”
She shrugs, tapping a finger against the open page of her biology textbook like she might actually start paying attention. Then, without looking up—
“Nah, I know.”
You blink. Paige blinks back.
The air between you tightens like a taut shoelace, pulling, pulling—dangerously close to snapping. You could be the bigger person here. You could roll your eyes, let it go, return to the noble pursuit of keeping Paige Bueckers from academically imploding.
But something about the way she’s looking at you—too smug, too sure—strikes a competitive nerve in you. And you’re not about to lose anything to her. Not a game, not a staredown, and sure as hell not a battle of wits.
So you shift in your chair, tilting your head, letting your lips curl just slightly. “Oh, you know?”
Paige leans back again, arms crossed, shoulders loose. She’s cocky, sure, but there’s something anticipatory in her gaze—like she knows you’re about to challenge her and she’s thrilled about it.
“Mhm.” She nods, casual as ever. “Crystal clear.”
You hum, feigning thoughtfulness, tapping a finger against the open textbook. “Wow. Must be nice. I thought you struggled with retention, but here you are, remembering things that have literally never been said.”
She gasps. “Rude.”
“You’ll get over it,” you deadpan.
Paige, of course, does not let it go. She tips her chin up, meeting your gaze with something wicked and playful tangled in the blue of her eyes. “Okay, fine. You don’t have a little crush on me.”
You exhale, relieved.
“But you definitely think about me when I’m not around.”
Your breath catches. Paige sees it. Her grin stretches wider, knowing, smug.
Oh, you are not letting her have this.
You scoff, shifting back in your chair, fighting the warmth creeping up your spine. “Paige, you are in my life solely because you can’t pass basic biology. I think about you in the same way people think about a fire alarm that won’t stop beeping.”
“Ah, so constantly?”
You scowl. She beams.
“That’s fair,” Paige shrugs, stretching her arms over her head, and the movement makes her hoodie ride up again, flashing a sliver of tanned stomach. “I am pretty unforgettable. Even when I’m annoying.”
“Especially when you’re annoying,” you mutter.
Paige smirks, but then, as if sensing your growing frustration, she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and dragging her textbook closer. “Alright, fine. I’ll study.”
You narrow your eyes. “For real?”
She winks. “Scout’s honor.”
“Paige, you were never a scout.”
“Prove it.”
You sigh but relent, watching as she flips open the book and actually—miraculously—starts reading the page in front of her. You take a sip of your now-cold coffee, reveling in the small victory.
For a blissful forty-five seconds, Paige is silent. Then—
“So, like,” she starts, “mitochondria. That’s the powerhouse of the cell, right?”
You pause. Blink. Lower your coffee. “Yes?”
Paige throws her hands in the air. “Let’s gooo. I’m a genius.”
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Paige, you have three weeks until your exam. We need to cover way more than that.”
“Okay, okay,” she soothes, putting her hands up in surrender. “Next question.”
You flip to another page, glancing up briefly to make sure she’s paying attention.
She’s not. She’s looking at you.
You pause, caught off guard by the way she’s watching you—not with teasing amusement or lazy smugness, but with something softer. Warmer. Curious.
“Paige,” you warn, shifting uncomfortably.
She blinks, then grins again, but there’s something slightly less sharp about it now. “Nothing, nothing,” she mutters, shaking her head, flipping a page in her book. “Just thinking.”
You hesitate, unsure if you want to ask, what about? But you don’t.
Instead, you clear your throat, turning your attention back to the book. “Okay. Explain the process of osmosis.”
Paige tilts her head dramatically. “Is that, like, when you just chill through life and things come to you naturally?”
“Oh my god, no,” you deadpan.
She grins. “Damn. Thought I was onto something.”
You sigh, rubbing your temples. “We are so fucked.”
Paige just laughs, bright and easy. “Nah. You’d never let me fail.”
She says it like it’s a fact. Like she knows, without a doubt, that you’d never let hers fall behind. And the worst part is she’s most definitely right.
She twirls her pen between her fingers, spinning it effortlessly like a basketball rolling off the tips of her hands. It’s hypnotizing, actually—the smooth rotations, the lazy way her fingers flick with just enough control to keep it from dropping. She’s been doing this for the last ten minutes, and not once has she even pretended to read the page in front of her.
Meanwhile, you’re hunched over your notes, taking deep, steadying breaths. You tell yourself you won’t let her test your patience today. You won’t get dragged into her game. You won’t—
“Paige,” you say, voice strained.
“Hm?” she replies, still flipping her pen effortlessly.
“Please read.”
Paige hums noncommittally. Turns a page without reading it. You inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. “Paige.”
She finally looks up, resting her chin on her palm, eyes bright with amusement. “What? I’m absorbing information. Through osmosis.”
You close your eyes, count to three. Consider what your life would be like if you had literally any other tutoring assignment.
“You are so lucky you’re athletic,” you mutter, flipping the page back to where she was actually supposed to start reading. “C’mon. Photosynthesis. What do you know?”
Paige stretches her arms behind her head, her hoodie riding up slightly—distractingly—before she drops back down with a smirk, looking at you like she’s about to deliver the most groundbreaking scientific revelation of all time.
“Plants… make food?”
Your eyelid twitches.
“Correct,” you deadpan. “And they do that through—”
“The power of love,” Paige interrupts, placing a hand over her chest. “And sunlight.”
You grip the edge of the table. Consider flipping it over. “Yes. Because that’s what biology is. Disney magic and good vibes.”
Paige grins. “Exactly.”
You open your mouth—probably to unleash a scathing lecture about the sanctity of science—when a shadow hovers at the edge of the table. You glance up—because you always have to glance up when people stop by your study sessions with Paige—and find a girl, probably a freshman, clutching her phone like it’s a sacred artifact.
She shifts on her feet, looking like she’s debating whether she should even speak to Paige. You can already see where this is going.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” the girl says, eyes darting between you and Paige, before ultimately landing—unsurprisingly—on Paige. “Could I, um, get a picture? If that’s okay?”
Paige doesn’t miss a beat. She shifts effortlessly from Slacker Paige to Cool Superstar Paige, flashing an easy grin as she leans back in her chair like she expected this. Like this is as common as someone asking her to pass the salt at dinner.
“Of course,” she says, voice warm, inviting, polished. She stands smoothly, rolling her shoulders back, exuding that same relaxed confidence she has right before sinking a step-back three.
You, meanwhile, remain seated, taking a slow sip of your coffee, already resigned to your fate as Paige Bueckers’ unofficial designated library bodyguard.
It’s routine at this point. The public adoration, the excited stammering, the sheepish thank you so much before they rush off like they just met royalty. And then Paige slides back into her chair, knocking her knee against yours like she doesn’t have an entire fan club scattered across campus.
“Where were we?” she asks casually, flipping her pen again.
You don’t even blink. “You were pretending to study, and I was contemplating my life choices.”
Paige snorts. But before she can respond, another person approaches. You glance up again, already prepared, already so tired. This time, it’s a guy—tall, student-athlete vibes, definitely not looking at you.
“Hey, sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly nervous despite the fact that Paige is already smiling at him like they’re old friends. “Could I get a picture real quick?”
Paige grins. “Yeah, of course.”
You take another sip of your coffee. Stare blankly into the abyss. Same process. Paige stands, poses, flashes her million-dollar smile. The guy stammers out a thanks and hurries off.
You exhale. Set your coffee down. “You done?”
Paige barely has time to smirk before two more people shuffle up, practically vibrating with excitement. She notices your unimpressed expression and loses it, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, now it’s funny,” she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.
“Now it’s funny?” you echo flatly.
She grins. “Yeah. You look miserable.”
You scowl. Paige beams. Another five minutes pass before the final wave of admirers disperse, and Paige—finally—sinks back into her chair, looking far too pleased with herself.
“I should start charging,” she jokes.
You arch a brow. “Should I start charging? I’m the one sitting here like an unpaid security detail.”
Paige grins, drumming her fingers against the table. “You could be my manager, you know. We’d be an iconic duo.”
You scoff. “We’re not even an iconic study group.”
“Yet,” she corrects.
You roll your eyes but, reluctantly, glance at the time. The session should go another thirty minutes, but between Paige’s inability to focus and her impromptu meet-and-greet, you’re pretty much out of patience.
“Fine,” you sigh, shutting your book. “We’ll pick this up next time.”
Paige fist-pumps like she just nailed a game-winner. “Let’s go.”
You raise a hand. “But—”
Paige groans.
“You actually have to study next time,” you warn, pointing a finger at her like a parent scolding a child. “No excuses. No distractions. No impromptu fan club meetings.”
Paige nods solemnly. “Of course. One hundred percent. Fully locked in.”
You squint at her. “You’re lying to my face.”
She grins. “Yeah. But I did it really well.”
You let out a slow breath, collecting your things, already knowing that next time will be just as chaotic. But, somehow, you don’t hate the idea.
You barely make it two steps out of the library before Paige falls into step beside you, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie, head tilted toward you like she’s waiting for something. You don’t say anything. Neither does she. But she’s still there, walking at your exact pace, still spinning that damn pen between her fingers like she’s making it her personal mission to erode the last of your patience.
After half a block of this nonsense, you finally huff. “Why are you still here?”
Paige smirks, eyes twinkling. “Wow. I thought we were friends, and you hit me with why are you still here? I think I need to sit down. That was devastating.”
You resist the urge to shove her into a trash can. “You should sit down. With a biology textbook.”
“That,” she sighs dramatically, “sounds like a you problem.”
You groan, but the corners of your lips twitch—just slightly. She glances at you again, side-eyeing, like she’s waiting for you to say something else. You don’t. So, instead, she nudges your arm with her elbow. “You heading back to your dorm?”
“Yep,” you say, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Where some people go to actually study.”
Paige grins. “Fun. I was gonna hit the gym.”
You pretend to be shocked. “No way. The gym? You? Unheard of.”
She chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Crazy concept. Gotta keep these knees in top shape so I can keep playing dumb for you in the library.”
You roll your eyes, but your lips do twitch again. When you reach the intersection where you usually part ways, Paige hesitates—just slightly. Her foot taps against the pavement, and she glances at you, like there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t.
But then the crosswalk light changes, and she just flashes her usual grin. “Alright, I’ll see you next time. Can’t wait to waste more of your valuable time.”
You shake your head, already walking away. “You are a waste of my valuable time.”
Paige calls after you, voice dripping with smug amusement. “Admit it! You’d be bored as hell without me!” You don’t respond. Maybe, just maybe, she has a point.
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You barely manage to kick the door shut behind you before dropping your bag to the floor, the weight of the entire goddamn week peeling off your shoulders like an old sticker. Your body feels wrecked—like you just played all four quarters of a game you weren’t even supposed to be in. Midterms, tutoring, the endless cycle of pretending you have your shit together when in reality, you’re two missed assignments away from a full-on breakdown.
Your roommate’s bed is empty, the perfectly made sheets an immediate giveaway that she’s already at her boyfriend’s place for the night. Which means the dorm is yours. Finally. A rare and precious occurrence, like a solar eclipse or a professor canceling class with a two-minute email. You grab your laptop from the desk, already knowing exactly how you’re gonna spend the next five hours: Desperate Housewives. Your guilty pleasure. Your lifeline. Your emotional support chaotic suburban drama. You settle onto your bed, wrapping yourself in a blanket cocoon, cracking your knuckles in preparation for an evening of zero responsibilities—when your phone rings.
You groan dramatically, not even bothering to check the screen before answering. “No.”
There’s a pause, then Jordan’s voice comes through, unimpressed. “Bitch, you don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“Yes, I do,” you sigh, rolling onto your back. “And the answer is no.”
“You’re being difficult,” she complains. “Come out with me.”
“No.”
“C’mon. It’s Friday night. You have no excuses.”
“I have the best excuse. I’m too fucking tired.”
Jordan makes an exaggerated scoffing noise. “Tired from what? Sitting across from your little basketball girlfriend and watching her pretend she doesn’t know how to read?”
You freeze. “She’s not my—”
“Uh-huh.”
You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jordan.”
“[Redacted],” she mimics in a deep, mocking tone. “Come out. I’ll buy your first drink.”
“You say that like you’re doing me a favor. It’s literally one drink.”
“Okay, and? You’re broke.”
She’s got you there.
“I have plans,” you try again.
“What plans? Watching white women commit crimes in wedge heels?”
You frown. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Because I know you.”
You press your lips together, because yeah. She does.
Jordan senses weakness and pounces. “You never go out anymore,” she whines. “It’s tragic. I’m watching my best friend turn into a sad little academic goblin. When’s the last time you flirted with someone for fun?”
“I—” You pause. And that’s enough for Jordan.
“Oh my god.”
“I don’t need to flirt with random people, Jordan,” you argue.
“Okay, then come to keep me company. Emily’s bringing her crypto bro boyfriend and I need a buffer. You owe me.”
“For what?”
“For being my best friend, dumbass.”
You let out a long, slow exhale. Your bed is so soft. Your show is right there. Your roommate isn’t gonna be back till morning, which means you could fall asleep watching hot moms commit felony-level fraud and no one would judge you. But Jordan is relentless. And also, maybe, just maybe, she’s right.
“Ugh, okay, fine, one drink,” you say finally.
She screeches. “I’LL BE THERE IN TWENTY.”
“Wait, what the— twenty?!”
“You don’t get time to back out, babe. Love you! Bye!”
The call disconnects. You stare at your ceiling for a long moment before groaning into your pillow. Guess you’re going out. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your closet like it personally wronged you.
Twenty minutes. Less than that now. Jordan is on time when it comes to dragging you out of your self-imposed hibernation, so you don’t have the luxury of procrastinating. You run a hand through your hair, sighing as you debate your options.
Jeans? Safe. A dress? Too much effort. Skirt? Trying too hard. 
You pull open a drawer, fingers brushing over the usual suspects: black tank, oversized tee, hoodie. The same exact shit you wear every day. You tug at the hem of your pajama shirt instead, already debating if you could get away with staying in. Jordan would literally break into your dorm if she had to.
You settle on something in the middle—black jeans that just hug your waist enough to be flattering without suffocating you, a tight long-sleeve that makes your arms look good, and sneakers. Cute but low effort.
Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror above your desk, and your mind does that thing. That thing where you start thinking in spirals, words layering on top of each other like a too-thick coat of paint. Jordan always looks good when you go out. The hot friend, effortlessly wanted. Guys slip her their numbers, girls compliment her makeup, and you? You’re there. Background noise. The best friend, the safe choice, the one people never approach first.
Your hands move on autopilot, pulling your hair into something presentable, smoothing out wrinkles in your shirt. Your brain moves just as fast, thoughts piling up. When’s the last time someone wanted you? Really, genuinely wanted you?
Not for help on an assignment. Not for a favor. Not as a buffer against some awkward third wheel situation. Your fingers tighten around the mascara wand as you swipe it over your lashes, the thought hitting heavier than it should.
And then there’s her. Paige. Paige, who everyone wants. Paige, whose name alone makes people light up, whose smile makes the world lean in closer. Paige, who has the kind of effortless pull that shouldn’t be real, the kind that isn’t real, except it is—because it’s her.
You imagine what it must be like. To be wanted by everyone. To have people go out of their way just to see you. To be loved by an entire fucking world that doesn’t even know you. To have that kind of pull. You shake your head, dabbing concealer under your eyes, fixing nothing. Paige doesn’t have to think about this. About being ignored. About whether or not someone is really interested or if they just need her for something else. Paige is easy to love.
Your hands are steady as you apply lip gloss, but your thoughts aren’t. Because you know what’s worse? Worse than not being wanted? Feeling like you could be—if only you were someone else. A sharp knock-knock-knock at your door makes you jump, snapping you out of whatever existential spiral you were just sinking into.
You check the time. 7:59. Jordan, always on time when it comes to dragging your ass out of the house.
“Bitch, open up,” she calls through the door, impatience already seeping through her voice. “I know you’re in there, don’t make me break in.”
You roll your eyes, grabbing your phone off the bed before opening the door. Jordan doesn’t even wait for an invitation. She just steps in like she owns the place, eyes immediately scanning you up and down.
“Oh, thank god,” she exhales dramatically, throwing herself onto your bed like she just finished a marathon. “For a second, I was scared you were gonna pull some bullshit and answer in sweats.”
“I was considering it.”
“And I would’ve dragged you outside as is.”
She props herself up on her elbows, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look good, though. Like, sexy but nonchalant. Very ‘I don’t try but I still eat men alive.’”
You snort, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull your sneakers on. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”
Jordan flips onto her back, legs kicking lazily. “Hot girl vibes activated. I’m proud.”
You ignore the way that your brain still insists on running her words through some dumb internal filter. Hot but? Sexy but? There’s always a but. Still, you appreciate the compliment.
Jordan rolls onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “Okay, so what’s our game plan?”
You raise a brow. “Game plan?”
She grins. “Are we flirting for fun tonight? Making out with strangers? Taking free drinks and saying thanks but no thanks?”
You scoff, standing to grab your jacket. “You’re doing all of that. I’m drinking one drink, pretending I enjoy being in public, and then leaving.”
Jordan makes a dramatic gagging noise. “You’re so lame, it physically hurts me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” You throw on your jacket, checking yourself one last time in the mirror before turning back to her. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Jordan squints. “You know, for someone who never goes out, you could at least try to fake some excitement.”
You sigh, grabbing your phone. “Fine.” You flash her your most half-assed smile. “Yay. Alcohol.”
Jordan stares at you for a long beat. Then she cackles.
“I hate you,” she wheezes, hopping off the bed and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon, grumpy girl. Let’s get you drunk.”
You let her steer you out the door, already bracing for whatever the night has in store.
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The bar hums with low conversation, the steady pulse of bass from the speakers vibrating against your ribs. The air is thick—spilled beer, cheap whiskey, the faintest trace of cologne as someone brushes past you. It’s crowded, bodies pressing in too close, the kind of warmth that clings to your skin, dampens the edges of your sleeves.
You plant your elbows on the bar, exhaling slow. Jordan’s already disappeared into the crowd, her voice lilting somewhere behind you, laughing too loud at something she probably doesn’t even find funny. You don’t bother looking back. You just need a drink, something cold in your hand, something to make this whole night feel less like a mistake.
The bartender moves in front of you, nodding once in acknowledgment, and you order—automatic, easy, something you don’t have to think about. While you wait, you glance around, taking in the room.
It’s packed, but that’s expected. The usual Friday night chaos—people gathered in clusters, leaning into one another to be heard over the music. A group near the dartboard erupts in laughter, a guy raises his arms in exaggerated victory, another flips him off good-naturedly. At the other end of the bar, a girl tugs her friend closer, whispering something into her ear, their giggles swallowed by the noise.
And then— a flash of blue. You don’t think anything of it at first. Just a hoodie, nothing more. But then there’s another. And another. A guy walks past, a UConn logo stretched across his chest, the lettering cracked and faded from too many washes. At a nearby table, someone’s peeling the label off their beer bottle, the cuff of their UConn crewneck pushed up to their elbows. A girl at the bar turns her head, revealing the unmistakable emblem stitched into the side of her cap.
Your drink lands in front of you with a soft clink. You reach for it, fingers curling around the condensation-slicked glass, but your eyes are still moving, scanning. Near the pool table, someone slams a cue stick down, shaking their head. “Bro, that was insane.”
“I told you,” another guy laughs, taking a swig of his beer. “They were fucking unstoppable.”
A bartender walks by carrying a tray of shots, and someone calls out, voice sharp with excitement—
“To the Huskies!”
A cheer rises, loud and immediate, glasses raised, grins splitting across faces. Your fingers tighten around your drink. Another voice cuts through—closer, rough around the edges like it’s been shouting for hours. “Bueckers was on fire.”
Your stomach tenses. A television flickers in your periphery, mounted above the bar, the broadcast running highlights on a loop. A flash of white jerseys, a blur of movement, the unmistakable arc of a three-pointer sinking clean through the net.
Your gaze catches on the name emblazoned across the back.
BUECKERS. 5.
Your drink sits untouched in your hand. A hand lands on your shoulder, nails cool against your skin. Jordan’s voice cuts through the hum of conversation, bright, energized.
“There you are,” she says, leaning in so you can hear her. Her breath is warm against your ear, smelling faintly of whatever sugary drink she got roped into first. “Why do you always ditch me the second we get here?”
You lift your glass, taking a slow sip before responding. “I didn’t ditch you. You ran off.”
Jordan grins, squeezing your shoulder before letting go. “Details.”
She slides onto the stool beside you, propping her elbows on the bar, the sheer confidence in her posture making it clear that she’s already in her element. You can tell from the way her shoulders are loose, from the easy way she scans the room—she’s here to enjoy herself. She tugs at the collar of her cropped tank, a calculated movement, and you don’t miss the way a pair of eyes flicker toward her from across the bar.
Of course. It never takes long. The girl is pretty—high cheekbones, sharp jaw, hair spilling in soft waves over her shoulders. She’s nursing a drink in one hand, the other tracing idle patterns into the wood of the bar. She’s been looking, you realize. Long enough for it to mean something. Long enough for it to be deliberate.
And Jordan? She notices. She always notices. You watch as she tilts her head slightly, lips curling at the edges, all slow-building amusement. Not an invitation. Not yet. Just an acknowledgment. I see you seeing me. And just like that, the girl moves.
She slides closer, just one seat between her and Jordan now, her presence a hum of subtle perfume and confidence. You feel the shift immediately, the way the space around them tightens, charged with something unspoken. You take another sip of your drink, eyes flicking between them. Jordan doesn’t look over right away. She lets it build, that delicious tension she thrives on, makes the girl wait for it. And when she finally turns her head—slow, purposeful—it’s a hook.
“Hey,” the girl says, voice smooth, honeyed.
Jordan’s lips part slightly, amused. “Hey yourself.”
There it is. The shift, the moment the conversation has already decided what it’s going to be. The girl twirls the stem of her glass between two fingers, considering. “You’re a little hard to miss.”
Jordan lifts a brow. “Yeah?”
The girl nods, a smile playing at her lips. “Saw you the second I walked in.”
You huff a quiet laugh into your drink. Jordan flicks you a glance, but she doesn’t look away for long. She’s locked in now, her full attention settling on the girl beside her.
“That so?” she murmurs.
The girl leans forward slightly, just enough that Jordan can smell whatever floral-citrus perfume she’s wearing. “Mhm.”
Jordan takes her time responding, letting the moment stretch, her fingers tapping lazily against the bar. “And what’d you think?”
The girl laughs, low and knowing. “I think I liked it.”
Jesus. You shake your head, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. This is Jordan’s playground, and she’s barely even started. Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts in.
“There you are, finally.”
Emily. And, by default, her crypto bro. You turn just in time to see her sliding in beside you, her expression teetering between fond exasperation and mild relief, like she was worried you wouldn’t actually show. Her boyfriend—god, what’s his name again?—is hovering a step behind her, already half into whatever overpriced IPA he’s nursing.
“Thought you were gonna bail,” Emily says, bumping your arm.
You shake your head. “Almost did.”
She laughs. “Would’ve sent Jordan to physically drag you out of bed.”
“She already threatened to.”
Jordan, not even looking at you, raises a hand and flicks her wrist. “And I would’ve done it with love.”
Emily grins before turning to Jordan, about to say something else—until she sees the girl. And immediately, her expression shifts.
“Oh,” she says, blinking once. Then, lips curving slightly, she leans in, dropping her voice just enough for you to hear. “She’s hot.”
Jordan doesn’t turn her head, but her smirk deepens. “I know.”
The girl doesn’t flinch, unfazed by the blatant cockiness, the sheer Jordan-ness of it all. If anything, she looks more intrigued.
“God, you’re unbearable,” Emily mutters, sipping her drink.
Jordan, at this point, is fully ignoring all of you. She’s gone, deep in the slow back-and-forth of a conversation that’s teetering right on the edge of something. You watch, mildly entertained, as the girl tucks her hair behind her ear, as Jordan lets her gaze flick lower, just for a moment, before meeting her eyes again.
Classic. You’re about to tune them out entirely, return your focus to the drink in your hand, when—
The door swings open.
And just like that, the energy shifts. You don’t see them at first. You feel them. A ripple through the crowd, a flicker of awareness in the way people turn their heads, in the subtle glances exchanged between strangers. The volume dips for half a second—not silence, just a shift, a momentary lapse before everything surges back up again.
Your eyes track toward the entrance—toward the new arrivals pushing through the threshold, stepping into the bar with the ease of people who know they’ll be noticed. White sneakers. Loose sweatpants. Jackets slung over shoulders. And that unmistakable color.
UConn blue.
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Jordan is still locked in, her conversation with the pretty girl unfolding in the slow, deliberate way that only happens when both people know exactly what they’re doing. It’s all prolonged eye contact, subtle shifts in body language, the kind of flirting that exists in the pauses as much as in the words. Emily is barely paying attention, absorbed in some argument with her boyfriend about blockchain or whatever the hell it is he does. You’ve stopped listening.
Which means you’re just… there. Third-wheeling at a bar, drink half-finished, barely contributing to the conversation. The worst part is, no one even notices. Jordan, obviously, is in her own world, and Emily is too preoccupied with rolling her eyes at her boyfriend to remember you exist. You take another sip of your drink, letting your eyes wander.
The UConn girls have spread through the bar now, weaving into the crowd like they belong there. You recognize a few faces—players you’ve seen on highlight reels, names you don’t know but should. There’s a looseness to them, an ease, the kind of relaxation that only comes after a win.
You wonder, absently, if Paige is here. Not that it matters. The thought makes you shift slightly, pushing down something vague and uncomfortable. You finish off the last sip of your drink and set the glass down a little too hard, the soft clink barely audible over the noise.
“I need to piss,” you mutter, mostly to no one.
Jordan doesn’t react, too busy letting the girl touch her arm in that slow, lingering way that means she’s definitely coming home with her later. Emily gives a halfhearted wave, her focus still locked on her boyfriend, who is currently explaining something with way too much hand movement.
You slip into the crowd, navigating the maze of bodies with the kind of single-minded determination usually reserved for final exams and finding your phone when it’s on silent. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the floor, thrumming up through your sneakers, settling somewhere in your chest. Every step feels like walking through molasses—people shifting, swaying, arms brushing against yours in that careless way that comes with alcohol and too many bodies packed into one space.
You make it to the hallway leading to the bathrooms and nearly sigh in relief. It’s quieter here—not quiet, but enough that you can hear yourself think. The walls are still pulsing faintly with the music, the distant echo of a chorus threading through the air, but it’s a reprieve from the chaos of the main bar.
And then you see the door. Locked.
Holy fuck, you’re about to piss yourself. You try the handle anyway because maybe the universe will be kind, but no—solid, unmoving. Leaning against the opposite wall, you exhale sharply, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. Fine. You’ll wait. Not a big deal.
Except time starts dragging. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, tapping your fingers against your thigh. One minute passes. Two. You check your phone, even though you just checked your phone.
Okay. You can handle this.
Except—five minutes in, it’s not just uncomfortable. It’s annoying. Who the fuck is in there? Writing a novel? Performing a one-act play? Curing a disease?
You knock once, firm but not aggressive. Just enough to remind whoever is inside that there’s a whole world out here.
No response. Another minute passes. You cross your arms, shifting again, foot tapping against the floor. Seven minutes.
You knock again. Harder this time. “Yo.”
Nothing. Oh, come on. You glance toward the men’s bathroom. It’s right there. Completely open. No line. Just an empty doorway leading to salvation. Wouldn’t be the first time. But before you can talk yourself into it, you knock again. Hard. Impatient. At this point, you’re not even polite about it—you just hit the door. “Hurry up, Jesus Christ.”
The lock clicks. A second later, the door swings open, and out stumbles a couple—disheveled, flushed, and absolutely not here to use the bathroom for its intended purpose. The girl giggles into her boyfriend’s neck, her lipstick half-smeared, while his hands are still gripping her hips like they’re considering going back in for round two.
You don’t even react. You just shove past them, slam the door shut, and finally—finally—relieve yourself. Blessed silence, aside from the muffled bass still thumping through the walls. You take a moment to breathe, running your hands through your hair, shaking off the weird tension that’s been clinging to you all night. You’re fine. It’s fine.
When you step back out, the hallway’s busier—more people filing in, laughing too loud, waiting their turn. You navigate through them, dodging the wobbly, half-drunk girl clinging to her friend’s arm, sidestepping the guy trying way too hard to look casual against the wall. You’re almost back to the main floor when—
A hand catches your wrist. Firm, deliberate. Enough pressure to stop you, but not enough to hurt. Your breath stutters—not from fear, not exactly, but from the sheer certainty in that grip. Like whoever’s holding you already knew they would.
You turn your head. And there she is.
Paige fucking Bueckers.
Loose hoodie, sleeves pushed up, exposing the lean muscle in her forearms. A chain glinting under the dim bar lights, catching for half a second on the sharp line of her collarbone before disappearing beneath fabric. Her hair is a little messier than usual, like she’s run a hand through it one too many times. And her expression?
Smug. Smug as hell.
“Well, well, well,” she drawls, her grip on your wrist still firm, thumb brushing once over your pulse before she finally—leisurely—lets go. “Fancy seeing you here, tutor.”
Her voice is low, teasing. The kind of tone that makes you want to roll your eyes and press your thighs together at the same damn time.
You exhale sharply. “Oh, fuck me.”
Her grin widens instantly, wolfish. “I mean, if you insist—”
You smack her arm, and she laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a full-bodied, head-tilted-back, entirely too pleased with herself kind of laugh. It’s obnoxious. It’s attractive. It’s exactly why you need to get out of this conversation immediately.
But Paige has other plans. She steps closer—just enough that you feel the heat of her body, just enough that the crowd shifts around you, forcing you to stay exactly where you are. Her gaze drops, just for a second, flickering down your outfit before dragging back up, slow, deliberate.
“You clean up nice,” she muses. “Didn’t know you owned anything other than oversized sweatshirts.”
You narrow your eyes. “Didn’t know you left the gym.”
She hums, tapping her chin like she’s considering. “True. But, you know, when you drop thirty-six points in a game, you kinda have to celebrate.”
Of course she dropped thirty-six.
“And yet,” you deadpan, “here you are. Bothering me.”
Paige grins, shifting on her feet so she’s even closer, close enough that you can smell her cologne—something crisp, clean, expensive. Unfair.
“C’mon, don’t act so surprised,” she murmurs. “You knew we’d run into each other eventually.”
You raise a brow. “Did I?”
She tilts her head, amused. “Yeah. ‘Cause you’ve been avoiding me all week.”
Your pulse skips. “I have not—”
“Oh, you definitely have,” Paige interrupts, smirking. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you switching up your usual schedule. Skipping our tutoring session on Tuesday.” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Tragic. Really had me wondering if I did something to offend you.”
God, she’s insufferable. And yet—
“Like you care,” you shoot back.
Her eyes glint, sharp, knowing. “Oh, I do.”
Something thickens in the air between you. Something tangible, humming just beneath the surface of her cocky smirk, her unwavering stare. Her fingers twitch at her side, like she’s considering reaching for you again. You see it happen, the micro-movement, the shift of her weight like she’s deliberating. And then, just as quickly, she exhales, straightening to her full height.
“Well,” she says, her voice dipping into something smoother, softer, “if you’re not avoiding me, then I guess you wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink with me, huh?”
You blink. “What.”
She jerks her chin toward the bar. “Drink. You. Me.”
You hesitate. That same pressure returns, that feeling of everyone wants her, but somehow, right now, she’s locked onto you. Paige watches you, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. “What’s wrong, tutor? Afraid you might enjoy my company?”
Your jaw tightens. “I tolerate your company.”
She smirks. “Then come tolerate me at the bar.”
Your mistake wasn’t stopping when she grabbed your wrist. Your mistake was letting her talk. Because now Paige fucking Bueckers is smirking at you like she’s already won something, head tilted, hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie like she’s lounging through this entire interaction. You can already feel yourself being pulled into her orbit, and she knows it.
“A drink?” you echo, squinting at her. “You? Drinking?”
Her smirk grows. “Shocking, I know.”
“Lemme guess,” you deadpan. “Protein powder with a splash of vodka? Maybe a nice gatorade-infused tequila?”
Paige gasps—actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest like you just accused her of a heinous crime. “Wow. You think so little of me.”
“I think exactly the right amount of you.”
She exhales dramatically, shaking her head. “Tragic. Here I am, just a small-town basketball star trying to enjoy a simple, wholesome night out, and my own tutor is out here slandering my good name.”
You raise a brow. “Your good name?”
She nods solemnly. “That’s right. I am, at heart, a simple girl with simple pleasures.” Then, as if to punctuate the absolute bullshit she just said, she throws an arm around your shoulder, leaning in until her lips are a breath away from your ear. “Like dirty Shirley Temples.”
You choke. On nothing. Paige pulls back, just enough to see your reaction, the sharp glint of amusement in her gaze practically sparkling.
“No fucking way,” you manage. “You drink dirty Shirley Temples?”
She grins. “Religiously.”
“That’s—” You blink, at a complete fucking loss. “That’s the most unserious drink you could have possibly chosen.”
Paige winks. “And yet? It goes down smooth.”
“Oh, I bet it does.”
She laughs, full and warm, tilting her head like she’s considering something. “Y’know,” she muses, “I like this side of you.”
You narrow your eyes. “What side?”
Paige drops her voice, lowers it into something silkier, something that slides down your spine in a way that should be illegal. “The one that flirts with me back.”
Your brain short-circuits. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb now,” she murmurs, fingers tapping lazily against the side of your arm like she’s keeping count of your heartbeat. “You’re usually so good at keeping up.”
You hate that she’s right. You take a slow breath, forcing yourself to regain some composure. “You are so full of shit.”
Paige hums. “Maybe. But you seem to love it.” And then she winks. A full, obnoxious, Paige Bueckers-grade wink.
Oh, you are not going out like this. You lean in, just barely, watching the way her smirk twitches, the way her fingers still on your arm. “Tell you what,” you say, keeping your voice light, casual, like you’re not insanely aware of how close she is. “I’ll let you buy me a drink—”
Paige perks up. “Yeah?”
“If,” you continue, “you admit that I’ve been absolutely kicking your ass in our tutoring sessions.”
Her lips part. “Oh, hell no.”
You grin. “What’s wrong? Afraid of the truth?”
She clicks her tongue, shaking her head like she’s personally offended. “No fucking way. That’s extortion.”
“That’s accountability.”
She squints at you. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”
Your breath catches. For a split second, you completely malfunction, and Paige fucking sees it. 
She grins—huge, like she just sank a game-winner at the buzzer. “Ohhh, that got you, huh?”
You snap back immediately. “Did not.”
“Uh-huh.” She crosses her arms, rocking back on her heels. “You were fully thrown off just now.”
You roll your eyes, trying to pretend like you didn’t just combust internally. “You gonna buy me that drink or what?”
Paige sighs like you’ve personally exhausted her. “Fine,” she relents. “But I’m getting you my favorite.”
You smirk. “A dirty Shirley?”
She grins. “Exactly.”
And with that, she grabs your hand—just for a second, just to tug you toward the bar, just long enough to make your pulse spike before she lets go.
The bar is packed. Bodies pressed together, voices overlapping, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through the thumping bass. Paige moves through it like she owns the place—shoulders loose, hoodie slouched just right, that damn chain flashing under the dim lights. You follow, pretending your eyes aren’t tracking the way her sweatpants sit just low enough on her hips to be distracting.
She leans against the bar, elbow propped up, and tilts her head at you like she’s studying something.
You squint. “What.”
Her lips twitch. “Nothing. Just trying to figure you out.”
“You’ve had months to do that.”
“Yeah, but you keep surprising me.” She drums her fingers against the counter, slow and rhythmic. “Like, for example, I knew you had some bite to you, but tonight? You’re really showing your teeth.”
You cross your arms. “Maybe I’m just extra annoyed by you today.”
Paige hums, tilting her head like she’s considering. Then, before you can react, she leans in—close, warm, too close—and brushes her lips just against the shell of your ear.
“Nah,” she murmurs, voice dipping low. “You like it.”
A slow, rolling shiver spreads down your spine.
Paige pulls back, just far enough to meet your eyes, her smirk lazy and so fucking smug. She knows exactly what she just did. You hate that she’s right. Before you can retaliate, the bartender appears. Paige turns, all casual ease, and grins.
“Two dirty Shirleys,” she says.
The bartender raises a brow but nods, moving to make the drinks. You stare at Paige. She shrugs. “Hey, a deal’s a deal.”
“You actually meant it?”
“Duh,” she says. “What, you think I just flirt for fun?”
Your lips part, because yes, obviously, that’s exactly what you think. Paige sees the way your expression shifts, and her grin deepens. “Aw, babe, don’t tell me you thought I was playing with you.”
You blink. “I—”
She tuts, shaking her head. “See, now I really need you to drink this, ‘cause you need to loosen up.”
The bartender slides the drinks over. Paige pushes one toward you, watching expectantly. You hesitate. Paige lifts hers and clinks the rim of her glass against yours. “C’mon, tutor. Don’t be scared.”
Scared? Oh, that does it. You grab the glass and take a sip, the sweet bite of grenadine and vodka coating your tongue. Paige watches the way your throat moves when you swallow, her lips parting just slightly.
Just like that, the game shifts. You lower the glass, eyes locking with hers.
“Not bad,” you murmur. Then, mirroring her move from earlier, you step in just enough to make her breath hitch, tilting your head slightly like you’re about to say something important—something deep, something meaningful.
And then— you drag your tongue slowly over your bottom lip and the blonde’s eyes darken. You almost laugh, but her hand suddenly brushes against your waist, just a whisper of contact, the heat of her palm radiating through your thin shirt. It’s brief—so brief you could almost pretend it didn’t happen—but the way your skin burns says otherwise.
“Shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, just for you to hear.
You smirk. “Something wrong?”
Her jaw tightens. “Not at all.”
She takes a sip of her own drink, eyes never leaving yours, throat bobbing as she swallows. The moment stretches. Then—Paige exhales sharply, like she’s shaking something off, and grins. “Alright, alright, you win this round,” she admits, nudging your arm with hers. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”
You tilt your head. “Guess you’ll just have to keep figuring me out.”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “God, you’re fun.”
Then, so casually, she hooks a finger into your belt loop and tugs. It’s playful. It’s barely anything. But it’s also everything. Because she doesn’t let go. You swallow. Hard.
Her voice is softer now, but the teasing edge is still there. “I like this side of you.”
You clear your throat, trying desperately to focus on something other than the warmth of her touch. “You said that already.”
Paige smirks. “Yeah. But I really like it.”
Paige is cocky. Too cocky. The kind of cocky that drips off her like it’s stitched into her damn DNA, like she was born knowing how to get under people’s skin, into their heads. And right now, she’s looking at you like she’s already inside yours, like she’s set up shop in the most dangerous corners of your mind and made herself comfortable. She still has her finger hooked in your belt loop. Just resting there, like she belongs there.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs, sipping her drink, tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of grenadine before it can slide past her lip.
Your jaw clenches. You look down at her grip on your jeans, then back up. Blatantly.
She smirks. “What, this?” She tugs. Not hard. Just enough to make the fabric of your jeans pull against your hip, just enough to remind you she’s right there.
You don’t move. “Let go.”
She hums, tilting her head. “Nah.”
Your fingers twitch around your glass. “Paige.”
She exhales, all mock exasperation, finally—finally—releasing her hold. But before you can celebrate your very minor victory, she leans in, voice dropping to something dangerously smooth. “Relax. You can touch me if you want.”
Your breath catches.
She laughs, tipping her drink toward you in mock salute. “You’re so fun to mess with.”
You narrow your eyes, pulse still skittering from the low, teasing way she said touch me. “You’re insufferable.”
Paige hums. “Maybe, you like it.”
And there it is. The line. The one she’s been waiting to say, the one she’s been circling since the second she grabbed your wrist.
You roll your shoulders, schooling your expression into something neutral. “You’re alright.”
Her brows lift. “‘Alright’? Wow.”
You sip your drink, unfazed. “I mean, you are failing bio.”
Paige scoffs. “Unnecessary.”
“Just saying. I don’t think geniuses need tutors.”
Paige smirks. “Nah, but they do need entertainment. And you, babe—” she tips her chin toward you, eyes gleaming, “—are so fucking entertaining.”
The casual babe nearly stops your brain completely.
You grip your glass tighter. “I should charge you extra.”
“For what? Intellectual stimulation?”
“For being exhausting.”
Paige’s grin widens. “Yet, here you are. Still talking to me.” She takes another slow sip of her drink, eyes locked onto yours over the rim of her glass. Watching you. Like she’s waiting for something.
You shift your weight, feeling entirely too seen, entirely too open under that gaze. Paige notices. Of course she does. Her lips part, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek like she’s considering something.
Then—before you can react—she leans in.
Your body locks up.
She gets close. Not teasingly close, not almost close—actual close. The kind of close that makes your heart trip over itself, the kind of close that makes your breath catch in the back of your throat.
Her lips hover right there, her breath warm against your jaw. Then, quietly, smugly—obnoxiously:
“Wanna make out?”
You freeze.
She grins. “What? You look like I just asked you to solve a physics problem.”
“Are you serious?”
Paige tilts her head. “Nah, I just like watching you panic.”
She’s so fucking unbearable. You set your glass down with a sharp clink. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I’m funny.”
“You’re a menace.”
She beams. “You don’t seem to mind it.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heat of the bar, or the way Paige is looking at you like she wants something—like she’s daring you—but suddenly, your patience snaps.
You grip the front of her hoodie and pull. She barely has a second to react before your lips crash into hers. Paige groans. A low, gravelly sound that vibrates against your mouth, sending heat shooting straight to your stomach. And fuck, she kisses back.
All cocky, eager pressure, her hands already gripping your waist, her fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt like she wants to feel more.
The bar melts away. The noise, the people, everything—all of it fades because Paige is right here, kissing you like she’s been waiting for you to do this since day one.
You tilt your head, chasing the taste of vodka and cherry on her tongue, and Paige makes this obscene little noise before she presses in, deeper, her teeth grazing just enough to make your knees buckle. You gasp, and she smirks into the kiss, like she knows, like she’s already winning again.
Asshole.
You yank at the waistband of her sweatpants, a little revenge, a little fuck you, and Paige laughs—low, breathless—before biting gently at your bottom lip, sending a full-body shiver down your spine. Your grip on her tightens.
She hums, pleased. “Knew you wanted me.”
You pull back, just barely, panting. “Shut the fuck up.”
Paige grins, lips swollen, eyes gleaming. “Make me.”
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yanderedrabbles · 3 months ago
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obsessed with the yandere outlaws!! May I ask what sort of gifts the cowboys would give the reader?
Yandere Outlaws - Gifts
The boss brings you jewellery. He's old fashioned like that. To him, his girl deserves nothing less diamonds and gold. If the gang pulls off a train job then he's going to rip the necklace off some rich old lady's neck, just to bring it home to you.
He doesn't make a big deal out of the fortune he's giving you. Just takes your hand and slips a new ring on your finger, or comes up behind you and fastens a locket around your throat. And well, it's not like you'll ever have the chance to run off with his gifts, so you aren't exactly a risky investment.
He likes seeing you in your jewellery and nothing else. Gas light catching on the emeralds around your throat as he holds your waist and forces you to ride him. You're his stolen treasure - it's only appropriate that you have the accessories to match.
The gunslingers bring you things that look good on you when you're naked. Ribbons for your hair (even though by the time they're done with you, that pretty velvet is crushed and sticky), cameo chokers, garters.
There's something about a girl wearing nothing but her stockings that just drives them wild. Rarely, they might bring you back a silk slip or nightdress. Something that shows the outline of your body, something that feels so awful soft against your skin. They'll fuck you while you're still wearing it, the material bunched up in their fists as they manhandle you. When they inevitably ruin it, chances are it's going in their pockets or around their necks. So they can carry the smell of your cunt with them when they're away from home.
The wrangler brings you sweets whenever he can. Sometimes they're small treats - a bag of peppermint sticks from the general store, some taffy sold by a housewife on a far-flung ranch.
Other times, he gets his hands on the more expensive stuff. Some of it totally unfamiliar to you. Chocolates filled with caramel and peppermint liqueur. Hard toffee that gets stuck in your teeth. Sugar plums.
You can't help but get a little excited whenever he comes back from a job. You know you shouldn't, but whenever he leans down to kiss you some part of you thinks about sugar melting on your tongue.
There's only one condition attached to his gifts. You have to sit on his lap and let him feed you. Most days you don't mind it - his hands don't usually wander below your waist. But when he comes back from a particularly nasty job? If he's been gone a long time? That's when he makes you suck the candy straight out of his mouth.
The boy brings you flowers. Silly and sappy and a little bit romantic. The sort of thing a boy does when he's in love for the first time.
He gives them to you the way a boy in love does, too. Blushing and looking at his shoes and muttering out a quick "For you," before he hurries away.
You aren't sure when he has the time to go about picking flowers. Between chores and wrangling, he scarcely has enough time to eat. But somehow he manages it. Wildflowers fill your room. Almost enough to cover the smell of blood and cum, but not quite.
The second in command brings you books. Hard to come by out in the west, even harder when you're a man on the run. But for you, he manages it.
There's no telling what he'll bring. Penny dreadfuls. Gothic romances. Books on language and history.
He likes to read with you. He doesn't have much free time, but in the late afternoons he'll usually track you down and take you out into the yard to sit with him. There's a huge oak that he likes to sit under, the sunlight turning soft and golden as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He's a fast reader, but it doesn't take long for you to start matching his speed. He likes to ask you questions, a mix of stern schoolmaster and curious lover.
He has a habit of running a hand up your thigh while you answer, humming softly whenever you stutter.
"Hmm, that's not quite right, little dove. Try again."
And if you still struggle to answer him? He'll just have write the answers against your clit with his tongue.
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4ranghaes · 9 months ago
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bang chan x reader [fluff, gender neutral!reader]
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23:37 - “is this… bang chan… coming to bed before midnight?!” you gasped.
your boyfriend chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly, “yes. shut up. changbin and jisung needed to focus on something with the producing tonight so i’m… free?”
you giggled, watching as he, clad in plaid pyjama bottoms, no shirt and a towel draped over his hair, came and sat on the side of the bed. you crawled out of your duvet cocoon, sitting behind chan’s broad body and beginning to use the towel to dry his hair.
“you should use a t-shirt,” you commented, thinking out loud as you dried the curly locks as softly as you could. “or a softer towel.”
“its okay,” chan shrugged, “i’m gonna straighten it anyway, no point taking care of it.”
“chan,” you said in a stern voice.
“what?!” he laughed, taking the towel out your hands and moving so he was sat against the wall, pulling you to straddle his lap.
“i love your curly hair,” you said, cupping his face, “i want you to be proud of it.”
he shrugged, smiling shyly, “i know you do, but i just—”
“no buts, chan,” you said, getting up to get a brush, and some of the curly hair products that had gone long disregarded by your boyfriend. “why not? maybe you’ll like it once you actually take care of it.”
chan just sighed, shutting his eyes and relaxing into the feeling of you playing with his hair.
“you don’t need to do all of this,” he said, “really. i’ll just go back to not doing it when i’m by myself.”
“well i guess you always need me around then, hmm?” you smiled, your eyes trained on his hair as his eyes watched your face, “you need someone to take care of you.”
chan sighed, shutting up and allowing you to finish dealing with his hair before you cuddled into his side. he pressed a kiss to your head as you fell into silence.
“thank you for taking care of me. i know its not easy.”
you hummed, kissing the hand that was slung around your shoulders, “it would be easier if you stop being stubborn. my beautiful boy.”
chan opened his mouth to protest before you looked up, given him a stern look. he bit back a laugh, allowing your point to stand.
the two of you shifted into a more comfortable sleeping position; face to face, chan’s arm loosely slung around your waist, your leg hooked over his hip. his hand stroked your back gently, your hands balled into fists resting against his strong chest.
“sleep now,” he whispered, kissing your closed eyelids, “it’s late.”
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suhkusa · 11 months ago
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THE KISS BET.
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PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader
SUMMARY. Your friends bet you to kiss Katsuki Bakugou. Fortunately for you, they’re offering you $500 for it. Unfortunately for you, the two of you absolutely hate each other.
CW. third year, angst to fluff, light hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, mature humor, feelings, language
WC. ~2.8k
A/N. enjoy :3
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You and your group of friends had a running gig. Bets. 
The group would bet one person to do something, on a scale from normal to outrageous, and that person’s turn wouldn’t end until they complete that bet. Of course, depending on how crazy the bet is, everyone would put in some amount of money. 
The most you’d gotten was $100 total from accepting a date from creep in the business class. Worst date of your life, but Jirou felt bad so she gave you an extra $50. 
As the lot of you gather around the campfire, everyone offers up their money to Mina who had just done her bet to put laxatives in Kirishima’s drink. There were a lot of questions about the morality of it, but you ignored it and gave her a crisp $20. 
“Y/N~ it’s your turn!” Ochako gleed. 
You roll your eyes, “I feel like I just did my other bet, which by the way was shit,” the girls laugh at your words. “I feel like all of you get the easier ones,”
“Easy? I had to kiss Monoma, do you know how hard that was? He knows I’m lesbian so imagine how hard that was for me to convince him,” Yaoyorozu sighs with a palm to her face.
“Oh, whatever,” Mina says with a clap of her hands, “You want a hard one, Y/N?”
“I mean that’s the whole point of paying each other to do bets, they’re supposed to be hard,” 
“Be careful what you wish for,” Mina smirks before standing up and pointing at you. 
“I bet you $100,” your ears perk up.
“-to kiss–,” your eyes widen but listen nonetheless.
“Katsuki Bakugou,” your world falls apart.
“Mina, no,” 
“Y/N, yes,” she jumps up and down, “It’s too late, I already said it,”
All the other girls are hooting and hollering, but you just sit there in silence as you stare at the flames. Are you really going to try this?
As you consider your options the other girls start placing their bet offerings.
“$75 from me,” Tsuyu calls out.
Then from Hagakure, “$50,”
“$150,” from none other than Yaoyorozu. 
“I guess I’ll put in $80,” Jirou smiles at your misery.
“Hmm, I’ll even it out with $45, so $500 flat for you, Y/N,” Ochako smiles.
$500?!? You’d be outright stupid to deny such a big amount of money. But you’d even stupider to think Katsuki Bakugou would kiss you of all people. 
“I think that’s impossible,” you whine as the other girls poke fun at you.
“I guess only time will tell,” Mina grabs your hands and smiles, “Good luck, Y/N,”
You can hear the rambunctiousness of your class before you walk in. When you walk through the doors, your eyes scan the class before your eyes lock in on Katsuki Bakugou. You groan with a roll of your eyes before stomping your way towards him. 
“Hey, Katsuki,” you stare down at him, “You want to do me a favor,”
“For you? I rather eat shit,” he grumbles as he meets your gaze.
“You’re a freak,” you already knew this was going to be hard, “Please,”
“Mm, depends, what’s in it for me?” 
“I guess you’ll find out,” you say. “Kiss me,”
It feels like the class goes silent as the two of you continue to just stare at each other. He opens his mouth then closes it. 
“You– The fuck?” His eyes are scattering as the words continue to process through his mind, “What a weirdo, hell no,” then he’s pushing himself out of his seat and making his way to the door.
“You know class starts in 5 minutes right?” you call to him.
“Fuck off,” he grunts as he shuts the door behind him.
Yep, definitely hard. 
The next time you bother Bakugou for a kiss is when the two of you are paired up for combat training. Much against his will. 
“Katsuki~” you call out as you dodge another blow from him. “You can’t avoid me forever,”
“Yes-” another explosion, “I can,”
You go on the offense as you continue, “Just a peck, please. I’m a good kisser, I promise,” 
“You’re shit,” he’s grumbling between dodges of your attacks.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you send him a wink before getting a hit on him. 
Bakugou groans, about to send another remark, when the training ends with a blow of a whistle.
The two of you meet eyes one last time, “Think it over, kay?” you smile before walking away.
Knock, knock. 
You stand at Bakugou’s door.
“Go away, perv,”
“Aw, how did you know it was me? You missed me?”
“I can just tell by the stench,” 
You laugh a little at his words, “Please, let me explain to you and maybe you’ll reconsider,” 
You can hear footsteps, and you smile. When he opens the door he’s adorned in his classic black tank and some sweats.
“You should put some clothes on, perv,” you mock. “Anyways, it was a bet from my friends and there’s $500 on the line, so if you would just–”
“I don’t kiss just anyone, princess,” the nickname causes you to fluster, but you shake it off as he continues, “You gotta earn it,”
He’s got a stupid smirk on his face, and you didn’t even realize it but he’s definitely leaning closer to you. It’s sending butterflies– well maybe more like moths– into your stomach. 
“What the– You’re definitely the pervert. I’m just going to ask to call it off,” you fake gag, “Later, loser,” 
“You’ll be back, nerd,”
You internally groan as you hear him shut the door, ignoring the intense heartbeat in your chest.
“No,” Mina says.
“What?! I told you it’s impossible,” you argue, all of your friends on the other side of the argument. 
“No it’s not, he said you had to earn it right?” Mina retorts, “So obviously there’s a way, you’re just stubborn,”
“You’re really not asking me to… You guys are crazy. Please, please, I’ll take anyone else, anything else,” 
“Sorry, Y/N, it’s the rules,” Tsuyu looks at you with pity.
“He hates me and I hate him! That’s all there is to it. It’s not going to happen,”
“Why do you guys even hate each other? It’s our third year, get over it already,” Jirou teases. 
“Because he’s a dick and I refuse to let him walk all over me! I just cursed him out one time for calling me weak. He’s the one who holds grudges because of his fragile, little heart,” 
“You should’ve known he’d hold that against you, but I honestly doubt he hates you because of that,” Mina says. “He probably thought you looked hot,” she laughs.
Heat rushes to the tips of your eyes, “Whatever, all of you are weirdos. But anyways-”
“No, Y/N,” Mina states, end of subject.
“You all just want me to kill myself,” you groan as you sink into the couch. “Whatever, but I’m going to force all of you to double your offering if I actually do this shit,”
The girls cheer. You cry inside. Anything for money, you guess.
It seems like the universe heard about the predicament you were in, because it felt like you were suddenly around him more often ever since the bet had been set.
“You know, I don’t want to be on patrol with you either,” you grumble, kicking at rocks as the two of you walk up and down the roads of the dorms.
“Glad we agree,”
Silence washes over you both. 
“Why don’t you want to kiss me? Am I ugly or something?” you ask, but it definitely comes off sadder than you intend.
“Don’t get all insecure because you don’t get a stupid kiss,” he looks the opposite direction of yours, “You know damn well you’re not ugly, so don’t piss me off,” 
He had a strange way of saying stuff.
“Aw, you love me, don’t you?” you tease, poking at his arm.
“Ah you dumbass, pay attention,” you snap back into place with a laugh, “‘M just saying you’re better looking than some of these extras,” 
You don’t know what to say in response to his words. Because they were surprisingly very sweet. 
Realizing he had said too much, he changes the subject. “Let’s go this way,”
You follow him with a nod.
There was definitely a certain type of tension lingering that the two of you walked in near silence for the rest of the patrol. 
You definitely were not repeating back his words in your head over and over again for the rest of the patrol. And Katsuki Bakugou was definitely not turning red because of what he said earlier. Definitely not. 
After that patrol, things seemed to sort of shift between the two of you. And to say it was scary was an understatement. 
Conversations wouldn’t always start off with the two of you insulting or cursing each other out. There’d be a hey or hello. If you guys saw each other in passing, he’d greet you with a nod of his head. Him being anything but passive aggressive towards you was terrifying because it was so not him. 
“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls out to you, you groan as you put your pencil down.
“I’m studying, what do you want, Katsuki?” 
“Come with me to the movies after school today,” it’s not really a question, more like a command. 
You put your hands to your mouth in fake(?) excitement, “You’re asking me on a date?! So kind, Katsuki,” 
“It’s not a date, idiot. I’m going with Ei and Denki later, they’re bringing Jirou and Mina. They were teasing me for not bringing anyone, so come,”
“If I don’t?” you muse.
“Be there or be square, nerd,” he doesn’t take your bait, but you can tell he’d prefer it if you go. He walks away before you can respond. 
Well, you guess you have plans later.
;;;
You meet up with the lot of them at the allotted time. The group walks together, and you thank God your friends have a questionable taste in men so you wouldn’t be stuck with some randos. But you also have half a mind to curse them out for leaving you to fend for yourself when you all arrive at the theater. 
They left you with no choice but to sit with Bakugou. Part of you really hates it, but not as much as you hate the rate at which your heart beats. 
For the most part, the two of you just sit there in awkwardness. The other couples indulge in that lovey dovey shit, and it makes you feel out of place. You zone out and get into your head. Was there a motive in asking you to come out here? He could’ve invited like… Midoriya… or Ochako… Or anyone, really. But, you? Does he like you? Or were you his last option to invite? Your head hurts from overthinking.
Your hand rests in your lap, picking at the material of your pants. At least that’s what it was doing. Until it happened. 
From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bakugou slid his hand into yours. His fingers finding a comfortable place between your own. You release a deep breath when you realize you were holding your breath. Is he out of his fucking mind?
Despite your efforts to try and justify how much you absolutely hate it. You didn’t even try to stop him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t let his hand go. And even as the movie ended, you actually felt sad when he slid his hand away. 
The cool air of the night shocked you a bit when all of you made it outside. 
“We were thinking of grabbing a bite, did you guys want to come?” Mina exclaims. 
“Ooh, that sounds good, are you down, Jirou?”
“Sure, and you guys?” they all look at you.
“I- I have a stomach ache… Butter fucks with my stomach really bad,” the excuse is kind of weak, but still holds up as they all nod in understanding. 
“I can walk you to the dorm,” Bakugou offers, and you don’t really give him a yes or no, he just follows you.
Kirishima and Mina whistle and holler as the two of you part ways with the rest of them. 
Part of you regrets making up some stupid lie to go home. Because this was way more awkward than getting free pizza. 
The two of you are right by each other as you walk in silence towards the dorm. You wait. And wait. Wait for him to bring it up. Why did he do that? Why did he grab your hand? Was it all a front?
Why is he treating you so well?
Even as he drops you off at your room, he says nothing. Just a simple “Goodnight,” before he’s making his way to the elevator.
What an asshole.
So you take the initiative. The initiative in ignoring him. You weren’t some casual fling. Fuck the bet, fuck him.
When you saw him making his way towards you, you were quick to get up and rush out of the classroom. When he nodded your directions in passing, it was easy to just walk past and not acknowledge him. Whatever there was between you and him, was gone. Whatever “it” was, exactly. 
But you were okay. You guess. You were down $500 or $1000, but whatever. That game was bullshit anyways. You always got the worst bets. You kind of felt bad that you were the end of it, though. 
It was easy to avoid him. That’s what you thought. At least until one week later, you found yourself cornered by your dorm room with nowhere to go.
“What the fuck is up with you?” he’s angry, you’d be stupid if you thought otherwise.
You cross your arms and avoid his intense gaze, “Whatever do you mean?” 
He’s getting closer, and a tiny, like miniscule, part of you finds angry-him hot. “You know what the hell I mean, you’ve been avoiding me,” 
“Nuh uh,” you retort, still avoiding the subject at hand. “I’ve just been busy, sorry,”
“Like hell, Racoon Eyes said you’ve been in your dorm room everyday, so try again, asshat,”
Fucking Mina.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you poke at his chest, “Now get out of my way before I beat your ass,”
“Yeah? I’d like to see you try,” he’s smiling with mockery.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d like to be touched by me, you little virgin,” you inspect your nails in nonchalance, “Too bad, so sad, now move,”
“No, not until you answer me,” he’s a bit more serious now, you can sense it in his tone. 
You groan, “Fine, not until you answer me, though. Why the fuck did you hold my hand and act like it didn’t happen? Am I like a joke to you?”
He straightens up and his eyes widen. He looks to the side, then back at you.
“You’re fuckin’ smart, why don’t you take a guess?”
“You’re not a baby, why don’t you use your words?” 
You got him there.
“Maybe ‘cuz I like you, or something, idiot,”
You laugh. Laugh. Because he really thought you’d believe a stupid joke like that.
“You’re funny, but seriously, why did–”
A kiss. Katsuki Bakugou has always been known for his speed and his wit. But now you see it more than ever. As he steals a kiss from you. It happens faster than you’re able to even realize you’re leaning into it. 
When the two of you part, it’s tense again. You don’t know if you should say something but he takes that choice from you.
“You think that was funny?” he asks.
“Well- no, but–”
“No buts, that’s that,”
“I didn’t even say I like you back! What if I didn’t-”
“Oh, so you do?” you jump up in realization you fumbled your words. “Good to know, princess,”
“Ugh, you’re so annoying. How was I supposed to know you liked me? You’re such an asshole, you know?”
“Really? Because this asshole just got you some cash,” he laughs referring to the bet, “But y’know, I don’t let just anyone call me Katsuki,”
You grit your teeth before throwing a punch at his arm, “Annoying! Annoying, so annoying,” 
Another hearty laugh escapes from his lips as he pulls you into a hug. You didn’t even know Bakugou gave hugs. But you don’t mind it. 
“You’re such a pervert, I bet you’ve been looking forward to that kiss,” he teases.
“Yeah? Well you’re a pervert for even kissing me in the first place,”
YOU: pay up bitches
YOU: i’m talking double btw
[164 new notifications]
You were rich and in love. What more could you ask for?
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© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.
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reveriebae · 5 months ago
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Sugar-coated Sin
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pairing(s) : Choi San x reader
word count : 8383
summary : A harmless cookie, a hidden crush, and a night of no return.
genre : smut
warning(s) : Explicit sexual content, aphrodisiac use, desperation, begging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slight corruption kink, switch!San, submissive reader, rough and messy oral, mild dub-con due to aphrodisiac effects, fluids everywhere, slight degradation, heavy praise, cock-drunk reader, love confessions in the heat of the moment. Let me know if I missed anything!
A/N : Maybe...just maybe, this one is the filthiest fic I've ever written :>
Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!
🪐smut under the cut 🪐
The glow of the TV screen flickered across the dimly lit living room, casting soft shadows on the walls. The movie played on, but neither of you was really watching. San sat comfortably on the couch beside you, legs spread lazily, one arm slung over the backrest while his other hand rested on his thigh. You had invited him over under the pretense of a casual movie night, a friendly hangout between neighbors. But the truth? You’d been harboring a quiet, desperate crush on him for months, watching him through your window when he left for the gym, catching glimpses of his toned arms whenever he wore sleeveless shirts, and hearing his deep, sleepy voice whenever he greeted you in the morning.
Tonight, he was so close, sitting right beside you, his scent—a mix of fresh laundry and something unmistakably San—lingering in the air. Your heart raced, but you kept your cool, tucking your legs beneath you as you reached for a handful of popcorn.
The coffee table in front of you was littered with snacks—half a bag of chips, an open pack of gummies, and a single, unopened box of purple cookies. It had been there since the beginning of the night, untouched, yet its unusual color stood out among the rest.
San’s sharp eyes landed on it after a while. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the box as he leaned forward to grab his drink.
You blinked, feigning curiosity as you followed his gaze. “Hmm?”
“The cookies. They’re purple.” His brows furrowed slightly as he picked up the box, turning it in his hands. “Where’d you get these?”
You shrugged, acting completely indifferent. “I dunno. Maybe my friend left them here last time. Probably blueberry or something.” You popped another piece of popcorn into your mouth, keeping your expression perfectly neutral.
San hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He opened the box with a crinkle of plastic, pulling out a cookie. It was a deep shade of violet, oddly smooth, and smelled faintly sweet—almost floral. He gave it a brief sniff before shrugging and taking a bite.
It took barely a second before he hummed in appreciation. “Oh, these are good,” he muttered through a mouthful.
You glanced at him, watching as he chewed slowly, his jaw flexing with every movement. “Yeah?”
“Mmh,” he nodded, already reaching for another. “They’re soft, kind of sweet but not too much. You really never tried them?”
You shook your head, hiding your smirk behind the rim of your glass as you sipped your drink. “Nope.”
San, completely unaware, continued eating. One cookie turned into two. Then three. Then four. You watched as he absentmindedly finished the fifth, licking a stray crumb off his thumb before grabbing a sixth without thinking. He was completely at ease, eyes flicking back to the screen as the movie droned on, paying no attention to the way his fingers twitched slightly against his thigh.
It started subtly.
The first thing you noticed was the way he shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off an odd sensation. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his brows knitted together briefly before he relaxed again. You pretended not to see it, keeping your gaze trained on the screen even as you observed him from the corner of your eye.
Minutes passed, and San’s breathing grew a little heavier. Not noticeably so—but you caught it. His chest rose and fell just a fraction quicker than before. His fingers twitched again, flexing briefly before he balled them into a loose fist.
Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose.
You turned to him, feigning curiosity. “You okay?”
San tensed at your voice, his head snapping toward you. His pupils were slightly blown, his lips parted as if he was about to say something—but he hesitated. His jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he muttered, voice slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
You blinked, tilting your head innocently. “You sure? You look kinda… hot.”
San inhaled deeply through his nose. His fingers dug into his thigh, gripping the fabric of his sweatpants as he forced out a chuckle. “M’fine.”
But he wasn’t.
The flush creeping up his neck told a different story. His body was heating up, slow and unbearable, a warmth that started in his stomach and trickled downward, pooling between his legs. He shifted again, subtly this time, pressing his thighs together as if that would help. His cock twitched, and he bit the inside of his cheek, willing it to calm down.
Not now. Not here.
But fuck—he could feel everything. The way his clothes clung to his skin, the way the air suddenly felt too thick, the way his heartbeat pounded just a little too hard in his ears. And then there was you.
You, sitting beside him, completely oblivious. Looking so fucking innocent.
San let out a slow breath, gripping his knee to steady himself. He could feel his body reacting against his will, heat rushing straight to his groin as a dull ache settled low in his stomach. He swallowed thickly, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
It had to be the cookies.
He glanced at the empty wrappers on the table, realization dawning—but it was too late. His body was already betraying him.
And the worst part? You weren’t even helping.
You shifted slightly, your thigh brushing against his just barely, and San had to suppress the whimper threatening to escape his lips. Fuck. He was too aware, too sensitive, too turned on, and you weren’t even doing anything.
Or maybe you were.
Maybe it was the way you leaned closer to grab your drink, your scent hitting him in full force. Maybe it was the way your lips parted slightly when you took a sip, or the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed. Maybe it was the way your fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shorts, completely unaware of the hell you were putting him through.
Or maybe—just maybe—it was the way you turned to him, brows furrowed in faux concern as you murmured, “San, are you sure you’re okay? You look really flustered.”
His breath hitched.
You were too good at this. Too good at acting clueless.
And fuck, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.
San swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus—on anything but the unbearable heat coursing through his veins. But every second that passed made it worse. His skin felt too tight, his sweatpants suddenly too restrictive, and his cock throbbed in his boxers, demanding attention he couldn’t give it.
Not in front of you. Not when you looked at him like that—so wide-eyed, so innocent, like you had no idea what you’d just done to him.
You shifted closer, your hand grazing his arm as you peered at him in mock concern. “San…?”
His breath came out shaky. His fingers twitched against his thigh. His jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse, strained, like he was barely holding himself together.
You blinked. “Don’t what?”
San exhaled sharply, his grip on his knee tightening. “Don’t look at me like that.”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Like what?”
His nostrils flared. His body jerked when you shifted again, your knee brushing against his thigh, and this time—this time—it was too much. His cock twitched violently in his pants, straining against the fabric, and he felt it—the way the pulse of need shot straight through him, leaving him aching.
“Fuck—” he hissed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.
You stared at him, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The way his fingers dug into his thigh, white-knuckled, as he fought against whatever was happening to him. And then, ever so sweetly, you asked—
“San… what’s wrong?”
His eyes snapped open.
Oh, you were good.
Too fucking good.
San turned his head slowly, fixing you with a look so dark, so desperate, it sent a shiver down your spine. His pupils were completely blown now, his face flushed, his chest rising and falling just a bit too quickly.
And then—his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and fuck, it was almost shy the way he whispered—
“I need you to leave.”
Your brows lifted. “Huh?”
His jaw clenched. “I need you to leave. Now.”
You blinked at him, feigning confusion. “Why? This is my house”
San exhaled hard through his nose, shifting again, trying so desperately not to move his hips—but it was useless. He was already hard. Painfully so. His cock pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants, aching, and every little movement sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through him.
And you—
You sat there, looking at him like you didn’t just wreck him completely.
His fingers flexed against his knee. His tongue flicked out again, wetting his lips. He was holding back—barely—but the cracks were starting to show.
And then, you said it.
Soft, sweet, and utterly devastating.
“…San, do you need help?”
His entire body froze.
Silence. Thick, heavy silence. The only sound was the low hum of the TV, the flickering light casting faint shadows across his face.
San didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
You watched him carefully, noting the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers flexed just slightly.
He turned his head, gaze locking onto yours, dark and unreadable.
“…What did you just say?” His voice was low. Dangerously low.
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I asked if you need help. You look really uncomfo—”
San let out a sharp breath, a broken, frustrated laugh leaving his lips as he leaned forward, pressing his elbows to his knees. His hands threaded through his hair, gripping at the strands, his shoulders heaving.
“You—” He exhaled shakily, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t even know what you’re doing right now, do you?”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
San let out another laugh, but this one was strained, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His legs spread just slightly, enough that you could see the outline of his problem if you were looking.
Which you were.
His voice dropped even lower, rough and needy.
“Baby, if you don’t leave right now…”
A pause. A breath.
And then—
“…I won’t be able to stop myself.”
The room felt unbearably hot, the space between you crackling with something thick, something dangerous. San sat there, legs spread just enough for you to see the bulge in his sweatpants, his fingers gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles were white. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his tongue darting out—again—to wet his lips.
He was trying so hard to keep himself in check.
But you weren’t making it easy for him.
You sat there, all wide-eyed and sweet, your lips barely parted in faux confusion, your body angled ever so slightly toward him. You were playing your part perfectly, pretending to be clueless, pretending you didn’t see the way his cock strained against his sweatpants, thick and aching.
San let out another shaky breath, his fingers flexing, nails digging into the fabric of his pants. His entire body was tense, trembling with restraint, his mind a mess of heat and hunger.
“I’m serious,” he gritted out, voice dangerously low. “You need to go.”
But you didn’t move.
Instead, you shifted closer, your knee brushing against his, and—
Fuck.
San’s entire body jerked, a low, strangled noise catching in his throat. His hands flew to his thighs, gripping them so hard it was almost painful. His lips parted as he sucked in a sharp breath, his head tilting back against the couch, his jaw tight.
Oh.
You bit the inside of your cheek, watching the way his chest heaved, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His skin was flushed, a deep, burning red creeping up his neck, his hair slightly damp with sweat.
“…San?” Your voice was soft, so innocent.
His fingers twitched. His nostrils flared.
And then—he turned to you.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
His pupils were completely blown now, his lips slightly swollen from how hard he was biting them. His expression was wrecked—half desperate, half pained—but beneath it all, there was something else.
Something dark.
Something hungry.
“…You’re fucking with me.” His voice was hoarse, dripping with frustration.
You blinked. “I’m not.”
His jaw clenched. “Yes, you are.”
“I really don’t—”
“Baby.”
You froze.
San’s hand suddenly shot out, fingers curling around your wrist—not rough, not forceful, but firm. His grip was warm, burning, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling the way it jumped beneath his touch.
Your breath caught in your throat.
He felt it.
And fuck—his lips curled into something almost dangerous.
“…You like this, don’t you?” His voice was a whisper, low and intense.
You swallowed. “San—”
“You like watching me like this.” His thumb stroked against your wrist, slow and deliberate. “You like seeing me hold myself back. You like seeing me suffer.”
You opened your mouth—to deny it, to keep up the act—but then San’s grip tightened, just slightly, just enough to make you feel it.
Your breath hitched.
San exhaled sharply, his eyes flicking down—to your lips, to your throat, to the way your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. His own breathing was shaky, his entire body trembling with the effort to keep himself from snapping.
He was holding on by a thread.
And then—
“…You really shouldn’t have let me eat those cookies, baby.”
San was unraveling.
His grip on your wrist tightened for a brief moment before he let go—only to move faster than you could react. One second, he was sitting beside you, barely holding himself together, and the next—
You were on your back.
Your body sank into the couch, your breath punched out of you as San hovered above, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you could feel the heat of his palms through your shorts. His pupils were blown, his lips parted, his chest heaving as he stared down at you like he was about to devour you whole.
“San—”
“Shh,” he rasped, shaking his head, his thumbs stroking against your skin. “No more talking.”
His voice was ruined—wrecked with frustration, with need, with the unbearable ache that had been building inside him since the moment he ate those damn cookies.
And then—
Rip.
Your breath hitched as your shorts and panties were suddenly yanked down in one go, the cool air hitting your bare skin. Your thighs clenched together on instinct, but San didn’t let you close them—his hands pushed them apart, his fingers digging into your flesh as he spread you open wide for him.
“Fucking finally,” he groaned, almost in relief.
Heat flared through your body, your stomach twisting into a tight knot as you felt his breath—warm and heavy—ghost over your exposed skin.
“S-San—”
“I don’t wanna hear a fucking word,” he cut you off, his voice dropping into something dark, something dangerous. His hands tightened on your thighs, his fingers pressing deep into the flesh. “You’ve been sitting there all fucking innocent, acting like you don’t know what you’re doing to me—”
He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, his head dropping for a second. Then—he lifted it, eyes locking onto yours, dark and unreadable.
“You wanna act clueless?” His voice was quiet, deadly. “Fine. I’ll make you understand.”
And then—
His mouth latched onto you.
A sharp, broken moan ripped out of your throat as his tongue flattened against your pussy, broad and hot and hungry. The first stroke was messy—desperate—his lips parting as he sucked at your clit, his nose pressing against your skin as he buried himself between your legs.
Your entire body jerked at the sudden intensity, your fingers flying to grip the cushions as a choked gasp left your lips. “S-San—!”
But he didn’t let up.
He was starving.
His tongue moved sloppy and wet, flicking against your clit before dragging down, tasting every inch of you. His groan was deep—needy—his hands tight on your thighs as he pushed them further apart, forcing you to take everything he was giving.
“Fuck,” he growled against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. “Taste so good, baby—fuck—”
His tongue delved into you, deep, his lips moving in frantic, desperate kisses against your heat. His nose nudged against your clit with every movement, sending sharp shocks of pleasure racing up your spine.
Your legs trembled, your hands flying to grip his hair, trying to pull him away—but he didn’t budge. If anything—
He groaned, his hands flying up to grab your wrists, pinning them to your stomach.
“Oh, no,” he murmured, voice wrecked, his lips dragging against your soaked skin. “You’re not stopping me.”
You whined, your hips jerking as his tongue circled your clit before sucking it hard into his mouth. Your vision blurred, a broken sob leaving your lips as pleasure shot through you, hot and searing.
“S-San—! Oh, fuck—”
His grip on your wrists tightened. “That’s what I wanna hear,” he groaned, his tongue pressing against your clit in slow, intentional circles. “Not that fake little innocent act. I wanna hear you beg.”
Your chest heaved, your fingers twitching in his grasp. “P-please—”
San moaned—loud, needy, his hips grinding against the couch as if he was getting off on this just as much as you.
“Fuck,” he panted, his lips dragging against your skin, his tongue dipping deep before flicking back up to circle your clit again. “Say it again.”
Your back arched, your legs shaking in his grasp. “San—please—”
He growled, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking fast—and your entire body convulsed, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as the pleasure crashed through you, sudden and violent.
But he didn’t stop.
Even as your body twitched, even as your thighs trembled, even as your moans turned into desperate, choked whimpers—he kept going.
Over and over and over.
Rough. Messy. Unrelenting.
Your voice cracked, your hands struggling against his grip. “I-I can’t—!”
San moaned against your skin, his hips rolling again, his cock aching in his pants.
“Oh, baby,” he breathed, his tongue dragging against your heat, devouring you. “You can. And you will.”
San was a fucking menace.
You had no control anymore—your body was his to ruin, his to wreck, his to make completely fall apart beneath him. His hands were firm on your wrists, keeping you pinned to your own stomach, his tongue relentless as he ate you like a man possessed.
His desperation was palpable—in the way his lips sucked at your clit, in the way his tongue flicked fast and sloppy, in the way his hips kept grinding against the couch as if he was getting just as much pleasure from this as you were.
And the worst part?
He was.
“San—fuck—” Your voice was a broken whimper, your head thrown back against the cushions, body jerking with every frantic stroke of his tongue. “T-too much—”
San growled into you, the vibrations shaking through your core. His grip tightened on your wrists, forcing you to stay put as he dove back in, lips wrapping tight around your clit as he sucked hard—
Your vision whited out.
A sharp, guttural cry tore from your throat, your back arching clean off the couch as a second orgasm ripped through you, just as intense as the first.
But San—
San didn’t stop.
“F-fuck, San—!” Your voice was wrecked, your thighs trembling violently as his tongue kept flicking, kept circling, kept fucking devouring you.
He was insatiable.
“Taste so fucking good, baby—” he groaned, his voice wrecked, his mouth messy with you, his lips dragging sloppy kisses over your soaked skin. “Gonna make you cum for me again, yeah? Gonna let me ruin you?”
Your breath came out shaky, a mix of pleasure and overstimulation making your body jerk beneath him.
“C-can’t—” You whined, shaking your head, your fingers twitching in his grip. “San, please—”
San moaned against you, his hips rolling into the couch again, desperate, needy. “Mmm, baby,” he breathed, voice hoarse, lips shining with your slick as he glanced up at you. “You keep saying that, but you’re so fucking wet for me.”
His tongue dragged against your entrance before flicking up again, circling your clit in tight, fast motions. “Your pussy’s begging for me.”
Your body shuddered, a whimper leaving your lips. “S-San—”
His fingers squeezed your wrists, keeping them trapped. His eyes were dark, desperate—his own body trembling with restraint as he devoured you again, his tongue flicking faster, his lips sucking harder.
You were gone.
Pleasure built again, fast and merciless, your thighs shaking as San wrecked you with his mouth.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, tongue swirling sloppy and wet. “Cum for me again. I wanna feel it.”
Your body jerked, your voice breaking as your orgasm slammed into you—so hard, so intense it left you gasping for air, your fingers digging into the couch, your hips jerking against his mouth.
But even then—
San still wasn’t done.
His mouth was still messy against you, his lips still sucking, his tongue still fucking you, his own breath ragged, his cock so painfully hard in his sweatpants he could barely think straight.
His head lifted slightly, his tongue flicking against your clit in slow, precise strokes. And then—his voice, hoarse and wrecked.
“One more.”
You whimpered, your entire body shuddering beneath him.
San pressed a soft, wet kiss to your clit, his voice a rough whisper against your skin.
“I know you can take it.”
San was insatiable.
You were wrecked beneath him—your body trembling, your thighs shaking, your breath coming out in sharp, shallow gasps. Your brain was muddled, your skin burning hot, your core aching from the relentless pleasure he’d already given you.
But San?
San wasn’t done.
He refused to be done.
His mouth pressed another slow, wet kiss against your clit, his tongue flicking just enough to send a sharp jolt through your already sensitive body. Your legs twitched, your breath catching in your throat, a desperate whimper slipping past your lips.
San groaned at the sound, his hands tight on your thighs, keeping them spread as he dragged his tongue through your slick folds again—slow this time, teasing, torturing.
“F-fuck—San—” Your voice was broken, your fingers twitching against your stomach, where he still had them pinned.
San hummed against your skin, his lips curving slightly. His breath was warm, heavy with desire, his own body trembling with restraint. His hips twitched again, his cock so achingly hard beneath his sweatpants that you could feel his frustration radiating off of him.
But he wasn’t relieving himself.
No.
His only focus was you.
“I need one more,” he murmured against you, his lips pressing another sloppy kiss to your clit, his tongue flicking just right. “I need it, baby. I need to feel you break for me again.”
You whined, your head turning to the side, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your body shuddered from the overstimulation.
“S-San—”
His fingers tightened on your thighs.
“You can take it,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. “I know you can.”
And then—
His mouth latched onto your clit again, his tongue flicking fast, his lips sucking hard, his desperation coming out in the way he devoured you like a man starving.
Your body jerked, a sharp cry breaking from your lips as another wave of pure pleasure slammed into you—hot, intense, merciless.
San groaned, his hands shaking as he held you down, his tongue flicking, licking, sucking, taking everything he could—
And your body broke.
Your moan was raw, shattered, your legs trembling violently as the pleasure ripped through you one final time—so strong, so overwhelming that your vision blurred, your entire body going limp beneath him.
And finally—finally—San pulled away.
His breath was heavy, his lips wet, his face completely wrecked as he slowly lifted his head, his fingers still tight on your thighs. His pupils were blown, his skin flushed, his entire body trembling with restraint.
He was desperate.
Needy.
His cock was aching, straining against his sweatpants, his hips twitching with every deep breath he took.
And yet—
His eyes stayed on you.
A slow smirk curled his swollen lips.
“…Now,” he murmured, voice rough, low, dripping with satisfaction. “Be a good girl—”
His hands finally released your wrists, and one of them dragged down your body, warm and possessive, until his fingers pressed against your wrecked heat.
And then—
“And open that pretty little mouth for me.”
And he wasn’t waiting any longer.
His fingers curled around your jaw, his grip firm as he tilted your head up—forcing you to look at him. His eyes were dark, blown wide with lust, his lips parted, his breath coming out ragged.
“Open,” he rasped, his voice wrecked from how much he’d devoured you already.
You barely had a second to react before his thumb pushed against your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open just enough—
And then—
San spit.
A hot, thick glob landed on your tongue, the sensation sending a sharp shock through your system, making your thighs clench, your body shudder beneath him.
San groaned, his grip tightening on your jaw, his cock twitching in his pants at the way you just took it—at the way your tongue glided against your bottom lip as you swallowed.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, his voice shaking with restraint. “You’re so good for me.”
His free hand shoved at his sweatpants, yanking them down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick, leaking, his tip an angry red from how long he’d been holding back.
He couldn’t wait anymore.
He needed your mouth.
“Tongue out,” he murmured, voice low, dark with hunger.
You obeyed without hesitation, your tongue flicking out just enough—
And San groaned, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock as he dragged the tip against your tongue, smearing his precum across it.
“Shit—” His breath shuddered, his hips twitching forward, his patience snapping all at once.
And then—
He pushed in.
Your mouth stretched around him, your throat constricting as he bottomed out in one slow, deep thrust, his cock pressing against the back of your throat, forcing a wet, choked gasp from your lips.
San moaned, his grip on your jaw tightening, his head dropping back for a second before his gaze snapped back down to you—watching as your lips stretched around him, your mouth completely full of his cock.
“Fucking—” His voice was wrecked, his hips trembling. “God, your mouth—so fucking perfect—”
And then—
He started to move.
Slow at first—teasing, dragging his cock out just enough before pushing back in, making sure you could feel every inch, every throb, every pulse of him against your tongue.
But then—
His restraint snapped.
His hips snapped forward, hard and desperate, forcing a wet, choked sound from your throat. His fingers dug into your jaw, holding you in place as he fucked into your mouth, deep, rough, his groans growing louder, needier.
“Fuck, baby—fuck—” he panted, his breath ragged, his hips snapping against your lips with each thrust. “Your mouth—so fucking good—so tight—”
Your throat constricted, your eyes watering from the sheer intensity of it—but San didn’t stop.
If anything—
He got rougher.
His pace quickened, his cock dragging against your tongue before slamming back in, his moans turning into needy, desperate growls. Spit dripped down your chin, your lips swollen, your breath coming out sharp through your nose as you tried to keep up with the way he was using your mouth.
And fuck—
He loved it.
“Look at you,” he groaned, his hand fisting your hair now, holding you in place as his cock slid deeper, making you gag around him. “Fucking messy for me. Taking it so good, baby—”
His hips stuttered, his breath hitching, his body tensing as he thrust in deep—
And then—
A low, wrecked moan tore from his throat as his cock pulsed, his cum spilling hot and thick down your throat.
He held you there, deep, making sure you took every drop, his fingers tight in your hair, his breath heavy as he watched you—your eyes teary, your lips puffy, your throat constricting as you swallowed everything he gave you.
San groaned, his entire body shuddering, his cock twitching one last time before he slowly pulled out, watching as a thin strand of spit and cum connected your lips to his tip.
His thumb wiped it away—only to push it back into your mouth, watching as your tongue flicked against the pad of his finger, as you sucked it in.
“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice shaky, his thumb stroking against your lip. “You’re so fucking good for me.”
His breathing was still ragged, his body still trembling—but even through his post-orgasm haze, even as his cock twitched from the sheer sensitivity—
His fingers dragged up your body again, slow, deliberate.
And then—
He smirked.
“Now,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous.
“We’re not done yet.”
San’s breath was still shaky, his cock twitching against your skin even as he came down from his high—but fuck, it wasn’t enough.
Not even close.
His fingers twitched against your jaw, his thumb dragging over your spit-slicked lips, his eyes blown wide with hunger as he stared down at you. His body was still on fire, the heat curling deep in his gut, his cock already hardening again despite just having emptied himself down your throat.
His entire body ached with need.
He still wanted more.
And more.
And more.
His breath shuddered as his gaze dropped lower, trailing over your wrecked body, your thighs still trembling from the orgasms he’d already given you. His fingers ghosted over your stomach, down to your dripping heat, his jaw clenching at how soaked you still were.
“You’re so fucking ruined already,” he murmured, his voice low, rough, wrecked.
But his fingers pushed in anyway—two, then three, stretching you open again, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion. Your body arched into him, your breath coming out in a sharp, needy whimper, your walls clenching around his fingers as he started thrusting them in deep, slow.
His free hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wide, his lips parted, his eyes wild as he watched his fingers disappear into you, over and over and over again.
And then—
His cock twitched.
San groaned, his patience snapping all over again.
His fingers left you just as fast as they entered—only to be replaced by his cock, sliding between your folds, the tip smearing his precum along your entrance before he pushed in, slow, deep, stretching you all over again.
A sharp, broken moan tore from your lips, your back arching against the couch, your nails digging into the cushions as he bottomed out in one deep, desperate thrust.
San choked on a moan, his arms trembling as he held himself over you, his head dropping forward, his breath shaky against your skin.
“F-fuck,” he groaned, his voice shaking, his hands tightening on your thighs. “You’re—so tight, baby—so fucking wet—”
And then—
He snapped his hips forward.
A sharp cry ripped from your throat as his cock slammed into you, deep and hard, his grip unrelenting as he held you there, forcing you to take every inch, every pulse of him inside you.
And he didn’t stop.
His pace was brutal, his thrusts fast, his body shuddering with pleasure as he pounded into you, his voice breaking into low, needy moans with every sharp snap of his hips.
“Fucking—shit—” San’s voice was wrecked, his head dropping to your shoulder, his hands gripping your hips so tight they were bound to leave bruises. “Feel so fucking good, baby—feel so tight around me—”
Your moans were shattered, your entire body jerking with the force of his thrusts, your mind already melting from how deep he was, from how ruthlessly he was fucking into you.
And fuck—he was losing himself.
His hands suddenly flipped you, pressing your chest into the couch, his weight caging you beneath him as he thrust back in, his moan ragged, wrecked, completely fucked out.
“You wanted this, huh?” he growled against your ear, his hips snapping against your ass, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you over and over and over again. “Wanted me to fuck you like this? Use you like this?”
Your moan came out choked, your fingers digging into the couch, your body completely fucked out beneath him.
San groaned, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, his body shaking as his cock twitched inside you, his thrusts growing sloppy, desperate.
“Gonna cum—” His voice was wrecked, his hands trembling against your skin, his pace quickening, snapping into you harder, deeper— “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
His hips jerked, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, his moan shattered as his body shuddered against yours.
But even then—
Even after he’d emptied himself inside you, even after he’d fucked you to the point of exhaustion—
San didn’t stop.
His cock was still hard. His breath was still shaky.
He was still aching for more.
His arms wrapped around you suddenly, flipping you back onto your back, his lips crashing against yours as his cock thrust back into you—
And he groaned, deep and wrecked, his hands gripping your body, his hips rolling into yours again, his body shuddering from the overstimulation, from the sheer desperation consuming him.
San’s body was burning.
Every inch of him was on fire, his skin too hot, his breath too shaky, his cock still throbbing inside you even after he had already cum so hard his vision had blurred.
But it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
His hands were everywhere—gripping, grasping, trembling as they explored every inch of your wrecked, sensitive body. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you up against him, his breath shuddering as he felt just how soaked you still were, how your slick was dripping down his thighs, how your body trembled beneath him.
And fuck—he needed more.
His lips crashed against your neck, sucking, biting, devouring as his hands spread your thighs wide, his hips grinding against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.
“Shit—” His voice was wrecked, his grip tightening on your body. “You’re so fucking wet, baby—so messy for me—”
And then—
His fingers slid between your legs, pressing against your clit, rubbing fast, sloppy, his cock still deep inside you, stretching you so perfectly you could barely breathe.
Your body jerked, a sharp, broken moan tearing from your throat as his fingers played with you, as his cock twitched inside you, as his breath came out in needy, desperate little gasps.
“Gimme—gimme another one, baby—” His voice was pleading, desperate, his pace quickening, his touch growing rougher, sloppier. “Just one more—fuck, just—please—”
And then—
Your body snapped.
A sharp cry tore from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you again, your thighs trembling, your vision blurring as you gushed all over him, soaking his thighs, his cock, his stomach—everything.
San choked on a moan, his head dropping against your shoulder, his body shuddering as he felt you squirt all over him, felt how wrecked you were, how completely ruined you were beneath him.
And fuck—
He still wasn’t done.
His hands dragged down your body, his fingers trembling as they gripped your thighs, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, shaky, needy—
“Baby, I need—” His voice broke, his breath ragged, his cock twitching inside you. “I need you again—”
His hips snapped forward, deep, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands grasping, clutching, desperate as he fucked into you again, as if he hadn’t already ruined you.
His voice was pleading, his hands shaking, his lips trailing down your skin as he whispered, begged—
“Just one more, baby—just—just one more—”
His skin was burning, his body shaking, his cock aching—but fuck, he still wasn’t satisfied. His lips were glossy with spit, his thighs soaked from how many times you’d already squirted all over him, his breath coming out in needy, ragged little moans as he panted against your skin.
And you?
You were just as wrecked.
Your body was limp beneath him, your voice hoarse from how many times you’d already screamed his name, your legs trembling as he pushed them apart yet again, refusing to let you close up, refusing to let you hide from him.
His fingers gripped your thighs, spreading you wide, his breath shuddering at the sight of your dripping, swollen cunt, slick and messy from everything he’d already done to you.
And fuck—he still wanted more.
His cock throbbed, his mouth watering as he lowered himself between your legs again, his hands grasping, clutching at your thighs, his lips brushing against your soaked heat as his voice came out shaky, wrecked—
“Baby, I need—” His voice broke, his breath hot against your skin. “I need to taste you again—”
And before you could even process it—
His tongue was on you.
A sharp, choked gasp tore from your lips as his mouth latched onto you, his tongue sliding between your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit as he sucked, hard.
“San—!” Your voice cracked, your fingers jerking into his hair, tugging, pulling—but he didn’t care. He growled against you, his arms tightening around your thighs, locking you in place as he devoured you, as if he was starving, as if he’d die if he didn’t have you.
And fuck—he was so messy about it.
His tongue was sloppy, wet, licking and lapping at your cunt like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed you more than air itself. Spit and slick were everywhere, coating his lips, dripping down his chin, mixing with the wetness already soaking his thighs.
And fuck, he loved it.
His hands dug into your hips, pulling you against his face, his moans vibrating against your heat, his cock twitching between his legs as he grinded against the couch, so fucking needy, so fucking wrecked just from tasting you.
“San—fuck, fuck—” Your breath was ragged, your fingers clutching at the sheets, your body jerking with every sharp flick of his tongue. “You’re so—so messy—”
San groaned, his hips grinding harder against the couch, his hands shaking as he dragged his tongue down, circling your entrance, his voice coming out slurred, wrecked—
“Can’t—can’t help it, baby—” His tongue pushed in, fucking into you, his moan shattering as he felt you clench around him, as he felt your thighs shake, your body trembling beneath his touch.
And then—
“Gonna make you squirt again,” he murmured, his breath shaky, his tongue pulling out just to be replaced by his fingers, two—then three, stretching you wide, fucking into you deep, his mouth still latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, ruining you all over again.
Your moans turned shattered, your body jerking, your hands gripping his hair so tight it should’ve hurt—but fuck, he loved it.
And then—
You snapped.
A sharp, choked scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, your body jerking, your back arching as you gushed all over his face, soaking his lips, his chin, his throat.
San moaned, deep and wrecked, his hips twitching, his cock aching as he fucked his fingers into you, forcing more out of you, watching as you dripped down his arms, as your thighs shook, as your entire body gave out beneath him.
But even then—
Even after he had licked you clean, even after he had made you cum so hard you could barely breathe—
San still wasn’t done.
His cock was throbbing, his body aching, his hands gripping your thighs as he flipped you over, his voice ragged, wrecked, pleading—
“Just one more, baby—” His breath was shaky, his cock pressing against your entrance, still soaked with your slick, your juices still dripping down his thighs. “Just—just one more—”
And then—
He slammed into you, hard, deep, his moan breaking as his cock dragged against your oversensitive walls, as your body clenched around him, as he lost himself in you all over again.
And fuck—
He was never stopping.
Your limbs were twitching, your skin burning, your mind completely blank from how many times San had already fucked the breath from your lungs. Your thighs were sticky with slick, your body completely boneless beneath him, your voice hoarse from all the screams he’d already pulled from you.
But San?
San was a wreck.
His body was shaking, his chest heaving, his cock still twitching inside you, still aching, still so desperate for more. His fingers clutched at your waist, trembling, his lips dragging against your cheek, his breath hot and shaky, his voice coming out wrecked, pleading—
“Baby, please—” His voice broke, his hands shaking as they gripped you tighter, his lips feathering over your jaw, your ear, your throat—begging.
You whimpered, barely able to move, barely able to breathe, your body too sensitive, too wrecked to even process the words properly.
“San—I can’t—” Your voice was shaky, barely even a whisper, your hands weakly pressing against his chest, trying to stop him, trying to make him listen. “I—I can’t take anymore—”
San whined.
A deep, desperate, completely wrecked little sound, his entire body shuddering, his hands gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your throat, begging, pleading—
“Baby—please—” His voice was strained, so wrecked that he could barely form words, his body so desperate that he was practically vibrating with need. “I need you—fuck, I need to feel you again—”
His hips jerked, his cock twitching inside you, still so hard, still aching for more, still so needy that it physically hurt.
“Just—just let me, baby—” His voice cracked, his breath hot against your skin, his hands still clutching at you, his body still begging even though he already knew your answer.
And then—
His hips pressed in.
Deep.
Slow.
And you gasped, your body jerking, your thighs trembling as he pushed himself inside you again, his cock stretching your already wrecked, overworked walls, making you feel every inch of him, making you take him whether you could handle it or not.
“San—stop—” Your voice broke, a sharp, shaky gasp leaving your lips as your nails dug into his skin, your body twitching from the overwhelming sensitivity.
He didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
His breath was shaky, his voice cracking, his body shuddering as he buried himself inside you again, whimpering, his hips rolling, his hands gripping your thighs as he forced you to take him.
And fuck—he was crying.
Tears were stinging his eyes, his moans high, wrecked, his body completely losing control as he fucked into you, desperate, starved, whining with every thrust.
“Baby—fuck, I—I can’t stop—” His voice was strained, shaking, his breath ragged as he buried his face into your neck, his hands trembling as he held onto you, as he kept moving, as he kept fucking you even when you were already gone.
Your body jerked, a sharp, choked cry leaving your lips as another orgasm ripped through you, so strong, so shattering that your vision blurred, your body convulsing, your mind blanking out from how fucking wrecked you were.
And he followed right after.
A sharp, wrecked moan broke from his lips as his hips snapped, as his cock throbbed, as he spilled inside you all over again, so deep, so full, his release mixing with the mess already dripping between your thighs.
His entire body shuddered, his breath gasping, his hands clutching at you like he never wanted to let go.
And even after—
Even when his body was completely spent, when he was too wrecked to even move—
San was still inside you.
Still deep, still full, still holding on like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you.
And his voice?
It was weak, whispered, still shaky from everything he had just done.
But it was real.
It was raw.
“Baby…” A deep, shaky breath left him, his lips brushing against your temple, his arms still wrapped around you, still clutching onto you like you were the only thing keeping him sane.
“I—I love you.”
You didn’t know what to say.
Your heart was pounding, your breath shaky, your body still aching in the best possible way—but your mind was a fucking mess.
San wasn’t supposed to say that.
This wasn’t supposed to be love.
This was supposed to be a one-time thing, a secret indulgence, something you’d both pretend never happened in the morning.
But now—
Now, San was looking at you like you meant something.
Like you weren’t just the girl next door who had accidentally drugged him with aphrodisiac cookies.
Like you weren’t just someone he fucked senseless on the living room couch.
Like you were his.
And the worst part?
You wanted to be, badly.
“San…” Your voice was weak, your fingers shaky as they traced over his jaw, your heart twisting in your chest as you looked at him—really looked at him.
His eyes were red-rimmed, still glassy from how hard he had come, his lips were kiss-swollen, his hair was a mess, sticking to his damp forehead.
And he looked so fucking beautiful.
So wrecked.
So vulnerable.
So in love.
And it fucking terrified you.
Because if you let yourself believe it—
If you let yourself have him—
You didn’t think you’d ever be able to let him go.
“…Say it again.”
San’s breath hitched.
His fingers tightened on your waist, his lips parting slightly, his eyes widening just a fraction—
And then, in a voice so soft, so reverent, so raw it sent a fucking shiver down your spine—
“I love you.”
His breath was still shaky, his body still pressed against yours, his fingers still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear. His heart was pounding, his lips parted, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
You could feel everything.
The heat of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell against yours, the way his cock was still inside you, still keeping you full, still reminding you exactly what just happened between you.
But none of that compared to the way he was looking at you.
Like he was afraid of what you’d say.
Like he already knew he had ruined everything.
Like he was begging for you to fix it.
And fuck—
You wanted to.
But you were terrified.
Because this wasn’t just about sex anymore.
This was real.
"Baby…” His voice was barely a whisper, his fingers trembling as he reached for your cheek, his touch so gentle, so careful—like he was scared he’d break you. “Please… say something.”
You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your mind still spinning from everything—the way he had taken you, the way he had begged for you, the way he had said those words like they had been burning in his chest for so fucking long.
And maybe they had been.
Maybe you had just been too blind to see it.
Your lips parted, a shaky breath leaving them, your heart twisting as you met his gaze—those deep, desperate brown eyes, searching yours for something, anything to hold onto.
Your fingers curled into his hair, your chest tightening, your voice small as you finally, finally whispered—
“…You love me?”
San’s breath hitched.
His grip on your waist tightened, his lips parting, his entire body trembling as he swallowed hard, his voice so wrecked, so raw when he answered—
“I do.”
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just San, stripped bare in front of you, exposed, vulnerable, completely yours.
And something inside you fucking snapped.
Because he meant it.
Because you had wanted this for so fucking long, wanted him for so fucking long—and now, he was right here, saying the words you never thought you’d hear, giving himself to you completely.
And you couldn’t stop yourself.
You grabbed him, your lips crashing into his, your fingers clutching at his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, letting him feel everything you couldn’t say yet.
He broke apart in your arms.
A shaky, wrecked moan slipped from his throat as he melted into you, his hands gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him alive, his body pressing you deeper into the couch, his kiss so needy, so desperate, so full of love that it made your chest ache.
And when he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips, his voice still shaking—
“Say it back.”
Your heart stopped.
San’s fingers tightened on your waist, his breath ragged, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered again, this time more pleading, more wrecked—
“Baby, please… say it back.”
And you could feel it—
The way his hands shook, the way his body tensed, the way his eyes were glossy with something he was trying so fucking hard to hold back—
The way he needed this more than anything.
And fuck—
You did too.
Your fingers brushed over his cheek, your lips trembling, your heart pounding as you finally, finally let the words slip out—
“I love you.”
A sharp, shuddering breath left him, his lips crashing into yours again, his hands everywhere—on your face, your waist, your thighs—like he was memorizing you, like he never wanted to let go.
Like he never would.
And maybe, just maybe—
Neither would you.
2K notes · View notes
inseobts · 5 months ago
Note
😭😭 need Monster trio (separately) x pregnant reader. all fluffy
like their reaction and how would they be during it 😓
but if u dont want to just ignore this!
Pregnant 🫵
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how would they react at your pregnancy?
characters: luffy, zoro, sanji
words count: around 0.5k - 0.8k each
next part: 🫵 into labor - 🫵 made him a dad
masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi
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── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:
The sea breeze is warm as you stand on the Sunny’s deck, heart racing. Luffy is lying nearby, hands behind his head, smiling at the sky. His straw hat rests on his face, rising and falling with his steady breaths.
You swallow hard. This is it.
You walk up to him and poke his cheek “Luffy.”
His nose scrunches up, and he lifts his hat just enough to peek at you “Hmm?”
You sit down next to him. Your hands shake a little. He notices. His hat slides off his face completely, and he blinks at you “What’s wrong?”
You take a deep breath “I… I have something to tell you.”
Luffy sits up fast. His eyes are wide, full of curiosity “Oh! Is it something cool?!”
You let out a small laugh “Yeah… really cool.” You reach for his hand and place it gently over your stomach. “Luffy, I’m pregnant.”
He stares at you. Blinks once. Then twice. His fingers twitch against your belly.
Then— “WHAAAAAAT?!” he jumps up so fast that he nearly topples over. His hands flail before gently grabbing your shoulders “Really?! A baby?! OUR baby?!”
You nod, laughing at his reaction “Yeah.”
Luffy’s grin stretches wider than you’ve ever seen. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tight “This is awesome!! I’m gonna be a dad?!” he pulls back, eyes sparkling “Wait, wait—does this mean there’s a tiny me in there?! Like—super tiny?!”
You giggle “Kind of.”
Luffy gasps dramatically “That’s so weird—but so cool!!” he crouches down and presses his ear against your belly, pouting “Oi, baby! Can you hear me? I’m your dad! Your super cool, super strong dad!”
You ruffle his hair “It’s too early for them to hear you, Luffy.”
He sits back, looking thoughtful. Then he beams again “I gotta tell everyone!!” Before you can stop him, he takes a deep breath and then—
“GUUUUYS! (Y/N) HAS A BABY IN HER BELLY!”
Footsteps thunder across the ship as the crew comes running. Nami facepalms, Zoro groans, Sanji faints, Usopp starts panicking, and Chopper yells something about medical checkups.
Luffy just sits there, hands on your stomach, grinning like he’s just found the One Piece.
Months Later
Luffy is… something else during your pregnancy.
He pokes your belly every day, fascinated by how it grows “It’s getting huge!!” he exclaims one morning, eyes wide “Are you sure there’s only one baby in there?!”
He steals extra food from Sanji’s kitchen and piles it on your plate “Eat! The baby needs to be strong, like me!”
He refuses to let you do anything dangerous “No fights! No running! No carrying heavy stuff! That’s my job now!” He puffs out his chest making you smile softly at him “Captain’s orders!”
At night, he talks to your belly in a serious tone “Okay, listen, baby. When you come out, we’re gonna have so much fun! I’ll show you how to stretch like me! And how to eat tons of meat! And we’ll go on super cool adventures!”
One night, as you lay in bed, his arms wrapped protectively around you, he mumbles sleepily “Love you. Both of you.”
Your heart melts. You smile, placing your hand over his “Love you too, Luffy.”
He grins even in his sleep, dreaming of the greatest adventure yet, being a dad.
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── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:
The evening air is warm as you stand on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, watching the ocean waves. Your heart beats fast, but not from battle or danger, but from the words you need to say.
Behind you, Zoro trains like always. His swords cut through the air with sharp precision, muscles flexing as he moves. His brows furrow in focus, sweat dripping down his forehead.
You take a deep breath. Now or never.
“Zoro”
He stops mid-swing, turning to you “Huh?” His tone is rough, but his gaze softens when he sees your expression “Something wrong?”
You step closer, gripping the hem of your shirt. Your nerves make your fingers twitch, but you push through. You have to tell him.
“…I need to tell you something important.”
Zoro sheaths his swords, sensing your seriousness. He crosses his arms “Yeah?”
You swallow. Then, carefully, you take his hand and place it over your stomach.
“I’m pregnant...”
Silence.
Zoro doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. It’s like the words haven’t registered yet. His hand rests on your stomach, fingers barely pressing into the fabric of your shirt.
“…What?” His voice is quiet, actually too quiet for him.
You squeeze his hand “We’re having a baby, Zoro.”
His breath catches. He stares at you, eyes flicking between your face and where his hand rests on your stomach. His fingers twitch slightly. A baby. His baby.
Then, suddenly, you’re lifted off the ground.
“Zoro—!” you laugh as he picks you up effortlessly, holding you close. His grip is firm but careful, like you’re the most precious thing in the world.
When he finally sets you down, his hands linger on your arms, steadying you. His face is unreadable for a second, and then a smirk.
“Tch. Guess I really have to get stronger now.”
You raise an eyebrow “Why?”
Zoro’s smirk softens just a little. His thumb brushes your stomach lightly “To protect both of you.”
Your heart swells. He’s serious.
You press your forehead against his “You’re already strong enough, idiot.”
Zoro scoffs “There’s no such thing.”
Then, after a pause, he mutters “…Are you okay?”
The question is so simple, but the weight behind it makes your eyes sting.
You nod “Yeah. Just… nervous.”
Zoro’s arms tighten around you “Me too.”
You pull back slightly, surprised “You? The great Roronoa Zoro? Nervous?”
He clicks his tongue “Tch. This is different” he glances at your stomach “Fights, enemies, swords—I know how to handle those. But this?” His hand brushes your belly again, softer this time “This is new.”
You smile, lacing your fingers with his “We’ll figure it out together.”
He exhales, like a weight has lifted from his chest “Yeah.”
And for the first time in a long time, Zoro doesn’t feel lost at all.
Months Later
Zoro is the most overprotective person ever.
He watches you like a hawk. If you so much as sigh, he’s next to you in a second.
“You okay?”
You roll your eyes “Yes, Zoro. For the hundredth time, I’m fine.”
He grumbles but doesn’t stop hovering.
He always refuses to let you lift anything.
You reach for a barrel and then “Put that down.”
You try to carry plates from the kitchen and he goes “I got it.”
You bend down to pick up a book, Zoro glares and “What did I just say?”
He even walks with you everywhere.
“You don’t have to follow me to the bathroom.”
“What if you trip?”
“Zoro.”
“…What if an enemy attacks?”
You groan, but he just folds his arms and stays put.
He also naps closer to you now.
Zoro still sleeps a lot, but now he always makes sure to be near you. Some days, he dozes off with his head on your lap, his arm draped over your growing belly.
You run your fingers through his hair, feeling his slow, steady breathing. He won’t say it out loud, but you know he’s nervous, and this is how he comforts himself.
One time, you catch him talking to your stomach when he thinks you’re asleep.
“You better not kick too hard in there… Your mom needs to sleep” His voice is quiet but gruff. Then, after a long pause, he adds, “…Can’t wait to meet you, though.”
Your heart melts.
Later that night, you whisper “Are you scared?”
Zoro is silent for a moment. Then, he exhales “A little.”
You lace your fingers with his “Me too.”
He turns his head to look at you, eyes steady “We’ll figure it out.”
You smile “Yeah.”
Zoro presses his forehead against yours “Get some sleep.”
As you drift off, Zoro stays awake a little longer, hand resting on your belly.
For the first time, he’s facing a future he can’t predict, a battle he can’t train for.
But he knows one thing for sure—he will always protect you. And your child.
No matter what.
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── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:
The smell of fresh bread and sizzling butter fills the Thousand Sunny’s kitchen as you sit at the counter, watching Sanji move. He hums to himself while stirring a pot, completely in his element. His blonde hair falls over his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to care.
You take a deep breath, heart racing. It’s time to tell him.
“Sanji...” you say softly.
He turns instantly, smiling “Yes, my love? Dinner will be ready soon.”
You shake your head “I… need to tell you something first.”
Sanji notices your serious tone and wipes his hands on a towel before walking over “What is it, sweetheart?” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, concern in his ocean-blue eyes.
You take his hand and press it against your stomach.
“I’m pregnant”
Sanji freezes.
His fingers twitch slightly against your belly, his usual smooth confidence suddenly gone. His mouth opens, but no words come out. His cigarette almost falls from his lips.
“…What?” his voice is barely a whisper.
You smile nervously “We’re having a baby.”
Sanji stares at you, his eyes wide. Then—
THUMP.
His legs give out, and he falls to his knees in front of you. His hands stay on your stomach as he looks up, completely overwhelmed.
“You’re… serious?” His voice shakes “I—I’m going to be a father?”
You nod, tears prickling in your eyes “Yeah.”
A sharp inhale. Then, suddenly, Sanji buries his face against your stomach, arms wrapping around you so gently, as if he’s afraid to break you.
“Mon amour… I don’t even know what to say” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and shaky “This is the greatest gift you could ever give me.”
You stroke his hair, heart swelling “So… you’re happy?”
Sanji pulls back slightly, grinning through tears “Happy? (Y/N), I feel like I just won the whole damn world.”
Then, his hands cup your cheeks, and he kisses you—soft, deep, full of love.
“Wait—!” He pulls away suddenly, eyes wide “You need food! Proper nutrition! I need to—” He rushes toward the kitchen, grabbing ingredients at lightning speed “I’ll make you something right now—no, I’ll make ten meals—no, twenty! The baby needs to eat too!”
You laugh, watching him run around in a panicked, love-struck frenzy.
Sanji is going to be the best dad.
Months Later
Sanji is the most devoted, doting, over-the-top partner ever.
He refuses to let you do anything.
You try to stand up? He’s already pulling out a chair for you.
You reach for a glass? It’s in your hand before you can blink.
You sigh in the heat? He’s fanning you immediately.
“Sanji, I’m pregnant, not broken” you groan.
“My love, you are carrying our child!” He places a dramatic hand over his heart “I refuse to let you lift a single finger!”
Sanji cooks nonstop for you.
“Here, sweetheart, eat this.”
“Sanji, I just ate five minutes ago—”
“The baby might still be hungry!”
He talks to your belly constantly.
“Hello, little one! This is your father speaking.” He presses a kiss to your stomach “I hope you’re nice and comfortable in there. When you come out, I’ll make you the most delicious food in the world!”
Then, more seriously, he whispers “And I’ll take care of you. You and your mother. Forever.”
Your eyes tear up every time.
At night, Sanji holds you close, his hand resting protectively over your growing belly.
“You should sleep” you murmur, noticing he’s still awake.
“I’m just… thinking” he admits.
“About what?”
Sanji sighs softly “I never thought I’d have this,” he says “A family. Someone to love… and now, both of you.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s like a dream.”
You smile, lacing your fingers with his “Then let’s make it the best dream ever.”
Sanji chuckles, pulling you even closer “Oui, mon amour.”
As you drift off, you feel his lips brush against your stomach once more.
And you know, without a doubt Sanji will love this baby with everything he has.
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me-writes-prompts · 1 year ago
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:-"Soft things people in love do that makes me want to fall in love" prompts-:
(Tag me if you guys write these!!!! yeeeeee)
By @me-writes-prompts
Letting them sit in their seat during a train/bus transaction
Making food for each other as surprise
Picnic dates^^
"We could just stay like this, cuddling all day, if you want."
Random kisses on lips/hands/neck >\\\<
Giving them a head massage while they listen to the other one talk about their day
Late-night star gazing when they can't sleep
^^ "The stars are bright tonight, aren't they?" "Not as bright as you, love." and they pull them into a kiss because they start to laugh at the cheesiness.
Leaning their heads on each other's
"I know you're struggling right now, and it's okay, okay? We'll get through this."
"I left you a note, did you read it?" "Yeah, I left you one back to tell you I read it!" <3333
"I can't believe you remember the day we first had our kiss!" "It's an important day that needs to be remembered forever :)"
"Is it too early to say I love you? Because I do. I love you so much." "Aww, I love you too. So much."
Making the other one DIY bracelets/rings/etc with their names.
^^"This is lovely! But you spelled your name wrong, darling." "Oh...heh, guess I got carried away huh?"
Board game nights where their competitive sides come out
"I hope you know that I'll never leave your side, even though you ate half of my pancakes earlier." "Hmm, I won't either, even though you take my clothes and never return them."
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dollyichi · 7 months ago
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DREAM-LIKE
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todoroki shouto x f ! reader ᯓ★ m—dni. 1.1k words. established relationship / somno (initially) / morning wood / unprotected / in the morning <3 / not proofread
an entry to my “ milk and cookies “ event with the prompts #1 “i had a very nice dream that started off just like this.” & #19 “did you just get bigger from that?” requested by an anon!
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you never the one to take initiative. it was always your boyfriend who suddenly grabs you by the waist, under your shirt no less, and whispers that he wants to do it.
but it’s inevitable that when you’re apart, you end up being in the mood. which could be a quick fix to tell him to come over and jump you, but it wasn’t necessarily your style.
you knew it’s your own personality getting in the way. it felt hard to voice out to him. not necessarily because you’re intimidated by him, it’s mainly because cause your man literally has such a high sex drive that it’s scary—plus, you just didn’t know how to make it less embarrassing when he teases you even when it’s never on purpose.
besides, between the two of you, he was the sweeter and more affectionate one. very frank and straight o the point that leaves you in a puddle of emotions that you try to push through—exactly how he confessed to you. quick, easy, and heartfelt that definitely felt like a train wreck.
you think of the times whenever he initiated. somehow it was like second nature to him. that man has no shame and you shouldn’t as well as no one could be as shameless as shouto, but it’s still a bit hard.
you come up with a plan, you stay over at his place and in the morning you pray for morning wood to come and use it as a practice to start. it’s funny how you’re treating this like a mission of your own, infiltrating your opponent at their most ‘vulnerable.’ still, you already know he’d be into this.
to you, your shouto is a lot of things, but he is especially a pervert.
when you finally wake up, you see him in such a sweet state. lying fully on his back with his mouth slightly open. completely asleep with his arm on your back where you leaned on last night.
quietly, you pull away on the thick comforter and see his bulge underneath the pj’s that you matched with. immediately straddling his waist. he twitches slightly but continues to snore.
“hmm…” you’re pressing your clothed cunt against him. “h-hah…” you just wished he wakes up already so he could fuck you as soon as possible.
you grind harder, having your clit rub against the fabric. biting your bottom lip while you humped on him. it’s so thin you could almost feel the veins on his dick.
he fucked you so well last night your panties were soiled to no return. which was exactly what was happening to your pajamas, getting damp every time you moved.
“mmh…” shouto flutters his eyes open, getting such a nice view of you with your half-lidded eyes. “good morning.” he greets, already sitting up. you get startled for a bit already shy that you were so into it that you didn’t notice he was already awake.
“i’m really happy you waited for me to wake up.” he smiles, leaning on his elbows to get a better view.
“you were hard.” you stay with a little firmness. pushing him back down on the bed so his head rests on the soft pillows. he’s looking at you too intensely for someone who just woke up.
he chuckles in defeat, trying to get a better angle to see you a bit better. “that’s nice of you to help me out.”
“it’s not like i could shake you awake.
“no i need you to shake me next time.” he was dead serious too, typical shouto.
he pulls down the garter from your pajamas, exposing your cunt that’s already building up slick. “no panties?” he says as if so amused. you click you tongue, “you literally ruined them last night.” you motion your head towards the laundry bag hanging by the door. he chuckles, cupping your face, “ah i remember. i did a pretty good job.” he discards your pajamas and throws them on the floor in a swift motion.
you roll your eyes at him, already feeling the warmth that’s crept up to the apples of your cheeks.
“you know, i had a very nice dream that started off just like this.” he admits, sitting up to kiss you. you pull him closer. which definitely explained his hard on earlier. “you were so adorable in it too.”
“you were on top of me just like this, feeling so good riding me.” and he went on and on while he kissed your neck. telling you about his naughty and very graphic dream that’s even getting you a little breathless. “y-you’re such a damn perv.”
you yelp when you feel two of his fingers already curling up inside you. “so wet it slid right in, must feel nice.” he comments.
your shake your hips slightly, you needed more though. today you wanted to be greedy, and whatever consequence you have to endure (which is him definitely teasing you after) will be dealt with later on. you just needed him while the sun is prettily shining on his face.
“i don’t need that just put it in.”
“so greedy and impatient.” his tone is so coy, which pissed you off a little.
“h-hah… just greedy today.” he smiles to himself when you didn’t deny the impatient part. you’re such a mess that when you answer with your typical rebuttals it didn’t feel snarky at all, it just confirmed how cuter you get everyday for him.
“that’s okay baby just use me.” he says so soothingly.
shouto positions his tip at your entrance, and you waste no time by moving your hips to get him to bottom out. you’re already moaning at how perfect he fit right in. even when he gets to hold you, it always felt like the first time. he even felt getting weak at his own finger tips.
“mmph! fuck… y-you’re so big shou.” you ride him while he hands rested on your hips. his brows furrowed while you pick your movements. his mind is still trying to wake up, feeling your pussy clench down felt really dangerous. he’s just so sensitive right now.
you let out a breathy moan, feeling every inch of his cock that’s stretching you out. using him to hit your sweetest spots. sometimes it felt too good that you end up rambling away about how he makes you feel good, verbally expressing everything that goes in that pretty head of yours.
shouto gets weaker and weaker when you’re so honest like this, only finally waking up when you whispered under his ear a small, “i love you.” already in such a trance from bouncing on his dick. he hisses, cock twitching and getting harder from your affection.
you felt him hitting deeper inside you, “d-did you just get bigger from that?!”
he grunts, this time bucking his hips upwards meeting yours. seeing how your tits bounced up and down whining above him makes his cock ache. he wants to cum so bad. “you definitely have to wake me up like this from now on.”
“like h-hell i would! in your fucking dreams!”
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do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works
note : in my head i thought reader to be a little bit rough and snarky to contrast a very sweet and patient shouto
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hanniebaeee · 4 months ago
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Night Train
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Hyunjin x fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MDNI
Genre: Established relationship, fluff, smut
Summary: You and Hyunjin are traveling on a night train, and it's dark and quiet. And your boyfriend is suddenly horny.
a/n: I had to. I just had to.
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You should've known the moment he put his hand casually on your thigh that it was anything but casual. This was Hyunjin after all. 
You two were in an overnight train, making your trip to a pretty little seaside town for a little getaway. Hyunjin apparently has a lot planned for this trip. And it was quite a long train journey, so you had packed your favorite snacks and a book that you'd been wanting to read for a while. 
You were sitting at the window seat, Hyunjin next to you. He had his earphones in, his head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed as if lost in his music. And your compartment was almost empty, except for a few other passengers scattered here and there. 
The atmosphere was cosy and quiet and just right to get into your book. Or so you thought. Because Hyunjin’s hand just moved up a little, under your skirt, now his fingers were sitting snug between your thighs. 
You shot him a sideways glance and saw that he was already watching you with a little smile on his face. 
“What?” You asked, eyes narrowed.
Because you knew that look very well. He just shrugged and said, “Nothing,”
You raised an eyebrow as you said, “Uh-huh. That’s not a ‘nothing’ look. What’s up?”
Instead of answering, his eyes dropped down to your legs. You were wearing a breezy skirt that brushed just above your knees.
“Why’d you wear a skirt on a train journey?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze anything but.
Your mind stuttered to a halt for a second. You knew he'd appreciate it. Of course he would. But maybe he appreciated it a little too much? 
“Why not?” you asked, blinking at him.
His eyes flicked up to yours, and before you could say anything else, he leaned closer. Like so close, his nose brushed against yours. 
“Nice try,” you said, shifting back and putting a hand against his chest, but it was too late. He cupped your cheek with one hand and kissed you. His lips were so warm and soft against yours, and he smiled into the kiss, his breath mixing with yours. 
“Hyunjin,” you mumbled against his mouth, pulling back slightly.
“Hmm?” he murmured, his thumb running over your bottom lip gently. 
“Don’t even think about it,” you said, your tone firm but your resolve already melting when his fingers wrapped around your wrist, and bringing it up to his lips. 
“Oh, I’m already thinking about it,” he said, and the cheeky glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t lying.
“Hyunjin,” you warned again, though it was getting harder to sound convincing when his lips pressed soft kisses on your knuckles. 
“Come on,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “we’re on vacation. Who’s going to stop us?”
“This is public transport, you monster.” You groaned, trying to ignore how good he looked with that smirk.
“You’re the one who wore that skirt,” he shot back, his grin turning wicked.
“Are you seriously blaming me for your lack of self-control?” you laughed. 
“Oh please, come here,” he said, leaning closer again. 
“Hyunjin,” you started, but then his lips were on yours again, this time deeper, hotter, and with a confidence that made your toes curl.
“Shh,” he murmured, pulling the little throw blanket you'd brought along (for your cosy reading time) over the both of you as if that solved everything.
His lips slipped down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses along their way, and his hand, gripping at your thigh possessively. 
You shifted slightly and Hyunjin took this as an opportunity to capture your lips in a kiss again, this time, his tongue licking across yours. You tried to grab his hand as it brushed against your panties. 
“Jinnie, please-” You breathed, and he let out a soft whimper against your lips, and your eyes widened.
No, no, no. Not that! 
His eyes were pleading as they gazed into yours, and he was whimpering a soft, “Please,”
Goosebumps spread across your skin as he slowly took your hand and placed it on his crotch. Obviously you were expecting this. It literally took you nothing to turn him on. 
“Baby, please just -” He was whispering hurriedly. “Fuck, just… just touch me-”
You gazed around, worried. But when your eyes fell on your very hard boyfriend, you sighed. 
This man indulged all your crazy fantasies and whims without a question. You don't remember a single time he's ever said a no to you. It was beyond your understanding how anyone could be like that.
With you, Hyunjin was down for anything. And that's all that took for you to lean in and kiss him. And he moaned softly into your mouth as you stroked him over his pants. 
He closed his eyes, his head falling into your shoulder. He was breathing heavily, clearly trying to be quiet. 
“God, yes,” he breathed out, the words barely a whisper, his body tensing under your touch as he squeezed your breast gently. 
“Shh, I got you baby,” you said softly, your hand now working on undoing his belt and pulling down the zipper of his jeans. 
Hyunjin’s body trembled with need, his face buried against your shoulder, breathing harsh and shallow like he’s struggling to stay quiet. But every little hitch in his breath, every muffled groan that escapes his lips despite his best efforts, only made it harder to resist him. 
His hand gripped your thigh so tightly, it was almost painful. The pressure was intense, like he was trying to anchor himself, trying to keep from completely losing control. And by the way his fingers dug into your skin, you know exactly what he was feeling. 
You bit your lip, fighting the urge to giggle at how utterly shameless he was - though he was trying so hard to be quiet aa your hand worked on him, stroking his length. His body betrayed him with every shift, every sigh, every barely contained moan.
His skin was burning with heat, and you felt it against yours as he leaned into you, desperate.
“Baby, please,” he breathed, his voice thick with need. “Please, don’t stop.”
His forehead pressed against your neck, his whole body trembling and fingers digging deeper (you were pretty sure you would have bruises tomorrow) but at this point, you didn’t care.
“You’re so damn hot,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “God, I don’t even know how you do this to me.”
You swallowed hard, your breath catching as you continued to stroke him, your hand moving in a steady rhythm. He bucked his hips, overcome with pleasure, and he whimpered softly. 
“Jinnie,” you breathed, your voice low and teasing. “You’re not doing a very good job of staying quiet.”
He groaned softly, and it’s so desperate and needy, and it sends a thrill down your spine.
“I…I can't,” He whined, and you laughed.
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you started all of this.” you teased and fastened your pace. 
Hyunjin's eyes grew wide - like saucers and he bit his bottom lip so hard, so that he didn't scream out loud.
His hips started moving, bucking into your hand, and that with your fingers teasing his slit, Hyunjin started whimpering again. 
“Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm gonna cum,” He whispered urgently. 
He looked around, suddenly realizing that this was going to get so messy. Because he literally couldn't cum in his pants. Of course not. Not on you. Definitely not on the floor.
His glanced at you, freaking out, breathing heavily and you sighed and did the next best thing - bent down, and put your face in his lap. No, over his angry red tip.
And Hyunjin could swear he saw heaven at that very moment. Your tongue swiped over his soft head, teasing the slit with the tip, and sucking very softly. 
And that's all that it took - he came so hard, his release shooting right down your throat - he saw stars and planets and what not. He slumped back, his fingers gripping your hair weakly as you slowly let go. 
You could feel the tension drain out of him, and honestly, it’s so utterly satisfying to see him completely undone. You sat up straight, and your eyes met. You couldn’t help but smile softly, your heart swelling as you looked at him. He was sweaty, flushed, and totally exhausted, but still grinning like an idiot. 
His eyes closed for a moment and he leaned into you, nuzzling into your neck. And he yawned. 
“Jinnie…” you whispered, running your fingers through his buzzed hair, looking at him fondly. 
“I'm so tired, I can't even move,” He said, still half-dazed from the pleasure.
“You’re such a baby,”
He huffed, his eyes glinting with the faintest hint of mischief as he lifted his head to pout at you.
“Stop teasing me,” he whined, his voice still soft and delicate in a way that only made him even cuter when he was like this. 
“You’re so cute” you teased again, tracing your fingers along the side of his face.
“I am not. I’m tough. Don’t make me -” But then he yawned again, cutting himself off mid-sentence. 
You giggled and pulled him closer, holding him in your arms. He shifted to get even closer to you, resting his head against your shoulder and already starting to fall asleep. 
“Just love me, ok?” he mumbled, “stop laughing.”
You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and said, “That’s all I ever do, Jinnie.” 
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Divider: @saradika-graphics
Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120
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tbaluver · 9 months ago
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Kissing His Scars- The Love And DeepSpace Men
parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader requested: anonnie (anonymous) ᯓᡣ𐭩 genre: slight angst i think ( references of their past lives ) but tooth rotting fluff overall ! a/n: hihi lovelies i miss you all ! i've been really busy with school and i missed writing and interacting with you all so much ˙◠˙ this was requested by an anonnie and i apologize if this is written not the best i feel so rusty bc my exams drained me ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) i hope you all are so well and i hope i can get some writing posted bc i have a couple ideas for kinktober but i feel so late ˙◠˙ anyways enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!
⋆。‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧。⋆
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Xavier:
Xavier has a couple scars from all the battles he’s been through. A couple small ones from his hands and a couple on his arms. You’ve seen them sometimes when he’s had his shirt off or when you shower together.
He was curious about why you were doing this in the first place. His eyes sparkled with affection as you kiss and caress the lines of each scar with tenderness. He'd lean in to your touch, letting you do as you please, appreciating every second and minute of it. He felt so appreciated and special that he will definitely return the favor back to you.
Every kiss on his scars reminds him that each battle he’s faced has been worth it. In this lifetime, he has found you again after losing you and enduring so much. Now, he has a loving partner to come home to- where he feels cherished, complete, and truly at peace.
────୨ৎ────
You were curled up on the couch, flipping through different shows and movies in search of the perfect one to enjoy while waiting for you and Xavier’s food. Just then, Xavier joins you, settling his head comfortably in your lap, a contented sigh escaping his lips.
“Hi honey,” He says softly, his voice warm as he cups your face. His fingers gently tracing small circles on your cheek.
“Hi baby” you reply, nuzzling against his hand and placing your own atop his. Your heart flutters as you glance down at him. You took his hand, planting soft kisses along his inner palm before intertwining your fingers with his.
He watches you with a playful smile, utterly smitten by how adorable you were. Small affections made him feel loved and cherished. As you flipped his hand to face yours, you noticed the small scars that marked his skin- stories he briefly mentioned he’s gotten from childhood and battles with Wanderers from the past.
“Did you really get these when you were just a child?” you asked as he nodded. “A couple were from mishandling my sword while I was training,” he explained, earning a breathy chuckle.
You draw his hand closer, your lips finding those small scars.
“Hmm? What are you doing? They don’t hurt anymore,” He says so innocently, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. As you pull your lips away from his hand, you look down, meeting his gaze.
“I know,” you reply, your voice softening. “You’ve come some far. Those battles shape you into this strong and brave man.” A gentle smile graced your lips as he returned your smile, warmth flooding over him.
“No, it’s all those battles that have made everything worth it to have you in the end.” His voice filled with sincerity. Unable to resist, he sits up, leaning in. His eyes soften as he closes the distance between you two. Your breath caught as his lips met yours, tender and sweet, feeling the warmth of his love wrap around you.
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Zayne:
You were no stranger to the scars on his arms. You've memorized every part of his body by now. He always kept them hidden whenever he wore his coat, long sleeves, or cardigan. Whether or not he was insecure about them or not, you wanted to make sure every inch of him was loved.
He was a bit surprised when you first kissed the scars on his arms. When your soft lips brushed against his scars, he melted at your touch. He feels a warmth spread through his body that brings him comfort and so so unconditionally loved. As you planted gentle kisses along his arm, a smile curled on his lips.
He loves it and finds it endearing whenever you do, making sure to give you the same amount of kisses back or more to remind you how much equally he loves you back.
────୨ৎ────
You rested your head on Zayne’s lap, the TV fading into a dull hum as he immersed himself in the pages of his book. With one hand holding the book, his other hand rests against your head to act as a pillow. Curiosity piqued you as you shifted slightly to play with his hand, captivated by the contract between the sizes of your hands. That’s when your gaze fell on the scar peeking from his sleeve.
As he continues to read, you gently push his sleeve up, tracing the outline of his scar before moving to the one beside it. You remembered him telling you he’d gotten these from childhood and how he can’t fully remember how he got them. A bittersweet ache fills your heart as you think of the childhood you both missed out on, wishing you could have been there to ease his pain and take care of him.
Drawn by an impulse, you inch closer and closer to his arm, planting a delicate trail of kisses on his scars. The soft warmth of your lips draws his attention to you. As he glances down, a small smile curls onto his lips.
“What are you doing, my love?” He asks softly, closing his book and setting it aside. His free hand brushes back the stray strands of your hair that had fallen over your face, tucking them gently behind your ear.
You rolled over to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the sight of his soft smile and the warmth in his eyes, all just for you.
“Seeing these makes me wish I could have taken away your pain back then.” He’d sigh, cupping your face, his gaze continues to be filled with warmth.
“What matters is that you’re here with me now.” He replies softly as you shift closer, sitting up to rest your head against his chest. “Just having you here makes everything feel right,” He says with a soft smile on his face.
“I’m grateful that we eventually found our way to each other in the end.” He gently lifted your chin with his finger, drawing your gaze back to his before pressing a sweet and tender kiss to your lips.
( astra when i catch you astra.....)
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Rafayel:
He is no stranger to you kissing his scars. You did it once when you kissed his paper cuts on his finger and he wanted you to keep doing it again and again.
Acts as if he's touch-starved. His reasoning would be one he loves it, two he loves and craves your touch, three he feels seen. You’ll still love him no matter what flaws he has or what he becomes.
Although there were some scars that randomly appeared on his arms, hinting untold stories. Initially you assume they might have stemmed from his artistic pursuits and whenever you bring it up, he brushes the topic aside.
Knowing Raf, you sense there’s more beneath the surface, he’s never been one to shy away from discussing his body. But you choose not to press on it and you’ll wait patiently for him to open up in his own time. For now, your love will be his comfort to whatever untold stories those scars hold on him.
────୨ৎ────
“Ouch! My hand!” He whines, flailing his hand in the air as if that might chase away the sting. You walk over to his stool, where he’s currently suffering from another paper cut from his sketchbook.
“Cutie,” he pouts, raising his finger to your face with a hopeful expression. “Kiss it, please.” You can’t help but chuckle as you take his hand in yours. You press a gentle kiss over the tiny wound to make his pain go away.
“There. It’ll be gone in a few seconds, Raf.” Just to be sure, you place another soft kiss on the same spot and notice a faint scar peeking from under his dress sleeve.
“Another one Raf? Where’d you get this scar?” You ask, gently pulling his arm to roll up his sleeve and examine it. He shrugs, a hint of mystery in his eyes. “I dunno, it just appeared out of nowhere. I can’t be too focused on that if I’m always focused on you cutie.” You snort. tracing the outline of the scar with your fingertip before leaning in to place a tender kiss on it.
He smiles, his nebula colored eyes sparkling as if they imitated space and the stars. “Are you trying to make it go away cutie?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Yes,” you reply softly, “but it’s also for the times I couldn’t be there to kiss it better.” He swears his heart can leap out of his chest right now and do backflips from how adorable you are. He reaches out to cup your face, his free arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him.
“Then I guess you just have to stay with me all the time," he says, a mix of playfulness and seriousness in his voice. “What if I get hurt again? Who’s going to kiss it all better? He gazes into your eyes, a soft smile breaking across his face.
He gently pulls you onto his lap, your faces meeting each other's level as you meet each other’s gaze. “You know,” he says, his voice gentle, “I could get used to you kissing all my scars. You make everything feel so much better.”
With a playful twinkle in his eye, he cups your cheek, drawing you closer until your lips brush against each other in a sweet, lingering kiss.
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Sylus:
You’ve seen the scar on his chest before, whether it was during your shared showers or a cozy night in your shared bed. It often peeks out from under his robe, nestled by his sternum. He doesn’t mention much about how he got it, so you decided not to pry further into it.
The first time you did it was when you both got ready for bed. As you nestled your head against his chest, your fingers gently trace the scar that marked his skin. He’d hum in response from your touch as you pressed a soft kiss to it. He’d let out a silent laugh, finding you to be oh so adorable. He'd ruffle your hair before placing a sweet kiss on the top of your head.
You'd do it a lot more often after you found out he enjoys your small acts of affection towards him. You'd do it any chance you'd get.
In the steamy shower, you'd go on your tippy toes to kiss his scar and he'd respond back by gently placing a finger under your chin to draw you in for a soft tender kiss in return.
He loves it when you kiss the scar on his chest. You’re the only person he can be himself and vulnerable around, so doing an intimate act like that makes him feel safe and loved.
────୨ৎ────
Sylus was already in bed, his head resting gently against the headboard. His eyes were closed, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was evident to the exhaustion from a long day of work. Not wanting to disturb his peace, you quietly climbed on top of him, resting your head near his heart, hearing the soft, rapid thumps of his heartbeat. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around your waist, drawing you closer.
“Goodnight Sy,” you whisper, planting a tender kiss on his chest. Your gaze falls upon the scar that you knew so well, it’s story etched into his skin.
“Goodnight, sweetie,” he murmured back, his voice a low, soothing whisper as his fingers traced gentle circles on your waist.
You let your fingertips wander over the scar, feeling the slight indentation. He responds with a soft hum, his eyes still closed. “Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly, his hands still anchoring you on to him. You hum in reply, your mind drifting back to the story behind his scar.
-
“Where did you get this scar, Sy?” you asked, as the warm water pours over both of you in the shower.
He glances down at you, his gaze softening as he focuses on your face, careful not to let the soap get into your eyes. “That,” he paused for a moment, “is the reason I’m still here. But that’s all in the past now, sweetie.”
-
You remember not prying further as you traced the scar’s curves. Leaning closer, you pressed a soft kiss to his scar, earning a breathy chuckle from him as he tangles his fingers in your hair.
“I’m glad you’re still here with me, Sy,” you whisper, continuing to caress the scar with your fingertip.
He shifted slightly, pulling you closer, your eyes meeting his crimson ones. His gaze was sleepy yet filled with warmth. If his heart beats any faster, he swears his heart can burst out of his chest.
“And I’m grateful to always have you by my side.” A soft smile curls to his lips as he cups your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek before pulling you forward to him, giving you a sweet and passionate kiss.
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batsandbirdbrains · 2 months ago
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Hmm I had another idea with Dick running away to join the circus
The one where everyone turns on Nightwing, so Dick quits and joins the circus
Like so many of my other au ideas, it would be a scenario where it’s the end of yj season 2 and dick is aged down to like 16ish. And Artemis refused to come back to help out, so he did double time as both Nightwing and Renegade, Deathstroke’s apprentice so he could be backup for Kaldur while he was undercover. And everyone gets mad at him at the end of the invasion and Bruce is an ass and kicks him out.
And as Dick is sitting in a Blüdhaven safe house with a duffle bag of is most important belongings, he’s fuming about the whole situation. About how he sacrificed basically everything for the justice league and the team and the world, and all he got in return was being called a liar and getting yelled at by everyone.
And Dick is just so tired. He feels like he hasn’t slept in months. He looks at his Nightwing suit, and he can’t bring himself to even want to put it on, so he shoves it back in his bag and does some research.
He hacks a zeta so it doesn’t log him using it, and he travels to Europe where Haly’s Circus is currently on tour.
Mr. Haly welcomes him back with open arms, treats him like a grandson (just like he always used to), and gives him one of the better extra rooms on the train the circus uses to travel to each new city. He insists that Dick call him grandpa in French, just like he always used to. It makes Dick feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Dick joins the lineup under his mother’s old stage name: The Skydancer.
He’s an instant hit. He dazzles everyone. Audiences love him. He earns the best slot of the show after just a couple months.
And all of the members of the troupe who remember him treat him and he’d never left.
He reads tarot cards and tea leaves with the fortune teller who insists he still call her auntie. She tells him he still has the gift for it. She helps him with his stage makeup and does his hair, encouraging him to grow it out some, them weaves feathers and tinsel in it, changing the colors with each new city they perform in.
He helps Mr. Haly with the business side of the circus, just like his dad used to.
He speaks with the others in languages he hasn’t been able to practice in years, and his fluency comes back as if he’d been speaking it the entire time. He’s taught how to cook food he hasn’t had since his parents died. He’s reminded of all the things he’d slowly forgotten about while living in Gotham.
And he finds that he doesn’t really mind hanging up the Nightwing suit. He doesn’t mind just being Dick, just being the Skydancer. He still protects the circus from thugs who try to extort them or rowdy townspeople, but he doesn’t feel the need to go out into the cities and look for crime to stop.
He’s happy. For the first time in what feels like forever.
So when it’s a year later and a few members of the JL and the team show up, when Bruce shows up, he sees them sitting in the audience and he decides to put on the best show possible for them. To show them that he’s happy, that he’s better off without them. Because he doesn’t want to go back. He’s happy here. He doesn’t need them.
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kissandtellus · 2 months ago
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Prepare for Takeoff
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Synopsis: Caleb is still as in love with MC as he was pre-kids, back when they were younger and deep in love. He doesn’t plan on changing, ever.
Warnings: Fluff, breeding, pregnancy, light choking, overstim.
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The tarmac runway of Farspace Fleet's military base thrummed with activity as military planes and fighter jets roared overhead, the sound echoing like thunder through the air.
Caleb stood at the edge of the landing strip, his boots planted firmly on the ground as fellow recruits and commanders saluted him in passing. The bright late afternoon sun beat down on his back and caused him to squint.
He was just about to head back to the locker room when he heard a familiar cry ring out across the air.
"Daddy! Daddy!"
Recognizing the high-pitched voice, Caleb turned around just in time to see a small tornado of energy barreling towards him.
A beaming smile immediately broke across his face, the weariness he felt from the training disappearing almost instantly.
"There’s my little man!" Caleb chuckled as he crouched down and spread wide his arms, ready to welcome his little 3 year old boy into a tight, loving embrace.
The boy leaped into his father's arms, burying his face into Caleb's chest. His small arms and legs were wrapped tightly around his dad’s waist, like a koala clinging onto a tree branch, as if the very act of holding on would ground him to his father for all eternity.
Caleb straightened up, wrapping his arms around the child in return, holding him close and steady. He chuckled, running a hand through the boy's messy hair.
"What are you doing here, huh? Shouldn’t you be with mommy?"
As if on cue, MC came waddling as fast as she could while cradling her 5 month belly. “Atlas! I told you to wait for me.” She huffed, but her face softened when she saw the scene in front of her.
Caleb looked up and saw MC approaching, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He hoisted his son up easily, resting the boy on his broad shoulders. The boy’s legs dangled on either side of Caleb's head playfully.
Caleb met MC’s gaze, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of fondness and pride. “Atlas wanted to surprise his old man, didn’t he?” he said, affection evident in his voice.
MC shook her head, but a soft smile still lingered on her lips. She let out a small sigh, her hand instinctively moving to rub her heavily pregnant belly. "He's getting too big for his own good."
She looked at her son, perched on his father's shoulders like a little king, and reached out to gently tap the tip of his nose. "And you, young man, need to listen to mommy."
Atlas giggled in response, sticking out his tongue at his mother.
Atlas squealed and kicked his feet. “Daddy! Can I sit in your jet? I promise to be really good!”
Caleb chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, and looked up at his son perched high on his shoulders. "You want to sit in Daddy's jet, huh?"
Atlas nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide with excitement. "Yes, please! I'll be so good, I promise!"
Caleb pretended to consider the request, tilting his head thoughtfully to the side. "Hmm...I don't know. My jet's pretty complicated for a little boy like you. Are you sure you're ready for that?"
"I'm big enough! I'm three and a half!" Atlas protested, puffing out his cheeks in protest.
Caleb laughed, the sound booming through the air. "Well, you've got me there. Three and a half is practically an adult."
MC just rolled her eyes at the banter, gently shaking her head. "You're encouraging him. You know he's going to want to fly the jet now, right?"
Caleb shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hey, I'm just instilling a love for aviation in the next generation. It's never too early to start."
He reached up and grabbed one of Atlas's little feet, giving it a playful tug. "But if you want to sit in my jet, you need to promise to listen to every word I say. Safety first, buddy. Understood?"
"Jet! Jet!"
Atlas chanted, kicking his legs back and forth in the air.
MC couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face. Even at three, he looked so much like Caleb, from the same bright purple eyes and dimples to the same cheeky grin. And just as stubborn too, it seemed.
"All right, all right, settle down." Caleb chuckled again, trying to calm his over-excited son. He looked at his wife, an eyebrow raised in silent question.
She sighed dramatically, although there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, go ahead. But if he turns the autopilot on and takes it for a joy-ride, I'm telling them it's all your fault."
"And here I was, thinking you actually trusted me." Caleb feigned hurt, his lips curving into a playful pout.
He adjusted Atlas on his shoulders before starting to walk towards the hangar where the jets were parked. "You coming, Pipsqueak?" He called back to MC over his shoulder.
MC rolled her eyes once again, but followed them nonetheless, her hands protectively cradling her belly.
When they reached the hangar, she hung back by the entrance, leaning against the side of the wall as she watched her husband and son approach one of the sleek fighter jets.
Atlas was absolutely enthralled by the sight of the jet. He stared at it with wide eyes, almost falling off Caleb's shoulders in excitement.
Caleb laughed, quickly steadying his son before he could take a tumble. "Careful, sprout. You can't pilot the jet if you're flat on your face."
He gently lifted the boy off his shoulders, setting him down on the ground in front of the jet. Atlas immediately reached out to touch the cool metal of the belly of the jet, his little hand tracing the insignia of Farspace Fleet's emblem.
"Daddy, how does it fly?" Atlas asked, looking up at Caleb with curious eyes.
Caleb crouched down to be eye level with his son. "Well, kiddo, it's all about science. You see, the engines at the back create a lot of force, which pushes the jet forward. And the wings at the side help it stay in the air. It's pretty neat, huh?"
Caleb’s eyes softened as he saw the sheer awe on his face. "You like it, huh?"
Atlas nodded vigorously, his hand still running along the length of the jet, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. Caleb ruffled his hair once again, a look of pride on his face. "That's a Black Star. Fastest fighter we have, and the one I fly."
"Wow!"
Caleb chuckled again at his son's reaction. "Not bad for a beginner, huh? But this baby right here..." He patted the jet affectionately. "...is just for grown-ups," he said with a mock stern tone.
Atlas looked up at him, pouting just like his mother. "Why?"
"Because you have to be a certain age and rank to fly it. And you're still too little for now." Caleb explained, ruffling the boy's hair again.
“Andddd little pilots who miss dinner time don’t get dessert. That’s why daddy hasn’t had ice cream in a very long time.” MC cheekily says, stroking Atlas’ dark hair out of his face.
"Hey! I did not miss dinner time!"
Caleb protested, feigning offense, though the twinkle in his eyes showed that he was enjoying the banter. He stood up, dusting off his knees.
Atlas giggled, clearly enjoying the banter between his parents.
MC rolled her eyes dramatically again, but her smirk showed she was just kidding. "Sure you didn't, Colonel. And I'm the Queen of Farspace."
But when they are alone that night, Caleb is sure to treat his wife like a queen.
Once the house is quiet and Atlas is safely tucked in bed, Caleb loses no time in carrying MC to their bedroom. He lays her gently on the bed, his uniform already halfway unbuttoned. Kneeling between her legs, he removes her panties slowly, revealing her swollen belly and glistening folds.
He runs his gloved hands up her thighs, parting them wider. Caleb leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her mons before trailing his lips down to her entrance. He inhales her scent deeply, his breath hot against her core. “You smell like heaven, love."
MC covers her face with the back of her hand. “C-Caleb that’s so….dirty.” She blushes.
Caleb smirks against her skin, his gloved fingers parting her folds to reveal her soaked, swollen clit. He flicks his tongue out, circling the sensitive nub slowly. “Dirty? Or just a husband worshipping his pregnant wife?"
MC gives a short nod, her throat bobbing as he hooks one of her legs over his shoulder to open her up wider.
He hums in approval at her submission, then dives in again, this time flat against her center. His tongue explores every inch of her folds, circling her clit slowly before slipping lower to rim her entrance. He's deliberate and gentle, knowing just how sensitive she is in her current state.
He spreads her wider with his hands, his thumbs hooking inside her thighs. He can see how swollen and needy she is, her juices coating her inner thighs. "God, Pipsqueak." He mutters before covering her core entirely with his mouth, sucking softly like he would a ripe fruit.
MC mewls, her hips bucking off the bed as she desperately covers her mouth so they won’t wake Atlas.
He notices her move to muffle her sounds and smirks against her center. He replaces his finger with his tongue, lapping at her clit with long, slow licks. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as he eats her out with relish.
Her mewls grow louder despite muffling her mouth. He can feel she's close. Suddenly inspired, he adds a finger inside her, curling it upwards to hit that sweet spot while continuing to lick her clit fervently. "Come for me, love," he muffles against her pussy.
He slowly pulls his finger out, watching her carefully. He knows she's sensitive now but he can't resist one more taste. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her swollen clit before pulling back to admire his handiwork.
MC moans softly, reaching down to the front of his uniform pants to paw at his aching length. “I need you inside. Please?”
His eyes flash with desire. He quickly unbuckles his pants, freeing himself. He's hard as steel, already leaking pre-cum. Seeing MC like this - pregnant and needy - drives him wild. He positions himself between her thighs and slams home in one smooth stroke.
MC arches her back, taking him to the hilt. They both groan softly, careful not to wake Atlas. Caleb begins to move slowly, his hips rolling in gentle circles. He's careful not to be too rough, knowing she's sensitive and pregnant. Instead, he focuses on pressing deep.
He watches her carefully as he thrusts, his hands gently holding her hips. He's hitting that spot deep inside her that always makes her eyes roll back. He leans down to capture her mouth in a soft kiss, swallowing her whimpers as he starts to move a bit faster. "Fuck..."
MC wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Her nails dig into his back as she meets his thrusts, her moans growing louder. He silences her with kisses, fucking her slower but deeper, hitting that sweet spot perfectly.
He pulls almost all the way out, then guides her legs up over his shoulders. The new angle allows him to slide even deeper inside her. The change in position makes her gasp. "Shh..." he whispers, covering her mouth with his hand to muffle any noises.
He starts to move faster, his hips snapping forward in quick thrusts. He's hitting that spot with every push, filling her completely. His hand over her mouth muffles her moans as she starts to shake, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. “That's it, love. Take it.”
MC wriggles around, almost as if she’s trying to escape his thrust from overstimulation. She’s unfortunately grounded in place with her swollen stomach.
He holds her in place, his strong arms keeping her legs trapped over his shoulders. He starts fucking her mercilessly, his deep thrusts shaking the bed. He's deliberately hitting that overstimulated spot inside her, knowing it drives her wild. “Try running now, baby..." he challenges.
He leans down, his breath hot against her ear. “I'll catch you every time. You're mine to fuck tonight." He picks up the pace, his cock slamming into her harder and faster. Her moans are muffled by his hand but he can feel her body shaking beneath him.
His other hand reaches around to play with her clit, knowing it'll send her over the edge. She tries to push his hand away, but he just laughs softly and keeps going. “Nope. You're going to cum on my dick, pregnant or not."
Tears of pleasure and pain prick her eyes. “C-Caleb!” She cries out behind his hand covering her mouth. “C-Can’tttt!”
He smirks at her weak protests, knowing she's on the verge. His fingers move faster on her clit, pressing down hard. He thrusts deep and stays there, his thick cock stretching her open and applying delicious pressure. “You can and you will."
With a final, hard push of his fingers and a deep thrust of his hips, he sends her spiraling over the edge. She cries out behind his hand, her body convulsing with pleasure. He keeps thrusting slowly, riding out her orgasm and drawing it out as long as possible. “Good girl."
He leans down, his voice a low growl in her ear. “ Take Every. Single. Drop." *His hips move faster, his cock pounding into her with renewed vigor. He can feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening as he drives deeper into her wet heat. His gloved hand wraps around her throat, applying just enough to make her eyes water.
His grip on her throat tightens slightly as he hits his peak. With a final deep thrust, he buries himself inside her and comes hard, filling her up just like he promised. He stays there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of her wrapped around him before pulling out slightly and pushing back in again.
Caleb would keep her barefoot and pregnant with his babies until the end of time. They only needed him.
They would only ever need him.
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jxwl4k · 7 months ago
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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ obsession .𖥔 ݁ ˖
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☘︎ . . . genre. fluff
☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x reader
☘︎ . . . requested? yes
⤿ bakugou is obsessed completely and utterly.
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Katsuki Bakugou didn’t think he’d ever fall this hard for someone. He used to scoff at couples who couldn’t keep their hands off each other or those idiots who got all soft around their partners. But now? He was just as bad—if not worse.
Sitting in class, Bakugou’s eyes constantly drifted to her. She was seated a few desks ahead, head down as she diligently took notes. Her pen moved across the page in smooth strokes, her brow furrowed in concentration. She’d occasionally tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, completely oblivious to the fact that she had him wrapped around her finger.
He tried to focus on the lesson, he really did. But instead of equations or formulas, all he could think about was her. The way she smiled when she saw him in the mornings. The way she always muttered something sweet under her breath before he left for training. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved.
It was getting out of hand. His pencil twirled aimlessly in his hand as he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. Kaminari, unfortunately, noticed.
“Oi, Bakugou, you’re staring again,” he whispered, nudging him with his elbow.
“Shut the hell up, Sparky,” Bakugou hissed, glaring at him. His face heated up as he snapped his gaze forward. The last thing he needed was anyone else realizing how gone he was for her.
But of course, as if the universe enjoyed torturing him, she suddenly turned her head, looking back toward him. Her eyes caught his, and she gave him a small smile before returning to her notes.
That was it. That tiny smile was enough to send his heart racing. He groaned internally, covering his face with one hand. He was pathetic.
By the time class ended, he was itching to see her properly. Not from a distance, not stolen glances in class—he needed her right next to him. He’d been holding it together all day, but now that everyone was back at the dorms, he didn’t have to.
She was already lounging on his bed when he walked in, her phone held above her as she scrolled through her favorite videos. Her presence was so natural there that it only fueled the obsession growing in his chest.
“Comfortable?” he muttered as he closed the door, smirking despite himself.
“Very,” she replied with a grin, not even looking up from her screen.
He rolled his eyes and dropped onto the bed beside her, propping himself up on one arm. His crimson eyes trailed over her face as she bit her lip in concentration, completely absorbed in whatever video she was watching.
For a while, he just watched her. Watched the way her eyes crinkled when something funny popped up on her screen. Watched the way her lips curved into a soft smile. He didn’t even realize how close he had leaned in until she spoke.
“Katsuki,” she said without looking at him. “Why are you staring at me?”
He froze for a second, caught red-handed, before scowling. “I’m not,” he lied, sitting up straighter.
She finally glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Sure you’re not,” she teased before going back to her phone.
That was it. He was done. He needed her attention, and he needed it now.
“Babe,” he muttered, leaning closer again.
“Hmm?” she hummed, still not looking up.
“Babe,” he said again, his voice lower this time.
“What?” she asked, finally tearing her eyes away from the screen to look at him.
Instead of answering, he leaned down and captured her lips in a firm kiss. She let out a surprised squeak, her phone slipping from her hands and landing on the bed.
“Katsuki!” she protested, her voice muffled against his lips. “I was watching something!”
“Don’t care,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Shut up and let me kiss you.”
Her eyes widened slightly before softening, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re so clingy tonight,” she teased, though her arms moved to wrap around his neck.
“Yeah? So what?” he grumbled, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re mine. I’ll be as clingy as I want.”
She laughed softly, her fingers brushing through his hair. “Alright, alright. Just warn me next time, okay?”
“No promises,” he said before pulling her back into another kiss.
And as they lay there, tangled up in each other, Bakugou couldn’t bring himself to care how obvious his obsession was. She was his world, and he wasn’t about to let her forget it.
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muffinpink02 · 2 months ago
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Pottery
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A quick one shot. Alexia and R in a pottery class. Thank you anon, I don’t know if it was really a prompt but I liked your description 😂
Warnings - smutty not smut 18 wc - 1573
You’re staring. You know you are, but you can’t help it. 
She’s doing it on purpose.
You didn't think it was physically possible to get wet during a pottery class. Well, you weren't sure anyone could get wet during a pottery class, but here you are defying the odds. Sitting in a pair of damp knickers all because of Alexia. 
No, she hadn’t touched you, kissed you, hugged you, talked dirty to you, she hadn’t even looked at you. She was just simply using her hands.
But in your defence, you were just a girl, a girl who was obsessed with her girlfriends hands. 
A girl who clearly couldn’t control her hornyness because her stupidly sexy, smart and pretty girlfriend was fingering clay like she was part of some weird underground sex show somewhere in the red light district for people who were into that kind of thing. 
Maybe you were ‘people’.
You watch as she gently caresses the wet clay, her large hands cupping the moist material as it leisurely spins round on the plate. You watch the way the watery mud sticks to her fingers, seeping into the groves of her knuckles. Your own fingers twitch from muscle memory, memory on how those very same fingers feel on your body. And in your body. 
It’s a fucking pottery class and she makes it look pornagraphic. 
“Amor, you’re doing it again.”
You jump in your stall, like you've been caught stealing from the cookie jar.
“What?” You grunt.
“You’re staring.” 
There's no accusation in her voice, she actually sounds amused.
“I’m not.” You close your eyes in frustration when you hear the slight strain in your own voice.
You catch the slight smirk at the curve of her lips. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of her clay, too engrossed with her own art. Though, smut is what you'd call it. Most countries would even call it public indecency. 
“I can feel you staring.” 
You roll your eyes. “I’m not. I’m just watching your technique.”
You were never a good liar.
“Hmm. Is that all?” She smiles. She smiles because she knows what she's doing to you. 
“Of course.” You breathe through your nose as you squirm in your seat. 
You train your eyes back to your own mess of clay, it's completely lost whatever shape it had. If you ever had one. The pottery teacher walks by and gives you a pitiful look.
“Are you struggling?” She smiles sympathetically as she approaches you.
‘Yeah, I’m struggling, struggling while I watch my girlfriend finger clay like she’s trying to get it to squirt for her. And I think she might actually do it.’
Is what you want to say.
“Yeah, I just can’t get it to hold.” You huff.
“Oh, your clays looking a little dry. Maybe add some more water, get it a little more moist. Remember, the wetter the better.” She nods encouragingly before she walks off to look at the other students.
You nearly laugh. 
You spot Alexia biting her lip as she holds in her own laugh. Bitch.
“Oh, this is lovely! You’re a natural with your hands. Well done!” The teacher praises Alexia as she walks by.
“Thank you.” The blonde beams with pride. 
You wait until the teacher’s out of earshot.
“Thank you.” You mimic your girlfriend in the most childish way you can muster.
“Hey! What have I done to get that?” She pouts. 
“Nothing, sorry. I’m just a little frustrated.” 
“Why?” She raises an eyebrow at you. 
“Because…” You nod your head towards her clay. Her hands.
She slowly looks down at the clay, she genuinely looks confused. Scrunching her brows as she looks back at you.
“Què?”
Oh god. Maybe she wasn't doing it on purpose. Maybe you’re just a sex crazed maniac that can’t go an hour without making the most innocent of tasks sexual.
“Nothing. Ignore me.” You force a smile. 
You try to put your pent up frustrations into your clay, but you only make the mud look sadder. If that's even possible.
After a couple of minutes of frustrated grunts and a stupid amount of tuts, Alexia has enough.
“Here, let me help. What are you trying to make?” The blonde stands next to your table like a clay making superhero. 
You smile up at her. “A bowl. But I can’t get it right.” You slump your shoulders dramatically. 
The Spaniard rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the smile that pulls at her lips. 
“Let me get it ready for you, then you can take over, sí?”
“Yeah, I can work with that. Thank you, baby” 
You move from your stall to allow Alexia to sit. 
Alexia frowns as she looks at the mess you've made. “She’s right, your clay does need a lot more water. You can’t shape it like this.” 
“One class and you think you’re Michelangalo.” You mumble to yourself. 
“Hmm?” 
“Nothing.” You save yourself as you kiss the side of her cheek.
Alexia begins to mold your clay. You watch as she dips her long fingers into the water bowl, grabbing the small sponge and holds it over your clay, squeezing until water escapes, moistening the grey mud. She repeated the process until the clay turns into a smooth and shiny substance that she can easily mold to her will. 
You’re completely captivated by the way her hands move, how her fingers knead and press into the clay. Pushing and pulling, gripping and thrusting. You shouldn't be too shocked that she’s such a natural. It’s second nature to her, making things move the way she wants. Bending and forcing things to her liking. Like she does with you in the best way.
You’re not just horny now, you’re actually impressed. Impressed and turned on.  
Come on, get a grip of yourself. You can’t be getting this riled up over an innocent task.
But, you don't even notice the way your tongue sweeps at your lips as you catch her veins bulging under her skin. You know the way they feel, the way they tense under your touch. Your eyes travel up from her hands to her biceps, you can see her firm muscles as they slightly flex under her t-shirt. You continue to watch on, staring at her as if she’s your own personal show. Like it's just you and her and not 10 other randoms in the room. Like you paid a front row ticket to that show in Amsterdam. 
The sound of a cupboard door closing brings you back to the present, you take a quick glance around the room, hoping no one notices the utter mess you’ve become. 
But then Alexia makes it just that little bit harder. Because of course she does.
Your breath catches as she gently but firmly slaps the mud with her large palm. You don't even realise you're biting your lip until you feel a slight sting. 
“Oh, come on!” You mumble to yourself.
It shouldn't make you blush, but the sound of the slaps take you right back to yours and Alexia’s activities last night. 
And It really shouldn't make you wetter. But you’re just a girl.
You’re fucked. 
“Okay, I think you’re good to go. It was a bowl you’re making, sí?” Alexia turns to you. 
“W-what?” You blink a few times, staring at the girl who just officially ruined your underwear without even touching you.
Alexia smirks, that all knowing smirk “A bowl, amor. You want to make a bowl, sí?” 
You nod your head, but no words come out.
“Let me just…” 
And that's when you watch Alexia gently push two long thick fingers into your wet clay.
“Oh, my god.” 
Alexia doesn't answer you, she slowly parts her fingers, forcing the clay to open up for her. The sound that comes from her movement is filth, it squelches between her parted fingers, you swear you almost hear a faint moan from the lifeless object. Or maybe that was you. 
“Ale…”
She slowly pulls her fingers out, making sure to curve her digits just right. Spreading the clay like she does this everyday. 
You guess in some ways she kind of does use her fingers that exact same way most days.
You’re well aware your nipples are straining at your shirt now. You look around the room once more as you try to control your breathing, but then Alexia turns to you. A mischievous smile spreads across her face. You notice a small smudge of dry clay sitting on her cheek. A few strands of her hair have fallen out of her bun and she gives you that all knowing look. 
It's a sight to see.
“You okay, cariño?” She smirks.
You nod your head, but once again you're lost for words. You look down at her wet fingers, still dripping from the clay. You can feel your clit twitching, aching to have the same treatment as the clay. 
You watch as her eyes roam your chest, spotting the way your nipples strain. She arches an eyebrow, like she’s proud. Her smirk turns devilish and you feel you cunt clench on nothing. 
“Toilet. I need the toilet.” You blurt out.
And before Alexia can say anything you’re gone. Tripping over stalls you swore wasn't there a second ago, but still apoologising to the inanimate object like a true Brit.
Alexia shakes her head as she chuckles to herself. “I think I like pottery.”
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silverbrain · 7 months ago
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Keep Quiet...
NSFW, Minors Do Not Interact
Tropes- smut, semi-public sex, fingering, hand job, drunk sex, sex in the closet, balcony sex.
Pairing- Reader x Xavier, Reader x Rafayel, Reader x Zayne, Reader x Sylus.
Summary- Xavier getting freaky at the movie theatre. Rafayel getting freaky at a party in a closet. Zayne getting it in an airplane. Balcony freak activities with Sylus.
First time writing smut, gimme all your feedbacks!!
Xavier
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You had finally convinced Xavier to watch the new movie with you. After a few stressful weeks at work, you finally had a few days off, and Xavier didn’t have any missions either, so you had put forth the idea, hoping to slowly get him out of his eat-sleep-lounge schedule.
You wear a knee length maroon skirt and a black top and you’re quite pleased with yourself as you turn left and right in the mirror, watching the skirt swish. You hear a knock on the door and open it to see Xavier, dressed in something you definitely haven’t seen him in earlier. He wears a dark blue hoodie and black jeans, that are tight in all the right places. You try not to stare as you envelope him in a hug, when your nose catches a whiff of… is that perfume? “You smell nice”, you comment. “Ah, yes, thanks”, he says, awkwardly, one arm coming up to brush his neck.
It was a strangely empty theatre. You took your seats in the back, mind still reeling from the whiff you caught earlier. Xavier sits beside you, seemingly relaxed. “Why this movie?”, he asks.
“Well, I’ve heard great reviews, so why not give it a try?”, you reply.
“Hmm…”, he says, thoughtfully, “I hope it’s good”
The movie begins. You find your thoughts occasionally drifting to the tall man beside you. How good he looks in blue, how good he smells…Beside you, Xavier puts his hand in yours, rubbing slow circles on your knuckles. You raise an eyebrow questioningly, but think nothing of it, happy to hold his hand.
That is until he lets go of your hand and places the palm of his hand flat on your thigh instead, lightly stroking the maroon velvet of your skirt. You turn to look at him. He keeps his eyes on the screen, low lights glinting across his pretty eyes.
He brings his hand to your knee, now drawing light, ticklish patterns in the skin. He draws a few squiggly figure 8s before you catch on. Oh. They’re letters. S. You look at Xavier. O. He continues to spell out letters on your knee. P, he spells next.
And then R. He continues the trail of letters inwards, up your thigh.
You internally sigh as you feel the beginnings of a familiar feeling tingle through you.
“Xavier…”, you ask questioningly.
“Shh baby…”, he leans in to whisper, the warmth touching your ear and sending a tingle down your spine. “Let me”
You shudder at his words as his hands slip upwards, toying with the skin of your thighs. E-T-T-Y. He ends the last letter dangerously close to your core, fingers almost brushing your underwear.
You almost shift forward, and instead bump your foot into the seat in front of you. The person grumbles a little and almost turns around as your freeze. Xavier, on the other hand, simply stills his hand and continues watching the screen. “I’m so sorry”, you apologize, and the man sits down once more, attention trained on the movie.
You breathe a sigh of relief, not daring to look at Xavier. You could almost imagine the smirk he’s got on his face. He leans in again. “So eager, huh?”, he whispers and you bite down on your lip to keep in the noise that is about to escape your throat.
You look at him, unbothered if sees the absolute need coursing through me. Xavier doesn’t look at you. Instead, he continues to look at the screen, the dim lights illuminating his features as he brings his knuckles to rub at your core. You can’t help but squeeze your legs together and bite down on your lips.
Xavier huffs a small laugh in the back of his throat, and you feel the juices soaking through your panties as he continues to rub lazy circles at your core. He knows. How does he know?
“Please…”, you whisper, as quietly as you can. “Hmm?” You know he heard you, and he’s only teasing. He turns an inquisitive eye towards you, and you can’t help but feel a little annoyed at the teasing. “Please…Xavier…”
He appears nonchalant enough and you wonder when this movie is going to get over, when he suddenly takes his hand away. You shift uncomfortably in the seat as you feel the wetness soaking your panties, dripping down your folds. There’s no way you could do anything right now, not with so many people around. It’s a relatively empty theatre, yes, but the few people in there still seem like too many for the things you need right now.
From the corner of your eye, you watch Xavier bring his hand up to his mouth and suck on his fingers, as if he were washing away the salt from a bag of popcorn. “Mhm…”, he sighs, as his eyes shift to meet yours, “it’s delicious”.
Your mouth falls open as you look away, feeling a desperate new wave of need course through you. You cross your legs, trying to create some pressure against your wet insides. “Uh huh”, he hums, quietly., bringing his hand to your knee, forcing his hand inside, making you uncross your knees. He rests his hand there, for a moment, making you lean forward in anticipation.
“What do you want?”, he asks quietly, “is it this?”, he asks, suddenly dipping into your skirt and shifting your panties to the side as he touches you. A very inappropriate noise almost escapes you as you feel your muscles clench and struggle at the sensation.
“Could’ve just told me”, he says, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice.
You don’t dare close your eyes, and the danger of the situation hits you all at once, but you don’t find it in yourself to care. Instead, you open your mouth and try to keep breathing evenly.
Xavier’s fingers rub slow circles on your sopping wet folds as you struggle to stay still in your seat, fingers gripping the handles. You can’t help but whine a little.
“Need more?”, he whispers, fingers toying at your entrance till you’re sucking his fingers in, desperate need and desire coursing through you. You nod, not trusting yourself with any words.
The screen plays in front of you, but you’ve lost the plot long ago.
He dips his finger inside a little and you feel yourself clench in anticipation. He stops, though, instead bringing his fingers to spread the wetness around. You nearly whine at the teasing. “What?”, he asks casually, or at least he pretends to, the hoarseness in his voice giving away how it’s affecting him as well.
“More”, you mouth the words.
“As you say”, he says, suddenly thrusting two of his fingers deep inside you. You inhale sharply as something on-screen explodes. You try to hold it in, biting your lip and struggling as he begins to pump his slender fingers in and out, rubbing his palm on your nub rhythmically.
You grip the handles roughly, knuckles white, muscles clenching and throbbing. You turn your head to look at Xavier. You feel a heat course through you as you find his gaze already on you, watching you hungrily. He leans forward to grab your hand, taking it off the chair handle and instead placing it on his arm, still under your skirt.
You look down to look at the way his hand disappears under your skirt and you feel the familiar coil in your stomach squeeze impossibly tight. You look back up at him, as he simply brings up a finger to his lips. Quiet. The message is clear.
Waves of pleasure rush through you as Xavier’s hands slow down, stroking the pulsating high out of you. You try to control your breaths as they come out ragged and shaky, Xavier’s eyes still on you, not budging.
“Great movie, isn’t it?”, he asks innocently.
Rafayel
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You were accompanying Rafayel to his friend’s birthday party. You pull up to the address in a deep blue gown and text him.
Rafayel had been running late since Thomas had forced him to attend another of his exhibitions. After none of the excuses had worked, he had ended up having to attend, and was now on his way to the party.
You: r u here yet?
Raf: omw, will reach in like 5 min.
You read the text and wait for him. The party is at a villa complete with a swimming pool, an open bar and a barbeque that you see as you gaze over the massive lawn. A few people mill about, and you can’t help but feel a slight bit intimidated. You see a car pull up and Rafayel gets out, wearing a dark navy suit. He scans the place looking for you, as you exit the car and wave to him.
Rafayel’s eyes widen a little as they fall on you as he steps forward to give you a slight hug. “There you are”, he says, “you look great.”
“Thanks”, you say, “it isn’t too much, is it?”
“You’re never too much”, he says, as you take his arm and enter the party.
The party continues into the wee hours of the night, with drunk people loitering around the pool outside and a few others in random corners of the villa. You stare at the random drink you picked off a tray as your eyes search for Rafayel. He excused himself to visit the restroom and then he had disappeared. You hang around with another hunter that you kind of knew, before deciding to go look for him yourself.
You pass the bar and the kitchen and the vast living room, smiling politely at the ones you made eye contact with. You check a few of the rooms on the first floor, and then climb the stairs to the second.
You pass a room and are about to enter the next when you see a man approaching your direction as you freeze. Blanche was another one of Rafayel’s friends, but he was the type to rattle off story after story when drunk and you really didn’t have the patience for that right now. You look around for an escape before your eyes land on a closet in the corridor. You turn around and quicky shut yourself in the cupboard, hoping it doesn’t have any strange bugs or spiders.
Your phone pings.
Raf: whereee r uuu
You silence your phone hurriedly as you type back.
You: hiding lmao
Raf: ???
You: was looking for u
Raf: where r u now?
You: in the dark brown cupboard in the corridor of the second floor…
You stare at the screen as he begins typing back, but never replies. Outside, Blanche seems to have found his next victim as you hear the faint sound of conversation. You hear a set of footsteps approaching, and you hold your breath, hoping it’s Rafayel. You didn’t want to be caught hiding in a damn cupboard, after all.
The door of the closet swings open as Rafayel stands there, his eyes a bit sleepy. He opens the door and gives you a long look, his eyes travelling up and down, before climbing in and shutting the door behind him.
“What are you doing?”, you whisper hurriedly.
“Joining you...”, he replies.
In the close proximity of the dark cupboard, you’re acutely aware of the faint scent of his perfume. You lean forward and rest your forehead on his chest. He brings his hand up to gently stroke your hair. “Tired?”, he asks.
“A bit...”
He tucks a piece behind your ear as you look up at him. You’re looking at darkness, but you can feel his hot breath against your face.
“You know…”, he starts, “you look exceptionally ravishing today…. Did I tell you that?”
“Uh, yeah…thank you…”, you reply, unsure of the sudden compliment.
“Love showing you off…”, he mumbles next to your ear.
“Is that so?”, you ask teasingly.
“Mmm...” he hums as he leans forward to capture your lips in an urgent kiss, the faint trace of alcohol lingering in the background.
You return the kiss, sensations heightened by the pitch blackness around you. His hand moves to lock around your neck as he holds you in place, licking and kissing into your mouth.
You pull back a little. He pulls back and pants heavily, his breath hitting your face in little puffs.
“Are you drunk?”
“Why? You gonna deny me a kiss if I am?”, he asks.
You take in his state, unsure of what to say. He attacks your lips again, causing you to let out a squeal of surprise. He kisses and kisses and kisses, one hand clutching at your throat, the other at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You feel the undeniable bulge in his pants rub against you, a little gasp of pleasure escaping your throat. “Rafayel…”, you start.
“Need you…”, he replies, kissing down your throat, moving his hand down your chest. “Really do…”
“We’re”, a gasp escapes your lips as his hands find your chest, massaging a nipple, “in a fucking cupboard, Raf!”
“Does it matter?”, he whispers into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.
You feel your brain stop in its tracks a little as you chase the feeling of his mouth on your neck. He moves his hand further down your waist, resting at the deep slit of the evening gown. He drags his fingers across the expanse of your thigh while pressing kisses to your collarbones. You find yourself leaning into his touch, wanting more.
He places his fingers below your thigh and brings it up to hook around his sturdy legs. You feel a wave of desire course through you at his actions, pooling between your legs. You bring a hand up to his fluffy hair.
“Please?”, he questions, leaning up, giving your collarbones a respite. You nearly shudder at the way his voice quivers a little, need and desire evident. You allow his hands to slip under your dress and toy at your panties.
A shaky breath leaves you as he slips his fingers inside, groaning at the wetness slipping out of you. “So, you like it huh?”, he asks. You can only gasp silently in response. You pull him forward and kiss at his jaw, earning a growl.
Outside, you hear a set of voices getting closer. Rafayel seems to hear them at the same time. He pauses his movements to listen. The faint sound of two people talking drifts in. He listens for a bit before moving his fingers with increased fervour. You nearly moan at the contact.
He roughly places a hand over your mouth as he speeds up his movements. You throw your head back in pleasure, hands haphazardly reaching out to touch him everywhere.
“Shh…”, he hushes you, before pressing a wet kiss against your mouth. “Do you want them to hear?”
Your hands shakily find their way to his belt, and you tug, which results in him drawing a shaky breath. “So eager…”, he muses, moving quickly to undo his belt.
You shakily reach for his cock, already leaking with desire. You can almost see it even though it is pitch black all around you. Rafayel lets out a quiet gasp as your hand touches him, eyes fluttering shut.
He presses into you, brushing his cock against your slick folds, teasing.
Outside, you hear a man call out to his friend amidst the friendly hum of chatter. You freeze. Rafayel leans forward. You can feel the energy change around him for a second as he pushes into you suddenly.
Sheer pleasure and pain envelopes you as you try to control your sounds. Before you, Rafayel stills for a moment before he starts to move, slowly. Agonizingly. Deliciously.
The steady hum of chatter hums in the air, however you can only focus on the humming of your blood in your ears, as it runs hot with desire and pleasure.
Rafayel leans down to press a kiss to your lips before thrusting in. He does it again. Kiss. Thrust. Kiss. Thrust. You can feel the pleasure radiate off of him. You nearly reach down to touch yourself before he grabs your hand and brings it up to rest of his chest. “Nuh uh”, he says, bringing his hand down to touch you. You almost feel your knees buckle at the pure wave of pleasure that shoots through you.
“Why…”, you start, but it comes out whiny, “why are you like this…”
“You…”, he gasps, “in this, it’s…been driving me crazy…all night”
You gasp as you feel the pleasure build suddenly, the risk making everything more pleasurable. You come suddenly, ripples of pleasure pulsing through you. He fixes his mouth to yours, swallowing a deep moan as he lets go himself.
You feel your knees buckle as the pleasure washes over you, but Rafayel holds you up with his strong arms, resting his head against yours as he comes down from his own high.
Outside, someone looks for him. “Where’s Rafayel?”
“Right here”, he smirks as he whispers into your ear.
You can’t help but chuckle at the situation. Drunk Rafayel certainly is something.
Zayne
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You sit beside Zayne in the cramped airplane, body feeling uncomfortable with the buzzing as you flew over various cities. You had been assigned to accompany him for a medical drive yet again, not that you were complaining.
Zayne was especially warm to you today, not bothering to hide his affection for you at all. Not only did he buy you coffee, as he always did, he also suggested watching a movie together and reached out to entwine your fingers together in the cramped space between you. You felt a gush of warmth and affection surge through you at the gesture as you leaned into him, pulling the airline provided blanket closer around you both.
You soon find yourself dozing off, resting your head on his shoulder. Zayne quirks an eyebrow as he notices your eyes closing every so often, till they finally shut as you drift off. He quietly switches off the movie and closes his own eyes, heart warming at the closeness between you two.
That is until you shift in your sleep and place your hand directly on his crotch.
Zayne’s eyes fly open at the sudden contact. He glances down at you, hoping you’d shift and move your hand away, but it doesn’t happen. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
A few moments pass, during which Zayne tries waking you up by tapping your shoulder. You shift a little, only making things worse for him. He gulps a little and decides it’s too much before grabbing your arm by the wrist.
This wakes you up and you jerk violently as you wake. “Just…”, he struggles, moving your hand to your lap, as he settles down in his own seat. You look at him, mouth open, sleep still lingering in your face. “I was dreaming of you”, you admit.
This catches his attention. “Really? What was I doing?”
Your face colors at the question. Why had you even brought it up? “You…”, you try to come up with something that’s less embarrassing than the truth.
Truth is, your mind had conjured up images of Zayne saying your name, over and over, eyes shut, face contorted, in need, but not in pain.
Beside you Zayne quirks an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you were imagining naughty things?”, he teases.
You can’t hide the effect his words have, as you turn away to look at the now black screen in front of you.
“You really did imagine naughty things, huh?”, he says, surprise evident in his voice as he refuses to break his gaze away from your flustered face.
“Stop…”, you try to protest weakly. “Tell me” There’s something in his voice, it’s definitely something and your eyes snap back to his face, holding his gaze for a moment.
You see the way his pupils dilate and his breath comes out a bit shallow as he stares at you. “You and me were…doing things”
“What kind of things?”, he asks, voice low, barely able to keep the sudden lust that’s flooding his body.
“You’re...a mouthful”, you say. Zayne opens and closes his mouth, trying to keep his calm, but failing and failing badly. He shuts his eyes and takes a shaky breath.
You take in his state and a wave of cheekiness comes over you as you shift your hand back down over his crotch. Zayne’s eyes fly open at the contact as his body jerks.
You look up to smile at him slyly. “What?”
“Don’t…”, he shudders, “don’t what me”
You continue rubbing over his pants, feeling his bulge grow. “Do you like it?” He shuts his eyes and ignores your comment, not trusting his voice at the moment. “Me…dreaming of you…like that?”
He opens his eyes only to see your eyes already on his as he opens his mouth and lets out a heavy breath. It comes out shaky and the effect you’re having in him is enough to turn you on.
You feel the wetness stick to your panties, already pooling.
You move your hands deftly to his track pants and slip your hand inside, moving your hands up and down his already leaking length. Zayne can barely hold it together. He pants quickly, before balling up his hands into fists. “N-no, no, no…stop!”, he whispers urgently.
You stop as you look up at him curiously. There’s an urgency in his movements, as he looks over his seat to survey the airplane before grabbing your wrist. You look at him curiously.
“Get up”, he says urgently and your curiosity gets the better of you as you follow him.
In a few steps of his long legs, he gets to the bathroom and shoves you in before getting inside himself and locking it behind him.
Your eyes widen impossibly as you stare at him. “Zayne…we’re gonna get caught!”
“No, we aren’t”, he says with a finality in his voice as he reaches down to lower your sweatpants and panties in one go.
You gasp as the cold air hits you suddenly, but hardly have time to think as he frees himself and grabs your leg to hoist it against the wall. He kisses you, once, desperately, before plunging into you.
A long squelch is heard followed by the sound of your gasp as you struggle with the intense sensation of being filled by him. Zayne breathes heavily in front of you, breath fanning your face.
“This is what you get…”, he says, struggling to hold himself back, “for teasing me, in an airplane, of all places”
He begins to move his hips, pistoning in and out of you as you take it, the situation making you feel hot and wet all over again. Your face contorts in pleasure as he hits that delicious spot inside you over and over again. You grab at his hair and his arms, trying to steady yourself against him.
You can feel you’ve reached your breaking point when he reaches a hand down to roll your nub between his thumb and forefinger. You arch into him, pure pleasure taking over your senses.
He looks at your face intently, your pleasure bringing him closer to the edge. “So…close, sweet-heart”, he pants, “You’re so…”
You nearly whine at his words as you feel the pleasure build inside you. “So hot like this”
“Zayne!”, you say his name as your orgasm hits you, waves of pleasure bursting forth from your core down to your muscles as they clench around him.
He comes soon after, burying his head in your shoulder, as he empties himself inside you.
A minute passes. He unwraps himself from you as he takes in your flushed face and wipes the sweat off his own eyebrow. You look away, suddenly feeling shy about the whole thing. “Don’t get all shy now”, he says, huffing a slight laugh.
Three loud knocks are heard on the door as he says it. You instantly pull up your pants and almost panic when Zayne puts an arm on your shoulder. “Get ready…”, he says, raking a hand through his messy hair. “For…?”
“Bend over”, he instructs. You look at him questioningly, before he jerks your head towards the toilet. “Too bad the plane is giving you nausea, sweetheart”, he says, patting your back before he flushes the toilet and opens the door.
Zayne meets eyes with a disgruntled passenger waiting. “I’m sorry”, you hear him speak, “she’s not doing well in there”
You can’t help but smirk at his quick thinking.
Sylus
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You and Sylus stand on the balcony, wine glasses in hand. You both have been drinking as a form of unwinding after another stressful auction. Sylus may pretend to be all cool and unbothered, but you could tell when he was focused on doing the things he did- the stress got to him too.
You take another sip of the cool liquid as a breeze blows suddenly, the cool autumn hair blowing through your hair. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Sylus’ eyes on you, but you say nothing. His eyes continue to blaze into you, all focus, no reprieve.
Below, on the street, a car honks, breaking his reverie, as his eyes dart back to the liquid in his cup. You turn to look at him, he seems a bit…open and kind of…vulnerable? ‘Maybe he’s drunk?’, you think to yourself. 
Sylus looks up from his cup to meet your eyes. He freezes for a moment, before letting out a smile. He looks happy, and unguarded and…young, you think, so much younger, when he doesn’t seem as stressed.
“What is it?”, he drawls. “Something on my face?”
“Yeah”, you chuckle to yourself. He frowns a little as he brings a hand up to his face, rubbing absent-mindedly. “Handsomeness”
His eyes widen a little before it clicks and he laughs shortly. “Well, I can’t rub it off my face then”, he says.
You watch him, wondering if you should ask him the question or no. He’d deny it, obviously. Sylus wasn’t the type to admit he was drunk. Even if he was lying face down on the couch. Mumbling. Legs hanging off the side. You chuckle a little to yourself at the memory.
"What are you laughing at, darling?", he purrs.
You shake your head. "Who said I'm laughing?"
He puts his glass to his lips and chugs the remaining liquid before placing it on the floor with a soft clink. He straightens again as he walks over to you, slowly.
You feel the hair on your arm rise as he gets closer. You turn away took look at the cars on the street below. There weren't many.
He stands right behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head in your shoulder. You nearly shiver at the sudden burst of warmth of his chest against your back.
"Are you saying my eyes are deceiving me?", he asks, voice rumbling right next to your ear.
You look at him. It was a mistake. Because he's impossibly close and you lean back in shock. "Maybe", you joke, trying to quell the heavy thumping of your heart.
Sylus just hums as he buries his nose in your neck. "Are you lying to me?", he whispers. You can't help the way your breath stutters as you bring your hand up to touch his hair.
"I wouldn't do that...", you say absentmindedly, as you realize how true it is. Something about Sylus when he's like this, so soft and... open makes you feel feelings for him.
Your fingers brush his scalp and he groans softly, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck. You hum appreciatively and his arms tighten around you further. He peppers kisses across your neck, moving to the shell of your ear and you nearly drop your glass right out of your hand when he nips at the earlobe.
"Sylus...", you whisper, voice laced with need. He hums and you feel it thrum through your body.
"What, darling?", he asks. His voice is rough. You meet his eyes and you know he's feeling it too.
You cup his face as you crash your lips with his, desire a free-flowing wave back and forth between the two of you.
Sylus kisses your wine-stained mouth with passion, tongue dancing with yours.
"So pretty...baby you're so pretty...", he pants and you feel yourself physically need him. His hands move from wrapping around your middle to ghost over your body, lower and lower.
You moan at his touch as you press back into him, needing his touch, needing him. You gasp as you feel him press into you, almost grinding himself against you.
"Look...", he gasps, pressing his face against yours, "look what you...do to me"
Your knees almost buckle at his voice. You feel your wetness soak your panties at the way he struggles against you.
"Sy..."
He gasps at the nickname, and bites down on your neck. You let out a squeak at the sharp twang of pain and it soon turns to whimpers as he drifts his hands close to where you need them, pressing in.
He stops for a second before slipping his hand under your dress, running his palms against your cold thighs.
"Touch me...", you nearly wonder how you got so bold, but all you can think of is how much you need his touch.
"Really?", he says, toying with your underwear, "but I'm already doing that..."
"Please", you gasp.
Sylus groans at the sound of your plea, his hips press into your back harder, seeking friction. He slips his fingers into your underwear and you can hear his breath stutter. "You're so...turned on...for me"
"Yes", you gasp.
"Fuck", he growls, "I need you...Now, baby. Right now." The cool air hits your face as you think of his implication. The idea of taking him like this, on the balcony, sends a sharp wave of arousal through you. It's too risky, you think, but the way he's got his fingers against your wetness, touching but not moving, makes your head spin.
"Sylus...out...out here?", you manage to ask
"Yes, baby", he replies, slightly beginning to move his fingers in little circles. He kisses your shoulder. "Please", the sound of his voice, so needy, combined with the delicious pressure of his fingers, makes you crumble. You nod.
You hear the clink of a belt as Sylus makes quick work of his pants. Before you can miss his warmth, he lifts your dress to press up against you.
His hand slightly pushes your upper back, so that you're leaning over, just a little, as he positions himself.
Shifting your panties to the side, he presses in slowly and you can barely contain your moans as he fills you up. You clutch the cold metal railing and your glass of wine, which is still, somehow in your hand.
Behind you, Sylus grips your hips as he resists the urge to go feral. He begins rocking his hips, fucking into you slowly. You clench your fingers onto the cold railing as your hot pussy clenches around him.
"So good baby...", Sylus says, kissing your neck, setting a slow rhythm. He brings a hand around you to touch you and you nearly collapse at the pleasure surrounding you.
A few moments pass: Sylus is fucking into you slowly, rubbing your nub in slow, languid strokes. You feel the coil of pleasure in your stomach compress and curl till it almost hurts.
"Pl-please", you shudder and beg, "more"
"Too much?", he asks, his voice slightly concerned.
"Need to..."
He hums as he understands, pressing his chest against you as he speeds up his movements. You watch the red wine splash against the glass violently, a few drops escaping and disappearing down into the air as he fucks into you.
His fingertips hurry along your slick folds, and you feel yourself letting go. "That's right", he stutters, "come for me"
You feel the coil explode as your muscles clench repeatedly. Sylus fucks you through it, chasing his own pleasure before he stills, violently shuddering as he cums.
He buries his head in your neck as he catches his breath. The moment suddenly hits you as you watch the figure of a passerby on the street below.
"Sylus...", you speak, "what if...someone saw us?"
"Then I'll scoop their eyeballs out and you can have them", he replies.
You chuckle at his response.
This is the first time i've written smut, tell me how it was
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