#idk how long drabbles are actually supposed to be

[sydneyadamusscarf]

NEW FIC!

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Touch of Madness

Logan Howlett X girlfriend!reader

Summary: Logan comes to you after being away, and all he wants is your touch, and he knows just how to get on your good side. This is just porn without plot.

Takes place in the same universe as Too Sweet but can be read as standalone

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), fingering, couch sex, soft rough sex, Logan talks you through it, the claws make an appearance (I have a thing for his claws okay), Logan is obsessed with his girl, fluffy relationship, established relationship

WC: 3.9k

A/N: how did I make this longer than too sweet when it was supposed to be a Drabble. Hello idk how to write short shit. But like hello yall are so awesome? I appreciate all the love yall have given my first Logan fic. I also have an older Logan fic in the works but that one has plot so it’ll be a minute before its out. For now here this <3

He couldn’t take it anymore. You were driving him mad. It’s not like he deserved your anger. Not fully anyway. It wasn’t his fault he was gone this long. He had been thinking about you all week, about your soft lips, about the warmth of your thighs, about your sweet moans only for his ears to hear. And all he wanted was to pull you into his arms and take you, over and over, until you begged him to stop. 

But no. 

You were being childish. That’s what he called it anyway. 

“Sweet girl,” he called after you, like a puppy following close behind you as you strided around your apartment. He knew you were doing it on purpose, the excuse of having to do chores so you could elongate his torture. The way you so innocently looked back at him made him clench his jaw. “C’mon.” 

“Don’t sweet girl me, Logan. I told you, I’m busy.” You sassed him, huffing as you kept walking, finding the most insignificant of chores to waste your time with. He rolled his eyes at you, eyebrows furrowed into this perpetual gaze of annoyance. 

The truth was, you were aching for him, your thighs warm and your skin tingling solely at the thought of him taking you to do as he pleased. But, if there was something in this world you could be, it was petty. And if you had to suffer a whole week without him, he could suffer for an hour, even if it was also at your expense. Truly, you almost enjoyed the annoyance in his face, the sharpness in his voice, him damn near groaning behind you every time you evaded him under the excuse of needing to get some dumb chore done. 

“You’re killin’ me here, sugar.” He actually groaned this time, his jaw set. You stopped in your tracks and turned your head to look at him, shooting him a pointed look. “I said I was sorry.”

“Serves you right. And I don’t care if you’re sorry. You haven’t called me in a week.” Your words were sharp with bitterness and it dawned on him. That was why you were upset. A slight bit of humor tugged at the corner of his lips and he breathed out a laugh. You stared at him with blank eyes, you weren’t laughing. 

“C’mon, is that seriously why you’re upset? You know I was out of the state.” He tried to reason with you. Charles had entrusted him and Storm with finding a certain mutant that was causing havoc, three states over. And Logan had very much underestimated how long this would take them. So here he was, after a whole week away, damn near begging you to let him touch you. “It wasn’t like I wanted to go anyway.”

No, he would much rather be with his sweet girl, one that was being particularly difficult and making him suffer when all he wanted to do was hold you, to feel the warmth of your soft skin. 

He stepped into your personal space, his intoxicating scent almost making you give in. You counted to five in your head, eyes closed to remind yourself that you were, indeed, angry at him. 

“So? You got a phone, don’t you? You could’ve called me.” You huffed, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a small pout, Logan had to hold back the urge to laugh at you. “You can’t disappear for a week and expect to come here and do as you please.” 

You shot him a sharp glare, he just stared at you, eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden shot of confidence. His sweet girl was talking back to him? Giving him attitude? He tilted his head at you, almost as if to dare you to walk away from him.  

There was a bit of malice in your eyes as you gave him one last look before you walked away, thinking of what other useless chore you could add to continue his torture. But Logan had other thoughts in his head. If you weren’t going to behave, he would happily put you in your place. 

“Hey, c’mere or I’m gonna bring you here myself.” He called after you, the strings of his sanity hanging on by a thread, just waiting for you to tug at the last strand. He knew you too well. You turned your head, eyes big in feign innocence and you tilted your head at him in defiance. 

“Make me then.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. In hindsight you should have known better, but you also wanted to see just what could happen if you pushed him hard enough. You saw the way his eyes flashed with malice, he stared you down, and in that moment you remembered just how small you were compared to him. “Oh fuck.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest as adrenaline rushed through you, but it wasn’t like you could go outrun him, especially not in your tiny apartment. He caught you, though he did purposely chase you into your living room, simply because he wanted to get you going, pumped with adrenaline. You squealed as he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you against his chest. His sharp canines nipped at that one spot on your neck that had you whimpering. 

“You goin’ somewhere, sugar?” He husked, his lips hot on your cheek. You couldn’t help but sigh in contentment, eyes closed. God, you missed him. 

“Mhm, still mad at you.” You mumbled, barely hanging on to your silly grudge. A chuckle rumbled in Logan’s chest. 

“That’s alright. I don’t need you to be happy with me to do what I want to do.” He inhaled, breathing your sweet scent, and he spoke as he threw you over his shoulder. “Just need you to look pretty while I do it.” 

You weren’t complaining about your position, you were in fact, bursting into giggles as he effortlessly carried you to the couch, though your giggles turned into another squeal when he smacked his hand flat against your ass. Logan had a grin on his lips as he tossed you on the couch, wasting no time in spreading your legs apart to settle between them.

He leaned down, gripping the armrest above your head, caging you in as he leaned down. He brushed his nose against yours, sighing softly.

“Don’t be such a brat. Kiss me.” The words rumbled in his chest with a groan, his primal needs overcoming his senses. He didn’t have to tell you twice. You laced your fingers in his hair, pulling into a hard and heated kiss.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as he shrugged off his flannel, tossing it somewhere on the floor, his belt soon following the same fate. You tried to sit up against the armrest, but you quickly realized Logan had other plans deep in his perverted mind. With a hold of your ankle he dragged you down on the couch, your back flat on the surface as you looked up at him with big eyes.

“Stay just like that, pretty.” He spoke, pressing another heated kiss to your mouth before tugging off your sweatpants, followed by your panties. He tossed them somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere you would have to run around searching for later. But you couldn’t give a fuck about that. All you could focus on was the heat forming between your legs as Logan settled between them.

His eyes met with yours one last time before he was diving in between your warm thighs. His tongue licked long stripes from your hole up to your clit, circling around the sensitive nerve before going back down. Over and over until your soft gasps and sighs of pleasure turned into moans. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open to do as he pleased. One leg hung over the back of the couch and the other was thrown over his shoulder, and he effortlessly held you down as he shoved his tongue into your cunt. He was like an animal, insatiable as he took you on his tongue.

“Oh fuck. Shit—Logan—” Your eyes rolled back, lips parted as you whined. You gripped the back of the couch, soft twitches taking over you each time his nose brushed your clit.

It was no secret that Logan found pleasure in giving you yours, and he ate you like it. Grunts and hums rumbled in his chest as his tongue found your clit again, and he reveled in the particularly high pitched cry you let out when he slipped two fingers into your wet core. 

“Needed to taste you so fuckin’ bad. I thought about it all week.” He spat into your clit, groaning at the way your tight walls squeezed his fingers. He could only imagine what you would do when it was his cock stretching your walls. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted, fingers lacing in his hair as he lapped at your clit. You wished you could hold your pleasure, rivet in it for just a little bit longer, but the way he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot, the way his tongue was so relentless on your swollen clit, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my—”

Your words never left your throat, chest pounding with sheer adrenaline as your release coated his face and fingers. It was sudden, it left you breathless as your thighs twitched with aftershock. Your eyes were wide and glossy in shock as you shuddered with the remnants of your orgasm. It wasn’t until you pathetically attempted to drag yourself away that Logan stopped. You were shaking, gasping softly when he pulled his fingers from you, but you all but cried when he licked at your wet pussy, getting a taste of you.

“Logan, please I can’t—” Your voice was shaky as you tried to move away from his face, he chuckled at you, pressing his face against your inner thigh before he crawled up to your face.

“‘Is okay. You did good.” He kissed your lips, his large hands holding your face as he let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned, clenching around nothing already in anticipation of him filling you. “You wanna stop?”

“No, no, no! Need you, please!” You were quick to protest, wrapping your legs around his waist to prevent him from going anywhere. You couldn’t really stop him from doing anything, but he found it endearing that you tried. He bumped his nose against yours, lips pulled up into a tiny smile.

“Need me where, hm?” He opened his eyes to look at you, and truly how he didn’t bend you over the nearest flat surface the second he saw you was beyond his comprehension. You looked so perfect like this, underneath him, clinging to him. His sweet girl. He didn’t know what it was about you, but from the moment he met you he was done for. You drove him absolutely mad and now he just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Inside me, Logan. Please.” You sighed out, face flushed with embarrassment. He smoothed out the frown lines on your forehead with a tiny kiss. A sweet gesture in comparison to what he was about to do to you.

In one swift motion he had you bent over the armrest, with your ass to him and your chest flat against the armrest. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip as you glanced over your shoulder to watch as he pulled off his white tank top. Your glazed eyes fawned over each perfect muscle in his body, taking particular interest in the veins that popped in his arm when he flexed them as he ridded himself of his jeans. How you ended up with a man so incredibly hot, you had no idea, but you were thanking the Gods for that.

“I need to be inside you, too.” He rasped into your ear, groaning in ecstasy as he sank himself into your needy cunt. Your jaw fell open he filled you, inch by inch. He pulled your t-shirt over your head, instantly attaching his lips to your shoulder as he rutted his hips against your ass. 

His pace was grueling from the start, grip tight on your hips, sure to leave bruises in the morning. A little reminder of his intoxicating presence. You braced yourself on the armrest, sounds of pleasure leaving your lips almost instantly. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, the thick hairs on his chest leaving a tingling sensation across your back as he held you flush against his chest. Heavy breaths filled your ears as you so desperately reached to touch him, any of him. Your trembling fingers found the sound of his face and he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“This what you needed, hm? Maybe I should fuck sweet pussy more often? Give it more attention?” He grunted the words in your ears, lips pressed against your cheek as a sheen layer of sweat began to coat your soft skin. You whimpered and nodded weakly, your cunt clenching him with excitement. He smirked softly, his hand coming up to lace through your hair. “Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl?”

Logan held your face down as his hips drilled into you, each delicious drag of his cock bringing you closer and closer to your sweet release. God, you needed it. All you could do was moan in response.

“Y-yes! God, yes. Please Logan.” You whined out shamelessly, eyes rolled back into your head. Logan hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pressed his lips to your temple, the gentle gesture ironic considering just what he was doing to you. He said nothing as he sneaked his free hand to the front of your body, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles on your sensitive clit. Your jaw fell open, your hand flying to grip his wrist. Your thighs clenched around his hand, whining as his cock  brushed that one spot that had you seeing white. “Logan—”

Your voice was a warning, but he welcomed it. He flicked his wrist without mercy as he rolled his hips, his words only encouraging you to fall apart for him.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You can do that, can’t you? I know you want to.” He let go of your hair to turn your head to meet his eager lips. He happily swallowed the pathetic sounds that left your mouth as he flicked at your clit, his cock hitting so impossibly deep you were left trembling as your release seeped around him. 

Logan held you down on his cock, his thumb playing with your clit until you were gasping and your nails dug into the skin of his wrist. He kissed along your jaw as his hips stilled for just a second, your body still shaking underneath him.

“You okay?” He asked softly, grabbing your face to look at him. You looked at him with hooded eyes and nodded weakly, barely lifting yourself off the couch.

“Yeah. ‘m okay.” 

Logan tilted his head at you, an eyebrow raised with amusement as he leaned down to leave a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Perfect.”

He grabbed your hips, pulling out his cock to manhandle you onto your back before he was sinking himself into you again. Your slick walls welcomed him perfectly, like this was the only place he belonged, but he wasn’t complaining. If he could die, he would die happily buried deep in your cunt.

“Oh, God, Logan.” You gasped, thighs twitching as you looked down to find where his thick cock is filling you, splitting you open over and over. Your jaw fell open as you watched him grab one of your ankles and he held it up by his shoulder, spreading you open for him to dig himself deeper and deeper within you tight walls. 

“Look at me, baby.” He groaned, chest heavy as a thin layer of sweat covered his muscled body. You did your best to comply, you looked up, eyes blurry with tears of pleasure as he damn near folded your body in half. Your knees were pressed against your chest as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “Yes, there she is. My pretty girl. I missed you.” 

You couldn’t help but moan at his words, and also at the sting of his cock rapidly bringing you to your third release. The way he brought your legs to his shoulders, he sunk himself so deep within your walls you swore you felt him in your stomach. It felt so good you wanted to cry.

“Missed you too, Logan.” You brought your lips up to his, eyebrows furrowed into an expression of pure arousal as you gripped his hair, clinging to him for dear life.

Your release was quick and sudden, hitting you without a warning the second Logan pressed his thumb to your swollen clit. You were just so sensitive, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed. You clutched on to his large bicep as you spilled around his cock. The way your tight walls squeeze him made him groan, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on chasing his own release while fucking you through your own.

“Look at you, you’re just so good for me. Fuck it, I’ll just take you with me next time.” Groans fell freely from his soft lips as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one hand, and the other held the armrest above your head. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours as your sweet praises and chants of his name filled his ears. 

The sound that rumbled in Logan’s chest was animalistic, a deep growl as he coated your insides with his hot release. The metallic sound of sharp claws filled your ears once more as his claws unsheathed themselves from his knuckles, one on the back of the couch and the other just above your head, again. You gasped his name with a soft laugh, though you would be lying if you said it didn’t drive you feral when his claws accidentally came out. You brought a hand to his face as he pulled his claws out of your couch, the sharp metal once again hiding themselves within his knuckles with a sound. He held himself up on his forearm as his head fell to your neck.

“I’ll pay for it.” He muttered a chuckle into your neck, leaving a soft kiss to your jaw. You laughed, draping a hand over your forehead, breathing in deeply as you felt your mixed releases seep around his cock and drip onto the couch. He should just buy you a new couch, he thought.

“Wanna buy me a new body while you’re at it?” You teased him, already sensing you would have bruises and your thighs would ache for days.

“Did I hurt you?” Concern filled his voice as he lifted his head to scan your face for any discomfort as his hand came up to graze the thigh draped over his waist. You scrunched up your nose at him and shook your head.

“Of course not hun. Don’t be silly.” You traced your fingers over his face and gave him a lopsided smile.

“I did miss you, for the record.” 

You pressed a kiss to his lips. “I missed you too Logan.”

“Lemme clean you up sugar.” He sneaked a kiss to your cheek as he untangled himself from you, much to your protest.

You whined at the emptiness he left you as he stood up. Though you did quite enjoy the sight of his perfect ass he walked off to find something to clean his mess with. When he came back, he had a small towel and he cleaned you without protest, he left warm kisses on your face as you talked to him about your day. He ultimately tossed the towel aside and slipped on his boxers, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his still hard cock, but you needed a break. You didn’t let him leave though, reaching to grab his wrist with soft eyes

“Wanna watch a movie? I miss watching movies with you.” You mumbled, voice soft as you looked at him with pleading eyes. He laughed softly at you, you made it sound like you hadn’t seen him in a month.

But, how could he ever say no to his sweet girl?

“Mhm, put on somethin’ .” He gently moved you so that he was lying behind you on the couch, his big arms wrapped around you as he held you against his chest. Though you were still completely naked, you paid no mind to it. It actually felt kinda nice to be so close to him and feel the warmth of his body in such an intimate way.

He covered you both with the throw blanket you always kept over the couch for days exactly like this, for those days you wanted to feel warm and close with him on the couch. He ignored the three holes where stuffing was coming out of the ripped fabric as he pulled the soft blanket up to your chest and as you happily settled in his arms, clicking away at the TV. He would buy you a new couch, just as he bought you new pillows, and new blankets. And anything you asked him to, really.

Logan wasn’t used to domestic, the soft touches, cuddling, but he liked doing it with you. He craved it actually, probably just as much as he craved the sex.

“Next time you’re away that long, just give me a call? Please? So that I’m not worried sick thinking you died.” You finally said, the whole reason for such intense feelings merely an hour ago finally surfacing. He laughed softly at how ridiculous you sounded. He technically can’t die, he thought.

“I wouldn’t.. I can’t…Y’know what? You’re right. I’m still getting used to this whole having a girl thing. But I'll do better, yeah? Don’t need you to be mad, sugar.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, settling his face on your neck as he attempted to pay attention to whatever horror movie you decided to watch today. “But if you’re gonna let me fuck you like that when you’re mad, get mad more often.” 

“Logan.” You scolded him, nudging his ribs softly as a warm blush coated your cheeks, knowing you wouldn’t hurt him, but it still made him chuckle. 

He had to admit, he lasted way longer than he did last time. He lasted almost halfway through the movie before the feeling of his cock sitting hot and heavy in his boxers became apparent to him again. He inhaled your scent softly, his lips ghosting over your neck as he rolled his hips softly against your ass. And while you did try to protest, whining that you wanted to get through one movie with him, the sting of his cock was better than any movie in this world. The credits rolled, the soundtrack now drowned out by the sound of your sweet moans. Logan would be damned if he let you leave the warmth of his body for even just one second tonight. Or maybe ever. 

[cursingtoji]

ᥫ᭡ 𝐬𝐨... 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰?

— where satoru comforts you after breaking up with toji

gojo being lowkey yandere, fem reader, toji is the ex, mentions of baby trapping, reader is older, gojo calls her senpai (almost as a mock), classroom smut, fingering, gojo has to wear a condom and he hates it, he’s also a bit pathetic and in love, reader is a bit of bitch. 4k (this was supposed to be drabble idk what happened)

“i know what you’re thinking” gojo’s voice breaks the silence in the classroom where you were supposed to be grading papers but instead has been looking through the window for god knows how long now.

the sudden appearing happens after gojo catches your lost gaze on the field some of his students were training at. he saw your profile looking down at your desk, then after a few minutes you looked through the window until your eyes set on gojo’s protégée and the son of the man that broke your heart.

“but if you keep doing that megumi will get creeped out by you” gojo simply manifested in your classroom as soon as he realized you would stay in trance not even noticing your fellow teacher staring back at you from below.

“whatever, he never liked me anyways” you brush off, then remember what he said before, “and what the hell makes you think you know what i’m thinking?”

“ah, you forgot? i have an eye or six for this sorta thing” he points to his blindfold.

“you saying you can read minds now, you freak?” your relationship with satoru always had that dynamic. toji usually got very annoyed whenever he was in the same room as the two of you, he tried to pull you away or make an excuse for you two to go back to his place. deep down you knew he felt some type of way whenever you and satoru banter like that.

“please you’re so transparent i wonder how megumi haven’t seen it yet, i'm concerned that he might need glasses…”

“just say what you wanna say, satoru.”

gojo, on the other hand, didn’t need an instinct to see how jealous and possessive toji could be when he was around. all that gojo needed to say was one word to trigger the old man.

“every time you see megumi you think about him, don’t you?” he takes a step in your direction while you sink in your chair looking away, “senpai.”

gojo never showed respect for anyone, he was scolded several times by yaga because of it, utahime tried to hit him whenever she could, demanding formal treatment since she was his upperclassmen. but you, for whatever reason he decided, was the only one he used that honorific with.

“he’s his kid, of course i’ll—“

“ever since i heard about your breakup you’ve been acting like everything is fine, except for when you see megumi, then you frown,” gojo extends his index and taps the space between your eyebrows “and your cursed energy increases” he then sits on your desk looking down at you, “don’t tell me megumi had anything to do with why toji—“

“of course not” you stop him, although megumi was never fond of you, you know he’s a good kid and wouldn’t try to get in the way of your relationship with his father. as far as you know, he’s not particularly close to his old man either. actually, anything related to toji — bets, races, you — is automatically disregarded by him.

“then you gotta stop looking at him like he did something, or before you realize your energy towards him will become hostile and i can’t let that happen” gojo’s tone became more severe, it’s one of those rare times where he drops the playful persona in order to get serious. truthfully, megumi did nothing, but you can't unsee toji when you look at him, especially after seeing what your ex-boyfriend used to look like in the old days when he showed you some photos. it never occurred to you before, since you barely saw megumi anyways, you're not his sensei and in your free time you were with toji so there wasn't much time to get to know megumi since they don’t live together since the boy was five. you suppose gojo is right, pushing your hurt feelings away only makes them come out stronger when you see anything that reminds you of toji.

“that’s not gonna happen, i have my energy under control” you cross your arms, feeling exposed under gojo’s gaze even through the mask.

he stays quiet for a second, then his annoying tone is back.

“what did you even see in him anyways? he’s definitely not a good guy.”

“that’s rude, toji is—“

“did you think you could change him or something?”

“i— no, why—“

“from what megumi said he was cheap as fuck so it was definitely not the money” he rubs his chin.

“gojo, i swear—“

“was it the sex?”

you widen your eyes and close your mouth, not having a simple answer for that.

“jackpot” satoru whispers.

“fuck off, satoru” you raise from your seat but he raises too, blocking your way and trapping you against the black board and his body.

“you stayed with that guy for years just for the sex?” he has a mocking tone that makes your blood boil.

“no! and that’s none of your goddamn business.”

“and you’ve broken up, what? two months ago? you’ve been all this time without sex?” you raise your hand ready to slap his face or punch his nose but he sees your movements faster and catches your wrist, “don’t be like that senpai, your energy is getting hostile again” he takes all the time in the world lowering his blindfold and letting his hair fall down while staring at you with those freaking blue eyes, “although, on second thought i think that might be mmm… sexual frustration? it’s a color i never seen in you before” he grabs your wrist firmly.

“you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“oh but i do, senpai. i’m just wondering how you haven’t downloaded a dating app or tried to rub one off yet” gojo knows exactly which buttons to press to make you wanna stab him, or worst, make you wanna fuck him.

gojo gets closer to your face, so close you can smell his aftershave, and just the realization that it’s a different scent from the one you were so used to makes your heart ache and your clit throb.

“or did you?” he’s fast, gojo catches your phone on top of the table putting it right in front of your face to unlock then moving away from you to check it, “definitely no dating apps” you yell his name and try to snatch your phone back but he puts infinity on and you can’t reach him, “browser history?”

“satoru, you have no right, gimme that” your face is hot with shame.

“nothing either, well i suppose your camera roll…”

“no!”

“aha” he deactivates the invisible shield and right when you think you can retrieve your phone he turns you around, holding your arms behind your back and pressing your back against his chest, “is that what you use to get off?” he puts the phone in front of you, it’s opened in the gallery, more specifically in a part filled with lewd videos and photos.

“not bad, you could make some cash outta this” gojo puts his chin on your shoulder, playing a video which clearly was filmed by toji, his dick is getting in and out of you from behind, he gets a close look with the phone, his glistening dick shining under the flashlight while your pussy stretches to accommodate him. you press your legs together remembering the feeling, you’re not even struggling to get out of gojo’s hold by the time the video ends.

“you don’t need to get off by yourself, you know?” he smells your hair and kisses your ear, “it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“that was forever ago” you reply, at the time you thought satoru was going to use that against you, just wait for an opportunity to drop that bomb on toji’s lap and proudly say he fucked his girlfriend before, but whatever image you had of him back then was proved wrong since no one knows about your little escape with gojo till this very day.

“and wasn’t it good? huh?” he presses, sucking the spot on your neck that has you throwing your head back.

“yeah, it was” you confess, too sensible from the light touches to rethink your answers.

“see? i can make you feel good so you don’t become a little monster” he trails his hand on your thigh, pushing your skirt up until he finds your underwear, playing with the hem to tease you then pressing a finger on your clit.

“so charitable of you” you mumble sarcastically.

“i would gladly do this favor to you” he replies in the same tone, “even though you still own me.”

“for what?!” you close your legs around his hand turning your head around to look him in the face, not even considering a world where satoru did you any favors.

“for raising your boyfriend’s son? you really think you would’ve had a sex life with an eight year old summoning pets around the house?” he raises an eyebrow.

“don’t pretend like you did that out of the goodness in your heart, if megumi didn’t have the ten shadows you wouldn’t have bat an eye if toji sold him to the zenin’s or whomever.”

“you sound just like him” gojo’s eyes get darker, now he has your clit slowly rolling between his thumb and index over your underwear.

“besides— hng i came in the picture years after you took megumi… so don’t blame me” you wiggle your ass on his crotch.

“a ‘thank you my favourite kohai’ wouldn’t hurt” you sincerely laugh at that, never thinking of satoru as your underclassmen since that fucking minx is everyone’s exception on their cursed technique due to how powerful he is, so him being below you somehow was never a posibility, at least not strength wide.

satoru pushes your underwear to the side, rubbing the wetness all over your pussy and teasing your entrance.

“five years” you murmur as he inserts a finger then pulls it back to join his middle one too and go back in.

“hm?” satoru gets quieter, after talking so much and having so many things to say you’re surprised he stayed silent for a whole minute.

“last time you fucked me, it was five years ago” you get comfortable on his hold, his leg is between yours, serving as support for you to lean on while he scissors you.

“that long huh…” he sounds… sad? no, maybe nostalgic.

“crazy, right? so much has—“ you sigh when he curls his fingers, “changed.”

satoru take a long sniff of your hair, keeping a pleasing rhythm with his hand, it feels like giving someone a massage. he could go crazy and have you stripped out of your uniform a while ago, fucked you on your desk and left after marking your body and giving your ass a mean slap.

he could still do that, but whatever feeling bloomed in his chest has him enjoying this moment with you in his hold, stroking your insides and smelling your shampoo while discreetly rocking his hips on your behind for some relief.

he almost feels sleepy, the relaxed state has his mind going other places. he thinks of a world where he can tease you under your uniform every other day, you would tell him the school is no such a place for that then the day ends and you go home with him, holding hands, and finally when you arrive home he gets to finish what he started. then, he cooks whatever quick meal he can find the ingredients for since he knows you don't like to cook, afterwards you fall asleep on his lap on the couch as he strokes your hair, your belly is full, your heart is warm, you feel loved and he feels—

“toru~” he comes out of the trance he fell at when you call for him, he thinks for a second you were calling his name cause you felt he was off, but in reality you were calling him cause you are getting close, “right there” your breathy moans makes gojo smile and kiss your temple.

“where? here?” he pretends to not know, when the truth is he never actually forgot after your first time together, “right here, senpai?”

“y-yeah” you throw your head back, shutting your eyes to give in to the orgasm. gojo looks down at your pretty face, he feels the urge to kiss you right now, but he wants you to ask for it first. your walls clench around his fingers, he strokes that spot sweetly, like he's caressing a pet.

which is an ironic comparison since he’s the one that would gladly accept being your pet.

when you open your eyes gojo is staring at you silently through half lid eyes, it is truly a shame that he keeps those hidden for so long.

“desk, now” you demand needly.

“yes ma'am” gojo picks you up easily, moving the papers on top of the table to the floor.

you immediately go for his belt, choosing not to comment on the wet spot on his pants.

you feel a pressure on your chin as he guides your head up to look at him.

“ask me” he pleads.

“for what?”

“for a kiss” you smile, looking at his lips and how inviting they look. you ponder if you should tease him for it, since he's been teasing you with words a lot today, but then you chose to comply, despite going through your phone without our permission and claiming your frustration comes from lack of dick, he's actually being good to you.

“gimme a kiss” you raise your chin higher, he gazes at your lips and eyes, looking for something other than lust, yet he gives in, sealing your lips with his trying to keep his mind away from thinking of the man that had your lips previous to him. and how dumb that motherfucker is to let you go.

gojo's lips are soft, he starts gently which feels foreign to you, but it doesn't take long before his hand presses your lower back, pulling you closer until his cock hits your clothed cunt. the warmth he feels is enough to relish the passion in him, he kisses you harder, tongue intruding your mouth like he's trying to devour you.

the wet kiss also awakens your urge for him, you pull his cock from his underwear in the tiny space between his and your crotch, the second it's out it's already against your folds, the leaking tip hot against your skin.

“nuh-uh you better have a rubber” you push your knee onto gojo’s pelvis when he starts to rub himself on you to spread your wetness on his shaft.

“did you make toji wear one too?” he raises a questionable eyebrow at you, willing to bet all his heritage on the answer.

“he had to earn that privilege” you reach for gojo’s wallet, not failing to notice the black cards and considerable amount of cash, “i don’t know what you do after 6 so…” you take the packs, ripping it open yourself and rolling on him. with a face and body like his you doubt gojo spends most nights by himself.

“unbelievable…”

“satoru” you warn stroking him slowly, “can i get another kiss?” you bat your lashes. gojo comes closer, his nose even touches yours, then you feel his hands on your waist, turning you around till your elbows and chest are against the table and your skirt is being flipped over, underwear pushed down.

“you have to earn it, senpai” he spits the words against your ear as he pushes his dick into you. until a few moments ago, satoru was composed, happy to accept whatever crumbles you chose to give him. you managed to trigger him by saying toji still had something he couldn't have.

he's still gonna go through this — that's how whipped he is for you — though now he’ll be less gentle.

his cockhead hits your spot, nothing accidental of course, satoru knows your spots like the back of his hand. you whine and arch your back, satoru pouts realizing he won't get to suck some hickeys on the skin of your back and shoulder, not now at least, but the night is young.

“c'mon satoru, don't be like that” you look over your shoulder, licking your lips at the sight of him sweaty, flushed and frowny.

the sound of his name in your voice makes him want to cum on the spot, he dips his head on your neck sighing, not stopping thrusting your behind. he wanted to feel you so badly, why the fuck did you make him wear a condom? he's clean, of course he is, he's gojo satoru for heaven's sake! even viruses are afraid of him.

or was it something else you feared?

“hey… you on the pill?” he lifts his head slightly, his voice still muffled by the material of your dress.

“you’re not fucking me raw, satoru.”

“just wondering… you said you didnt wear a condom with him, so what kept you from getting knocked up?” he wiggles his hand between you and the surface of your table till hes palming your belly.

“you keep bringing toji up a lot, obsessed much?” you tease him, avoiding the answer, gojo pinches your clit.

“please, he wishes. now tell me. iud? implant? injections?” you push him away turning around then pulling him back.

“okay, you clearly had sex ed classes, now shut up and fuck me right” gojo takes your leg and places on his shoulder, you bite your fist to contain your moan, the new position makes easier for him to nudge your clit with his pelvis.

“i could be fucking you better, you know how?” he bites the skin of your leg, not harshly but enough to make you yelp, he smiles, giving a particular hard thrust that makes your eyes roll.

“condom stay on, satoru, i can’t risk getting preg—“ you slap your mouth. satoru stops.

“you’re not… on anything?”

“listen you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?” you cover your face, “i had a pregnancy scare a few years ago so… gosh why am i even telling you this…”

“go on” gojo massages your thigh.

“toji got a vasectomy. birth control wasn’t working for me anymore and it was only a matter of time before— well it doesn't matter. you can see why you have to use it right?” you place your elbows on the table, sitting up enough to see the look on his face, it’s not what your expected to see.

satoru looks like a child that just found out where his parents keep all the sweets. he’s grinning, dick throbbing.

“yeah, i see now” he bends, holding your neck and kissing you, he makes the kiss feel like a ‘thank you for trusting me’ but if this was a cartoon his shadow would have horns and a pointy tail.

all he can think now is exactly how to make you his, he can sweet talk you into allowing him to hit it raw, promising to pull it out, then… whoopsie.

the new discovery gives him a different kind of stamina.

“don’t worry, your secret is safe with me” he kisses your cheek after leaving you breathless.

he plunges in and out, a rhythm that has you seeing stars. gojo craves you so much, he’s quite bothered by all the clothes and the need to keep it down, otherwise he would have torn your dress apart and have you screaming by now.

“fuck— keep doing that” you run your nails on his undercut, gojo mewls and take your other leg, pushing it further to go deeper. he sees the white ring around his cock, getting high on the sigh of it combined with your pussy illuminated by the natural light coming from the window behind him.

he wonders if toji ever fucked you in a classroom like this, then he shakes his head, not allowing the image to form in his mind, instead he focus on you, and how your pretty face contorts as your orgasm approaches once again.

“so fucking pretty” he whispers quietly.

you attempt to lower your legs. feeling it’s gonna be too much.

“nuh-uh keep them here” he pushes back, “so tight” he closes his eyes.

you’re a moaning mess at this point, almost forgetting where you are.

“that’s right, let it go baby” your legs shake as your orgasm hits you, satoru can see the shape of your cursed energy peaking then getting softer.

he fucks you a little more, trying not to think about the condom trapping his dream of knocking you up.

god, you would look so fucking gorgeous carrying his baby, all round up for him to showcase around. he would do anything for you, you wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

if only…

“fuck“ he fucks his load — into the condom unfortunately.

after the initial high goes away he starts to hear his students asking where he went and why he’s taking so long, “wait here, i’ll take you home.”

“you don’t have to” you smile, poking his cheek.

“oh i do, i’m not done with you” he takes your hand from his nape and gives it a kiss before pulling out and throwing that despicable rubber into the bin, making a mental note to empty that bin outside where the evidence of what happened between two teachers is not so easily discoverable.

you sit up adjusting your dress and looking around, “did you see my…”

“nope” gojo leaves the classroom pushing the material of your panties further into his pocket.

gojo had the weekend of his dreams, he convinced you to stay in his place that night and the next one too, he rubbed your sore legs after you came so much you were spasming then made you breakfast, it almost made him believe of a happy ending for the two of you.

a dream that was shattered when, a few days later you returned from a mission and stood by the entrance of the school kissing… toji.

gojo watches the scene from above, a frown on his face.

“yeah i was surprised too” he almost forgot that megumi was with him, “thought she finally created some sense” he confesses.

gojo doesn’t say anything, he watches silently as you tiptoe to kiss toji, the fucker doesn’t even hold you right, he keeps his hand in his pockets and lets you with all the effort.

“meet you in the classroom in five” gojo disappears from megumi’s sight.

on your way to report your mission to yaga you see satoru leaning against a tree. you say his name in a surprised manner, not having prepared what to tell him beforehand.

“listen, i— hm… i thought you should know that toji and i are back, so—”

“did you tell him?” his arms are crossed.

“about… us? of course not.”

“why? don’t you think he should know?” you hear the challenge in his tone.

“no, and you’re not gonna say a word to him either” you step closer to him, trying to look intimidating which can be difficult due to the height difference, “may i remind you that between the three of us there’s a teen boy who would not appreciate the drama.”

“look at you, using fushiguro as an scapegoat” he smiles at the look of anger forming on your features, “it’s fine, i’m just a bit surprised at how quick you were to go back to him, that’s all.”

“let’s be real, satoru. it’s not like you were going to take me on a date or anything” gojo pulls you by your wrist, your body hits his, the sudden proximity has your eyes widening, anyone could see you and take the wrong conclusion. i mean, it wouldn’t be wrong but you didn’t want any conclusions to be taken for that matter.

“this is not going to be the last time and i don’t give a damn if you’re dating him or married or widowed.”

“satoru!” you shout his name in a whisper, immediately rejecting the idea of becoming a widow.

“you can tell toji or not, i don’t mind fighting him” he pushes himself out of the tree and past you. megumi is grown now, of course he still needs a lot of coaching regarding his skills, but emotionally speaking, he’s been a grown up since he was six.

before going to his classroom as promised, he teleports himself to yours, picking up the bouquet he left at your desk then teleporting to the fountain across the campus where he rips the paper that holds the flowers together and lets it all fall into the water.

satoru watches it for a moment, hurt but still decided to go through with his plan.

he wonders what would you tell toji if you got pregnant, maybe you could convince him the child is his, a miracle. then when the kid comes out with white hair and blue eyes you’ll have no choice other than be with him, the father of your child, the man who truly loves you. gojo satoru.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

hiii i love ur fics idk if ur requests are on rn but can u do a short drabble of the tiktok trend where the guy hasn't ask his gf to be his valentines day so she "put him on sale" as a joke ofc but she's like

BF FOR SALE ($3.50)

- amazing cook

-crusty feet

- will buy anything u want

any character is fine but i would love katsuki or shoto!!

LMFAOOOO this is for sure the funniest ask ive gotten yet😭😭😭 this is so cute !! and very long overdue I apologize writer block devil was rlly kickin my ass😞 valentines been over but yk i had to write this ! i was rlly hesitating between writing for shoto or katsuki and then i realized i could write for BOTH OF THEM!! and so i did ! i tried honoring your request as best i could, hope you like it <3 !

no pronouns mentioned, pure tooth rotting nasty fluff, use of petnames (my love for shoto and sweets, babe and idiot (lol) for katsuki), katsuki is an asshat but when isn’t he, shy katsuki, shoto is a bit of an airhead, kissing, biting, reader is petty asl lol, lemme know if i missed something else !

todoroki shoto ♥︎

“yn, my love.”

“yes, shoto ?”

the corners of shoto’s mouth pull into a tiny frown at the usage of his first name. no baby, no hun, not even sho. just shoto.

“did i do something to upset you ?” he asks carefully from his spot at the foot of your dorm bed he seems to be stuck at, he can’t bring himself to move until he knows if you’re actually mad at him, and he has an inkling you are.

you look up at him for no longer than a second then look back down at your phone screen “what makes you think that ?” you question back nonchalantly.

“you posted something on your tiktok account..” shoto doesn’t have a clue how to have this conversation with you and it makes him a little nervous, he regrets not going to izuku for advice after all.

“mhmmmm~” you hum, urging him to continue knowing damn well you know what he’s going to say. you wanted to hear him say it himself.

you know shoto’s had no previous relationships before you so these type of things probably don’t mean as much to him as they do to you, but doesn’t everyone want their boyfriends to ask them to be their valentine ? you sure do, and your boyfriend hadn’t asked you to be his yet, so as petty as you know you were being at the time you posted the tiktok he’s no doubt here for right now.

shoto feels like a criminal on trial desperately trying to plead his case with you being the judge. tentatively, he asks “ you said you were..putting me up for sale ?”

immediately it’s like a switch had been flipped. you place your phone down onto your bed next to you, shoto wishes he could take your phone’s place. you cross your leg over the other and bring your hands together like a super villain revealing their master plan “yes. yes i did.”

“oh.”

silence. nothing.

shoto tried—he’s trying. he’s trying so insanely hard to make sense of everything that is you but he simply can’t. he breaks eye contact to think of more to ask but his attention is quickly pulled back to you when he hears you whine.

“uuuuughhh shotoooo~” you moan, throwing your head back against the headboard. “you’re not supposed to say ‘oh’ !” you’re face changes from grumpy to deadpan as you lower your voice slightly to try and mimic him. on any other day this would’ve made him laugh but he’s beyond lost at this point. he clears his throat before speaking again.

“ i don’t know what i’m supposed to say—or what i did for you to want to sell me.” he thinks “and for 3 dollars at that.”

you let out a laugh when you process his words and shoto’s shoulders magically feel lighter at the sound. carefully, he slides a little closer to the side of your bed so he can stand at your bedside. little by little. you pretend you don't notice.

"it's what you deserve for not askin' me to be your valentine."

the secret’s finally out and you get to see how the cog wheels in his head are starting to turn in real time, it has you holding back a giggle when he looks up at you like a deer in headlights.

“is that..why you were mad ?” you nod, humming out a playful mhmm

“ya really hurt my feelings you know ? to think my own boyfriend wouldn’t ask me” you clench your fist over your heart and fake sob dramatically.

shoto huffs out a laugh, relieved to see you’re not actually mad, and goes to sit down on your bed. he tentatively reaches for your hand and squeezes it twice when you let him hold it. before bringing it up to his lips and placing a sweet little kiss to it. it feels as if pop rocks are going off inside of you.

“ i’m sorry for not asking you to be my valentine.” he apologizes, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing your hand “ i was thinking i should’ve, but i didn’t want you to think it was weird since we’re already dating.” his thumb goes to run over your fingers “ i was worried me being too intense would scare you off.” he mumbles.

your eyebrows furrow, you lean towards him to make him look at you “ you wouldn’t scare me off, who told you that ?”

“kaminari. he said ‘coming on too strong scares away the babes.’ ” shoto quotes

you sigh. of course it was that bigmouth portable charger filling his head with this stuff.

you pull your hand out of his grasp and he looks up to protest but you grab his face in your hands before he can say anything, you can practically see him start melting at the contact as he blinks at you slowly, he reminds you of a cat.

“sho” you purr, rubbing his cheeks “ rule number one is never ever listening to kaminari’s dating advice. most of the time it is very wrong.” you explain.

shoto presses his mouth to the palm of your hand “yeah, i’m starting to regret that now.” he speaks into it, you snort. he leans in closer to press a sweet kiss to your lips and you reciprocate, pressing a few more kisses on his lips for good measure “ i’m really sorry for not asking you.” he says in between pecks. you hum in response to him placing even more kisses all around your face. “s’okay. i’m also kinda sorry for putting you up for sale.” you say, running your fingers through his hair while he places kisses on your shoulder.

he lifts his head up to look at you then, an eyebrow raised with an amused expression on his face “kinda sorry ?” he asks.

you nod “mhm. kinda sorry.”

he chuckles to himself, then gets up so he can climb into bed next to you. when he’s positioned how he likes it, with his head in your lap while you comb through his hair with your fingers, he sighs peacefully “well, it wasn’t all bad. i’m glad you think i’m a good cook.”

“what about the crusty feet ?”

“i’m choosing to ignore that part.” shoto smirks lightly to himself when he hears you laugh at his joke, clearly proud of himself for it. “and i will buy you anything you want, to make it up to you.”

“i don’t need you to buy me anything, sho” you roll your eyes with a lovesick smile “ all you gotta do is ask.”

he blinks up at you, looks off the the side as if he’s deep in thought, and suddenly gets off your lap to sit right in front of you. you never think you’ll get over how pretty your boyfriend is and being reminded of it with how close he is to you makes you flustered. he leans in to kiss you passionately and you don’t know if it’s the love he pours into it or the lack of air that has you so dizzy, you don’t dwell on it.

when he pulls away he’s looking at you like you hung up the stars in the sky and he simply, almost shyly smiles at you and asks.

“ will you be my valentine ?”

bakugou katsuki ♥︎

you did not expect katsuki to come barging into your dorm room five minutes after you’d posted your tiktok. the loud sound of someone banging on your door and proceeding to let themselves in seconds later causes you to let out a squeak.

in comes katsuki, phone tightly clutched in his hand and the moment his eyes zeroed on you he’s like a bull charging at a red flag. he stands right in front of you, angry frown on display before he shoves his phone in your face.

“explain this. now.” he growls, you have to hold back a laugh, keeping your face as calm as possible you look between him, his screen then back at your phone.

“what’s confusing about it ? i thought i was being pretty straight forward.”

his eye twitches. “why the hell did you put me up for sale ?! and for three dollars and fifty fuckin’ cents ?!” he exclaims, you can’t help the snort that bursts out of you, though katsuki doesn’t look as amused as you are.

“explain.” he deadpans.

“i think you can figure it out.” you shrug back.

he mutters insults to himself that you can’t catch “well obviously fuckin’ not, cus I wouldn’t be askin’ you if i did.” you simply shrug and look back at your phone. “i wrote it in the caption.”

it takes him a second to process then he’s tapping his password and opening the clock app at super sonic speed. his eyebrows furrow and you see him tapping away at his phone. his eyes widen when he reads your caption and he looks down at you with a mix of desperation and disbelief.

“you’re mad cus I didn’t ask you to be my valentine ?” your bratty huff and turn to the side as you shrug again is all the answer he needs. he looks at you for about 5 seconds longer then sighs.

he sits down on your bed and keeps staring. katsuki bakugou hates a lot of things and one of those things is you ignoring him. a warm hand on your ankle startles you and you can’t even ask him what he’s doing before your being yanked towards him. you squeal, almost missing the smirk on his face or the huff of laughter at your reaction. almost though, so you glare at him. katsuki looms over you until your noses almost touch, then you turn away with a huff. he chuckles, pressing his lips to your neck.

“ yer such a baby, y’know that ?” he mumbles, smirking against you neck. you huff but make no effort to shrug him off “ no i’m not, jerk. is it so wrong for me to want my boyfriend to ask me to be his valentine’s ?” you grumble, trying to ignore the feel of his warm lips against your skin, it’s not working so well for you.

“s’not what i’m sayin, sweets” he nips at your earlobe “‘m sayin’ ya coulda just told me ‘stead of bein’ a baby about it.” you can’t tell if this is his way of trying to apologize. either way, you don’t want to give in just yet.

“i’m not supposed to tell you to ask me to be your valentine’s katsuki, that’s not the point~ !” you huff petulantly. you feel a but childish but, c’mon ! it’s a given to have your boyfriend as your valentine and it wouldn’t hurt your demon spawn of a boyfriend to be a little but romantic once in a while.

he playfully rolls his eyes at you “see, what’d i tell you? big baby.” leaning forward he nips at your nose making you groan and trying to push him away with your palm. katsuki being the powerhouse that he is, doesn’t budge. “ i didn’t think to ask ya cus you’re already mine. so why should i need to ask something that’s a given ?”

your heart beats faster at his words and katsuki takes his chance when he feels you loosing up more and more. suddenly he’s got your wrists in his grip, holding them above you and looking down at you with that sickeningly handsome smirk. you’re almost there, he can practically feel it.

“i—i’m..still mad at you” you stutter out weakly, your defenses are down.

“yeah ?” he taunts.

“yeah. apologize.”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes lightheartedly “why should i apologize ? you said my fuckin’ feet stink.”

“ ah, ah, ah.” you tut “don’t put words in my mouth, i said your feet were crusty.”

“yeah, thanks babe. that makes it so much better.” he sasses, you laugh “and i complimented you ! i said you were an amazing cook !”

“yeah but that ain’t a compliment, ‘ts a fact.” he says matter of factly, you’re eyes threaten to get stuck at the back of your skull with how hard you roll them and he snickers.

he dives in and steals a kiss, and then another one when you don’t stop him. when he pulls away to catch his breath, ready to steal another kiss you stop him by placing your hand on his chest. he looks down at you questioningly and you give him a raised brow in response. he groans.

“fine. m’sorry” he concedes quietly

“foooorrr ?” you urge.

he narrows his eyes at you as if saying “don’t push it” but swallows his words down “ for not askin’ you to be my valentine’s or whatever the fuck” he shoves his now hot face into your neck and mumbles “now quit bein’ all pissed at me.”

you’re happy enough with that, so you wrap your arms around his neck, one of your hands creeping up his nape and into his hair. he sighs contentedly, clearly enjoying the attention you’re giving him.

“thank you. i’m also sorry for saying you have crusty feet.” hearing him scoff at the accusation makes you giggle “and for putting you up for sale.” he hums, happy with your apology.

“..kinda.”

“oi.” he warns. you giggle in response continuing your ministrations in his hair.

“you still haven’t asked me so..” you trail off. he lifts his head up to look at you with a blond eyebrow raised.

“ does this valentine shit really matter that much to you ?” he asks.

you respond immediately “yes.” nodding aggressively to make your point.

he sighs, shaking his head. he looks at you, then looks off to the side in embarrassment, he can be so cute when he wants to be. steeling his nerves he looks you straight in the eyes. fearless with fierce red cheeks and all.

“b-be my valentine, idiot..”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Idk if you remember but you wrote a small drabble where reader was konigs secret admirer and it's been eating at my brain ever since😭 would you ever consider making it an actual story?

Oh I fell in love with the concept too! Here's a part 2 to that little drabble, I humbly offer it to you with my fluffy little paws ^^

CW: 18+ smut, fluff. Nothing bad here, just sweetness. Ok maybe a tiny bit of biting and light angst because it’s König after all... (Part 1 here)

He still doesn’t know who the mystery girl is.

She likes to tease him with cute messages and a photo of her tits but won’t tell him her name or where she lives. The girl won’t come to meet him so that he can show her some love, nor will she agree to go on a date with him. She just responds to his pathetic suggestions with a bundle of emojis that are about to drive him crazy, and another message that says: “Soon!” 

König has to fall back on the bed and go to sleep with a rock hard dick and a set of twitching, lonely hands. His dream of having a proper girlfriend was shoved on the back burner ever since he joined the Jagdkommando, but now there’s a certain girl inside his head, a new, even better dream he can’t repel. The next day is no better; he even forgets what he was supposed to bring home from the store, knowing his mom will only sigh and tell him they’ll survive without some ingredient they both know is very well essential.

He stands before the butters and spreads, trying to recall what his mother wanted when he hears a soft gasp further down the aisle. He turns his head and barely catches the sight of a woman, turning in her heels and rushing down the flour section, just somewhere out of sight.

Hope and curiosity spark inside him as he leaves the butter and darts after her, calling “Hey” and “Wait” between the shelves as she flits towards the cashier in mild terror. He chases her as if he were trying to catch a thief, and the girl picks up her pace, then slows down to a complete halt… and turns.

Lovely, fearful eyes behold him the immediate second she meets his gaze, immobile hands clutching a bag of croissants and a jar of chocolate butter against her chest.

He slows down his jog and arrives in front of her with a smile, but the girl only looks more and more afraid. Even her jaw is clenched shut, the spitting image of a prey who just got caught.

“You’re her, aren’t you? The mystery girl,” he asks, trying to make it clear as day just how excited he is to finally meet her in person.

Her eyes stay wide as she blinks, the little bag of croissants crunching a bit further in her grip as she tries to shield her vital parts.

“Are you done shopping…?”

Still no answer.

She’s shy, just like he is... Maybe even more so, which is incredibly endearing: the same girl who sent him a picture of her boobs last night, the same girl who had no trouble teasing him to the point of leaking cum all over his sheets is as shy as a deer when caught in daylight. 

It’s so incredibly cute… He thought she was a seductress of the most dangerous kind, but here she is now, looking up at him as if he was some boogieman about to come and snatch her away.

His smile only widens as he looks at his little minx who just tried to run away from the individual she’s sent postcards and love letters to ever since they were kids… Who knew his secret admirer was a bashful little cutie who sneaks around the local store to get herself some sweets and snacks?

“Let me pay for those,” he gestures at the products in her hand. 

Another awkward silence follows until she finally turns her eyes to the floor and nods.

Perhaps it’s not that odd that she sent him anonymous notes and talked to him in texts and letters if she’s this timid -- he of all people should know how tough it is to walk to someone he likes and tell them he wants to go out. But he can’t help but wonder if the girl is mute, or partly deaf, or both. He wouldn’t mind. As long as they understand each other, it’s perfectly fine. 

She looks at him like he’s a god —or a monster—while he pays for her humble delicacies. She stares at him with eyes still wide while putting the groceries inside a tiny cotton bag she has with her, and says nothing when he extends his hand towards her. 

“Here. Give it to me.”

He’s trying to act the part of a gentleman to the full, and she offers the floor a tiny smile while handing him the bag. It weighs less than a half kilo, but the gesture is all that seems to matter because she is indeed smiling, shy and pleased as he shoulders the so called burden for her.

“I can walk you home if you like?” he suggests while pushing the door open for her. 

She steps out into the luminous sunlight, eyes squinting a little from the sudden brightness. Then she turns to him and says her first meek words.

“But... Then you’ll know where I live…”

“Ah! She talks,” he laughs with a full smile and watches with a spreading warmth in his chest how she starts to grin, too. She’s looking at the asphalt and her shoes but she’s smiling, incredibly beautiful and pretty, outshining even the prettiest summer day.

“Don’t worry,” he starts to banter with increasing confidence—when has he ever teased anyone, let alone been confident around a girl he likes? “I promise I won’t come howling under your window at night...”

“It’s… It’s not that,” she laughs and bites her bottom lip. “I still live with my mom…”

She starts to walk towards where he lives, and he follows, his long legs catching up with her with ease. 

“There was the COVID, and my mom is a little unwell… And with the economy… I’m still a student,” she explains while they stroll down the street.

“Really? I’m a student, too.”

“Oh…? What are you studying?”

“How to kill people,” he shrugs, cursing his stupid carefree mouth immediately. “Fuck… Sorry. That was… I mean, I’m in the army.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles.

He sneaks a peek her way, and she indeed doesn’t seem to be shocked in the slightest. Far more frightened she looked at the store when he noticed her and began to chase the poor girl. 

They proceed to talk about what he does and why, how he only just returned from a month’s training that included concealment training in the mountains. She seems interested enough in his choice of career, which he tries to make sound as striking as possible, far more intriguing than it actually is. He tries to appear a little too glorious in her eyes, fearing he won’t live up to the reputation and fantasy she has built inside her pretty little head.

What if she wanted him to be a doctor instead of a moronic soldier? Maybe she fantasized about a lawyer or a historian with whom she could have fascinating conversations… And he’s just babbling nonsense about weather meters and ghillie suits.

But her eyes are still smiling, always at him when he looks away and starts to talk with his hands. When they arrive at the little wicket gate leading up to her house, he notices she lives only about a kilometre away from his childhood home. 

She was always here, and he never knew anything about it… His secret admirer, his passionate seducer, turns out to be a harmless, lovely angel who lives right in the neighbourhood.

She takes her little cotton bag and turns to open the gate, and his hands twitch and flex. Say something clever, his mind yells, ask her out for fuck’s sake… But he needn’t worry, for his precious girl next door immediately turns back and shields her eyes from the sun while looking up at him.

“I’m sorry… I froze a little at the store. I just… This wasn’t how we were supposed to meet...”

“No? What did you have in mind for us then?”

She drops her hand back down and gives him a little halfway shrug, embarrassed.

“I don’t know. I just… I don’t even have any make-up on...”

He risks to bring a hand to her face, his thumb on her cheekbone, sweeps a little arc there to let her know she’s fucking beautiful.

“You’re very pretty,” he says, and she raises her eyes back to his, this time looking like she’s being blinded by the sun even if he’s shielding her from it.

“I really liked the picture you sent me,” he says boldly, and for the second time this afternoon, hopes the earth could swallow him right then and there. 

A pretty girl sends him one nice picture of her tits, and he has to be an asshole about it… She looks super uncomfortable, so flustered that she nearly guides her face away from his palm. 

Fuck that he’s stupid… Must he always be such an idiot and fuck everything up?

“I’m sorry... I meant to say that–”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she rises on her toes and plants a quick, flustered peck on his cheek, then turns to the gate as quickly as a whirlwind. Opens it, and returns solely to give him a bashful, naughty little smile. 

“I liked your picture too,” she says so softly he can barely hear it. 

“...Oh,” he squeaks, cheek still burning from her kiss.

“Do you want to come and see me tonight...? Mom usually drops before ten...”

“I… I… Sure.”

…

It’s a catastrophe.

His old jeans barely fit him anymore, they’ve become way too tight around the thighs. He’s put on some weight during the past few years and made sure to go to the gym every slack hour he has at his disposal, which means he’s packed a bit of muscle here and there. That, along with the many outdoor trainings, have ensured his appetite remains even bigger than usual so it’s no wonder none of his old pants fit. The only ones that don’t look utterly suggestive and wrong are his grey sweatpants, which he wore to the store today. He can’t very well wear those on a date, no matter what all those thirsty TikTok memes say...

He sighs, and grabs the black military pants he had on when he came here, pairing them with a simple black T-shirt. That’s all he has in his drawers: black, black, black, a few white ones that have some food and coffee stains on them, stains that never leave no matter how hard his mom tries to wash them for him.

The house is silent as he slips the keys into his pocket and hollers that he’s leaving. Like some lovesick, unneutered dog about to slink into the night…

“Mom? I’m going out. I… I have a date.”

“At this hour...?”

“Yeah… We’re… Going out to look at the moon,” he makes up off the top of his head.

His mom would scold him for harassing some poor girl when it’s almost midnight, even if it was her who invited him to her house. And if he’s lucky, there’s going to be a lot more action than just staring at the moon together… Not that that’s all he wants; it’s just that he’s been lonely as fuck and could really use a hug. 

Is it a crime, with the past that he has, to want some human contact? Some skin on skin memories that don’t include punching?

“My little boy,” his mom strolls into the room, looking at him with soft, worried eyes. “You look like you’re about to invade some poor, innocent country…”

“Eh… I know. All the other pants were too small.’

She smiles at him: seeing a grown man sweat like a pig before a date must be a silly sight, even more compelling when that man is your own boy. The clock ticks on the wall as she looks at him like he’s about to march off to war, his only shoes a pair of standard leather boots he’s used for two years now. He showed them some grease and a brush, managed to make them look a little less worn and torn – if he had known some cute girl back home had a crush on him, he would’ve visited a clothing store before he came here…

His mom raises a shaky hand and draws him down to kiss him on the cheek, her eyes glossy and hazed from the gathering tears. 

“I’m glad you’re finally eating enough,” she whispers with a voice that barely holds intact, and they both know why it’s shaking, why everything’s trembling; her hands, her voice and her tears.

His bottom lip is twitching too from witnessing his mom being so happy for his sake. But he doesn’t want to cry. He must stay oblivious and strong and pretend that things are finally how they should’ve been: normal and easy and wholesome and good. For her, he will never show that he’s shaking… Too many things in her life have done that when she needed them to stay stable and safe.

“Wish me luck,” he gives her a nervous smile, laughing the tears away.

“I always do…”

He leaves before his tower crumbles, slips out into the sweet, scented night.

There’s roses somewhere, roses that smell heavenly, some early jasmine too that wishes to intoxicate his mind. He realizes he has nothing with him to take as a gift for her, and cusses again. This is a fucking date, and he’s not even dressed properly; he doesn’t even have flowers to bring with him… She’s going to think he’s a nobody, some penniless freak who dresses like a crazy person when he’s supposed to dazzle her and make her swoon.

On his way to her place, he stops to cut a small branch from a flowering rowan tree and shelters it from the gusts of wind that blow from the river. The tiny flowers are delicate and fragrant, not exactly what he would’ve taken to her had he been clever enough to visit a florist before they all closed. But it’s cute enough, to him at least, especially when it’s cut from the tree that was his safe haven as a boy.

The curtains at her window shift when he arrives at the gate, and he knows she’s been expecting him, waiting for the clock to strike ten as eagerly as he.

The front door opens, and there she is: dressed far more accordingly than he; his lady has slipped into a sweet summer dress like the angel that she is. It’s bright and yellow, far from the darkness he always wears, and his heart is slowly squeezing to bits inside his chest.

“Hey,” she gives him a wide, knee-buckling smile.

“Hey,” he smiles back, marching to her door like a horny, ugly wolf. “You want to go for a walk? It’s a beautiful ni–”

The moment he arrives at her feet, the moment she sees that he’s carrying a tiny branch from the rowan tree for her, she snatches the front of his shirt and pulls him inside with a surprising amount of strength.

His forehead hits the doorframe with a thick thud before he manages to bow, and there’s a bit of a commotion after that. He huffs something akin to Oof and laughs, making the angel flit around him in a wild, flustered shame, apologizing to him at least ten times.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry! I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”

“Heh. It’s okay,” he smiles while rubbing the achy spot on his head. He’s forced to sit into an old wicker chair, wide enough to accommodate his back but far too low to hold his stature. He sinks inside it like a veritable giant while she continues to fuss around him, inspecting his “wound” and taking the offering from him with a helpless, embarrassed stare.

“I’ll get you some ice,” she says before leaving him in his chair, the flower he brought softly placed on the bed. 

He’s afraid the furniture will break if he moves, so he stays as still as possible while taking in his surroundings, the soft girl adobe he has somehow managed to sneak his sorry rotten arse into. 

She has a large TV in front of her bed, a gaming console and a lot of books, candles everywhere he steals a look. The beige bedding looks freshly changed and incredibly soft, and there’s an old bunny toy on her bedstand along with another book, both loved to bits. Some houseplants on the floor appear to be doing extremely well, a small leather bag and some makeup left scattered on her desk. Rocks and twigs and dried flowers rest on her window sill, treasures she’s gathered from her trails. It makes his heart grow soft because he knows she will probably put his little offering there too. A bouquet of expensive, luxurious flowers wouldn’t have hit their target at all.

She returns with a small pack of ice and rushes to him in her flowy, blooming summer dress. Descends on her knees and brings a small towel to his forehead before pressing the ice over it, ensuring that it’s not too cold to make him uncomfortable. 

As if he could ever feel uncomfortable, seated in a wicker chair with an angel between his legs, treating his supposed wound with ice and the softest touch…

“Remember all those postcards you sent me?” he asks while she continues to look like the worst person who ever lived, simply because she was too eager to pull him inside her room.

“Sadly, yes.”

“Remember what you wrote to me?”

“Not really,” she says, dabbing the ice pack all over the rising bump on his head. “Something stupid, I suppose…”

“You told me that you love me.”

Her eyes dart to his for a while, hope and shame battling in her fae stare.

“...Oh God.”

“Many times. And then you told me that I’m cute…”

She sighs and brings the ice and the cloth somewhere in her lap. The breasts inside their soft little cell look astoundingly delicious when viewed from up here: he’s slouching in a chair and still, is able to take a rude little peek inside her dress. He slaps himself mentally for being such a goddamn pervert, but then she sighs again, the cute little peaches swelling inside her dress once more.

“That’s it?” 

“That’s mostly it, yes…”

He’s getting hard here, which is a problem. A big, big problem…

His shy admirer never notices anything, not even when he softly gestures for her to give the ice to him. He continues to press it on his forehead, trying to concentrate on the cold sensation rather than the swelling dick in his pants. 

How is he supposed to not grow hard when he knows this adorable little creature has been infatuated with him for so long? When he knows she’s flustered now, just from hearing him tease her about those silly, harmless cards?

“I kept every single one,” he tells her, only to watch how the shy girl grows even shyer.

“You didn’t…”

“I did.”

He tells her about the bullies and how they made it look like they had sent the cards, telling him no girl could ever want to be with him. It’s a sad attempt to fish for her affection and pity, words of contempt and judgement to hammer it home that he did receive those cards from this girl, he did, in fact, deserve to be loved and adored.

And then she starts to talk about how she watched him... How she went to a different school than him, but that she sometimes strolled behind him when he walked home. They shared the journey to and from school, and he was always completely unaware that he was being followed.

“You stared at this rowan tree for what seemed like hours,” she recalls with a sad smile. “Then, if a bee caught your eye, or a bird or some flower, you stopped to ogle at those instead…”

He laughs, but there’s a bittersweet stone in his chest. If he remembers correctly, these were the only times of the day he could drop his eternal guard: in school, he was being tormented by cruel kids and at home there lived a tyrant with his sad little subjects. Trees and bees and birds were a welcome distraction.

She smiles a little, but it’s not a happy smile, even if it is affectionate.

“My mom always told me to come straight back home,” she says. “But you were never in a hurry...”

He looks at her, and she looks back, some pity in her eyes. There arrives a sweet and sour pain in his heart, a feeling that comes from knowing there was someone who witnessed a glimpse of the hope and pain he lived in. That there was someone there all along… 

“You even stopped to look at dog poo…”

“Heh... Was that the moment you fell for me?”

Her lip twitches, the pity in her stare breaks. She rises a little to lean forward, and he catches her with ease as she falls there into his arms, snug into his lap. His lips find hers without effort, and sensation bleeds: his hands are sweaty and shaking as he runs them down along her dress, cups her ass so that she gives a little gasp straight into his mouth. 

That’s the thing he was pining for: for her to open that pretty little mouth so that he could pry it further open with his own. Plunge an exploring tongue inside, not too quick and not too greedy, just a little poke to see if she wants to be claimed.

The angel melts in his lap, like pure white snow, until he braces his core and rises to his feet. It’s now or never, and he’s not going to let this moment slip past his fingers. Somehow, they end up on the bed, the smell of fresh linens and her dainty perfume catching his nose before she presses a pair of weak hands on his chest.

“The flower...”

The flower... Of course. 

The flower from the rowan tree.

He huffs a laugh on her face, a relieved smile as he understands she’s only worried about trampling his gift.

It’s set aside on the table, but right after that, he attacks her again, begins the ascension to heaven. His lips won’t get enough of her, not even as he drinks her like honeydew and ambrosia: the dress he used to associate with seraphs and summer now seems like a huge obstacle between his tongue and her skin, the need to taste more of her urgent in his hips.

“Can I take this off?” He roughs a hand down the fabric that shields her breasts, relishing the tiny moan that follows when he does that. “I want to kiss you everywhere…”

Her throat makes a wet, charming sound as she swallows, her eyes now pools of dark, drunken love. 

“On one condition,” she tells him, out of breath. “If I can kiss you everywhere too?”

It’s a deal, his mind exclaims immediately, but his devilish grin is how he tells her he’s more than eager to accept these terms. His clothes find their way on the floor along with hers, black on black on yellow, but he won’t let her shiver in the cold for long. Like a man possessed, his body finds hers, her soft, naked skin colliding with his like heaven after all those lonely nights of slick, urgent fapping. 

He’s not sure who’s worshipping who here, but he vows to never again let this angel fly under his radar, no matter how perfect of a guardian she has been. A guardian angel, following him with her blessed stare, sending him heavenly messages that were real and true all along. 

She should be rewarded for her abundant gifts, and so his lips find her shoulders and her neck; they graze her nipples and claim her breasts in devouring that leaves her back arching on the bed.

“You don’t have a girl? Waiting for you back there...?” she asks shyly, even when half her tit is being sucked by his mouth.

“The only thing waiting for me back there is my hand,” he rasps while diving down, down, down, all the way past her navel and the mound she still tries to protect from plunder.

“...I can be your girl,” she whispers somewhere high above, her hands holding his head like that of an untamed dog. “If you want…?”

He breathes on the apex between her thighs, presses a furious kiss there without care. 

“F-fuck…” she sighs those thighs open, and from that point on, nothing is enough.

It’s horrible that it must be so: that he finally gets to drink his fill, and it’s still not enough. Her sighs are not enough, her trembling body is not enough. Her attempts to muffle her moans with the back of her hand are not nearly enough.

He wants more, so much more: he wants to try all there is to this with her, forever and ever until the day he dies. He wants to hear her soil her tongue with more curses as he ruins her, bit by bit, just a little bit…

“Say it,” he pants into her glistening lips, “Say that you’re my girl…”

When she does nothing but whimpers in return, he attacks her with both teeth and tongue. Bruises the thigh beside her treasure before plunging straight towards the main prize with reckless want. That’s what finally forces the words out of her mouth: his tongue inside her cunt, delving so deep he has to breathe through his nose to keep from fainting.

“I’m your girl,” she moans on the bed, a bit louder now. “I’m yours, I promise… I always… Always…”

I always was….

She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t need to. 

He grants her mercy after that, replacing the tongue with a finger or two. Slow wide circles over her clit accompanied by quick little pumps in her hole make her cum in no time, and he’s glad he listened to the dirty mess talk of his filthy comrades. Patience is not his virtue, but for her, he makes all the effort.... He for sure leaves a little memory on her thigh. It’s not very nice of him, and he fears those teeth marks might stay with her longer than just a few weeks. 

Maybe she’ll forgive him if he fucks her after this, rocks her slowly and softly, fucks her like angels ought to be fucked. But no, fucking is not the right word... He wants to make love to her. Drink her moans right from her lips while he does it.

After the climax, he’s still hard and she’s still panting.

He wonders if he’ll get slapped or kissed if he asks for permission to put it inside now... His dick is throbbing while they stare at the ceiling together, but as always, his angel is two steps ahead.

“My turn,” she says with newfound vigour, and he gets more than he bargained for: everything and more as she gives his body the same attention he just gave her. Bites his nipples a little too hard, the little minx, licks his ribs as if it’s some kind of a contest to try and make him tickle. Laughs angel trails across his skin, draws a finger down his nether hair until she meets his jutting dick.

She gives him a tame little lick at first, then slowly, expeditiously, kisses his cock from root to tip. Before due time, his thighs start to tremble, and that’s when she takes it in her mouth: sucks and licks him deep until his abs and balls pull tight. The sheet in his fist threatens to get torn to shreds when he cums, and for a moment, he forgets everything, even his name, until he notices that the poor little thing can’t swallow all his load. She almost chokes on the first spurt, withdraws to cough with her mouth closed while he hisses fat curses past clenched teeth. 

When he arrives back to Earth, there’s cum everywhere: on her face, on the sheets, all over his abdomen and his thighs, an eruption that spilled everywhere because his angel got a little appalled.

“I’m sorry,” she peeps with her mouth still full of it.

The poor girl swallows it bravely, and his heart is about to explode: his angel swallows his filthy load like a champ and looks so incredibly valiant while doing it.

“Hey,” he raises a shaking hand towards her, too weak to rise from the bed to comfort her. “It’s okay… You didn’t need to do that…”

“But I wanted to,” she complains while the thick, sticky cum drips down her cheek and onto her breasts.

“Shit… Come here,” he coaxes, and she crawls forward to nestle in the nook of his arm. 

He uses the sheet to dry the rest of it off her face. She looks up at him with that trademark seraph stare, so helpless and in love—if this is what having a girlfriend is like, then he doesn’t feel bad at all that he had to wait a little longer than most men. It was worth all the trouble and toil that he has her here now, in his arms, batting her lashes sweetly. 

“You’re still incredibly cute, you know...?” she whispers, and a mountain inside him moves. 

It’s not sorrow, nor is it yearning; it’s just sweet, simple love. The room smells of salt and sin, but there’s nothing sinful about her when she cups his chin. He knows it’s not elegant to tell someone you love them on the day you've met them, but if the one you love happens to be an angel, then isn't it a sin not to confess?

[erosology]

i'm going to be so honest with you: this was supposed to be a drabble about being soap's wife that he likes to share with 141 but it has spiraled into a monster of its own. idk what to even call this anymore. it's 3,100 words of debauchery and sin and thirst and reader being a whore and soap being head over heels for her because of it.

if you guys want an actual fic with plot any everything, pls do let me know! i'll more than likely write a part two to this (whatever the fuck it is lol) if you're interested enough :3

❀ cw/tw: NSFT, AFAB reader (femme pronouns and pet names), drinking, smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), voyeurism, threesome (? kinda?), perceived cheating, price being a nosy bitch, possible OOC as it's been A While since i've written anything let alone anything for the COD men, minimal editing because the more i edit the more i add and it's enough of a monster as is, cliffhanger >:)

It starts how most debauchery in the 141 starts: with you, Johnny, and Gaz having a little too much to drink and not enough good judgment to say no. A night out on the town drinking just about anything that’s handed to you after a particularly long and hard deployment has left the three of you with blurred vision and blurred minds. Somewhere along the way Gaz ends up in yours and Johnny’s house under the impression of sobering up before calling a cab back to base, but rather than ending up in the back of a cab with radio chatter and uncomfortable small talk with a stranger, Gaz ends up in yours and Johnny’s bed, his hand up your skirt while Johnny watches, giving instructions here and there, directing him on where to touch you and how to kiss you properly.

“C’mon, Gaz,” Johnny tuts as Gaz’s hands linger over your still-clothed breasts. “She’s beggin’ for ye’, and yer takin’ yer sweet time. Torturin’ the poor hen, makin’ her wait. Do I have to show ye’ how it’s done?”

“Be a little nice, yeah?” Gaz shoots back with a grin. “‘s my first time doing something like this. And she’s too fuckin’ gorgeous for me to think straight.”

“Scooch o’er, then. I’ll help ye’, poor bastard. Show ye’ show to fuck my bonnie proper.”

And does Johnny show him. With Johnny guiding his hands where he needs to go, the Scottish timbre low in his ear as he gives clear directions, Kyle is able to make you cum on his fingers in record timing, his palm coated in your juices and his eyes full of stars. Then you cum on his tongue, his chin just as soaked as his palm and his tongue lapping up every drop spilling from you. Then, finally, you cum on his cock, with a condom on, of course. Kyle might be allowed to fuck you, but Johnny is the only one allowed to properly fill you up. All the while, Johnny is telling him exactly what to do, humming his approval when he gets something right, tutting when he fumbles and does something he knows you’re not fond of.

”Ye’ know this isn’t gonnae be a one-time thing, right?” Johnny murmurs in your ear after you’re properly cleaned up and Kyle finally gets that cab ride back to the barracks.

You smile up at him sweetly and nuzzle your face into his neck. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

And it happens again. And again. And again. And with each time, Kyle learns exactly how to please you and where to touch you, how to kiss you and where you like his fingers to be as he does so, praises dancing from his tongue and onto yours as he slips into your mouth. And you learn his body just as well, learn how he likes his back scratched up as if he’s your own personal nail file, learn how he’s more of a romantic and foreplay-focused lover rather than a hot and heavy one, learn how vocal he gets and how sweet his words are as they drip from his mouth and echo around your bedroom as you please him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, s’tight, squeezing on my fingers. Must really like it when I curl ‘em like this.”

“Feels so fucking good, love. So perfect. Just like that. Fuck. ‘m close!”

“Best pussy I’ve ever had. Prettiest one, too. Look at you, all spread out, ready for me to eat.”

In combination with Johnny’s low voice complimenting you from his spot in the room, it causes your head to spin and your heart to flutter every damn time, heaven a pathetic excuse of a paradise compared to this.

”Fuckin’ beautiful, bonnie, keep ridin’ him like that. That’s a good girl.”

”Go on, leannan, I know ye’ can take him deeper than that. Do that breathin’ technique I taught you. There ye’ go. Good girl.”

”Givin’ me a show, lass. Gonnae blow my load before I even get a chance to touch myself. Fuckin’ perfect, my bonnie.”

The only ground rule is: nothing happens without Johnny there. He is, after all, your husband, the one who’s kind enough to allow one of his closest friends to fuck you, the one who owns your body and your heart. Gaz is more than happy to comply as long as he still gets what little pieces Johnny allows him. And so, it continues. Not an every night thing, of course, or even a weekly one. But maybe Gaz has had a particularly rough day and no amount of running is shaking the stress off. Or maybe Price has him working twice as hard as his fellow servicemen for half of the reward, and his patience is beginning to wane. Or maybe you just look too fucking irresistible to stop himself from giving Johnny The Look, and the three of you sneak off to your house for your debauchery that ends with Gaz glowing, you spent, and Johnny as smug as ever.

But, of course, when you work as closely as the 141 do and have a Captain as sharp as John Price, there’s only so many things that slip through the cracks before they’re caught in his grasp and closely inspected.

The captain begins to catch on after he’s up late one night smoking a cigar, the English air cold and crisp as he shakes off the remnants of his latest night terror. He doesn’t normally stay at the barracks so late, much preferring his own bed in his own home located just a few kilometers off base, but the stack of paperwork on his desk has him burning the midnight oil well into the night, and he still has a sizeable stack to go through after he rests up a bit. The cot he keeps in his office specially for nights like these is nothing more than a padded piece of cardboard, and he’s beginning to suspect he’s getting too old to be pulling this stuff anymore without risking throwing his back out. He should really ask for a pay raise…

Price thinks he must still be half asleep when he spots Gaz walking over to the barracks, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a grin on his face and a suspicious pep to his step, but then he and the man in question make eye contact, and the shock in Gaz’s eyes tells him everything he needs to know.

“Up late, Sergeant?” Price asks from the shadows he’s lingering in, and his sensitive ears don’t miss the curse that quietly slips from Gaz’s lips.

“Yessir,” Gaz answers with a bashful hue to his words, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and his spine automatically straightens in his superior’s presence. “Had some trouble sleeping so I went out for a walk.”

The captain quickly spots the shake to Gaz’s shoulders, illustrating just how underprepared the younger man was for his midnight stroll. “Without a jacket on this chilly night?”

Gaz noncommittally shrugs, but the twitch of his lips tells Price everything he needs to know. “Didn’t need one. Walking around kept me warm enough.”

Price hums in response, then extinguishes the cigar butt out on the sole of his boot before shoving it into his pocket to dispose of in a proper garbage can. He turns to leave, but not before tossing over his shoulder, “‘fraid that pink isn’t quite your shade, Sergeant. Might want to go for a more copper tone.”

He softly chuckles as he hears Gaz swear and the telltale ruffling of him swiping at his face.

As observant as Price is, however, it took him a little while longer to realize just who that shade of pink suits very well.

Soap is as reckless as Price is cautious, so it’s no surprise that the other three members of the 141 are in the infirmary waiting for your arrival while Johnny sits in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his arm casted and his head bandaged from his latest stunt during their mission.

”Where’s mah bonnie?” Johnny slurs out, the pain killers’s effect thick in his voice, and Gaz softly smiles—a smile he quickly drops when he feels Price’s eyes on him. “I wan’ mah bonnie.”

“She’s on her way, Soap,” Price replies, his tone mild, as if dealing with a petulant child. “She can’t just drop everything the second you do something stupid, or else she’d never get anything done.”

”I wan’ mah bonnie…,” Soap repeats with a pout but stays quiet, much to everyone’s surprise.

The bubble of relief Price feels upon seeing you locate them quickly pops when he spots a familiar shade of pink on your lips, and he struggles to keep his composure as you walk up to him with an anxious expression on your sweet face. 

“How bad is it?” you ask.

And goddammit, you sound so genuinely worried, such the dedicated, love wife of  one of his best sergeants that he almost thinks it’s just the lighting of the fluorescent hospital bulbs that’s giving your lips the same color he spotted on Gaz just weeks ago. Hell, he wants to think one too many blows to the head is finally starting to fuck with his memory and there’s no way in hell it’s the same color, but the way Gaz’s shoulders relax as soon as you make eye contact with him is the final nail in the coffin. 

Something is going on between you and Gaz, and he needs to find out before the whole damn thing explodes.

It takes him a few weeks, but Price is nothing but a patient man when the situation calls for it. Violence and timing is his motto for a reason. Well, hopefully no violence on his end this time, but he can’t make any promises for Gaz and Soap’s end considering just how over-the-moon the Scotsman is for you. He hopes and prays to whatever entity is up there that he’s just being overly cautious, that he’s overthinking things, that his paranoia has reached an all-time high and he needs to finally take that vacation Laswell has been pestering to take, but yours and Gaz’s subtly flirtatious behavior around each other at a bar the four of you piled into together makes the sour feelings in his stomach twist and churn. Goddamn Simon for being so elusive and forcing him to deal with this on his own…

All night, he watches the three of you, how handsy Soap is with you and how familiar the rare touches Gaz gives you are. That goddamn shade of pink on your lips shining under the bar lights. The giggles that leave your lips at a joke Gaz makes and how your hand presses into his chest. How he lopsidedly grins until he remembers where he’s at and schools his features. How he and Soap keep exchanging knowing glances over your shoulders when they think Price isn’t looking. But he’s looking alright. Looking and waiting for the perfect moment to get you alone to confront you.

Violence and timing.

Luckily, after a few drinks, Soap and Gaz decide to go outside to share a cigarette and you stay behind. You’ve always detested the smell of cigarettes, and Soap’s habit of having a few cigarettes while out and drinking is one of the rare bickerments you two have. But right now, it’s Price’s saving grace.

“Enjoying yourself tonight, Mactavish?” Price asks.

You perk up on your side of the booth as if you had forgotten he’s there (he wouldn’t blame you if you had—he’s been awfully quiet tonight) and flash him a polite, if slightly detached, smile. The military wife smile. The one all of the commanding officers get from the spouses. It feels particularly deceitful tonight, and he almost feels bad for thinking so. Might have too, if the bar lights didn’t shine perfectly on your wedding rings and he’s reminded of what he has to do.

You finger traces the rim of your empty glass, and you nod. “You can just call me by my name, sir.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Is Mactavish not your name?”

You chuckle in response and your posture eases a bit, legs stretching until he feels your foot graze against his, your eyes darting unmistakably from his lips up to his eyes. “It is, but I have a first name too, you know.”

Are you flirting with him? Your husband is outside sharing a cigarette with a man he suspects you of sleeping with, and you’re flirting with him? His fingers clutch his glass as his temper spikes a bit, but he remains levelheaded. Innocent until proven guilty, right? “We’ll stick with Mactavish for now. Don’t want the boys thinking I’m giving you any special treatment, do we?” he replies with a hint of flirtation, just to see if you take the bait.

The subtle way you bite your bottom lip tells him you not only take the bait, but you’re going down hook, line, and sinker. Your foot bumps against his again, but rather than pulling away this time, it gently caresses him, lingering around so there’s no mistaking the feeling of your heel grazing against his ankle and causing an involuntary shiver to wrack his spine. And fucking hell, it’s either been too long since he’s gotten laid or his tolerance has gone down and two glasses of whiskey is suddenly too much for his metabolism, but he can feel himself wanting to respond to your touch. It doesn’t help that the dress you’ve chosen to wear tonight has a halter neckline and a draped skirt—two of Price’s personal weaknesses—and the necklace you donne does wonders for your cleavage. You’re absolutely dressed to kill tonight, and if Price were half as scummy as Nikola thinks him to be, he would’ve scooped you right up and take you straight to the grimy stall to fuck your brains out. But, alas, his conscious is still intact and working very well tonight, no matter how much his dick is pleading for him to not listen to it for once.

A captain, wanting to fuck his sergeant’s wife? No amount of under-the-table favors and chest candy could ever clean up that mess.

“No, we don’t,” you finally reply after a tense moment, your eyes still resting on his. “Even if I do deserve it.”

What an interesting choice of words… He takes a sip of his drink to mull over his next words, and when you mimic the action, there’s no mistaking your intentions. Goddamn Soap and his love of dangerous women. “Oh? Bit confident, are we?” He leans into the table more, determined to invade your space and make you squirm. “What makes you so sure you deserve it?”

You nod, and the politely detached smile on your face slowly melts into a more seductive one, a knowing quirk curling at the edge of your lips, and suddenly, Price is no longer sure who’s caught in whose web. Matching his energy, you lean in as well, until there’s nothing but a few centimeters between you two, his blue eyes boring into yours, your minty breath mixing with his whiskey. “You’ve been staring down at my tits all night, Captain, and I hate to say, but it isn’t the first time I’ve caught you doing so. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t tend to stare at my sergeant's wife's tits. So either, I’m getting special treatment or you’re just a pervert. Which one is it, Captain?”

His mouth immediately opens to reply, but before any words can form, he spots Soap’s familiar mohawk moving over to your table, and he quickly pulls away and even leans back into the cushion, as if to prove a point. Soap slips in next to you, the smell of cigarettes causing your nose to wrinkle, and Gaz slips in next to Price, a low chuckle on his lips as if still laughing about a joke Soap said while the two were outside. The dopey, lovesick grin Soap gives you is enough to make guilt nip at Price’s insides (he was thinking about fucking you just moments ago, goddammit), but the way you lean in to kiss Soap while still making eye contact with the captain makes his temper boil all over again. Normally, you’d fuss over allowing Soap to kiss you so soon after a cigarette, playfully shoving him aside and making him at least chew a stick of gum before pressing his mouth to yours. But right now, sitting across from Captain John Price in that goddamn dress with that goddamn necklace and that goddamn shade of pink swiped over your lips, you sensually, borderline pornographically, slot your lips against your husband’s (his sergeant). The kiss goes on long enough that even Gaz is unabashedly gawking, his eyes darting from your hand on Soap’s chest to your mouths tangled together to your breasts and how they squish and form against Soap’s body.

And maybe Soap is too drunk to notice just how close you two had been when he walked in, or notice the way you had looked at Price before losing yourself in him, but Price is all too painfully aware of everything that’s currently going on at the table, especially all of the things you aren’t saying. It can’t be more clear than the love that Soap has for you, that you want to fuck Captain John Price and that you’ve, at the very least, kissed Gaz well enough that he follows you around almost as your own husband does.

Soap might be the demolition’s expert, but you seem to love to play with fire, and Price isn’t sure who’s going to get burned.

Price goes home that night more sexually and emotionally frustrated than he’s been in the last fifteen years. 

You, Kyle, and Johnny go home to your place to fuck until none of you can see straight and your appetites for pleasure and pain are satiated.

And somewhere out there, Simon Riley snores away in his room, completely unaware of the turmoil that’s currently brewing in the 141.

—

“Johnny, I want to fuck your captain,” you announce the next morning over a cup of fresh tea.

The grin that spreads across Johnny’s lips is nothing less than utterly wolfish, and he barks out a laugh before kissing the crown of your head. “If ye’ can get that bastard in our bedroom, ye’ can fuck him until yer heart’s content.”

“Sounds easy enough.” 

[ronearoundblindly]

Drabble Birthday Ask!

Reader finally 'catches' the thing Steve's been hiding... it's that he's tired. He's tired, and he thinks it's non-inspiring or embarrassing or a burden, and he has been acting weird to cover for that.

Steeeeeeb!!!! Yes of course some TLC for Stevie. Excellent. Would recommend. 11 out of 10. Always give him the peace and safety! (Don't hate me though; it's just a bit of established relationship fluff!)

I am uncharacteristically skipping the part where you confront Steve about this. Yes, that's right. Remain calm. Ro has passed up the opportunity to write an argument. Hold your applause. WC idk but probably 2k or less (bit of a surprise at the end, too 🤭)

It's so easy.

It's just so damn easy to lose track, to keep going, to repeat. One more conversation. One more chore. One more hour. One more day. One more.

More. Constantly more.

Steve is very good at giving more. He is consistent, constant, incessant, but you can see now that despite his unending strength, your husband can't hide that drawn, fragile look behind his eyes any longer.

Sometimes, that's life.

"Actually, scratch that shit," Tony says with a flagrant point to your face as you chat. "Life is always like that. I know what Big Guy needs, don't you worry. Consider it sorted."

This speed-date style convo tumbles through a ten-second-savoring of tea. You got one cryptic sentence about 'how you're doing' in before Tony perfectly translates your meaning.

For once, more is unnecessary. He knows.

Stark, however, doesn't even have a moment to finish the turn up of his lips in a smile before his watch is pinged.

His eyes focus to the inside of his glasses. "Go for the World's Most Fashionable Hero," he deadpans, wandering off with his mug clasped like a lifeline in his hands.

Yeah, you know that feeling. Wit's End must be as contagious as pinkeye 'round these parts.

Steve's been silent for the last hour of the car ride. He checks the address. He checks the map. He checks the road. That's it.

Music he usually hates has been playing for fifty-one minutes and counting. No reaction.

Clearly, you were right to ask Stark for help.

The gravel drive up to the cabin is bumpy, and Steve apologizes for having to go so slowly.

"Almost there. I think it's--yeah, there. Okay, we're here." Your husband flips the key back and out of the ignition, a stunted sigh forcing it's way past his tight shoulders, immediately opening the door and heading for the trunk. "I'll get the bags. You get the--"

"Steve? Will you come with me for a sec?"

He looks at you--really sets his eyes on you--for the first time since loading the car.

"What's wrong?"

You crunch up to the short staircase to the long porch. "Just come up here, please."

It takes another wave of your hand in encouragement before Steve abandons the small duffels and totes. He's not used to leaving a man behind. He's got a mission. He's supposed to finish the job. Always one more thing.

More. Constantly more. That's Steve's life, and he does it without complaint. Never, ever complaining, even when he should.

His heavy, tired feet fall hollowly on the wood.

"We're starting now," you chirp, excited to surprise him.

Steve tips his bodyweight to lean on the banister, crossing his ankles before crossing his arms, his head down while sneaking a squint-and-blink to try and bounce his energy back.

"Sure, what's first on the list?"

"Oh, no," you correct. "The list is mine. Those are my activities for the weekend. You are here."

His brow furrows. "What? You're gonna--"

"Steve." You gently hold onto his arms. "I mean, you have nothing to do. Not a single thing. And I don't care where you do it, but you will be doing nothing all weekend. Sleep in the bed, on the couch, on the dingy over there, hell, right here on the porch swing. It doesn't matter. It's your rest, but you must rest."

"What about--"

"Nope."

"Or if--"

"Uh-uh, definitely not."

Steve looks slightly panicked. "Dinner?" he tries in a last-ditch effort to be useful every minute of every day.

"There is a bag of stuff that I will be dumping into a crockpot and walking away from, so, no, you can't do that either."

He's still not sure, eyes glassy and flickering about.

"There's fruit for breakfast, veggies and dip for snacks, and we don't have to even turn on the stove unless we want to. Now--" you release him "--I'm putting stuff away and--"

Steve opens his mouth to argue.

"--and not one word out of you. Not one, sweets. Go. Be free. Sleep. Stare at the water, or a wall, or the ceiling for all I care, but you have nothing else to do today. Okay?"

His eye twitches, a half-hearted glare melting into a challenge in his tight jaw.

"Okay???" you prod.

His hands fling out in defeat. "You told me not to say a word," he whines, automatically making his way back down the stairs.

"No bags," you scold.

He whips around, almost muttering.

"No bags." You rush down and past him toward the car. "And I will bring you looser clothes to sleep in."

"You--"

"AH!"

"But--"

"What did I just say, Rogers?"

Now he just looks petulant, a familiar mood in your household.

You stubbornly point to the cabin. "Go on. Git!"

He watches you bring in the mindfully-light bags you packed up for the trip, pouting and scowling in equal measure.

Steve has to show off at least once by snatching up a bit of potato that rolled across the counter in the transfer of dinner.

Instead of thanking him, you shove a t-shirt and thin sweats at his chest.

He fakes an oof of surprise and traps you for a quick kiss before going to change. He does leave you alone for the rest of setting up.

Steve is dead asleep on the deep, two-seater porch swing when you head to the little work shed, his knees bent so he faces in, his forehead buried in cushion to block out daylight, already snoring softly.

You have to hold your hands to your chest so as not to touch him. Tears of joy prick your eyes seeing him relax so quickly.

Steve can follow orders when he wants to, you think with a smile.

In the garden shed, Pepper has all the cool crafting things, and you putz around with some wood pieces and paints for a couple of hours. You walk the perimeter of the cabin to find some nice wildflowers for a table centerpiece, mixing delicate stems of blue buds with expansive wisps of white and little pops of yellow. You attempt to figure out the dingy but decide against going on the water alone yet. Maybe tomorrow.

At no point does Steve move.

When you walk up to the house, fist full of flowers, he's out cold, softly swaying in the breeze as the gusts pick up in the afternoon.

You snack and listen to music in your headphones, doze in the bed after the sun warmed you a little too much, and then wake to the smell of stew.

The beep of the crockpot wakes him.

Bedhead and pillow mishmarks on his cheek look great on Steve Rogers.

Without argument, he washes his hands and sits at the reclaimed wood table.

Steve says only two things:

"Thank you" when you set a large bowl in front of him, and "can you pass the salt?" after he taste-tests the meal.

He reads a book until falling asleep for the night with you, curled with his knees bent again.

He does well.

He keeps resting, multiple times with his book open on his chest, barely to halfway after hours and hours of holding on to the browning paperback pages.

He rests in the bed. He rests on the couch. He rests (again) on the porch swing. Finally, he rests in your lap while you both float on the lake in the dingy.

He rests with you by his side. He rests with you in his arms. He rests even when you leave to do something else. It's exactly what you wanted, what he needed, and how it should be.

Steve mumbles a fair few things, but the most important thing is that none of it is important enough to articulate. He doesn't have to talk. He doesn't have to be heard. He doesn't have to be understood.

He only has to rest, and he's following orders well. He's completing his mission.

It is truly fascinating how close you can feel without words--okay, so you two aren't completely non-verbal for the weekend, but there are no long conversations. After being married for a while, those are not entirely necessary. You know each other too well for all that; Steve simply feels the stigma of being weak and tired from his youth.

He holds himself to a different, impossible standard. He thinks of it as pushing the limits of his serum, as offering everything he has to others, as respecting those he cares for by shouldering burdens. You think it's stupid.

It is the only stupid thing Steve Rogers does.

Now, after days of resting, you're pretty sure Steve knows he was being stupid.

You hope he knows he can ask for help or a break whenever he wants, before he needs it this badly.

To your great delight, Steve gathers up his things that were left around the house, but he leaves the actual packing to you. This is very helpful in keeping the final surprise.

He's watching the water, sitting up in the porch swing for once with an arm thrown over the back, an easy, calm smile stretched across his face, the first you've seen in months if you're being honest.

Steve gestures for you to join him, but you bite your lip and check the gravel drive.

Exactly on schedule, an engine revs and wheels crackle over the gravel.

You wink at your husband just as excited shouts ring out from Tony's fancy car.

"Papa! Papa! Look what Morgan and I found at the beach!"

"I made you a seashell necklace, Momma. You, too, Pops."

Your children race up the porch steps and jump into the space below Steve's arm.

His smile is still easy, but perhaps a little more excited than calm.

More. Constantly more.

But it's not all tiring...

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay

@rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

[galazry]

Look at Me!

pairing: best friend!scaramouche x gn!reader genre: modern au, friends to lovers(?), is this angst? idk tbh content: Again and again, you, being the hopeless romantic that you are, yapped about this new crush of yours. When is it going to be his turn? word count: 812 a/n: inspired by the song "From The Start" by Laufey. is it also based on a brainrot? you bet it is! i also want to apologize that most of my brainrots are in indonesian but hey, at least the drabble is in english.

"Them? You've got to be kidding me."

You were talking about your new crush to Scaramouche, your best friend. It's the same old formula every time; You see someone attractive or said person does something nice for you, you get a crush on them, and then you tell Scaramouche all about said person. Truth be told, he was actually getting tired of this same old gig. Every time you yapped about some new "soulmate" of yours, he is reminded painfully that the feeling he harbored for you was unrequited.

"Can't that thick skull of yours see? They are only doing that just because they are a decent person."

"Come on, Scara! I really think I have a chance with this new 'soulmate' of mine!"

Soulmate. What a laugh.

As you go on and on about how the person you currently have a crush on was so perfect for you, he can't help but to let his mind wander. How he wished that the day would come where you run up to him and confess that you actually have been harboring feelings for him as well; that all these crushes you have were just mere distractions since you were confused about your feelings for him. Another wish of his was for you to finally realize that he has a crush on you, and that the feeling was mutual. Of course, those were all just silly little thoughts in his head.

How much longer do you need to finally notice he has feelings for you? For now, he'll just have to listen to you gush about your current supposed soulmate.

It's taking a tedious amount of time for you to realize that he has feelings for you. How long has it been? Scaramouche has lost track but he's sure that almost 2 years have passed. Hell, at this point, he thinks that both of your peers have noticed how he always looked at you differently.

All, except you.

Scaramouche was getting impatient. It was ridiculous. He had done everything to give signs that he was in love with you, so why haven't you noticed yet?! Even a kindergarten would notice all these hints he had given for you. After weeks of you yapping about ANOTHER new crush of yours, he can no longer contain the feelings in his chest.

"And then our eyes meet and-"

"[Y/N]."

"Hm?"

"Stop it."

You blinked a few times at your best friend. He looked annoyed. Well, more annoyed than usual as there was a thin line on his forehead. "What do you mean-" before you could get your sentence out, Scaramouche gripped your wrist and pulled you closer towards him.

"I've had it with you and your crushes. Can't you give me a glance for once?! I'm right here! Why can't you have feelings for me?!"

"S-Scara...? What do you...?"

Your eyes widen and Scaramouche immediately regrets what he had just did. He lets go of your wrist before looking away. Even if he tries to hide it, you could definitely see that his cheeks were gaining colour. His mouth felt dry as he cursed himself for suddenly lashing out at you, but since the cat's out of the bag...

"I like you alright?! From the start and for the longest time, I have always had feelings for you! I've tried every thing for you to notice me! Everything!"

Scaramouche rambled on and on about his feelings for you as you sit there in silence staring at him with wide eyes. He begins explaining all the things he had done just to get your attention— He makes sure that his notes were always tidy so you could read them, he always packs an extra set of lunch since he knows you sometimes forget to pack yours, he always carries around bandages since you were known to be clumsy— those were just the three out of the many things he had done just for you to either realize his feelings for you, or for you to fall in love with him. Yet, it seemed like all his efforts were for naught.

Finally, after a solid five minutes, he had gotten everything out of his chest. You were still speechless by the time he had finished, trying to process everything your best friend had said. He opened his mouth to say anything, anything at all, but no words came out of it. Fearing words of rejection from you, or even causing a rift in your long-standing friendship, he decides to leave before you could even utter a single word.

That wasn't how it was suppose to go... Now Scaramouche was sure that his feelings for you were never going to be requited. For some odd reason, even though it was a sunny day, he could feel something wet streaming down his cheeks.

"Stupid... You should have kept your mouth shut..."

[fariesoiree]

Absolutely feral for the aphrodisiac chocolate drabble! what would have happened if you extended it into an entire fic? 👀👀 *wink wink*

hmmm should i? i usually don’t really plan on extending any of my drabbles n i actually don’t go back n reread them bc they’re vastly different from how i write now ( 2 me ) but that one gets a lot of love

that being saiddddd idk if i’d actually ever extend it but here’s a little something of what would happen later that day broken down into two liddol moments bc bc bc idk if i would write it and if i dooo i don’t wanna spoil it c: mdni black fem coded reader unedited

the car ride back to your university apartment. that had to be one of the most tense moments hobie has even been in, even when he compares it to all the times he’s spent flying through the air with multiple near misses from the amount of concrete rubble thrown at him from half human-half animal villains hellbent on ruining new york.

he is ultimately forced to next to you, breathing in the smell of your sweet perfume. today, he watched you spritz the yellow sol de janero —brazilian crush cheirosa 62 —bottle over your body, naked and highlighted in a dewy sheen from the baby oil you applied to your damp skin, fresh out the shower.

the thought makes his dick absolutely throb in his jeans, baggy but somehow still tight. he’s abandoned the mass of silvery and studded belts, throwing them across the backseat of your sedan. occasionally, when you slow for a red light or make a less than smooth turn around the corner, the buckles jingle and clank against each other.

his brain is muddied with images of your body, basking golden in the sunlight. he remembers lazing about, strewn across your bed and watching in adoration as you get ready for the outing. he’s mad at himself for not taking advantage of the opportunity and sweeping you off your feet, never mind that the aphrodisiac hadn’t had an effect.

“you sure you can’t pull over and give me head?”

your eyes are blown wide, truly in shock that after just fucking your face in the mall dressing room, he wants to go again. not even ten minutes ago, you were swallowing his cum and being dragged towards the exit promptly after. “what? hobie, i drive a fishbowl. that’s literally illegal.”

“so then pull somewhere empty. i’ll give you head, first. consider it a reward.” hobie thumbs at the bottom of your sweater, reaching over the middle console and hooking his fingers under the buttery smooth material. the pads of his appendages rubs against your skin and for a moment, your heart begins to race.

“hobart larry brown.” you have to force your voice to remain still and firm despite the turmoil building inside you. he’s too convincing with his sly words and suggestive touches. he’s the one under the influence and here he is, influencing you.

he clicks his tongue and disappointment and pulls his hand away. much like how you would, he huffs out a breath of air and crosses his arms over his chest. out the corner of your eye, you can see his legs wide open in a manspread. “fine. be a boring conformist.”

it’s comical how fast hobie pushed you through the entryway door to your apartment. you suppose you would have laughed when you stumbled over the long laces of your air forces if the context hadn’t been so provocative. you would have giggled when hobie circles his arms around your waist and lift you in the air. instead, you consider yourself lucky that your roommates aren’t in the common space to witness this, and possibly not here at all.

regardless, hobie would have done the same. he would have paraded into your room and slammed the door shut if they were here or not. he does it now, setting you down as gently as he can manage against your bed, softened by the mattress topper and flushed sheets.

he’s impatient and you can tell because he nearly forgets to lock the door behind him. had you not reminded him, pointing to the brass doorknob, it would have escaped him entirely.

it’s in record time that he’s got your legs spread and one pushed into the comforter, knee bent and trembling in the air. he slurps and suckles your cunt, dripping in runny arousal. hobie’s is relentless, stuck in an infinite cycle of trying to milk your cunt dry despite the never ending arousal that gushes out.

you can sob and cry all you want but he isn’t deterred. if anything, it’s encouragement. it’s like positive reinforcement to taste you like this, indulging in the subtle taste of sour acidity — completely natural and hobie’s favorite drug.

back arching of the sage green bedsheets, you’re body is already spent. hobie hasn’t put a single thing inside your throbbing pussy. not his dick, not his fingers, just the wet, warm muscle of his tongue wriggling and toying with your cunt. you’re delirious after cumming three times in the last few minutes, each weaker than the last.

“icanticanticant —!” your palm comes in contact with hobie’s coarse wicks, and not for the first time either. his forehead feels warm beneath it, clammy with a thin layer of sweat from exerting such physical activity.

pop! hobie’s hand falls hot against your skin. from between your legs, he lifts his head with a scowl. his face reflects an expression you’ve never seen on him before, as if you’re stepped between him and his greatest desire. “try that shit again, bug. see what i do to you.”

you’re hesitant to move, knowing that once you do, the onslaught of his tongue would proceed again. it just barely borders a dull sensation of pain and has you convinced there’s no more you can give him so quickly and back-to-back. still, your body has been manipulated into craving him. you need more; your nerves are certain of it.

you don’t move fast enough for hobie’s liking. his stare hardens and he raises a thick brow. you’re still restricting his access when he sits up a little more. “i’m not playing with your lil’ ass. move your fuckin’ hand or i’m tying them back.”

he’s never spoken to you this way, not once. not even in your most intimate and heated moments under the privacy of the night and locked away in one of your rooms. his tone invokes a carnal desire and you comply, slowly pulling your hand away.

you sort of expect praise, some form of acknowledgment that you did something right. yet, nothing like that comes. the only that happens is the resuming of hobie’s mouth against your cunt.

[zmbiesuga]

VARIOUS HQ BOYS . . . wearing an i <3 my bf shirt !

desc: your boyfriend decided it was a good idea to get the infamous 'i ❤️ my boyfriend' shirt.

includes: kuroo, oikawa, kenma, yaku & hanamaki x male!reader. he/him pronouns used, boyfriend is also used

warnings: cussing, uh idk kinda fluff, supposed to be a little teehee funny thing but idk.

notes: trying a new layout! (for drabbles at least)

★ KUROO !

bought it on the premise of "he is gonna think this is so fucking funny."

that's probably half of his wardrobe tbh, shirts he finds absolutely hilarious. nerd.

anyways.

when you initially saw the shirt, you didn't know what to say. or how to feel

in front of you, is your dork ass boyfriend with this shit eating grin, and he is just soo proud of himself for buying this stupid fucking shirt

and you want to laugh really because it is funny in like a 12 year old boy way, but it's also strangely endearing

so you let out the laugh that's been stuck in your throat for a surprisingly long amount of time

and his smile grows wider knowing he was right

★ KENMA !

he did not buy that shirt himself, you did.

you bought matching ones 😁

wtf do you want him to say? he doesn't know what to say.

he thinks it's kinda dumb. it's obviously not like, totally stupid, but he thinks it's a little dumb.

he'll wear it with you just to please you but other than that he won't wear it any other time

when he wore it with you once someone from the team saw him and teased him

pissed him off a little but honestly he doesn't really care. it makes you happy so, he'll do it.

★ YAKU !

okay look he's the only one who bought it seriously

he thought it was cute 😕 he wanted to surprise you

yeah he's kind of a hardass, but he's really sweet with you and wants to show that he loves you!!

so he shows up to your next date wearing it, it wasn't like a fancy date or anything, like a park date.

you were going to laugh until you realized he wore it seriously, that's when you felt your chest tighten

tell him you love it and him please, he loves you so much. he's not afraid to tell the world that

★ OIKAWA !

he got it for two reasons

1. it's really popular right now

2. you said he wouldn't actually buy it so he did to prove you wrong

you can't help but laugh at him really.

he gets all whiny because it's clearly a declaration of his love and not just him needing to prove you wrong on something

so you apologize and tell him you love it, only to get a "good you better it was like $30" in response </3

you can't win

★ HANAMAKI !

bought it on the premise "he is gonna think this is so fucking funny." pt. 2

except he didn't tell you he got the shirt

he decided he was gonna tell you by wearing the shirt at random to see if you noticed

you noticed the first couple of times, but didn't say anything to fuck with him

and it did

he got really fed up that you were being that oblivious and like finally told you that he had bought the shirt

you just tell him you noticed and didn't say anything, and now he feels like the idiot.

again, just tell him you love him and apologize

[jealusty--movedaccounts]

Can I Be Him?

PAIRINGS : Lee Felix × fem!reader.

WORD COUNT : 7.9k.

GENRE : Angst, Smut, Fluff.

WARNINGS/CONTENT : multiple pov (reader+felix+author/narrator), reader has a toxic bf and felix wants her, strangers to friends to lovers, nightclub meet cute lmao, drinking, protective!felix, (un)requited love, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending.

A/N : This was supposed to be a quick smut drabble, but I can't live without adding some angst apparently. The more you know.

"Please, angel. You don't know how long I've been wanting this. I want to do this right. I want to worship you like you deserve."

If you could, you might melt into a puddle right then and there, but his dick is just a few centimeters away from your fingertips, and your mind is just a little unhinged.

You click your tongue impatiently, "You know damn well what happened the last time you tried to do this right. You wouldn't want history to repeat, would you?" His fly is undone in a flash.

"Tick tock, baby."

Main Masterlist

Smut warnings under the cut

SMUT WARNINGS : Lots of kissing, nicknames (baby, angel), switch!felix, switch!reader, Felix as a service top halfway through, begging (willingly, not forced lol), marking (once), voice kink(? Idk the reader gets horny over his deep voice), oral (m.+f. recieving), slight voyeurism (alleyway blowjob), deepthroating, body worship, nipple play, praise kink, spitting, dirty talk, unprotected intercourse (do better), squirting, creampie, fucking that turns to lovemaking, revelations about sexual preferences

"He left again?"

Wrapping your shivering arms around yourself in a failed attempt to bring some warmth, you smile "It's okay."

How the fuck could you smile at that?

"It's okay? Nothing is okay here. You're trembling on the street alone in the middle of the night, and it's okay?"

"It's really fine, Lixie, he had something important to take care of."

"And what could be more important than taking his girlfriend home? He couldn't offer you a ride on his way? Or at least get you in a fucking cab?"

You smile at how riled up Felix was getting, he always was the overprotective type, one of the kindest souls you'd met. That was the only reason he was so worried about you. That was why he looked about fit to burst right now. Yeah, he's just kind.

Who you were convincing, you weren't sure.

You had met him about ten months ago, in this very bar, when you'd come in for the first time. He'd been a regular and you'd clicked in an instant. You remember the night distinctly.

Stepping into 'Enigma', you repeated your plan in your head over and over,

I just need to get it out. I'm gonna find some cute guy, flirt with him, fuck him, and be on my merry way.

Only, you hadn't ever done this before. Only, it was your first time being alone in a nightclub. Only, you didn't know how to flirt- all your sexual experiences being with past lovers.

Oh god, this was such a bad idea.

If I just turn around a little bit, just a little, at a distance of like two steps, I can be out and into the confines of my home and wallow in-

No. Stop doing this. Calm the fuck down.

Making your way to the bar before your brain could talk you out of it, you order a Cosmo. You'd rather have your wits about you if you were going to fuck a stranger.

Fuck, am I actually doing this?

You swirl in your bar stool, looking around, and within seconds, lock eyes with a handsome stranger leaning against the wall right on the opposite side of the nightclub.

Oh, I'm doing this, alright.

You offer what you think is a flirtatious smile, and the man smiles so brightly at you, you get whiplash.

Heck yeah, I'm definitely doing this.

The bartender calls over to you to let you know that your drink is ready, promptly ending the little staring contest you'd unknowingly been participating in.

You turn back and accept your drink.

When you look over your shoulder again, the stranger is gone. Looking around, you don't see him again.

I'm not gonna get it today, am I?

Just as you were about to actually physically whine, you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

"Is this seat taken?"

Hah! I'm getting it.

You shake your head a little too eagerly, hoping it doesn't show. If he notices your enthusiasm, he doesn't say anything. Sliding into the stool next to you, he turns to face you,

"I'm Felix."

Now that you have gotten over your little mental victory dance, you hear him, like really hear him.

"What the-"

"That's an interesting name." He chuckles, not at all bothered by your bluntless.

"Sorry, it's just, your- your voice... " You fumble about, not really knowing what to say.

"Is..?" He cocks up an eyebrow.

Oh, he was enjoying this a little too much.

"Really-" You almost said 'turning me on.' It was. It really was. It was so thick, deep and velvety. Like the deepest of hot dark chocolates melting and trickling down the wine glass. Just a lick of your wine tinted lips, and you could get a heavenly mouthful.

Snapping out of the reverie of thirsty thoughts you'd found yourself in, you are suddenly aware that you never completed your earlier thought. He doesn't seem to mind, looking patiently at you with an amused expression, sipping on his whiskey he'd apparently ordered in the time you were thirsting over his voice.

"- uh, really deep." You settle. Your add your name at the last minute. God, he only just came here and your brain was already short circuiting.

"Nice to meet you." He flashes that million watt smile at you again and you fucking melt.

It doesn't make sense, how a criminally handsome man, with voice as deep as a void, had the cutest fucking toothy smile.

Are those freckles I'm seeing!? Lord have mercy, kill me while you're at it, why don't you.

You manage to crack out a smile, and he beams. The rest of the night goes on smoothly. The conversation is natural between you two. No forced topics, no awkward silence. It's almost perfect. Key word : almost.

The only problem being, he hasn't made a move on you once. Heck, he didn't even try to flirt with you, let alone touch you. You waited and waited, but nothing happened.

Does he have a girlfriend?

You carefully manage to slip it into coveration, but he denies it.

Oh, so you're just not interested in me, huh? That's nice to know.

As the night goes on, your hopes keep getting lower and reach an all time low when he guides you out of the club and helps you into the Uber.

"Aren't you getting in?" You ask in a last ditch attempt to get him to see that you very clearly want him.

"Nah, I live around the corner here. I'll be fine walking. Get home safe."

On the ride home, you realise he didn't even ask for your number.

Was I that off putting?

Over the course of the week, you get to know that he didn't need to ask for your number, because you see each other everyday at the same place, same time. You always get a Cosmo, he always gets a whiskey, you talk all night, he keeps his distance.

That last part frustrated you to no end, made you want to pull your hair out.

Does he really just want a friend? That can't be it, right? Who looks to make a friend of the opposite sex at a nightclub?

Felix did, apparently. It became plenty clear what he saw you as, on the sixth day of you both hanging out together.

He had called a cab for you yet again - much like almost every other day - when you drunkenly mumble, "Thanks for always doing this for me."

"Hey, don't mention it. That's what friends are for, right?"

That's enough to sober you up.

As the cab begins moving forward, you feel your heart sieze. You don't know when your need to fuck him turned into this stupid crush you're just coming to terms with. But as the cab ride continues, the pain seeps through and you come to the realisation that it isn't - wasn't - just a stupid crush. It was so much more.

Such a unique flavor of masochism, unrequited love.

You wash the tears away in your shower later that night, only to cry some more.

So really, he's just being kind when he's so worked up about your boyfriend ditching you.

"I'll call you a cab."

"Just like the old days." Your drunken mind muses.

Felix doesn't reply, but you think you see a flick of seriousness on his face. It's gone as soon as it came, leaving you to wonder if your drunk mind was playing games on you.

"Ugh! There are no cabs available."

"I'll just wait around for one to pass by, then."

"While you're drunk this late in the night? Like hell you will."

You just giggle in response and Felix almost coos at the sight. Bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, for a moment - just a moment - he thinks about taking you home with him. It's just a few minutes walk away. But he quickly shuts it down. As pathetic as it sounds, he doesn't really trust himself around you.

Finally deciding on the best game plan that doesn't involve him having to check himself and his little guy down there, he takes your hand and guides you away from the club.

You don't even question him, trailing behind, barely managing to walk straight.

The walk is silent, his hand in yours warm. You both stop in front of an apartment complex about ten minutes later.

"Is this your place?" You wonder out aloud.

"Yeah, just wait here. I'll be back."

You grasp at his sleeve just as he's about to take off "What do you mean wait here? Am I not coming in?"

"Uh, there's no need. I'll be two minutes. I just have to get my car keys and then I'll drop you off."

All the insecurities from months back return with an ugly thump.

"Am I really that unappealing to you?" You find your wobbly voice saying, the alcohol doing the talking for you.

"What?" He's taken aback by the sudden question. Moreso, by the sudden gloss that covers your eyes.

"Even back then, you approached me but never tried anything. Am I that unattractive to you?"

Was that what you had been thinking all this time?

How does he tell you, the reason he didn't make any moves was because he wanted to do it right? He didn't see you as just a fuck. Sure, he approached you with that intention, but as you began to talk, he felt that spark, that connection with you he had never experienced before. Being with you was easy. He wanted to be around you more. He didn't want to screw this up by propositioning you. You would fuck, then what? He wanted you in his life, so he had to play his cards right.

Alas, he had never been much of a card-sharp.

Two months after the cab incident, where he fucked up and called you a friend, you had started dating your now boyfriend.

It had shattered him. Seeing you laughing with someone else, kissing someone else. The chance went right past him.

If only he had known. If only he hadn't been such a coward.

Stepping towards you, he hesitantly holds you at arms length, looking into your eyes. He's not sure what he sees there. Why does it matter to you? Has it bothered you all this time? Why, though? You never gave any signs that you liked him back. That's ridiculous. You wouldn't be dating your current boyfriend if you felt anything at all for him.

He brushes the thought aside, blaming your strange behaviour on alcohol and hormones at having been ditched by your boyfriend.

"Hey, no. You're beautiful, okay? You're- you're.." He feels a lump forming in his throat. How does he go about explaining what he truly thinks of you? If he were to keep talking, he would end up confessing, he's sure.

"Just- just stay, here, okay? I won't take more than a minute." He rushes off.

A part of him feels bad at not reassuring you more, but he just has to get away from you, your warmth. The urge to take you in his arms too strong, he feels his restraint slipping away.

This is exactly why he didn't want to let you stay the night.

Sure enough, within a minute, he's out with a key dangling off his fingers.

You have considerably calmed down by then, despite it being only a minute since you were practically ready to cry.

Just alcohol and hormones. It's okay.

You walk off to his car without looking at him and yank the car door. It doesn't budge, "Are you gonna keep standing there?"

Felix is visibly taken aback at your harsh tone and choice of words, dumbly unlocking the car and getting in with you.

Hormones. Hormones. Alcohol. Hormones.

The entire car ride, you're silent. But it's just the calm before the storm, he can feel it.

When he stops in front of your place - having known your address after calling the cab for you on multiple occasions - you just sit there, unmoving. He can see you simmering away. Whatever's going on in your head, it can't be pleasant.

Contrary to what he'd thought, you reach out for him and rest your hand on his collarbone, half covered by his silk shirt.

"Did I tell you that you look good today? So pretty." Your voice is but a whisper and the drowsy expression on your face has him reeling.

When he doesn't say anything - but doesn't resist your touch either - you slide your hand futher up his clavicle, stopping at the base of his throat, then slowly traveling up and over his adam's apple, across his jawline, to the back of his head. Sinking your fingers into his mullet, you mumble "So soft," eyes glazed over, lips parted. Your thumb pokes out from under his ear and you quickly run it over his bottom lip, "so so soft." Your words feel distant to your own ears, as if they're echoing from somewhere underwater and not your mouth.

He looks into your eyes that are fixed at his lips. Your cheeks are a pretty shade of pink, your lips wet and pillowy. Your pupils are blown wide, and you look... turned on?

The sight of you has blood rushing straight to his cock before he can stop it.

Your eyes find his again, an electricity zings through his nerves and it's all he can do to not give in and sink his teeth into that godforsaken lower lip of yours.

You lean forward, his breath hitches. He can feel your breath right on his lips and honestly, it's turning his brain to mush.

Before things could go any more South, before his dick can get any harder, he latches onto the last bit of sanity he has left.

"Y-you have a boyfriend." Is all he says, finding himself physically incapable of outright denying you.

The simple statement seems to have knocked some sense into you, as you suddenly pull away, eyes wide, that drowsy look wiped clean off your face.

"Sor-rry, I should- I should go. Yeah." You fumble with the seatbelt and next thing he knows, you are out the door.

The air around him feels entirely too cold without your warmth, increasingly too harsh without your sweet scent filling it.

The wind is chilly, goosebumps braking across your skin. Not really surprising considering it's nearing the end of the year.

Not the best idea to wear a sheer bodycon dress, I guess.

Wrapping up on yourself you softly exhale, your breath condensing and curling, dancing away in the cool midnight breeze.

You feel a sudden warmth on your shoulders.. A jacket?

"What is up with you and the whole drunk-stranded-alone-at-midnight thing?"

That deep velvety voice.

You hadn't seen him in the two months since what you've decided to call your 'drunken fuck up'. He didn't show up at the club after, and it's then that you realised you didn't have each other's numbers, still.

"Your boyfriend leave you again?"

"No. I left him."

"What?" He isn't sure he understands.

"I broke up with him." You're not sure why you want him to understand.

It's then that he looks at you fully, his beautiful face iluminated even more beautifully by the full moon that looms over the two of you, silently watching. His raven locks are parted almost in the centre, forehead exposed, bangs reaching his eyes.

Fuck, he's gorgeous.

He watches you intently. You have no idea what's going on in his head, his expression unreadable.

You think back to what went down in his car all those days ago. You definitely picked up on the fact that he was aroused too, that he wanted what you wanted too.

You were sure. But another thing you also were, was drunk. Could you have misread the entire situation?

"How are you getting home?" he disregards your comment altogether.

But of course, rejection at its finest. Just my luck.

"Cab."

He chuckles, "You know how to hail a cab?"

"Had to learn to since you ghosted me." The remark comes off with more of a bite than you had intended.

He falls quite, face turning serious. His attempt at keeping the conversation lighthearted having failed miserably.

Guess it's now or never.

"Hey, the reason I backed off that da-"

"I know. You were right to do that. Thanks. But what I don't know is why you had to ghost me after."

He sighs. Truth be told, he doesn't know himself. He didn't think it through. You have a way of making his head go blank, of making him lose the ability to think rationally and make mature decisions.

"I know it was a dick move, and I-I honestly don't know what I was thinking."

You squint your eyes, waiting.

One look at your face and the word vomit begins, "I-I've wanted you since that day we met last year. I wanted you that day, but then we talked and then I actually began to like you. And I didn't want to mess it up, so- so I didn't do anything about it that day - or the next day - or the next week. God, that was my biggest mistake! I thought I was taking my time, when I was really just being a coward. I... I realised a little too late that I liked you a little too much and by then... By then- you.. " He swallows, looking away.

You take a step forward, reaching out for him much like you did that day, cupping his chin, turning his face towards you.

"Do you still want me?" You whisper, eyes transfixed on those darn pink lips of his that were looking a little too appetizing right about now.

"Ye-"

The word is barely out of his mouth and you're swallowing it, pushing your lips onto his with such force, you both stumble back and his hands fly to grip your waist tightly.

And you love it, you love finally having his hands on you, your lips on his, his breath in your mouth.

You move your lips against his, slowly nibbling, then suking on his bottom lip, biting softly. He yelps a little, but there's no way in heck you're stopping now.

You lick at his lower lip to sooth the ache, your way of saying you're sorry.

And then do it all over again.

You part his lips with yours, tongue slipping in, twirling around his own, exploring his mouth, taking in the taste of him. He groans, breathing hard and goes to pull away, probably to breath, but you don't let him.

Fisting both his collars in your hands, you yank him toward you, your entwined tongues now transferring into your mouth due to the momentum with which he falls forward. You gladly welcome it.

You let him set the pace this time. His hot wet tongue caresses your own, gliding and flicking. He withdraws it, and suddenly sucks borderline violently, and in the next moment, you find that your tongue is in his mouth again, and he's still sucking on it.

A loud honk jolts you apart, both of you panting, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

It's him who still has the wits to turn around and come face to face with a very annoyed cab driver. How long had he been here?

The tips of his ears burning red, he steps away from your grasp whilst you catch your breath.

You don't register what he does or what he says. In your dazed state, you can only make out the low rumble of his deep voice and the sound of a car taking off.

His hand suddenly grasps your. He looks into your eyes with a questioning look and you know exactly what he's asking for. You quickly nod and he wastes no time tugging you along.

His apartment is only ten minutes away, but the buzzing between your legs is too strong and your willpower is too weak.

You feel desire overtake the rational part of your brain, arousal clouding your judgement.

He isn't faring any better, ducking into an alleyway to take a shortcut.

As if sensing your impatience, he goes "Just another two minutes." His voice is gruff, the octave even lower than what it usually is.

It was no secret that his voice was your weakness, and hearing it take on such a low note, something in you snaps.

Before you know it, you're pushing him against the wall in the alleyway, taking those pillowy lips between yours. There's no time for build up, no time to fool around. You want to inhale him.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, the kind that lets you know you're doing it right.

Primal need consuming you, your hands hastily go down to his belt, fumbling and unbuckling.

That seems to catch his attention, "W-wait!"

Your reaction is immediate, dropping your hands and pulling back slightly, you pant "What's wrong? You don't want this?"

"No!" He flinches when he yells a little too loud, "I mean, no, I do, I do want it. God knows I want to. Just.. Not here."

You relax at that. Your hands find purchase on his belt again, slowly sliding along towards the buckle. You lean back into him and whisper against his lips, "Can't wait. I've waited enough."

With one clean move his buckle is undone, your hands hovering over his zipper, eyes carefully studying his face. If he's genuinely uncomfortable doing this here, you're not going to force him. But if there's a chance that he might be willing, you're jumping at it.

"Please, angel. You don't know how long I've been wanting this. I want to do this right. I want to worship you like you deserve."

If you could, you might melt into a puddle right then and there, but his dick is just a few centimeters away from your fingertips, and your mind is just a little unhinged.

You click your tongue impatiently, "You know damn well what happened the last time you tried to do this right. You wouldn't want history to repeat, would you?" His fly is undone in a flash. Honestly, you don't know how. You're not controlling your motions or your words right now. It's as if something has come over you, but you're not sure what, "Tick tock, baby."

He still looks uncertain, so you allow yourself to be serious for a moment, for one last moment before caution and all else is thrown out the window, "Just let me blow you, alright? Then we can go back to your place."

He grunts at your choice of dirty words, sounding pained, "Fuck, you want me dead, don't you?"

You're still looking at him and he gives you a nod. That's all the signal you need to deftly pull his entirely unnecessary pants and boxers down, letting his cock spring free.

To be tactful, he's well endowed. To be filthy, he has a fat cock.

You wrap your hand around him, finally finally feeling it in your palm.

You squeeze very slightly, he fucking twitches and you think you might die if he's not in your mouth within the next ten seconds.

Dropping to your knees, your spit on your palm, coating his length generously. Then, just for good measure and only partly to put on a show, you spit on his now wet cock.

"Didn't know you were so dirty", he breathes, sounding awed.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. I don't do clean." You smirk up at him and that's all the warning he gets before you are taking him in your mouth, all the way until he hits your uvula.

"ah, fuck-"

You smile, mouth still full of him and angle your head upwards, so that he can slip into your throat. He does so, and you're concentrating on taking him as deep as your throat will allow. That's when he starts begging,

"A-angel, please. Ah shi- just please."

Oh, how sweet he sounds, you absolutely have to tease him.

You release him with a loud, wet 'pop' "Please, what?"

He's breathless, looking down at you with so much vulnerability that you almost feel bad for teasing him. Almost.

"Please just, ugh, please keep going."

You would like to make him work more for his release, but to be quite frank, you already miss the heavy weight of his cock in your mouth.

Taking him this time is a little easier as your jaw has adjusted to the sheer size of him. Looking right into his eyes, you take him all the way to the back of your throat, and Felix promptly loses it. He's pulling at his own hair, grunting, and panting.

Your don't move or bob your head, instead stay there with him down your throat, and move your tongue along the underside of his shaft, not quite twirling - only because there's no space in your mouth that is stuffed so full - just caressing.

"Oh god, please, please. Angel, please."

You decide to take mercy on the poor guy, deciding not to play with him anymore.

Maybe next time.

Keeping him in your throat you swallow once, twice and then he's cumming, thick white spurts shooting directly down your air column, almost making you gag. But you're nothing if not stubborn. You swallow all of him and pull away when he starts to whine from the sensitivity.

You're panting, he's panting. Life's good.

"C'mere." his voice is hoarse even though it's your throat that has just been abused.

He pulls you into a kiss that's altogether too sweet given what just went down.

"Let's go."

You don't know how you get to his apartment. Hell, you don't even know how you get into the bedroom. All you know is that as soon as you're within the privacy of four walls, it's like a switch flips within him. He's practically tearing your clothes away, your shirt and jeans tossed aside into some corner of the room. His own clothes recieve the same treatment shortly after.

Left only in your bra and underwear, you take in your surroundings. His room is well organised. Minimalistic, yet homey and cozy. A soft yellow light is on in lieu of the tubelight, painting the room in a sombre glo-

Your train of thoughts is cut off by your own yelp.

"Eyes on me, angel." Gone is the sweet guy with doe eyes who was begging you in the dark alleyway. The person in front of you is the man with such deep and velvety a voice, he could pass for a siren.

As he approaches you, the look in his eyes so carnal, you're sure you're about to be thrown onto the bed. You've never been much for manhandling, but you'd be willing to give it a shot for him.

So consider your surprise when - as opposed to the utter hunger in his eyes - he tenderly places one hand on the the small of your back, the other holding your head, securing you in his hold. You are guided onto your back on the bed so gently that it hurts, him coming up to hover over you.

"You're so pretty. So so pretty. My pretty angel." His lips find your cheek, kissing softly and then trail down, across your jaw, to your throat where he leaves butterfly kisses. He moves to work at your collarbones, licking long stripes on each one and moving downwards between the valley of your breasts.

You squirm under him, wanting some sort of relief from the growing heat between your legs. "Felix," you breathe out, not sure where the sentence was going, but it only felt natural to say his name out loud like you've always been wanting too. Far too long than you care to admit.

"Shh, angel. Please let me take my time. I've been wanting to worship you forever." He pulls the cups of your bra down, mouth attaching to one of your nipples.

His tongue swirls around your bud, getting it all nice and wet before sucking the wetness right off it. He continues this game of his for a little while, till both your nipples are hardened and sensitive. Letting up with a lewd pop, he gazes down at them and seemingly satisfied, moves down your body.

He drags his tongue from the base of your sternum to your belly button in one long lick, stopping to suck a hickey just underneath it, on your lower belly.

You tried to indulge him, you really did. Even so, you are but a weak woman when it comes to the object of your desires, that happens to be present right here. So close, yet so far away.

"F-felix. Just..."

"Just what, angel?" He smirks.

Oh, this motherfucker.

You pout up at him, "Is this your way of taking revenge or something?"

The smirk on his face disappears. He crawls up to come to eye level with you, face suddenly earnest.

"No, angel. This is about you, only about you. Tell me what you want. I'll give it to you." His eyes flash with genuine care, "God, I'll give you everything. Just tell me. Please."

You could feel the sincerity coming off him. He wasn't just talking about sex. He really would give you anything, if only you gave him a chance.

In all the years of your sexual experience, you were rendered wordless for the first time. No one had been so thoughtful, so open, so vulnerable with you. Your ex never cared enough to ask what you wanted. He just did what he felt like.

It wasn't just him who did that. All the guys you'd slept with only ever cared about their release.

So, much like all the other worldly things, you'd come to realise that if you wanted something, you'd have to take it. You weren't going to sit around, waiting for someone to be nice enough to throw some empathy your way.

No, you knew what you wanted and took it. You came to terms with the fact, and that was when you built the whole dom persona around yourself. Being snarky and mouthy in bed, trying to overpower, fighting for dominance, setting your pace on your terms.

But now, with Felix looking at you with so much adoration, offering pleasure, your pleasure for nothing in return - requesting you to let him pleasure you, you couldn't help but question,

Why had I done all that?

Sex wasn't a fight. It wasn't about who was on top. It was about mutual gratification, two people satisfying each other.

He could sense the surprise on your face. "Why do you look so taken aback, angel?" He gently asks, brushing your hair off your forehead.

"It's just.. no one's ever.. said that."

"Said what?"

"No one's put my need above theirs. No one's asked me what I want."

His brows furrow at that, "Not even your ex?"

You shake your head no.

"I knew that bastard treated you like shit, but I had no idea he didn't even fuck you right." He looks angry now, "But know this, angel, as long as you'll let me, I'll give you anything you want. So tell me, tell me what you want. Nothing is off limits, okay?"

Nothing?

This sends your brain into overdrive. Here is a drop dead gorgeous man, ready to be at your service, telling you that you could ask anything of him, do anything to him, and he'll... let you?

Your mind is reeling at all the possibilities, yet you can't seem to say much.

He, yet again, perceives your hesitance, understanding that this might be new territory for you, and offers "Can I taste you?"

You can only nod.

Slowly, he descends down until he's face to face with your crotch. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, he removes them in one swift motion, and almost groans at the sight.

Index finger running up and down your slit, he hums, gathering your wetness, only to swirl it in and around your labia, smearing all over.

As he leans forward, you expect him to dive right in, but he does no such thing.

Landing his tongue flat, he licks up your outer lips, the reason for all the smearing abundantly clear now. He goes at it until there's nothing left to lick, and only then does he move onto the inside of your folds.

Using only the tip of his tongue, he slowly traces the inner outline of your inner lips, not sucking, just collecting your juice, pushing it upwards and letting it pool on your clit. Once he's made a nice little puddle there, he closes his lips around the bud and sucks. Hard.

"fuck-"

His enthusiasm escalates at the exclaimation, repeating the action over and over. Your hand flies to his head, gripping his hair and guiding it up and down, pushing him in. He takes a deep breath, as if suddenly breathless.

No shit, he is breathless. How's he supposed to breath down there?

Releasing him, you panic "Oh shit! I'm so so-"

"Shh, it's okay, take what you need. I told you it's about you," He takes your hand, guiding it back to the back of his head, curling his fingers around yours, until you're fisting those silky locks, "suffocate me in your essence. Fucking drown me."

That damn velvety voice saying those vile words does something to you. You feel your resolve crumble, and before you can question yourself, you're pulling his head back between your thighs, moving it around, seeing what feels best.

He doesn't resist. He sticks his tongue out and keeps it there, letting you move his head.

It's when his wet muscle passes your hole that you let out a loud moan. He thought you'd push him in there, but instead your movements turn frantic and you begin to wiggle your hips against his face, seemingly frustrated. It's then that he realises that you don't know what felt good and this is you trying to chase after that feeling that you lost.

"Have you never had your cunt eaten, angel?"

Damn him for sounding so cute while uttering such filth.

"Nobody cared enough to."

"Don't worry, I got you. Just relax for me, okay?"

You nod and let go of his hair, head falling back onto the mattress.

He buries his face back where it belongs, if he were to say so himself, and wastes no time putting his tongue into your hole, deeper than it went last time. And sure enough, he's rewarded with an ever louder moan from you.

Determined to give you the best orgasm of your life, he uses one of his thumb to lift the hood of your clit, the other rubbing up and down the bundle of nerves. That has your back arching. Lost in pleasure you wrap your legs around his neck, pulling him further in.

He grunts, happy to be smothered. Each flick of his thumb has that familiar feeling bubbling in your tummy. It builds and builds and builds.

It's when he starts pumping that damn tongue of his in and out of your hole, that you see white sploches in your vision, mind going blank. You don't realise what's going on. All you know is that you can't feel your legs. It's like you've been brainwashed, like you're fucking levitating.

Slowly, your vision returns, breathing evens out, and your brain reboots. When you come down from your high, you're distinctly aware of the wetness all over your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.

"Holy fuck, did I just-"

You look beside you where Felix is laying sideways, propped up on an elbow, looking at you with a smug look, clearly proud of himself.

"Yes, you did. I think you took the whole 'drown me' part quite seriously."

You let out an embarassed sound that was almost a squeal, and curl up into his chest.

He laughs at your cute shyness, as if you weren't grinding on his face a moment ago "Aw, it's okay, angel. That was hot."

You peer up at him through your lashes, "Hot?" You ask so cutely, he could take you then and there.

"So hot." He confirms

You give him a lopsided grin.

"But you look so fucked out right now. Was I that good?"

"So good." You reach up to kiss him, and the kiss has only just begun, when you feel his stiffness poking against your thigh.

He's so hard, it must hurt. You want to help him but know for a fact that your pussy is of no use right now, so you do the only other thing you can.

You wrap your hand around him, and start flicking your wrist.

"Ah fuck- angel, you don't h-have to. Take a breather."

"But you've been hard for so long. I want to help."

"It's- ah- it's okay. I came already, remember?"

That flips a switch in you. You swing your leg over both of his, lifting up to hover over him, straddling his hips. "Lee Felix, you're not getting out of this without fucking me."

He laughs at that, "Wouldn't dream of it, angel."

You smile and bend down to kiss him. His lips are still wet with your juices and you lick it off them before sliding your tongue in. The kiss turns frantic. There's nothing sweet about it. It's just a messy exchange of spit, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Condom?" You whisper into his mouth.

His eyes widen, "Shit! I-I don't have one." He looks about fit to cry, like a child whose favourite toy's been snatched right out his hand.

You almost laugh at his big, glassy eyes, "I'm on birth control. And clean. Are you?"

"I am!" He lets out a little too excitedly.

"Then we don't need a condom. Unless you'd rather not. It's okay. We don't have to if you're not comfortable."

He damn near chokes at that, "You- you mean I g-get to do this raw?" His eyes sparkle like the same toy's been returned to him, with an upgrade.

"Yes," you whisper in a low and sultry voice, "You get to do me raw."

His next groan is almost pained.

"You want to, baby?"

"Please."

You reach between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around him again, giving a few pumps for good measure - and maybe to hear him groan, but nobody needs to know that - and guide him to your entrance.

As you begin to sink down on him, he holds you still with his hands on your hips.

"W-wait. Wait, please."

"Everything okay?"

He laughs, "Yeah, yeah, good. Great. Just.. a little too great."

You don't get what he means and tilt your head.

He lets out another embarassed chuckle, "If you keep going, I might blow right now."

You smile, endeared "It's okay. I already finished earlier, just let go."

He suddenly sits up, and with him still sheathed in you, flips the two of you over, so that now you're on your back and he's hovering over you.

"No, I promised that this is about you. You are cumming at least twice."

Before you can protest, he pulls out just enough, and rams back in. The protest dies in your throat as it makes way for a loud moan to slip out.

"Fuck, so tight. You like that, angel?"

You clutch onto his shoulders as you nod, urging him to keep going.

Lucky for you, he's in no mood to stop.

He grinds and rolls his hips against yours, creating that delicious friction, but it's nowhere near enough for either of you. And that's exactly why he's doing it. He wants to draw this out, as much as he can.

"Angel, you're sucking me in. Won't even let me pull out. You want me that much?"

"So much." Your voice is distant now, lost somewhere in the lustful daze. He can feel it too.

Pulling out, he flips you flat on your stomach, and nudges your legs apart ever so slightly.

You're so far gone in the haze that you don't have it in you to try to take control, something you've always been doing.

But that's just the point, isn't it? To let go for once, to not fight and just give in to the moment.

And then, you feel it once again. That sinful stretch, his cock dragging against your walls. You never want him to stop.

"Oh god, I could spend forever between your thighs."

Funny you say that.

He bends over forward, until his chest and abdomen are flush against your back, legs tangled together. He takes both your hands in his, entwining your fingers together, and resting them on either side of your shoulders.

Locked together like this, he begins moving, slowly fucking into you, hips pushing back and forth.

You've never been with anyone like this. Sure, you've had a lot of sex in your life, there was even a time when you went through a 'bad girl' phase where you tried scoring a new guy every week.

Not my finest moment.

But this? This feels a whole new level of intimacy you've never tapped into.

"Feel good, angel?"

Oh, lord. Could he get any more more perfect?

"Yes, baby. You feel so good." You're not normally very vocal in bed. But, as you'd already established, nothing about this situation was normal.

"Me too, angel, me too. Your cunt is heaven."

You moan at that. You were never one for praise either, especially not the dirty kind.

Fuck, am I not rediscovering myself today.

His hips move rhythmically against your ass, grinding, moving in circles, pistoning, trying all sorts of things. But always at the same slow leisurely pace. You reach your hand back and squeeze his ass, nails digging into the flesh and push him further into you.

You don't know why you do that. Perhaps to get him to increase his pace or because you want to finish. Or.. maybe you just want him close. Close to a level you've never been with anyone.

His hips stutter, ass clenching under your palm, "fuck, d-don't- don't do that. I won't last."

"You don't have to. It's okay, we can do this again. We have all the time in the world. Don't hold back."

"We can?"

"Mhm." You say, noticing that this is the third time he's said something about wanting to make this last. Come to think of it, he was on the verge of cumming when he flipped you. Maybe this position helped him keep it together.

Wow, he must really want this. He must really want.. me.

Your thoughts are pulled from you when his hand reaches under you, rubbing you clit, his movements suddenly frantic, "Want you to come first."

You body begins to thrash as he continues his movements, hips not stopping once, pace increasing ever so slightly. You can feel your orgasm approaching, that familiar feeling rumbling in your stomach.

"So good, so beautiful, angel. My angel, aren't you?"

You don't have it in you to respond - a whimper will have to do - and Felix doesn't seem to want an answer either.

"Look so good like this, under me. Always wanna pleasure you, make you feel good."

God, that deep and rich voice whispering right in your ear was doing things to you.

Your body begins to tremble, thighs shaking.

"You close, angel? Gonna cum around my cock? Show me how good it makes you feel?"

You could feel your sanity chipping away, making room in your head not to be filled with anything. For the first time in what felt like forever, your head was empty. No overthinking, no thoughts, just Felix and his pretty cock and deep voice and angeli-

"Ah- Lix, I'm.. I'm-"

"Let go, angel."

With that, you're screaming, gushing all around his dick, body thrashing about, but you still manage to let out, "Inside, Lix, i-inside.. "

Felix lets out a loud grunt, the loudest he's been until now, "fuck, angel. I love you, fuck, fuck, fuck!" And then he's cumming, his arousal mixing with yours, the forbidden cocktail dripping out of you, over both of you, and onto the sheets. There's just that much of it.

He collapses on top of you, breathing heavy, chest heaving against your back.

Your mind tries to process what he just said, trying to make sense of it, understand the gravity of it. But you don't say anything, giving him the time to come down.

You lay there like that for a while, occasionally kissing, breathing, listening to each other's breathing, and kissing some more.

After a while, he pulls out, and chuckles.

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, to see him looking down at where your bodies were just connected.

"We made a mess. Think it might be a better idea to shower."

You nod, letting him pull you off the mattress. Your legs wobble a little, but he easily catches and steadies you. The trip to the bathroom is brief but your mind is restless. It's replaying the last words he said. Even as he carefully sets the temperature of the water just right, rubbing soap on your tired body with his small hands, kneading out the knots in your back, massaging you all over, his words are stuck in your head, swishing around.

He's massaging your shoulder when you suddenly hear the clearing of a throat, "So, about what I said.. "

Thank god he was willing to address it. You're not sure you could have survived the suspense any longer.

".. I, uh, want you to know that I'm sincere. I've been thinking about being with you ever since we met, and not in the way we were together just now. Uhm, I mean, together together."

You don't note the soft smile that takes over your face, "Me too." You turn around to face him, hands lodging on his shoulders, body naturally leaning into him.

That's the word. Natural. Being with him is so natural, as if you've done this a million times.

"You do?"

"I do. Maybe not love yet, but I'm sure if- when I get to know you, falling for you is going to be so natural."

He smiles at that, "Well, we better get to it then. How about a date tomorrow?"

"Excited, are we?"

"Please, if I could, I would take you out right now, but seeing as how I can barely stand, it will have to wait."

You laugh, feeling giddy and lean forward to peck him on the lips.

"So is that a.. yes?"

"Yes Felix, I'd love that."

He hums, moving forward, nuzzling his head in your shoulder, the voice reverberating from his chest to yours.

"God, your voice" slips out of your mouth without your own permission.

How rude.

"I know you have a thing for it."

"What?" Your cheeks heat up. You thought you weren't making it obvious.

"Why do think I was so talkitive towards the end?"

"I thought you just got mouthy when you were about to come."

"No," He laughs, "it's because I noticed how hot and bothered you got whenever I said something. I was just trying to help you finish."

Oh well, so much for being subtle.

"It's okay," He says picking up, yet again, on your embarrassment, "it can be your own exclusive kink."

Main Masterlist

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[stormyweaver]

okay so it's like 5am, and idk why I spent over five minutes trying to come up for a title for this when I remembered it's a fucking stand-alone drabble type... thing. i'll catalog it and everything else on my blog later.

ANYWAY!

This idea wouldn't leave me alone (as a few of you already know, you cuties <3 thanks for listening to my rambling LOL) and I finally had the insomnia-induced drive to finish it. I just think Al and Vox deserve some slice-of-life stuff with sneezy shenanigans thrown in every now and then.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~

“I still don’t get why you dragged me to the fucking Recreational Center of all places. And on a Saturday? Seriously, we could be doing literally anything else right now - y’know there’s an early morning special on hammerhead sharks that I’m missing because of you…”

On and on, and on and… well, Alastor wasn’t sure if he could stand much more whining. At the very least the twitch of his left-eye would soon become permanent if he didn’t put a stop to things soon. 

Thankfully he didn’t have to use actual force, for the signage above their heads read that they had arrived at the correct room. 

Though the moment Vox’s gaze caught onto the flyer posted over the door, he immediately went back to griping. “Cooking-- Cooking class? You signed us up for a fucking cooking class?! What the hell, Alastor?! I literally could be at home if I wanted to learn how to cook!”

The skin beneath his eye jumped once before Alastor whipped his gaze to Vox with a speed that seemed to startle his companion. “Why don’t you tell that to the three separate pans I’ve had to replace due to your abysmal cooking attempts, hm?” It was technically three pans, and one very antique dutch oven. In a show of rare generosity, he had given them to Vox after finding no use for them himself. And regretted the decision entirely. Not to mention that he very nearly burned the kitchen down in one instance. Oh sure, it was Vox’s apartment, but so long as he insisted on having Alastor over for meals, he wasn’t going to be taking any more chances. 

As was expected, Vox pouted and crossed both arms across his chest in a huff. “I already told you, those were shitty quality pans, and–”

“One was cast iron, Vox. You nearly melted a cast iron skillet. Do you have even the slightest notion of how horrendously unskilled one would be in order to manage that?”  No response, aside from Vox’s pout deepening. “That’s what I thought. Now come along, we don’t want to be late!”

– Though Alastor had thought it impossible for Vox to act any more petulant, once the class had started his companion seemed to make it his mission to act like an absolute child for the remainder. While Alastor himself didn’t require any new lessons in the kitchen, he did enjoy the act of cooking far more than anyone else present seemed to. Granted, most were here for their inability to cook but unlike Vox, who was slumped onto their small counter and grumbling about whatever inane show he was missing out on, the rest of the class was actually paying attention and at least attempting to make progress. Curious how even in Hell, sinners were still trying to improve themselves. Well, they did have to eat, Alastor supposed. 

The dish they were working on today was effortlessly simple - scrambled eggs. How in the Nine Circles anyone could manage to muck up this dish was beyond him. Though apparently some had already managed to try by whipping the shells into their mixture, just barely caught by their instructor. 

Alastor tutted, then gazed down at the recipe card in his hand and wrinkled his nose.

Ingredients: 

2 eggs

Salt to taste

Just salt? Well, that certainly wouldn’t do. For a halfway decent scrambled egg, one needed to employ at least pepper - not to mention a few other ingredients he personally utilized to give the scramble a bit more kick. Not needing any permission, he began pulling out the various spices and vegetables he required. Prompted by the movement, Vox had finally stopped his sulking and looked to the array of items with a raised brow. “Why do you have so much out? The recipe only has two ingredients, Al.”

“Ah, so you have been paying attention! Certainly could have fooled me,” His grin widened as Vox glowered at him, “If you’re going to learn how to cook, then you must learn how to cook properly. Certain recipes require a personal touch, my good man.”

Vox snorted. “Was this whole thing just an excuse for you to prove how ‘superior’ your cooking skills are to the teacher?”

When Alastor gave a noncommittal hum, Vox tacked on, “I’ll take that as a yes– wait, cayenne? In eggs? I’ve never–”

“Of course you haven’t, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. You simply can’t have eggs without spice, it’s unheard of! To those with good taste, obviously,” Alastor plucked the small container as Vox watched, unimpressed and definitely uncertain, “Just a dash is all it takes. It really does bring out th–”

Though he’d only used a single claw to tap the small cylinder, he bristled as the top popped off, the dark-red powder pouring out into a heap onto his otherwise cloud-like scramble. Well, fuck.

Vox didn’t even bother trying to hide his amusement, snickering as he gazed at the mishap. “Just a dash, huh?”

“How irksome…” Alastor sighed, but decided there was no use crying over spoilt eggs. While he began prepping another batch, a tentacle rose and deposited the ruined ones into the trash bin beside Vox - a bit too roughly, if the cloud of spice that rose up from its depths was any indication. 

“Jesus, Alastor– kff! Kff! You couldn’t have warned me?!” 

Alastor rolled his eyes, his smile having grown a bit more tense. “Do you mind? I’m attempting to salvage what’s left of his mediocre class, now hush.”

“God, you’re such an a– KFF! A– hahhsshole…” Vox’s voice trailed off into an unsteady gasp, vents bristling as the clouds of spice enveloped them. He tried to get a hold of his breathing, but it continued to sputter out until, with a sharp inhale, he ducked down against his forearm.

“eh’IZZSCHHH!!!” 

The sneeze would have been enough to startle Alastor, and he did twitch a bit from the volume, but what caught his attention was the lights flickering above their heads. That was… unexpected. “eh’IZZSCHH’ue! heh’IZZSCHH’t!” One of the overhead bulbs cracked before shattering, causing a few sinners to yelp in surprise. Alastor’s gaze flickered back to Vox, who was sniffling and rubbing at the center of his screen with a grimace - and a hint of embarrassment. And the small but detectable haziness that signified he still had to–

“Hehhh’hih!! ih’KZZSSCHH!! Fuck, I-I can’t– ‘TZZSCHH!” This time, a sharp current of electricity shot out from Vox’s frame, Alastor nearly missing getting zapped by side-stepping just in time. He could see the energy still skittering along Vox’s trembling shoulders and, judging by how his little mishap had already caused one bulb to break, Alastor wasn’t planning on being responsible for potentially shutting power to the whole building. 

Huffing, he all but yanked Vox by the wrist, and soon the duo were teleported back out onto the sidewalk. Vox staggered forward, still unused to Alastor’s means of travel and fixed him with a watery-eyed glare. 

“Again - a little warning next t– t’hhh’hehh! t-time– hAHH! AH’IZZSSCHHH’HUE!” Unfortunately, Alastor had still been close enough to Vox, and he flinched as he felt the energy course along his arm, prickling his skin, frizzing his hair– oh, that insolent little–

Apparently Vox had already gotten the hint and took a generous step back, palms up in a sign of submission. “S-sorry, I can’t control it!”

“I’m aware,” Alastor ground out, attempting to smooth out his hair, “Was all that really necessary? If you truly wanted to leave, you could have at any time, you realize? Instead of making a spectacle of yourself?” 

“It’s not my fault! That damn spice got into my vents, and- snf! Ugh, it still is, I think… fuck, it itches.” He continued scrubbing at his screen, the middle now saturated a soft but bright pink in contrast to the typical teal. Despite his irritation, it pained Alastor to admit that the sight of Vox sniveling and embarrassed almost made him feel… eugh, sympathy. Almost. 

That inkling of unusual emotion switched to slight panic when he heard Vox’s breath catch again. 

“F-fuck– ehh’heh! hhEH’--NHH!”

The sudden pressure of Alastor’s finger against his screen was almost enough to startle Vox out of his sneeze, and he blinked a few times before heaving a shaky sigh. “I’m… I’m good, now… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Ever.” He emphasized the word with a flash of his demonic form, but Vox’s fear gave way to a deadpan as he watched Alastor wipe the hand he’d touched Vox with along his jacket. “Well, I’m a bit put off from eating at the moment. Still, it is a lovely morning. Perhaps a walk in the park would be suitable for clearing your… vents, hm?”

Vox nodded. “Sure. So long as there aren’t any flowers, I’m all–”

“On second thought, I’m leaving. Ta-ta!”

“Oh come on, Al! I was joking!” It wasn’t like there was actually ragweed in Hell… right?

[scarasimping]

I’m stealing that cat pic THE GATES R OPEN TALK ABOUT UR BRAIN ROT

YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY I AM THAT YOU ALL LIKE PIRATE SCARA

okay so this was originally gonna be a little drabble for you guys as a treat because you all like him sm but,,,,,i got carried away. it was also only supposed to be suggestive....not, yknow, actual smut. i am. so sorry

cw: fem! reader, dom! scara ig??? but he's soft so, oral (fem receiving), probably bad writing idk, if i missed anything let me know !!

word count: 1.1k

You had spent so long with Scara trying to figure out how to sneak yourself onto his ship without your guards knowing, and finally, you did it. You made it on the ship. All you wanted was to be there for one night, with no fear of the guards overhearing you two in your room or staff barging in and seeing him.

For once, he curses your politeness and kindness towards his crew, because you keep stopping to talk to them and god dammit he just wants to be alone with you.

Once he gets you inside his captain's cabin, he's pinning you to the door, one hand on your waist and the other pressed against the wood of the door by your head. His forehead rested against your own as he stared directly into your eyes, a teasing smirk on his face.

He leans down, kissing your jaw softly, slowly moving down your neck leaving more chaste kisses in his wake.

"So glad we're alone finally, darling," he'd whisper in between his lips' assault on your neck. His hand on your waist caresses drifts to the front of your stomach where he carefully unties your corset that was atop your shirt, dropping it from your waist and running his rough hands under your top, onto your bare skin.

He leaves one last long kiss to your throat before he lifts his head, to stare at you once more. His pupils are blown out, eyes full of nothing but love and want. The only thing on his mind is how pretty you look with your cheeks painted with a rosy blush, mouth parted as you try to ground yourself after all the attention he's giving you, the way your gaze keeps glancing between his eyes and his lips.

Too quickly to even process, Scaramouche leans in and presses his lips against yours. It's almost as if he's trying to mold his body with yours with how closely he's pressed himself to you — chest to chest, his knee in between your legs. He kisses you with desperation, one you've only seen him have a few times before.

With gentle nibbles on your lip, he asks for permission to explore your mouth even further, and only a fool would deny him that. As soon as your lips part, his tongue is darting inside, running against your own so that he can truly taste you.

All the while, his hand on your waist moves lower, toying with the hem of your skirt. He parts from your lips for only a second to ask, "Can I take this off?"

Too hasty to even think about your shirt as well, he's pulling your skirt and underwear down as soon as you give him the go ahead. When your skirt drops down, so does he. He falls to his knees in front of you, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and leaning his head against your thigh.

In his mind, there is only you running through it: his desire for you, his need for you, to make you feel good. Before you, when he had hooked up with women at a tavern on his travels, he stuck true to the ways of a pirate and only really cared about himself. If the woman he was with also got some pleasure, then good for her, but it wasn't his priority.

But god, hearing your sweet moans as he focuses wholly on pleasing you is the closest thing to heaven he's ever experienced. Staring up at you is like staring at an angel. He so desperately wants you to feel good, and he needs to be the cause of it.

He takes hold of your hands, directing them to hold onto his hair, before he licks his thumb and slowly brushes it over your clit. He finds so much delight in how easily you squirm above him at the slightest stimulation. He's smirking up at you, kissing the inside of your thigh softly as he continues toying with you. When you start letting out breathy, quiet moans is when he finally leans in and flicks his tongue across your clit, relishing in the way you grip at his hair.

Once he's teased you enough, and your hips are squirming for just a little more, he finally wraps his lips around your poor clit and sucks, his fingers coming to prod at your entrance. All of the whines and whimpers you release are music to his ears, only making him more eager to suck and lick at you, craving more and more noises.

Gathering some of your arousal on his fingers as a lubricant, he slips his middle finger inside your needy hole, curling it so that it presses against your sweet spot. He's slow at first, allowing you to get used to the feeling, but as time goes on his assault on your walls becomes more and more needy, fingertips abusing your sensitive spot so quickly and barely giving you a break from the feeling.

Years of greed and selfishness melted away as all Scaramouche could do was give and give you everything you wanted. The taste of you on his tongue was intoxicating — addicting, even. Your hands tugged at his hair even more, tangling yourself in the indigo strands and letting him know how good he was making you feel.

Needy whines and cries of his name spilled from your spit-soaked lips. You were close, and he knew it from the way your walls tightened around his finger and how you couldn't keep your hips still, grinding down against his face for more.

"My love...'m close," you breathed out, he hummed in acknowledgement, only increasing the pressure that he used on your gummy walls and puffy clit.

It doesn't take long before you're releasing on his fingers, head thrown back against the door of his quarters and finger pulling so hard at his hair, he's surprised you haven't ripped any out. Your breaths are heavy and labored, and you're staring down as he finally pulls away from your sobbing cunt. He pulls his fingers out slowly, so as to not overstimulate you, and brings them to his own mouth, licking them clean and pulling away with a pop.

He rubs your thighs soothingly, removing your leg from his shoulder, but still holding onto you tightly by the hips so you don't fall over. When he stands up again, you can see just how worked up he got from making you feel pleasure. The bulge in his trousers was very prominent, and he couldn't help but grind his hips against yours, seeking some sort of friction from you.

"Still have enough energy for another round? I need you so fucking badly..."

[forever-rogue]

Omg! If you do short winter drabbles maybe the kids start a snowball fight and both Steve and you trip and fall, you on top of him ofc bc we love a good cliche and after years of dancing around each other you finally take the leap and kiss him and oh surprise he likes you back!! idk if this is inspiring, just throwing ideas out there 🥰 I love your blog btw congrats on your milestone you deserve it!! 💕💖

AN | It’s an actual drabble for once! Please this got me so soft 🥺🥺

Warnings | Mild Language

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 900

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Be careful!” you didn’t even know why you bothered to yell at the kids. None of them were even paying attention to you, already too wrapped up in their little snowball fight, “someone’s gonna get hurt!”

“Andddd they are totally ignoring you,” Steve popped up right next to you, making your entire body flush with warmth despite the frigid temperatures. You beamed at him and shrugged your shoulders as if to say what a shocker. He matched your smile before delicately reaching over and brushing a few snowflakes out of your hair, “don’t worry, sweetheart, I’d never ignore you.”

And oh. He really had to go and pull out the sweetheart card. It was almost as if he knew that made you weak in the knees and want to kiss him on the spot. He probably knew, to be quite honest; you were pretty sure you weren’t subtle in your affections towards him. But if it bothered him, he never complained; maybe he just liked the attention.

“How very sweet of you, darling,” you teased, almost losing your mind when he looped his arms through yours. It was such an innocent gesture, but the thoughts it inspired in you were downright sinful, “Steve?”

“Come on,” he motioned his head across the park to where a few small holiday pop up stalls were located, “let’s go and get some hot chocolate.”

“Ooh, yes please,” what could possibly be better than Steve Harrington and hot chocolate? Nothing. You paused for a moment before giving him a serious look, “will there be mini marshmallows?”

“Of course!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One of the things you always loved about Steve was how easy and effortless it was to spend time with him. You supposed he was your best friend for a reason after all. The best friend you were madly and hopelessly in love with…even if he didn’t know that. 

Once you had your hot chocolates in hand, you were walking around the park, talking about anything and nothing at the same time. You could hear the kids laughing and screaming, way too invested in their little snowball fight. It was funny to watch them playing; it seemed like not that long ago that had been you and Steve. It seemed like so long ago, but at the same time you still felt like those kids at heart.

You could see the evidence of the fight all over the walking path, broken and scattered bits of ice all over. You were wearing decent boots so you weren’t too worried about slipping…but it seemed like destiny had a different plan. One foot forward after a moment of not paying attention, and….immediately you felt yourself start to slip. A small yelp of surprise escaped your lips, and Steve tried to catch and keep you from falling, but he too just went down. He did his best to shield you from hitting the cold, hard ground, but it was no use. The two of you were in a heap on the icy ground, hot chocolate spilled all around you. 

“Babe,” Steve’s eyes were wide as he looked you over to make sure you were okay.But when he saw the look on your face, a smile there despite the tumble he relaxed. You brought into a fit of giggles at the tangles of limbs the two of you had become, “are you alright?”

“Yes,” you promised, leaning forward to wipe a smudge of chocolate off his face, “I’m okay. What about you, Stevie?”

“I’m alright,” his big, soft eyes studied, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. You hadn’t realized you were still touching his cheek until you noticed him leaning into your touch. The way he was looking at you made you want to die from the sweetness. Had he always looked at you like that? Fuck. He had. Why was it just now that you were noticing? You pulled your hand back suddenly, almost as if he had shocked you. He chuckled softly and shook his head in amusement, “what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Umm…” you opened and closed your mouth a few times before deciding fuck it. You leaned in and kissed him, nothing more than a small peck, a saccharine brush of your lips over his. But it felt so right. So utterly perfect. When you pulled back he was beaming at you, brighter than the sun itself, “h-have you always looked at me like that?”

“Yes,” he promised softly and your heart felt like it was going to burst with happiness - and all the love you had for him. He leaned in and kissed you again, his hand gently holding your face, “I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

“I love you, Steve,” your voice was a whisper, almost as if you were afraid to say it out loud.

“I love you,” he whispered back, exchanging soft looks and shy smiles, “I-”

“Stop kissing!” Dustin’s voice cut right through both of you, “it’s gross!”

“Watch it Henderson!” Steve shouted back before turning to you again, “come on, let’s get out of here and somewhere warm.”

“Will there be more hot chocolate?”

“There will be more hot chocolate.”

“And more kisses?”

“All of the kisses.”

[sailoryooons]

Suga's How-To Guide | Interlude One | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Camboy!Yoongi x f. reader

☾ Summary: Min Yoongi has been a cam boy for a few years now. The work is easy, the money is good, and he has loyal viewers. When he approaches you and asks if you want to be his muse for a ‘how-to’ series, your view on the infamous Yoongi changes.

☾ Word Count: 9,165

☾ Genre: Friends to lovers, pwp

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Explicit language, light mentions of insecurity from reader, explicit sexual content including unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (m. and f. receiving), ass play (small disclaimer: there's no verbal convo / visible discussion about practicing safe rimming - as with any sexual act there's a risk factor so pls don't take this as end all be all), fingering (asssss), nipple play, a lot of spit and cum and bodily fluids idk fam they fucking, recreational drinking (neither party drunk before sex), use of a color system, slut / sex worker shaming (lightly / implied)

☾ Published: October 7, 2022

☾ A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble series but it has turned into a little more. Like I have said - this does not specifically have a plot but there will be a pinch of problem solving etc in the next chapter. Reminder: this series doesn't have a goal and I'm updating it whenever I feel like it. There aren't scheduled updates for it, they just sort of happen when I'm vibing with it. Anyway, this feels like it took me 500 years to write but my god I haven't really written a chapter of something in almost a month, though I've done some oneshots. It feels really good to finally have a finished product of something, so thank you for being patient with me. Also I actually edited a chapter LOOK AT ME GO. But if you see errors well I'm not perfect lmao

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Series Masterlist | Part of Hali’s Happy Agust | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The door to Seokjin’s apartment opens as you lean on the counter of the kitchen, drinking wine as a group of your friends pick at an exquisite charcuterie board. Taehyung swings his legs back and forth where he sits on the counter in a heated debate with Namjoon over books while Hoseok and Seokjin both move around one another in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

“Will you go see if that’s Yoongi?” Seokjin asks you over his shoulder. “He’s supposed to be bringing a bunch of wine, he might need help carrying it.”

Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod. “I didn’t know Yoongi was coming.”

“Yoongi always comes,” is Seokjin’s answer, though you’re pretty sure that your best friend didn’t explicitly name Yoongi in the list of people he invited over for dinner.

Monthly dinner at Seokjin’s two-story home has always been a thing. As you wander through the door toward the entryway near the living room, you try to think if Yoongi has ever missed one of the monthly dinner parties.

You’ve never noticed before.

Of course, before there wasn’t a reason for you to notice. Before, you weren’t secretly hooking up with a long-time friend on camera for his viewers. Before, you were confident where you stood with Yoongi: a good, albeit a little distant friend that you’d never really consider doing much one-on-one with, but comfortable enough to pair up in crowds.

Now as you see him hanging a rain-slicked jacket, shaking droplets of water out of his damp, ink-black hair, you have no idea what to do. Before was easy. Now is a little bit confusing, especially because you haven’t really spoken much from his little how to give a blowjob segment.

Yoongi looks the same as he always does: t-shirt stretching across a broad slope of shoulders, dark hair curling beneath his ears and resting against milky skin, his onyx eyes fixated on you where you stare at him. All forms of greeting vanish from your brain in a snap.

“Hi,” he offers, eyes dragging up and down your frame. That one look makes your fingers tighten on your wine glass with almost enough pressure to crack it. “Can I bother you for some assistance?”

Yoongi nudges two cardboard box crates full of wine with the toe of his boot. “That’s what Jin sent me for. Holy shit, where do you get all the wine?”

“Friend of a friend owns a winery and they let me pick out two bottles every month. I’m not much of a wine person but they’re great gifts and even better for dinner parties.”

Walking to where he stands in the doorway, you bend at the knee to grab one of the crates by the handle. It’s a hefty weight as you lift it, grunting slightly. “I don’t think we needed a dozen bottles of wine tonight.”

“They’re not just for Jin.” Yoongi smirks as you turn away, stomach flipping. “I brought some for you.”

“Me?” He hums in agreement as you both head toward the kitchen. “For what?”

“Helping me, obviously.”

“Oh. I see.”

“And you said you liked red sparkling wine. I happen to have a few.”

Noise from the kitchen drowns out any response you can think of. With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you haul the crate up onto the counter, careful not to knock over the glass of wine next to Chaeyoung’s hand. Yoongi sets his next to you and surprises you by not moving away.

Yoongi starts pulling bottles out and assigning them to friends around the room. Taehyung takes his with greedy hands, eyes flashing as he reads the label and settles back against the counter.

When Yoongi doesn’t touch the second crate, Taehyung notices, pouting. “What about those?”

“Not for you,” Yoongi grunts, focused on pulling the cork from one of the red bottles he’s selected. Hair presses against his neck and temples where it’s still damp. Suddenly, you have the urge to reach out and brush the strands from his skin, but you don’t. “I’m sorry, was a vintage French wine not enough for you?”

Taehyung cradles the bottle to his chest and you have the answer.

Conversation settles around you. Yoongi takes your now-empty glass of wine as he asks Seokjin questions about work, filling the glass with a fizzy red. You watch him curiously. He doesn’t look at you as sets your glass down, corking the bottle.

The wine is sweet and bubbly against your tongue, with a hint of depth and a little bit of cherry. You immediately like it, wrapping both hands around the glass and nursing it like a cup of tea as you exist between the multiple conversations in the room.

In all, your group dinners usually waver between ten and eleven people. Currently, you’re eight strong with conversations ping-ponging across the room and glasses being slid across the countertop in a fashion that would rival Manhattan’s subway systems.

When you had arrived earlier to help Seokjin set up for the gathering, you’d come with shaky hands, breath held, and winced every time he began to ask you something. But Seokjin never asked you the question, which led you to believe your best friend doesn’t know you’ve been hooking up with Yoongi for his cams.

Taehyung’s arrival had been another test. The younger had been your close friend for about as long as Seokjin, and is the only member of your group who has hooked up with Yoongi both on and off camera. There’s no love lost there – they were friends during and remained friends after, completely uninterested in the other romantically.

Thankfully, Taehyung never asked you about Yoongi. He was all smiles with an already-opened wine bottle, purple-stained teeth, and a little smudge of wine on the corner of his mouth.

It is a well-known fact that if anyone is going to be a walking callout and accountability police for your group of friends, it’s Taehyung. And yet he doesn’t even look suspicious when Yoongi leans over the counter to reach for a folded piece of prosciutto, placing his hand delicately on the back of your shoulder for balance.

Yoongi’s touch is only there for a moment and yet you come alive underneath your shirt. Your heart races as you take a few gulps of wine in an attempt to steady your nerves. The room feels hotter and you shift back and forth on your feet, heat creeping into every part of you.

If he notices, Yoongi says nothing. He pops the piece of meat between rose-red lips and frowns at something Namjoon is saying.

Studying his side profile is devastating. Even from a side view, he is exquisite, the soft slope of his nose the perfect compliment to round cheeks, a plush mouth and cat eyes.

Yoongi catches you staring. You clear your throat and look upward at the light fixtures, sipping your glass of sparkling wine to look busy. He leans his elbow on the counter, facing you completely and you know you’ve caught his attention.

Shit.

A direct conversation outside of whatever you’ve been doing with Yoongi on your weekends is exactly what you want to avoid. You’re unsure how to talk to him, unsure if you’re friends or if he’s doing what you guys are doing with other people – he is well within his right to do so and you know that.

But lately, thoughts of Yoongi have been haunting your every waking thought. The way his rough hands brushed over your supple thighs and gripped them tight when he went down on you, or the greedy way he liked to suck your tongue into his mouth just after you’ve come on his tongue or the way he gets breathy just from kissing the expanse of your neck.

The list of things you think about with Min Yoongi is never-ending and they don’t go away. On more than one occasion when your phone has gone off, your heart leaped at the thought that maybe it was him wanting to do another feature. But since the blowjob, you hadn’t really heard from him.

That’s okay. You’re friends, but you aren’t the chatty kind of friends. At least, you weren’t before. Now you have no idea what you are, and the thought of having to navigate it right there in the kitchen, surrounded by other friends makes you put your glass of wine down and excuse yourself to the bathroom.

Heart hammering, you follow the steps to Seokjin’s guest bathroom blindly. The way isn’t hard to find – you’ve walked this place a million times.

With the door shut behind you, your nerves unwind a fraction. Turning a faucet, you splash some cool water on your neck. It smells like eucalyptus and mint thanks to the plugged-in scent that doubles as a nightlight. You’ve never been happier to have helped Seokjin pick them out, closing your eyes and letting the smell help you relax.

Getting so worked up over Yoongi feels ridiculous. The rush of the water past your shaking fingers relaxes you and the nervousness you felt at Yoongi’s easy touch peters out.

Being around Yoongi and doubting yourself is hard. You don’t know how to stop thinking about the one thing that has been haunting you more and more, especially when he’s in the same room as you.

You want more.

It feels like a poison, increasing in severity as you acknowledge that your interest in Yoongi has shifted from sexual curiosity to… something else. Something that makes your breath catch when he murmurs baby against sweaty, sticky skin. Something that makes you shake when he puts the weight of his hips on yours as he swallows you whole, consuming you until there’s nothing left but want.

Want want want want.

You always want him and you have no idea what to do with it.

A knock on the door startles you. You stare at the door, hands dripping over the sink filling and draining with water.

“You okay?” your stomach flips when the voice you suspected comes through the door, low and soft.

“Yeah.”

“You sick?”

“No.”

Too shaken to lie, you turn off the faucet and wipe your hands on a towel before opening the door. Yoongi is standing in the dim hallway, eyes shadowed by the lack of light. He smells like his cologne and a hint of mint.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you offer quickly. His brows pull together and you flick the light off in the bathroom to signal you’re done. “Strong wine.”

“You’ve been weird since I got here. Do you want me to leave?” Yoongi doesn’t move. Surprise fills you as you look up at him. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable or if friendship isn’t something you’re interested in anymore.”

“No!” You wince at how loud your voice is.

Thinking better of it, you flick the light of the bathroom back on and pull him inside. His hand is warm and rough in yours and you immediately don’t want to let go after he closes the door with his other hand, but you do.

“No,” you murmur and pause. Yoongi is close, the shared space is smaller now that he’s filling it with you. He leans against the tiled wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps strain against his shirt sleeves and you fight off a shudder. “I just… I’m sorry, you make me a little nervous.”

He hums. “You’ve been in a relationship for a while, is it safe to assume you haven’t really hooked up with a friend casually?” You nod. He offers a soft smile. It’s not as cocky and self-assured as his smirks are. “You can just be yourself. I really like you that way.”

Your eyes flit up to him. “It’s hard.”

“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No! No. It’s…” You blow out air, looking up at the ceiling to take the pressure off of you. His gaze is intense. Yoongi still looks unperturbed. It feels like everything comes easily to him. “I just like spending time with you and it’s a little confusing where we stand.”

Realization settles on Yoongi’s features when you peak at him. He takes a moment, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth to contemplate your words. Fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you decide you’ve said the wrong thing and you’re about to leave when Yoongi says, “Come home with me after dinner.”

“What?”

He smiles. “Come home with me after dinner.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to. But I’d like you to. Off camera.”

Your heart flutters and you stare at him, mouth open slightly. “Off?” You clarify. “Off camera?”

“Just us.”

“Really?”

His laugh is deep, brushing against parts of you that make your toes curl. He reaches for you, fingers gripping the bottom of your shirt and giving you a sharp yank. A gasp escapes you as you crash into his chest, hands pressed against the firmness of him as he looks down the slope of his nose at you, lips twitching.

Yoongi is beautiful, but up close you can’t focus on anything else but the way his eyes glitter, or the way the wine stains his lips the perfect shade of red or the way he has the barest hint of freckles across his cheekbones.

The way he looks at you says thousands of things and you don’t know what any of them are, but you want to. You want again.

“Yeah.” His words are barely audible. “Really.”

Without warning, Yoongi closes the space between you, pressing your lips together in a soft kiss. Before you can enjoy the sweet taste of wine and the warmth of him against you, his mouth is gone, leaving you flustered and hungry for more.

Yoongi laughs. “Don’t pout. Later. Come on, I was supposed to see if you’re sick. Dinner is ready.”

Dinner is easier after your conversation with Yoongi. Between Seokjin and Yoongi, you’re more involved in the conversation than you were earlier. As the chatter dies down after dinner and everyone enjoys their wine, you feel Yoongi’s arm press against your back as he rests it against the back of your chair.

The room is warm as you lean back, sliding your eyes to look at Yoongi. He’s not looking at you, completely wrapped up in a conversation with Chaeyoung. His arm is looped casually, skin against the back of your shirt warm through the fabric. Heat creeps up your neck into your face and you bite down a smile as you turn back to Seokjin.

If Seokjin notices anything, he doesn’t say it. Taehyung, however, definitely notices.

Taehyung’s sharp gaze is laser-focused on you, capturing your attention beyond Seokjin. His eyes meet yours and flicker to Yoongi’s hand where it rests against you before coming back up to meet your eyes. Your mouth feels dry for a split second before Taehyung grins and wags his eyebrows at you. He throws a wink your way before turning away.

A quiet, slow breath of relief escapes you. Taehyung knows something is different but doesn’t care. That is at least one less hurdle to overcome, though you know he’ll needle you about it later.

That is if he doesn’t do any digging around on Yoongi’s cam profile.

When dinner is over and there are buzzed, soft goodbyes happening at the door, you find yourself next to Yoongi who claps Seokjin on the shoulder, informing him that Yoongi will drive you home. You’re not drunk, but you hold the giant carton of wine Yoongi has dedicated to you while you kiss Seokjin on the cheek and say your goodbyes.

Taehyung presses a kiss to your cheek, slips toward your ear, and murmurs, “You’ll have to fill me in.”

You bite your lip but nod, feeling nervous as you shuffle out of the apartment with Yoongi at your back.

It’s cooler outside, the air a relief against too-warm skin. Yoongi takes the carton from you, heaving it far easier than you were as he walks down the stairs easily. Rain-scented air greets you in the parking lot, the pavement still damp. You jump around puddles, navigating to his nondescript, black car.

Yoongi opens the door with a cheeky grin. “For you.”

“Thanks,” you answer, rolling your eyes. His grin spreads when he shuts the door and rounds the vehicle to place your wine in the back and slip into the front seat.

Inside the car is meticulously clean and smells faintly of cologne and leather. Music plays softly in the background, almost imperceptible over the hum of the engine and the buzz of the tires on the highway as he drives toward his apartment.

The city is made up of stars spilled on a black canvas, winking in the night as he drives with one hand firmly on the wheel. The other slips to your thigh, giving you a squeeze. The gesture tugs at your heart and your fingers shake with a touch of excitement as you look over at him.

“How was your week?” he asks, slipping into a simple conversation.

This feels easy. You tentatively let your hand rest on top of his against your thigh. When his thumb brushes over your jeans you feel hot. You know there are goosebumps under the material, popping up every time his thumb strokes back and forth.

Though it feels wrong to compare Yoongi to your ex-boyfriend, you can’t help it. You don’t remember the last time you felt an intimate hold on your thigh or hand while driving. You don’t remember fielding questions about your favorite movie – Spirited Away – and why.

Yoongi and your ex are very different. Maybe he was different at the beginning – it was college and it’s hard to remember. Yoongi was always different though, a comforting and quiet presence in plenty of your memories.

Now Yoongi presses against your mind like glass, leaving fingerprints everywhere he touches. You don’t mind, especially when he grips your hand tight after helping you out of the car, leading you up to his apartment.

Linked hands swinging in the cool night, bottles of wine clinking softly and the squeeze of Yoongi’s fingers around yours before he lets your hand go to open his door is something you could get used to.

The thought is terrifying. There is no routine here. Nothing familiar except the smell of his candles long put out, and the dark softness of a familiar apartment. But you’ve never been here when there is no camera set up in his room. You’ve never been here without the bright halo of a ring light.

Yoongi turns on a lamp, leaving most of his home in mood lighting. He gestures to a bottle of wine and you nod, sliding onto a stool at his island countertop. He moves around his apartment silently, feet scuffing on the title as he slides a bottle out from your gifted crate to pop the cork. You grin as he pours you a modest glass.

It’s different from the wine you tried before – it’s on the drier side, but there are still notes of chocolate and heady fruit. The bubbles tickle your tongue as Yoongi pours himself a glass, coming around the counter toward you.

Genuine surprise sparks through you when Yoongi doesn’t take the seat next to you. Rather, he walks behind you wrapping an arm around your waist as he hugs you to his chest, slotting his chin against your shoulder while he sets his hand and wineglass on the counter next to yours.

Heart hammering, you turn your head to the side slightly to look at him. You can only see an up-close visual of the side of his face, but he’s stunning nonetheless. He has to be able to feel the way your heart slams against your ribcage as he squeezes you slightly, lips turned upward. His heartbeat is a steady rhythm against you, his breathing deep and soothing.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi.”

“Missed having you around.”

“You could have called.”

He shrugs a bit and lifts his wine. You watch as he struggles to sip correctly with his chin on your shoulder, making you giggle a bit. He places the wine back on the counter. “I wasn’t sure if you would want me to without the invitation of helping me out.”

“Really?”

“I mean – we’re friends but we’ve never hung out one-on-one until you started helping me. I didn’t want to push a limit by asking you to come over if that wasn’t what you wanted.”

It’s true – it was the exact same fear you’ve harbored all week. Hearing Yoongi repeat back your own anxiety melts you, the remaining stress leaving as you press your weight back into him, pivoting slightly in your seat so that you’re angled a bit better.

Long lashes blink above starry eyes. His cheeks are a touch pink – cotton candy against tan skin. Berry lips smirk at you, so close you can smell the sweet wine on his breath. You imagine his mouth tastes like dark cherries and a hint of chocolate.

“What do you want?” Yoongi’s words are breathy against your warmed skin. “Just curious. You don’t have to answer. You don’t even have to know. But I get the sense that you want something.”

“I don’t know,” you admit, eyes zeroing in on his. You could fall into those depths and keep falling forever. “I just- I just know that I want. It’s a feeling I can’t get rid of. I don’t know what to do with all of this want.”

“Give it to me,” Yoongi answers. “Give all of it to me.”

Before you can formulate a response, his lips are on yours. He turns you to face him fully, slotting himself between your thighs as his hands grip the sides of your neck. He pulls you in and you feel that want bloom again. He tastes just as you expected, sweet like wine. His kiss is hungry, matching the desire that has been gnawing at you for weeks.

Yoongi licks into your mouth, tongue ravenous as he tastes you. He pulls away for a moment, teeth pulling at your bottom lip as he catches a short breath before melding his mouth to yours again.

His hair is silk between your fingers, slipping easily as you pull him closer and closer and closer. Want pools low in your belly and you squirm in the seat. One of his hands moves toward the base of your throat, fitting his fingers perfectly on either side to give a gentle squeeze.

Both of you part slightly, exchanging breath as you pant, lips an inch apart and glossy. You open your eyes to look at him. His pupils are a little blown, looking at you like he wants to devour him. You would willingly crack yourself open for him and let him have his way with you, the craving for him overriding every anxiety and instinct you have.

“Color?” he asks, breathless. You feel lightheaded, your fingers wrapped firmly in his hair to keep you from floating away. His grip on you is firm but you want more. “I need to know.”

“Green,” you whisper. You tug his hair gently. “Please.”

It’s the only word you can think of. It’s the only word you need.

Yoongi understands. He asks nothing else of you as he reclaims your lips, nose brushing against yours as your tongue tastes the softness of his lips.

Kissing Yoongi always takes you somewhere else. You no longer feel like you’re in his kitchen, pulling and clawing at one another against the marble countertop. You feel like you’re in a place in-between, tangible and yet not quite there.

Floating forward, you let Yoongi pull you from the seat. His hands are on your waist, waltzing you toward his room. You know the steps. There’s no need to open your eyes, navigating the dark space as you slide your hands under the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his skin.

Yoongi’s stomach is soft, muscles jumping under your touch. He breaks the kiss, dragging spit-slicked lips across your jaw. He catches your skin between his teeth in soft nibbles, a soft sting followed by a soothing tongue.

Running your hands under his shirt, you flatten your palms. He feels warm and thrumming, full of life. You tilt your head backward, letting him suck and bite and moan into the soft flesh of your throat.

Everything is spinning. You feel unbalanced as he clutches you by the waist. You bow into him, Yoongi pressing you further and further as his teeth trace the bottom of your neck.

It feels like the bubbles from your sparkling wine are trapped in your veins. Yoongi’s hands slide to your ass, kneading you over your jeans. He pulls you in tighter, presses every part of you against him. It feels hungry and desperate, drawing a gasp from your mouth as you crush yourself against him.

A pat on your ass is your only warning as Yoongi bends slightly at the knee. You jump as he hoists you and turns, sitting on the bed with you in his lap. Your hands fly to his shoulders as he gives you the higher ground, your face hovering above his as he casts his head back to look at you, pupils blinking at you like twin moons.

For a moment, you don’t initiate kissing again. With one hand on his shoulder, you use the other to trace the veins in his neck, feeling his pulse throb under your fingers for a brief moment as you drag them upward.

Yoongi is a work of art. He lets you map the canvas of his face with the tips of your fingers. Soft, round cheeks. A strong brow bone. Gentle, rounded nose. Plush, pouted lips. You trace the faint freckles, almost invisible in the darkness of his room. You’re so close you could count his lashes as they flutter closed, a hum escaping him as your fingers brush his bottom lip.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur. The accidental admission makes your touch freeze, eyes flying to his to see if there is any rejection there.

Yoongi doesn’t open his eyes when he says, “Why’d you stop? Feels nice. Your touch always feels good.”

Lips twitching into a smile, you continue, finger following the curve of his jaw. Your eyes keep flickering to his mouth, though, and soon you’re diving in for more, pressing your lips to his as you give a tentative rock of your hips, grinding into him.

Yoongi’s reaction is immediate. He hums in delight, the hands resting on your ass giving a generous squeeze. He lets you play with him – fingers teasing the hair at the back of his neck, your mouth exploring the areas you’ve already traced with your fingers, your hips rocking slowly at whatever pace you desire.

Arousal pools in your stomach, low and sinking. You break briefly when he pulls your shirt over your head, a glossy line of spit connecting your mouths for just a second, broken by the shirt.

Every brush of his hands on your skin brings fire. You’ve never known touch like this, never thought you could want something so much. You want everything from him, you want to scream, you want to collapse into him on the bed.

Yoongi’s mouth is ravenous, sucking the swells of your breasts as he pulls your bra off of you. you lean backward, chest pushed toward his mouth, head cast back and eyes closed. Yoongi knows what you want, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. A moan escapes, his tongue flicking back and forth over your pert bud while his other hand comes up to squeeze your other tit generously.

Every flick of his tongue, pluck of his teeth and his moans vibrating from his lips to your chest sends you spinning. It’s an effort to cling to his shoulders, keeping you sitting in his lap instead of tumbling backward. You feel like if you let go, you wouldn’t even fall – you’d just float upward toward the ceiling, toward heaven.

The world tilts. Yoongi lays backward, careful to keep you balanced against his hips. You gasp, equilibrium thrown and feeling like you’ve crashed into another dimension. You sit up for a moment, dizzy and looking down at Yoongi while you straddle his waist. His hair fans around him, lips swollen and dark from kissing. His chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes half-lidded but pupils blown.

With possessive hands you pull at his shirt, making a sound somewhere between a huff and a whine. He chuckles, his traditional sideways smirk taking over his expression as he leans up, helping you remove his shirt.

In your dreams, you remember what Yoongi’s skin feels like. It pales in comparison to the warmth of him now, firm chest under your adventuring fingertips, his heart jumping as you lean down to teeth at his collarbone.

Under you, Yoongi is a vision. Little curses escape his lips, almost like he can’t stop them. He rolls his hips into yours, seeking friction, drawing out moans from your lips, breath drifting across his skin.

Yoongi is flushed all over and his patience for your seeking mouth is at an end. He rolls the two of you, making you squeal as your back hits the mattress and his weight sinks on top of you. It’s heavy and the air is hot between you, his lips brushing your earlobe as he nips you.

“Color?” his voice is deeper.

“Green.”

For a moment he doesn’t answer. Instead, he sucks gently on your ear, breathing low and soft as he exhales. “Turn over,” he instructs gently. “Jeans off, perfect ass in the air.”

Pulling away from you, Yoongi gives you space to pull at the button on your jeans. He joins your shuffling, tearing at his own jeans. In moments you’re both kicking the material from your ankles, giggling as you lose balance and he catches you by the elbows, placing a kiss on your nose.

“Cute,” you hum.

He grins. “Ass up,” he reminds you.

With an eye roll, you do as he says despite the excitement shooting through you. You’re on your knees shuffling to your elbows when he slaps your ass with a loud crack, making you gasp more from surprise than pain. His hand is quick to rub over the stinging flesh, pressure in his fingers firm as he massages dimpled skin.

“Sorry,” he snickers. “I couldn’t help myself, I should have asked.”

“I liked it.”

He hums and smacks your ass again, much lighter, though. “Noted.” His hand drifts toward the apex of your thighs, thumb pressing firmly over your clothed hole. The pressure is a surprise, making you moan out loud, forehead dropping to his sheets.

“Fucking wet.”

Yoongi is right. You’re soaked, the thin material of your cotton underwear clinging to your folds. The pressure of his thumb gently drifting up and down your pussy is enough to make your eyes roll back, breathing becoming shuddered as he absently plays with you.

His thumb leaves you and your eyes flutter open, already missing the pressure. He distracts you when his hands drift to the elastic waistband and asks, “Color?”

“Green.”

“Mmm. Good.”

Yoongi all but rips the underwear to your knees. He leans forward and bites the apple of your ass lightly, making you laugh as he waits for you to lift one knee at a time to slide the material off.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh,” he asks, pulling his teeth away. The air cools your skin where you can feel his spit. “I said I like your ass.”

“So you try to eat it?”

He pauses long enough that you frown, turning to look over your shoulder at him.

It’s a vulnerable position, your knees spread apart with your aching pussy on display for him. You squirm slightly, seeing him look at you with an expression between inquisitive and hungry. “Has anyone?”

“Has anyone what?”

You shiver in the cold room, unable to sit still as the cool air hits you between the legs. Your eyes flutter lightly and you desperately want him to close the distance between any part of him and your heat.

“Eaten your ass?” That makes you open your eyes. You shake your head no and he grins, shuffling close to you. His hands go back to your round cheeks, rubbing his palms over chilled skin to warm them again. “Can I? We don’t have to. I definitely want to eat this pussy.” A hand sips between your legs, fingers deftly brushing up your wet slit. “Wanna play with your ass too.”

“Are you…” the words drift off as you lick your lips.

No one has done that before. It isn’t that you’re afraid of someone’s mouth being there or afraid you won’t like it. It’s just different and no one has offered it before and it never occurred to you to ask. 

But it’s Yoongi asking now, and your curiosity is piqued.

Yoongi must sense your nervousness. He squeezes you. “We don’t have to, forget I-“

“I want to,” you cut him off. You chew your bottom lip. “I think. I don’t know what it feels like.”

He smiles. “I like it. We can always stop if you’re not enjoying it. If it’s not good, tell me.” His pointer finger presses to your clit, making you sigh as pleasure shoots down your spine at the pressure. “First, this.”

Yoongi vanishes from your vision. You feel the bed dip where he leans, his hands skating from your ass to your thighs, rubbing up and down. Your eyes close and you sink your face into his bed as he places chaste kisses on the back of your thighs.

Fear of imperfection does not exist here. None of your previous concerns cross your mind with Yoongi – not anymore. Especially when he digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs and strokes his tongue slowly up your slit.

“Fuuuuuuck,” you whine, unable to help yourself as pleasure shivers through you. It feels different from this angle as Yoongi slowly laps at your cunt with his tongue, mouth giving your pussy a gentle suck. “Yoongi- nnn.”

His hum vibrates through you as he leans in to gently pull at your clit with his lips. “My favorite fucking pussy.”

Even if you could respond, you don’t. Yoongi shoves his face in your cunt, tongue licking slowly and greedily. You can feel yourself dripping, fingers knotting in his sheets as he mouths at you.

The feeling that twists in your stomach is so tight that you feel like you sink further and further into his mattress, turning boneless. Yoongi uses his fingers to spread you wide open for him, alternating between fucking his tongue thoroughly into your clenching hole and giving broad, slow stripes up your entire pussy.

If there is one thing you can tell Yoongi enjoys, it’s eating you out. He doesn’t hide his enjoyment, his mouth messy and loud as he sucks at you. His hands do all the work holding you up as he continues to push his face into you.

Unyielding hands skim up to your cheeks. Yoongi spreads you a bit, pressing you into the bed further with the weight of his grip. With another long lick from clit to hole, Yoongi licks past your dripping entrance to tentatively flick at your perineum.

The feeling is different, making you hold your breath. His tongue continues with a few tentative licks and one of his hands leaves your ass, drifting to your clit. Your legs tremble as he applies gentle pressure, circling your clit with his fingers as he flicks his tongue against that new spot again.

It feels… nice.

A sigh leaves you as Yoongi drags his tongue upward, pressing it flat against your tight hole. You sigh as he curiously flicks over the unfamiliar spot. Each new pass of his tongue makes you shiver. You feel a little high, your cotton-candy-mind fuzzy and drifting.

Everything nerve feels like an exposed wire, sparking and jumping as Yoongi presses the flat of his tongue against your rim. The pressure feels good, something you didn’t expect. You relax further into the mattress, melted and mindless.

Noises fall out of your mouth. You're unable to stop them, lips parted and breathing sharply. Sometimes your breaths form his name, a curse, or something in between. The orgasm building in your stomach is white hot, your insides squeezing tightly as you begin to dig your fists into the bed, trying to release the tension.

“Color?” Yoongi asks. You mumble something incoherent, eyes rolling backward under closed lids. He presses a finger harder to your clit. “Color, baby. Try to tell me.”

“Green.”

You think it comes out something like grnn or gren – it's hard to tell with your words muffled in his dark sheets and the heavy feeling of your tongue in your mouth.

“All fucked out?” his words are deep as he kisses your ass cheek. “Feels good?”

“Mhmm.”

“You gonna be able to take my cock?”

You nod desperately. You want to feel the weighted slide of Yoong inside you, want to feel the pleasure as he sinks in. But you haven’t even cum from his efforts with his mouth yet and you feel dangerously close to passing out from delight.

But you want him. So you search for some clarity and come to, clearing your throat and getting up to your elbow as you gently push your ass backward him. “Yes,” you say. “Please.”

“Mmm.” Yoongi dips his head down and gives a quick prod with his tongue. You drop your forehead to the bed, panting heavily and arms shaking. He pulls away briefly before spitting, making your muscles spasm as you gasp. “Cute little hole.”

You hear the grin in his voice. “Fuck - Yoongi.”

Carefully, Yoongi’s fingers go back to your clit, circling faster. Your stomach lurches. Warmth spreads over your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut, shoving your ass backward to meet his hungry mouth. It feels like you’re going to explode, your pleasure so tightly wound that you know you’ll snap at any second.

Everything clenches all at once. You gasp and hold your breath. Your orgasm rushes out of you, pussy pulsing against Yoongi’s mouth as he hungrily sucks and licks at you. You can feel his hands rubbing up and down your thighs, the press of his mouth firm and unrelenting as you tremble against the sheets.

Catching your breath is hard. Yoongi pulls away from you as your legs give out on the bed. His palms are steady, kneading the flesh of your ass as he lets you claw your way back to the world of the living. Everything feels thick and heavy in your head as you roll over, breathless.

Yoongi kisses your knees and thighs, hands never pulling away from you. You look at him and you twitch through another shiver. The air is cold against your body but you feel over-warmed by your orgasm and the heat of his gaze as he stares at you.

Surging forward, you reach for the hem of his boxers, hardened cock straining under the dark fabric. Yoongi watches with lips curved upward as you sit up and shuffle to him, hands hanging loosely at his side. You feel the burn of his gaze as you brush your fingers up his shaft, feeling him through the material of his briefs.

Yoongi hisses, making you glance up at him as you use a finger to delicately trace the outline of his straining cock. His eyes are closed, head tilted toward the ceiling in prayer. You grin, gripping him firmly through the fabric, the curve of him heavy and warm in your hand.

“Mm don’t tease,” he mumbles. “I didn’t tease you.”

“This is fun, though.” You dip your hands under the elastic waistband and grip Yoongi’s cock firmly. His hips twitch and he opens and closes his fists, his breath coming out shaky. “You’re pretty.”

Carefully, Yoongi helps you take his briefs off before letting you mouth at him. He hums in response but otherwise remains to kneeling with his eyes closed, letting you do what you want.

Watching Yoongi’s minute expressions and body language as you pull him out in full is fascinating. His lips and brows twitch when you take his cock in your palm, stroking to the tip to gather the precum there. You work your hand up and down firmly, lubricating his cock with gentle twists.

Little sounds escape Yoongi’s mouth, making your grin spread. Everything he does pulls you in. His hips thrust lightly into your hand, his mouth is parted, neck shining with a light layer of sweat. It’s addicting, the way he loses himself at your touch, completely at ease and safe in your hands.

Surging forward, you take the crown of his dick into your mouth, swirling your tongue around. He curses loudly, a hand shooting to your head. His fingers are firm against your scalp, not pushing but clinging to you desperately as you low the spit in your mouth to dribble down the sides of his cock.

The salty taste on your tongue spurs you further, sliding down a little further each time you bob your head. It’s slick and messy but you don’t care, using a combination of your tongue and hollowed cheeks to slurp at Yoongi generously. You hum around him as you pull away from him with an audible pop, a string of spit chasing you.

Yoongi, though appreciative, has had enough. He surges toward you, pulling you gently by the hair to lay you back as he crawls on top of you, lips going to your neck and jaw. He presses himself between your hips. Your thighs spread wider to accommodate him, hips sticky with sweat and leaking arousal where your skin presses flush together.

For a few seconds, Yoongi’s mouth leaves you to reach for a drawer. You don’t know what spurs you still is movement, hand wrapping around his forearm firmly. He glances down to see you, your eyes round and hopeful.

“No condom?” he asks, arching a brow.

“We exchanged test results,” you murmur. It’s true – you had done that before hooking up with him in the first place. “And I’m on birth control. I mean – we don’t – sorry. I realize that’s not-“

He interrupts your thoughts with a soft kiss. “I want whatever you want.”

“I just…” his breath is hot against your face, his nose brushing against yours. “I realize that you may have other partners, I didn’t mean to assume and-“

“I don’t.” You stare at him, heart beating wildly. “It’s just been you since we started. I’d tell you if I was sleeping with more than just you.”

“Oh.”

You feel his smile more than you see it, his lips pressing against your cheek. “So you want me to fuck you raw, huh?”

You laugh at the way he says it, shoving at him slightly. He doesn’t budge, nipping your chin. “Just wanna feel you.”

“Fuck. Okay.” His hands scrape up your sides, cupping your tits as he licks and sucks the flesh around them. “How do you want it, hmmm?”

Instead of answering him, you roll, pressing your ass toward him. Yoongi kisses up your back, hands coming to either side of you as he cages you in with his chest.

“Mmm.”

Yoongi gets to his knees as you shift to all fours, looking over your shoulder at him as he shuffles behind you. His chest is pink and red, splotchy with warmth, and flushed from effort. He strokes his proud cock a few times, your eyes zeroing in on the motion. His tip is flushed scarlet from your teasing and slick with spit and precum.

His other hand comes to dip between your legs, teasing your clenching hole lightly. You whine and shimmy your hips, pressing toward him. He tsks at you but grins before pulling you open a little more. He has your knees spread far apart as he grips the base of his heavy cock to prod your entrance.

“Fuck.” You go down to your forearms, ass higher than your head. He makes a sound between a laugh and a moan as he slips his cockhead further, running it up and down your pussy to gather your slick. You’re a dripping mess and you don’t care. “Yoongi.”

“Yeah?” He asks as he slides his cock past your entrance again. You clench around noting, frustration building. “Want it, hmmm?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, you’ll get it.”

Even though he warns you, Yoongi catches you off guard as he glides his cock forward, making it a point to slide in this time. Your breath gets stuck in your lungs as you breathe in sharply, the pressure of him sliding in on one thrust sending you spinning.

Yoongi’s cock is thick, filling every part of you as he sinks to the hilt. You feel his hips pressed against you, still for a moment as your pussy flutters around him. Your hands twist in the sheets, trying to ground you as you breathe through pleasure with the barest hint of pain.

“You okay?” his voice is deep and rumbling, pulling you back to reality.

You nodded your head, forehead pressed to the bed. “Feels so fucking full.”

Yoongi let’s out a breathy sound as he pulls back, the slide of him glorious against your walls before he thrusts in again. He glides without resistance, each slow pull sparking in the softness of you. Moans drip from your tongue.

Every roll of Yoongi’s hips is measured, setting a deep, gentle-stroked pace. It feels so good, like the tip of his cock is in the deepest parts of you.

When you start to thrust your ass back to meet him, Yoongi grunts, picking up the pace in earnest, fucking into you with force. You feel the weight he puts behind it, his cock brushing your spot each time and fuck you swear his cock is hitting the depth of your stomach, so deep you’re delirious.

“Oh god,” you gasp, trying to get a single, steady breath in. It’s hard, breathing past the electricity humming along each vein and the pleasure curling its fingers in your stomach. “Fuck – holy shit – fuck.”

“Pussy feels so fucking good,” Yoongi growls. He’s fucking you harder now, the slap of his hips against your ass audible. “You’re so wet, just fucking drooling on my cock.”

“Deep,” you manage to moan out, the only word that rolls around your rapidly emptying mind.

Yoongi changes the angle, hiking a foot up so that he’s almost lunging over you. His fingers claw into your hips, pulling you backward to spear you on his cock over and over and over. It feels so goddamn good that you should have known you would be a goner for him.

And then he introduces a thumb pressed firmly to your ass, the pressure on the nerves there enough to make you fall forward. Your breath gets caught in his sheets as Yoongi’s thumb circles your tight rim, not slipping in but playing with it enough to send your eyes back in your head.

You’re unsure if you’re even participating as you skyrocket toward another orgasm. You can’t say anything, can’t think anything – you’re helpless and whining as you suddenly go taught like a bowstring, pussy clenching around his cock as you come.

Yoongi is vocal, grunting as you squeeze him. He fucks you even harder, elevating your high. A squeal escapes you as you shake from overstimulation, the pleasure blinding you momentarily and making you go numb.

Everything flips as Yoongi pulls out and rolls you. It’s not graceful, but your tangled limbs follow his hands and movements as he spreads you out on his bed, breathing hard. His hair sticks to his forehead, slick cock bobbing against his stomach as he stares down at you. In return, you blink back up at him. You’re on the border of something like subspace, the pleasure sending you into a dark, fuzzy corner of your mind.

“Color?” he asks, hands soft on your spread thighs.

“Green.” You lace one of your hands with his, squeezing. Hair sticks to the back of your neck and the sheets beneath you smell like sweat and cum but you don’t care. “Green.”

“Can you give me one more? Wanna see your face when you lose it.”

You nod and reach for him. He seems confused but leans down, letting you brush sweaty hair from his face. His eyes close at the soft touch, letting you press the pads of your fingers into damp skin as you trace the shape of his features again.

“Wanna see you too,” you admit softly.

That earns a smile from Yoongi, the kind where he ducks his head shyly and it’s all gums and crinkled eyes. You love when he smiles like that. It makes your heart flutter, interrupted only when he thrusts back into you without warning.

You gasp and he chuckles. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you manage to grit out. You arch your back as Yoongi pauses to lean back, grabbing your right leg, lifting it and shifting your position so that both of your legs are pressed together, draped over his shoulder as he leans into you. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” he pants, setting a hard and fast pace as he fucks into you. “I know.”

The angle is divine. Your thighs pressed together make your pussy feel tighter. You swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as Yoongi fucks into you hard. His thrusts are shallower and he bites his bottom lip, focusing on the way his cock disappears inside your heat.

In this position, you can watch him. His stomach flexes with every movement, muscles jumping and twitching. His hips are glossy with sweat and cum, but he doesn’t care. One hand grips your half, fingers dimpling in your skin while the other holds your hip.

One of your hands shoots to the hand at your hip, gripping his wrist as your eyes roll back into your head. You feel your orgasm again, rapidly approaching though not as strong as the second one. You can’t remember anyone ever making you cum over and over like this, but Yoongi is relentless, chasing after it.

“Touch your clit for me baby.” He’s busy holding your legs and hip to do the work for you. He kisses your calf, gentle in comparison to the way he’s throwing all of his weight into his thrusts. “I’m so fucking close.”

Following his instructions makes you squirm. You deftly circle your throbbing clit with your fingers, the stimulation making you shudder and whine. He laughs and encourages you to keep going.

The sensitivity is replaced with mind-numbing pleasure. You can feel your third release on the horizon, your breath hitching, and your moans coming out as high-pitched staccatos.

“Shit,” he curses, head ducked down. “Fucking squeezing me.”

Something about the way he’s fighting to stay composed sends you over the edge. You almost don’t feel yourself come, everything going white-hot and tingling at once. Yoongi come with you, losing his rhythm, curses laced with your name.

Time seems not to exist in the space between you. Yoongi pulls out – you only know because you suddenly feel empty. Cum drips down your entrance to the bed, the sticky feel of it slightly uncomfortable as you lay with your head to the side, unsure how to move or do anything else.

There are no thoughts. There’s just contentment and trying to catch your breath. Everything feels hot all over, like there is a fire burning under your skin. Yoongi collapses next to you, a human furnace. You don’t move away from him though, a hand automatically seeking any part of him to keep the connection between your body.

You find his collarbone, splaying your hand across his skin. His heart thuds underneath your touch. He lays a hand on top of yours, palms sticky with bodily fluids.

As your breathing slows, you don’t know how long you lay there. It feels messy but you’re tired, and just as you begin to teeter into the depth of sleep, Yoongi stirs and nudges you. A whine escapes you, but you let him pull you out of the bed, careful hands guiding you through dim light to shower.

Yoongi doesn’t turn the lights on in the bathroom. A single salt lamp casts a soft glow, more than enough for you to safely step into the glass shower. The spray of hot water uncoils already loose muscles. Your knees buckle a bit when he leaves you, but Yoongi makes sure that you’re standing safely before he steps out briefly and vanishes into the bedroom.

Steam fills the room. You touch sore places of your skin, feel the indents left by teeth and fingers. There’s an ache between your legs – battered pussy begging for sleep, you think.

When Yoongi returns, there is a soft exchange of touches. Yoongi presses soap into your skin, you scratching shampoo into his hair, a brush of swollen lips.

Somehow it feels more intimate than the sex.

After the shower, Yoongi wordlessly gives you clothes of his. You raise a brow but he waves it off, sitting on his bed and peeling back the covers. It’s a sure sign that he wants you to sleep there, and you’re so spent that you don’t think you could fight even if you wanted to.

The shirt and pants combo smell like him and you grin, sliding into the space he’s made on his bed for you. It occurs to you that he changed the sheets and grabbed a new blanket, the ruined ones balled up in a corner near the hamper.

For a moment, you feel hesitation. Yoongi’s bed for sleeping is foreign territory to you, and you’re unsure how he sleeps: does he cuddle, or does he not like to be touched, what side does he lay on what-

Yoongi reaches for you and pulls you toward him, stopping your stream of thoughts. He tucks you into his side as he lays on his back, one hand behind his head and the other wrapped around you tightly.

Sleeping curled into Yoongi’s side is the best sleep you get in months. But when you wake up the next morning, flinching at the bright screen of your phone to check what time it is, everything is long forgotten when you see a single text from your ex.

So what? You’re a pornstar now? Disgusting.

You lock the phone.

Sit in Yoongi’s room as he sleeps deeply behind you for a moment.

And then you get up and leave without a second thought.

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[softie-rain]

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Pairing: Coriolanus Snow/Sejanus Plinth

Tags: possibly ooc - takes place two years before canon - coryo is weirdly nice - idk guys this is so lovesick and fluffy I'm not used to it

Summary: Having a crush on the handsome boy you share classes with has got to be the most embarrassing thing to happen to someone. Like, seriously: how do you hide it without failing? Or, Sejanus Plinth is caught staring at Coriolanus Snow during class.

Notes: inspired by the headcanon @incorrect-pipravi sent, which you can find here. Was supposed to be a small drabble and instead ended up 2k words (which is shorter than what I usually write anyway.)

Also damn I haven't posted my writing on tumblr since FOREVER it's been ages fr. So this is your reminder that other than bitching about coryo and sej I also write

you can read it on ao3 here

Sejanus kept staring at his reflection in the mirror, fixing his hair. He wasn’t one to usually care about his looks, as long as he looked decent enough to go out in public. But lately he felt like had to be at his best, even going as far as thinking of wearing his favorite sweatshirt (the blue one Coriolanus gave him for his fourteen birthday, he had been the only one to show up at the party he had organized), but the weather was definitely too hot for that one. Besides, the uniform was mandatory at the Academy.

“Sejanus, why are you still here? You have to hurry if you don’t want to be late!” His mother entered the room, looking at him with worry. Sejanus turned with an apologetic look.

“Don’t worry ma’. I’ll be fine.” He said. Mrs. Plinth nodded and walked over to him, patting him on his back.

“You look perfect, darling. I’m sure this secret girl you seem to like so much will adore you!”

“Ma’!” Sejanus heavily blushed, gently pushing his mother away in embarrassment. The old woman chuckled, smiling at her son.

“There’s no need to be ashamed of it. Everyone has their first crush at some point.” She said, trying to reassure her son. Sejanus wanted to laugh. Of course his mother didn’t know. There was no way she could have found out on her own, and he never said anything. She was convinced Sejanus was in love with a girl from the Academy, and he surely wasn’t going to be the one to break the news to her that said girl was actually Coriolanus Snow.

He wasn’t sure his ma’ would have minded actually. She thought Coriolanus was a good boy, and even his father appreciated him. Yet Sejanus had never told them the truth, and he wasn’t going to. Whether out of shame, or fear, it didn’t matter.

Sejanus shook his head, ignoring his mother’s comment. “I better get going now or, as you said, I’m going to be late. See you later ma’.” He said, waving at her as he walked out of the apartment.

After the short drive to the Academy he ran up the stairs rushing to get to class, even if there was no need to. They had assigned seats, he knew he'd end up sitting next to Coriolanus either way. But he also wanted to chat before class started, and Coryo always seemed to arrive awfully early, for some unknown reason.

When he finally got in the room he smiled upon noticing the curly haired boy with his head down in the textbook, probably revising for the lecture of the day. Coriolanus was a perfectionist like that, always studying, making sure everything he did was excellent, especially when it came to the Academy and his studies. Sejanus was pretty sure he had never failed one single class.

Clemensia Dovecote hadn't either, but she didn't put in half the effort Coriolanus did. Coriolanus Snow always worked much more than what was required, sometimes Sejanus wondered if it was because he wanted to be better than everyone else. Or maybe he just craved academic validation.

Either way, Sejanus thought it was extremely attractive. When he was always so carefully focused in class, and Sejanus so carefully focused on him. The way he'd bite his lip when he tried to get a particularly difficult subject, his small frown when he didn't understand something. A barely perceptible one, that he tried to hide to not show that he was confused but that Sejanus could see anyway. If he paid as much attention to the lesson as he did to Coriolanus he'd probably ace every class he took.

But Coriolanus was much more interesting than whatever Mrs. Click could ever blather about, right?

“Morning Coryo.” He greeted him, sitting next to him.

“Morning.” Coriolanus replied, without looking up from his book.

Sejanus bit his lip, trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going. “What are you reading?”

“History of Panem.”

“You don't need to revise, I'm sure you'll do great as always.” Sejanus told him, smiling, thinking he'd complimented him. But Coriolanus sighed.

“That doesn't mean I'll stop studying for the exam.” He replied coldly, probably annoyed Sejanus interrupted him. So he nodded and left him to read, at least until Professor Demigloss arrived and started his lesson.

Sejanus tried to pay attention, he really did, but his eyes were drawn in as if by magnets to Coriolanus’ beautiful blonde curls that so gracefully fell on his face. Sejanus observed as he moved them away, his blue eyes focused on the board in front of him. He also noticed as Coriolanus started chewing on his pen while listening to Demigloss’ - rather boring - explanation.

Sejanus found himself wondering what it would have been like to kiss him, to have those lips on his. Would he have bit down on Sejanus’ lips the same way he was biting down the pen? Would he have been rough, or sweet and soft?

He always assumed Coriolanus was a rough lover, but he couldn't know for sure, maybe he would-

“Mr. Plinth, I believe the board is here and not where Mr. Snow is sitting.”

The professor's voice made him snap out of his lovefool trance, and Sejanus’ head immediately turned to face Professor Demigloss, who looked rather annoyed. He felt his cheeks grow warm, and he knew he was probably the same color as his Ma’ tomatoes when they were mature. He muttered an apology and looked down at his notes-less book, too embarrassed to meet anyone's eyes.

He could hear his classmates snicker, and he knew they wouldn't easily make him forget this. But, gosh, the worst were Coriolanus’ eyes on him.

Sejanus could basically feel his gaze, burning like his stare alone was setting him on fire, and he wanted nothing more than to get up and leave the room.

The rest of the class went on painfully slowly, Sejanus could have sworn it lasted hours. As soon as Demigloss dismissed them he instantly got up, packed his bag and left, ignoring Festus calling for him and rushing out before anyone else could make fun of him. Especially Coriolanus.

Truthfully he didn't think Coriolanus would. He never joined in with the others - especially Festus and Arachne - when they talked about him behind his back or made fun of him, ever since they were kids, so he didn't see why he'd start now. Either way, Sejanus couldn't stand the confrontation to test his assumption.

He tried to ignore Coriolanus the best he could the rest of the day, and he thought he managed. But then Coryo stopped him at the Academy entrance, right when he was about to leave once all of his classes were over.

“Sejanus? Can we talk?”

Sejanus shrugged, trying to play it dumb. Maybe if he pretended nothing happened Coriolanus would forget about it. “S-sure. About what?” He said, praying his voice didn't sound as high pitched to Coriolanus as it did to him.

“Uh, the history project we have to do? I thought maybe we could work on it together.”

Sejanus sighed in relief, covering it with a cough. He cleared his throat before raising his eyebrow. “History project?”

Coriolanus nodded. “Yes. Professor Demigloss talked about it today in class. Or were you too busy staring at me to pay attention to him?” He asked, grinning.

Sejanus started blushing, his eyes widening as his mind tried to come up with some excuse or at least a way to get out of that situation. His palms were getting sweaty and he could feel the panic rising up in his chest. “Oh, uhm, no. Obviously, I was listening. I was-”

“Sej relax. I'm just teasing.” Coriolanus interrupted him, his grin only growing wider. “So? What do you say about the project?”

Sejanus thought it was weird how Coriolanus didn't seem to mind it, but definitely didn't complain. If his friend was cool about it, then he was going to be as well. He nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Of course.”

“Great. It's due tomorrow so the sooner we start working on it the better.” Sejanus gave him a short smile, agreeing with him.

“I'd suggest going over at my place, but the cleaners are around today. They’re usually very invasive, I don’t want them scooping around while we study.” He explained, sounding annoyed. Sejanus nodded, understanding his problem. He had the same struggles with his own cleaners, though usually they left him alone when he asked.

“It’s okay, I get that. Maybe we could study at my place then?” He suggested, trying not to blush again at the thought of him and Coriolanus alone in his bedroom. Coriolanus didn’t seem to notice his struggles at keeping his cool and nodded, mumbling a ‘sure’ before following Sejanus outside where his driver was waiting for him.

Sejanus spent the drive to his house in silence, hoping his mother had gone through with her plan for the day and was out shopping. He wanted to avoid any awkward meeting between her and Coryo. But of course, when they got into his apartment, there she stood in the kitchen waiting for her beloved son. “Sejanus? Is that you?” She asked, walking over to them. Her eyes slightly widened in surprise when she noticed Coriolanus with him. “Oh! I didn’t know you were going to have friends over. Hi, Coriolanus.”

Coriolanus smiled at the woman. “Hello Mrs. Plinth. Sorry for intruding.” He said, giving Sejanus’ mother an apologetic look.

“Oh nonsense. I was about to leave anyway, I need to buy some new clothes for little Sej here.” She said smiling. Sejanus felt as if his skin was on fire at his ma’ words, and he could see in the corner of his eyes Coriolanus trying not to laugh.

“Okay well me and Coryo will be studying in my bedroom, see you later ma’.” He said quickly, wanting to get out of that situation as soon as possible. Once they got to his room they immediately started working on the project, neither of them wanting to waste any more time. Coriolanus shared his notes with Sejanus since he had taken none during class, too busy staring at Coryo.

The evening went on uneventfully, they spent most of it on the books with one snack break where Sejanus offered Coriolanus the cookies he had baked the day before, which the blonde boy seemed to most definitely appreciate considering the eager way he was eating them.

Sejanus was sitting on his bed while Coriolanus was at his desk, leaning on the chair. They were almost done with the school work when Coriolanus spoke. “Why were you staring at me?” Sejanus blushed and dropped his pen on the floor, immediately picking it up as if the falling object could have been a new source of embarrassment for him. “Earlier, in class.” He added, as if he needed a reminder of what Coriolanus was talking about.

“Uhm…” Sejanus didn't know what to say. He avoided the subject all day. He knew it was impossible for Coryo to forget about it so quickly but he wasn't expecting him to bring it up now either. Especially since he had sounded fine with the situation that morning.

Coriolanus must have noticed Sejanus was rather uncomfortable, because he immediately specified, “I'm not making fun of you for it. I'm just curious. Did I have something on my face?”

He was smiling, but Sejanus wasn’t sure it was meant to be a joke. More of a light comment to put him at ease. Though he didn't work he appreciated the effort, so much he thought Coriolanus deserved the truth, or at least half of it. Sejanus had never been good at lying anyway.

“No, nothing like that. Honestly? I was looking at your hair. And your eyes.” He confessed, avoiding the other's gaze.

Coriolanus frowned. “My eyes?”

“Yeah. They're very… blue. And pretty. It's like staring at the ocean, or the clear sky. Sorry, I know it's dumb. Just got caught up in my thoughts I guess.” Sejanus mumbled, drawing doodles on his hands as he tried to fight the urge to ramble out dumb excuses that would have led Coriolanus to realize he had a crush on him.

He had just admitted he thought his eyes were pretty, could it get worse than that?

Fortunately he didn't have to find out because Coriolanus simply nodded and dropped the subject. Sejanus didn't say anything either, but when he raised his eyes again and saw Coriolanus bouncing his leg nervously under the desk he could have sworn he saw his cheeks growing red, though he was clearly trying to hide it.

Sejanus smiled and looked down, going back to check his notes, when Coriolanus spoke again. “I like your eyes too.” He said, catching Sejanus by surprise.

“They're this dark brown color that gets lighter if you observe them under the sunlight. They look like milk chocolate chips.” Coriolanus commented, never once switching his position or raising his head to look at Sejanus as she talked. “I love chocolate.” He said, and it was clearly the end of their conversation on the matter.

He loves chocolate. He loves my eyes.

The thought kept playing loud in Sejanus’ head as he tried hard to stop his blushing, failing miserably. Maybe that day hadn't been so terrible after all.