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rosy-hollow · 1 day ago

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You know the feeling when you’ve been working so hard that when you finally take a break, it feels wrong?

That’s how you felt- right now- staring at the towering resort in front of you.

You were more than grateful for the effort the school put in to accumulate the funding for a beach trip for the entire hero course- something the other courses envied you all for, and in all honesty, you would gladly give up your spot for any one of them. It was your third year, a stressful time given that you were about to become fully fledged heroes by the time you all graduated in a few weeks – something you found ironic since you and your classmates have already seen more action than the average pro hero.

Though the circumstances were a little different for you, as you had joined the hero course later in the school year following Hitoshi Shinso, who joined Class 1-B. You were put in Class 1-A to keep the classes balances, allowing your dream to come true to become a pro alongside the others.

Now, here you were, standing in front of one of the most luxurious beachside resorts in all of Japan.

Dragging your suitcase and backpack, you gather in the lobby alongside your classmates, awaiting Aizawa Sensei’s instructions.

The ravenette in question pulled out his phone and starts to read out the sleeping arrangements.

“Ashido and Hagakure, Shinso and Tokoyami, Midoriya and Todoroki, Asui and Uraraka...” he drones on monotonously, and your brain subconsciously started to tune him out until a pair catches your ears.

"Bakugou and..." you watch his flip a page, checking for the next name only for him to say...yours?!

Almost everyone whips their heads in your direction, and your face turns bright red.

Bakugou?!

Your mind races a million miles a minute. I’m sharing a room with Bakugou?! Shit- what if he hates me... You mentally groan to yourself.

Bakugou himself wasn't the issue - the two of you were on relatively good terms given that the natures of your quirks made for good training partners; you two got along fine.

Maybe a little too well.

In the short time you'd gotten to know him, you might've gotten a little - for lack of a better word- crush?

You smack yourself mentally - you sound pathetic. Just get your act together, it's not that big of a deal.

You see Bakugou heft his bags, grabbing his room key from Aizawa, and you want to melt into the floor. How in the world were you supposed to inconspicuously keep your cool around the man you’ve been crushing on for months?! Especially since you were sharing a room?!

Sighing, you decide you should probably get your key as well, shifting your bags around, and approaching Aizawa who had your key in his hand.

You take it with appropriate thanks and marvel at the rest of the resort as you make your way to the elevator, ornate marbled floors the color of sea glass accented with gold. Two giant seashells the size of gargoyles stood at both sides of the elevator doors, and you step inside, soft classical music trickling through the space as you stare out the glass wall, observing the many people of the beach, and clear aquamarine waters that looked crystalline. It was ... beautiful.

You hear a ding, marking your arrival to the 8th floor, where you and the rest of Class 1-A were sleeping.

The floors were carpeted, a nice burgundy with simple gold waves that ran throughout the length of the hallway, simple, but elegant.

Trailing your eyes alongside the doors, you find the door you were looking for, Room 1076.

You fumble with the key card, pressing against the small black sensor by the door handle, hearing the beep that signaled it was unlocked, and you open it, taking in your surroundings.

There was a large painting of two seahorses, with their tails intertwined, hung in between the beds. The beds themselves were draped with such fancy comforters that looked like clouds, you almost didn’t want to sleep on them in fear of ruining it.

“Oi, close yer mouth, yer gonna catch flies.” you hear a familiar voice behind you, whipping around to come face to face with a pair of vermillion eyes.

“Oh Bakugou!” you laugh nervously “I didn’t see you there.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing your backpack from your shoulders forcefully and plops it onto the nearby chair, effectively flinging you backwards in the process.

“Gah! Ah shit-” you yelp, falling backwards and losing your footing, only for strong arms to wrap around your waist and yanking you back just in time to narrow avoid breaking a very expensive looking vase.

Looking up you see Bakugou’s eyes on you, an impassive look on his face.

A few beats of silence pass before you burst out into laughter, Bakugou forced to shift your form in order to not have to fall over again from the ferocity of your heaving giggles.

“Pfft- you should’ve seen your face” you giggle, finding it difficult to breathe as your muscles painfully stretched to accommodate how much you were smiling.

You feel a hand rest on top of your hand, effectively silencing you as Bakugou clicks his teeth impatiently.

“Tch- calm down dumbass, ya just got here and yer already trying ta destroy the place.” he grumbles, the tips of his ears turning red. “Aizawa said we can call up room service for free- let's order some dinner and watch a movie or some shit. I’m fuckin exhausted.”

You smile brightly, shoving down the butterflies that erupt in your stomach, and nod.

“Sounds good! You order and I’ll find something to put on.” you beam, flopping down on the bed closest to you, deciding that it was going to get messed up anyways. “Just don’t get anything too spicy. I’m not a weakling obviously, but you’re probably going to manage burning off my taste buds one way or another.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes again, flipping you off and receiving and indignant Hey! from you, walking over to the bedside table to dial room service on the provided phone.

Flipping through the channels, you surf through various news programs and sports broadcasts, already missing your easily accessible streaming services back home. Finally, you find a cheesy rom com you were familiar with, thankfully the timing was perfect, seeing as the movie’s opening credits roll through. The quality was surprisingly good, you thought happily to yourself, but given that you were staying in such a high-end resort, you shouldn’t be surprised.

You make yourself comfortable, mentally high fiving yourself for deciding to wear sweatpants and a t-shirt that morning, so you didn’t feel the need to change into your pajamas just yet.

Bakugou hangs up on the phone with a gruff salutation, sitting on his own bed adjacent to yours and raises his eyebrows at your choice of movie.

“This one? Really?” he asks, frowning slightly and you quirk up an eyebrow in return.

“It was all I could find, plus I know you like this one. You have the book copy of it you nerd.” you smile teasingly.

Bakugou’s ears turn red at the realization that you noticed his guilty pleasure of reading romance novels, chucking a pillow in your direction in retaliation.

“So what? Movie’s shit.”he grumbles, turning to watch the male lead being introduced. “S’true for all of em. Books are way better.”

You sigh, disgruntled as the pillow hits you in the face and falls off your bed out of reach. You did really want to throw it back at him, but right now, you were just too lazy.

“Stop being such a sourpuss.” you gripe, letting your arms dangle off the side of the bed as you lie on your stomach. “Obviously books are more accurate, but just try to enjoy a classic movie as if it were a standalone.”

The blonde sighs, making himself comfortable on his bed without another word, vermillion eyes locking themselves on the screen, just as the female lead complains to her best friend that her crush won’t like her back. He knew it was a dumb movie, just by looking at the male lead’s interactions with her, it was clear he was in love with her. Were people always so dense when it came to a guy’s feelings?

His eyes wander in your direction, watching you doze off , face half smushed against the edge of the bed. Sighing, he gets up, grumbling as he realizes his foot fell asleep, but works through the pain as he makes his way to your side, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV.

He places the remote on the bedside table and lifts you gently, adjusting the pillows and rearranging the comforter to safely tuck you in. However you weren’t fully asleep, your eyes blinking blearily as you weakly protest.

“No...not yet...” you mumble, frowning softly, and Bakugou resists the urge to smooth the cute crinkle between your furrowed eyebrows “Food’s going to waste...”

The blonde chuckles quietly, eyes softening as he tucks a strand of of loose hair away from your face. “S’not a problem dummy, I didn’t order anything. Knew ya were gonna pull this shit. We'll eat a big breakfast tomorrow.”

You nod sleepily in agreement, as he turns away to get ready for bed himself, only to be stopped by the feeling on your hand loosely wrapped around his wrist.

“Bakugou?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His cheeks are tinted red, clearly flustered, not that you noticed, too tired to pick up on really anything.

“I...”

“I love you too dumbass.”

A/N: wrote this ages ago... i still love it to this day

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pullmecloseman · 1 day ago

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TAKE THE SHOT

Summary: A retro arcade night turns into something more when you're paired with Bob Floyd during a squad hangout. You start off teasing, competitive, and toeing the line—but every game, glance, and near-touch pulls you both closer to finally admitting what's been simmering for months. Sparks fly under neon lights, ending with a private moment that might just change everything.

Bob Floyd x reader

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: Inspired by old-school arcades, mutual pining, and the idea that Bob Floyd would absolutely crush a basketball machine just to impress you. don’t be afraid to comment or send asks, i love talking!

Warnings: Mutual pining, slow burn, suggestive language, light dirty talk, heated make-out scene, squad teasing, light possessiveness, and a lot of tension.

masterlist

The buzz of neon and the familiar clack of arcade buttons hit before you even stepped inside.

It was humid outside, the warm night sticky against your skin, but the instant the door swung open, cool air and the smell of popcorn and cheap floor polish wrapped around you like something nostalgic. The Dagger Squad spilled into the arcade ahead of you—half talking over each other, half already darting toward whatever game caught their eye first.

Rooster whistled low. “They really went all out with the ‘80s vibe.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, glancing around, unimpressed. “Even the carpet’s giving me vertigo.”

“It’s authentic,” Fanboy argued, already halfway to the skee-ball lanes. “You can practically smell the childhood trauma.”

Behind you, Bob’s shoulder brushed yours. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. You turned just enough to catch the way his mouth tilted—not a smile, not really. But close. Warm. Yours.

“Pick your poison,” he said, voice low enough that only you heard him. You tilted your head, scanning the rows of flashing machines. “Feeling brave?” Bob lifted a brow. “Always.” That earned him a grin. You didn’t say anything else—you just grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the basketball machine glowing near the corner.

Phoenix’s voice followed you. “Buddy system!” she called, loud and amused. “Use it wisely!” Hangman “Translation: try not to make out behind the pinball machine.” You flipped them both off over your shoulder.

Bob just kept walking, long strides easy to follow, that same unreadable look on his face. But you knew the truth. You’d learned how to read him. The way his fingers lingered just a second longer when you passed him a wrench during maintenance. The way he always stood close—close enough to feel, not enough to touch. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

You knew.

Tonight wasn’t going to end with just one game. Not a chance. The basketball hoop machine glowed in flickering amber, casting shadows on Bob's jaw as he leaned down to read the instructions even though both of you knew how it worked. His hand hovered near the coin slot while you dug into your back pocket and came out with two tokens. “Loser buys the next round,” you said, holding one out.

Bob took it without looking, slotting it into the machine with an audible click. “Define loser,” he murmured. You grinned. “The one with fewer points. Don’t think too hard about it.” You both took your spots, side by side. The countdown started.

3. 2. 1.

Then chaos. The orange foam balls rolled down in front of you, and your fingers flew. You sank the first. And the second. Missed the third. Bob didn’t miss. Not once. Calm, efficient, flicking the wrist like he’d been born for this. “Show off,” you muttered, sweat already beading at your temple. “What?” he asked, not breaking rhythm. “Nothing,” you said through gritted teeth, shooting again.

By the time the timer ran out, your score blinked up on the screen: 37. Bob’s: 38. You blinked. “You won by one?” He turned toward you slowly. His cheeks were flushed, chest rising with the effort, but his mouth pulled into something that made your stomach twist. “A win’s a win,” he said. You stared up at him, heart pounding too fast for the game. The air between you crackled. “So?” you asked, breath catching. “What does the winner get?”

Bob stepped closer. Not touching. Just enough for the energy between you to hum. “You said loser buys the next round,” he said. “That’s it?” He hesitated, then looked down at your mouth. “Not what I had in mind,” he murmured. Your pulse skittered. “Then what did you have in mind?” He didn’t answer. Just stepped even closer—until his chest almost brushed yours, until the noise of the arcade faded into a dull blur, until all you could see were the glint of his glasses and the heat in his eyes.

Then he leaned in and whispered, “You already know.” And then, without waiting, he turned back to the machine and grabbed another token. “One more game,” he said, voice maddeningly calm. “Unless you’re scared to lose again.”

You almost choked.

“Oh, it’s on.”And just like that, the air around you shifted. The game was on. But it wasn’t about basketball anymore. Not even close. This time, you didn’t bother with small talk. You launched the ball with focus sharpened by adrenaline and something far more dangerous—the heat still lingering on your lips from where his breath had brushed them. You missed the first two. Swore under your breath. Bob stayed silent beside you. Too composed. Too good. He was clearly letting it get to his head. You threw faster, harder.By the time the timer buzzed again, you were panting. The scores blinked.

You: 42. Bob: 42.

“Tie,” you said, chest rising. “What does that mean?” Bob just looked at you. Took his glasses off with one hand. Wiped them slowly on the hem of his shirt. His shirt which lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of his waist. Your mouth went dry. “Means we both win,” he said, voice lower than before. And this time, he stepped closer. You froze, breath catching, until the buzz of your name being called made you blink. You turned to find Phoenix waving dramatically from the claw machine across the room.

“Break it up, lovebirds! Come win me a plushie!” You groaned. Bob chuckled. And when you walked away, he kept his hand on the small of your back. Like he’d already won.

The claw machine was surrounded by your squad like it was a matter of national pride. “Coyote already wasted five bucks,” Hangman reported as you arrived, arms crossed. “That bear was rigged,” Coyote muttered. Rooster tossed a token your way. “Redemption round. Your turn.” You caught it and looked at Bob. “Your claws or mine?” “Together,” he said. You blinked. “What?” He reached for the joystick. “You aim. I drop.”

And just like that, it wasn’t a game anymore. It was a tactic. An alliance. Bob stood close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest, and his hand hovered over the button, waiting for your cue. “Left a little,” you murmured. “Now?” You stared at the plush shaped like a smiling plane. “Now.” He dropped it. The claw descended. Caught. And held. The plush thunked into the chute.

Your teammates lost it.

Fanboy yelled, Phoenix swore she was next, Rooster demanded a rematch. But you weren’t paying attention. Because Bob picked up the plush, held it out to you—and this time, he smiled. “For your collection,” he said. You tucked it under your arm, already glowing. “We make a good team,” you said softly. Bob glanced down at you. “We always have.” Phoenix elbowed you as the squad regrouped near a vintage pinball row lit up in reds and greens. “You guys sharing brainwaves now, too? That claw machine move was disgusting.”

“You’re just jealous we’ve got synergy,” you shot back, dodging the way she tried to flick your ear. Hangman leaned against the machine closest to Bob, narrowed his eyes, and drawled, “That synergy get steamy behind the basketball game, or you two just making intense eye contact again?” Bob, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He simply pressed the button on the pinball machine and said, “Your turn to lose.”

Hangman raised a brow. “To you?” “To both of us,” you clarified, slotting a token into the next machine and slapping your hand dramatically onto the flipper button. Rooster whistled low. “She’s getting competitive. We’re in trouble.” “Is this gonna end in another make-out?” Fanboy asked. “Only if you keep watching,” you said sweetly. That got a chorus of groans, scattered laughter, and a few half-hearted insults thrown your way. Bob didn’t say a word. But you could feel him behind you. Close. Calm. Watching.

You launched the ball and went for the flashing targets, your fingers fast, your focus sharper than it should’ve been. Half because you wanted to win. Half because you knew he was watching the way your body moved—arms, hips, every little twitch of tension. And you were doing the same to him when he took his turn. Bob leaned low over the machine, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his mouth set just slightly. And when the ball came flying back at him, he reacted fast—shoulders flexing under his T-shirt, hands confident.

You might’ve stared a little too long. “Uh-huh,” Phoenix said behind you. “I knew she was watching the forearms.” “Can you blame her?” Fanboy added. “He’s got the arms of a man who builds airplanes and repressed feelings.” You snorted but didn’t deny it. Because yeah, you were watching.

When Bob finally lost the ball and the machine flashed GAME OVER, he stepped back and gave you a look. Not cocky. Not smug. Just… warm. Steady. Like he knew every single thought in your head—and agreed with most of them. You bit your lip and leaned in, voice low.

“Need a breather?” His eyes flicked to your mouth. “You offering?” You nodded toward the back hallway. “Let’s take five.” No one said anything when you slipped away. But you were sure Phoenix wiggled her eyebrows and Fanboy made kissy noises behind your back.

The back of the arcade smelled like grease and warm plastic and distant popcorn. A little quieter, lit mostly by neon reflecting off the black-and-blue tile floors. Bob followed without hesitation, hands in his pockets, steps just a half-second behind yours. You found the vending machine room—empty, quiet, cooler than the rest of the place—and slipped inside. Bob didn’t say anything. You didn’t, either.

Not until you turned to face him. “Hey,” you said, breath catching. He looked at you. “Tonight’s been…” you trailed off. You didn’t know how to finish it. He did. “Different,” he said, stepping closer. “But not unexpected.” Your brows lifted. “No?” Bob shook his head. “You think I haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“The way you look at me.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re the one who kissed me with your eyes back there.” His mouth curved. “You kissed me first—with that look.”Your back hit the vending machine behind you. Bob didn’t touch you. Not yet. “I’ve been patient,” he said, voice low. “For a long time.”“Why?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Because once I start, I’m not gonna want to stop.” And then he did touch you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, slow and careful, his thumb brushing over your skin like he was committing the texture to memory. You didn’t speak. You just leaned in. And he met you halfway.

The kiss was deep instantly—hot, sure, full of all the unsaid things between you. His body pressed against yours, not shy now, not hesitant. You felt the edge of the vending machine dig into your back as his hand slipped down to your waist, fingers gripping your hip like he didn’t plan to let go. Your arms wrapped around his neck, one hand slipping into the hair at the back of his head. He groaned—quiet and rough—right against your lips, and that was it.

Whatever line you’d been toeing? Gone. Bob pulled you even closer, hips pressing against yours. Your body fit against his like it had always meant to. Like it had been waiting.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured between kisses, mouth trailing down your jaw, then your neck. “You’ve got no idea.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I really do.” You barely noticed your hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin. He sucked in a breath. Then kissed you again—open-mouthed, hungry, needy in a way that made your legs tremble. “You gonna stop me?” he asked. “Not unless you want me to.” His teeth grazed your throat. “Not a chance.”

And just when it felt like the world might collapse around the heat between you—

You both heard it.

A loud, unmistakable honk from outside the room. Rooster’s voice yelling something about a photo booth and a timer running out. Bob exhaled against your neck. “Saved by the cock,” you muttered. He laughed. Deep and ragged. “I’ll kill him later.” You pulled back just enough to look up at him. Your lips were red, your chest was rising fast, your skin flushed.

Bob looked wrecked. In the best way. “Come on,” you said, brushing your fingers down his shirt. “Let’s go before the strip comes out with them all trying to kill each other.”

And maybe, if you had time after? Lose a few more games together. Or win. Hard to tell which mattered more anymore.

taglist: @yagurlannastasia

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curlysswirlywirly · 2 days ago

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Heyyy can you do Mark Variants and reader twerking on them head cannons?🫶🏽🫶🏽

WHEN YA DANCE, I’M ON YA

⋆ MAINSTREAM!MARK is that boy who you caught standing around at a house party he had no business staying at past the first fifteen minutes. he came with someone else, or maybe you dragged him with the promise of “you won’t have to talk to anyone, just watch me have fun,” and now he’s posted up and his entire demeanor is screaming please please don’t look at me. though he’s tucked into the far corner of the kitchen with his elbow braced near a bowl of pretzels gone stale and a stack of neon-colored solo cups that keep toppling over, he looks like he’s trying his best to blend into the refrigerator. he’s wearing something he thought was decent for a party but his shirt’s damp in odd places, clinging beneath his arms and wrinkled weird across his stomach, and he’s nursing a mostly ice cup of something red that he’s clearly forgotten he’s holding. it’s mostly backwash at this point, and he’s been holding it long enough for the condensation to soak through the napkin he won’t throw away yet. he watches the dancefloor with a kind of cautious interest, not quite committed to the idea of participating but clearly imagining what it might be like if someone asked him to. you’re smiley, a little glowy from the heat of the room, and way too pretty to be wasting your hips on anyone but him. you keep passing by, brushing shoulders, grinning like a brat because you know exactly how flushed he gets when you do it on purpose. you’re not subtle, and he’s not prepared. every time you catch his eye across the room and do your little shoulder shake or twist your hips mid-song, he looks away so fast he misses the best part. when you tap his arm and ask if he wants to dance, he stares at you for a full second too long before he chokes out a quick, too-loud and too-hopeful: “uh—yes! yeah. absolutely.” he doesn’t exactly follow gracefully. his legs don’t know where to land. you have to lead him through the crowd, and he thanks you three times under his breath for helping him navigate the sea of sweaty, grinding, freaked out people. once you reach the edge of the living room where the speakers are at their clearest and someone’s dimmed the lights with a makeshift scarf over the lamp, you take a small step back, press into him gently, and his whole body locks because he just lost all the instructions to his own joints. his hands hover awkwardly behind you, fingertips grazing the denim at your hips but never quite landing with any certainty. he makes a tiny hmf sound when you roll your hips back just once. his thighs press together hard. his mouth opens like he’s about to say something useful, then closes with a soft, unvoiced nope. he chuckles under his breath. “sorry, i just—” but doesn’t finish the sentence. you keep it slow enough that he can follow if he tries. and he does try. his hands finally rest on your waist, careful but not enough to come off as cold. he’s trying not to press his face too close, but you’re too silky and smell too good and he ends up brushing his nose through your hair anyway. you don’t mind. you feel his hand twitch at your waist when you grind just slightly deeper. his voice keeps catching in little broken fragments of something unspoken slipping out near your neck. “you’re really—i mean, wow, this is—” then nothing. after a while, he stops trying to say anything at all. he murmurs, “i’m gonna be thinking about this forever,” right before hiding his face completely in your shoulder like he didn’t just say that out loud.

⋆ MOHAWK!MARK had already picked you out from across the room. he was parked up in some grimy couch that hadn’t been cleaned since syllabus week, surrounded by a couple of girls who clearly weren’t keeping his attention, one of them twirling her straw in a flat drink and laughing too hard at whatever nothing he mumbled. his shirt was open past the third button, his leg was spread wide and he had that cheap beer can barely hanging from his fingers, crushed just enough to show he wasn’t really drinking it. he was there to be seen. you hadn’t even stepped fully into the main room when he started his little game, flicking his attention from girl to girl, letting them touch his arms, leaning in when they whispered something dumb into his ear, giving every single one of them that crooked little smile that made him look boyish if you didn’t know better but the entire time, his gaze never once drifted off of you. it was pointed, shameless, and borderline nasty how he held eye contact across the party while some other girl giggled next to his face and touched his thigh. he was taunting you to do something about it. he looked you up and down from a distance and just grinned right at you, full teeth, mouth parted, licking his lips a little just to piss you off, chewing on a comment he wasn’t going to share until you made the first move. the music was shaking the floor and some guy had just tripped over a bean bag to your left, but your attention was locked on him now and you knew he wasn’t going to let you look away. when you finally made your way through the crowd with your hips swinging extra sweet and that sweet little smile stretching across your face, he stood up slow and walked straight toward you with no intention of stopping. once you met in the middle, already chest to chest and heat building between you he leaned in and dipped his head to speak in your ear but loud enough to make sure the girl behind him heard: “i mean, no offense to the rest of these girls, but you’re clearly the only one here with a real ass.” the minute your hand grabbed his wrist, he let you drag him straight to the middle of the dancefloor, not caring who he bumped or who glared as he passed, too busy being hypnotized by the sway of your backside. he was so laser-locked on you that you could’ve set the house on fire and he’d keep going. you spun and pressed your body flush against his and started to grind. he, grateful, responded instantly with hips snapping into place behind yours and both hands grabbing your waist so tight you could feel the imprint of his fingers through your top. he muttered into your neck with a hoarse voice, “feel that? that’s you. that’s all you, baby.” one hand dropped low and stayed there, if anyone tried to cut in he’d start swinging. when you rolled your hips back up into him with intention he just laughed under his breath, too turned on to even play it cool. his hand slid up under your top, fingers splayed across the bare skin of your ribs, and his chest locked tight against your back as he bit his lip and ground into you harder, dragging your hips into his with every pulse of the bass, clearly not giving a damn about hiding how hard he was. he wanted you to feel it. he wanted you to know what you were doing to him. he didn’t let you go all night and he especially didn’t let anyone else get near. and you knew damn well he’d been waiting all party for you to give him the green light to act like it. “nah,” he said, “you really thought you could walk around with all that and not get danced on? be serious.”

⋆ SINISTER!MARK didn’t even pretend to want to come. he stood in your doorway with his arms crossed the second you suggested it, already annoyed at the thought of frat boys in thrifted jerseys and sticky floors and songs chopped halfway through by someone’s phone dying. he said it was beneath him and that he’d rather be arrested. he also said he’d sit on the porch and wait for you like a dad picking his daughter up from ballet. but you pouted, and you promised, and eventually, reluctantly, he came. so now he’s standing in the darkest part of the living room, as mark’s do, tucked against a fake ficus plant and a bookshelf full of mugs and vodka bottles, radiating disdain so thick it might stain the carpet. sweat is fogging the cheap windowpanes, and two guys are pushing each other in a pretend-playful way that’s going to turn into a fight in ten minutes max. he hasn’t spoken in a while. he might just kill you. you’re dancing already, swaying near the kitchen doorway while sipping from a fruit punch jungle juice mix that someone insisted was strong but just tastes like gummy vitamins. you’re happy, though. you look gorgeous under the purple strip lights. he’s not looking at you directly, but his jaw tightens every time some guy walks too close. you glance over at him and he rolls his eyes like it physically hurts to be witnessed in a place like this. so you go to him and decide to end his misery. your cup gets set down somewhere unsafe and you push your way through the crowd with a little skip in your step, jovial on purpose. you wrap both hands around his wrist which are still cold from the porch, and drag him toward the center of the room. he doesn’t say anything when you turn around and lean back into him. he exhales hard through his nose, almost annoyed, but you feel the way his hands land on your hips instantly. your hips grind slowly as you try to give him something solid to hold onto, and his hands tighten just a little too hard. even though he’s not moving with you, you can feel him reacting in the little shifts in how he holds you, the way his breath slows. you whisper something flirty. he doesn’t answer. instead, his hand drops lower, lands flush across the front of your pelvis, fingers splayed to mark his territory. his mouth is at your ear now, voice dry and cold but closer than it was before. “you think this is funny?” he murmurs. “me standing here with my hands on you in a room full of people who i’d rather see dead?” you giggle and reach back to tug on the hem of his sweater. you press harder into him. he’s been hard since you first backed up into him but he’s not going to say anything about that. he doesn’t belong here, and you both know it. he’s violent and mean and bored out of his mind. but when you press into him like this, soft and warm and smug about the fact that you got him to come in the first place, he stays. he breathes you in, you’re lucky he likes you. you’re even luckier he’s not in the mood to make a scene. yet.

⋆ SHEISTY!MARK manspreads on the stained leather couch where someone definitely spilled liquor earlier and the armrest smells faintly of weed and armpit. he’s spread out wiiide, one leg stretched toward the sticky floor and the other cocked at an angle that shows off the elastic band of his boxers (intentional). he’d been danced on at least three times already. once by some girl in a corset who nearly toppled over when she tried to drop it too fast, again by a set of twins who just wanted to say they did it, and once more by a girl in overalls who got pulled away by her jealous situationship mid-grind. none of it stuck. none of them had you. an empty beer can rolls gently off the cushion beside him, and though the song from the kitchen speaker shifts into something even slower and sleazier, he doesn’t move until he sees you crossing the room, jeans hanging low and steps paced deliberately. the second you reach him, he doesn’t wait for conversation or even eye contact; instead, he pushes himself up and lets you take his wrist without resistance. the living room’s too hot now, the crowd thickening with people looking for either someone to grind on or something to steal. you don’t speak, but the moment your ass brushes against his front, he’s already pulling you tighter into him with a low exhale that smells faintly of cheap whiskey and mint gum. there’s no warm-up to it just hands flying to your hips like muscle memory, and his mouth dropping to your ear to mutter something only half-coherent. you’re already grinding sharp and full against the part of him that’s harder than he expected he’d get this fast, and though the lights in the room flicker between red and blue with every beat, his attention doesn’t shift for a second. he moves with you in sync, but not softly; his grip gets tighter every time you roll your hips back, and the way his belt presses into the base of your spine makes it clear that he’s not trying to play it off. when his hand slips under your shirt and across your stomach, he doesn’t ask for permission because he knows he already has it. he keeps whispering, too fast for you to catch all of it, switching between suggestions and commentary with a grin against your skin. his mouth stayed near your jaw. you couldn’t catch half of what he was whispering, but it was nasty. too fast, too breathless, somewhere between promises and instructions. “arch more,” he said, and then, “right there,” and then, “keep going, baby, keep—mm, yeah,” while his hand slides lower like he’s trying to figure out where your underwear starts. the heat of his breath and the movement of his hips don’t slow, and though someone behind you bumps into him hard enough to make him stumble, he barely reacts. he pulls you in again immediately, panting now, saying “damn” under his breath for the fourth time in thirty seconds, as though it’s the only word he remembers. he knows people are watching, but if anything, it makes him press harder, move sharper, speak filthier. embarrassment doesn’t cross his mind, not when you feel this good against him and not when his zipper’s threatening to give out entirely.

might do something separate for omni!mark and viltrumite!mark bc i just can’t see them at a college party

#invincible #mark grayson #xreader #invincible x reader #invincible variants #mark x reader

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formulafanfics13 · 3 days ago

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Can u write Ollie x inexperience reader in which they are roommates and she wants to learn how to give a handjob and he lets her and in the end they have sex. please and thank you!

touch me like you mean it - OB87 🔥

masterlist

Summary: One quiet evening in the kitchen, you confess to Ollie Bearman that you’ve never touched a guy intimately before. What starts as a shy request to learn turns into a tender, emotionally charged night in his bedroom — where he gently guides your hand, then your body, through your first time. It’s slow, safe, and overwhelming in the best way. When it’s over, tangled in sheets and his arms, he asks if it meant more. You tell him yes. Of course it did.

Warnings: First-time sex, virginity loss (fem), handjob, penetrative sex (protected implied), praise kink, gentle dom energy, emotional intimacy, soft vulnerability, safe aftercare, explicit sexual content, age-appropriate consensual exploration.

It starts in the kitchen. Of all places. He’s stirring pasta, wearing that ratty old Arsenal shirt with the sleeves rolled and curls falling into his eyes.

You’re sat on the counter, pretending to scroll on your phone but really just watching him, throat dry, heart pounding.

The words fall out like they’ve been begging to escape. “Ollie?”

“Mm?”

You swallow. “Can I ask you something kind of weird?”

He glances over, smirking. “When is it not weird with you?”

You roll your eyes, but your voice is quieter now. “I’ve never… like… properly touched a guy before. You know. Down there.”

He blinks.

You want to die. “Forget it.”

“No, no,” he says quickly, putting down the spoon. “You’ve just-never?”

“Not like… not all the way. Not where it… finishes.”

He licks his lips. “And you want to?”

You nod, cheeks blazing. “I want to know how.”

He tilts his head. “You want me to show you?”

Silence. Then you whisper, “If that’s okay.”

His eyes darken. But his voice stays soft. “Come here.”

You end up in his room. Knees on the mattress. Back against his headboard. His hand cupping your jaw like you’re made of porcelain. “You sure?” he murmurs.

You nod. “I trust you.”

His thumb grazes your cheek. “You know you’re beautiful, right?”

You laugh nervously. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I want to say it.” He leans in. “You’re beautiful.”

And then he kisses you. Slow. Gentle. Full of heat. You melt.

He guides your hand down his stomach, under his waistband, and into the heat between his legs. He’s already hard. Your breath hitches.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Just-yeah. Wrap your fingers around it. Lightly. That’s it.”

You follow his instructions, up, down, slow twists, gentle pressure. He gasps. “Fuck-just like that. You’re a natural.”

Your eyes go wide. “Really?”

He laughs, breathless. “I’m not saying that just to make you feel good. I’m saying it because I’m five seconds from losing my mind.”

You keep going. Watching him unravel. The way his head tips back. The little sounds he makes. You love this.

And then? He groans. Grabs your wrist. “Okay. Stop. Stop or I’m gonna come just from that.”

You freeze. “Sorry-”

“Don’t apologise,” he growls, kissing you hard. “You’re so fucking good. Too good.”

His hands slide up your thighs. “Let me show you something else.”

You end up naked. Beneath him. His hands on your waist, his mouth at your throat, his body everywhere. “Still okay?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you breathe. “God, yes.”

“First time?”

You nod.

“I’ll go slow. I promise.” And he does. He enters you gently, groaning your name against your skin, holding your hand as your legs tremble.

You’re overwhelmed. But you’ve never felt more safe.

“Doing so well, sweetheart,” he whispers. “So tight. So fucking good for me.”

You clutch at his back. Moaning. Moving. Opening. And when you come? It’s with his mouth on your neck, his hands gripping yours, his voice shaking as he whispers, “I’ve wanted this forever.”

After, you lie tangled in sheets and sweat and kisses. He traces your cheekbone. “I hope that wasn’t just a lesson,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“I hope that was more.”

You smile. “I don’t want anyone else to teach me.”

His grin could kill gods. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I’m not letting you go now.”

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 smut #f1 imagine #ob87 #ob87 x reader #ob87 x you #oliver bearman #ollie bearman #ollie bearman smut

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azzifudd10 · 2 days ago

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Somewhere To Land

Chapter 29: He Is The Best Thing Thats Ever Been Mine

Tuesday – Wings Home Game, 5:12 PM

Azzi paced by her closet, one arm balancing Eli on her hip while the other tried to find the right outfit. Not too dressy. Not too casual. Something she could wear courtside and not feel like a walking mom-blogger.

“You ready to meet Miss Paige’s family?” she asked, kissing Eli’s cheek. “You gotta be on your best behavior, okay?”

Eli responded by blowing a raspberry on her collarbone.

She smiled faintly and grabbed a clean black tee, high-waisted jeans, and her white sneakers.

6:01 PM – On the Way

Azzi buckled Eli into his car seat and slid into the driver’s seat. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel while the car idled.

Her phone buzzed.

Paige:

Hey. Just a heads-up — they landed. Sitting courtside. Katie’s excited. Bob is...Bob.

Azzi smiled at the screen, then whispered to Eli as she pulled onto the freeway, “So, Katie’s probably the nice one, and Bob might ask me questions I’m not ready to answer.”

She glanced at him in the mirror.

“But don’t worry. You’re the cutest distraction in the whole stadium.”

6:48 PM – Arrival at College Park Center

As Azzi walked through the arena with Eli on her hip, his tiny headphones already in place, her nerves buzzed hard and fast.

“There’s a lotta people here tonight, huh?” she murmured to him. “But you’re the bravest little guy I know.”

She followed the instructions Paige sent her, walking past security toward the VIP seating.

And then she saw them.

Bob — tall, broad-shouldered, the same intense blue eyes as Paige. Katie — petite, brunette , already waving as they spotted her.

Azzi swallowed.

“Okay, baby bear. Showtime.”

7:03 PM – First Quarter Begins

“Azzi, hi!” Katie stood and pulled her into a quick hug while Eli blinked up from Azzi’s arms like who are these people.

Katie gently touched Eli’s arm. “And you must be the star of the birthday party I saw all over Paige’s phone.”

Azzi laughed shyly. “This is Eli. He’s feeling shy.”

Bob stood and offered a firm handshake. “Good to meet you. Paige mentioned you were coming. She’s been… well, she’s been talking about you.”

Azzi sat down slowly, bouncing Eli on her lap. “That’s… terrifying.”

Katie laughed. “She means it in a good way.”

Azzi leaned in to whisper to Eli, “They haven’t grilled me yet. I think we’re doing okay.”

Second Quarter – Azzi Talking to Eli Throughout

“See her?” Azzi whispered to Eli, pointing toward the court. “That’s your Paige. She’s number five .”

Eli clapped his hands once.

“She’s really good. Watch her feet — she’s fast like a little lightning bug.”

Paige drove the lane, drew a foul, and still made the shot. The crowd roared.

Katie whooped. Bob nodded approvingly. Azzi smiled and leaned closer to Eli.

“She does that a lot,” she whispered. “Makes the impossible look like muscle memory.”

She glanced sideways and caught Katie watching her softly.

Azzi cleared her throat. “You come to a lot of games?”

“When we can,” Katie said. “We live in Minnesota, so it’s a trip. But Paige always lights up when she knows we’re coming.”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. She’s… kind of like that.”

Bob looked over, voice gentle. “You’ve been a big part of her life lately.”

Azzi didn’t panic. She adjusted Eli’s blanket and said honestly, “We’ve been figuring it out. It’s slow, but it’s real.”

That answer — short, true, and careful — seemed to settle something in Bob’s posture.

He nodded. “Good.”

Halftime – Soft Connection

Katie offered Azzi a water and asked if she needed help with Eli.

Azzi shook her head with a grateful smile. “He’s doing good. He loves the noise.”

Katie tilted her head. “You’re a really good mom.”

Azzi blinked, not used to hearing that from anyone but Paige or her own parents.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I try every day.”

Katie leaned in. “That’s what makes it real.”

Third Quarter – Paige Glancing Up

Paige caught a glimpse of them after a timeout. Azzi, bouncing Eli on her lap. Bob talking to her. Katie laughing at something. Azzi looking a little overwhelmed, but still warm.

Her heart did this annoying, fluttery thing that wasn’t just pride — it was home.

Nai bumped her shoulder. “You good?”

Paige nodded. “They’re here.”

“You look like you’re about to write your vows mid-game.”

“Shut up.”

Fourth Quarter – Game Ends, Paige Heads Over

The Wings win by twelve. Paige has 24 points, 7 assists, and a bunch of glitter in her hair from a confetti cannon.

She beelines for the VIP rail and calls out, “Hey!”

Eli perks up immediately. “Ba!”

Azzi smiles as Paige reaches them, sweat still drying on her temples.

“You crushed it,” Azzi says.

Paige grins and cups Eli’s tiny hand in hers. “You were my good luck charm, little man.”

Katie hugs her. Bob gives her a tight shoulder squeeze.

Then Paige turns to Azzi, eyes warm. “You okay?”

Azzi nods. “I think they like me.”

Paige smirks. “They’re obsessed with you. Dad just asked if he can show Eli how to fish next summer.”

Azzi blinks. “He did what?”

Paige just laughs.

Later That Night – Azzi Talking to Eli Before Bed

She sets him in the crib, brushing his hair with soft fingers.

“You met some more of Miss Paige’s people today,” she whispers. “You did so good.”

She hums a soft version of his lullaby and smiles as his eyes begin to drift shut.

“I don’t know where all of this is going yet. But I think… we’re walking toward something really good.”

She kisses his forehead. “You and me, baby bear. Always.”

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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wisteria-lodge · 9 hours ago

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A question I have always had about Snape's Classes is why they seem to be so hard. Because it seems to be that if you are following the instructions that Snape writes on the board (as I'm pretty sure he does but I could be wrong?) then you shouldn't have too much trouble.

Like I kinda have to assume it is Snape himself making his class harder for kids with his attitude. His constant targeting of Harry just distracts him and makes him not want to pay attention, and he's only able to excel when he doesn't realize he's following Snape's instructions. And his constant bullying of Neville seems to keep him from being able to do anything in his class correctly.

But I might be underestimating how hard this class is.

My Teacher!Snape breakdown ended up mostly focusing on how he treats his students in the context of his job, and I think you've nailed down the main problems of the instruction part of it.

Snape is a very hands-off teacher. He writes the ingredient list + instructions on the board, and then only steps in when someone is making a mistake (or ~occasionally~ when he wants to point what a super duper good job Draco is doing, like he does during the first potion class in Book 1.) In Book 5, which goes into his actual instruction style the *most,* he'll occasionally call out what your potion should look like / what you should be doing to your potion now in terms of timing.

“A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion,” called Snape, with ten minutes left to go."

He basically runs his classes like the Great British Bake Off, is what I'm saying.

So why is Potions a "hard" class?

1. Snape gives a LOT of homework

Snape had given them so much homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before he finished it - CoS

His teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work. One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for Harry’s least favorite teacher, Professor Snape - PoA

Harry sat finishing a nasty essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape - PoA

This includes EXTRA homework if you don't do well in class:

“You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?” “Yes,” said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework, and he had Quidditch practice this evening - OotP

Snape also seems like a pretty mean grader who is looking for a VERY specific answer.

Ron was now struggling to finish a viciously difficult essay for Snape that Harry and Hermione had already completed. Harry fully expected to receive low marks on his, because he had disagreed with Snape on the best way to tackle dementors - HBP

He also absolutely seems the type to throw some really mean pop-quizzes at you:

They had got as far as agreeing that [the assignment]was likely to be something extremely difficult, just to catch them off guard after a two-month holiday - OotP

2. Snape is a very stressful person to be around

Harry (and Neville) do a MUCH better job at potions when Snape is just not physically there.

Compared to what [Harry] usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new [silent treatment] approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. - HBP

With Snape absent from the [OWL testing] proceedings he found that he was much more relaxed than he usually was while making potions. Neville, who was sitting very near Harry, also looked happier than Harry had ever seen him during a Potions class. - OotP

(and Harry does indeed score an E on his Potion OWL, although he does attribute this partly to the long answer portion being ~specifically~ about the effects of Polyjuice)

[Harry] was still having difficulty with nonverbal spells, something Snape had been quick to comment on in every D.A.D.A. class. On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far.

oh the irony. Snape is a MUCH better textbook writer than he is a teacher.

Once Snape gets out of his way, Harry's pretty GOOD at potions. Snape's theory that Harry lacks "subtlety" and doesn't understand "fine distinctions" just - doesn't seem to be true.

3. Teaching Method

Snape's focus on exactness, "fiddly" instructions, cutting roots to exactly uniform sizes, perfectly timing heat fluctuations and stirring pattens - is probably not a good fit for Harry specifically. He very much does read as ADHD to me, and he's already got a large chunk of his working memory taken up with just - dealing with Snape the human being (and also Malfoy.) He forgets steps, and that makes sense. Harry has a few "difficulty concentrating" beats and one "difficulty seeing the board" beat.

According to Slughorn, having a more "intuitive" approach to Potions is indeed a thing, and probably a better match for Harry specifically. It also seems to be more how SNAPE (or at least the Half-Blood Prince) thinks about potions during his free time. It's the difference between one cook being incredibly exact about ingredients, and another talking about "a pinch" "seasoning to taste" "until it looks ready."

The person who seems to ACTUALLY gel with Snape's teaching style the most is... Hermione.

“All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.” “What’s that?” said Ron and Harry together. “Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago —” “D’you think we’ve got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?” muttered Ron. - CoS

Harry basically has to charm his way into a good grade during Slughorn's antidote lesson - because even though Snape spent the entire fall semester of Fourth Year covering antidotes - Harry has ZERO idea how to backwards-engineer a poison and synthesize one. But Hermione knows exactly what to do.

She was now decanting the mysteriously separated ingredients of her poison into ten different crystal phials. More to avoid watching this irritating sight than anything else, Harry bent over the Half-Blood Prince’s book and turned a few pages with unnecessary force. - HBP

#hp #severus snape #harry james potter #hermione granger #snapes teaching style

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ao3commentoftheday · 3 hours ago

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I'm sorry if this is a bother, but I don't know how github works and I'm trying to copy your medieval skin. I think I'm doing what the instructions say: "Copy the code provided here. There is a copy button at the top of the code box in github."

but what I get is this: https://github.com/memorizingthedigitsofpi/medieval-times-AO3-skin.git (or this: gh repo clone memorizingthedigitsofpi/medieval-times-AO3-skin) which is just a link to take me to github and doesn't do anything when I try putting it in the ao3 skins css box. I also tried the 'download zip' option but don't have a program that can open it.

I've never used github before, I'm not very tech savy, I have autism which sometimes affects my understanding of things that are considered easy for others, and I tried looking up instructions online and in YouTube but I'm still struggling, is it too much trouble to ask for help?

I'm so sorry about that! It's not trouble at all! Let me walk you through it.

When you follow the link to the skin I provided, the github page will look like this

There's a lot of information all in the same place, I know. The instructions for Creating a New Site Skin stand out the most on the page. That's the readme file. I can see how it can be hard to see the rest.

Above those instructions, there's a file listing with two files in it. The first is README.md and the second is main skin code.

Click/tap on main skin code (the one on the left with the little paper icon next to it)

From there, you'll see another page with lots of information on it

There's a copy button at the top right of this page, in the area that has the code in it. The icon for the button is a square on top of another square, and you can find that button to the right of the one named Raw

When you click on that button, all of the code will be copied to your device and then you can go to the CSS box on AO3 and paste it in.

Let me know if you need more help. And I should maybe look at my instructions again and add a couple more steps ❤️

#asks and answers #how to site skin #image id in alt text

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jakeperalta · 3 days ago

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I hope it's okay to rant about this you, but I'm so disheartened by the current state of the Taylor fandom. I know swifties have always made excuses for Taylor when she doesnt surround herself with the best people or makes small mistakes. I dont agree but I see the logic in wanting to pretend your fav is perfect, but now why are we doing it for everyone around her. More specifically, Travis, why are we protecting him? Idk if you know this already, but he went on a huge MAGA podcast yesterday and then had Brad Pitt on his own podcast. The MAGA podcast is hosted by terrible people, one of the hosts was arrested for assault and threatened to r*pe a woman after she accused one of his friends. I was obviously very disgusted when I found all this out and went to talk about it with blogs I loved, and they just ignored it? They said nothing and kept talking about how funny the podcast was. Why are we at this place where we cant just say "hey Taylor's boyfriends sucks but whatever" instead of where we are now which is "no he's amazing she's amazing they're soulmates when's the wedding". I'm so tired lol. Sorry for ranting but I needed to vent

Yeah like I get the inclination to defend Taylor — you want to feel that an artist you listen to all the time, have maybe spent money on for tickets or merch and have spent many years of your life attached to is a good person and worthy of your love and admiration. (And as much as she does some questionable or frustrating stuff, there's also endless examples of her being a good, caring, generous person!)

But I don't see why there's a need to extend that to her boyfriend. Especially given that swiftie tradition means that every boyfriend will immediately become public enemy no1 the moment a breakup happens, so the love they give any boyfriend at any point is clearly nothing to do with his own merits as a wonderful person and entirely about wanting to believe that anyone in Taylor's orbit is automatically covered by her umbrella of perfection.

I hadn't seen any of that about Travis (I avoid news of him as much as possible through some heavy unfollowing/blacklisting/algorithm instruction lol) but you're right, that is gross. (I just googled and I assume you're talking about the Bussin With The Boys podcast? It's also brought up a reddit post about how she told them they're so funny and it's her favourite podcast and did their signature pose or something for a photo? which explains why I'd seen a couple of people I follow mention Taylor associating with MAGA people again. It's hard not to see a correlation between her increasingly publicly hanging with Trump supporters and her relationship with Travis. When the best case scenario is that she doesn't believe or agree with any of this stuff but just goes along with it for her boyfriend, it's pretty dire.)

#answered #anonymous

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fireside-fanfics · 13 hours ago

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Hiiii

Can you do a fic for Joaquin Torres x pregnant reader where shes having a hard time because someone (e.g. family member) is being a terrible person and just hating on the reader for anything and everything regardless of whether shes pregnant or not (imagine MIL from hell)

I got really carried away with this fic and I really enjoyed writing it! I hope you like it!

Our Kind of Love

Cami had always been the middle child; she was the only girl in a house full of loud, chaotic, overprotective brothers. Seven kids. Six boys. One girl with curls too big, feelings too loud, and skin too brown for her mother’s approval. She was Afro-Latina, like her father, who called her Reina and never once tried to shrink her. He taught his kids Spanish by singing boleros during bath time and reading poems by Nicolás Guillén at night. He taught Cami to hold her head high, to take up space, to be proud of all of who she was—even when her mother told her to quiet down or “stop acting like a little man” every time she had an opinion.

Her parents had divorced when she was six right after her baby brother was born. Most of her siblings had stayed with her mom, either by court default or inertia. But even then, even that young, Cami had drifted toward her father’s house like a flower finding sunlight. At first it was just weekends. Then school nights. Then most of the week. By the time she hit middle school, she lived there full-time.

Her mom didn’t fight it, didn’t beg her to stay, didn’t cry or question or even flinch. She just let Cami go, but the absence of custody wasn’t the absence of cruelty. Even from a distance, her mother knew how to reach for her with claws hidden in polite smiles. Phone calls full of backhanded compliments. Family parties with cutting remarks in front of cousins. Snide comments about her hair, her laugh, her “attitude,” and later, about the kind of men she dated—until Joaquín finally asked her to be his girlfriend when they were 22.

Joaquín had been her best friend since pre-K. He saw through her silence long before anyone else did. His family had welcomed her in without question: fed her, hugged her, slipped her inside jokes and bendiciones and warmth like it was second nature. His mom called her mija by the third sleepover. His dad taught her how to make tamarindo juice and grilled her about her favorite books. They were the first adults besides her dad who made her feel safe.

She enlisted in the Air Force with Joaquín the minute they graduated high school, like they'd always promised each other they would. They made it through basic, through their first deployment, through dust storms and sleepless nights and letters home that never arrived on time. And when they got back, nineteen and alive and exhausted and full of a different kind of ache, they finally stopped pretending they weren’t in love.

Cami didn’t slam doors. She never raised her voice, never snapped back. She just took it. She didn’t allow herself to react the way her body begged her to—because growing up with a mother like hers had taught her early: emotion was ammunition. And her mom? She never missed a shot. So when Cami—nearly eight months pregnant, jaw tight and hands shaking—stepped through the door of the apartment she shared with Joaquín and gently clicked the door shut behind her, Joaquín immediately knew something was wrong.

He looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, crib instructions in one hand, Allen wrench in the other.

“Hey, hermosa,” Joaquín said softly. “Everything alright?”

Cami didn’t answer. She slipped off her shoes mechanically, eyes not meeting his, then moved straight toward the kitchen without a word.

Joaquín stood, setting the wrench down carefully before following her. He called after her, “Cami? What’s going on?”

She was standing by the sink, both hands braced on the counter like she was trying to keep the whole world from tilting.

“I shouldn’t have gone,” she said finally, voice low. “I knew better. I knew better.”

“Your mom?”

Cami gave a humorless laugh and muttered, “She’s still her. No matter how much I wish she wasn’t.”

She turned, eyes glassy now, and Joaquín immediately reached for her. Her arms folded tightly across her chest. She leaned into him without hesitation, burying her face in his chest as the first tear slipped loose.

“She said I looked bloated. Said you probably weren’t sticking around long, that no man wants to ‘deal with a woman like me for long anyway.’ Said the baby was probably an accident. That I’ll ‘hopefully be a better mother than I was a daughter.’”

Without a word, Joaquín wrapped both arms around her, pulling her into his chest. His hands pressed flat against her back like he could hold her together by force. Like if he anchored her hard enough, maybe the words wouldn’t sink in so deep. Maybe they’d just slide off his skin instead of carving their way under hers. She trembled against him, shoulders barely shaking but enough for him to feel. Enough for him to know she was unraveling in silence, the way she always did when it got too much.

“I’ve got you, mi amor,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “She doesn’t get to hurt you like this anymore.”

Cami didn’t answer right away, just let out a breath that sounded too much like surrender. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, hiding from the world in the only place that had ever felt safe. And Joaquín held her tighter, as if he could absorb the years of pain she carried. As if he could replace all the damage with the love he had for her—fierce, stubborn, and unconditional.

He didn’t know how to undo what had been done, but he knew how to stay and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I thought maybe the baby would change something,” she whispered, finally breaking the silence. “Maybe she’d finally see me as enough.”

“Camila, she doesn’t get to define you. Not anymore. She never did.”

“I know that,” she whispered, “but I still feel it.”

Joaquín gently tilted Cami’s chin up with one hand, his thumb swiping beneath her eyes.

“She doesn’t get to hurt you like this anymore,” he said quietly. “You’re not a child trying to earn her love. You’re a grown woman building a beautiful life. You’re growing our son, Cami. You’re the bravest person I know.”

She looked down at her belly, then back up at him. “It still feels like I’m failing. Like I must have done something wrong if she hates me this much.”

“No, baby, she hates that you survived without her. That you got out. That you didn’t shrink yourself to stay small enough for her comfort. And I hate that she’s made you feel like being you isn’t enough.” Joaquín kissed her and pressed his forehead to hers. “Because I’ve known you almost my whole life. And I swear to God, you’re everything.”

Cami swallowed hard and leaned further into him, seeking the kind of comfort only he ever seemed able to give. Her arms wound tightly around his torso, clutching him with a desperation that made his ribs ache—but Joaquín didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other threaded gently through her curls, slow and steady.

Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of his hoodie, brushing over the familiar fabric of his compression tank. She traced slow, looping patterns across his back—an old habit, instinctive and grounding. It was something she’d done for years without thinking, a quiet language between them. A way of anchoring herself when everything else felt like it was spiraling. A way of saying thank you without needing the words.

Joaquín didn’t speak anymore. He just let her draw whatever she needed from him, his steady warmth a silent vow: he was here. He wasn’t going anywhere. Her lip trembled again, but this time she didn’t cry. Cami just nodded slowly, like she was finally allowing herself to believe him.

“I’m done trying,” she whispered. “For real this time.”

“You don’t have to go back,” he said. “You don’t have to ever make space for someone who uses your vulnerability as a weapon.”

Her lungs filled with air like she was bracing for a storm, and she let it out in one long, trembling sigh.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because you’ve got a family right here. One that sees you. One that’s gonna show our kid what love looks like—not conditional, not twisted, not cruel. Just real and safe and supportive and honest.”

Cami rested her hand on her belly, where their son kicked lightly in agreement.

“I used to wish she was more like my dad,” she said after a moment. “But now? I think I’m just gonna be him. For our baby. Everything she wasn’t.”

Joaquín smiled, soft and full of pride. “You already are, querida.”

In that quiet, exhausted, love-drenched kitchen, surrounded by half-built cribs and years of hard-won trust, Cami finally let herself feel what her mother never gave her: enough, whole, and loved, exactly as she was.

The following night Joaquín had an important work meeting with Sam that he couldn’t back out of so Cami assured him she’d be fine with her brothers. Cami sat tucked into the corner of Danny’s giant sectional sofa, a heating pad under her lower back and a glass of ginger ale sweating on the coaster in front of her. Eight months pregnant and worn down to the bone, she still managed to be the calmest person in the room, which wasn’t saying much—because her brothers were pissed.

“I need you to say it again,” Danny said, pacing like a caged tiger. “Word for word. I want to make sure I’m furious about the correct things.”

“Danny,” Luis groaned, already rubbing his temples.

“No, no—let her talk—because I swear to God, if she said what I think she said—”

“She said I looked puffy. That Joaquín is gonna leave me once the baby is here. That the baby was probably an accident. And,” Cami took a breath, then exhaled slowly, “that maybe I’ll be a better mother than I was a daughter.”

Silence. A full three seconds of thunderous, choking silence.

Then Isaiah muttered, “The audacity of that woman could power a whole city block.”

“She’s so lucky I got soft in my old age,” Julian said from his seat on the floor. “Back in the day, I would’ve shown up with a boombox, a list of grievances, and a baseball bat.”

“I’ve still got that bat,” Danny growled. “Just say the word.”

Cami rolled her eyes affectionately. “You’re all a mess.”

“We’re a mess?” Elijah finally spoke up from the kitchen bar, where he’d been quietly fixing himself a third plate of empanadas. “Cam, she’s lucky she lives in a no-contact state with common sense laws, because I’d legally lose all chill.”

Luis nodded and asked, “You remember when she tried to ground you senior year for wearing hoops that she bought you? Like she wasn’t the one who gave them to you for your birthday and called them ‘elegant’?”

“I remember,” Cami assured him, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. “I wore them to prom anyway.”

“My rebel queen,” Isaiah said, raising his bottle of Jarritos in a toast.

Elijah finally walked over and sat beside her, pulling her in with an arm around her shoulders.

“You know what I wish?” he asked.

“Tell me.”

“I wish she’d said that shit with me there—just once—because I would’ve gone full telenovela. I would’ve flipped a table. Cried. Collapsed dramatically. You know I’ve been waiting to do that in real life.”

Cami’s laughter spilled out before she could stop it, real and light. She collapsed gently against Elijah’s shoulder, shoulders shaking with the kind of joy that felt like a surprise.

“God, I missed that laugh,” Julian leaned his head back dramatically as he laughed with her.

Luis scooted forward on the carpet, suddenly serious as he said, “Cam. Real talk. What do you need from us now? You cutting her off for good?”

“I am—I have to, Luis,” Cami said, confidence rising in her words. “I told Joaquín last night. I haven’t blocked her yet, because I wanted to talk to you all first. I can’t keep trying just to get sucker-punched every time I breathe. This is it—I’m done.”

Danny nodded immediately. “We’ll back it. Whatever you need. No question.”

“You always do,” she said softly.

“Now we just get louder about it,” Isaiah added. “We don’t let her twist this like she always does.”

“She’s gonna try,” Julian warned. “Cry on Facebook, pull the ‘I’m just a concerned mother’ card. You ready for that?”

“Honestly?” Cami shrugged. “I’ve been holding space for her my whole life. Giving her room to become someone better, but last night I finally realized that she doesn’t want to be better. She just wants control.”

Elijah let out a long breath. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Cami whispered. “I can’t be the best mother I can be if she’s around or has contact with me. And I don’t want her anywhere near my baby—not if she’s just gonna try to make him feel like I always felt.”

“That won’t happen,” Luis assured her, placing his hand on her arm. “You’re already breaking the cycle just by being conscious of it. You’re giving your son everything we didn’t get from her and more.”

“She doesn’t get to see him. Period,” Danny agreed.

“No pictures, no updates, no access,” Julian added. “We’ll block her from every direction if we have to.”

“And if she shows up in person,” Isaiah said, “we handle it. With manners. Maybe.”

“I’m bringing the bat,” Danny muttered again.

“Dios mío, please don’t bring the bat,” Elijah said.

Cami wiped a tear from her cheek as she laughed, “You guys are ridiculous.”

“You’re our sister,” Luis said simply. “The only one we got.”

“Built-in princess since birth,” Isaiah added.

“Don’t call me that,” Cami muttered.

“I called dibs on Favorite Sibling years ago,” Elijah chimed in. “Don’t make me fight the fetus.”

They all laughed again. The kind of laugh that left you looser in the ribs. That reminded you that no matter how many people tried to make you feel small, there were still some who saw you big.

“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” Luis said. “You never did. But now? We’re watching. We’re ready. We’re here.”

Cami looked at the six of them—her loud, loving, fiercely protective, and unapologetically inappropriate brothers—and let herself feel it, fully and without hesitation: she wasn’t the forgotten kid on the sidelines anymore, hoping someone would pick her. She’d been chosen. Claimed without condition. And for the first time in a long time, she knew—deep in her bones—that she was safe.

Cami could already smell the food before she knocked. Rich, warm, and laced with love: cumin, garlic, sofrito, chicken roasting in the oven, rice on the stove. She closed her eyes for a second and just breathed it in.

“You okay, cariño?” Joaquín reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I think so,” she whispered. “Just… overwhelmed.”

“You don’t have to be strong here,” he said. “Just be you.”

He opened the door and led her inside. The Torres home was always warm—not just in temperature, but in feeling. Soft salsa music played from a speaker tucked into the kitchen corner. Framed photos lined the hallway walls: Joaquín’s high school graduation, his parents at their wedding, his sister Maribel holding a cat that Cami swore had to be immortal by now.

“¡Mija!” came the instant call from the kitchen.

Joaquín’s mother rounded the corner with a dish towel in one hand and a full, beaming smile on her face. She didn’t wait—just pulled Cami into her arms like she'd been gone a year instead of a week. Cami melted into it. She’d been used to this since she was a kid. Since she first came over for a sleepover in third grade and Mrs. Torres made her a second plate of dinner before Cami could ask. Since Joaquín’s father started calling her “hija” during the summer before high school.

“Look at you,” his mother Esperanza said now, pulling back and pressing her palms to Cami’s cheeks. “You’re glowing.”

Cami let out a soft laugh and said, “That might be sweat. I think the baby’s trying to live in my ribs.”

“Then we feed you and cool you down. Come, sit. I made everything you love.”

His mom wasn’t kidding. The kitchen table was covered in all of Cami’s favorite foods. Arroz con pollo, maduros, black beans, fresh avocado with lime. Coconut flan chilled in the fridge. A pitcher of agua fresca glistened with condensation. And in the middle of it all sat Maribel, Joaquín’s younger sister, grinning like she knew a secret.

“I come bearing gifts,” Maribel said, sliding a canvas tote across the table. “I thrifted these the second I saw them. And yes, I cried at the shark onesie.”

Cami opened the bag slowly, one hand instinctively on her belly as if the baby might want to see too. There were five tiny onesies inside, all folded with care. One had little astronaut helmets. Another read “Made With Love and Sazón.”

“Oh my God,” Cami murmured, tears welling in her eyes. “Maribel, this is adorable.”

“I mean, you are cooking a baby, I thought he should dress accordingly.”

Cami chuckled through the lump in her throat. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m amazing,” Maribel said, tossing a plantain chip into her mouth.

They sat to eat a few minutes later, and no one brought up her mom. No one asked her to explain, justify, or walk back anything. They just fed her, talked to her, and treated her like family, because she was. Cami wasn’t used to familial love being quiet. She was used to it being conditional, sharp-edged, something she had to earn. But here—between bites of rice and inside jokes—she started to remember: real love was soft. It was shown, not forced.

After dinner, as Joaquín helped his dad clear the table and Maribel wandered off to raid the fridge again, Esperanza knelt beside Cami’s chair and took her hand gently.

“May I?” she asked, and pressed a palm to Cami’s belly when she nodded. “Ay, Dios mío. He’s strong. I can feel it.”

Cami swallowed the rising emotion and managed to say, “He kicks like he’s training for the World Cup.”

Esperanza smiled, then met her eyes. “You’re doing beautifully, Camila. I don’t know what anyone else has told you, but I know strength when I see it.”

Cami’s throat tightened. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to; she squeezed her hand.

“I told Joaquín once—years ago—that I knew you’d be the one,” Esperanza continued. “Not because of the way he looked at you, though that helped.” She chuckled. “But because of how we felt when you came around. Like we already knew you.”

Cami wiped her eyes. “You’ve always made me feel like I belonged.”

Esperanza squeezed her hand. “Because you do. You may not share our blood, but this family? It’s yours. Has been since you stole my tamales in ‘03.”

Cami laughed through her tears. “They were just sitting there! I didn’t know they were for church!”

“You were hungry. You’ve never had to ask me to feed you. Not then. Not now.” Then, in a voice quieter than before: “And you’ll never have to earn love here. Not from me. Not from any of us.”

That was the part that undid her. The part Cami hadn’t even realized she needed to hear until the words wrapped around her like a quilt. She pressed her hand over Mrs. Torres’s, over her belly, and nodded through the tears.

“Thank you,” Cami whispered. “For seeing me, for loving me like your own.”

“We always have, mija, even when you couldn’t see yourself. We may not share blood, but this family? It’s yours. You’re ours. Always. Y ese bebé? Born into love. Into real love.”

That’s when the tears came. And not the kind her mother had always accused her of faking—not those sharp, defensive tears laced with shame. These were real. She wrapped her arms around Joaquín’s mother and hugged her tightly. When she looked up, Joaquín was watching her from across the room, hands folded over his stomach, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. Like he’d known this was what she needed. Like he’d orchestrated it.

Later, as the sun dipped low and Joaquín walked her to the car, Cami leaned into his shoulder, her hand laced with his.

“You planned that,” she said quietly.

“Maybe a little,” Joaquín grinned, the smile she always loved covered his face.

She looked up at him, eyes still shining. “That’s the safest I’ve felt in months. Maybe longer.”

“You deserve to feel that every day,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “Not just when your mom falls short. But always.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of the man who’d loved her since before she knew what love could look like.

“I’m glad you brought me here tonight,” she murmured.

“I knew you needed a reset,” Joaquín replied softly. “To remember that family doesn’t have to hurt. We’re your people, Camila. All love. All ways. Always.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “It shouldn’t hurt, not ever… And my son is going to know that. He’s going to grow up loved in all the ways I wasn’t. And that’s going to be enough. It’s already enough.”

Joaquín turned her gently and kissed her, long and soft before whispering, “I can’t wait to see you be his mom.”

Cami smiled against his lips. “You’re about to see me be so annoying with him. Matching outfits, little foam swords, custom soccer fits…”

“I’m terrified and delighted.”

She laughed, and it echoed down the street. This time, she wasn’t looking back. She was exactly where she was meant to be.

A few nights later Cami and Joaquín traveled to spend the weekend with her father at his cabin. The porch light buzzed softly above them as the sky shifted from orange to deep blue. Fireflies blinked lazily near the edge of the yard, and the faint scent of cigars from a neighbor floated through the air. Cami sat in one of the old wooden rockers, her bare feet tucked up beneath her, a chamomile tea in one hand. Her belly rounded in her lap like a full moon. Her dad sat beside her, a worn Yankees cap tilted back, watching the stars come in.

He didn’t speak at first. He never rushed these things. He waited until she was ready.

“I told her I was done,” Cami said finally. “For real this time.”

Her father nodded slowly. “I thought you might.”

“She didn’t even fight me, you know? Just rolled her eyes. Like I was being dramatic. Like I owed her something.”

“That woman ain’t ever understood the power of your peace,” he said. “You walking away? That’s the loudest thing you could’ve done.”

Cami leaned her head back. “It still hurts.”

“I know,” he said, his voice as steady as it had always been. “It probably always will. You don’t stop loving someone just because they don’t love you right.”

“I just didn’t think it’d still hit me this hard,” she whispered. “Even now.”

He reached over, took her hand in his calloused one—the same one that used to braid her hair when her mom wouldn’t bother, the one that taught her how to thread a fishing hook and press a crease into an Air Force uniform.

“You’ve always been a soft soul, mija. Even when you were tough. Even when you didn’t cry.”

Cami chuckled, “I cried a lot, Papi.”

“Not where anyone could see,” he said gently. “You were always protecting yourself. Even as a little girl.”

She swallowed hard. “And now I’m having a little boy. And I keep thinking… I don’t want him to grow up thinking love is something he has to earn.”

“He won’t, mija, because he’s got you.”

There was a brief pause.

“And because you learned from the best,” he added with a wink.

Cami let out a laugh through her tears. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But right.”

“Yeah, you are.”

They rocked in silence for a while, the wood creaking under them, the stars blooming above.

“You know,” he said after a while, “when your mom and I split, I knew you’d end up with me eventually, even when the papers said otherwise. I knew your soul needed more than rules and guilt. You needed warmth.”

“You gave it to me,” she whispered.

He smiled, his eyes glassy. “And now you’re giving it to your son. Breaking the chain, Camila. Making something new.”

She turned to him, eyes full. “I want to be just like you, Papi.”

He looked away for a moment, blinking fast, before clearing his throat.

“You already are.”

The night deepened around them, the stars growing brighter and the summer breeze cooling their skin. For a long moment, Cami and her father rocked quietly, the gentle creaking of the chairs the only sound between them. Finally, her dad spoke, his voice soft but sure.

“Whatever comes next, mija, remember this: strength isn’t just about standing tall. It’s about knowing when to lean on the people who love you. And you’ve got plenty of us here.”

Cami nodded, a warmth blooming in her chest that had nothing to do with the evening’s tea.

“I’m ready to build something better,” she said, eyes shining with quiet determination. “For my son, for Joaquín, for myself.”

Her father reached out, gently squeezing her hand one last time.

“That’s my girl. Always moving forward. Always breaking the chains.”

Cami smiled, feeling the weight of the past soften beneath her.

“Gracias, Papi. For everything.”

He tipped his cap, standing slowly. “Anytime, mija. Anytime.”

As he headed back inside, Cami stayed on the porch a moment longer, gazing up at the stars. The future felt vast and full of promise—a new story waiting to be written, one shaped by love, resilience, and the family she chose and was born into. And this time, she knew she was ready.

The room was dim and quiet, except for the soft hum of monitors and the quiet rasp of Joaquín’s voice in her ear.

“You’re doing so good, mi amor,” he whispered, brushing damp curls from her forehead. “Almost there.”

Cami couldn’t answer. Her jaw clenched against the contraction ripping through her, her fingers digging into his. She swore she saw stars. And then it passed. When she opened her eyes, she saw him again—not afraid, not flinching—just there. Like he always had been. Since pre-K and scraped knees and matching Air Force orders. Since childhood, since their first deployment, since they crossed that fragile line into love.

She nodded, heaved a heavy sigh, and said, “I can do this.”

“You already are.”

With a calm smile, the female doctor spoke up: “Nine and a half centimeters. You’re close, Camila.”

Cami’s dad stood near the door, silent but solid like a lighthouse. She could tell he was trying not to cry. He hadn’t said much since they arrived, just offered her his hand when she needed it, rubbed her back when the contractions grew cruel. She caught his eye now and saw it there — that proud, tender expression she’d only ever seen from him. The same one he’d worn the day she graduated basic. The day she moved in full-time at twelve and he quietly rearranged his life to keep her safe.

He nodded at her, voice hoarse when he said, “You got this, baby girl.”

Outside the room, her brothers were a whole different kind of chaos. Six grown men—loud, anxious, ridiculous—packed the waiting room like they were planning a heist. Danny was pacing. Luis had a stress ball. Elijah had music playing in one ear and a baby name bracket open on his phone. Julian, Isaiah, and Mateo took turns cracking jokes that didn’t land and praying in Spanish under their breath.

They all fell silent when the nurse poked her head out and said, “She’s pushing.”

Inside, a screamed ripped through Cami and her brothers all panicked. Cami bore down again, gritting her teeth, crying out. Joaquín whispered through it all. Her hands were slick with sweat, her heart pounding like a war drum. And then—

“Camila,” the nurse said gently, “look.”

The pressure broke, and a sharp gasp left her lungs as her son entered the world.

The baby let out a wail: strong, clear, demanding to be known.

“That’s him,” Joaquín laughed, choking on a sob. “That’s our son!”

Cami’s hands trembled as they placed him on her chest—warm and damp and perfect. His tiny fists curled against her skin, and his cry quieted the moment he felt her.

She stared at him in wonder, tears spilling freely. “Hi, baby. I’m your mom.”

He blinked, yawned, gripped her finger like he already knew she’d protect him with everything she had. Joaquín leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, then to their son’s forehead.

“You did it, Cami,” he whispered, “You did everything.”

A nurse peeked in and asked softly, “Want your family to come meet him?”

“Yeah,” Cami looked down at the baby, still skin-to-skin against her chest, and nodded, “bring them in please.”

The door creaked open. And for the first time in her life, her people saw her whole—not broken or needing to be fixed—just radiant, real, and reborn. Her dad came in first, tears on his cheeks, and kissed her forehead the same way he had when she was six and scared.

“I’m proud of you, mija,” her father whispered. “You gave that baby the start you never got.”

Danny followed, whispering “holy shit” under his breath, then choked on a sob. Elijah cried openly. Mateo made a joke and immediately got smacked for it. Julian knelt at the side of her bed, awe in his eyes. Luis ran his fingers gently over the baby’s curls and murmured, “He’s got your hair.” The Torres family arrived moments later — Joaquín’s parents glowing with pride, Maribel sniffling and holding up a handmade blanket. His mom sat beside her and held her hand, eyes shining.

“Welcome to the world, little one,” she whispered to the baby. “You were born into love.”

Cami’s eyes welled again. She looked around the room at all of her favorite people. People who had chosen her, who had stayed, who had carried her when she couldn’t carry herself. This child would never have to question whether he was wanted. He would grow up surrounded by every kind of love: blood, bond, and chosen.As she kissed his tiny forehead, Cami finally understood: she had broken the cycle. She had become the mother she’d always needed. She was no longer surviving her story — she was living her legacy.

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satosugusthirdwheel · 8 hours ago

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Chance Encounter

A DILF! Toji x CollegeStudent! Reader AU

Link to masterlist

Chapter synopsis: you're in your final year in college, being assigned a project with an underclassmen, Megumi Fushiguro. (Who, according to your best friend, has a really hot dad) After crashing into a huge, attractive man before your study session, you wonder if Fushiguros "hot dad" could even compare...

(ongoing series- chapter 1 of ??? )

Warnings/content: age gap (toji is 42 user is 25), oral (fem receiving, then male receiving), afab reader, pet names (doll, pretty, sweets, etc), dirty talk, light degradation (kinda), marijuana smoking (420 friendly), classmates dad (college, everyone over 18), "literally falling into him" trope, includes a few fake texts.

Authors note: okay my lil freakys. I have finally finished this fic and I'm sooooo excited!!!

I just want to clarify that I know driving down the street smoking a blunt and all that isn't fully realistic for this being loosely based in Japan, and if your not 420 friendly you might want to skip this one. But it's my own AU. So if you're 420 friendly just roll with it (HA) and enjoy.

This fic is guaranteed to be a multi-parter I already have so many ideas for the direction I'm going to go with this, so if you enjoy stay tuned, because there will be more 😈 & chapter 2 will be spicyyyy🌶️🌶️

Chapter 1- WC 7.4k

You're in your last year at university. You'd started April 1, and now It's mid october. At this point, the days are dragging on like molasses and you're just itching to get to winter break. The respite from working hard is almost tangible, it's so close.

You're being assigned a project in one of your classes. It will be a partnered project, teaming you up with a first year. They bring in a group of students and start instruction on the rules. It is to be completed fully outside of school hours, and you'll each be assigned partners. There will be one first year to each fourth year. You briefly consider throwing yourself out the window to your left to avoid this, but ultimately decide against that.

The professor outlines the project, as you take colorful notes in a cute journal. At the end of class, the teacher announces the partners.

Towards the end of the list comes your name, followed by "paired with...Megumi Fushiguro"

A pale, black haired boy looks up, eyes scanning until he sees you also scanning. You give a small wave. He gives a curt nod.

You're given a few minutes to coordinate with your partners before class ends, so you get up to sit by him.

"Heyy, Fushiguro. Nice to meet you, it looks like we're working together on this one." You say, smiling softly.

He's a pretty guy, though you're not sure if he even realizes that. He seems shy, quiet, even a little brooding. He's not really your type, though. You like your men a little..bigger, burlier. Maybe even older. You can't help it, it's just what you like.

"So, how do you think we should do this? I know I'm expected to lead since I'm the upperclassman, but I know how it can be when you're a first year. No one listens"

"Hey. Yeah,I appreciate that. I'd prefer to get it done quickly so I don't have to worry about it later. I'm free later today. If that doesn't work for you, maybe tomorrow?" He asks, packing up his bag. Hes obviously very no nonsense, and seems a bit antisocial.

"I'm free today. We could go to my dorm if you want, but my room mate will be there working on her project too." You offer, tapping a sparkly purple pen on your chin absentmindedly. He narrows his eyes slightly, as if detesting the idea of hanging out with additional people.

"No. Let her have the dorm. I'll be back at my house around 4 today. You can come by around 5 if that works for you." He says, casually, almost monotonously.

"Perfect. Here's my number." You say, scribbling down your number on a paper with your pen." You slide it over to him. "Text me the address when you get a chance and I'll see ya then!" You say, your bubbly demeanor is a stark contrast to his reserved manner.

"See you then" He says, not fully looking up as he finishes packing up his bag. Class ends and he puts the paper with your number in his pocket and heads out of the class, turning down the hall.

After your final class of the day, you head back to your dorm room. It's only 2pm, and you expect your room mate to be back in an hour or so.

Hopping in the shower, you wash your hair and body meticulously with your luxuriously scented soap. You were picky about that sort of thing. You like to smell nice, always. The warm water cascades over your body, washing off all the stress of college. You shampoo your hair thoroughly, rinsing as you massage your scalp. When you finish that, you condition your hair gently, allowing the warm water to rinse it away, leaving your hair soft.

You lather up your soap into your shower poof, scrubbing your body thoroughly, the smell wafting through the bathroom as you rinse. You turn off the shower, stepping out into the steamy air. You dry off gently, the soft towel soaking up any lingering dewdrops on your skin and grab a body lotion. You lotion head to toe, the sweet scent filling the bathroom.

Once you're lotioned, you put on some comfortable clothes, not dressed like a slob by any means, but comfortable. You have a matching pink sweat pants and hoodie, with a tight white tank top under the hoodie. As you finish getting dressed, your room mate arrived.

Room mate wasn't exactly the right term. More like best friend, platonic soul mate, right hand woman, future maid of honor. But 'room mate' stakes her claim on your shared dorm, so that's how you refer to her to those that don't know her.

"Heyyy girl. that set is cute. You working on the project here? That fushiguro kid looks pretty emo, but I've heard he's nice." She asks, throwing her bag on her bed and plopping down.

"Nah, I knew you'd probably work here with your partner. He said I can go to his place to work on it" you say, casually, when a high pitched squeal erupts from your best friend.

"his HOUSE? NO WAY! IS HIS HOT DAD IN TOWN?" She demands, leaning forward onto her knees and propping her head on her hands. She looks like a little kid asking for a bedtime story.

"His what?" You ask, incredulously. You didn't know the first thing about Fushiguro. You surely didn't know what his dad looked like. You wonder how your best friend even knows this, but she was a social butterfly.

"You're kidding, right? His dad is only the hottest damn piece of man I've ever SEEN. Seriously, girl, he's just your type. He's not always around though, got some weird job where he's always going places. I don't know, but Maki told me about him one of the times we went out for drinks. Apparently she knows Fushiguro pretty well."

You scoff, but your interest is piqued.

"Well, hot dad or not- I'm going over there to work on a project. Strictly business. You know I gotta pass this class" You say, rolling your eyes. "I'm not always out chasing tail like someonnnee" you tease.

She rolls her eyes at your teasing, but doesn't cave. "You need to change. I'm saying that because I love you." Your best friend says, strolling to your dresser and rifling through. "Ooohhh!! What about this one?" She says, pulling out a little pink skirt. It was cute, one of your favorites, but you're going to work on a project. That's all.

"Seriously what is wrong with you? Can you imagine the poor boys face if he opened the door to his upperclassman wearing that? He'd think im trying to seduce him!" You say with a laugh. She's ridiculous, and you love her. "No skirts or dresses. we're just working. Besides..you don't even know if his dad's gonna be there." You add.

"Soooo, you are interested?" She says, nudging your side playfully. You shoot her a glare. "Fine, fine. You have a point. Then...how about these?" She says, grabbing a pair of shorts you had. Casual enough, but short. They made your ass look great, though. You finally relent, taking the shorts from her hands and changing into them, looking over yourself in the mirror.

"That's better. I'll let the hoodie slide because your ass looks great. What time you going over there?" She says, smiling in a way that showed she's obviously pleased with herself.

"He said 5, I'll probably go get a bite to eat nearby his place and then meet him. He should be sending the address over any minute"

As if on cue, a message comes in.

"Oh, it's not far. I can ride the bus. When's your partner coming?" I ask, putting my phone into my pocket and looking for socks and shoes.

"Soon, I think. She had another class but said she'd be here around 4." She says, flopping back onto her bed. "You better text me if hot dads there"

"What am I? DILF alert?" You say, laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of your best friend. "But for you, sure. Weirdo" You grab your keys, headphones and a small backpack with a few essentials (your laptop, chargers, a couple pens and a notebook). "See you later, boo." You say, blowing a kiss before sauntering out of the room and out of the campus.

You walk down the street until you hit the bus station where you wait for your bus. The wait is uneventful and you just pop in some headphones and listen to music, trying to decide what you'll eat while you wait. Before long you've reached your stop and you stand up to follow everyone trailing out of the bus. You check the GPS on your phone so that you know where Fushiguro's house will be, before heading to find some food. There's a small ramen shop nearby, tucked away. You decide that sounds good, so you walk into the building, taking note of the cozy interior. There's a few tables outside, and you decide you have enough time to sit down and have a meal. You enter, and the hostess seats you at a table, outdoor at your request. The air is cool, but not cold. After ordering your food and drink, you look around as she heads off to put in your order. You decide to get up to go to the restroom. As you're coming into the building, a woman brushes past you after grabbing her to-go order. Attempting to avoid her by stepping to the side proves unsuccessful as she bumps you anyway in her rush. It causes you to stumble, barely enough time for your hands to even brace yourself when they're greeted with..rippling muscles. He's a huge, towering figure and as you fall into him, his meaty hands grab your shoulders to stop you from falling, steadying you, but not pushing you away. Your face immediately heats up, gracing your cheeks with a pink tint. You stumble over your words as you start apologizing profusely. "O-oh my god, I'm so, so sorry!"

The words dry up in your throat, as you look up to this mystery man's face. -oh fuck. He's hot. Like HOT, HOT.-

Huge muscles, tall, towering over you, a devilish smirk on his face, accompanied by a scar on the corner of his mouth. You don't even hold eye contact for more than a second because his emerald eyes are sparkling and piercing.

He chuckles, deep and low.

"Easy there, pretty thing. 's alright. Lucky me, I was here to catch ya" He says, voice as smooth as silk. "Saw her bump you. Hate bitches who don't say excuse me" He says, still not moving to push you off of him. He breathes in deeply, as if he's trying to inhale your scent.

You quickly straighten yourself, taking your hands off of his chest and stepping back a little bit. You're almost frozen, he's just so manly, so burly. And that damn smile plastered on his face- it's almost criminal.

-speak, stupid! don't just gawk!- you think to yourself.

"oh, y-yeah.." you say, blinking a few times before finally coming to your senses. "I was just trying to get out of her way, I'm sorry for falling into you!" you apologize, nervously, silently cursing yourself for suddenly getting so damn clammy. As if you haven't flirted with countless men, as if you were some helpless thing.

"Nah, don't worry bout it. Not your fault. He says, as his eyes shamessly rake up and down your figure.

Before he can speak again, the hostess calls for the next guest. "Try to be more careful, doll" He teases, before turning away and heading to the counter. You start to walk away to head to the bathroom. He asks for a table for one, and she apologizes that it will be a 30 minute wait for a table. Before you can even think, youre speaking up. "Um, ma'am, he can sit at my table" You say "I'm just running to the restroom".

He quirks an eyebrow at you, "Thanks, doll."

"Consider it a thank you for catching me" you say before turning to head to the bathroom.

You finish up, washing your hands and suddenly becoming aware of your appearance. You fix your hair a little and look in the mirror. You quickly pull out your phone, texting your best friend.

She replies immediately, and you laugh at her answer.

-Get it together. He's literally just a guy- you mentally chastise yourself, before leaving the bathroom to head back to your table. As you're arriving at the table, they're bringing your food and drink, and Toji is ordering his own. You sit down, across from him, noticing the way his eyes shamelessly look you up, down, up AGAIN. Does he have no shame?

"Thanks for letting me sit here, doll. Tryin to get some food and get home. Would've sucked to wait" he says, leaning back in his chair slightly.

"Well, it's only fair. You saved me from face-planting. And I have to apologize for unintentionally groping your chest" you say, taking a bite of your food. You'd gotten a bowl of ramen, and it was delicious. Soft noodles floating in a warm, perfectly seasoned broth.

"Oh don't apologize for that, pretty. You're cute enough to get away with that" He teases. You can't help the smirk that crosses your face.

-This guy really lays it on thick, doesn't he? I guess when you're that hot you can get away with it-

His food arrives, some sort of meat kebab, and he thanks the waitress. You eat in silence for a few minutes, but it's not uncomfortable. You catch him eyeing you, though it's not like he's being subtle. The wind blows, and he catches the sweet scent of..vanilla? Maybe a hint of strawberries? He speaks up, his scarred lips turning up into a small smile.

"smells nice. Like vanilla or somethin. guessing that's not our food" He says, and you tilt your head, confused for a split second. Then it clicks, you use sweetly scented everything. No wonder he's picking up on it.

"oh! Haha, yeah, I like to smell nice."

"like a walking pastry."

"is that a bad thing or a good thing?"

"mm. Good, I guess" he says. There's a beat of silence. "So, what's a fine thing, all dressed in pink doing here alone? No boyfriend to protect you from rude bitches knockin you over?" He asks, obviously sizing you up, whether you're single, meeting someone, or here alone.

You scoff at the mention of a boyfriend. "Ha! No, no boyfriend right now. I'm just grabbing a bite to eat before heading off to a classmates house. Some group project." You say, casually. "Gotta pair up with an underclassman. He lives close by and I had time to kill so here I am"

"Underclassman, huh? So what year are you in?" He asks, a hint of curiosity behind his words.

"Finally a senior this year. Can't wait for it to be over with" You say with a sigh, thinking back on how busy youve been since starting. "I feel like it's aged me 20 years"

He scoffs dramatically. As if you just said the most ridiculous thing ever. "You definitely don't look aged, doll. Wait till you're closer to my age and then you can talk" He says, crossing his arms over his large, toned chest.

"Oh yeah? And how old would that be? Because I'm 25 but I feel 45 after the stress from last year's exams. And you look like you're 35 at most." You say, crossing your arms to match him. No man over the age of 35 could look like this. It's impossible. He definitely looks older, but he's got fairly little grey hair and an incredible physique.

He laughs at that. Actually laughs, loudly, like you've just told him a hilarious joke. "Little girl, Im almost 43. I have a son only a few years younger than you. But thanks for the stroke to my ego."

"Little girl?! Excuse you, I'm 25!! And pretty soon a college graduate, at that" You say, uncrossing your arms and putting a hand over your chest as if you've been offended.

"Mhm. And I'm still 20 years your senior, kiddo."

"Kiddo??! Okay now you're just being an asshole" you say, scoffing,before laughing happily. Hes easy to talk to.

"Woah, language. You're practically a baby, should you be talking that way, babygirl?" He continues to tease. You roll your eyes and nudge him under the table with your foot.

"Shut it, grandpa. You're really rude for someone who just met me"

"Wow, grandpa? And I caught you, didn't I, brat? So I could be worse."

"Hm...I guess so" you relent. "Soo, what do you do for work.?" You ask, intrigued by the handsome man sitting in front of you. You almost want to cancel your project meet up so that you can hang out with him more, but you're already reaching the time to go and it would be rude to cancel last minute.

"Ah, just contract stuff. What about you, pretty?" He asks.

"I work at this bakery near my college with my best friend."

"Hm. Should've known a girl like you works somewhere cute like that." He flirts.

"I'll be right back, gotta order something to go" he says, before heading back inside to order something and coming back out, sitting down again. As he comes back, you take in the full sight of him. You can't help the thoughts that come over you. -damn his arms are big, he could just pick me up and...oh my god, stop thinking like a pervert!!-

The alarm you'd set on your phone goes off, signalling that it's time to head out towards Fushiguros house. "Aw, it's time for me to head out. You were good company, though. Thank you." You say as you stand up, silencing the alarm. "And thanks again for catching me"

"Tch. That was my pleasure. Thanks for the table, sweets." He says. His constant use of different nicknames is affecting you. Doll, sweets, pretty thing, babygirl, brat. Calling you cute, It's so enticing. Before you can say, or think anything else for that matter, you force yourself to turn and head inside to pay. Can't interfere with your education just because there's a hot man who's making you impossibly horny. Maybe it's just the fact that you haven't gotten any in awhile.

As you head inside, a waitress walks past you with a boba drink, a pretty purple color, delivering it to the table where Toji is still sitting. You approach the counter, intending to pay for your meal.

The hostess smiles and says "That man you were with paid your bill as well when he ordered his drink."

"Oh! Really?" You say, surprised. You put a couple dollars in the tip jar before heading back outside to thank him before you leave. But, as you reach the table, he's gone. You realize, looking at the seat he'd left empty, that you hadn't even gotten his name.

-damn. I wish i could've thanked him. Can't remember the last time a guy bought me dinner.-

You pull out your phone, walking in the direction that your GPS instructs as you head to the house. You open up your messages with your best friend, but see shes on do not disturb. Must be working on the project and needs to focus. You'll update her later.

You arrive at the house, double checking the address. As you walk up, you hear two voices inside. There's a window on the side cracked open, probably for a breeze, but that means you can hear the voices pretty clearly.

One, obviously a man, sounds teasing. "Awhh, does meg have a little girlfriend finally?" the voice teases. You're not sure why, but he sounds familiar. Maybe he just has one of those voices. Low, a little raspy, deep.

Then comes a younger sounding voice, must be megumi. "Shut up. Stop acting dense. I need to work. Now get lost!" He says, sounding annoyed.

"Come on, being mean to your old man after i brought you one of those stupid drinks you like? You got balls"

"Yeah, thanks for the boba. but still, piss off, Dad" he demands.

You hear a laugh, fading off as if he's walking away. Something about it sounds familiar, and there's a nagging in your mind that you'd heard that voice somewhere. You brush it off.

**Knock, knock, knock**

After a couple seconds, the door opens. In the doorway is Megumi, dressed casually in a t shirt and sweatpants. "Hey, come in." He says, and opens the door wider, stepping back so you can come in. Its pretty tidy, comfortable.

There's a living room with a TV, couch, gaming system. It's pretty open, with the kitchen visible from the living room. By the front door, there's a small rack with shoes on them.

"You can take your shoes off if you want, but you don't have to. We can work out here" he says, gesturing to the general direction of the living room.

You slip your shoes off, and follow his lead inside. You notice a purple-colored boba drink on the table. Weird. Looks like the one the guy at the restaurant had. -Is the universe sending me purple boba signs? Maybe i should go back and try one.-

"You can make yourself comfortable. need a drink or something?" He says, picking up his boba.

"Thank you, but I'm okay! Let me just get my notes and stuff." You say, taking your laptop and notebook out of your bag and sitting on the couch. Megumi sits on a comfortable looking chair with his laptop.

You start chatting about the project, hammering out details. You're not sure how long you'd been working on the project. It had to be over an hour for sure.

You hear a door close in the distance and you turn, startled. You'd forgotten you'd heard a second voice earlier. Megumi notices your jump and just casually says, "I live with my dad, dorms filled up."

-his dad? So the hot dad is here? Of course he is-

"Oh, cool. I was kind of wondering how you afforded this as a first year. How old are you?"

"18. 19 in December. We've lived here for a few years." He says, taking a drink of his boba. "You?"

"25, I'll be 26 in July. I started a little late, I had stuff to attend to after high school" I say, before sending a document over to him. "Check over that. What do you think? We'll have to do the interviews with each other after, though"

He looks at his laptop, starting to read over the document you've sent, before nodding. "Yeah, this looks good. We can do the interviews in a minute. Let me just go to the bathroom" He says, setting his laptop down on the table next to his half-finished boba.

You try to focus on the project, but heavy feet padding into the kitchen distract you. You hear the fridge open, and you're hyper aware of the fact that whoevers in the kitchen must be this apparently god-like man that your best friend was losing her mind over. You turn, slowly, just as he's taking a drink out of the fridge, turning in your direction, but looking down at his drink as he opens it. As soon as he turns, youre shocked. It's..the guy from the restaurant. Sculpted muscles, scar on the lip, emerald eyes and jet black hair-, it's definitely him. Just changed into a tight shirt, highlighting his muscles and grey sweatpants, hair wet from the shower.

-Fuck. She was right!-

He looks up, eyes meeting yours, you see a slight surprise on his face before his lips quirk into a barely noticeable smirk. As soon as megumi comes back in from the bathroom, he groans, annoyed.

"I told you to get lost, dad. We need to finish up and can't have you getting in the way" He says.

Toji just raises his eyebrow, gaze lingering on your body for a few more moments. You know the shock is written all over your face. You want to speak up, thank him for the dinner, but you're just surprised to see him here.

"Yeah,yeah. Don't wanna be bothered with the pretty girl" he says,almost as if annoyed, before turning and heading back down the hall.

"I'm sorry about him. He doesn't have an ounce of shame. Let's get this interview done" Megumi says, diverting your attention back to the project.

Your mind lingers on toji. "It's cool, let me just use the bathroom and we can get started." You say, heading to the door that megumi had entered when he went. You immediately pull out your phone right away.

You let out a quiet laugh, huffing through your nose. You slide your phone into your pocket and use the bathroom before heading back out.

You and megumi work on the interviews, which takes a little bit longer than you expected. The entire time it's like his dad is finding excuses to come out, each time allowing his eyes to linger over you. When you took off your hoodie, he walked in at the perfect time to see your shirt lift up a little too..his cock twitched and he was grateful for the kitchen counters coverage.

You steal looks at him, eyes raking up and down his body every time he finds some excuse to linger around.

You work for a few hours, eventually eating a snack with megumi and drinking soda. When you finally finish, it's dark outside.

Megumi yawns, stretching his hands above his head, obviously tired. You check your phone and see that its almost 10:30pm.

"Well that should do it. Im surprised we finished it in one night, you're pretty efficient" you say, saving the project and putting your laptop away in your bag.

"I just don't like to waste my time. Got better things to do than homework all the time. Thanks for being a good partner. You answered a lot of my questions." He says, voice sounding tired, but not unfriendly.

"Yeah, makes sense. I'm that way too. You were a good partner, I think you'll do great in the following years. I remember being a first year and there's a lot of uncertainty, but you have a good head on your shoulders. If you're ever struggling, just shoot me a text. " You say, nicely. You had both worked well together and though it's not like you were making a new best friend, you both did get along just fine. Plus you're an overly friendly person, and you remember how scary it was in your first year of college.

"Its getting late, I should probably start heading back. I have to catch the bus, and I don't want to wait too long." You say, as his dad lazily strolls his way into your eyeline again, this time wearing some slides,with a lighter in hand, walking towards the front door. Probably going out to smoke.

"You didnt drive?" Megumi asks, looking at the time on his phone.

"Nah, I don't have a car right now. I don't usually need one at this point anyway." You say with a shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

You hear a raspy voice speak up, and you have to resist the urge to cross your legs when you literally feel it tingle through your body. -god damn, this guy has me down bad-

"You're planning to walk and ride the bus, in the dark, wearing that?" He asked with a scoff.

You glance down at yourself, and realize that maybe a tight tank top and short shorts really wasnt the best outfit to wear. Though it's not going to be freezing outside, you'll definitely get a little chilly. There were plenty of nights when you'd stumble home with your best friend, after hitting the bar, half dressed in skimpy clothes. But the difference there was the fact that you were both always too drunk to even care, or the liquor was making you feel 10° warmer than you actually were. You weren't planning to stay at megumis house so late, and didn't really plan to head home alone like this.

"Woahhh there, slut shaming in this day and age?" You say, jaw dropping and faking offence, maybe a little too playfully. Megumi seems to notice, but brushes it off. He doesn't seem to care.

"I ain't slut shaming, whatever that means. Just sayin, it's almost 11 and it's gettin cold" He says, rolling his eyes at you. He can't help the way your teasing affects him, though. "And young gals like you should be safer"

"It's not often I agree with him, but it *is* late. And getting cooler." Megumi agrees, looking seconds away from falling asleep. He obviously needs rest.

"Just.. come on. I'm drivin ya. Was gonna go out on a drive anyway" Toji says, grabbing his keys from the door, leaving no room for argument.

Megumi just shrugs, already getting up, walking to the kitchen. "See you when we have to present the project" He says, grabbing a water bottle in the kitchen and giving a lazy wave.

"Okay, see you, Fushiguro" You say, watching as megumi disappears down the hall.

You head to the front door, grabbing your shoes from where you had left them and slipping them on. As you finish putting on the shoes, the large man who you can't seem to escape opens the door so you can exit.

"I should go betting on the races, cuz it's gotta be my lucky day..running into you twice" He teases as you follow him to his car.

"You left before I could thank you for paying. You didn't have to do that" you say, as you climb into the passenger seat.

"Just got back from a job, don't worry about it sweets. Besides, a fine young thing like you shouldn't settle for a man that won't buy her a dinner" he says, as if you shouldn't have even mentioned it. Like it was expected.

"Well, thank you anyway. And thank you for driving me. We ..didn't exchange names." You say, watching as he starts the car.

"Huh. We didn't, did we? Names Toji. Fushiguro. And you are?" He asks, voice smooth and low.

You tell him your name and he smirks. "Pretty name for a pretty girl. Where am I takin ya?"

"I stay in the dorms. Do you need the schools address?"

"Nah, I pick up meg enough to know"

You watch as he places a blunt between his lips, before looking over at you and taking it out. "Ah shit, sorry doll. Didn't even ask if you're cool with that. I'm all for sharing with you if you are." he says, apologetically.

"I'm a stressed college student. You think I don't smoke?" You joke. "Not every day but, yeah. It helps with college, general life stress. Or just for fun"

He smiles. A devilish grin. "Well then, it really is my lucky day." He says, returning the blunt to rest between his lips.

Bringing the flame to the tip, he inhales deeply. Its a long puff, holding in the smoke for a second before exhaling. The smoke billows out of his mouth, gathering around his face before slowly spreading through the air. One more puff, and then he passes it over. He cracks the window and watches you from the corner of your eye as you inhale. Your eyes drift closed for a moment as you feel the relaxation creeping up on you.

Through the smoke, he watches your lips. The way they wrap around the blunt. The way your eyes flutter closed, the way your chest rises and falls. You take one more puff, passing it back to Toji, feeling the tingling in your body as your hands brush against each other.

He peels his gaze from you and begins to drive. When he puts the blunt back to his lips, he furrows his brows. "You got cherry flavored lips or somethin?"

"Shit! I forgot, I'm wearing chapstick. Sorry, I've tainted your blunt!!," you say, apologetically, but laughing. You watch as he licks his lips, tasting your sweetly flavored chapstick that had been transferred.

"'s alright. I don't really mind. You taste good" he drawls, passing the blunt back to you. There's a wicked look on his face as he turns back to the road.

"You mean my chapstick tastes good?" You question, inhaling again. Another puff, feeling yourself relax more while you pass it back.

"Mmhm. Thats what I meant" he says,inhaling and exhaling slowly, before glancing at you.

He slowly rolls to a stop at a red light. He stares for a moment, eyes unable to peel away from you, the red light making you almost more beautiful. You feel the heat rising in your belly. The tingling in your body, between your legs, it's steadily buzzing like electricity. Youre helplessly attracted to him, and it seems like he feels the same. The effects of the blunt are making you both feel more intensely.

You let your eyes fall to his lips as he inhales once more, as the light changes to green. He doesn't move right away.

"The lights green, Toji.." You warn, quietly, your gaze flicking up from his lips, to his green eyes. You say his name, almost as a whisper. He pulls his gaze from you, and passes you the blunt. As he hands it over, he lets his hand fall to your thigh as he drives, and your breath catches.

"Don't say my name like that, doll." He says, less a warning and more a challenge. The smell of smoke is in the air, the emptiness of these roads tempting him to just pull over.

"Why, Tojii...?" You say his name slower this time, intentionally drawing it out as you watch a dangerous look flick over his eyes.

You tap his hand to pass him the blunt once more, and he inhales,letting your question hang in the air. He puts it out in an ash tray in the cup holder, dropping it in.

"'cuz I might have to pull the car over" He warns, as he lets his hand fall back onto your thigh, closer this time to your aching core. You find yourself wishing you had gone with the skirt after all.

He's resisting. You're young, just mid 20s while he's past 40. He knows he shouldn't, that you might not even be feeling the tension he's feeling.

"But what if I want you to..." You ask, and you feel his fingers tighten on your thigh. He pulls over to a secluded spot quickly. He stops before he can even think rationally..something about you was irresistible. You don't even want to pause to think about it either.

He turns to face you fully. "You really want this? Heh- pretty young thing wants an older guy like me?" He asks, leaning in closer, so close you can almost feel his breath.

You don't want to reply, you can't resist the pull anymore as you crash your lips into his. He lets out a short growl as you do, gripping your thigh tighter, seeming reluctant for a moment before tangling a hand into your hair and pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue explores your mouth hungrily, almost desperate, but not sloppy. His age obviously comes with experience, and you follow his lead. He pulls away after a bit, both of you breathing heavily.

"The chapstick does taste better on your lips, pretty girl. Wonder what the rest of you tastes like.."

He says, bringing his face into your neck and placing an open mouthed kiss.

"Toji.." You whine.

"Fuck...say my name like that again and I'll make you scream it, baby" He bites your neck a little, hard enough to make you yelp, before kissing over the spot.

"Mmm..you promise...Toji?" You moan, a plea for him to finally give you what you've been wanting since you ran into him earlier.

"Damn..you're a nasty girl, huh? Take off those shorts already" He requests, more of a demand. You obey without question, hands coming down to wiggle the shorts off.

"Tch. Ain't even gonna make me say please, huh? Dirty girl..." Reaching the hem of your hoodie, he starts pulling it up. Your hands take hold and pull it all the way off, as his move to trail all over your body, down to the hem of your panties. Without warning, he slides under, and allows his finger to slide between your soaking wet folds.

"And your pretty pussy is soaked for me already?"

"Can't help it...youre the one who kept coming out there...eyeing me"

You grind yourself against his hand, feeling his large digit slide deeper, brushing past your most sensitive spots. "Im not usually like this.."

"Heh- like what? Bought ya dinner didnt I?" He teases, pulling his finger out and bringing it to his mouth. He sucks your juices from his finger, smiling lazily after.

"Fuck, you taste better than I imagined..I need more, doll.. cmon..bend that pretty ass over f'me" he says, a command and desperation to his voice that has you obeying without question. You manage to bend yourself over in the seat, with a little (or a lot) of help from Toji, grabbing you with ease like a..well, doll. -guess the nickname fits-

In moments, you're folded into the passenger seat, and Toji is yanking your sopping panties straight down. You can hear the fabric ripping slightly as he does, and as soon as your pussy is exposed, his mouth is devouring it. You moan as he licks a long stripe through your slit, pausing at the clit and licking around.

"Ohh god..Tojiii" you moan, unable to move at all with the way youre into this passenger seat.

He takes full advantage of this, latching onto your clit to suck and lick so expertly you'd think he invented it. You moan, pushing back into his face. He moans into you, inserting a finger to your, already dripping, hole and pumping. He pulls his mouth away for a second.

"You acted so sweet earlier, apologizing for running into me, bet you were thinking about this weren't ya, baby? getting aallll wet looking at me?"

"Fuck...yesss..I was. I was upset I didnt-ah- get your name" you say, gasping as he puts another finger in, curling them to hit the most sensitive spot of your soft walls.

"Mmmm..little slut...say my name again." He says, diving back into your pussy like a man starved, leaving no spot unexplored. You're pushing back against him desperately, and it's only making his fingers push deeper.

"TOJIII" you cry out. He pulls away, watching the way his fingers pummel in and out of your aching pussy. He feels your walls tightening, your cries growing louder. "Thaattssss it. taking my fingers so well, what a good fucking pussy" He says, as if he's not even talking to you anymore. As if your pussy is its own entity that deserves praise.

"FUUCCKK! I-im- getting close!" Youre practically screamimg out now, rocking your hips desperately.

"Ohh, I know" He says, curling his fingers. "Cum aallll over my face, dirty girl" He demands, returning his relentless mouth to your eager pussy.

He slurps up the sweet juices, like warm honey. You feel the warmth burning hot in your belly as your muscles start contracting. The waves of pleasure wash over your body, ecstacy taking over your mind as you scream out "TOJIII! DONT STOP!!" Your hips arch as you claw at the leather seat of his car. He continues slurping up your juices as he feels you release, dripping down his fingers. He hums in appreciation as your climax washes over you.

As you come down, he helps you unfold yourself and hands you back your panties. You see his cock through his sweats, looking hard and, well, huge. He's rubbing it through his pants, still looking at your body.

"It's late, doll. How about you put that pretty little mouth around my cock as I finish driving you home, huh?" He teases, and you bring your hand to his waistband, pulling his pants down with his boxers. His large, hardened cock pops free and your breath catches for a moment at the sheer size. It's thick, and long, aching and twitching slightly from the strain of his erection.

"Better start driving, Toji" you say, lowering your head to the tip of his cock, licking it gently, around the tip, before licking a vein on the underside.

"Ohhhh, naughty lil thing. Better take as much as ya can" He groans out.

He starts to drive again, one hand resting on the back of your head. You moan and take him into your mouth, sucking the tip, and swirling your tongue around it. You push your head lower, taking in more of his huge, aching cock. You bob up and down, gagging a little as he hits the back of your throat, and you breathe through your nose.

"Ohhh baby, that's it. Gag around it, that slutty little mouth is so pretty around my dick" he praises, breathing heavier.

You suction your cheeks, bobbing faster now, reaching a hand to play with his heavy balls. You hum around his dick and he moans, a low, deep sound. The college parking lot is close, only a turn away, and he curses in his head, wishing he had more time with your perfect mouth around him. He pulls into a secluded corner of the parking lot, so you can finish uninterrupted.

He holds your head, helping you thrust his twitching cock in and out of your mouth, growing rougher. You moan around his cock, drool spilling out of your mouth as you suck him desperately. He finally feels himself giving into his release, grunting and moaning.

He tries to pull your head off, but you keep sucking. You feel precum starting to leak from his tip, and you lick around it, tongue swirling and dancing with skill. The sight of you, the feeling is almost too much, and Toji grabs your hair tighter, grunting out "dirty slut. Making me cum in my car...fuckin 20 years younger almost. You dirty fucking girl" he's rattling out, moaning louder.

You quicken your pace, feeling his hips start to thrust ever so slightly up and finally, pull your mouth off, pumping your hand in its place. As soon as you do, his pulsing tip spurts out hot ropes of cum, some splattering into your pretty face. He's breathing heavily as he pulls off his shirt, letting you use it to wipe your face and hand.

"Shit, doll. That was good. Wish we'd had more time" he says, seductively, as you wiggle your shorts back up your legs.

You smile over at him, "You're really good with your mouth" you praise, to which he smirks back at you while pulling his pants back up.

"Good with a lot of things, pretty. Got a pen and paper in there?" He asks, gesturing to your bag.

You nod, reaching in for your little journal and pen. He opens the journal and writes down his number, scoffing.

"Tch. Pink and sparkly? What are ya, a princess?"

"I just like cute things and they make my notes pretty!" You defend, taking the journal and pen back and sliding it into your bag. "Don't be an ass, now"

He pulls the car around, closer to the doors so you won't have to walk through the parking lot.

"Well, princess, I don't really do this often anymore..but I hope to hear from your pretty ass again" He says, as you zip up your bag and open the car door.

"You will, Toji. Thanks for the ride" you say with a wink, closing the car door behind you, and walking away. Your hips sway as you walk, and he watches, entranced. Women don't always have this effect on Toji, he's been around and seen plenty, but you. You piqued his interest as soon as he saw you, and now that he's gotten one taste, he knows he'll want more.

"Anytime, Doll" He calls out the window, voice low and raspy. He watches as you disappear into the doors, before driving away.

As you enter the building, your heart is racing. Youre still experiencing the relaxing affects of smoking, the pleasant feeling washing over you as you get lost in your thoughts. When you enter your room, your best friend is still up, scrolling on her phone.

Whether it's your disheveled hair, the smell of smoke cascading off of you, the grin on your face or your missing hoodie, forgotten in his car- you're not exactly sure, but she immediately sits up, practically bouncing with excitement.

"You fucked him!" She says, jaw dropped

"No! We didn't go that far...just..you know, mouth stuff" you say, shrugging as if it's casual.

"Uh uh, details girl. I'll buy you an extra shot in your coffee tomorrow, for now- SPILL!" she demands playfully, and you plop down on her bed next to her, recounting the events of the evening in a way that only best friends can.

©satosugusthirdwheel please do not post elsewhere, translate, or steal without giving credit to @satosugusthirdwheel on Tumblr 🩷 18+ blog MDNI!

#toji smut #toji x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk au #mdni blog #toji fushiguro #dilf!toji #dilf toji #skyswritingroom

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