#oh my god i love my precious boy so much

[astraveil]

1/6

pov you just asked g’raha to go on an adventure with you

[noxtivagus]

i screamed.

[coconut530]

ohhhhhh everyone stop what you’re doing and go read The Sandman: Waking Hours

[seiwas]

omg i think i maxed the tags on this

the way everything played out oh my god hes soooo affectionate. how he kisses you all the time everywhere and is just so familiar with you omg that's driving me crAZY

and his teeth sinking into the side of your neck/?? OMG i CANNAWT THATS INSANE. then JUST WHEN YOU NEEDED HIM MOST HE PULLS OUT SJHDFBAS TO SEE YOU !>>>!/!?!? KYLEEE ??!?!? gODDAMN ROMANTIC THATS WHATT HE IS

.... he tells you youre pretty..... god..... this paragraph HAD ME: You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

the intimacy of it all has me clutching MY CHEST ohmy gos and he. says he loves you.. oh my god.... why am i crying GODDAMN... and him at the end... oh god

when he cups your cheeks... im SAWBING... his little kisses oh my god... the comfort of everything jdfbgdjf how you both inch closer to eachotherhgfvsjdf :(( how he's rolled w even the most unreasonable attitude thrown his way :(( if anyone else would be as patient as you :(( oh my HEART

Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together. <- started crying here AGAIN. he's such a sweetheart GOD im ACHING

aNd WHEN YOU ASK HIM TO STAY :((( CMON NOW :((( UGH KYLE YOU BEAUTIFUL, STUPID HANDSOME MAN :((( AND HOW HE HOLDS YOU TIGHTLY TOOSDGASBJD GOOSSFHSD all the emotions in thisdfjbs and his shaky little exhale oh god

op thank you so much for writing this i am deeply WRECKED i love this so much and im so sorry for all the word vomit in the tags oh my god

ミ stay for something

🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, ex-boyfriend!gaz, unprotected vaginal sex, lack of communication, jealousy, 'just the tip' trope, sex with feelings

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You hate wasting a Friday night on a first date, but you had genuinely high hopes for this one. You had made such an effort, too; pretty sparkly eyeshadow, strawberry-flavoured lipgloss, a new little black dress.

You look good. You feel good. 

It’s just a shame that the guy is a bit of a moron. 

He talks about himself a lot over dinner. Like, so much. You sit and smile and pretend to listen, your gaze wandering, and wonder if he’s going to ask any questions about you. He does (eventually), but they’re short and perfunctory and he seems to just take your answers and use them as a springboard into his next topic of discussion.

It’s a little tedious, but hey. First dates usually are. You weather it, your polite smile turning a little stiff as you sip your wine. Truthfully, you have ulterior motives here.

You’re not proud of it, but you don’t think you can handle the dry spell you’re going through anymore. You crave touch, affection, some kind of connection. You’re okay with being single, but god you’re so hungry for intimacy that it’s led to you agreeing to a date with a guy that you honestly wouldn’t have normally been into just for the chance of getting some action.

Ben is a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly good looking; neatly groomed hair, straight white teeth, a nice physique. He’s in good shape, though you can’t help but subconsciously compare him to— 

No, you think sternly to yourself, Don’t do that.

When he leans into you at the end of the date and asks in a low, sultry voice if you want to continue the night with him, you agree a little breathlessly. God, it’s been a long time since you were touched.

Your place is closer, and you can’t help but feel a little illicit thrill as you lead Ben back. You never usually bring guys back to yours, especially not on the first date, but you’ll be the first to admit that you’re needy tonight. 

The weather is getting colder as winter creeps its icy fingers through the air, but you’re wrapped tight in your coat and kept nice and warm as Ben wraps an arm around your waist, kissing heatedly at your neck as you try to open your door.

You giggle, the wine from dinner making you all loose and happy and eager. You tilt your head to give him more of your throat, and he eagerly takes the opportunity to introduce teeth and tongue as he kisses the line of your neck. You fumble with the key, clumsy as your body heats up.

When you finally manage to turn the key and get the stupid door open, Ben grabs you by the hips and spins you around so that he can pull you into a proper kiss. The guy might have been a dull conversationalist, but you’re delighted to find that he’s a good kisser.

The two of you stumble through the door, your arms locked around his neck as he holds you by the waist. It’s a little embarrassing how eager you are for a guy that you really aren’t even all that into, but you guess that’s just where desperation has gotten you.

“Shit,” Ben hisses when you nip at his lip. “Fuck, you’re so hot. C’mere, take this off.”

He starts tugging at your coat, and you pull back just enough to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor. He lets out a throaty sound of appreciation, before grabbing at your waist again and leaning in to trail another set of hot kisses along your neck and shoulder. 

You tilt your head back, thunking lightly against the wall, and your eyelids flutter at the nipping kisses along your sensitive skin. 

“Oh, god…” You breathe, blinking your eyes open again.

But then… you pause. For the first time, you notice that the lights in your entryway are on. Why are they on? You hadn’t turned them on when you came in, and you know that they weren’t on when you had left. 

Ben is still groping eagerly at your hips, one hand reaching around to squeeze at your ass, but now you’re distracted, on alert. Your eyes dart around, and fall on a pair of Adidas Superstars set neatly by the front door, and a big puffer coat that’s been hung up on the hook in the hall.

Oh no. No fucking way.

As if to confirm the path your thoughts had just taken, your eyes catch on a figure in the doorway to the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Just watching.

A scream catches in your throat, and you grab Ben by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he just keeps squeezing at your ass, pulling your hips closer so that he can slot between your legs and grind against you.

The brief spark of arousal that shoots through you when he grinds his hard-on into the seam of your cunt through your underwear is significantly dampened by the awareness that someone is already in your home, watching you, and you already know who it is.

“Hey, baby,” Kyle fucking Garrick says, lifting a mug patterned with little cartoon cats to his mouth. “Had a nice night out?”

“Jesus Christ–” You hiss, shoving at Ben’s chest. This time, the push isn’t needed, because Ben has rocketed up straight at the sound of another man’s voice in your house calling you ‘baby’.

“What the–” Ben starts to say, his brow furrowing into a bewildered frown when he catches sight of Gaz standing in the doorway watching you.

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” You snap, mortified. You grab at the bottom of your short little dress, pulling roughly at it to try and make sure you’re not flashing anyone.

Gaz watches you, amusement shining in his dark eyes. He’s not even trying to hide the way his gaze is drawn to your legs, lingering where your dress has ridden up your thighs. He sips his tea, a poor attempt at concealing his smirk.

“Home from deployment earlier than expected, love.” He says, calm and casual as if he hasn’t just broken into your goddamn house to destroy any hope you had of getting railed that night. “No time to find accommodation. You don’t mind, eh?”

Ben’s head is swinging between the two of you, his expression blank as he tries to work out just what exactly is happening. He’s straightened up entirely, the presence of Gaz obviously putting him on edge. You can’t blame him for his confusion; Gaz is currently looking at you like he wants to fucking eat you alive, and you’re beginning to get hot and flustered under his stare.

“Are you–” Ben starts, his head still on a swivel as though he can’t decide who to address. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Gaz doesn’t even bother to reply at once. He sips at his tea, and tilts his head as he lets his eyes wander over Ben lazily. It doesn’t seem like he’s all too impressed by what he sees, though he’s smirking as though he’s amused.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick.” He says at last, with a nod.

You huff. You know what he’s doing – he never introduces himself by his rank unless he’s trying to make a point.

Ben goes stiff. He’s still pressed against you, and you can feel every ounce of tension down the line of your body. It seems like he’s just now clocking Gaz as a proper threat, and you take a breath as you realise that he’s about to split and leave you here.

And sure enough–

“I– Listen, I don’t know what’s.. what’s going on here, but I don’t want any trouble.” Ben says, finally pushing himself away from you. He’s holding his hands up by his shoulders as though he’s being held at gunpoint, and you roll your eyes impatiently at his dramatics.

“No trouble, mate.” Gaz says, his voice still cheerfully amiable. “Door’s behind you.”

“Gaz–” You hiss, incensed, but it’s pointless. 

Ben is already scrambling to open the door, heedless of the way you grasp onto his coat in protest. You sigh heavily as he tumbles out into the cold night, and the door slams shut behind him so loud it makes your head hurt.

You stand alone in your entryway, shivering a little in your tiny black dress and heels from the icy breeze that was let in from Ben’s escape. Your jaw is clenched tight, and you take a deep, deep breath as you turn to face your ex-boyfriend.

Gaz is still watching you, his deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath his long dark lashes. You try hard to ignore his expression, which is unmistakably hungry.

“You look good, baby.” He says, staring pointedly at the way your breasts are all pushed up in your tight dress. 

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble, teaching down to unbuckle your delicate heels. You cast them aside and kick them over so they’re laying beside Gaz’s runners.

Gaz just snickers, turning to follow after you when you march your way to the kitchen. Irritation is burning hot in your veins, your lips pursed as you struggle to bite your tongue. It’s so fucking typical that the exact night you try to have some cheap, meaningless sex with some stranger, Gaz has decided to land right into your home. It’s like he has a fucking radar for when you’re about to get laid.

“You could have gotten a hotel.” You snap over your shoulder as you make your way to the kettle. It’s already hot, but you flick the switch again anyway.

“Nah. They’re all booked out. Busy season, you know.”

God, he’s so full of shit. You both know he never even considered staying anywhere other than with you, just like the last few times.

Still, you persevere.

“You could have stayed with one of the guys.” You say, turning around and folding your arms over your chest.

Gaz glances down, and you realise that you’ve inadvertently pushed your breasts together and up. You hastily drop your arms again, and settle instead for planting your hands on your hips.

“Could have,” He admits, leaning against your kitchen table in a way that’s infuriatingly casual. “But they never offered.”

“Neither did I–!”

Gaz doesn’t even seem to hear you. He just steps towards you, reaching to grab an empty mug from the cupboard above your head. The movement brings him so close to you, close enough that your next inhale is scented with his fresh-sweet cologne, the one you always loved, and you find your eyelids fluttering as your muscles relax without your permission. He smells so familiar, so comforting. You hate it.

“Go get changed,” He murmurs, keeping his voice low like he knows the moment is delicate. “We’ll watch a movie.”

You’d love to get fired up, to shove him or curse at him, but it’s all you can do to find the strength to step away from him instead of melting into him. You’re pretty sure he deserves an ass-kicking for this stunt of this, but you decide to pick your battles. Or at least, to postpone them.

You waver another moment, debating over whether you should try to get the last say, but Gaz has already turned away to continue making the cup of tea that you had started. Recognising that the moment has passed, you huff a sigh and march out of the kitchen, making your way to your bedroom.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to get out your dress – it might look good, but there’s an inordinate sense of relief when you finally tug it over your head and feel as though you can breathe unimpeded again. You unclip your bra and toss it aside, rolling your shoulders and sighing as your breasts are freed. 

Once you're dressed again in a worn-out massive t-shirt that drowns your body and some loose sweatpants, looking decidedly unsexy, you pad to your bathroom and start washing your makeup off. Now that you’re alone, that disappointment and frustration is settling in properly. Ben might have been boring, but if his kissing was anything to judge by, you might actually have had a perfectly enjoyable night with him.

Bare-faced and dressed for lounging in bed, you trudge back downstairs to your ex-boyfriend. It’s far from the way you wanted to end your night, but you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. You can hear the muffled sounds from the television as you make your way downstairs, and you redirect yourself towards your small sitting room.

Gaz is sat sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in your home. Something twists in your stomach at how comfy he looks, as though he belongs there. He looks around when you walk in, though your footsteps are quiet and muffled by your fluffy socks.

You look far from sexy right now in your ugly old loungewear and bare face, but Gaz brightens up at the sight of you.

“There she is.” He crows, though there’s something soft in his gaze that you can hardly face. “C’mon, love. Want to pick what we’re watching?”

You just look at him tiredly. He’s as handsome as ever; the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. He must have come straight here once he’d gotten back from deployment because his eyes are dark and exhausted and stubble is a little more overgrown than usual. You hate that he’s able to come into your space like this so easily – like he’s never left.

“Gaz–” You start to say, but you’re cut off when he reaches for your hand.

He tugs you towards him, and you put a knee hastily up on the couch to prevent yourself from falling flat into his lap.

“Shhh, c’mon. Just sit with me.” He murmurs, looking up at you with those damn pretty eyes.

You waver, but then you turn your head to the side and catch sight of the second cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. Gaz has made it just how you like it, and in your favourite mug too. You crumble almost instantly. 

“Stick to your side of the couch.” You grumble, before dropping yourself down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

Gaz hums, and you can already tell that he has no intention of following that order. His arm is already sprawled over the back of the couch; it’s not touching you, but you have no doubt that he’ll try to before the end of the night.

He sticks on some stupid movie on Netflix. You don’t pay attention. It’s a rom-com, which is typical. He always pretends he chooses the sappy romantic films for your benefit, but you’re not fooled. You see the way he watches them with avid interest, the way his toes curl in his socks when the big love confession scene comes on screen. It’s always been something that you’re impossibly fond of.

The two of you are silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. Part of you wishes that it was awkward – it would be easier, you think. But he makes it so simple, sitting with him like this as the cheesy film plays in the background. You’re still a little tipsy from the drinks you’d had at dinner, and you melt into the couch beside him a little quicker than you think you would have otherwise.

“You ruined my night, you know.” You say at last, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. You glance away hastily again, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Nah,” He says, and you feel his arm dip down a little. He’s cupping your shoulders now, and you should probably move away, but you don’t. “If anything, I saved you from having a long, disappointing night with some tosser you agreed to pity-date. He didn’t exactly look like your type, darling.”

“He was a perfectly nice guy.” You bite out, crossing your arms defensively over your belly in your big t-shirt.

“Nice guys don’t end the first date by groping your ass and humping you up against your wall in your own house.” He says, and if you’re not mistaken you’d say he sounds a little bitter.

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s sitting up, watching you closely and leaning just slightly towards you. He’s so intense about the way he’s looking at you, his arm dipping low so that he’s holding you properly.

“Stop it.” You say. It hardly even sounds like a proper protest. You’re so tired, still a little floaty from the wine you’d had at dinner, and desperately disappointed by the lack of sexual satisfaction you had been hoping for.

There’s a pause, and then Gaz gives a small shrug. He pulls his arm back to give you space, but he still has that stupid smirk on his face. You can’t even be angry about the cockiness of his expression when his eyes are that soft though.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m not being fair, am I?”

“No,” You say petulantly. “You’re not.”

He huffs a noise that’s almost a laugh, only he manages to stifle it so that it comes out as a cough instead. 

“Mm. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your big date night, especially when you got done up so pretty for it,” He murmurs, his voice low and sweet as honey trickling down your spine. “Let me make up for it. Come on, get over here.”

You hesitate, but Gaz isn’t really giving you an option. He begins to shift, one of his strong muscled arms looping around your waist as he pulls you into him. It takes you a long moment to realise what it is that he’s trying to do. He lays back on the couch and pulls you with him, encouraging you to pull your legs up onto the sofa so that the two of you are laying on your sides, with Gaz spooned up against your back. 

It’s definitely a bad idea to cuddle with him on the couch like this. You’re trying to set boundaries, to make it clear that you’re just friends (if you can even call it that) after your breakup. And yet… you don’t offer any sort of protest at all.

“Relax,” Gaz sighs from behind you, and you feel his nose nuzzle against the back of your neck. “You love cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head slightly so he can see the unimpressed expression on your face. 

“This isn’t enough to make up for being such a dick.” You grumble. Despite your griping, you don’t actually make any attempt to get out of his arms.

He was right, after all. You do love cuddling. It was your favourite thing to do when you were together. 

But you’re not together anymore, and it’s hard to ignore the gnawing guilt that you’re letting this grow into something that should be avoided instead of nipping it in the bud. You and Gaz had broken up months ago, and it was a perfectly amicable split. You can’t even say that he was at fault for any of it; the strain of the long distance part of your relationship while he was on deployment just grew too much for you, the space his absence left filling with brambled loneliness that pricked incessantly at you. You had known what you were getting into with this relationship with him, and yet when it came down to it you got too greedy, wanting more of him than he was able to give. 

Tonight was a moment of weakness for you, and though your hopes for sex may have been thwarted, you can’t turn down the soft familiar intimacy of Gaz’s strong body cradling you close against him.

Maybe it’s the wine you had at dinner, but you find your muscles relaxing a little as one of Gaz’s arms loops around your waist, his big hand coming to rest across your belly.

“Mm. I’m being selfish, love.” He murmurs, and you fight a shiver as his warm breath ghosts over the delicate shell of your ear. “This is more for me than for you.”

You’re not altogether sure that’s true. It’s certainly doing an awful lot for you right now. Gaz is in just a t-shirt, the muscles of his biceps bunching up under his bare skin as he tries to subtly nudge you closer to him. 

You’ve missed being all wrapped up in the warm embrace of him; he cuddles with his whole body, the front of his thighs all pressed against the back of yours, his strong chest moulding to your back as his face nuzzles against the back of your neck. You always feel so safe when he holds you like this, like he’s blocking out the rest of the world for you. You can only guess he feels the same – he holds you that much tighter every time he gets back home from his missions.

You grumble quietly, but soon settle down. The repetitive stroking motion of his thumb over your hip is more soothing than it should be. You take deep breaths, trying to be subtle about it, because all you can smell is Gaz and his citrusy sweet aftershave and you just want to drown in it.

“You can’t keep doing this.” You mumble, though all the fight has gone out of you. “It’s not… helpful.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gaz shifts behind you. His arm tightens around your waist almost imperceptibly, as though he thinks you’re going to push him away. But you’re being selfish now too, comfortably wrapped up against his chest.

“We said we’d stay friends,” He says at last, and he’s so close that you can feel his lips move against the back of your neck as he speaks. “Nothin’ wrong with some platonic cuddling. You should see how close me an’ Soap have had to cuddle to conserve heat when we’re out on the field.”

You huff a small laugh, which is obviously what he had been hoping for. Platonic cuddling. This certainly doesn’t feel platonic, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You’ve been craving this kind of closeness for months now, so you just let yourself reluctantly enjoy it. It would have been so much easier if you were able to enjoy it with Ben, with someone who meant nothing to you and wouldn’t have brought with him such a complicated web of feelings and history, but there’s a real sense of comfort in the familiarity of Gaz’s presence.

The film Gaz had chosen to stick on is a stupid one. It’s half action, half love story, with a strong rugged hero and a too-beautiful love-interest whose main role seems to be throwing out quips for comedic relief. You’ve seen a hundred versions of this plot play out in other films, though Gaz is predictably glued to the screen. He’s always loved these stupid films.

You’re comfortable enough that you fall into a light doze, uninterested in the television as you relish the heat from Gaz’s chest. He’s like a fucking human radiator, so hot that you can feel a thin dew of sweat begin to break out along your spine. It chases away the chill of the night and makes you so sleepy.

You’re almost asleep when movement from behind you jolts you back to wakefulness. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Then Gaz moves again, and this time it’s unmistakable.

Gaz is hard, the thick ridge of him impossible to miss as he presses against your ass. You’re awake instantly, the slight tipsiness from dinner vanishing into thin air. You’re on high alert, eyes darting back to the television to see what the fuck has aroused him, but there’s nothing of note happening onscreen. It’s just a conversation between characters, exposition setting up the next stage of the plot.

“Gaz,” You say, and your voice comes out louder than you had intended. “Stop humping my ass.”

You’re half-expecting him to deny it, but he just huffs a quiet snort, his nose nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Sorry, love.” He says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Can’t help it. Missed you loads.”

You can feel his cock even through the layers of your clothing, and you swallow hard. God, you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him, though it doesn’t seem like the right time to admit it. How are you ever supposed to get over each other if he keeps coming to stay with you every time he gets back from wherever in God’s name he’s been, when he holds you so sweetly and talks to you like you’re still his girl?

His hips rock into you in a movement that’s almost imperceptible, except you’re waiting for it. His hands are gripping your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh there. He’s always enjoyed the way your body yields to him, so much softer than the hard planes of muscle that make up his own, and it’s no surprise that he goes straight back to holding onto his favourite parts of you even as he ruts against your ass.

“Jesus, Gaz–” You start to complain, but your voice is a little too breathy to be convincingly angry.

“Stop that,” He murmurs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck. “You never call me that.”

That is true – after the breakup, calling him Kyle just seemed too intimate. It’s a name that usually falls from your lips with care, in soft whispers made for dark rooms and quiet moments. His callsign offers distance, reminds you both that what you had is in the past. Or that it should be in the past, at least.

“Kyle,” You concede tiredly. “You dickhead.”

He just hums. He knows you well enough to know that you’re not really angry; you’re not even attempting to move away from him, though you know you should. The film is mostly forgotten in the background, though you’re vaguely aware that the two characters onscreen have now progressed to confessing their love before the big final battle. You just sigh; this little romantic film moment is only going to encourage Gaz even more.

Yet still, you don’t move.

The way he’s grinding his thick cock against the swell of your ass is making your blood run hot. The pressure every time his hips roll lightly against you and the way that he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back against him is making your brain all stupid and fuzzy. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way you shift, the way you allow your bum to brush back against him. It earns you a soft little grunt that’s mostly muffled by the way he’s mouthing at your throat.

Oh, it would be so easy to slip the sweatpants that separates the two of you down, to allow him to slide into you. A little woozily, you think it would feel like he was coming home.

But to actually have sex feels like too much of a commitment, too confusing a step to take when things between you two were already muddled and confused enough. You’re almost afraid to even turn around to glance over your shoulder at him, as though making eye contact might mean you’ll both wake up and stop.

Gaz’s cock has gotten even harder, filling out thickly as he slots against the clothed groove of your ass. He’s not even touching your pussy, and yet your knickers are slick and sticky. It’s embarrassing at your age to be laying on the couch, watching a movie and getting dry-humped like a fucking teenager, and yet your skin feels as though it’s been lit aflame.

Then rustling fabric breaks the silence, and Gaz shifts a little behind you in an odd motion as the insistent pressure on your ass is finally relieved. In its absence, you’re almost disappointed. 

You tilt your head, just barely turning it, just enough to see that he’s just pulled out his cock.

“Kyle–”

“Sorry, baby,” He says again, panting against the side of your neck and making you shiver. “– ‘m just too hard, getting uncomfortable. Ignore it.”

Ignore it? You think, a little hysterically. The gentle rocking of his erection into your ass was one thing, but how the fuck are you supposed to ignore the fact that your ex is all pressed up against you, still holding you by the waist with one hand as the other fists at his cock.

You glance behind you and down before you can help yourself, your self-control as lacking as ever. Fuck. You’ve missed the sight of that. He has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, even if right now it’s flushed dark and angry and painful looking. Your mouth waters. He was obviously telling the truth when he said it was getting sore, and you feel a reluctant swell of sympathy.

“Been thinking of you for months, baby.” He murmurs, placing a wet, messy kiss on your throat. “I can’t even fucking cum properly when you’re not around, it’s not the fucking same. God, even missed the way you smell–”

As if to punctuate that, he presses his nose in your hair and inhales deeply. You know you smell like the sweet perfume you had sprayed earlier, your favourite one. You know from experience that it’s also Gaz’s favourite one. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence.

“Why didn’t you fuck someone else then? Get it out of your system?” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, a little raw. It reveals more than you want to; you feel a little ill at the thought of Gaz with some faceless girl, holding her and making her laugh, her hands touching him like you do.

If Gaz picks up on the bite in your voice, he’s kind enough to ignore it. He just huffs a quick snort like the suggestion is ridiculous, his sloppy mouthing at your neck turning into a chaste affectionate kiss that feels totally at odds with the desperate motions of his hand pumping at his cock.

“Why would I do that when I had a girl waiting for me at home?” He asks, his voice so soft with you. “Never wanted anyone else.”

Your toes curl, guilt coiling in your stomach. You hate that you feel pleased that he’s waited for you, that he doesn’t want anyone else. You’re not being fair – it had been you who had broken it off, after all. He should be able to get with whoever he wants to. Conceivably, he is allowed to. Yet you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t have been sick to your stomach if he admitted that he had. 

God, you feel like such a hypocrite. Here you are, admittedly all too happy that Gaz has stayed faithful to a relationship that isn’t even intact anymore, and there he is, having just witnessed you come home with a stranger’s hands all over you.

“We’re not together anymore.” You whisper, when what you want to say is I’m sorry.

“I know.” Gaz replies, and it sounds like For now.

It’s not a surprise when the hand on your waist slips around to your belly, and then lower again as it slips beneath the waistband of your bottoms. You try and fail to suppress the wet gasp that’s pulled from your throat when his long fingers coast over the front of your knickers, finding your clothed clit with unerring accuracy.

“Oh, lace, baby?” He says, his breath catching in his eagerness before realisation seems to set in. “Oh. This was for your little date, eh?”

The guilt again, gnawing in your chest. You arch your back, simultaneously shying away and crowding your ass back up against him. It’s mortifying, being caught with your fancy underwear beneath your baggy unflattering sweatpants by your ex-boyfriend and having him know without a shadow of a doubt that you intended them to be seen by someone else.

“I was–” You start to say breathily, but Gaz doesn’t let you finish.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. “I know, I know. But he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you. Jesus, he didn’t even know what he fuckin’ had, ran like a coward–”

“Gaz–” You try again. You can’t help but feel as though you need to explain yourself, like the two of you should talk this through.

“You’re so soft, Jesus Christ.” He mutters, the side of his hand rubbing at the squishy flesh of your thighs as he strokes at your clit. “Were you always this soft?”

It sounds as though he’s trying to remember, desperate and wanting. You swallow thickly, closing your eyes as that familiar pleasure licks up your spine. He knows you so well, knows every part of you and exactly how to touch you, and you can hardly believe you ever entertained letting anyone else put their hands on you.

“I got a new body oil.” You breathe, distracted by his touch. “It’s– it’s vanilla scented.”

“Yeah,” He groans, and you shiver helplessly when you feel his tongue on your neck, licking a hot stripe up to your earlobe. “I can smell it.”

His index and middle fingers are so firm on either side of your clit, rolling circles around it without actually touching you properly. You sigh, back arching, but before you can actually enjoy it his hands are pulling away.

“Wait–” You gasp, your body crying out in protest as Gaz stops, pulling his hand back out of your pants.

Gaz just grunts, kisses your neck once more, then tugs your sweatpants down. You lift your hips up immediately, thoughtlessly, and then kick your sweats and knickers off impatiently. It’s a little embarrassing, especially when the cool air hits your slick, sticky thighs and you shiver.

“Oh god, fuck,” He groans, his plush lips dragging along the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. “You’ve ruined yourself, baby.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s true. The dry spell you’ve experienced since the breakup has been little more than a mild inconvenience for the most part, but now it feels like your body is charged like a live wire. It feels like you’ve never been touched before, and you squirm backwards in an attempt to get any kind of friction again.

“Kyle–” You start to complain, but you don’t get to finish because then Gaz is slotting his cock in between your thighs.

He groans, taking a breath as he shuffles his hips closer. His pretty, glistening cock is wedged between the soft pudge of your thighs, the head of it nudging against the wet folds of your cunt every time he twitches.

“Let me put the tip in, baby.” He says, his voice gruff and wanting in your ear. “Literally just the tip, that’s it, huh? It’s not like actual fucking, right?”

In this moment, you think you’d agree to anything to get his dick into you. You had been all kinds of wound up even before you had come home to find Gaz waiting for you, but it’s like your body had some kind of Pavlovian response to Gaz’s touch because now you’re practically panting for him.

He’s right, after all. It’s not really fucking. It means that you can maintain the flimsy thin pretence that this means nothing.

“Okay.” You manage to say, though it comes out humiliatingly breathy. “Yeah, okay, the tip–”

Gaz’s cock is pressing into you before you can even finish your sentence, bullying into the wet grasping tightness of your cunt and making you gasp. 

You’ve gone long enough without getting laid that there’s a slight sting as he presses into you, but it’s overshadowed by the breathless relief. God, you’d forgotten how fucking good his dick felt inside you. He knows just how to use it too, and you wheeze slightly as he rocks an inch inside before pulling back again.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” Gaz moans throatily, the vibration of it rumbling right down your spine. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

“Mph,” You manage to make a muffled sort of sound against the couch cushion your face is pressed against, your mouth hanging softly open as you pant for breath.

True to his word, Gaz just presses the first inch or so inside. You almost hold your breath, waiting for the rest to slide inside and split you open, but he doesn’t. He just rocks back and forth, just missing hitting the spot inside that makes your nerves sing.

You wish, stupidly, fervently, that just this once Gaz would go back on his word. That he’d abandon his promise to just stick that first inch of his cock inside, that he’d slam home and stretch you wide and let his cock brush against the nerves just a little deeper inside you. But that’s not Gaz’s style; you know he’s not going to give you any more unless you beg for it.

Gaz rocks his hips in teeny tiny movements, just enough to have you squirming in frustration. You’re so wet that you know he could slide deeper with ease if he only just tilted his hips right, but he remains doggedly steadfast in pumping just the barest inch into you, groaning with the effort it’s taking to stop himself plunging fully inside.

“Oh god,” He breathes, sounding wrecked in your ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

You don’t know how he can even say that when he’s barely even inside you, but no matter how much you wiggle and squirm, he just won’t slide any deeper.

“You’re such an asshole.” You slur out against the fabric of the couch, your cheek squished against the cushions. Your chin is a little wet – are you drooling?

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

“Mm.” He grunts, kissing the curve of your neck. “What’d I do this time?”

The fact that he has the gall to ask only irritates you further. You let out a quiet, grumbling noise, but his hand grips at your hip and stops you from writhing.

“Just… just put the rest of it in.” You say, craning your neck to try and look at him. 

Your eyes are wide and wet, pathetically teary. You’ve been craving intimacy like this for weeks now. Maybe longer, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever gotten from Gaz, and you wheeze as your body opens up under his touch. God, you don’t know how you thought anyone would ever be able to fuck you like Gaz does.

“Mm, you sure, baby?” He murmurs, nosing against the back of your skull. “Thought we were just cuddling.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You snap, your patience reaching the end of its tether.

He just laughs, a breathless sort of amused gasp, before snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement and seating his cock inside you. Though it’s what you had been demanding, the abruptness of it startles you and you yowl, your back arching.

“Sh, sh, shh, sorry, love.” Gaz pants, before sighing in wordless contentment as his broad chest curves around your back, his strong arm looping around your belly. “Oh, fuck. Missed this so much, you have no idea. I swear you were made for me, I couldn’t fit as well inside anyone else.”

“Just– just move.” You whine, a little plaintive. It’s humiliating how desperate you are, but there’s no turning back now. “Please, Kyle–”

Gaz pitches into movement instantly, as though he’s got something to prove. Or maybe he’s just worried that you’re going to change your mind. His hips pull back then snap forward again, and again. 

He’s so strong, his rhythm steady enough to rock you wildly back and forth on the lumpy couch cushions. You clutch at the fabric beneath you, gasping as his arm pulls you back and keeps you pinned against his hot, hard chest. 

“Oh.” You breathe, tilting your head back with a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into you from behind, the two of you plastered together like sardines in the tiny can that is your sitting room couch.

This is just what you needed, you think a little wildly. God, you’ve been craving physical touch like this for months, since the last time you had seen Gaz. It’s galling to admit that any other man is a poor substitute, unable to fill the void that your ex-boyfriend has left in your life.

“Kyle,” You whine, searching for something. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but Gaz is as patient with you as ever.

He just hums, leaning in over your shoulder and pressing hot, hungry kisses along your jawline where it’s exposed as you lean your head back. The arm that’s been wrapped around your belly coasts lower, until his big lovely hand is pressed against your cunt. His fingers search for your clit and find it easily, confident and familiar enough with your body that he barely even has to try to make you feel good. 

Gaz coos soothingly at you and rolls your clit between his fingers as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that lets him sink as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The living room is soon filled with wet slapping sounds from where Gaz is pounding into you from behind, the grunts and pants and moans that both of you make rapidly drowning out the stupid action sequence playing out on the television from the long forgotten film.

Unbelievably, you feel a sweet stirring in your lower belly already. It’s with a sense of tired resignation that you acknowledge you’re going to come on Gaz’s dick, despite your original intentions for the evening. Typical. 

But he’s not going to last either, judging by the strained moans in your ear.

“Shit,” He curses, and then his teeth sink into the side of your neck. You shudder, the feeling of him sucking a harsh hickey into your throat sending electric sparks racing through your nerves.

You think, judging from the desperate edge to Gaz’s humping into you from behind, that Gaz has been yearning in your absence in the same way you have for him. You’re biting on your lip hard in an effort to stifle the plaintive, wanting little moans that are threatening to spill over, but your attempts at quieting yourself are mostly unsuccessful. It makes you feel a little crazy, but Gaz doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the evidence that you want him too only seems to encourage him. 

Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck your hips back on Gaz’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the back of your neck. You clutch clumsily at the strong arm he has wrapped around your belly, crying out yourself as the head of his cock hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your toes curl as your head tips back, your skull neatly cradled in the space between Gaz’s head and the couch cushions as he peppers kisses along the side of your neck.

The wet slapping of your bodies colliding is obscene in the quiet of the room; the stupid film still playing does nothing to drown it out. Your body is as limp and relaxed as a doll, allowing him to fuck into you from behind in a frenzy. Right now, you can’t even recall why you ever would have tried to deny yourself this pleasure in the first place.

His hips clap against your ass, those wet sounds getting even louder and more obscene than ever. Gaz is viscerally pleased with the way your ass bounces every time he fucks into you, because he moans and picks up the pace as if he just wants to watch your glutes jiggle every time his hips slap against you. 

That familiar ball of tension starts tightening in your abdomen, your body winding up for a long-awaited and much needed release. It’s so typical that this orgasm feels like it’s going to be a big one too, as though your body needed Gaz to be there to guide you through it in order to achieve proper satisfaction.

But then, in a move so infuriating you almost burst into tears, Gaz pulls out and leaves you high and dry.

“No!” You blurt, and it comes out almost as a wail. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, baby.” Gaz says a little breathlessly. “Need you to turn over. Want to see you.”

As soon as you realise that he’s not trying to stop and that he’s just trying to reposition you, you’re quick to roll over so that you’re facing him. It seems like that’s exactly what he wanted, because he grins wide and reaches for your hips, eagerly pulling you closer.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes like warm caramelised honey as they track over your face. 

You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

You can’t help but think that you and Gaz are like feral little animals right now. You can barely keep your hands off each other; now that you’ve rolled over to face him, his hands are roaming over your hips and ass like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you by touch alone. 

Embarrassingly, you’re no better – you lunge forward to kiss him, taking advantage of your new position, and he kisses you back hungrily.

Lying sideways on the couch like this is cramped, but Gaz uses his hand on your ass to tug you closer. Then he reaches down, long fingers gripping at your thigh before he pulls it up so that your leg is hitched over his hip.

Oh no, You barely have time to think it before his cock is pressing into you again, the slide made easy this time. Too intimate!

The panicked thought is swiftly dispelled the moment Gaz starts moving again, because goddamn this position is so much better. It’s almost difficult to tell where Gaz ends and you begin, so intertwined are your bodies. Gaz barely even allows for an inch of space. He fucks into you almost as soon as he’s pulled back, making for a fast, frantic pace that barely even gives you a chance to breathe.

You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you rock your hips mindlessly into his rough, almost animalistic thrusts. Your leg hitched over his hip means that he’s grinding into you deep, deeper than you thought was possible. 

The way the two of you are fucking feels a little bit unhinged, rutting and humping your bodies together in search of mutual pleasure. It should be clumsy and graceless, yet somehow it feels good, as though your body remembers exactly how good Gaz has always treated you, as though your whole being is having a Pavlovian response to his touch. Pleasure burns in your gut, tight and hot, and you moan stupidly as Gaz pounds into you.

“Oh god.” You say without meaning to. The sound of your voice shocks you; you sound wrecked, as though you’ve been fucking for hours. It would have been embarrassing to reveal just how affected you were if Gaz wasn’t also clearly just as eager for it.

“Yeah,” He says, a hybrid of a groan and a gasp muffled against your lips as he clutches at your ass and drives into you wildly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You are too, you realise wildly. You’re struck by how quickly you’ve both gotten to this point. This whole encounter has been frenzied and feverish, as though the poorly stifled desire between you had turned explosive. 

Gaz kisses you again, and his teeth clack against yours slightly as he licks into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, and it sends a delicious throb of pleasure shooting through your belly. He’s acting so possessive that it’s making your head spin. It should definitely be sending warning bells ringing in your head, or red alarms flashing in your minds eye – it can’t be a good thing that your ex-boyfriend is currently fucking you on your couch like he’s trying to claim you. But you’re apparently a little stupid and very weak, and Gaz has always known how to fuck you dopey and thoughtless. Instead of worry, you get the edges of an orgasm beginning to fizz in your peripheral awareness.

Your pussy must flutter or tighten around him as that lovely sweet promise of release edges closer, because Gaz moans in anticipation and his eager thrusts take on an edge of purpose. You almost protest when he breaks off the kiss, but then you realise that he just wants to be able to focus on keeping his rhythm steady. It’s frenzied and hot, and you swear the air itself is crackling as he kisses sloppily at your neck and fucks you hard.

“Love you,” He slurs in your ear, breathless. “Love you so much, baby.”

His thrusts turn more shallow and far more forceful the closer he gets. Little moans and whines escape his lips between kisses, the sounds ratcheting up in intensity as the two of you rut together.

“Tell me you love me,” He pleads, “Please— tell me you fuckin’ love me, baby. I know you do. I know you—”

You shouldn’t say it. You can’t say it. Yet his cock is fucking you sloppy and stupid, and your mouth moves before you even register that you’re speaking.

“Love you too,” You whimper like a pathetic little idiot, revelling in the exquisite feeling of him grinding against your g-spot just right. It feels so good, you know you’re so, so close to orgasm.

The ache in your abdomen persists— you clench tightly around his cock, your body straining as the muscles in your core clench, trying so hard to push yourself closer to the orgasm you know is coming. You’re so close, so so close— it burns, aches, drives you mad. All you can do is mewl, wrapping your arms around his muscled shoulders as he pounds into you despite the awkward angle.

You can feel your clit throbbing, pulsing, your entire body trying so goddamn hard to climax that you feel like you’re about to cry. You’re burning beneath your skin and all you want to do is gnash your teeth into the elegant line of Gaz’s throat, to leave some kind of indelible mark on his lovely smooth skin.

“Please, please, please— yes, fuck— oh, Kyle,” Your words come out on the breath of an uneven gasp, stuttering with each movement of his hips, perfectly synchronized. 

His voice is low and hot in your ear as he pants, “Let me come inside you, baby�� let me, please— fuck.”  

You should say no. Every logical part of you knows that you should tell him to pull out, and yet the wires are crossed when it comes to your actual response. Your leg tightens around his waist, heart seizing in protest at the idea of him pulling out.

“Yes.” You gasp, continuing your streak of impulsive decision-making. Your own hips twitch forward in weak little humps in an effort to fuck yourself onto his cock, your clit grinding against the dark curls at his pubic bone. “Yes, inside, please–”

Your breathy, eager permission seems to give him a burst of energy. He picks up the pace, his body curving into you as his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. It feels as though your entire world has been narrowed down to Gaz, his broad shoulders blocking out your view of the rest of the room. You cling to him, breathless and messy as you whimper like a loser, your body trembling from the toe-curling zings of pleasure that keep shooting up your spine.

“Oh, oh.. Kyle, please–” You practically sob, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders. “Love you, love you, oh my god, I’m gonna come–”

Gaz grunts, obviously eager as his movements grow thoughtful and determined. He knows exactly what you want, what you need at this moment. His abdominal muscles tense and flex with every calculated, deliberate thrust. There is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside you – not that you want to escape so much as a second of it, of course.

“That’s my girl, always so fucking perfect.” He snarls as your body eagerly takes every dirty roll of his hips, palming at your thigh where it’s hitched over his hip. “Fuckin’ Christ, I’ve been dreaming of your cunt for fucking months, never wanted anything else–”

It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those bizarre, lust-crazed possessive words are what drag you trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving you unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.

Gaz fucks you like a damn machine; he gives you long, deep strokes over and over as you’re falling apart. Your body seizes around the hot flesh of Gaz’s cock, your mind going white as your cunt spasms, your hole clamping down and pulsing with every desperate, loud moan torn from your mouth. 

You feel like a sloppy little slut, your hips jerking towards him instead of away even as your orgasm washes through you and leaves your body tender and oversensitive. It feels so damn good to feel your mind washing blank and clear, not a single thought taking hold. 

When the toe-curling height of pleasure subsides, you find your nerves frayed and hyper-sensitive. A plaintive whine breaks out of your throat as Gaz keeps fucking you, beginning to thrust up frantically into your twitching pussy. Your body falls limp as Gaz bounces your pliable, warm body up and down his cock as he groans into your ear.

It’s like the rhythmic tightening of your drooling, creaming cunt has him losing his mind, because he grabs the meat of your hips and begins jerking your limp body back towards him. The slap slap slap! of the impact is so loud that every slap makes your breath catch.

“Fuck. I'm—” Your hands slap clumsily at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Kyle. Kyle—" It’s just your voice, hoarse, breathless, and Gaz bearing down on you, the sound of your bodies somehow growing sloppier, messier as he fucks you and it’s uncompromising, just skirting the edge of painfully overwhelming—

He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the curve of your neck as he lets out a long, desperate moan. It’s a drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and then you feel him inside you, spilling red hot and wet. Your own orgasm still isn’t fully finished, rolling leisurely through you in little aftershocks, your body still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.

He holds on to you throughout, as if he’s worried he’ll blow away into the wind without anchoring himself to you. His hips slow, but don’t fully stop. He rolls his hips into you slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world as he shivers in his come down. You blink, waiting for the colour to bleed back into your vision and for the ringing in your ears to stop, and for the first time all night you’re not thinking about anything at all.

“Please, Kyle.” You slur out stupidly. You have no idea what you’re even asking for; there’s just some vague, barely formed desperation floating around your painfully blank mind as you search for something.

“Mm.” Gaz hums. It feels like he’s everywhere, his broad chest filling up your sight and enveloping you. His hands roam over your body: the backs of your thighs, squeezing as his hands drift over your ass, up and down your back, your neck, his fingers catching around the thin strands of hair and the back of your neck, until finally he settles his fingers on your cheeks.

His palms stay there, just cupping your cheeks as the two of you struggle to regulate your breathing and regain your composure. That antsy sense of desperation eases a little when he leans in to nuzzle fondly at your face, dropping sweet little kisses along your cheeks and nose.

Gaz’s chest rumbles with a low, lovely laugh, his voice gravelly from his climax. “You’re overflowing, sweetheart.”

You let out a careless little sigh, before relaxing experimentally. You can feel a gush of warm seed begin to ooze out around Gaz’s cock, spilling out of your entrance and coating his balls. You wriggle lazily, cunt still pulsing as your wildly beating heart gradually slows to a lazy flutter.

You think you should probably be panicking now. You’ve just fucked your ex, told him you loved him, then let him come inside. With no condom. God, you’re stupid. But the wave of horror you’re expecting never comes. You feel too floaty to care; you suspect if it was anyone other than Gaz, the mortification would have knocked into you like a sledgehammer. 

“You’re gonna get cum on the couch.” You complain, the words coming out clumsy on your tongue.

Gaz just snorts. He makes no effort to pull out, and you have no desire to push him away. The intimacy of your sweat-slick skin pressed together is enough to take your breath away, and it’s only further compounded by the sensation of his cock gradually softening inside you.

“I’ll get it cleaned, love.” He drawls lazily, leaning in to kiss your swollen lips. “Or pay for a new one. Whichever you want.”

When you kiss him back he sighs fondly, one thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You’re still limp in his arms, boneless and spent as you wriggle greedily into his arms. His cock is still lodged inside you, and you’re sure he must be getting uncomfortably sensitive but to your relief he just moans in quiet appreciation when you try to worm your way closer.

“You made a mess.” You mumble against his lips. 

You’re being a little unfair, considering your own slick is coating your thighs and Gaz’s lower belly, but Gaz has always rolled with even the most unreasonable attitude you’ve thrown his way. So he just chuckles, and you feel a little insane as you wonder if anyone else would ever be as patient with you.

“Think we both did, doll.” He murmurs fondly. He leans in and catches your lips with his again, kissing you slowly with a lazy, lewdly open mouth. One hand curls against the nape of your neck, the other hand reaching up beneath your sweater and curling possessively against your left tit, sweeping over your sluggish, sated heartbeat.

You feel practically brainless after your orgasm, relaxed and loose in Gaz’s arms. There’s something to be said for how safe you feel with him, as much as you’d like to deny it, but reality is starting to slowly sink in.

You pull away from his mouth to try and collect yourself, unable to think when he’s kissing you like that. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s slow, but you’re finally starting to think again. “We shouldn’t– we should have used a condom.”

Gaz’s eyes are lidded with fond amusement as he watches you quietly. His hand kneads at your breast absent-mindedly, as though he’s forgotten that he’s groping at you. 

“Don’t overthink it,” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “I saw your box of pills in the bathroom. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but you.”

You tremble a little at his admission, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You feel like you’re losing your mind. Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together.

Gaz misinterprets whatever expression is on your face, thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek again. “We can get you a morning-after pill, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You don’t bother correcting him. You’re not that fussed over the morning-after pill – you’re careful when it comes to your birth control, and Gaz had always cum inside you when you were together. The weight of his cock inside you is comforting almost, the wet slide of his cum dripping out of you makes you feel as though you’d never been apart in the first place. You wonder how you could ever have been thick enough to think that someone else could fill Gaz’s place in your life.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gaz’s lips twitch. “That pillock you brought home would’ve been such a disappointment, darling.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, exasperated. 

“You don’t know that.��� You grumble, though you don’t pull away. You’re still all curled up against his chest, skin still slick and sticky from rapidly cooling sweat, your leg still slung over Gaz’s hip to keep his now-soft cock nestled inside you.

“Sure I do.” He says, and that cocky arrogance that both drives you mad and makes you swoon is rearing its head. He reaches down, and his thick fingers roll over your much-too-sensitive clit. “She missed me, gorgeous. Don’t think she would have liked some strange tosser pounding away at her with no idea how to please her.”

The way he talks about your pussy as though it has its own thoughts and feelings has you rolling your eyes again, though your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To your immense irritation, you think he might have a point. You haven’t come that hard in months, not since the breakup.

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

He snickers, and then shifts. It takes you a moment to realise that he’s pulling his hips back preparing to pull out. Your brain stalls, and you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders in protest. You’re not ready to feel the invasive, aching emptiness that will no doubt throb through your core as soon as he’s not filling you up. 

“Stay.” You say, and it comes out as an embarrassingly breathy little plea.

Gaz goes practically limp, as though your hoarse request had taken the wind right out of him. You’re not expecting the way he brings both arms around your waist before rolling over onto his back, hauling you up to lay over his chest. His cock remains firmly lodged inside you, though the movement has resulted in his white creamy spend leaking out onto your inner thighs.

“Not going nowhere.” He mumbles, one hand stroking over your flank to soothe you. “I’m on leave for at least a month.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Gaz hums. He must sense that this is a delicate moment, because he doesn’t make any ribald jokes about having all month to fuck you like you’re expecting him to. He just presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering gently.

Usually, you’d probably be a little embarrassed by how clingy you’re being. You had been so damn determined not to fall into bed with Gaz after the breakup, but you’re so, so weak. His stupid honey brown eyes and gorgeous dimples and crooked grin is enough to send you to your knees. You rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you close; at least like this, you can’t see his stupid handsome face.

He’s obviously pleased with the way you’re snuggling into him, because his chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He’s holding you tight like he thinks you’re going to slip away the moment he blinks.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You don’t answer immediately. There’s no way to brush this under the carpet, or to go back to pretending at detached disinterest. If you had wanted to play this off as just a bit of stress relief, then you should have rolled away from him the second he’d spilled inside of you rather than cuddling with him on the couch. There’s no way that you can claim that this was just a case of needing to get laid; you’re still clutching at him like a limpet, the two of you intertwined so tight that it’s difficult to tell when your limbs end and Gaz’s begin.

“I’m tired.” You sigh eventually, sidestepping the conversation that you know you’ll have to deal with eventually.

No doubt Gaz notices your not particularly subtle avoidance, but he doesn’t comment. He seems quite happy to indulge your every whim; he probably wants to avoid the this-was-a-mistake-and-we-need-to-maintain-boundaries conversation even more than you do.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” He murmurs, and then he surprises you by sitting up. You’re still laid out across his chest, which means that when he shimmies up into a sitting position, you end up sitting sprawled in his lap.

You’re still speared a little awkwardly on his soft cock, the sensation of him inside you making your eyelids flutter a little. You feel satisfied, your muscles still watery and weak, and you sigh a little mournfully when Gaz finally pulls his cock out of you. You ache, a deep throb that both stokes and settles you. It’s like a comfortable little reminder that Gaz was here, and that he left his mark on you.

You can feel the way he leans back just to get a glimpse of his spend trickling down the inside of your thigh. You pout and bury your face into his throat, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders still as you try to hide your sudden self-consciousness.

But Gaz isn’t interested in giving you a moment to hide. You feel the edge of his teeth ghost the shell of your ear before he speaks, just low enough to make you shiver.

“Let me take you out tomorrow, sweetheart.” He says, and beneath his usual cocky countenance you hear the edge of a plea. “I’ll make up for ruining your date tonight. You can wear that little dress from earlier for me again.”

You feel exposed, stripped bare as you perch in Gaz’s lap. His hand strokes evenly over your spine, waiting patiently for your response.

“I want a fancy dinner.” You mumble, your fingers curling around his shoulders. “At a nice restaurant.”

You hear a shaky little exhale, and Gaz’s arms tighten around your waist. It strikes you that he’s relieved, and you feel your heart tremble in response. The knowledge that he wants you still is enough to have your own lungs seizing in response; you can’t quite bear to wonder if you’ve been wasting time for these past few months that you’ve been broken up. 

“Whatever you want.” He says it like a prayer, tilting his head in search of your lips again.

The kiss is easy, the months that you’ve been apart dissolving into nothing. You’re a little too stubborn to give in entirely and beg for him back just yet though, but you doubt it matters. You’ve already admitted your weakness for him in the middle of shagging, and you’re not stupid enough to hope that he’s somehow forgotten it. You’ve been trying so hard to shove all those feelings down deep, but you’re not too surprised that they’ve all come bubbling out. He’s got a month of leave. You have no doubt that he’s going to use that time to change your mind. You find that you don’t mind the idea as much as you thought you might; you suspect that you can be swayed all too easily.

You peek up at him, only to come face to face with his sweet, hopeful deep brown eyes. He’s not pushing, but you can see the weight of desire and yearning in every inch of his face. No doubt it’s mirrored on your own. You don’t think you could ever look into his pretty face and deny him anything.

You hum, then whisper the only answer you could ever give.

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

[trashmakerarticle]

Y’all think about those rare times when Batman talks about his sons before they were introduced to the justice league he talks bout his ‘babies’

Batman: ahh yes nightwing, he’s my little boy. Always is full of energy. I love him. He’s just a happy little boy. In fact I have called him here and there he is, my little boy, a bundle of joy he is.

Nightwing: *a fully grown man and almost the size of Batman himself* hey guys :D

JL: that’s not a little boy???

Batman: *pointing to red hood* this is my baby, he’s just a precious baby and I love him so, he is fragile so please don’t make contact. He’s so cute and precious, he’s my precious baby boy.

Redhood: *a 6’2 man, absolutely covered in guns and is the size (if not slightly bigger) then Batman himself, glaring at all of them* don’t talk shit b

Batman: language.

JL: THATS NOT A BABY BOY???

Batman: this is my other son, he is my little genius. He’s so full of innocence and so pure, I love him dearly. Don’t be fooled by that stare, he’s so full of love he can hardly contain it. In fact he is friend shape.

Red robin: *staring down the JL with his Batman glare, already in a fighting stance* I will not hesitate

JL: I do not feel safe

Batman: this is robin, my son. He is very nice, though he might pick at you slightly, he is harmless. He can be prickly be warned but overall he is such a lovely baby and I love him so much

Robin: *gripping his swords, glaring at them ready to fight*

JL: oh my god we’re gonna die

[beloveds-embrace]

can we get Duchess reader yearning for a baby of her own 🥺 imagine there was a Ball in the neighboring kingdom and Duchess!Reader and Duke!Price was invited, celebrating the birth of the Kingdom’s new heir, a baby boy on her fellow Duchess’s arms.

And reader coos at the baby while masking the deep ache in her heart thinking that it’ll be so impossible to have a baby with her husband due to him and his lovers 😢

cue to Duchess!Reader having a heavy heart through out the entire event and even the days after that, until one of our boys asks her what wrong.

(And John having to hold Johnny back bc that nasty dog has been waiting to get his paws on her since forever)

Oh my god yes??? Anon i could smooch your brain right now yes??? This is so good i love it. Sorry for the abrupt ending though, had no idea how to finish it off 😔

Original Post

“Such an adorable little one,” you coo softly, the newborn held delicately and carefully in your arms, swaddled in the baby blue blankets you and John had bought among your other gifts for your fellow Duke and Duchess. “He looks so much like you, I’m in awe.”

Your friend laughs lightly, sipping on her drink. With a soft sigh, she leans closer towards you. The party is in full swing, so many other nobles mingling and networking, but thankfully you and your friend have your own little corner for now and everyone has already congratulated her and her husband.

“So,” she begins, her eyes flickering towards where both of you two’s husbands are speaking. The smiles on their faces are clearly happy, though you aren’t surprised; John had mentioned that he’s already friends with the Duke during the carriage ride. “So. What about you and Duke Price, hm? Any surprises we should prepare for?”

Ah. You had been dreading this.

You sigh, shaking your head. Though the smile returns as you gaze at the napping baby, so small and precious in your arms. With you friend’s permission, you gently kiss his tiny little fists. “Not at all. We are happy as we are.”

And it’s not as if you are lying by any means, oh no. You are happy. Life as Duchess was far, far much better than you had expected it’d be, a lot less restrictive than you had prepared for it to be.

But…

You can’t lie to yourself. You’ve been feeling a sense of discontent from the very second you stepped into the gala venue. Perhaps for even longer, though it hadn’t been especially felt until this moment. Not until you held this baby in your arms.

You want a baby, too, you had realized. Motherhood. A child all yours, calling you momma and toddling into your arms. You had been unable to stop yourself from feeling the little bud of jealousy towards your friend, because you knew you’d likely never experience such a thing due to your unique situation.

John has his own partners whom he loves. You weren’t among that list, and you didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of having sex with another man with the potential risk of your parents, or anyone else, asking for a paternity test because you know someone would ask. Your mother, probably; she was always warning you not to whore yourself out, and your father didn’t even need to say anything-

“My dear?”

John’s concerned voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hand gentle on your elbow, and it’s only then you realize you had been staring down at the baby with such sadness, so not befitting of such a beautiful gala. So you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, and turn to him and your friend's husband.

When the baby squirms, you coo softly and hand him back to your friends, gentle and careful. That's when you turn to John, giving him a simple smile. "Yes, Your Grace?"

The worry remains on his face, less visible however, and his eyes look over you carefully. Your friends are too busy with their son and showing him off to care about what you two are saying in the corner he’s led you to. "Are you alright?”

As if you’d ever tell him what the issue is. You don’t want to make John feel pressured into this, of all things. You’d rather be divorced than do so, and that should speak volumes on its own.

It’s a silly want, anyways. You have everything you could possible need right now, married and stable. You aren’t about to ruin it with your own two hands.

So you nod your head, and brush away all thoughts of a little baby cradled in your arms. “Yes, I am. I was just lost in thought. Shall we return to the party?”

John observes you for a few seconds more, and then he sighs and nods. “Very well. Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear Duchess?”

Between the dazzling lights and John’s arms, you can almost forget the lingering desire.

But over the next few days after the gala, it becomes clear to John- to all your the men that something is terribly bothering you. There is a lingering sadness around you so profound even your maids have sensed it, wondering if perhaps you and the Duke have finally had your first fight… but he looks even more more worried and confused than them. You weren’t mad at anyone, that much he could tell, but he didn’t understand the heartache plaguing you.

“…are you sick, my lady?” Kyle asks you one day, placing down a tray of fresh desserts. Your favorites, all made by Johnny himself, yet you barely flick a look towards it.

“Not at all. Thank you, Kyle, but I’m afraid I can’t eat anything at the moment.” Your reply is soft, patient, as it always is, but the furrow in your brows remain and your frown deepens. Kyle hates it. He hates it so, so much. You’ve even stopped taking your usual break-walks, staying inside your room and asking for nothing in particular.

“My lady,” he presses on, voice softer. Comes to stand close to you, and holds his elbow out. “Maybe a walk, then? You look tired. Some sun might do you good- or a picnic? I can pack the desserts and-”

You avoid his eyes and look away, shaking your head. “Thank you, but my answer’s the same, Kyle. I’d just… like to be left alone, please. Could I trouble you to also inform John I won’t be joining him for dinner tonight?”

You are simply glad you managed to hide the little paper you’d been writing on before he came in. Baby names, for the babies you’d never have. It certainly didn’t help make your mood better, but you couldn’t help yourself. Looking at John, or any of them, also made you feel guilty anew.

“…not a problem, my lady. I’ll leave the desserts here for you just in case.”

Several days later, it’s Johnny who comes to you. You are alone in the conservatory, trying hard to get over this stupid, lingering feeling. It’s silly, you know it is, but… ugh.

Johnny says nothing even when you call his name out with a questioning tone, and much to your shock, he kneels down to take your hands in his. It’s so wholly inappropriate, and you look around in fear of anyone seeing.

“No one’s around, m’lady,” Johnny shakes his head, not letting your hands go yet.

“Johnny-“

“No one’s around.” He repeats, firmly, and his eyes gaze at you. “M’lady. Have we made ye angry? Has anyone made you upset? Is my food not to your liking?”

“Johnny…” you sigh, shaking your head. Inwardly, you scold yourself for bothering everyone like this. This should have been your issue alone to solve and hide. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just need some time alone, in general.”

“But why-“

“No particular reason.” You quickly cut him off, gently pulling your hands away. “Please, Johnny. I’ll get better soon, promise. But I just… need time.”

But the desire, the longing, still remains. You can’t even confide in anyone, so you also feel painfully lonely on top of everything else. John is still searching, still trying to find what or who’s made you like this, but not even your closest maids are of help.

Still, while you wished to wallow your misery away in your rooms and office, you didn’t have much choice when you’d received an invitation to the opera troupe funded by the Price duchy; making an appearance was a must, and unfortunately John had a very important meeting that day so Simon is the one to accompany you.

“You’ve been sad lately.” Simon doesn’t beat around the bush, all the lights focused on the stage so you are both draped in shadows, hidden from sight.

You turn to him, a refusal on your lips already-

“No.” He shakes his head. “You aren’t just tired, Duchess. You are sad. Everyone can see it, and it’s making us worried. All of us.” He adds, not letting you latch onto your usual excuse. Performance ignored, his entire attention is on you.

And you are just- too tired. Ashamed of yourself, you sigh.

“It’s awful of me…” your whisper, bottom lip quivering. “I-… I want a baby, Simon.” You admit, so softly and quietly you don’t look at his reaction to see if he’d even heard you in the first place. You shouldn’t be telling him of all people your issues, but- you can’t help yourself. “A child. I want to experience motherhood, but- I don’t, I refuse to put such a burden on John, or get in the way between all of you again-“

You ramble on, not meeting his eyes. Your hands are tembling around the mask you’d taken off, holding it in your lap.

Simon?

Simon can’t take his eyes off your stomach. You. You, pregnant; swollen and glowing with a child. Maybe children, even. Their children. His. He can’t believe this is what has had you so upset for so long; did you think they- John- would say no to you?

“Darling, ” The nickname slips out; he couldn’t help himself. He is glad the no one is paying attention to them, in the higher rows. Simon laces your pinkies together, raising your hand to kiss your knuckles, silencing your worried rambling. “Darling. Let us return home. Staying here isn’t doing you any good. Tonight, I want you to let Kyle spoil you with a warm bath, and for you to eat and then sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll speak. I’ll inform the troupe leader you weren’t feeling too well.”

“I- I… speak about what? What?”

Simon simply ushers you out, to the awaiting carriage. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, even when you pout and the it makes your lipstick glisten to prettily, though if you can feel that his hands are inappropriately tight around your waist, you simply blame it on your tightened corset.

At home, you are still confused. Simon is acting off, staring at you with a look that makes you all flustered, but you don’t protest when Kyle gently leads you away.

You’ll get your answers tomorrow, you are sure. But in the meantime…

“She wants a baby, John,” Simon groans, repeating the words again. His jacket is thrown off to the side, sleeves rolled up his elbows. Even from here, he can see how John eyes them appreciatively. “A baby, John. Seeing her pregnant-“

Another groan, but the one comes from between John’s thighs. Johnny, hands tied behind his back with Simon’s belt because the second he found out what the issue he was so, so ready to go and beg you to let him fix it. A bairn is what you want, a bairn is what he’ll give you- chunky, adorable, and hopefully looking like you.

John had to hold him back, though. He wants nothing more than to do the same, kiss you breathless and promise he’ll give you as many as you want, but he also knows you need a clear, rested head before he speaks with you.

The thought of seeing your pregnant, though, has his fist tightening in Johnny’s hair.

“I know. Fuck, I know, Si. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to her.”

[manofmanymons]

ramble

[seiwas]

omg im scared my tags are gonna get cut out

were he not born to be a hero he must surely be born for this. <- I LOOOOVE THISS my GODD are u KIDDDDINGME i looooove that so much monty :(( how it ties back in to the start!!

and the way!! he uses what he learned on izuku. and izuku really DID burst into a million tears 🥺 poor guy probs needs it THE MOST WAAAH i loooove this lil interaction i am MUSH

and when he realises its different from touching you??? OHHHH. BOYYYYYY.

i love this monty thank u for writing this

STEADY BEGINNINGS ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, developing relationship (eventual friends to lovers), touch starved shouto, physical affection (hand holding + long hugs), good god the yearning, obliviousness, jealousy, fluff + angst, pro hero shouto, reader works at hero agency

wc: 3.8K

series masterlist: 2/5

Shouto was born to be a hero.

It is a sentiment shared by reporters and fans alike. Todoroki Shouto, the pride of Endeavor, the saving grace of his family name. True, his development had been entirely up to chance—no matter the intent or cruel desperation behind his father’s actions, he had to rely on the probability that the next offspring would win the genetic lottery—but low and behold, he did, and to many people that alone was a sign of destiny at work.

Ultimately, he chose to continue the path of being a hero himself, but no higher being put him there. His father did. At the time of his birth Shouto had not been a son, not even a baby. He was a project. A small, shapeless, squirmy thing. Malleable, like any young mind. It’s a miracle he retained any will and individuality.

Sometimes when alone with his thoughts, Shouto would hypothesise on the whys and the hows. The conclusion he always comes to is this: any sort of reality in which Shouto succumbs to his father’s ideals and manipulation would have to be a world in which his mother does not exist.

While his existence was planned, and wanted, he was to be a hero and as such, wasn’t cut from love—that came after. He loved his mother. So much so that when she hurt, he hurt. When she cried, he cried. She taught him what it meant to be gentle, to have hope, to aspire to be his own person. Years spent amongst the country's finest heroes and Shouto still regarded his mother as the bravest woman he knew, strong because she refused to be hardened by her circumstances; soft so that she can’t be broken again.

You are like his mother in that regard. Those same echoes of reassurance that softness isn’t weakness, and it isn’t earned. You’ve been touching him more as of late, as if determined to prove it. Static between brushed fingertips, words expressed by simply pressing your knees together, the weight of your hand on his bicep to garner his attention. The build up is subtle and cumulative and yet each instance strikes him with the magnitude of a thermodynamic explosion.

Nobody bats an eyelid to this shift in physicality, which makes it all the more difficult to determine whether he is reading into things or not. It could be that he’s noticing those small instances only because it’s you, and you are all he can think about lately.

You’ve given him permission to reciprocate. He merely has to ask for more if he wants it. What Shouto hadn’t accounted for is the unbearability of being vulnerable enough to ask. An innocent “can you hug me?” becomes so much more daunting to voice with all that longing crowded up behind it. He can’t help worrying you’ll see right through to the bottom of his desires.

A hand comes into view. Bakugo’s ash-smudged finger and thumb pinch and snap together in front of his face. “Come back to Earth, dumbass. Your thousand yard stare is scarin’ my new assistant”.

Shouto blinks out of his stupor and the blurred vignette surrounding his vision recedes. He glances at the skittish man sitting outside Bakugo’s office currently sending worried glances over his shoulder. “I think he’s more scared that you’re back,” Shouto intones dryly. “Isn’t he the fourth one this year?”

“Not my fault they’re all wimps,” Bakugo huffs. A slap reverberates around the office as he throws down a manila folder onto his desk and drops heavily into his chair. He regards Shouto with suspicion overtop his computer monitor. “Whatever you were just thinkin’ about—stop”.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking about”.

“I know you always manage to make Olympic level leaps in logic,” Bakugo rolls his eyes and tears open the folder. He slides out what Shouto assumes is a debrief and flips it between his fingers. Shouto keeps quiet. He reclines into the couch cushions and returns to reading the incident report on his lap, counting down from ten in the privacy of his mind. Anytime now.

Three, two, one.

“So what is it?” Bakugo asks, trying too hard to sound flippant but landing squarely on irritation. “Spit it out before you give yourself an aneurysm”.

Shouto opens his mouth and closes it again. A wave of hot embarrassment washes over him. He knows Bakugo will do him the kindness of being blunt and honest but it doesn’t make it any less humiliating to admit.

In their younger years Shouto saw something of a kindred spirit in Bakugo. He too did not like touch and aggressively voiced his distaste for it whenever he got the chance—which was often, because divine intervention sought fit to give him the most tactile, handsy friend group possible.

As they got older though, Shouto began to realise that the protests and threats were hollow. Despite being vehemently against affection, Bakugo would allow it anyway, and sometimes even seek it out. The aggression was bravado. Bakugo liked having his friends draped around his shoulders. He liked when Mina kissed his cheek, or Kaminari played with his hair, or Kirishima gathered him into a too-tight hug, or Sero tangled their ankles together on the couch.

Only, for him to comfortably accept it, Bakugo needed to act as though he were doing them a favour by allowing them into his space. And Bakugo’s friends played along without complaint.

From what he’s observed you are also an affectionate person. You are liberal with your warmth and adapt seamlessly to the boundaries of those around you. But you were also visibly uncomfortable whenever people took that affinity for intimacy as an open invitation, and recoiled if they encroached on your own.

Shouto has imagined reaching out only for your body to flinch away from him more times than he can count. It’s a battle staged in his head, ingrown fears. The possibility alone was enough to keep him from reciprocating, set in a state of fawn-like inertia.

“There’s somebody I want to get closer to. A friend,” he begins. Bakugo makes an inquisitive noise, props his cheek against his fist and narrows his eyes as he listens. Shouto retells the story in part, deciding to omit your name, and by the tail-end of it Bakugo’s forehead is deeply creased in dissatisfaction.

“You make all your own problems, Halfie. Y’know that?” he mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and sinking back into his chair. “Fine, you don’t want to make this person uncomfortable, or whatever. If you need a hug so damn badly, why not ask Deku? Not like he’d say no”.

Knowing Bakugo would make his dilemma sound ridiculous is one thing, actually hearing it is another. “How do you know it isn’t about Midoriya,” Shouto returns petulantly.

“It ain’t Izuku or anyone else from your nerd squad,” Bakugo says, dropping his hand to drum on the desk. “I would’ve heard about it”.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t touch people. And that’s fuckin’ fine, yeah? But if you had, I know for a fact any one of them would’ve burst into tears and told everyone in a five mile radius”.

“Oh,” it leaves him a little off-kilter to hear. Shouto leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, setting the report on the dark wood coffee table. The corner of the page is curled, and the spine is creased, and the ink annotation has smudged under his thumb. He details these things as he deliberates, the excuses cloying in his throat and thick like he might cry too.

Bakugo was right—if he craved close contact so badly, why couldn’t he go to Midoriya? He knows he would likely be met with enthusiasm.

“You don't have to tell me who. I don’t care. But you’re overthinking it,” Bakugo grunts at his lack of response, in a way that very much suggests that he cares. “Go ask. If they say ‘no’ it’s tough shit, but the world isn’t gonna end. From what you’ve told me they wouldn’t say ‘no’ anyway. Dumbass”.

Shouto nods and gives up the pretense of reading the paperwork. He feels coltish as he stands and brushes down his front, straightening the creases.

“You’re right”.

“I know”.

“Thank you, Bakugo,” he says. A small smile unfurls across his anxiety-bitten mouth. “You’re a good friend”.

“Shut up,” Bakugo grumbles. It’s a testament to his concern that he hadn’t cursed Shouto there and then. “Now get out of my office. What are you doing here in the first place? You got your own!”

“Yours gets all the sunlight. And it’s always quiet because nobody comes in here,” Shouto ignores the baleful slit of an eye Bakugo turns on him. “I’m going to take my lunch now”.

“Do what you want,” Bakugo dismisses haughtily, and Shouto smiles while thinking, not for the first time, that he’s very lucky to have friends like these.

The fidgety assistant bows as he exits and turns into the sun-drenched hallway. Warmth drapes around Shouto’s shoulders, lingering at his nape while he descends the dark stairwell where the light doesn’t reach. His boots thud against the linoleum, and he counts each footfall to keep his face neutral as his legs carry him toward your department.

Somewhere between one and one hundred and thirteen, a fraction of Shouto’s courage starts to dwindle. He grits his teeth. A hundred steps can’t be enough to dissuade him after decades of denying himself any kind of indulgence.

The further he goes into the support wing the more elaborate the layout becomes. You’re in research and development, assigned a workshop close to the quirk analysts. Heads turn as Shouto rolls through. Heroes didn’t often make personal visits to this area. If he thinks hard enough he could count a grand number of two past visits and neither of them were for you.

His stride falters when he catches sight of your nameplate. It is fixed to the wall outside your door, polished and gleaming proudly. Shouto traces the characters of your name engraved into steel before raising his hand to knock.

Your voice rings out from inside, “Come in!”

A pitched beeping sound comes from overhead. The workshop doors begin to open in a theatrical fashion, receding like curtains to reveal your space. The floor is mapped out with tape. Clear boundaries drawn between the work benches, the fume cupboards, the vault and your personal office, in an attempt at organised chaos. He might have been more interested in poking around for the first time if he had not felt on the edge of intrusion.

You’re tucked behind your curved desk surrounded by numerous monitors that dwarf your frame. Shouto furtively takes in your cute, rumpled appearance. The upper half of your coveralls have been undone to reveal an undervest, sleeves tied tight around and accentuating your waist.

“Take a seat, I’ll be with you in…” the dull tapping of practiced keystrokes comes to a stop as you notice him in the doorway. The professional veneer disappears. “Shouto?” you say, mostly to yourself. Your gaze slides beyond his shoulder, looking for whoever might be accompanying him. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a worried twist in your mouth that he wants to smudge away. A look in your eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugged at his being. Shouto rolls his shoulders, shaking off the tension, and moving deeper into your office. The doors close automatically behind him. “I’m okay,” he assures, taking the seat across from you.

Your expression gentles, and he likes how your gaze follows him. “I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me,” he continues. “But if you’re working I can head back”.

“Lunch?” you repeated. Your eyes darted to the corner of the monitor closest to you and promptly widened. “Oh, shit. When did that happen?”

An upswing of fondness catches him like a blow to the chest. His mouth quirks into a smirk. “How long have you been here?”

“Too long. I got lumped with a new project a few days ago and it’s almost done,” the monitors shut off one by one as you sheepishly press each button. Then you gave him a soft, apologetic look, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Must’ve missed me if you came all the way down here”.

Dread shriked through him. The low whirring from the equipment scattered around your workspace is suddenly inordinately loud. Was he that obvious?

You, however, fail to notice Shouto’s anxiety and grab him around the wrist as you pivot the desk. “C’mon. Let’s go before the good stuff is gone,” you tell him.

Shouto had absolutely no clue what the ‘good stuff’ entailed—maybe he should’ve bothered to ask. Atleast it would take his mind off your hand. It’s wrapped around his sleeve, right where the fabric ends, loose enough for him to unshackle from if he wants. When he doesn’t protest the contact you stroke your thumb in an arc over the heel of his hand and squeeze.

Shouto falls into step, too caught up to realise you’ve taken him to the cafeteria. He expects you’ll drop his wrist in the presence of your colleagues, yet you adjust your grip and glance back at him with an encouraging tilt of your head.

“I’m starving. I think I’ll get a rice bowl. Smells pretty good today, don’t you think?”

Shouto hummed his agreement. He felt out of his depth, and he didn’t trust his voice. The spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to his throat. The line is mercifully short and before long he has a warm bowl of food held against his front.

“Did you want to sit in here? I can take us to one of the senior staff lounges instead if you want,” you cast a nervous look across the sparse crowd. “I mean, support engineers aren’t really gossiping types but…”

A petty part of him hoped the whispers would escalate. To have your name linked with his, to be known as a person that you cared about—he found that deeply satisfying, for reasons he couldn’t yet put his finger on.

Then again, being alone with you far eclipsed the appeal of flaunting your friendship. “The senior staff lounge sounds best,” he answers after a minute of feigned consideration. You nod, regretfully having dropped his hand, and motion for him to follow once more.

The lounge is a modest room with a kitchenette, a breakfast nook and a few bean bag chairs. It smells faintly like peeled oranges. There are post it notes and blueprints haphazardly stuck to the pinboard, covering an out of date calendar filled out in illegible scrawl. This is no shop awning. There is no rainfall to lend to the ambiance. But you are together in an enclosed space, and that is enough to make his heart beat in anticipation.

You scoot into the breakfast nook. He sits on the same side of the table and tries to subtly spread his knees enough to nudge your thigh. You side-glance in surprise but choose not to mention it. Instead you smile through your first mouthful and ask, “How've things been since I last saw you?”

Achy, like he’s used an atrophied muscle. Lonely, and frustrating beyond words. But he doesn’t say any of that. He digs crescents into his thigh through his pant leg and says, “Boring”.

“Figured that might be the case. I saw the livestream of you fighting Haywire,” you bump your shoulder against his. “The Commission probably dumped a whole load of paperwork on you, huh?”

Shouto wrinkles his nose. He hoped you hadn’t caught that fight. The pursuit of Haywire—an eco terrorist with an electrical quirk—managed to cause an unprecedented amount of damage to the city infrastructure.

“You handled it as best you could. The power grid can be fixed. What’s important is people are alive because of you,” a warm weight covers the fingers restlessly whittling at his pant leg. You pet his hand, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt”.

Guided solely by his impulses, the instant you start to draw back he envelops the top of your hand and sandwiches it between his own. He goes hot and cold all over in quick succession. Boundaries, he reminds himself. But you’re not pulling away. You’re studying him with a knowing gleam in your eye.

Shouto clears his throat. Heat pricks across his skin, concentrated in his cheekbones. “Sorry,” he says. You can ask, a memory echoes. “Is this okay?”

“You don’t have to apologise. I told you it’s fine,” you reply firmly. “I’m happy to remind you if you need to hear it”.

“No, I…” his brow furrows. “I’ve been thinking”.

“That’s not good”.

Shouto snorts and shakes his head, his amusement petering out into a shallow breath. “I want to ask. I’ve wanted to ask like you said I could,” he explains vaguely. “I’m not very good at it, I think”.

You make a soft, understanding sound that immediately sets him at ease. “I guess, after denying yourself something for so long it can be scary to let yourself have it again,” you murmur, a faraway look in your eyes. After a pensive moment the sheen fades and your laughter lines deepen, “I’ll do what I did before, then. If you look like you need a hug I’ll ask you instead”.

“In what way do I ‘look like’ I need a hug?”

“You get this—I don’t know how to explain it,” you gesture vaguely at him. “This blankness about you, but not your normal resting face, I mean you don’t seem all there. I don’t like it. I like it best when you’re happy”.

“Ah,” comes his eloquent response. Shouto drops his gaze to where your hands knot together. Every quark in his body is urging him to get closer, and remain close. “Bakugo thinks I should try to hug Midoriya, too,” he adds, oddly flustered.

“Huh. You talked to Bakugo about—? That’s a surprise. A nice surprise, I mean! Well, Midoriya does give great hugs. It would be good for you to…”

Shouto’s thoughts grow louder and he frowns down at his rice. You’re saying something about physical touch and wellness and friends. Dopamine and serotonin. It barely registers. Two truths are pinging around his skull.

You have hugged Midoriya. Of course you have. You’re friends.

You think he’s great at it.

Why is that so unsettling? Teenagers think like this. Single minded and overly emotional.

He feels the shifting of your knuckles under his palm. “Hey. You’ll need one of these back if you’re going to eat,” you say.

“Right,” he lifts his left hand and picks up his chopsticks to take a pinch of rice from his bowl. He chews until the clamouring in his mind has settled, and you patiently accept his stoic silence without explanation. Shouto hasn’t been this awkward since highschool, and even then he was too wrapped up in his familial problems to be aware of it.

“What’s the project you’ve been working on?” he eventually asks.

You take the change of topic in your stride, leaning closer and lowering your voice to an excited whisper, “I’m not supposed to tell you but—it’s for Deku’s new costume”.

“Midoriya is getting a new costume?” Shouto replies. You playfully shush him and he pouts a little.

“Don’t sulk. He doesn’t know yet either,” you poke a chopstick at the corner of his jutted mouth. “It’s my job to prepare a design portfolio and talk through everything next week. You’ll get a new one too, when you break the top five”.

“If,” he amends.

“You don’t think you’ll move up?”

“Reaching the top was never really a priority for me,” Shouto’s attention splinters, half of his focus on the conversation and the other on the sensation of your skin. He considers overturning his hand to entwine your fingers. “I just want to be the best hero I can be”.

You hum, and as if plucking the desire right from his mind, absentmindedly slip into the gaps between his fingers. Shouto steadies his breathing and takes another mouthful.

The rest of the hour passes, syrupy and slow like molasses. By the final minute Shouto’s palm is sticky and reluctant to part from yours. You usher him out from the breakfast nook first, stacking the empty bowls before directing him back toward the emptied cafeteria.

You slide the bowls along the counter for the kitchen staff to take. Then you wipe your hands down your front as you pivot to face him, thrusting out both arms as he stands frozen.

“Can I hug you?”

Shouto touches his face and you laugh.

“This is because I want one,” you clarify with a warm grin, beckoning him closer.

Shouto inhales steps into the embrace, his arms instinctively wrapping around your back. There are less layers this time—the heat of your body is overwhelming, alongside the gentle rise of goosebumps across your bare shoulders. Your breath fell gently on his collarbone, his head lowering to curl into you. He thinks, were he not born to be a hero, he must surely be born for this.

“Thank you,” you mumble, squeezing his waste a final time as you retreat. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Shouto nods. Your presence moves away like the sun being blocked out and he watches you go, departing words caught in his teeth, an incessant buzz in his fingertips. The walk back to his office is a gauzy yellow haze. Every physiological response in his body told him that he was in a free fall, despite his feet being firmly on the ground.

“Shouto!”

Shouto halts mid-step at the familiar voice. He turns to look at Izuku, at the tentative beginnings of his smile. “Izuku,” he says.

“We missed you at lunch—are you feeling alright?” Izuku asks, slightly bemused. “You look kinda… floaty,” his eyes are dark, softened in the afternoon light as they sweep over Shouto’s figure and his face.

"Izuku," Shouto said before he could convince himself otherwise, “Do you want a hug?”

The innocent question appeared to crash into Izuku with the levity of a bullet train in motion. Tears sprang to his eyes, brighter now. Shouto tenses as he is swept into a solid hug. Izuku smells like fresh air, sweat and sweet-salty broth. He holds Shouto as though trying to keep his seams from bursting; thick arms are secure around his shoulders, and a rough palm rubs broad strokes down his back, smoothing the tension until Shouto is relaxed.

You were right. Izuku does give great hugs. Shouto came away doughy, and fuller, and with the stark realisation that while touching Izuku soothed the ache, it still felt completely different to touching you.

Later, as he leaned his head against the desk surface, he sluggishly contemplated the implications of that.

[oizysian]

25 // Watching porn together // Ideas

Summary: Wanda and Y/N spend some quality time together.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: enchanted strap, porn, dirty talk, blow job

Word count: 1k

Kinktober masterlist

The television flickered with images of a couple, or they’re assumed to be a couple, making out naked. It was a man and a woman to shake things up a bit, and I was watching intently while Wanda traced shapes on my belly with her fingertips.

“If I had a cock,” I started, threading my fingers through her hair and grabbing a fistful, forcefully, but gently. “I’d force you down on it like this.”

I guided her head down on my crotch, getting wet just from the image of her pretending to suck my imaginary cock. I let out a low moan, biting my lip as I continued to bob her head up and down.

“Y/N …” she giggled softly, slapping my hand away from her head. “I do that anyway with your strap.”

“Yeah, but a real cock.” I brought my hand down to the juncture of my thighs and stroked my invisible dick. “Just being able to feel your mouth, hot and wet, and cum all over you.” I shuddered. “A dream.”

“A dream?” She questioned, the couple on the television now fucking doggy style. “A dream I can turn into a reality.”

My eyes got wide, excited, and urged her to continue.

“I can enchant your strap, make it feel like your own dick - if you’d like me to.”

“Yes! I-I mean,” I blushed, embarrassed at my answer. “That would be really …”

“I’d love for you to cum inside me.” She whispered against my lips. “Fill me with your babies.”

“Oh fuck, Wands.” I whimpered, absolutely soaked at this point, the sounds the woman in the video was making were not helping.

She smiled, stroking her hand along my abdomen.

“Do you wanna feel how wet I am for you? How tight I am?”

“Oh god, yes, please.” I was begging now. I needed this. I needed her.

“Promise you’ll make me take it all.”

“I swear on everything precious in this world that you’ll take every drop of my cum.”

She giggled, reaching over me to grab the strap we already had taken out in preparation for this night. She brought it over to the apex of my thighs and her eyes went red, the toy becoming my appendage in less than a second.

“Oh shit, fuck,” I cursed under my breath, the new feelings very overwhelming. “This is …”

“This is amazing. I was hoping it would work.”

“Hoping?”

She looked down at it and shrugged.

“This is the first time I’ve tried it. But I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

She brought her hand down to it, letting her fingers slide along the tip. My hips jerked and I shuddered under her touch, unable to control this new piece of me.

“You’ll get used to it in time.” She said, reading my mind. “Your thoughts are so loud, I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad you’re listening to my thoughts because I’m not sure words are going to work for me in a few minutes.”

She smiled up at me and gave me a peck on the lips before sliding down my body, bringing her face to my brand new cock and pressing a kiss to the tip.

“Holy shit, I’m already gonna bust.”

“Don’t.” She giggled. “I want you to do it inside me.”

“I promise nothing.”

She took it into her mouth and I let out a low, needy groan, threading my fingers through her tousled locks and pushing her head down onto me. She was so wet and hot and I needed more.

She took as much of it as she could in her mouth before she started to gag, pulling off of it and trying again. I could feel my entire body tightening and the coil in my belly was just about to break. Is this what virgin boys felt like?

Hearing my thoughts once again, she pulled off of me, straddling my hips and nestling my cock between her soaking wet folds. She grinded herself against me and I cried out pathetically, needing to be inside her already. I grabbed her hips and she took my hands in hers, holding them up above my head.

“Stay.” She whispered, her magic slipping from her fingertips to wrap around my wrists, holding me down.

My mouth fell open as I watched her sliding up and down cock, just barely slipping inside her with every thrust.

“Please. Please, baby.”

“Please, what?” She breathed out, her clit rubbing against my length.

“Please, I need to be inside you. Please.”

She bit her lip, bracing herself as she eased herself down on my cock. My eyes rolled back into my head and I got lost in the pleasure. She bounced up and down on top of me, her hungry cunt squeezing me as she worked on getting us both off.

“Wanda - I’m not - I’m gonna -”

Her thrusts got faster, stronger, and I literally could not control myself any longer. I fought against her magic, trying to touch her, but she held me down, which only turned me on further, and I came inside her, the amount of cum that spurt out of my dick immeasurable. She moaned loudly as I filled her up and I watched as it spilled out of her. She continued to fuck my cum back into her.

“Oh fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum.”

I watched as she threw her head back and came, her pussy milking my cock and causing my legs to shake. It was too much. I rutted up against her, my hips jerking as she continued to milk me for all that I was worth. I could hear the couple on the t.v. moaning, fucking, and I watched Wanda riding the last of her high out on my dick, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest.

“This movie gave me an idea.” She said softly, her breathing ragged. “I wanna try doggy with the enchanted strap.”

I looked up at her from under hooded eyes, practically spent from just one fuck.

“S’too much.” I mumbled and she smiled.

“Is my pussy that good?” She teased and I nodded.

“Best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

[sweetteainthesummerx]

⋆·˚ ༘ * oh, my, my, my ⋆·˚ ༘ *

nhl masterlist !

pairings: quinn hughes x childhood friend!reader, jack hughes x platonic best friend!reader, quinn x artist!reader

warnings: angst and comfort, fluff

summary: you and quinn throughout the years, and how you fall in love <3

song: mary's song (oh my my my) by taylor swift

word count: 4.4 k

notes: I love lake quinn sm :)

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

our daddies used to joke about the two of us, growing up and falling in love, our mamas smiled, and rolled their eyes

"oh, she's so tiny!" ellen cooes, cradling the little bundle of pink, "and she has your eyes, birdie."

your mother smiles at the nickname her college friend had given her freshman year, when a bird had pooped on her head during a girl's night out.

it stuck (literally), and almost 10 years later, as her best friend holds her babygirl, she's reminded of everything they'd been through together.

"congrats, man. the first girl in the family!" jim slaps your dad on the shoulder, the two men smiling at their wives.

"oh, she's just precious." you yawn, and all of the adults are reduced to an awwing mess.

quinn toddles over, chubby toddler legs still unsure. he lands on his butt half a foot away from ellen, who lifts him up with the hand that wasn't holding you.

"look, quinny."

quinn reaches out a finger towards you, and jim is about to chide him when your tiny little fist locks around it. his wide eyes widen even more. you gurgle happily at him, and for the first time in a while, he goes completely still, enraptured by the baby in front of him.

"oh." your father whispers.

"well, that's your son-in-law now," jim laughs.

"hey, don't count out jack! they're closer in age, after all."

your mom rolls her eyes, as ellen snorts, "let's not pre-write our kid's futures before they're five, please."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

i was seven and you were nine, i looked at you like the stars that shine

"y'know, birdie," ellen starts, "the boys might be right."

"no, they cannot eat four pb and j's and then go to the carnival-"

"no, not the little ones!", ellen laughs, "our husbands. they might be right."

"oh, that? the whole son-in-law thing?" your mom grins, as she watches luke chase after you with a worm.

the two women are silent and thoughtful as you - screaming at the top of your lungs - duck behind quinn, who sternly tells off his little brother. your sticky hands lace with his, naturally, albeit a bit awkward the way only kids can be.

you absolutely adore quinn. he's your protector, the one you turn to more often than not. jack is your best friend, and you remind her of that often. luke is your baby brother, the one you coddle and fuss over.

and the boys adore you just as much; jack plays pirates with you all day, Luke follows you like a puppy, and quinn...

he's staked a claim on you that makes your mom laugh, but worry a little when your older and you inevitably find someone who isn't him.

it never occurred to her that he might be the one.

"oh my god." your mom says as your dad walks in with jim.

"ha! see? I know I put money on my son for good reason." jim says gleefully, and quickly pipes down at ellen's dirty look.

"jack is also your son, man." your dad shakes his head.

"seriously? you guys made bets on the future love lives of your prepubescent kids?"

"birdie, it's just a joke!"

he eats his words as quinn leads you through the door. you're in tears, a nasty scrape on your knee. he's got your hand cradled in his.

ellen and your mom fawn over it, how brave you were, but all you could remember is how quinn held your hand the whole time.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back when our world was one block wide, i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried

when you're ten, you almost have your first kiss.

you're going through a phase, really, when all you would wear were your overall jean shorts, a big t-shirt and your red converses. you have little pen drawings all over your shoes and shorts.

now, when you look at the photos from back then, you cringe a little at how lanky and young you look.

you're with the boys at one of the neighbouring lake houses, a couple of other girls and a few guys too.

everyone there lived on the same block, so it was odd that you hadn't all hung out together before.

quinn can tell you're uncomfortable around the other guys, who are loud and frankly very obnoxious. even his 12-year-old self can tell.

he tells you that you can all leave and go get ice cream near the boardwalk, but you refuse. you're 10 already, you can handle a few new strangers.

somehow, spin the bottle is brought up and you find yourself sitting cross-legged as one of the older girls - who's kind and much more grown than you - tellsdyou how to spin the bottle.

your hands shake and the backs of your knees are slick with sweat, but you spin anyways. you want to seem cool and older too.

you watch the root beer bottled patter as it turns, the ting, ting sound dissonant with your thumping heart.

it lands on quinn.

your quinn who knows all of the words to the spider man movies, who gives the last popsicle to you and lets you tuck your feet under his thighs when you get cold.

this is a disaster, you think, because you don't know how to kiss! are you supposed to use your tongue? you almost gag at the thought.

quinn can see your very apparent panic, and the only thing on his mind was to make it of away.

he wants to hold your hand, but when you turned nine you had decided that boys had cooties, so you refused to touch him or his brothers.

"...we don't have to," he offers, scratching his neck. one of the boys boo, and you flush.

you shook your head, "i want to."

he smiles, shy and boyish and your heart goes into overdrive.

his face matches yours in colour as he scoots forward awkwardly, cupping your face the way he'd seen his dad do to his mom.

as he leans forward, you burst into tears. if you kiss him, and he's disgusted by your kissing skills - or lack thereof - he wouldn't be your quinn anymore.

you run out embarrassed, leaving quinn's hand outstretched and the older girl from earlier confused and worried.

you think that you had ruined it all, but later that night when quinn offers to take you to get ice cream and lets you get two scoops, you know nothing can tear the two of you apart.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the creek beds we turned up, two A.M. riding in your truck and all I need is you next to me

the year quinn turned 16, he gets his boating and drivers license.

when the first real day of summer - he doesn't count the days until he sees you and the lake house again - starts and he finds you making eggs and bacon in the kitchen, he gives you an offer.

"hey, chickie." he tugs playfully at the string of your apron. jim had given you that nickname because of your mom's. chickie, like a baby bird. jack liked to call you chicklet, and Luke followed suit.

the adults think you've outgrown that name, and only call you chickie sporadically.

it's become special for you and quinn, sacred even,

"hi, quinny." you answer in the same tone, swatting him with the spatula in your hand.

"give me a piece of bacon and i'll take you out onto the water. i'll even let you drive a bit when we're far out." he murmurs as you turn the stove off.

"really?" you squeal, and he winces jokingly.

"yes, yes! finally!" you throw yourself at him, letting the older boy catch you around the waist. he grins into your hair, his cheek muscles unused by the seasons without you.

"okay, kid. pipe down. where's my bacon?" he grumbles, but he smiles when you turn around to fix him a whole plate.

you forget in all of your excitement that he doesn't even like bacon.

it's pathetic, really, but he missed you. he still does even though you're less than a foot away from him, salting your scrambled eggs.

he finishes his food faster than you do, and leaves to set up the boat with your promises that you would hurry.

he's excited; he hasn't seen you since christmas, and then, he had to share you with jack and luke and his parents too.

that year, you and jack had become decidedly closer, and quinn knows he has to establish that boat time was for you and him only.

so when jack and luke both follow you onto the boat, whooping and screaming, he's pissed.

and on top of that, he has to drive the boat while you and jack banter and threaten to shove each other off of the moving vessel.

it wasn't fair: you're his person. you guys did gas station runs together, you always looked at him with sad puppy eyes when you were cold.

he'd always grumbled and give you his sweatshirt when you refused to bring a jacket and ended up shivering. you always begged to braid his hair when the sun was at it's highest and there was nothing to do.

so yeah, excuse him if he was mad that your time together was interrupted by jack and luke of all people.

so when you walk up to him, hair messy and wearing nothing but your bathing suit and one of his old hockey jerseys, he tries his best to ignore you.

"quinny!" you exclaim, nudging his shoulder, and once more when he doesn't answer.

he glances quickly at you, but one look is enough to make his chest squeeze in that way that it started to do since last summer.

you had always been beautiful, but you were starting to be seriously gorgeous.

your hair is windblown, skin tanned and freckled with eyes bright from the sheer novelty of it being summer again.

you'd started to fill out more; the tiny bikinis you - and he - loved made something hot tug in his lower stomach.

tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow in the way that always makes him soften like butter, "I thought you were gonna let me drive!"

"ask jack to teach you," he snarks, and regrets it immediately at the hurt on your face.

his chest tightens, like someone has taken the hurt on your features and shoved it between his rib cage so he couldn't breathe.

the two of you don't talk for the rest of the day.

quinn feels like an asshole, and he really doesn't like how you refuse to sit in your normal spot next to him during movie night, instead opting to tuck yourself between the edge of the couch and luke.

and the salt on the wound was when you don't laugh at the stupid jokes he makes for you, especially.

his mom asks him what he had done when he goes to get more popcorn in the kitchen.

"what? why did you automatically assume I didn't something?" he asked, offended.

"because, that girl sticks to you like a magnet," ellen smooths his temple, "and because no one makes you smile and talk like she does. you've been silent all day."

the next night, he shows up at the door of your room in the lake house your two families shared.

he knocks, and pokes his head in, "chickie?

you're at your table, drawing again like you always were.

he keeps the little sketch of him you made last summer in his wallet, tucked under the picture of all of the hughes boys and you.

you ignore him, and he flops on your bed. the floral sheets your mom bought when you were 11 smells like you. he tries not to be creepy and inhale - at least too noticeably.

"gas station run?" he asks.

you finally spare him a glance, "quinny, it's past one o'clock, and it'll take at least 20 minuted to get there."

"please? I really want chips."

you sigh, ever the martyr, and agree. neither of you mention how the hughes stock up enough snacks to last at least 2 months the beginning of every summer.

the battle of who cracks first kept on, until finally, on the way back from the gas station, quinn sighs, "I'm sorry.

you frown, clearly not impressed, "I don't even know why you're sorry."

"god, this is embarrassing-"

"quintin, i swear-"

"i wanted the boat ride to be just us two!" he exclaims loudly.

there was a beat of silence, only the chirp of crickets that crept in the tall grass you could hear through the open windows of jim's truck.

the light on the radio shined, 1:59 AM.

"what?" you ask, a little confused and very much flustered.

"i missed you, chickie, and jack is always monopolizing your time! you're my person and-"

"are you jealous?"

"what?"

"oh my god, you are! you're jealous!"

"no!" he splutters, grateful that it's pitch black outside, because he can feel his ears heating up.

you laugh, tugging at one of his curls, as he grumbles something about not letting you eat any of his salt and vinegar chips.

"quinny?" you ask a little while later, when he's pulling back into the drive way, "y'know that you're my person too, right?"

you look soft and sleepy, under the light of the car, in one of his hoodies and sleep shorts.

he swears he turns into liquid in the drivers seat.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

well, i was sixteen when suddenly, i wasn't that little girl you used to see

"I wouldn't worry about that, chicklet." jack throws his arm around you, and you roll your eyes at the many girls starting to glare at you.

"I don't know what you're talking about." except you do.

there's a girl flirting with quinn, and she's pretty. she's got tattoos on her arms, and she's tall, almost tall at him.

you take a break from the self-deprecating comparison between yourself and her to admire quinn for one second.

he's gotten so tall and broad, all the signs of boyhood gone, except when he smiles that special smile for you. the one when his eyes get all squinty and he bares all of his pretty teeth.

your heart twists, because he hasn't smiled at you like that all summer.

you don't know what you did wrong. maybe he's outgrowing you. he'll be a college man next fall, and you're still in high school.

he's got the whole world in front of him, and well, you couldn't blame him if he didn't want to settle for you.

you realize your feelings for him the beginning of the summer.

or you uncover them, because if you're honest, they've always been there.

and right now, you're wearing your heart on your sleeve, because he looks so handsome in a tight black t-shirt and shorts, a backwards cap on his curls.

his biceps look huge, and between the teenage hormones and the two shots in your system, you want to climb him like a tree.

the more romantic side of you wished you had your charcoal and parchment, so you can copy down his likeness for when your old and greying and you can't remember how he looks illuminated by the moon and bonfire.

"yeah, sure. you're clueless." jack snorts, and he makes his way to the drink table at the party you're at.

you pass by Luke, who's preoccupied by a girl way too old for him, and go sit closer to the fire.

you're mad.

you're mad because you've dressed up real cute, in a tiny black tube top and denim shorts.

you're mad because your hair is curled the way quinn likes it.

you know that for a fact because every time it looks like that, he comes up behind you to wind his fingers through a strand. it was a hassle, and he won't even look at you.

"what's a pretty girl like you doing alone?"

it's a boy with mussed, brown hair and a nice smile.

he's cute. peter, or pierre, he introduces himself. he reminds you a bit of the boyfriend you had first semester of sophomore year.

you've had boyfriends, and quinn has had his relationships, but summer was sacred.

that's why you felt ill when you flirted with him, not because quinn was a mere 20 feet away, starting to glance over and frown.

quinn has always been a jealous motherfucker; you'd give it 5 minutes before he comes over.

you try not to gloat when he comes over in 2.

"hey, chickie. time to go." he tells you, taking you cup and winding an arm around your waist.

you roll your eyes, pushing him off, "no, I'm good here,"

quinn crosses his arms and puffs out his chest, biceps flexing in front of you.

the boy smiles - you've already forgotten his name, something p - and shrugs at quinn.

he's mad now, you can tell, but you wrap you're fingers around the other boy's elbow to egg him on.

"oh, for- that's it. c'mon."

suddenly, your feet are swept out from under you, and you're thrown over his shoulder.

you frown, realizing that you're in the air.

"hey!" you protest weakly as people turn to look at you. quinn continues his trudge all the way to where he's parked his dad's truck and dumps you on the hood like you weigh nothing.

"what are you doing?" he asks, eyes dark, "that guy is no good-"

"no! what are you doing?" all of your frustration pools in your throat, and embarrassing tears are starting to prick at your eyes.

"you won't even look at me all summer, you're flirting with some girl and you get mad at me? you're being such-"

he shakes his head, looking as exasperated as you feel.

"do you know how hard it is-" he breathes out shakily, "how difficult it is to control myself around you?"

"what?" you ask, heart beating in your ears, "what?"

"i have been in love with you since i was 12, chickie." his tone is begging, and so are his eyes.

he looks pained, and you want to relieve it so, so badly. but he still won't touch you. he's hovering away from you, like he has for the past month.

"i love you, and you see me nothing more than a brother, like how you see jack. and it hurts, here," he rubs the heel of his palm between his ribs, "to know that you'll never want me the same way."

"quinn-"

"no, let me talk. I've spent the past 6 years pining after you. I've tried to move on, but all...nothing compares to you. I want you so bad, chickie, but..." he turns from you, head in his hands.

now, if you weren't like 3 beers and 2 shots deep, you would realize that he can't really go anywhere because you're quite literally on the top of his car.

but drunk you is clearly a dumbass, because you think he's trying to leave. so you tell him what's actually on your mind.

"i love you!" you blurt out.

he turns slowly, "what?"

"i love you too. i thought you didn't want me because you're leaving for college, but i want you so bad, please-"

the next thing you know, he's between your legs, so warm and solid, pulling you in by your cheek like during that spin the bottle game 6 years ago.

you let him kiss you for real this time, you let him push up your shorts to feel more of your skin, you let him lick into your mouth.

he pulls away, and you whine, tugging him in again.

he laughs, which makes you laugh in turn, and you slide down the hood as you giggle. he catches you, because he always does.

"i love you." you tell him, and he flushes, nuzzling into your neck.

"say it again," he demands, just because he can.

"i love you, my quinny." you coo, and he wants to crawl into your skin and settle there forever.

"i love you too, chickie."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

oh, my, my, my

"told you so." Jim tells the rest of the parents.

the four of them - the weirdos - are on the second floor, leaning on the bannister as you make breakfast with quinn.

well, you make breakfast and he's distracting you.

he's got his arms wrapped around your shoulders from the back, and the two of you waddle like a pair of penguins around the kitchen gathering ingredients for pancakes.

you're giggling, and he's got a half-smile on his face.

you look so happy together than ellen and your mom are ignoring jim's gloating.

they are even kind enough to ignore the exchange of money between the two men, after all, your dad had bet on jack and lost.

"i can't wait for their wedding."

"hold on, now!"

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

a few years had gone and come around, we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

you're on Quinn's lap, content and warm. the two of you had gotten up to watch the sunrise, first day of the summer at the lake house.

it's nice to have everyone in one place again, the two of you coming from vancouver, the boys from new jersey.

the past couple of years had been hard; a year or two long distance, until you went to study architecture at UBC after quinn had been drafted.

this year, 24 and 22, you finally get some rest and the promise of settling down more.

quinn's captain, and you have a good job that lets you work remote and do what you love.

and more importantly, the two of you are always together.

"babe?" quinn asks, running a hand down your arms, "c'mon, let's go to the dock?"

you don't protest, just happy to be at your childhood lake house.

he leads you there, like he always does.

"pretty." you stare out at the water, orange and pink sky meeting in the still horizon.

"yeah." quinn gives you a smile, rare for anyone else.

but he has always smiled for you, and you greedily hoard them in your memories.

"got something to show you," he pulls his wallet out, the two pictures in the clear flaps catch your eye.

one is a polaroid of you and your boys. quinn is 15, jack is 14, you're 13 and luke is 11. all of you are lanky and awkward, wrapped around each other and grinning ear to ear.

the other is also a polaroid, taken by ellen a year or two ago, when all of your parents came to visit your Vancouver apartment.

quinn's arm is around your shoulders and you're clinging to his side, one hand curled around his waist and the other on his chest. you're smiling at the camera, and quinn is smiling at you.

"cute," you tell him, but he digs a finger into the little pocket.

"fuck," he swears when whatever he's looking for doesn't come out.

"here, let me," you offer. you retrieve a piece of thick parchment with your smaller hands.

it's a sketch of quinn you did when you were in your early teens.

it's not great, you have to admit. the lines aren't smooth like how you sketch now, but the ink and paper is in pristine condition.

"quinn...you kept this?" you ask softly, oddly emotional.

when you look at him, he has a weird look on his face. he scratches his neck.

you stare at each other for a moment, the familiarity of your love almost stifling in the cool morning air.

and then he drops down on one knee.

you start crying, immediately.

that sets him off, and the two of you are blubbering as he tries to get through the speech he wrote in his notes 7 months ago after he got the ring and you were in the shower.

he tells you he loves you, how he's never going to leave you, that you're going to build a life together, just like how you've done everything together since you were kids.

you believe him, because your quinn is nothing if not earnest and steady.

you let him slip the simple ring onto your finger, and he lifts you up into strong arms to kiss you.

you're so deliriously happy that your teeth clash with his in a smiling kiss.

your families cheers from the porch, and you laugh, watery and heart full.

jack runs up first, swinging you around and clapping his hand down on quinn's shoulder.

Luke kisses your cheek and hugs his older brother, as ellen and your mom hug you together.

jim wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead, "thanks for helping me win the bet, chickie." you chuckle, reaching for your dad next.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle, our whole town came and our mamas cried, you said I do and I did too

the wedding takes place a year later, in a small winery near the house, because ellen and your mom refused to let you have the wedding on the dock.

this was your compromise, because it's a small affair.

your dad walks you down the aisle to quinn. you're smiling, like there's a hanger in your mouth because you're just so happy.

he cries when he sees you, and so do the other hughes boys.

you hear your mom and ellen, tears meeting shaky smiles on their faces.

your own college friend, your birdie, fixes your veil and holds your bouquet.

sweet promises are exchanged in your vows, and when you have your first kiss as mr. and mrs. hughes, all of your loved ones cheer.

quinn sweeps you off your feet and bridal carries you to a change room so you can switch into your reception dress.

he sees you later as jack, who volunteered to be the mc, announces you guys as mr. and mrs. hughes.

quinn's eyes are hot and dark as he sees your smooth skin under white lace, and whispers something into the shell of your ear that makes you pink.

you dance together, with his brothers and his dad, with your own too.

but the last dance is saved for the two of you.

"i can't wait to grow old with you, chickie." he whispers romantically.

"you'd make such a cute old man," you tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

you laugh, and so does he.

forever sounds real good to you.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[sinning-23]

Hot Tatted Uncle Pt.2 (Uncle!SukunaAu x Teacher!Reader)

Thanks so much for the love and support on pt.1 you guys are the besttt lol, honestly might be a 3 parter we'll see! ANyway, enjoy :0

Also pleaseee excuse any spelling errors yall

Link to Pt.1

PART THREE HERE!!!

_______________________________________

You stared at the text message, throat tight with excitement but dread. It had been a few months since the last incident with Yuji and his Uncle. The roguish male often picked up the young boy, tagging along with Yuji’s father. You’d usually just give Jin a rundown of his son’s day, ever so often catching Sukuna’s gaze as he leaned against the door frame. And every time it happened, you’d choke, clearing your throat and focusing your attention on Yuji and his father.

It didn’t help that he was always texting you, asking his his nephew was behaving. Even though it was cordial and polite, you still felt giddy getting texts from him.

This comes to the next point, why you’re sitting here practically gawking over the most recent message request from Yuji’s father.

-YOU HAVE A NEW MESSAGE:

Hello Miss Y/n! Do you babysit? I know Yuji loves having you as a teacher and I was wondering if you’d be interested in babysitting for him along with his Uncle while me and my wife go on vacation. Of course, you will be paid as well.

-Jin Itadori @ 6:28pm-

You wait to open it, pacing for a moment, thinking, first of all if you were available for the weekend and second, why couldn’t his uncle handle it?!

Well, given the man’s track record maybe an experienced hand in childcare could be useful. With a heavy sigh, you respond and you'd have to quickly come to terms with the fact that you would be essentially babysitting over 2 days with your students' hot uncle.

-----------

It's Friday now, and arrangements for you to simply drive Yuji back home and meet up there with his uncle were already in place. You were trusted with a spare house key, and their precious baby boy, who so seemed to be happier than a fly on shit that you would be spending even MORE time with him.

You gather your things and a few activities to pass the time, loading them into your car. Yuji insists on helping, carrying a small container of building blocks with his chubby hands. And god damn does he not stop talking while he does. It's adorable really, whatever comes off the top of the boy's head simply flying free.

"My-My uh uncle, he doesn’t have no girlfriend." He speaks, the statement making you choke.

"Ahaha is that so? He tells you to say that?" You joke, setting the pink-haired toddler in his car seat, and buckling him in with ease.

"MHM! My uh-" He coughs, quickly covering it with his elbow as you give a small 'good job' seeing as he's learning to keep his germs away from everyone, including you.

"My Uncle says uh he says that you got pretty eyes." He explains, your heart fluttering.

You sit in the driver seat finally, the boy still rambling on and on about what his uncle thinks about you. Though all you can do is respond with a simple, "Oh that's very kind, or a awee", Yuji is nonstop.

It’s quiet for a moment and as you’re pulling into the driveway when he says it, clear as day.

"Uncle says your ass is fat too."

You slam the brakes, the car jerking a bit when you do. What. The. FUCK-

The culprit is already awaiting you, arms folded over his chest as they flex. He’s got a white tank top on and a pair of black basketball shorts paired with slides and ankle socks.

Yuji squirms, growing ever more excited as Sukuna takes him out of the car seat and lightly jabs his knuckles to the boy's sides with a 'Rahhhh', as if he were some kind of tickle monster. Yuji of course laughs and if ALMOST makes you forget about what he'd just said a moment ago.

"Wanna help Miss Y/n put this inside?" Sukuna asks the small boy, handing him the block container from before. Yuji is quick to nod and scurry to the front door.

"I can bring the rest of this, Jin gave you the housekey right?" He asks, leaning against the frame of the car, your neck snapping towards him as you swallow thickly. Fuck you can see even more of the tats now in that shirt.

"U-Uhm yes, yes. I'll go get the door. I can get some of this too I-" You speak, fumbling to find the key. He only puts his hand up and shakes his head, the silver chain around his swishing a bit.

"Nah I gotchu. Yuji knows how to turn the TV on so he can watch his lil show for a bit.”

Sure enough, the minute you unlock the door, Yuji crawls atop the couch, using the remote to try his best to navigate. It takes a while, and he mispresses a few buttons but after about 5 minutes he manages to play something entertaining for him.

Sukuna had finished bringing your bags in as well as the one with activities in it, setting it on the stairs. He rolls his shoulder, pointing at Yuji who was immersed in the show.

"See." Sukuna hums, leaning against the countertop next to you, also skimming over the note. His body heat is practically radiating off of him, just standing by him is warming you up.

You nod in response, looking over the brief note Jin left for you both and according to what it said, your next step was to head up some leftovers for Yuji and then run him a bath.

"There’s two bathrooms so I can get the boy.” He offers, resting his hand behind his neck as you give a nervous laugh. FUCK this nervousness was most likely only on you. There’s no way he could be just as filled with anticipation as you were?!

You take the offer, giving a small thank you before fishing the shower and taking one considering you did just get off of work. Packed away in your bag was a set of comfortable clothes and a book with you figured would help pass the time once Yuji went to sleep.

You could hear footsteps and Yuji fussing back and forth with his Uncle.

“Hush man you’re making me look bad.” Sukuna groans, throwing the toddler over his shoulder as he giggles but continues to thrash, pounding tiny fists against the older male's back.

“No! NO BATH! I don’t wanna!” Yuji whines, his Uncle only growling in response.

“I’ll give you candy if you stop.”

And just like that it was quiet.

-8:30pm-

The night had gone smoother than you thought, you and Sukuna both interacting with Yuji as it’s beginning to be time to wind down. His eyes were beginning to get heavy and before you knew it he was slumped against the couch, clutching an unfinished sucker in one hand and a white puppy plush in the other. You smile, scooping him up and patting him when he stirs.

“Be right back, let me tuck him in.” You whisper, seeing Sukuna look up from his phone and nod, one arm slung over the sofa while he practically manspreads

-9:00pm-

Turns out, Yuji took a bit longer to fall asleep when he realized he was being put down and so you had to sit and pat him for an extra 30 minutes. And once you returned to the living room, there was Sukuna, still scrolling. Well, that was until you came in.

“Sorry, he wouldn’t go back to sleep.” You explain, sitting at the farthest end from him, picking up your book in the silence.

“So you like working up there? At the school?” He asks, putting his phone down to hold the conversation with you.

It takes you by surprise for a second but you are quickly to respond.

“Well yeah, I love the kids and I love working there and teaching them things. Yuji is a sweetheart and it’s definitely kids like him that make it all worth it.” You explain, a smile making its way to your lips.

“You got kids?” He asks, eyes on your frame as you laugh a bit in response

“Nah, don’t really plan on it right now either. Kids are difficult.” You answer, now facing him a bit more, body relaxed.

What was there to be so scared of?! He’s a chill guy who just so happened to be hot as fuck asking you about your career and life?!

“How about you? Kids? Working?” You flip, seeing him shift a bit uncomfortably.

“Hell nah. I see how Jin deals with Yuji and I’m not really cut you to be a dad. And for work well, I’m a priest.” He states, smirking at the surprised look on your face.

“R-Really??” You question definitely surprised.

“Nah I’m just fucking with you.” He laughs and you do the same, trying to keep your volume down since Yuji did just fall asleep.

-11:08pm-

It was crazy to believe you’d spent about two hours just talking back and forth, with him about his past, his brother, and his nephew. You about your own life and current living situations. Somehow the conversation took…a turn.

“Y’know, it’s funny because Yuji keeps telling me about these things you say and I think it’s so funny. Like he’s tone little wingman.” You laugh, seeing him grin right back at you.

“Yeah like what?” He asks, more teasing than anything.

“Well he said that you said I have pretty eyes and on the way here he goes, ‘uncle says your ass is fat’” you explain with a laugh that he doesn't return.

Instead you see his lip tuck between his teeth after he licks them.

“I did say that.”

Suddenly the room is hot, and you’re very aware of how sharp his canaines look in that stupid grin. How his hand is grinning the back of the couch cushion. And for some goddamn reason you just had to look down, that fucking print so visible against his inner thigh.

Your breath falters, eyes wide and you swallow back any doubt. So he had said all that stuff and it want just Yuji repeating something or just talking.

“I-Well I…Thank you? I-I mean I’d be lying if I said hadn’t looked at you too.” You admit, his body shifting to face you more, almost caging you in on the couch.

“I figured. Every time I come to pick up you can’t seems to form a sentence correctly .” He notes.

“Suku-“

“Ryo.” He corrects. Lifting the strap of your nightshirt over your shoulder, playing with the fabric for a moment.

“Ryo.” You test, hearing his exhale heavily.

“Let’s stop pretending there’s nothing happing and has been happening here. No rule against fooling around with me is there?” Sukuna tests, his hand trailing up to rest no on your neck, his thumb pulling your lower lip down.

“No.”

And with that your make the hood move to connect your lips, his arms immediately going to lift you up ans set you against his lap.

Damn does that bulge feel to much better resting between your legs than just looking at it.

___________________________________

Authors note: OKAY YEHA ITs gonna be a 3 parter with smut in the next one I cant resist lol yall know smut is my specialty! LMK if you wanna be added to the taglist shawty!

Taglist: @manikosii @ya-boi-v @tergyri @ninacutebee16 @minaloq @kriegsumire-blog @samisfunky @peachhiz @teupaidecalcinhasblog @khaotic-luca @gurutoru @molita111 @snail-squasher @rowrowrowyourboat13

[noxtivagus]

GRIMNIR !!!! THE TEASER FOR HIS SONG AAAA

[uchihaharlot]

Okay but Uchiha boys reaction to be woken up w bj :D

OK I CHANGED MY MIND. I am tired as fuck but damn if this didn’t excite me!!! 🚨🚨

NSFW; waking these men up by the cock.

Madara:

Oh god. Several ideas come to mind with this man. The first being, you probably don’t even slip under the sheets before he’s awake, and the second is that he’s tired enough to allow it. So Madara pretends to wake up the moment your mouth slides over his morning wood, groans and stretches his arms under his head (this is the good life, ok?). Before he is close to finishing, he tenses. Because any ounce of his cum that doesn’t flood your womb is considered wasteful, but Madara has a soft spot and since you’re enjoying him this way so much, he decides to fall apart from your hot mouth, and encourages you by gently rutting in time with your mouth strokes. Just make sure you do it right, or he’s going to get aggressive and fuck your face silly.

Obito:

I’m such a fucking bitch for this, and I’m sorry Obi. But have you ever seen a man cum in his sleep?? That’s Obito. Guy sleeps like a fucking rock (not surprising since he’s built like one, your mouth is stuffed with his cock and he’s still asleep????). And he moans the whole time, but very sleepy whines. He actually dreams about it while you’re doing it (and gets sooo red telling you about this dream later in the day, all the while you smile knowingly) 😩🥹 so precious, you thought for sure he would be awake by the time it started to feel really good, but nope! He just is even more adorable, peacefully unawares as you suck him dry.

Shisui:

It’s pretty evident I’m baised with this Uchiha. Lol, I can’t help it. Shisui absolutely wakes up—but with appreciation, slips his hand in your hair and guides you slowly over his morning erection and groans so damn hot and gruff. He’s so hard in the mornings too, not always but today he is. The mornings he’s not, he still enjoys you cock warming him until he grows into your throat and then he groans when you slurp on the tip as he cums, rather fast but oh well. Undoubtably repays the favor; tenfold. Once your mouth is flooded with his sperm, he is eager to reciprocate and feast off your goods.

Itachi:

It’s always so hard to tell what this man isn’t affronted by. He would instantly jolt awake, with a silent but then audible gasp turned treasonous moan. Probably mouth open, it’s always shocking (in a good way) to be taken care of by you, but fuck. Itachi is one of those men that gets off on your pleasure. Like, yes. He loves seeing you work his length, especially since he got in late from a mission and you were asleep, so there was no time for a salacious reunion. But please, if you really want to make him happy and cum fast. Just sit on him once you notice he’s close. He loves blow jobs, but he wants you both to be on the same level.

[kitten4sannie]

ateez and corruption kinks… that’s it I just had to let that out into the void

communion

pairing: priest! yunho x nun! reader (fem)

summary: priest jeong wishes to share another communion with the most beloved member of the monastery.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: for the love of god (lol) if sacrilegious smut isn’t your thing do NOT read this,, however if it IS wellll i got something good for you <3, wine drinking, but like, in an unconventional way lmao, nasty perverted dom! yuyu, subby cock hungry! reader (can we blame her tho?), implied sex slave training, oral (giving/receiving), deepthroating, finger sucking, cum eating, implied toy usage (the toy is um….well…a religious object…)

a/n: oh nonnie idt you realize what you’ve unleashed with that ask ^^ there’s nothing i love more than corruption 🖤 physical, emotional, psychological ughhhh,,, anyways writers block and some shitty real life stuff have been taking turns beating me up the past couple months so i thought this might be a good escape for me :3 i hope you enjoy <33

p.s: i’ll be posting two more fics with a corruption theme very soonnn,, one features perverted bsf wooyoung and the other involves frat boy sannie 🫶🏼

song rec: take me to church - hozier (i mean come on….)

No matter how dark the communal church grew in the late hours of the night, the bright light of the moon still shone through the fragmented mosaic glass, now casting a myriad of gleaming crosses across your face and body as you sat on your knees upon the altar. You raised your hands up to begin worshipping your Lord in the way you were taught by Father Jeong, gingerly opening his robes to unveil the point of your focus.

Yunho lifted up a ceremonial bell and rung it once, his robes pooling around his feet, watching as your thighs squeezed tightly together underneath your heavy garments, your shaky exhale fanning over his exposed, twitching cock, finding the unyielding look of pure lust inside your eyes to be so beautiful he could shed a tear. Over the many, many communions you’ve shared together, it seemed that the bell reminded you of your loyalty to him and to your shared savior, of the pleasure you shared all in the name of God.

He pushed your veil off to expose your hair, before he placed his large hands on either side of your head, his long, slender fingers wrapping securely around it. “And, what do we say now, Sister L/N?” he asked softly, as though he were testing you, dragging his tongue over his top set of teeth, letting out a few heavy breaths.

“O’ Lord, for which I am about to receive, is truly your most precious Body and your life-giving blood, which, I pray, makes me worthy to receive for the remission of all my sins and for everlasting life,” you recited your prayer like many times before, the wetness between your thighs everlasting, watching Father Jeong let go of your head for a second to pick up a chalice of wine from the ceremony table behind him.

Yunho held the gold chalice just above his waist, growing that much harder as the dark liquid began to pour down his long, curved length, spilling off of his sticky tip and dripping into your open mouth. “The Blood of Christ…” He watched you swallow it all down, like the obedient servant you were. Something this sinful simply had to be holy, didn’t it? He swallowed down the abundant saliva that filled his mouth. “Ahh?” he voiced, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“Amen,” you sighed out, licking the remnants of wine and pre-cum from your lips, your trembling fingers clasping around his bare hips.

“Amen.”

Yunho then thrusted forward until he hit the back of your parched throat, eagerly dragging you back and forth along his sizable cock, using you like the faithful cocksleeve you were, the repetitive sounds of squelching, gagging, and muffled moaning sending delightful shivers down his spine, much like the sacred hymns did to him every morning during mass. “Sister L/N, your throat has molded to the shape of my cock, has it not? Bonding with me all these long nights, over and over, it’s like you were made for me, and only me. Tell me, Sister, does taking the Body of Christ down your throat make you feel closer to God?”

You let out a stunted, pleased moan, blinking a few tears out of your dazed, half closed eyes, watching as a blurry version of Father Jeong brought his rosary up to his lips to kiss it. Due to being trained so consistently, you knew to relax your jaw and throat in order to take all of him without fail, your gag reflex nonexistent, simply drooling all over his long, heavy cock instead, much to Yunho’s delight.

“Oh, God, let His will be done….” He hunched over slightly, in order to pound himself into the back of your throat over and over, thick strands of pre-cum and saliva dripping from your chin and landing onto your previously pristine garments, his fingers closing in around your bulging throat to feel himself moving inside it. It was simply too much for the priest to handle. “So…nnngh–sovereign, so pure, this divinity…” Yunho expressed between heavy pants, suddenly pulling out until his twitching cockhead rested against your splayed out tongue. “Sister L/N, you must show me something heavenly so that I may fill you with the Holy Spirit. Be quick, for I am at my limit…”

Licking the beads of pre-cum from his slit, you began to lift up the layers of your tunic until your bare cunt glistened underneath the moonlight that was casted over you like a spotlight, the edges of your skin glowing as though you were a real life angel, one that was sent down from above to tempt Yunho, especially now that he could see you in your most vulnerable state. “Father Jeong, please see what I’ve done for you. I’ve kept myself full…so that I may take you inside properly…”

It was then that Father Jeong fell to his knees before you, looking up at the slick heaven in between your thighs, before leaning in to lap up the abundant wetness from your lips, his hot tongue practically melting against your cunt as he ate you out like a starved man, spreading your open with his ringed thumbs. Maintaining steady eye contact with you, he slowly pulled the hood of your clit back to expose your weak point, wrapping his plush lips around it as he began to suck and lick until he had you trembling above him, your nails digging into the dense wood of the pews. “Cum before me,” he commanded, dragging his tongue along your fluttering slit up to your throbbing clit until you let out a beautifully broken cry.

You spread your trembling thighs open just enough to allow what was filling you up the entire time to slowly come sliding out, both you and the priest letting out a similar gasp once it did. A thick, slick-covered silver cross landed inside Yunho’s open palm. He watched diligently as you lifted it up to his mouth, not even having to say anything as he sucked it clean. Without exchanging words, Yunho stood back and squeezed his throbbing cock, just as you lowered yourself back down onto your knees with a loving smile, watching with pride as he began to shudder, long spurts of his hot cum landing onto your tongue and disappearing down your throat.

“What a thing of beauty….” The priest swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath. “You never fail to bring me close to our Savior, my dear,” he praised, reaching down to rub the remaining remnants of his seed over your swollen lips and onto your tongue with his thumb, pulling it away from your mouth and licking the last of his saltiness off of his digit himself.

“It’s all for the greater good,” you softly replied, slowly standing up and hiking up your now soiled garments, so that you could bend over the pew, spreading yourself wide, opening the gates of your heaven and giving Yunho access like every blissful night before. “Now, please allow me to bring you even closer.”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[graphicpepsi]

dizzy (nsfw, mdni)

OR: when Keegan comes home after a long deployment, you show him what safety feels like again.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of keys in the door. It had been months since you heard that sound.

Months since your boyfriend has been in his own house. Months since your boyfriend had held you, months since you had held him. Months since you had looked into those pretty blue eyes.

"Keegan? Oh my gosh I-"

You stop in the middle of your sentence when you see him.

His eyes are tired, and sad- not the lovey animated ones you’re used to. Dark bags are set underneath them. He's still fully equipped with all of his gear. You can tell he's physically exhausted with the way his shoulders slouch, the way his eyes are only half-open. It's a miracle he drove here unharmed.

Before you can say anything else he pulls you into a suffocatingly tight hug, pressing your face into the crook of his neck with a soft hand on the back of your head.

God, how you've missed this man- the smell of his skin, his hand stroking your hair- you suddenly can't fathom the last 8 months without him.

"Keegan," You start to say something but your mind goes blank when he looks into your eyes.

Those poor, hardened blue eyes stare into your big soft ones. You had to search inside of them to find your boy. At a glance, you'd only see the pain of a thousand dead soldiers, the reflection of a dead body or bloody hands.

He sighs, long and hard, his arms still wrapped around you as he presses your forehead against his. It's like he knows you see right through him. It's like he knows you see into him.

Carefully, you take off his tactical vest, sliding it off of him as if he were made of glass. His eyes flutter shut, his head rested against yours.

You do the same with his uniform; carefully unbuttoning it until it hangs loosely around his athletic frame. He lets you slide it down his arms, leaving him in an undershirt and his cargos.

He opens his eyes when he feels you leave him, only to find you kneeling down beneath him to undo his steel-toed work boots.

Finally, you take off his mask. Keegan sighs into your warm hands on his bare face. He hasn't felt that warmth in eight fucking months.

You press a kiss to his chapped lips, softly at first but hard once he tastes your mouth. His teeth clash against yours, his hands gripping your waist with certainty. Like he's scared if he lets go he'll lose you again, and he'll be out on that battlefield for another 8 months.

"God, god I've missed you." Keegan whispers into your mouth.

You kiss him harder in response, hands tangling in the black hair growing from the nape of his neck.

"I love you so much," He practically pants, moving to kiss your neck softly. You run your hands along his arms; his toned, muscular arms that seemed to be three times as big since last time you saw them. You wanted him all over you.

He hoists you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist perfectly. You can feel the outline of his abs against your core.

He carries you like you weigh nothing, his arms barely even flexing under your weight.

You're basically squirming in his arms, struggling to contain everything your body is feeling. Your heart is pounding against the man you've been yearning for over the past eight months.

He's real, thank god he's real, and he's placing you down on the bed like you're the most precious thing he's ever held. To him, you absolutely are.

You're quick to climb on top of him, straddling his hips. He slides his white undershirt off before diving back into your lips, his muscular chest and shoulders on display. You can't stop your hands from scratching at them, leaving little red lines behind with your nails.

He doesn't seem to mind. His hands are working to unbutton your blouse, the outline of your pink bra driving him fucking crazy. You can feel him rock solid underneath you.

You pull your shirt off over your head and let his hands undo your bra, your tits bouncing on top of him.

" 'wanna ride you, Keegan." You whine, grinding down against him. "Lemme ride you."

He would normally laugh at you, saying, "Eager, are we?" or, "Can't get enough of me, can ya?"

But he can't deny that he's just as desperate as you are. He's been dreaming of nothing but you and your body for god knows how long.

He takes his cargos and boxers off, leaving his dick harshly pressing against your clothed cunt. He practically rips your underwear with how hard he tugs it to the side.

You sit up on your knees, lining up your cunt with his dick. It's been awhile since it's been fucked with anything larger than your little vibrator, and Keegan knows that. But neither one of you has a problem with going slow tonight.

You sink down onto him, grabbing his shoulders for stability, digging your nails in harder the further you go.

"Fuck, holy fuck, love," Keegan throws his head back, his adams apple bobbing as he moans at your tight walls encasing his dick. God you feel so good around him, so fucking tight.

Your pussy is pulsing around him, you haven't felt this full in forever.

Keegan uses your waist to guide you, his rough hands sliding you up and down on his cock. Your legs are already vibrating around him, and you're mainly relying on his hands to keep you upright.

He gropes at your tits- soft plush he's missed so much within his calloused hands, running the pad of his thumb over your nipple until it's hard and puffy. He leans forward enough to suck a hickey into one of them, his wet mouth wrapped around the sensitive skin making you even weaker.

Soft little whines escape from your lips as you mewl on his cock, rolling your hips down into him. You swear you're going dizzy on his cock, and god, he's so fucking big-

You can feel your eyes rolling back every time he slams into you, but the firm hand on your jaw tells you to keep your eyes on him.

He's literally fucking you dumb.

"Keegan, 'm so close," You pant into his ear, body threatening to go limp on his dick any moment. Keegan presses his thumb into your clit, (finding it like he'd never left) and vibrates his thumb against it.

"Gonna cum for me love? Fuck, 'love making you cum on my cock."

And that, that sent you over the edge.

Your back arches on top of him as you watch your cum drip down onto his core, the sight filling your entire body with warm static. Watching you finish makes Keegan buck his hips up into you as he shoots his cum inside of you, pressing you down into him to fuck you both through your orgasms.

The next moments are filled with panting, whines and "I love yous," as you both lay down together; him wearing nothing but his boxers and you wearing the undershirt you tore off him mere minutes ago.

What a fucking sight, he thinks; You, face flushed with a fucked-out look, sprawled out pretty for him in his undershirt that made you look tiny. Little drops of his cum still rolling down your red thighs, little hickeys blooming across your collarbone and chest. How did he ever go eight months without this?

He wraps his arms around your waist as he settles his head on top of your chest, nuzzling into you as you softly massage his scalp with your nails.

He feels safe with you- like this is where he can let his guard down. He knows you'll love him at his worst. He knows you'll love him at his best. He knows you love him, and that's what keeps him sane for those long months in the field. Those cold nights without you, those weeks without hearing not even the crackle of your voice on the telephone.

He just wants to protect you forever, make you feel good forever.

But for now, it's you on him, him on you; you and him.

"My girl,"

A/N: first time writing for Keegan P.(ussy) Russ & GODDD is this man FINENEEE. like TILL MY JAW SNAPS TYPE SHIT. thanks for reading i hope y'all liked this onee

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙birthday girl | LN4˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: lando norris x reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au, established relationship

warnings: none just fluffy af

summary: in which the tl is full of posts for your special day and the love is overwhelming

a/n: not sure if this is what anon meant but this was so much fun to write anyways hope u like it !!

request!!!: Hiii can I request a Lando smau where it’s his gfs birthday and she gets super emo from all the birthday posts from Lando, fans and maybe other drivers/friends? Ty!!

fc: gracie abrams

my masterlist

twitter ->

instagram ->

danielricciardo posted a story

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 351,718 others

user9 AWWWWW

user10 i love their friendship so so much

user11 my favs

user12 lads lads lads

francisca.cgomes posted a story

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and 144,283 others

user13 so many posts to keep up with fr

user14 obsessed and in love w her

user15 THE BIG TUB OF CHEESE BALLS LOL

user16 she's just like me fr

lilymhe

liked by landonorris, alex_albon, and 519,274 others

lilymhe happy birthday to one of my best friends & funnest girl to hang with ever in the world i love u so much i want to kiss u lando is so lucky

tagged: yourusername

view all 4,284 comments

user17 she's so real

user18 lily is literally one of us

user19 GOD I LOVE THEM

user20 lily and y/n goes offfff every time

user21 "lando is so lucky" REAL

landonorris you're right and you should say it

lilymhe i know 😋

user22 so iconic

mclaren posted a story

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 604,183 others

user23 omg even the team posts for her

user24 ADMIN LOVES HER LIKE WE DO

user25 real

user26 our papaya princess 🧡

oscarpiastri posted a story

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, and 222,093 others

user27 what is going on here

user28 he meant what he said

landonorris what did you do to my girlfriend

oscarpiastri you mean what did she do to me.

carlossainz55 posted a story

liked by landonorris, lance_stroll, and 426,083 others

user29 HAHAHAHA

user30 justice for y/n

user31 still beautiful

user32 the way everyone loves her omg😭😭😭

charles_leclerc posted a story

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 618,173 others

landonorris she doesn't have to be drunk to do that

liked by charles_leclerc

user33 LOLLL get her

user34 the posts are getting mean!!

user35 i wish i was her

yourbff

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 211,384 others

yourbff happy birthday y/n 💗 my most special girl in the world & my longest friend, u have my heart completely!!!! u probably have lots of other ppls hearts too btw. i am literally in love with u and cant wait to see u later im going to kiss ur cheeks and feed u pink wine

tagged: yourusername

view all 2,193 comments

user36 this is so cute

user37 trust y/bff/n to make a sweet post when the ferrari boys made it mean 😝

liked by yourbff, landonorris

user38 the most beautiful friends ever

user39 why am i so obsessed with all the birthday posts

user40 oh to be loved the amount y/n is loved

yourfriend happy birthday y/n !!

maxverstappen1 posted a story

liked by landonorris, yourbff, and 517,153 others

landonorris u guys bully her

user41 LOL

user42 poor y/n the victim

user43 LOL i remember when she was in hospital for dehydration and everyone was just bullying her for it😭😭😭

yourusername posted a story

liked by landonorris, lilymhe, and 710,284 others

user44 our humble queen always

landonorris awww baby

lilymhe ilysm y/n

yourbff I LOVE YOU

francisca.cgomes this is why we all love you sm

carmenmmundt happy birthday you gorgeous girl you deserve it & more

alexandrasaintmleux happy birthday girlie! love u

kellypiquet happy birthday precious girl 🩷

lewishamilton happy birthday y/n !!!

yoursister you are so so loved sweet girl!!

oscarpiastri aww y/n luv u bestie

charles_leclerc ur still cute walk it off !

georgerussell63 happy birthday 🥳

fernandoalo_oficial aw y/n, you are so full of love!!

landonorris

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,723,027 others

landonorris the love of my life ❤️ you are everything and more and i hope to love you for every birthday for the rest of our lives. my sweet y/n/n, my better half, happy birthday

tagged: yourusername

view all 33,293 comments

user45 omg i screamed

user46 was waiting for this one

user47 me when

yourbff 🥹🩷

lilymhe fav couple always

user48 I LOVE THEM

yourusername im going to cry even harder thank u so much u make every moment in my life so special i love u so much

landonorris i love you

user49 omg this is too precious i died

user50 y/n is the most perfect girl in the world

THE END 🧡