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her-favorite · 3 months

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TRIP TO VEGAS; M. STURNIOLO

MATT STURNIOLO X F!READER

warnings: SMUT, dom!matt/sub!reader, exhibitionism? (being fucked against a window), slight daddy kink

wc: 3,034

a/n: okay i know you guys voted for a sub!matt fic but omfg these pics… also this is rushed (sort of)!! i saw his tt and i needed to write smth sooo

SYNOPSIS: Matt persuaded you into coming with him and Chris to Las Vegas.. but when Matt comes back to the rental house in a sleeveless shirt, you can’t deny your desire..

Matt practically begged you.

When you heard about Matt and Chris making plans to go to Vegas, you had indefinitely decided that you’d stay back with Nick while they spent time together. But Matt did not let that happen.

“Please, it’ll be fun, I promise.” He tries to convince you as you lay in his bed together, his hands subconsciously squeezing your leg as he takes place at the end of his bed. “I could take you out, somewhere fancy.” Matt tilts his head slightly, starting to gently stroke your calf.

You shake your head at his words, “Matt, everything there is absurdly expensive. I don’t wanna make you guys spend more than you already are.” You reply earnestly. You knew Matt wanted you to go, but you felt even worse making them pay for you - because you knew you didn’t have the money to pay for yourself.

“Baby, c’mon.” Matt clicks his tongue. “You know I have no problem paying for you.” He continues, as if what he was saying was the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, I want you to come with us.” He says, whining slightly. His fingers fidget with your leg, poking and stroking the skin as he awaits your answer.

Before you could open your mouth again, he cuts you off, “And Chris doesn’t care.” He says firmly, knowing what you were going to say.

Letting out a sigh, you can’t help but cave. Noticing your inner turmoil, Matt’s lips turn up as he realizes your answer, but waits until you give him it. “Fine.” You exhale, not being able to stop the smile that grows on your lips once you notice the way Matt smiles widely and whispers a, “yes!”

A couple days later, with everything figured out, the three of you went on your way to Las Vegas.

The place they rented was spacious, with high ceilings and a pretty interior. The light gray walls were smooth as your eyes took in the decor, letting your feet take you wherever they wanted to go.

Chris dashed towards the bedrooms, immediately running into the master. “I call dibs!” He yells, so you and Matt can hear. Matt rolls his eyes and places his bag down by the dinner table before making his way into the master bedroom.

“Y/N and I are getting the master, Chris!” He replies, walking through the doorway. You chuckle quietly at their bickering as you toss your bag down beside Matt’s, starting to move through the house as you wander into different, empty rooms.

A couple minutes later, you make your way back into the living room as you’re met with the two brother’s sitting there, one on their phone and the other scrolling through the tv. Moving over to sit by your boyfriend, his arm instinctively glides up to rest behind your head on the couch as you lean into him.

“When are you guys leaving?” You ask, talking over the tv as you glance between them. Matt had told you about their plans for this ‘power slap’ event they bought tickets for. He had asked you if you wanted to go, but if you were honest, you’d rather stay in the rental and enjoy the view, or even walk around the area to see what they had.

“Uh.. like half an hour.” Chris responds, taking a second as he checked the time on his phone.

“No,” Matt shook his head, looking over at his brother. “40 minutes.” He says matter-of-factly.

Chris quickly turns to make eye contact with Matt, giving him a look. “Matt, if we leave in 30 minutes, then—”

As they go back and forth, you take the remote from Matt’s hand - without a word from him - as you settle on a familiar show.

A while passes as the two of them get ready to leave. Matt kisses you gently, saying a goodbye as Chris waves, darting out the door, impatient to be there. Watching them walk out, Matt shuts the door behind him as they make their way down the driveway.

Having the entire place to yourself was sort of overwhelming; you didn’t know what to do. Big glass panels saw into the main area as you stood in front of them, admiring the view. It wasn’t too late yet, but the lights for buildings were already being turned on.

In the span of the next hour or two, you’ve ordered some food and sat on the couch as you watched television. You couldn’t say you were one to go out, especially without Matt. You enjoyed the solitude of the moment, relaxing back on the big, comfy cushions as you chuckled at the screen a few feet away from you.

You jumped slightly once you heard the front doors click, the sudden sound echoing through the house. “I’m back, baby.” Matt’s voice follows as he shuts it behind him, the sound of the door locking reverberating as well. His footsteps carry into the living room, almost immediately noticing you sitting there. A smile tugs at his lips as he makes eye contact with you, rounding the couch as he plops himself down beside you. “Hey, ma.” He says softly as he leans in to kiss your head, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You eagerly welcome his affection, tilting into his hold. Just then did you realize his change of clothes: a sleeveless black shirt with ‘Power Slap’ on it, paired with some loose white shorts. Your thighs subconsciously tighten together as your eyes rake over his exposed arms, taking in all of his tattoos. Matt’s eyes were focused on the tv as he huffed out a laugh at something that was said.

Trying to tear your gaze away, you look to your opposite side, eyes wandering the view again. It was beautiful and captivating… but not as enthralling as Matt. You curse yourself in your head as you managed to get even more worked up, deciding maybe it was best to move away from him.

You knew that you and Matt would have sex in his house with his brothers home - it was his house after-all - but it didn’t feel right to do it when it was just him and Chris, especially since it was a trip for them in the first place.

Getting up from your spot on the couch, you don’t pick up the confused look on your boyfriend’s face. Before he could ask where you were going, you ask, “Where’s Chris?”

“Said he wanted to stay for a bit,” Matt answers as he shrugs. “Told me he’d get an uber back - somethin’ about how he wanted to try and talk to one of those guys that got slapped.” He rolls his eyes at the memory of his brothers’ words before looking back at you. He watched the way you walked over to the large windows as you looked outside. Blue eyes traveled your body, soaking in your state: you were wearing Matt’s shorts as they roll down past your knees as well as a tanktop. He assumed it must’ve gotten hot in here after staying put for so long.. though, he wasn’t complaining. He always thought you looked the most tempting like this; in his clothes, relaxed, and eased.

You hum in response to his answer. You really couldn’t say you were surprised.

The couch creaked as Matt got off of it, making his way over to you. Footsteps freeze once he stands behind you, your reflections slightly visible on the windows as it grows darker outside. By now, all of the city lights were on as it made the place look even bigger.

Large hands circle around your waist as Matt steps closer to you, pressing his front to your back. “What’re you thinkin’ about, baby?” He mumbles by your ear, reading your stance as your eyes flicker between different views. They glance down to his tattooed arm as it wraps possessively around your waist, his palm stretched out across your other hip, as if shielding you from your own dirty thoughts.

You don’t give him an answer, besides a slight shake of your head. Matt chuckles lowly, noticing your quiet demeanor. He knew what you wanted, he could read you like the back of his hand.

“Such a needy girl, hm?” He hums as he leans down to press soft kisses on your neck. You gasp softly at the action, tilting your head farther to give him better access. You could feel Matt’s smirk against your skin as he trails up your neck before stopping once he finds the most sensitive spot. Licking over the area, he nips at it before pulling the skin into his mouth, sucking harshly enough to mark you as his.

Placing a few more scattered kisses on your neck once he’s done making bruises, one of his hands moves up your body slowly. “Y’wanna be fucked in front of the window, hm? Want everyone to see who owns this pussy?” Matt says into your ear, his opposite hand gliding past your (his) waistband and down to your panties. His big hand cups over the clothed area, though he can feel your neediness. “Fuck, already soaked f’me. Were you thinkin’ about this?” Matt asks as he harshly presses his thumb on your hidden clit. You gasp as one of your hands grasps forward, landing on the window pane for stability. Your other holds his arm tightly.

You knew better than to lie, “mhm.” You hum, your chest already rising and falling unevenly. Your ears pick up the way Matt chuckles before removing his hands from you completely. As soon as you start to whine, Matt shuts you up.

“Be patient.” He snaps. His fingers hook into his shorts you stole as he glides them down your legs, lazily dropping by your feet. Sliding up your thighs, his palms squeeze your ass, eliciting a whimper from you, before they travel under your shirt, slowly bringing it up, over your head. “Up.” He says as you follow his words, lifting your arms. He discards the fabric elsewhere, not caring about the placement in that moment.

Almost bare, except for your underwear, you stand in front of the large windows as you grow embarrassed. Anyone could see; people in other adjacent buildings, pedestrians walking by on the sidewalks. The rental was high up as you got the perfect view, so you’d have to look up to see your room.. though, in that moment, you were hoping no one would.

“You getting shy, sweetheart?” Matt taunts as he lets his loose shorts fall to the floor. You could see his smirk in the reflections, only riling you up more.

“Matt, please,” you whisper, moving your hips back slightly. Your hands flattened against the window as you steadied yourself, but you knew as soon as Matt were to do something, you’d lose your balance.

“Such an impatient brat.” Matt hisses as his hand glides back before slapping down onto your asscheek. Moaning from the sting, your eyes shut tightly, not expecting the sudden force. Thankfully, Matt put his free hand on your hip to ground you so your legs don’t give out.

By now, you we’re desperate.

Matt hooks his fingers into your panties, bringing them down, not without noticing the way your wetness sticks to the fabric. He smirks at the sight, silently noting to take the pair from you.

“Fuckin’ dripping.” Matt mocks as his ring-clad fingers travel down between your thighs, ghosting over your sensitive heat. Exhaling shakily at the feeling, you look down at the floor. His middle finger, being the longest, enters you first, prepping you for the rest of him. Whimpering at the sensation, you try to grind back on him as he keeps still. Smacking his hand down on your ass again, it already seems to be going sore. “Stop fucking moving, or I won’t give you what you want.” He spits, soothing his other hand over the sore skin.

You hiss at the contact of his palm, only seeming to make the area hurt more. Matt’s dick strained against his boxers, already rock hard by just playing with you like this. His ring finger joined his middle inside you, quickly moving them before you could say anything.

Moaning out, his long fingers always seem to hit that perfect spot as they tease it. You knew he wasn’t gonna let you come yet, but you wanted to, so bad.

“Please, Matt! I need it,” you gasp out, moaning as his fingers stretch you out even more. He hums as you clench around them before pulling them out, drenched in your wetness.

“So selfish,” he tsks, shaking his head mockingly. Taking a step forward, his boxers make contact with your sensitive pussy, making you inhale sharply. His hand rounds your head, sticking his fingers in front of your lips. “Open,” he demands as his wet fingers smear over your bottom lip. Obeying him, he lays them on your warm tongue as you envelope them into your mouth.

Cursing quietly to himself as you suck on his fingers, his eyes never stray away from you. They were always captivated by you, no matter the action.

Pulling his fingers away once he gets too worked up, Matt pulls down his boxers as his dick slaps against the skin on his stomach. His tip was red and neglected as it pleads for attention, leaking with need.

“Fuck, baby, you feel that?” He asks, soothing a hand over your back before pressing his hips forward, slotting his dick on your ass. “Mm, make me so fuckin’ hard.” He says lowly, lust clouding his voice.

You whine at the contact, getting more and more impatient as seconds go by. Matt brings one hand down as he lets his tip tease you, smacking against your clit as you gasp.

“Needy fuckin’ girl,” Matt snarls as he forcefully enters you, sending your body into the window. Crying out, your eyes shut tightly as your lips part. Your boobs press against the glass as Matt stands behind you, eyes trailing from where your bodies connect to your pleasure filled face.

“Wanting to be fucked against the window,” Matt clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Such a slut.” He smacks his opposite hand against your other asscheek, eliciting another moan from your parted lips. Matt’s eyes didn’t dare to leave you. The way your back arched, the way your fingers clawed at the solid glass, the look on your face and the noises leaving your lips… that alone could make him come. But he’s made it his priority to always make you come first.

“Please!” You gasp out, not necessarily knowing what you were pleading for. Your body slammed against the window with every thrust, only adding to the pleasure of it all. Matt’s cock hits that sensitive spot inside you as you cry out, the stimulation becoming too much as tears prick at your eyes.

“Poor girl,” Matt coos, noticing a tear falling from your cheek. “What, baby? What d’you need?” He slurs, also getting lost in the euphoria of the situation. His hips smack against your ass, the sound echoing through the room as it bounces off of the walls. His thrusts are fast and hard as you’re both sexually pent up, needy and desperate.

“Need ta’ cum.” You moan, trying to look back at him, even though your tense body isn’t allowing you to. “Please, Matt,” you whine.

“Please, who?” Matt smacks your ass again, evening out each side. “Being such a bad fuckin’ girl tonight.” He snaps, moving his hips harder against you. You whine louder at the feeling, knowing that his hips and nails were going to leave marks. Teasing you more, Matt brings his hand down to play with your clit, rubbing tantalizing circles around it.

“Please, daddy! Please let me cum.” You cry, the knot getting insanely tight inside your stomach as it screams for you to let go. Tears fall from your eyes as they slide down your cheeks, your lips swollen as they stay open, letting out scattered moans and cries.

Matt groans, swallowing harshly as he watches you. He knew he was close, too. “Fuck - cum for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock,” he rasps. Hearing his words, you immediately give in, your thighs shaking as you’re put at the peak of pleasure. Moaning loudly, his name falls from your lips, tears escaping your tightly shut eyes.

Feeling you release around him, Matt lets you ride it out before pulling out quickly, white spurts covering your sweaty back. “Fuuuck,” Matt groans before he exhales. His arms wrap around your waist, keeping you up. The both of you breathe heavily as exhaustion takes over your limbs.

“Gonna clean you up, sweetheart.” Matt whispers as he kisses your head. He brings you over to the couch as he walks away for a second to grab a washcloth, gently wiping down your back. He helps you lean back against it as he leans down to kiss you softly. You hum into it, enjoying the feeling.

Once he pulls away, Matt kneels down to help clean more. Before you could say anything, his tongue darts out as he licks up your center. A gasp leaves your lips at the sudden action, paired with how sensitive you are.

“Matt!” You gasp out, your hand quickly reaching down to tug at his hair. You can feel the slight vibration of his chuckle against you, making you whine quietly.

“Relax, ma, ‘m just cleanin’ you up.” He mumbles, licking up the wetness before leaving a kiss on your clit gently. Moving back up to his knees, he smiles at you, satisfied with his work. He throws the damp cloth by the couch as he wraps his arms around your waist to bring you into him.

“Are you guys done?! I’ve been waiting out here for past 10 fucking minutes!” Chris yells from outside the door.

Your eyes widen as you look up at Matt, watching him chuckle. Slapping his arm playfully, you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

It was worth it.

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo fanfic

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mekyrdesign · 1 month

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pin-k-ink · 4 months

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heat // kozume kenma

tw ⇢ mutual pining, strong sexual tension, making out, fingering, nipple play, orgasm denial, cunnilingus, teasing, squirting, unprotected sex

wc ⇢ 6.7k

a/n: not proofread

The arrivals terminal buzzed with a cacophony of greetings and farewells as travelers rushed about - wheeled suitcases clacking against the polished floors. You scanned the teeming crowds, pulse flickering with both excitement and trepidation.

After all these years, you were finally back in Tokyo. The city where you had grown up living across the street from Kenma - the two of you inseparable friends until high school graduation scattered you along diverging paths.

Though you tried keeping in touch through the occasional text and social media, the miles between you seemed to widen into an ever-growing chasm. Which made it all the more surprising when Kenma himself had reached out weeks ago extending an open invitation to stay over at his place during your upcoming visit.

"I have a pretty spacious setup now with my gaming and streaming work," he had typed nonchalantly. "You can crash at mine instead of some soulless hotel room."

Coming from anyone else, the offer could've been easily misconstrued as flirtatious or inappropriate. But this was Kenma - your childhood friend who hardly spoke more than was absolutely necessary, much less indulged in coy overtures. With him, you knew the pragmatic suggestion was precisely as straightforward as he had phrased it.

Still...spending who knew how many nights in close quarters threatened to stir up residual longings you thought had been neatly extricated years ago. You had seen the photographs and gaming celebrity articles documenting how Kenma seemed to fully bloom after high school, shedding his reticence in favor of a quiet magnetism entirely befitting his feline moniker.

Would being confronted with the all-too-appealing reality of Kenma's newly confident presence make you regress into a dumbstruck, overly flustered mess like you were as kids?

Lost in your whirling contemplations, you nearly missed the ping of an incoming text from Kenma:

"Made it through arrivals. Meet you outside?"

You startled slightly, clutching your carry-on bag as you pivoted towards the exit. Sure enough, there stood Kenma - posture slouched in that trademark listless slouch of his with hands stuffed into the pockets of a mustard yellow hoodie emblazoned with his gaming company's logo.

But beyond that superficially laidback veneer, his penetrating cat-like gaze missed nothing. Those keen amber eyes flickered over every detail of you in one sweeping glance - from your wind-tousled hair down to your ankle boots. A slight furrow creased Kenma's brow, mouth tugging into a barely perceptible frown as if dissatisfied by his visual assessment.

Before you could finish approaching him, he seemed to shake himself minutely from whatever critique had taken place. The corners of his lips quirking up into a lopsided shadow of his former boyish grin.

"Yo," Kenma greeted you with that same trademark laconic inflection even after all these years. "Long flight?"

You simply nodded, still struggling to find your footing and access the right combination of words to respond properly. Up close now, you found yourself momentarily stupefied by just how much Kenma had changed over the separation, yet somehow still manifestly embodied his innately intriguing core essence.

There was an indescribable charged electricity snapping between you two - bristling with poignant nostalgia and thrilling new tension. The corners of Kenma's slanted eyes crinkled fractionally, reflexively interpreting each one of your minute micro expressions with that eerie perceptiveness he always possessed.

"Well let's get you home and settled in, yeah?" he prompted at last when you failed to break the silence.

Nimble fingers feathered across your knuckles, sliding into your grasp before tugging you towards the exit with that same featherlight yet insistent guidance you had grown so accustomed to as kids. Knitting your brows in bemused consternation, you could only nod and allow his silent lead - the first of many unspoken exchanges that threatened to strip away all remaining defenses.

The ride back to Kenma's place was mostly quiet, each of you slipping into familiar contemplative lulls between stretches of idle chitchat and getting reacquainted. You stole sideways glances while stopped at traffic lights - drinking in all the intricate details of his profile in crystalline crisp focus.

The angular, almost severe slash of his jawline and slightly fuller pout to his lower lip. The high sweep of aristocratic cheekbones seamlessly blending into sculpted yet soft edges of his face. Even the prickling roost of silken blond roots already peeking through his two-toned tresses drew your lingering eye.

By the time Kenma smoothly navigated into the underground parking complex of his residential high-rise, you felt dazed and off-kilter as if emerging from the thick miasma of a dream. When had your oldest friend transformed into someone so inexplicably alluring yet unyielding to casual appreciation?

Kenma retrieved your solitary suitcase from the rear hatch, sweeping his hooded gaze over you consideringly through those longish fringe strands. There was a fleeting spark of mischievousness that reminded you so acutely of the Kenma from your childhood days - making your pulse kick up double-time.

"You ready to head in?" He cocked one eyebrow inscrutably. "I've got a feeling you could use a nap from all your...spacing out on the drive."

You flushed slightly at Kenma's acknowledgment of you essentially devouring him with your eyes during the entire commute. Clearing your throat, you mustered a nonchalant shrug.

"A power nap does sound amazingly good right about now," you admitted, falling into step beside him as you navigated the corridors towards the building's elevator bank.

Kenma hummed noncommittally, deft fingers already tapping out a lightning cadence against the side of your suitcase in a gesture unmistakably gaming-adjacent. The old compulsive tic brought a nostalgic smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You stole a sidelong glance at your oldest friend, wondering what sorts of virtual adventures currently captivated the nimble-minded focus you recalled so vividly from long-winded gaming sessions in his bedroom as kids. So much had changed, yet that inherent core of what made Kenma so uniquely himself clearly persisted.

Once inside his impressively spacious flat, you immediately understood why he had offered to host you instead of booking a generic hotel. The entire open-concept living area seemed expressly appointed to revolve around an imposing, multi-monitor gaming rig complete with a professional-grade broadcasting setup.

Various cat-themed peripherals and an impressive library of neatly displayed physical and digital game collections cluttered nearly every flat surface. You caught your reflection in the smoked glass case enshrining a particularly eye-catching piece of merchandise - anaberrant juxtaposition of the cosmopolitan living space tailored around Kenma's unapologetic video game devotion.

A wry chuckle from behind you made you twist back to face him. The diminutive smile playing across his lips suggested he accurately interpreted your bemused expression.

"I see that look on most people whenever they visit for the first time," Kenma murmured in that rich, honeyed voice of his that you weren't remotely prepared for. "They expect my 'career' to be some sort of immature pipe dream rather than global brand."

You shook your head quickly at the veiled hint of reproach beneath that mild observation. "No, I just...it's exactly the kind of space I always envisioned you creating for yourself, to be honest," you replied sincerely. "I think it's incredible how you've genuinely established this whole lifestyle and identity for yourself completely on your own passions and terms."

Kenma regarded you with a glimmer of pleasant surprise flickering across his striking features before smoothing them back into that familiar half-lidded aloofness. Still, you caught the way his gaze sharpened infinitesimally.

"Well, since you're the only other person who truly grasps my 'lifestyle,' I'm sure I can count on you to make yourself at home." His tongue darted out to wet his lips - a minute gesture you found your focus utterly arrested by for some reason. "The guest suite is just through here."

Amber-gold eyes met yours unflinchingly, sparking with an unspoken invitation to comment. You swallowed thickly but forced yourself to nod, shuffling after Kenma as he turned and began leading you down a dimly lit hallway.

After stowing your luggage, he ushered you into a decadently appointed en suite - complete with a massive walk-in rainfall shower that sent your exhaustion-hazed thoughts careening into rather unbecoming territory. You swiftly refocused as Kenma leaned against the marble vanity, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

"Go ahead and get settled however you need," he prompted with a vague gesture around the posh accommodations. "I'll probably be streaming for the next few hours, but you're welcome to hang out once you've recharged."

Inclining his head towards the threshold, Kenma paused just briefly - long enough for you to catch the indescribably weighted undercurrent flickering across his expression before he schooled his features. Then he pivoted, padding out in that signature laidback shuffle while you were left to stare dumbly at the patterns in the granite tile.

As the hot cascade of a shower finally began unwinding the knots of tension from travel, you couldn't ignore the steadily gathering storm of uncertainty swirling within. Part of you instinctively raised guards, preparing for the intense nostalgia and rekindled intimacy of reminiscing with Kenma to open up old wounds you thought had been neatly sutured years ago.

The other part, however - the shamelessly indulgent facet you struggled to repress - eagerly anticipated whatever unspoken electricity seemed to be steadily exerting its gravitational pull.

After luxuriating under the pulsing streams of the walk-in shower until the water ran tepid, you reluctantly toweled off and padded back into the guest suite. You were enveloped in one of the plushest terry cloth robes imaginable as you cinched it securely and paused to survey your temporary accommodations.

Sunlight slanted across the polished hardwood in warm bands, filtering through the gauzy curtains to cast everything in a gilded afternoon glow. Your gaze snagged on the embossed geometric patterns woven through the textured area rug - such an unexpected departure from the stark minimalist aesthetic you'd have imagined Kenma cultivating in his home.

Sinking down on the edge of the bed, you ran fingertips over the intricately carved patterns detailed in the wooden bedframe's footboard. So many thoughtful design touches married throughout the space that exuded a bespoke richness and warmth wholly juxtaposed against the more austere tech-centric common areas.

You couldn't resist trailing further across the plush duvet, indulging in the heavenly glide of high thread-count cotton against your calf. Seriously, how had Kenma assembled such an indulgent oasis within his gaming lair? The simple boyhood recollections you harbored cast everything in a new intriguing light.

Just as you had begun contemplating what else in Kenma's carefully curated world might challenge your established perception of him, a series of rhythmic knocks rapped against the guest suite's door.

"You decent?" His instantly recognizable dulcet tone preceded him by a beat before the door eased open a sliver.

"Of course, come in," you replied automatically, reflexively tugging the plush lapels together.

Kenma slipped through the narrow opening, clad in a long-sleeved shirt emblazoned with stylized cat motifs and a pair of formfitting joggers that embraced lean muscle definition you actively avoided ogling. Shoving his hands into the front pockets, he bobbed his head in an idle suite.

"Figured I'd come check and see if you managed to get some rest."

"More or less," you hedged with a lopsided smile. "Your shower was heavenly for working out some lingering flight stiffness at least."

A faint tinge of color brushed across Kenma's arched cheekbones at the innocuous mention of the shower. Had your imagination gone so utterly to seed that something as simple as—

"Cool, good. I'm all wrapped up with my gaming sessions for the day, if you want to..." he trailed off, adam's apple bobbing minutely before venturing a sidelong look through those burnished lashes. "Or we could just order something for dinner and...I don't know, hang?"

The weight of unspoken implication behind that seemingly casual invitation hit you like a visceral punch, momentarily robbing you of your voice. Instinct shouted to claim the offering, while deeply ingrained reservations around compromising a cherished lifelong friendship threatened to override any forward impulses.

After a protracted pause, you cleared your throat quietly. "Yeah, sounds great." Steadying yourself with a measured inhale, you lifted your chin as a slow smile unfurled across your lips. "I'm famished, so...what are you feeling?"

A muscle in Kenma's jaw ticked fleetingly, eyes glittering for just a moment before blinking back to their trademark heavy-lidded warmth. "I could go for some hot pot...lots of protein. Think you can handle the spice?"

The edges of his mouth curled into an undeniably flirtatious grin that sent your pulse skittering immediately into double-time. You felt the heat flooding your cheeks, but leaned into the pull of his focused magnetism rather than shrinking away.

"Oh, I can handle anything you wanna dish out," You tossed back, surprising yourself with the faint purr underlying your words.

Without looking away, you slowly rose to your feet - allowing the plush robe to slough off one shoulder with deliberately choreographed casualness. Kenma's breath audibly hitched, eyes darkening momentarily in appreciation before his lips parted on a low exhale.

"Is that right? I'll have to remember you said that." His voice dropped into a sin-tinged register that went straight to your core. "We have...all sorts of games to play later."

The unmistakable undercurrent behind his double entendre sent another rush of molten heat cascading through you. This time you responded with nothing but a subtle arch of one brow, staring him down in electrified silence as the air itself seemed to thicken and throb with heated tension.

Until finally Kenma ceded the moment with an almost pained hiss through his teeth before pivoting on his heel. "I'll get that order placed. You might want to slip into something...sturdier."

You suppressed the urge to openly gape at his rapidly retreating form, frozen in the wake of whatever had just viscerally transpired. Of one thing you were abruptly certain - these coming days would be more of a test of endurance than either of you seemed prepared for.

The spice Kenma alluded to was poised to burn you down to ash before you even had a chance to compute the inferno.

The pungent aroma of simmering broth and assorted proteins wafted through the apartment as you settled across from Kenma at the kitchen island. A dizzying array of small plates and dipping sauces had been meticulously arranged, as if this were some elaborate streaming event rather than a casual dinner.

"I may have gone a bit overboard," Kenma admitted, sweeping a hand over the impressive spread with an uncharacteristically sheepish tilt to his mouth. "Old habits and all that."

You couldn't resist letting out a low appreciative whistle. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're flexing for your captive audience here."

Grabbing your chopsticks, you deftly plucked a perfectly seared slice of marbled wagyu from the central hot pot, purposefully locking eyes with Kenma as you brought the morsel to your lips. His gaze followed, rapt and laser-focused, as you slipped the tender beef past your parted lips with an involuntary moan of satisfaction.

"You have no idea..." he murmured, low and rough like gravel.

You paused mid-chew, certain your ears had to be playing tricks. But the heated intensity burning behind Kenma's stare left no ambiguity about the undercurrent thrumming between you. Recovering with a coquettish arch of one brow, you reached for one of the small dipping dishes - fingers brushing against the back of his wrist accidentally-on-purpose.

"No, I really don't," you murmured before deliberately dragging your tongue along the plump swell of your bottom lip to collect a stray smear of savory-sweet sauce. "Why don't you elaborate for me?"

A muscle ticked faintly along Kenma's chiseled jawline as his gaze followed the unconscious path of your tongue with rapt fixation. You watched his pupils slowly dilate, then narrow into frozen precision as his lips parted on a harsh exhalation.

For an endless stretch, the thickening silence seemed to yawn between you, weighted with the echo of your suggestive challenge. Unsure whether to double down or backpedal, you felt suspended in a crystalline stasis awaiting Kenma's response like it held the power to upend your world.

"Well, well...look who's developed a bold side in their old age," he finally rumbled in that sinfully textured timbre you weren't remotely prepared to withstand. His smirk sharpened fractionally as one elegant fingertip traced the rim of a small ceramic dish filled with delicately pink pickled ginger. "Trust me, I have plenty to...elaborate on, if you think you can keep up."

Your breath hitched faintly as he raised the dish to his mouth, sweeping his tongue with excruciating indolence across the glistening ginger to collect the tangy juices. He held your widening stare hostage as he hollowed his cheeks around the soft flesh suggestively before withdrawing with a quietly filthy sound.

"How's the heat treating you so far?" Kenma practically purred after a considering pause. "Because it's about to get much...much more intense."

You could only swallow thickly, wishing you could play the consummate picture of unruffled nonchalance like he did. Instead, you shifted unconsciously in your seat - tormented by an uncomfortable tightness in your jeans from the undeniable pull of Kenma's molten confidence.

For his part, the setter-turned-streamer simply watched you steadily over the rim of his beer glass as he sipped. Seemingly amused by your flustered state and secure in the knowledge he'd already seized the upper hand in whatever game stood to unfurl between you over the coming days.

Before either of you could press the heated boundaries further, a strident chirp echoed from the hallway - effectively shattering the thick tension with its jarring intrusion.

Kenma quirked one brow in irritation before rising smoothly to his feet, shooting you one last unreadable look from beneath his lashes as he stalked off to retrieve whatever device was clamoring for his attention.

Left alone, you huffed out a sharp exhale, remnants of desire still prickling across your heated skin like a brand. Muttering a soft curse under your breath, you steadied your racing pulse and turned your focus back towards the array of food with something adjacent to grim determination.

One way or another, you were going to wrestle back control of this game before it devolved into utter capitulation to the hypnotically smoldering aura Kenma had somehow mastered in your absence.

Little did you realize you had already resigned yourself to becoming the moth irresistibly fixated upon his flame...

The following week passed in a heated haze of building frustration and rapidly fraying restraint.

No matter how innocuous the interaction - lounging together on the sofa while Kenma orchestrated one of his streaming sessions, accompanying him on idyllic forays across Tokyo to revisit childhood haunts, even the mundane domesticity of sharing meals - an inescapable undercurrent of restless tension thrummed like a livewire between you.

Countless moments where your gazes would lock in a protracted stare; fingertips "accidentally" brushing along exposed skin and triggering full-body shockwaves resonating bone-deep. The perpetual push-and-pull of flirtation somehow elevating errant touches and otherwise innocuous exchanges into something hungering and profane.

Kenma no longer bothered to disguise the appreciative trail of his penetrating stare roving across your form whenever you bent or stretched. You quickly acclimated to the hot skim of his focus mapping every curve and dip overtly, pupils dilating with shamelessly burning desire he didn't seem inclined to sate.

For your part, you began unconsciously rising to match that unhurried confidence - boldly regarding Kenma's lithe, powerful physique with the same sensuous appreciation. Emboldened by how his throat would noticeably tighten every time your eyes dropped to linger across the vee of his collarbones, hips subtly canting forward whenever he sprawled in those fitted joggers that clung like a second skin.

Beyond the escalating physicality, you found yourself captivated by Kenma's rare loquaciousness about himself more than anything. Unburdened from your weighty history, he began opening up in quiet retrospective anecdotes about his passage into adulthood, steadily dismantling your preconceptions about his insular nature.

Like how he had secretly sponsored a children's e-sports program to guide underprivileged kids into careers in the burgeoning gaming industry. Or the surprising revelation that he regularly worked pro-bono with speech pathologists to design specialized voice controls for disability accessibility.

This was a side of Kenma's generosity and altruism towards the community fostering his career that you never could have envisioned. And with each newy facet, you found yourself plunging deeper under his unrelenting pull - utterly infatuated with who this remarkable man had become.

He simply chuckled, low and throaty, each time you gushed over some fresh depth unveiled. Absorbing your unrestrained awe and esteem with the same private relish as whenever you "inadvertently" provoked him into undisguised want. The heady combination only fanned the flames of simmering tension blazing between you.

It was on the eighth night sequestered together when Kenma decided to press the boundaries once more.

You were sprawled on the plush area rug before the oversized sectional, cycling through television menus in a vain attempt to pick something suitable to watch. A frustrated huff punched from your chest as you reached the end of yet another recommendations category that failed to inspire.

"Everything looks so mindless and forgettable nowadays," you mused, half to yourself. "What happened to real stories being told?"

A low chuckle resonated from behind you, vaguely Kenma-scented air puffing across the nape of your neck. You hadn't even registered his approach until his muscular form settled on the rug beside you with only a whisper of displaced fabric. The gold-green kaleidoscope of his eyes practically glowed with wicked mischief at your obvious failure.

"Well if you crave imaginative narratives so badly, maybe you'd fare better diving into a real fantasy scenario instead."

The rich velvet of Kenma's timbre immediately snapped every iota of your focus towards him. Your eyebrows lifted quizzically as he leaned in incrementally closer, fringe of silky hair feathering along your temple.

"What did you have in mind?"

Another low rumble ghosted your hairline as Kenma hummed almost inaudibly. "Let's just say...I have a distinctly illicit form of entertainment that may require your unbiased opinion."

Intrigue sparked low in your abdomen at the deliciously unspoken implications behind his words. Before you could fully decide whether or not to indulge his transparent flirtation, Kenma was already rising to his feet once more - extending one elegant hand down towards you in silent invitation.

Scarcely daring to breathe, you allowed him to pull you upright before following his lead towards the hallway. You pretended not to notice how his palm scorched the naked small of your back through the thin cotton tanktop as he ushered you across the darkened threshold into his inner sanctum.

A hushed, ambient glow bathed Kenma's bedroom in shades of moody twilight as you stepped over the threshold. Various pieces of gaming memorabilia and framed promotional artwork adorned the walls, creating an insulated atmosphere that existed in a world entirely unto itself.

Without preamble, Kenma crossed to the sleek desktop monitor setup, fingers already flying in a flurry of keystrokes and clicks as he booted up whatever "illicit entertainment" he had teased. You hovered uncertainly in the center of the space, casting furtive glances around the dimly lit sanctuary that emanated pure Kenma energy.

"Have a seat," he prompted without turning around - as if acutely aware of your momentary hesitation. "Get comfortable."

You cleared your throat but obeyed, carefully perching on the edge of Kenma's massivebed. The plush duvet conformed luxuriously to your weight, upholstered in some sort of sleek microfiber that reminded you of a cat's velveteen coat. Inexplicably, you found yourself burrowing your fingers through the decadent bedding's nap while studying Kenma's form in sidelong profile.

The muted blue-white glow from his monitors caressed the elegant contours of his face, shadowing the regal sweep of cheekbones and strong jawline in stark chiaroscuro. You marveled at just how much he had evolved from the reserved, rail-thin youth of your memories into the tantalizingly statuesque man before you now. One defined by an aura of languid intensity and assured command over whatever scenario unfolded around him.

As if he could sense the weight of your rapt scrutiny, Kenma angled towards you incrementally - chin dipping just enough to pin you momentarily with the full smolder of that heavy-lidded golden stare. His lush mouth curved into the barest ghost of a smirk, clearly relishing whatever discovery had your undivided attention so thoroughly enraptured.

"Second thoughts about seeing how the other half indulges their fantasies?" he murmured, pitching his already simmering timbre at a register that seemed scientifically engineered to inflame your senses.

An involuntary shiver rippled through you despite the heated flush creeping up your neck. Swallowing hard, you mirrored the slow, molten sweep of Kenma's eyes with one of your own - unabashed in drinking in each lean, corded muscle shifting beneath his fitted tee.

"Not a chance," you rasped, proud of how steady you managed to keep your voice despite the electrifying lash of his focus. "I'm the one who thrives on having my boundaries thoroughly...obliterated."

Kenma held your weighted stare for one suspended heartbeat longer before his tongue slipped out to wet his lower lip with unconscious sensuality. You mirrored the visceral action, entirely mesmerized by the naked want flickering across his strikingly beautiful features in that crystalline moment.

Then he seemed to resettle his composure like an unshakeable monolith, turning back towards the computer monitors as he clicked open some file directory. You subtly repositioned yourself more comfortably on the bed, back canting against the sturdy headboard while determinedly ignoring each tantalizing glimpse of scarlet duvet bunched around you in disheveled invitation.

A few more staccato keystrokes and suddenly one of the monitors flared to luminescent life - the unmistakable refrains of an overly saccharine J-pop opening sequence blaring through Kenma's speakers.

The game loaded on Kenma's monitor, intro music at odds with the charged atmosphere. You watched raptly as a buxom anime avatar appeared - her features and proportions eerily…familiar.

"Kenma..." You began, then trailed off, unsure if you wanted confirmation of what seemed obvious.

He didn't respond right away, deftly navigating the opening scenarios with deft keystrokes and clicks. Only when the digital woman began making coy, suggestive comments did you see him tense imperceptibly.

You studied the sharp lines of his profile, the slight parting of his lips as he deliberately avoided your questioning gaze. Finally, he exhaled - the sound low and fraught.

"I've had this commissioned mod for a while now," Kenma murmured, finally glancing your way with molten eyes. "From certain...unflattering angles, she captures some essence of you that's proven...distracting."

Your mouth went dry as you processed his oblique admission. Kenma had essentially crafted a digital embodiment of you to indulge his fantasies privately. The thought was overwhelmingly, incendiary.

"Show me," you heard yourself reply, proud of how steady your tone remained.

Kenma exhaled slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard as the digital avatar paused mid-scenario. His eyes cut towards you, burning intensity simmering behind those heavy lids.

"This next interaction gets...decidedly more intimate," he murmured, a muscle ticking along his chiseled jaw. "Are you sure you want me to continue?"

You held his searing gaze, giving a small nod. Kenma's lips parted on a ragged exhale before he continued guiding the game. The simulated woman began uttering breathless endearments, describing in graphic detail the acts she longed for her partner to indulge. You felt heat prickling across your skin as Kenma's jaw went taut, his own arousal visibly kindling.

"Look at her, begging for it so shamelessly," he rasped, not looking at the screen. His smoldering eyes bored into you. "But she doesn't even begin to fully capture the reality of how intoxicating you are."

Your breath hitched at the undisguised yearning that threaded his deep velvet tone. Kenma's chest rose and fell rapidly, desire and restraint wrestling across his striking features.

"To have you panting my name..." He continued roughly. "Writhing against me as I finally make good on every heated fantasy..."

A low, guttural sound tumbled from his parted lips as he abruptly shoved back from the desk. In two strides, he towered over you - an inscrutable, blazing force looming above where you sat rooted to the bed. You could only gaze up, up at him, dizzy with spiraling need.

Then Kenma simply...moved.

One moment, you were shakily inhaling his earthy, spice-tinged scent. The next, the universe distilled to the scalding slide of his mouth possessively claiming yours. A guttural rumble reverberated from deep within his chest as you eagerly opened for the fervent sweep of his tongue.

Any last vestiges of restraint shattered irreparably.

You clung to the sinewy lines of Kenma's back as he walked you further up the bed without relinquishing his devouring kiss. Finally breaking just long enough to gaze upon you with eyes guttering like banked embers, before swooping down to map every exposed inch of feverish skin with a desperate, open-mouthed reverence.

Every scorching path of his tongue and teeth left you arching helplessly against him, hands clutching greedily at the powerful lines of his frame. The sensation of him, warm and solid and overwhelming, left your pulse careening into double-time.

Then one leanly muscled thigh slid between yours, applying the barest hint of pressure that threatened to shatter you. You moaned his name, hips instinctively canting against him in search of sweet relief.

Kenma merely growled - a predatory, primal sound - before seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head. His smoldering stare met yours, pupils dilated until his eyes resembled two obsidian pools ringed in liquid fire.

"I can feel just how badly you need this," he rasped, a note of disbelief threading through his tone. "How you're fucking dripping for me."

You gasped, shuddering as the blunt force of his thigh pressed harder against your aching core. Then his free hand dipped below the waistband of your jeans, sliding sinuously through the slick arousal pooling there.

Kenma hissed out a curse as his fingertips stroked feather-light patterns across your throbbing clit. Each touch sent white-hot sparks spiraling through you, a deliciously building pressure that left you whimpering incoherently.

"Fuck, I could play with your gorgeous cunt all night."

Kenma punctuated his darkly erotic admission with the sinuous slide of one long finger inside you. Your walls immediately clenched around him, back bowing with the delicious intrusion.

He released a low groan, adding a second finger to the first as your hips rocked against his hand. He held your gaze, molten and hungry as he pumped his fingers mercilessly in and out of your soaking heat.

"You're taking me so fucking beautifully," he purred, his free hand skimming the hem of your shirt up just enough toexpose the supple curve of your breasts. "So eager for every bit of pleasure I can give you."

Your nipples pebbled immediately, aching for his touch. Kenma leaned down, tongue flicking the straining peak of one sensitive nub before drawing it between his lips. You keened as the sensation arrowed directly to the molten pool of need building within.

Kenma hummed low in approval, the vibration rippling across your nipple and sending fresh shudders coursing through you. Then he was curling his fingers, stroking a spot so deliciously deep you saw stars.

Your entire world collapsed into the single point of Kenma's relentless thrusts, the maddening flick of his tongue and the torturous suction of his mouth against your breasts. Every nerve ending crackled and burned with the electric friction he stoked higher, higher, until—

A sob tore from your throat as you felt Kenma slide his fingers out of you. You were left trembling, utterly wrecked and bereft - a string of pleas and curses tumbling incoherently from your lips.

"Please, I-I was so close."

Kenma gazed down, lips swollen and reddened from his relentless kisses. "Don't worry, I'm nowhere near finished with you."

With that, he began unbuttoning your jeans, slowly easing the denim and dampened fabric of your panties down your trembling legs. Your entire body sang at the feeling of being utterly bare before him.

Then his eyes widened, a low sound like a snarl vibrating from his chest as he took in the sight of your slick, glistening cunt. You flushed at the unbridled hunger reflected there, the knowledge that it was because of him - his touch, his words, his body - that had you absolutely soaked.

Without preamble, Kenma was on his knees between your legs, his hands gripping the back of your thighs as his mouth descended. You cried out at the first hot swipe of his tongue, hands instinctively burying themselves in the silky softness of his hair.

Kenma groaned at the sensation, the sound resonating directly against your clit. His lips sealed around the swollen bundle of nerves, the faintest graze of his teeth sending fresh spasms of pleasure wracking through you.

You couldn't breathe, couldn't think - every fiber of your being a raw, exposed livewire crackling under Kenma's unhurried attention. The languid drag of his tongue as it plunged into your aching depths, the obscene sounds as he sucked your clit. Every sensation was a blissful torment that had you bucking against his face, desperate for more.

Kenma seemed to relish in your uninhibited abandon. He tightened his hold, pulling you even closer against his ravenous mouth. A keening cry tore from your lips as his tongue fucked you mercilessly, lapping up every bit of your honeyed arousal.

You felt your walls begin to flutter, the molten pressure building with every swipe of Kenma's wicked tongue. Just as you were about to come undone, his mouth pulled away.

A broken whimper tumbled from your lips as he began kissing a slow, scorching path up the quivering plane of your stomach, across the dip between your breasts. All the while, his hands caressed the heated flesh of your inner thighs, teasing so close to the slick heat throbbing for him.

"Not yet," he rumbled, lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. "I need to feel your pretty cunt squeezing around my cock before you come."

He leaned back just enough to pull his shirt off, revealing a chiseled torso rippling with lean, powerful muscles. The sight sent a fresh surge of need pulsing through you.

Kenma reached for the waistband of his joggers, shoving the fabric down with agonizing indolence. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy and dripping. Your breath caught at the sight.

With a low groan, he palmed the rigid length, his thumb spreading the bead of precum at his swollen tip. He held your gaze as he stroked himself, lips parting on a ragged exhale.

"See what you do to me," he gritted, the corded muscles of his forearm flexing. "My beautiful, perfect girl."

The unadulterated reverence in his voice sent a surge of heat racing through you. Kenma's nostrils flared, a growl resonating deep in his chest.

"You're practically begging to have my cock stretching that tight cunt," he continued roughly, leaning down until the molten tip of his length grazed the seam of your soaking entrance. "I could take you right now."

A shudder coursed through you as his head nudged against your throbbing clit. Your hips arched instinctively, seeking the delicious friction. Kenma let out a low, pained sound.

"That's it, fuck yourself on me," he growled, eyes blazing with a possessive, predatory lust.

Your eyes rolled back, a moan spilling from your lips as his shaft dragged through your soaked folds. Every inch of your skin felt scorched, hypersensitive - the air itself charged with electricity.

Then Kenma was reaching down, lining the swollen tip of his length against your aching entrance. His hand gripped the back of your thighs, holding you open as he pressed forward.

You bit back a cry, back arching as his cock stretched you inch by delicious inch. Your walls fluttered and clenched, struggling to accommodate his girth. But Kenma kept going, a low stream of praise falling from his lips as his hands skimmed soothing patterns across your trembling thighs.

"That's it, I've got you. Such a good girl, taking every fucking inch."

A moan slipped from your lips as he bottomed out, the sensation of his thick cock filling you utterly overwhelming. His hips rocked slowly, allowing you to adjust.

You gripped the sheets, struggling to stay tethered to reality. The feeling of Kenma's length buried to the hilt, his hands gripping your thighs, his smoldering gaze pinning you. It was all too much, but still not enough.

"Please," you begged, your voice a hoarse whisper.

Kenma's nostrils flared, the tendons of his throat flexing as he swallowed hard. Then he began thrusting, each stroke a searing slide of friction. The heels of his palms dug into your waist as he pinned you with his weight, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest.

Your moans filled the air, interspersed with the slick, filthy sounds of his cock pumping in and out of your aching cunt. You writhed, helpless beneath the delicious onslaught, his length stroking places that left you breathless.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Kenma rasped, his grip on your hips tightening. "And look how beautifully you take my cock."

A flush bloomed across your heated skin, a delicious ache building with every thrust. You whimpered as Kenma's thumb began circling your swollen clit, the added sensation driving you to the brink.

"I can feel how close you are," he rumbled, the molten intensity in his gaze unwavering. "Give me everything, sweet girl."

A shudder wracked through you, your walls fluttering as you teetered on the edge. Kenma's thumb moved faster, his thrusts picking up a punishing rhythm.

"Come for me."

Your vision blurred, ecstasy crashing over you in wave after wave of rapture. A cry tore from your lips, back arching as your pussy clenched and squirted around his thick length. Kenma let out a guttural groan, his strokes growing erratic as his own release approached.

You moaned, overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock throbbing and swelling inside you. Kenma's head fell back, eyes closed as his thrusts became frenzied. His jaw clenched, a ragged groan escaping his parted lips as he finally came.

His length pulsed inside you, painting your walls with hot spurts of his cum. You shuddered, the sensation pushing you into a second, unexpected climax. Kenma growled, thrusting through both of your releases until you were utterly spent.

You lay there panting, struggling to catch your breath as Kenma's weight settled beside you. He reached out, trailing a fingertip down the slope of your cheek, the hollow of your throat. You shivered, still hypersensitive.

"Beautiful," he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips.

A soft hum slipped from your mouth as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. You sighed, content to melt into the deliciously sated haze that permeated the aftermath.

Then, Kenma's voice sounded again, low and rumbling from deep within his chest:

"You should move in."

Your eyes flew open, breath hitching as the full import of his words hit you. Kenma's arms tightened, a subtle tension radiating across his powerful frame.

"I know it’s selfish, but I wasn’t planning on letting you leave if I’d worked up the courage to confess to you," he continued quietly, his breath warm against your neck. "You don't have to, but—"

"Yes."

The word slipped from your lips before you even had time to fully process the decision. But the moment it hung suspended in the charged silence, you knew the answer was inevitable.

"Yes?" Kenma echoed, something like wonder threading through his voice.

You twisted to meet his gaze, the faintest flicker of hope reflected there. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, a giddy warmth blossoming across your chest.

"Yes," you repeated, punctuating the word with a gentle kiss to his parted lips. "There's no way in hell I'm leaving you now."

Kenma hummed, a slow smile of his own curving his mouth as he pulled you even closer. You felt his lips brush the shell of your ear, his words a warm murmur of contentment:

"Good. Because you're not going anywhere."

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #kenma x reader smut #kenma fluff #kenma smut #kenma kuzome #kenma x reader #hq kenma #haikyuu kenma #kozume kenma

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pucksandpower · 4 months

Text

Pequeña

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Fernando Alonso x Webber!Reader

Summary: a brutal breakup leads you right into the arms of one of your father's oldest friends (or in which being sooooo normal about Fernando Alonso runs in the Webber family)

Warnings: 18+ content, age gap, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable state, breeding, and pregnancy

You sit hunched on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest as tears stream down your face. Your mobile vibrates again and you swipe away another message from your now ex-boyfriend without reading it. How could he do this to you? You thought what you had was real.

Your thoughts drift to home, to your family thousands of miles away in Australia. You long for your dad’s comforting embrace and your mum’s reassuring words. But they’re so far away. You feel painfully alone in this strange English city where you’ve come to attend university.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re dialing a familiar number. It rings three times before a warm voice picks up. “Hola pequeña! What’s wrong?”

“N-Nando ...” You sniffle, trying and failing to keep your voice from cracking. “He … he cheated on me.”

There’s a pause before Fernando responds, his Spanish lilt taking on a protective edge. “That little hijo de puta. I’ll kill him myself.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No, don’t do that. I … I just miss home. Miss my family.”

“Say no more, pequeña. You’re coming to stay with me for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you all alone like this.”

You hesitate, wiping at your tears. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose ...”

“Impose?” Fernando laughs. “My favorite girl? Never. I’m sending a car to get you right now.”

“No, no, I can drive myself-”

“You’ll do no such thing in this state,” he chides. “Driver’s on his way. Go pack a bag.”

You open your mouth to protest again but think better of it. Fernando can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Nando. Really.”

“De nada, pequeña. I’ve got the guest room all ready for you. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

His soothing Spanish accent is already making you feel infinitely better. You know Fernando has been close with your family for years, has watched you grow up into the young woman you are today. He’s always treated you like his own daughter.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it. Spending time with Fernando is guaranteed to lift your spirits. “Your place in Silverstone, right?”

“That’s the one. Get packing and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you very soon.”

You hang up and immediately start throwing clothes and essentials into an overnight bag with a renewed sense of hope. Fernando always knows just what to do to make you feel better.

Two hours later, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a sleek black sedan by a courteous driver in a pressed suit. He takes your bag and stows it in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.

“Miss Webber? I’ll be taking you to Mr. Alonso’s residence now.”

You nod, suddenly exhausted from all the crying. The driver seems to sense your melancholy because he doesn’t try to make small talk.

The English countryside whips by in a blur of green fields and quaint villages. Before you know it, the sedan is pulling up to an impressive brick estate surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens.

The driver lets you out and leads you up to the front door, which swings open before you can knock. Fernando stands there in a soft white sweater and dark-washed jeans, arms open wide.

“Pequeña!” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he pulls you into a fierce hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

You breathe in his comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs.

He ushers you inside and you can’t help but gape at the tasteful, modern interior decor. It’s bright and airy, with huge windows offering views of the impeccable gardens beyond.

“This place is incredible, Nando,” you say, trailing behind him as he leads you through the spacious living room towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“You like?” He grins over his shoulder. “I had it remodeled not too long ago. Here, have a seat.” He pulls out a barstool at the huge kitchen island.

You take a seat, settling your elbows on the cool granite surface as Fernando busies himself at the stove. “So,” he says without turning around. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detalle.”

You sigh, resting your chin in your hands as Fernando starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. “Well, it started a few weeks ago. ..”

You recount all the little things that, in hindsight, were red flags: the constant emailing and texting, the unusually long nights “studying” at the library, the bizarre excuses. Fernando listens intently, occasionally tossing in a sympathetic “maldito idiota” or an indignant shake of his head.

Finally, you get to the part where you finally confronted your now ex about his shady behavior … only to have him confess that he’d been cheating on you for months with some underclassman sociology major.

By the time you’ve finished, your voice is thick from holding back a fresh wave of tears. Fernando sets down the knife he was using to chop vegetables and comes around the island to pull you into another hug.

“Oh, pequeña,” he murmurs into your hair. “Lo siento mucho. You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me?”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Fernando rubs your back again before pulling away, hands on your shoulders so he can look you square in the eyes.

“Listen. That boy?” A feisty glint enters his warm hazel eyes. “He’s a fool, a complete and total imbecile for hurting someone as incredible as you. You’re so brave, so strong, so full of life ...” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And any man should consider himself the luckiest in the world to have you in his life, you understand?”

You manage a watery smile and nod again. Leave it to Fernando to know exactly what to say to begin mending your broken heart.

“Good.” He straightens up, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now dry those tears, pequeña. I’m making my famous seafood paella for dinner tonight and I’ll need my best assistant chef!”

You let out a surprised laugh, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Fernando waves a dismissive hand as he returns to the cutting board. “Everyone can learn with a little guidance from Chef Nano, no?”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur of cheerful chopping, stirring, and laughing as Fernando walks you through the steps, nudging you gently whenever you veer off course. It’s impossible to stay weighed down by your sadness when he’s cracking jokes in that irreverent way of his and peppering you with silly kitchen nicknames.

By the time you’ve portioned out the fragrant saffron rice studded with shrimp, mussels, and clams into bowls, you’re doubled over in a fit of giggles from Fernando’s dramatic retelling of his past Formula 1 antics.

“... And then this crazy Australian madman comes barreling into the pit and just starts laying into me!” He throws his hands up, eyes dancing with mirth. “If Charlie hadn’t stepped in, I think your old man really might’ve killed me that day!”

You shake your head, still laughing as you take your first bite of the paella. It’s absolute perfection, the flavors melding together in an incredible symphony on your tongue. “My dad really went after you?”

“Oh yeah,” Fernando chuckles, digging into his own bowl. “We were like two crazed animals back then whenever we were on the track together. Couldn’t stand each other.”

There’s a lull as you both focus on eating for a few minutes. When you’re pleasantly full and satiated, you sit back with a contented sigh.

“Nando, that was hands down the best paella I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me too much.” He waves a hand, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Just wait until tomorrow, when Chef Nano teaches you how to make the perfect tortilla Española, eh?”

The idea of getting to spend more time with Nando and being cooked for brings a genuine, untroubled smile to your face for the first time in days. This is just what you needed to start healing from your recent heartbreak.

***

As you help Fernando clear the dishes, a comfortable silence settles between you. He pours you both generous glasses of his favorite Spanish rioja and you retire to the plush living room sofas.

Fernando settles into the overstuffed armchair across from you, stretching out his lean legs as he takes a sip of wine. “So, pequeña ...” He fixes you with that warm, piercing gaze. “What is it you really want? In a man, I mean.”

You pause, considering his question as you swirl the ruby liquid in your glass. “I … I’m not sure I know anymore, to be honest. I thought I had it all figured out with ...” You trail off, unable to even say your ex’s name without a pang of hurt lancing through you.

Fernando reaches over to pat your knee comfortingly. “Hey, no more tears, okay? That pendejo is in the past. I’m asking what your ideal partner would be like going forward. What do you want, need, deserve from a man?”

You take a fortifying sip of the bold, peppery wine before responding. “I think … more than anything, I just want to feel cherished. Valued. Like I’m the most important person in his world.”

Fernando’s expression softens. “Oh, pequeña. You have such a big, beautiful heart. Of course that’s what you want — to be adored and treated like the incredible woman you are.”

You duck your head, warmth blooming in your cheeks at his praise. “I don’t know, Nando. Maybe I’m just being naive or asking for too much ...”

“Claro que no!” He leans forward, pinning you with an intense look. “You’re allowed to want those things, pequeña. You’re allowed to be selfish when it comes to your heart and what you need to be truly, deeply happy.”

His words resonate somewhere deep within you and you find yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right. I am allowed to want someone who makes me their whole world and never takes me for granted, aren’t I?”

“Exactamente.” Fernando reaches over to grasp your hands, his calloused fingers engulfing yours. “And let me tell you — any man who doesn’t give you that is un verdadero idiota. You deserve to be cherished, worshipped, put up on a pedestal every single day.”

His dark eyes burn with conviction, lips pressed into a serious line. You find yourself unable to look away, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his words and manner.

“You deserve everything, pequeña,” he continues in a low, gravelly tone. “A man who makes you his whole priority, who loves you with every fiber of his being. Someone who will lay the world at your feet.”

Fernando reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheekbone reverently. The calloused pad of it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Someone who looks at you and can scarcely breathe for how lucky, how blessed they are to have you in their life ...”

His face is so close to yours now, his warm breath caressing your lips. You’re completely transfixed, body thrumming with barely restrained tension and … anticipation?

Fernando’s next words are barely more than a hoarse rumble. “I will cherish you, pequeña. Always. Allow me to show you how a real man adores the woman he loves.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent and tasting of wine and desire. You gasp into the kiss, frozen for a split second before melting against him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands slide up to tangle in the soft strands at the nape of his neck as he angles his head, deepening the heated exchange.

Fernando groans low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. His large, nimble hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place as he takes his time thoroughly exploring your mouth, nibbling at your lips, stroking his talented tongue against yours in a way that has you whimpering into him.

He pulls away slightly and you chase his lips with a soft keen of protest. Fernando chuckles darkly, nosing along your jaw.

“Patience, pequeña,” he rumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “As sweet as that gorgeous mouth is, there are so many other parts of you I’ve been longing to taste ...”

A full-body shudder wracks you at his words, at the sheer need and promise lacing his tone. Part of you is stunned by how quickly the atmosphere between you has shifted, how easily you fell into his passionate embrace.

But a much larger part — the part that has admired and idolized this man since you were knee-high — is utterly intoxicated. Delirious with the knowledge that the love you’ve secretly harbored for Fernando for years is, impossibly, reciprocated.

His mouth is trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of your throat and you tilt your head back with a wanton moan, reveling in the rasp of his day-old stubble against your sensitized skin.

“N-Nando ...” You try to put a protesting note in your voice, but it comes out a pleading whine instead. “Are you sure about this? I’m … I’m just a kid to you.”

He rears back to pin you with a look so full of naked want it makes you squirm. “You stopped being a kid a long time ago, pequeña,” he growls. “I’ve been watching you grow into this gorgeous, fiery woman and it’s taken everything in me not to take you into my arms like this until now.”

His hands roam down to palm your waist, fingers flexing possessively against the dip of your sides. You’re breathless, dizzy, wondering if you’ve stumbled into some incredible, wildly realistic dream.

Because surely this — with your longtime crush, the older man you’ve harbored forbidden fantasies about pulling you flush against his strong frame and lavishing kisses up the side of your neck — cannot be real. Can it?

“It’s real, pequeña. So, so real,” Fernando croons, as if reading your mind. He frames your face again, searing you with another passionate kiss that steals your breath and chases away any remaining doubts. “Feel how real it is,” he murmurs, guiding your hands down to the firm evidence of his arousal straining against the soft denim.

You whimper into his mouth, tentatively palming the thick bulge. Fernando hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to yours. His eyes are tightly shut, long lashes fanning across sunkissed skin.

“F-fuck, pequeña,” he chokes out in a ragged voice. “Been dreaming of those little hands on me for years.”

Something inside you shifts at his confession, like a dam of long repressed want and need cracking open. You suddenly feel bolder, empowered by the effect you’re having on this man — this god among men who you’ve put on a pedestal for so long.

Maintaining heated eye contact, you slowly drag your hand up the length of his erection in one firm stroke that has Fernando’s hips jerking up as he curses vehemently in Spanish.

“Like this?” You rasp, a blatant challenge in your tone as you repeat the motion.

Fernando’s eyes flash hungrily and then he’s surging forward again, capturing your lips in another punishing kiss that leaves you lightheaded and alight with lust.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growls when he releases your mouth with a final nip at your lower lip. “Now it’s my turn to cherish you ...”

With that, he loops an arm behind your knees and rises in one smooth, powerful motion, hoisting you up into a secure bridal carry. You yelp in surprise, hands flying up to cling to his broad shoulders.

“Nando! What are you, mmph-”

Your protest is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours in another heated kiss. Fernando maneuvers you easily as he starts carrying you towards the staircase, hiking your dainty linen dress up around your thighs.

“I’m making good on my promise, pequeña,” he murmurs hotly against your swollen lips. “Bedroom. Now. Going to lay you out and cherish every sweet inch of that gorgeous body, just like you deserve.”

Unbidden, a soft whine slips from your throat at his heated words. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you, hot and insistent.

Fernando chuckles darkly, adjusting his grip on you as he starts up the stairs. “That’s it, let me hear how much you want this too.”

You open your mouth to respond but only a needy whine escapes as Fernando hitches you higher in his arms, the movement causing delicious friction against your core.

“I want, ngh-” Your words dissolve into another needy noise as Fernando nips at the juncture of your neck and shoulder in reprimand.

“Use your words, pequeña,” he rumbles against your tingling skin. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he’s kicking open a door and striding into what must be the bedroom, depositing you gently onto the plush center of an enormous bed. Fernando looms over you, chest heaving as he rakes his heated gaze over your prone form in a way that makes you shudder.

“Nando, I … I want you,” you finally manage, fighting past your shyness to meet his burning stare. “Want you to cherish me, cherish every part of me, like you promised.”

Fernando’s eyes darken further at your words and he slowly, purposefully begins lifting his sweater, never looking away from you.

“Good girl,” he praises in that deep, gruff tone that has your thighs pressing together instinctively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He shrugs off the soft knit, revealing a toned, hair-dusted chest and abdominal muscles carved from years of intense athletic training. You can’t help but drink in the display of his powerful body as he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Fernando doesn’t miss your frank appraisal, a cocky smirk tugging at his full lips. “Like what you see, pequeña?”

You bite your lip and give a small, shameless nod. His grin widens and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Fernando’s belt is undone and sliding free of its loops. You watch, rapt, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

“Then no more teasing,” he promises in a low, heated rasp. “Tonight you’ll have as much of me as you can handle.”

With that, Fernando pushes his trousers and underwear down over his hips in one go, springing free in all his thick, flushed glory. Your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath at the sheer size of him, mouth going dry with naked want.

Fernando steps forward until he’s standing at the edge of the mattress, gloriously nude and incredibly aroused. He crouches down, bringing himself eye-level with your flushed face as he reaches out to gently take your hands in his calloused grip.

“Are you sure, pequeña?” He searches your gaze intently. “Because once I claim you, mark you as mine in every way … there’s no going back. I won’t ever let you go.”

His raw confession hangs in the heated air between you. You meet Fernando’s fiery gaze without faltering, threading your fingers through his in silent acceptance. His eyes blaze and then he’s surging up over you, capturing your mouth in another searing, all-consuming kiss as he slowly, reverently hikes your dress up and divests you of your last remaining garments.

You wind your arms around his thick neck, holding him close as Fernando settles between your splayed thighs with a low, guttural groan. He rears back just enough to pin you with another scorching look, stealing your breath.

“You’re mine now, pequeña,” he vows roughly, guiding his thick length to your slick entrance. “And I’m going to spend all night cherishing this sweet body, just like you deserve ...”

Fernando braces himself above you with one powerful forearm, using his free hand to grip your thigh and hitch your leg higher around his lean hips. You keen softly as the new angle allows him to sink even deeper, filling you up so deliciously.

He drops his forehead to yours, dark eyes locked on your parted lips as he starts rocking into you with slow, measured strokes. Each deliberate grind of his pelvis against yours has you whimpering, nails raking down the flexing planes of his back.

“That’s it, pequeña,” Fernando croons, punctuating his words with a sharp roll of his hips that has you crying out. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You try to muffle your sounds against his broad shoulder, but Fernando isn’t having it. He slides the hand not braced on the mattress up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so your mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.

“No, no … I want to hear every gorgeous, needy little noise,” he rumbles, lips brushing yours with each scorching word. “Want to hear you begging for more of my cock, stretching you so perfectly ...”

A desperate whine slips free at his filthy words, your walls fluttering around his rigid length in defiant response. Fernando rewards you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his talented tongue teasing against yours as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

You moan brokenly into his mouth, legs locking around his narrow waist as Fernando sets a rhythm of steady, pounding strokes. Each slick glide has you building higher and higher, pleasure bordering on overwhelming. It’s so much after so much time without, yet somehow not enough.

You tear your lips from his with a ragged gasp, throwing your head back against the pillows. “M-More, Nando! Please … ah!”

Fernando grunts in approval at your needy plea, hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. “As you wish, pequeña ...”

He sits up further on his knees, using the new leverage to drive into you with increased force and intensity. The lewd noises of your joining fill the air — skin slapping against skin, your cries of pleasure mingling with Fernando’s low groans of exertion.

Part of you feels like you should be embarrassed by the wanton sounds spilling from your lips. But a much bigger part is just reveling in the indescribable feeling of being taken apart so thoroughly by this incredible man’s skilled body.

Fernando hooks an arm under one of your knees, nearly bending you in half as he leans down to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses from your collarbone up the slender column of your throat. You keen wildly, fingers spasming against the rippling muscles of his back.

“Do you want it harder, pequeña?” He growls the filthy words against the racing pulse point under your jaw. “Want Papi to fuck you just like the needy little girl you are?”

A choked whimper is all you can manage in response, rendered incoherent by his merciless onslaught against that sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside you.

Fernando’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk against the side of your neck and then he’s driving into you with renewed vigor, hips pistoning in short, brutally powerful snaps that quickly have you keening. Your nails leave stinging welts in their wake as they drag down Fernando’s glistening shoulders and back, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he grits out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a nasty grind of his hips that has you crying out. “Such a good girl for Papi, con esas caderas tan estrechas ...”

His dirty Spanish murmurs nearly do you in, shooting white-hot sparks of pleasure-pain arcing across your nerve endings. You swear your vision nearly whites out entirely when his calloused fingers find your swollen bud, stroking firmly in tight, rapid circles that have you keening.

That familiar, coiling tension is rapidly becoming too much to bear. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching, building and building with each punishing thrust into your greedy little hole and stroke against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nando, Nando,” you pant, clutching desperately at his flexing biceps as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m gonna, ah, fuck, I can’t-”

Fernando’s response is a series of harsh Spanish curses that would make a sailor blush. His mouth crashes against yours in a searing, messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucks you right through your release.

Wave after relentless wave of excruciating ecstasy crashes over you. You tremble and wail into Fernando’s mouth, pulled taut as a bowstring as he milks every last exquisite pulse from you with those sharp, unforgiving snaps of his hips.

Just when you think the pleasure searing along every nerve ending will break you into pieces, Fernando’s rhythm falters. He rears back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl that sends a fresh shock of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Going to fill you up now, pequeña,” he grits out in a gravelly tone laced with strain. “Make you nice and, ah mierda, messy with Papi’s cum ...”

The sheer filth of his words, combined with his furious tempo draws animalistic whimpers from deep in your chest. You lock your ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper as he starts to lose control.

“Please, Nando!” You beg shamelessly, reaching up to dig your fingers into the straining chords of muscle in his back and shoulders. “Please cum inside me, wanna be yours, wanna-”

Fernando cuts off your fervent cries with a harsh growl and then he’s slamming home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills molten heat deep in your convulsing channel with a stream of strained Spanish curses.

You shudder and cry out at the incredible sensation of being filled so completely, holding him flush to you while he pulses and throbs. Fernando captures your lips in another searing kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with the shallow rolls of his hips as he spends himself.

Just when you think the incredible intensity of his release will never end, the shrill trill of a ringtone shatters the sweaty, panting silence of the bedroom.

Fernando goes rigid above you, finally breaking the fevered kiss with a curse that shoots straight to your over-sensitized core.

“Fucking hell, now?”

His tone is one of pure annoyance as his darkly tousled head whips towards the nightstand where his mobile is ringing incessantly. One large hand flexes against the sheets beside your head, ready to simply ignore the call.

Until, that is, he sees the caller ID and his entire demeanor shifts from one of irritation to something more sheepish. He immediately sits up on his haunches, the movement tugging at your overstuffed, abused entrance in the most delicious way and drawing a helpless whimper from you.

Fernando fixes you with a heated look, plush lower lip caught between his teeth as he drinks in your disheveled, satisfied state sprawled wantonly across his rumpled sheets. Only then does he make a sudden, aborted movement to grab the still-ringing phone, gaze flickering down to where you’re obscenely joined.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” you pant in warning, clenching down hard around him as he shifts to reach for the mobile. Fernando groans explosively at the vice-like grip, arm falling back to brace himself against the mattress.

“Insatiable,” he accuses with a dark chuckle. He somehow manages to snag the still-trilling phone without dislodging himself and you shamelessly squeeze down even tighter in petty retaliation. Fernando tosses you a smoldering glare that makes heat lick along your nerve endings before he finally answers.

“Hola?” His deep voice is rougher than usual, gravelly from the thoroughly ravished state you’ve put him in.

“Fernando! Mate, it’s me.” Your father’s crisp Aussie tone immediately filters through the speaker and you inadvertently clench down again in panic.

Fernando’s lips peel back in a mild wince before smoothing back into that trademark smug grin of his. He drops his free hand to splay possessively over your lower abdomen, thumb rubbing idle circles into the soft, oversensitized skin there as he regards you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Mark!” He greets your father with forced nonchalance, even as the pads of his calloused fingers dip dangerously close to where you’re still intimately joined. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a pregnant pause during which you can practically picture the slight frown creasing your dad’s brow at Fernando’s strange tone. “Er, sorry to bother you, Nando. I was just ringing to see if my daughter made it to you alright?”

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as Fernando’s lips quirk up in a devilish smirk. Instead of answering right away, he drags the tip of one finger agonizingly slowly through your damp curls in a wordless warning.

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, you obediently stop clenching your internal muscles, allowing Fernando to sink that few extra incredible inches back inside you with a roll of his hips. His eyes burn with smug satisfaction when you keen softly at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“She arrived safe and sound,” Fernando finally replies, voice gone low and rough in a way that has your thighs trying to clench instinctively. He holds you open by digging the heel of his palm against your mound, lips twitching when you whimper. “I’m taking very … very good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause from your father’s end, this one even longer. You can picture the perplexed furrow in his brow deepening as he tries to figure out the strange undercurrent in Fernando’s tone.

“Right … well, good then. I just wanted to check in and make sure she got there okay after that whole mess with her asshole of an ex.”

You shudder at the memory, hips shifting restlessly against Fernando’s calloused palm in a plea for friction, pressure, anything. He simply watches you squirm with darkly glittering eyes, lazily rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles just below your navel.

“Trust me,” Fernando finally rumbles, voice gone low and graveled in a way that sends a shiver of desire arcing down your spine. “Your little girl is being very well looked after, in every way.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the blatant innuendo lacing his words. Fernando’s smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing you so flustered, before he continues in a tone of exaggerated innocence. “She’s been … quite the handful, really, but I don’t mind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shoot him a betrayed look, clenching reflexively around the thick length still sheathed snugly inside you. Fernando arches one artfully sculpted brow as if in challenge, using his free hand to firmly grip one of your thighs and wrench your legs obscenely further apart in clear retaliation.

You muffle a whimper into the sheets as the new position allows him to grind deeper, that delicious friction quickly unraveling your will to stay quiet. You can already feel the coil of need building rapidly once more with each shallow roll of Fernando’s hips.

“What was that?” Your dad’s mildly bewildered voice suddenly crackles over the line, jarring you back to the reality of the situation.

Cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and mortification, you blindly grasp for one of the pillows to muffle the series of pitiful noises now spilling past your lips as Fernando ups the intensity of his thrusts.

He leans in closer until the two of you are practically nose-to-nose, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip when you instinctively tighten around him like a velvet vise. Fernando’s eyes roll back briefly before fixing back on you, dark and fathomless as the depths of the Mediterranean.

“Nothing to worry about over here,” he pants through gritted teeth, one hand leaving its bruising grip on your thigh to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a searing, filthy kiss designed to swallow any incriminating sounds. “Like I said. Just … taking very good care of your little girl.”

There’s one final confused little hum from your father before the line clicks off with a hollow beep. Fernando instantly drops the phone and slants his mouth hungrily over yours once more, all thoughts of the call instantly forgotten as he resumes fucking up into you with renewed vigor.

“My little girl, aren’t you pequeña?” He grates against your lips, punctuating each word with a scorching grind of his hips that has sparks bursting behind your eyelids. “Going to be a good girl and cum all over Papi’s cock again, sí?”

You can only nod wildly in agreement, nails raking down his broad back as that incredible tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Fernando swallows your cries with his wicked, talented mouth, until finally you go rigid in his arms, back arched as your release rockets through you like a shockwave.

This time Fernando doesn’t even attempt to stifle your hoarse, animalistic keening, merely rearing back to watch in fascination as your complexion colors and your eyes roll back. He growls your name like a prayer, hips snapping erratically as he uses your convulsive flutters to chase his own high. Fernando’s chiseled features contort in pleasure, teeth sinking into his own lip hard enough to draw blood when you bear down with the vise-like strength of your release.

“F-Fuck … gonna … gonna fill you up again,” he grits out, thick cock jerking deep inside your molten depths. “Make you … gonna ah … make you mine forever this time, pequeña ...”

The gravelly promise in his tone somehow penetrates the sweaty, lust-hazed cocoon surrounding you. Your eyes fly open just in time to witness Fernando’s own clenched shut, jaw dropped in a growl as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, bruising grind of his pelvis.

You cry out at the incredible sensation of his release flooding your already stuffed channel with scorching ropes of thick seed. Fernando lets out a shuddering moan of pure gratification, hips working in short, shallow thrusts to pump every last pulse of his sticky essence into your greedy little womb.

When the last tremor of his climax has wrung through him, he drops bonelessly on top of you in a sweaty, panting tangle of sated limbs. You whimper quietly at the delicious feeling of his weight pinning you to the mattress, his softening length still lodged snugly inside as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

Fernando nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing lazy, opened-mouthed kisses to your slick, overheated skin. His talented fingers trace abstract patterns up and down your sides, touch reverent as his gravelly voice rumbles against you.

“Going to get you nice and full, pequeña. Fill you up again and again until my baby takes ...”

A violent shudder wracks through you at the filthy promise in his words. Fernando chuckles darkly, gathering you closer against his sweat-slicked chest as his hand drifts down to cup your lower abdomen with tender possessiveness.

“That’s it, let it sink in,” he croons, fingertips rubbing in gentle circles. “My seed taking root deep inside this sweet little womb, putting a baby in your belly ...”

He punctuates the words with a firm press of his palm that has you gasping, walls fluttering greedily around the thick shaft still impaling you. Fernando makes a noise of deep approval low in his throat.

“Going to keep you just like this,” he vows in a tone that brooks no argument, hot and heavy against the sensitive shell of your ear. “Barefoot and pregnant in my bed, that gorgeous body swollen and glowing with my hijo ...”

You whimper at the image his words conjure up — your belly rounded and stretched taut with Fernando’s child, heavy breasts leaking as you cradle his son or daughter. Fernando husks out a laugh at your reaction, nosing along the line of your jaw until you meet his heated gaze.

“You like that idea, don’t you pequeña?” His eyes glitter with a mixture of desire and predatory satisfaction. “Being tied to me forever, in the most permanent way possible?”

You can only nod dumbly, suddenly rendered mute by the depths of your own yearning. Of course you want that — to carry this incredible man’s legacy inside you for all the world to see. To belong to him, completely.

Fernando rumbles his approval against your swollen lips, cupping the back of your head to angle your mouth for a tender, lingering kiss. When he finally breaks away, you try to chase his mouth with a breathless whimper of protest.

“Shh, patience, pequeña,” he murmurs indulgently, thumb stroking over your slick lower lip. His eyes are dancing with dark promise. “You’ll have plenty of time to take your fill of me in the coming months while I breed you over ...”

He kisses the words into the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the rapid flutter of your pulse point.

“... and over ...” Fernando rolls you onto your back in one smoothly powerful motion, settling his weight over you as he lips trail a blazing path down your abdomen.

“... and over again.” His tongue dips briefly into your navel before he nuzzles lower, nose nudging through your damp curls until his warm breath ghosts over your overstimulated sex. You suck in a ragged gasp, thighs trembling with anticipation as Fernando glances up at you from under those ridiculously long lashes.

“Until it finally takes,” he finishes with a wicked grin before ducking down to swipe one firm lick through your folds. You nearly black out from the electric shock of pleasure-pain, broken cries echoing through the bedroom as Fernando sets to work thoroughly mapping every intimate inch of you with that devilishly skilled mouth and tongue.

True to his filthy promise, Fernando keeps you until the first rosy hints of dawn are just beginning to lighten the horizon outside, thoroughly ravishing your helpless body over and over again until you’re boneless and incoherent with satiation.

It’s only when the first few birds have begun to chirp their morning songs that he finally relents, blanketing you with his solid weight one last time. Fernando’s lips are kiss-swollen as they trail up the line of your throat to find yours in one more long, thorough kiss that leaves you totally plundered.

“Sleep now, pequeña,” he rumbles against your parted mouth, gathering you close as his hand drifts down to splay possessively over the slight tautness of your lower abdomen. “Let my release take nice and deep inside you ...”

You slip into unconsciousness to the sensation of Fernando’s calloused fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin and the imprinted promise of his low, sleep-roughened vows.

“I’m going to put a baby in you, pequeña. Going to breed you so full of my children until you’re round and glowing with them … that’s a promise.”

***

Six Months Later

Fernando can’t keep the swell of pride and possessiveness from blooming in his chest as he guides you through the paddock with a supportive hand on the small of your back. His dark gaze keeps flickering down to admire the swell of your belly peeking out beneath the flowing summer dress you’ve chosen for today.

He feels like a conquering king surveying his latest prize as you waddle adorably at his side, the golden sunlight caressing your features and lending a rosy flush to your glowing complexion. Fernando has never seen a more beautiful, ethereal sight than you in this moment — rounded with his child, your body transformed by the life blossoming within.

His hand subconsciously moves to cup the subtle curve of your belly as you pause to allow a team member to pass. Fernando feels a fresh surge of scorching desire and smug satisfaction race through his veins when you instinctively cover his hand with yours, cradling his palm against the taut swell.

“Easy there, pequeña,” he rumbles with a wolfish grin, leaning in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. “We’re in public, remember? Wouldn’t want to give these pendejos an eyeful of how insaciable my little girl has become since getting knocked up ...”

A delightful shiver visibly ripples through you at his words, those gorgeous eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments before fixed back on him blown wide and dark with rekindled want. Fernando lets out a low chuckle of approval, arm winding around your waist to pull you flush against his side.

Just then, a familiar figure comes striding around the corner, brows low and thunderous as they zero in on the embrace Fernando has you locked in. Mark Webber falters mid-step as he takes in the rather obvious changes to your body, chin dropping in a comical picture of dumbstruck shock.

Fernando can’t resist angling the two of you forward just enough to emphasize the prominent curve of your belly straining against the flowy fabric of your summer dress. He watches your father’s expression morph from surprise, to confusion, then slowly … realization as the pieces begin to click into place.

Within seconds, Mark’s eyes have narrowed to slits of rage, mouth curling back in a snarl of anger as he picks up his pace and stalks towards the pair of you. Fernando’s own smug expression slips, features settling into a hard mask as he angles his body slightly in front of yours on instinct.

“You motherfucking piece of shit-” Your father snarls, face taking on an alarming reddish hue as he rears back and swings at Fernando.

Fernando manages to sidestep the worst of the blow at the last second, feeling only a glancing impact against his left cheekbone before Mark closes in again with balled fists raised. Behind him, you let out a strangled cry of dismay, reaching out helplessly to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Dad, no! Fernando, please-”

But Fernando is already sinking into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed. He blocks another wild swing from Mark with ease, allowing the Australian’s momentum to carry him past so Fernando can land a swift, open-handed punch against the side of his head.

The sharp retaliatory crack has Mark stumbling sideways, snarling like an enraged animal. For one brief, wildly intense moment, the two former rivals simply square off — sizing one another up like they’ve done a hundred times before on various circuits when they were both still competing.

From anyone else, Fernando might have been able to laugh off this overreaction, shrug it aside as the misguided anger of a hotblooded father learning his young daughter is now expecting. But this is Mark Webber — a man who has proven himself as fiery and formidable an opponent as they come.

Fernando won’t admit it aloud, but a tiny thrill of excitement races through him at the prospect of a proper throwdown with his old nemesis turned friend. He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing if he needs to move you further away before the situation escalates.

You surprise him by shaking your head adamantly, those beautiful eyes blazing with protective fury of your own as you plant yourself squarely in between the two men.

“Fernando, don’t hurt him,” you plead, gaze flickering between him and the bristling Aussie now clambering back to his feet. “He’s just-”

“Being a bloody psychopathic bastard,” Mark spits, wiping a hand across his rapidly swelling lip. His hateful glare lands accusingly on the prominent swell of your middle. “Fucking hell , Nando. She’s just a kid-”

Fernando feels his own temper ratcheting up several notches at the venom and dismissal lacing the other man’s tone. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing you back behind the shield of his powerful frame.

“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here to defend herself,” Fernando growls, unconcerned that they’re rapidly drawing an audience from the swarm of crew personnel surrounding them.

He arches a challenging brow at your father’s scathing glower. “What’s wrong? Upset that while you were off galivanting around the globe, I was putting a baby in your daughter’s belly?”

Mark lets out an outraged roar, lurching forward to throw another wild haymaker that Fernando easily ducks under. You cry out in distress, hands coming up to grip at Fernando’s biceps from behind as you try to bodily pull him away from the furious Australian’s reach.

“Both of you, stop!” Your shrill voice cuts through the tense alleyway, causing both men to pause for a split-second and glance towards you. “Nando, don’t provoke him! And you-” You aim an accusatory finger at your seething father. “Lay one more hand on Fernando and I swear to god-”

Whatever heated threat you were preparing goes unvoiced as a sudden aura of pain visibly ripples across your features, brow furrowing and lips parting on a pained gasp. Your hands instinctively fly down to cradle your belly, entire body locking up with tension.

Fernando’s heart leaps into his throat as he recognizes the clear signs of distress from months spent doting upon your every subtle twinge and discomfort. Immediately, his previous temper fades into a dull, distant roar easily overshadowed by the all-consuming need to ensure your well-being.

“Pequeña?” He’s at your side in an instant, gripping your upper arms to steady you as a light sheen of perspiration blooms on your brow. “Breathe through it, mi amor … just breathe, okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you manage in a tight voice. “Just a twinge. The excitement is probably too mu-ahh!”

You gasp again, nails digging punishingly into Fernando’s forearms as your knees threaten to buckle. All hints of masculine posturing flee his mind as Fernando smoothly sweeps you up into a secure bridal carry, heedless of the soft whimpers of discomfort now trickling past your parted lips.

He locks eyes with a stunned Mark over your bent crown, gaze impassive and steady. “You heard her. The excitement is too much. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, Fernando swivels on his heel and marches back the way you’d originally come with you cradled protectively against his chest. He keeps his strides measured and unhurried, but still manages to put a fair amount of distance between the pair of you and your father’s petulant anger in a matter of moments.

Once you’ve rounded a quiet corner alcove, Fernando gently lowers you to a relatively secluded stack of equipment crates, bracing your lower back and guiding you into a seated position.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against your hairline, dropping a fleeting kiss to the rapidly dampening strands stuck to your brow. Fernando’s fingers ghost down to cradle your belly once more, silently assessing for any areas of increased tension. “I’ll be back in just a moment with some water and a physio, alright?”

You nod weakly, squirming to rest back against the cool metal behind you as another pained grimace flits across your features. Fernando feels his heart clench at the wretched, lost expression clouding your eyes.

Cupping your cheek, he tilts your chin up until you meet his heated gaze. “Don’t look so afraid, pequeña. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Fernando leans in until his nose brushes against yours, allowing the familiar closeness and the scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne to soothe you. “Our little one is just reminding us who’s boss, that’s all. But Papi’s here … I’ll take care of both of you, sí?”

You manage a weak smile at that, some of the tension bleeding from your delicate features as you nod against his palm. Fernando presses one more lingering kiss to your brow before reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll be right back, mi vida. Just breathe deeply for me in the meantime.”

With one final reassuring caress to your belly, Fernando turns on his heel and strides back out into the bustling paddock area. His jaw is set in a tense line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he mentally catalogs which team staff he needs to track down.

Rounding a corner, Fernando very nearly barrels straight into the rigid form of your father standing there with arms crossed, clearly waiting to waylay him. The Aussie’s expression is thunderous, eyes blazing with hurt and undisguised fury.

“So that’s it then?” Mark bites out in a tone of barely restrained aggression. “You’ve gone and knocked up my little girl. My own daughter, Nando ...”

Fernando holds up a dismissive hand, in no mood to allow your father’s misplaced anger to provoke another confrontation — not when you’re so clearly in distress. “Don’t start with me again.” His tone is low, brooking no argument. “Your daughter is safe and being well looked after, that’s all that matters right now.”

With that, he moves to sidestep around Mark, only to find his path blocked by the other man’s broad chest as he steps directly into Fernando’s space. The former World Champion narrows his eyes warningly, feeling his temper ratcheting back up in the face of such insolence.

“Look, you arrogant Spanish prick,” Mark growls, lips peeling back in a menacing sneer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

Fernando abruptly cuts him off with a harsh bark of humorless laughter, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “A game?” He shakes his head slowly, expression one of vaguely disbelieving contempt. “You really think that’s all this is to me? Getting one up on you by deflowering your little girl and leaving her pregnant, alone, and disgraced?”

The other man flinches almost imperceptibly at the crass words, clearly thrown by Fernando’s frank disdain. The Spaniard presses on relentlessly. “Any man who would treat a situation like this so flippantly doesn’t deserve to consider themselves a real man at all — let alone a father.”

Mark’s face has turned an alarming shade of puce, whether from shame or sheer unchecked rage Fernando neither knows nor cares. He simply crowds further into the Australian’s space, heedless of how their chests nearly brush with each harsh exhalation.

“Make no mistake, I love that woman and the child she carries more than life itself,” Fernando states with conviction, cadence low and gravelly. “If you’re asking whether I intend to be there for them both as a partner, as a father … my answer is simple.”

He pauses just long enough to allow the weight of his next words to truly sink in.

“For as long as your daughter and my children will have me, you couldn’t pry me away from their sides with a fucking crowbar.”

Fernando holds your father’s seething gaze for one final beat, satisfaction lancing through him at seeing the other man seemingly robbed of his righteous anger. With a curt nod, he finally moves to brush past the speechless Australian without another word —intent on fetching the physio like he had originally set out to do.

Because in the end, Mark Webber’s approval means less than nothing to Fernando. All that matters is rushing back to your side and ensuring your safety and comfort. You and the new life blossoming within you are his entire world now.

As if to reaffirm the point, you suddenly appear around the corner, one hand braced protectively under the swell of your abdomen.

“Nando,” you breathe in a tremulous voice, blindly reaching for him. “The little one misses you ...”

Fernando instantly abandons all thoughts of confronting Mark, or retrieving a physio, or anything else as he rushes to gather you up in his arms once more. He cradles you tenderly to his chest as your fingers twist almost convulsively in the fabric of his Hugo Boss shirt, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Fernando glances down at you cradled protectively in his arms, heart clenching at the distressed furrow of your brow and shallow, panting breaths.

Readjusting his grip, he dips his head to murmur a string of soothing Spanish endearments against your sweat-dampened hairline as he carries you through the winding labyrinth of the paddock. His strides are measured but purposeful, not rushing — he needs to get you somewhere quiet and comfortable to recover from the ordeal.

Finally, Fernando spots a secluded alcove tucked away behind a cluster of tires. He quickly guides you over and gently lowers you onto an emptied workbench, cocooning you against his broad chest.

“There, there, pequeña,” he croons, lips brushing your brow. “Just breathe nice and deep for Papi, just like we practiced ...”

You nod weakly, fingers reflexively flexing against the solid planes of Fernando’s abdomen as you struggle to pull in deep gulps of air. He deftly tugs the neckline of your summer dress aside to expose more of your flushed skin, using the hem to dab away the perspiration beading on your chest and throat.

“That’s it, mi vida,” he praises in that dark, soothing timbre. “Just like that, easy does it ...”

Slowly, the tension bleeds from your features as the worst of the discomfort subsides. Fernando doesn’t dare loosen his supportive embrace, nor does he tear his increasingly heated gaze away from your parted lips as each measured exhale puffs across his skin.

“Better now?” He murmurs, thumb tracing the delicate arch of your cheekbone reverently. A rosy blush stains your complexion when you nod meekly, lashes fanning across those glorious cheekbones.

“Good girl,” Fernando rumbles, helpless not to drink in the gorgeous picture you make — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lingering stardust. He grips your jaw in a firm caress, tilting your chin up until your gazes lock.

“Because I must admit,” he husks softly, gaze darkening to molten whiskey. “Seeing you like this, with my child safe inside you … has me feeling quite possessive, pequeña.”

You shudder visibly at his words, tongue darting out to wet those plump lips in a blatant show of want. Fernando doesn’t miss the subtle gesture, allowing his gaze to dip briefly to track the slick path your tongue carves before fixing back on your rapidly dilating pupils.

“Would you like that, hmm?” He lowers his voice to a sensual rumble, skimming his thumb across your lower lip in a wordless command for access. “Having Papi show you just how adored, how cherished you and our little one inside you truly are?”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat as you readily accept the gentle press of Fernando’s calloused digit between your parted lips. Your eyes flutter shut on a trembling exhale as he slowly begins to glide the thick pad of his thumb across that heavenly softness, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with his nail.

“That’s it, pequeña,” he growls, a tad hoarse as desire visibly burns behind those long lashes. “Suckle for me, let me take care of you both nice and proper ...”

Fernando rocks forward ever so slightly, allowing the swollen curve of your belly to brush against his solid abs with each tiny shuddering breath you drag in through your nose. He keeps up the lazy, hypnotic strokes of his thumb until you’re completely transfixed — hips shifting restlessly against his thighs and soft, muffled mewls escaping past the seal of your swollen lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough to rasp straight through you and ignite every raw nerve ending. “So sweet and responsive for Papi … going to reward that gorgeous little mouth in just a moment, I promise.”

You whine wantonly around his thumb in response, eyes fluttering back open to reveal pupils blown wide with naked yearning. Fernando chuckles indulgently, thumb tracing the delicate bow of your lower lip one final time before retreating fully.

“So eager,” he tuts without any real admonishment. Leaning in close, he angles his head to brush kiss-swollen lips against the outer shell of your ear. “Don’t fret, pequeña. I’ll take such good care of both of you right here, right now ...”

Fernando drops a lingering series of kisses along the line of your jaw, letting his lush mouth trail lower and lower with each heated murmur.

“Will remind you exactly who you belong to … who made you … who put this child in your belly ...”

His final words are an exhale ghosting out across your thundering pulse. Fernando immediately latches on with his teeth, nipping and sucking a series of stinging, possessive marks into your sensitized flesh that has you arching against him with a strangled cry of pure bliss.

Out here, cloaked in the shadow of the paddock where anyone could stumble across the two of you — your father included — and discover just how thoroughly Fernando has claimed you. The taboo thrill of it all is utterly intoxicating.

As your trembling fingers find purchase in his clothes, dragging him nearer with insistence, Fernando feels that familiar molten lick of possessive pride unfurl deep in his core. You are his now, fully and completely — mind, body, and soon … family.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

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justatypicalwizard · 3 days

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Bakugo who eats you out because he lost a bet, smut

It all started with a bet. It was this specific chaotic type of bet that you throw over your shoulder when agitated. The one that comes pistoling out of your lips as soon as it comes to your mind, or even earlier, a fog of war limits your common sense.

This was often the case with Katsuki Bakugo who was world widely known as the most annoying person on earth.

Okay, maybe he stood on this podium only in your world (others deemed Denki as the most insufferable) but it was enough to fire the never ending quarrels.

The two of you were similar in many senses, none of which would ever admit. Despite you being way less aggressive, you had your ways of getting under other peoples’ skin when displeased. You had this fighting spirit and competitive nature that could tune well with Katsuki’s. Unfortunately it most often sang off-key.

It was hard to tell what he thought about you. On one hand you’d say he definitely disliked you, to some point maybe? If he did dislike you he wouldn’t keep you around the small circle of his friends. Katsuki proved that he could push away anyone he wished to, no matter the circumstances. That’s what happened with Deku.

So Katsuki Bakugo disliked the fact that he liked you. Or he liked to dislike you. Either way you fought, ebbed and always surged back. Oh, and bets?

I bet you won’t even make it halfway before the time is up. He throws when he passes you down the hallway, spotting you bending your back over a book, minutes before the exam.

I bet your lovely friend will come looking for you soon. You snicker leaving him in the kitchen of the house party you’re both at. He’s currently hiding from a bimbo who really tries to ask him out and doesn’t take no for an answer.

I bet your mum dropped you when you were little.

I bet Miruko will kick your ass over this.

I bet they’ll send this essay back. It’s shit.

I bet it’ll die in this sunlight.

“Huh.” He knit his brows together, throwing you a nasty look. “Old hag didn’t say anything. It looks like it needs light.”

You were currently in his dorm room, analysing a small plant his mother left him. It was tiny, in a small ceramic pot, with three juicy green leaves poking out of the fresh soil.

“Well, I bet it’ll die if you put it in this sun.” You threw, shrugging your shoulders.

“Okay. If I win you’ll shut the fuck up for a single day around me. No words, not even a squeak.”

With the eye of your imagination you could see Katsuki pestering you for a whole day while you’d be unable to fire back. Yet, you had nothing to worry about. The little dude on the windowsill will bear three of four days before wittering. It’s the type that needs more shade.

“Fine. And if I win you can eat my ass.”

He chuckled, throwing a not happening over his shoulder before ushering you to work you both had to do.

A week later you were back in his room. It was a pleasant place to work in - clean, quiet, and always stocked with tea and coffee. Unlike you, Katsuki had the luxury of a single room which always soured your mood when he rubbed it in your face.

You were resting in his desk chair, legs crossed and organising a bunch of sources you were about to use later in your dissertation. It was the least pleasant part of writing essays. Finding academic sources in the library or browsing for them on the internet was not half bad. One could get in the swing of it after some time. And it made you feel like a real student all book heavy bags in a spacious bibliotheca.

Organising them later though? A pain in the ass.

“-by the way.” You caught only the ending of his sentence.

“Huh?” Turning around you spotten Katsuki looking at something in the far end of his room.

There was a closet there, one that didn’t quite reach the ceiling but was massive in shape. Atop of it sat the little dude in his sweet ceramic pot. Unfortunately all that was left of his three juicy leaves was one stem fighting for its life.

You clapped your hands in satisfaction, cracking a victorious laugh.

“Told you.” Fake wiping a tear from your cheek, you turned back to the desk and searched for the box you were about to tick off the long list. “Give it some more water and time. It will be fine.”

“So.” You felt him standing behind you. His shadow disrupted your writing.

“So?” Once again you turned around in his chair, cocking your brow in question.

“You won.” He crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the soft carpet in irritation.

You nodded your head with a grin but still ruffled. “Yes, and?”

“And you told me I can eat your ass.”

“Oh yeah, stuff your stupid mouth full.” You laughed but he yanked you by the arm, standing you up.

He dropped to his knees, pushing your bottom into the rim of his desk. With a shit eating grin he slipped his fingers into the sides of your trousers, grazing the bare skin of your hips underneath them.

“What the fuck dude?” You cursed, grabbing his forehead like the one of a misbehaved dog, trying to pacify him.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” The grin never left his face as he waited for your words, digging his nails into your skin.

It would be a lie to say that you never ever thought of him that way. Of course he was pretty, with his naturally fair hair that gave him a punk kind of look. With his body carved out like a marble statue. With a grin that made people both want to slap him and fawn over him.

Yes, it did cross your mind that he would be a pleasant view in the bed. Who with a sound mind wouldn’t think of that. Maybe people who weren’t attracted to-

No, it was a normal thought to have, one that may occur when you’re alone under the shower or in bed. You just often appreciate the beauty of your friends. Mina’s also cute and Kirishima is bulked as hell. It was a rational train of thoughts.

So why wasn’t your rational mind telling your hand to push him away just now? Why were you looking at his face, so close to your clothed cunt and feeling excitement bubble in your veins.

Tell me to stop and I will.

And you never did. So he pushed you to sit on the desk, pulling both your trousers and pants down at the same time. You kicked the air a few times to get rid of them but they hung from one of your ankles. It didn’t matter because his face was at its place. God bless you showered before coming here because you could have second thoughts otherwise.

“Okay, whatever the fuck you want, psycho.” You breathed as he lapped at your clit, still looking up at you.

His fingers creeped towards the inner side of your tight and you slapped him over the head.

“Uh, uh. I told you you could eat me out, not finger me. Yesterday you didn’t seem like the one to take shortcuts.” You spat, drinking up his frustration and slight… shame? Like a kid who did something wrong and got caught red handed.

“Fine.” He muttered pushing his tongue inside you. “It won’t take long anyway.” The grin was back on his face.

It indeed didn’t take long as soon, your legs were shutting tightly around his face. You weren’t even looking down anymore, the sight was a turn on but you were already overdriven. Your competitive nature was in a bliss and your head played fucking Katsuki Bakugo, on his fucking knees, between my fucking legs over and over like a broken record. You didn’t want to spoil your fun by thinking he may be having a merrier time than you.

Not now, not when you’re so close and his palms are grabbing your tights, fingers digging into your muscles so much it would hurt if not the tension. Edging your release, you grabbed his hair in a tight fist pushing him in more, crossing your legs like it would take an “open, sesame!” to undo them.

At last, with a final short breath you came chuckling and moaning. A Katsuki may have slipped past your lips but only once.

He tore your legs open, panting like he just finished a marathon. Looking down you covered your lips to hide the laugh. His face was wet, smeared all over with what was a mixture of you both. His cheeks were heavy with blood, an intense red cutting out on his pale face. Classically, his brows were knit together.

“Did you have to make such a mess?” The blonde stood up and went to his bathroom. You caught a glimpse of the bulge in his pants.

The sound of the faucet reached your ears.

“I’m not gonna say sorry. You asked for it.” And you were pretty good at it. No. Such praise would kill your ego.

The water stopped running and you heard him stomp back. You pulled your trousers on quickly, suddenly feeling awfully naked. What would happen now? Your casual friend just ate your pussy like it was his last meal before a death sentence, and you were supposed to go back to organising the sources.

You felt a hard push to the back of your head.

“Stop thinking about it and get back out.”

Eh?!

Time went on quickly and in a weird manner. A huge something was in the air but you couldn’t find a way to bring the topic up. Why did you eat my pussy out of the blue? Was it really just about the bet? Were you feeling horny and I just so happened to be there? Are we fwb now? Do you like me?

Scratch the last one. The man gave you a headache ever since his own head left your tights. Also, he was nowhere to be found. Katsuki didn’t respond to texts, he was absent from the gym during his usual hours, and his dorm room was closed. You couldn’t just go to Kirishima and say: hey, I’m trying to figure out why Katsuki gave me head, wanna help?

The moment you run into his fleeting ass, you're gonna squeeze out the answer.

An opportunity came soon when you spotted him sneaking into the laundry room. It was a cramped space with washing machines and dryers. Fortunately, you had little thieves around dorms so people usually left their washing while it was in progress. There was a big chance you’d be alone.

Running to the door you yanked them open and rushed inside. Indeed, it was only him crouched to the lowest washing machine, putting mostly black clothes inside.

“You’re here for round two?” He smirked and you gasped.

It took you by surprise, you expected yelling or awkwardness. Nevermind. You shook off your initial stumble.

“Can you explain what the fuck do you mean by all this?” You gestured in the air as if all this was a laundry basket and an empty bottle of washing liquid scattered on the floor.

Katsuki hummed, shrugging his shoulders. He dropped the halfway loaded laundry on the floor and crawled closer to you, gripping your hips in a familiar manner. This time, you were wearing a skirt. Your back hit the door.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” It fell from his lips as if he was asking whether you want vanilla or chocolate ice-cream.

Your mind ran in circles like a hamster in its ball. Start a fuss and possibly fight with Katsuki or let him do his thing and cum? Uhh.

He took your panties off completely, throwing them into his washing machine but left your skirt. Halfway in, when your chest was heaving and hips pushed further and further away from the door you heard a sound on the other side.

The doorknob shook and there was a mumble on the outside. You dug your feet into the ground and Katsuki put one of his hands to shut it closed. Yet, he didn’t stop what he was doing. Both of your palms also pushed into the thin wood making you unable to quiet the panting and loud gulps. You bit your lip and it would break if something wasn’t stuffed inside your mouth.

Taking a sharp breath through your nose, you smelled him. He stuffed your mouth with one of the shirts from his laundry. You threw him a dirty look from above to which he only smirked, going back down.

“It’s locked.” The muffled voice on the other side said.

“Maybe maintenance.” A different one answered.

When they were gone, you could finally cum, biting hard into Katsuki’s shirt. You steadied yourself on a drier afterwards while he wiped his mouth with a spare T-shirt before throwing all the leftover laundry inside the washing machine and starting it.

“My pants.” You breathed out, you were still coming back to earth.

“Ops.” He threw and with a single long stride, escaped the murder scene.

Your walk of shame in the short skirt, without panties on was long.

The third time you could talk to him happened only a day later.

You were studying with Kirishima, or more like tutoring him for free, in the library. Kirishima also had a single room in the dorms but his was far more trashy and you didn’t crave to spend time in that man cave. Instead you booked a private study room. It had a small round table, a few chairs and switches to plug in electric devices.

Halfway through your study Kirishima stated he needed to go to the bathroom. You nodded and the man left. Only after a minute did you hear the door open once more.

“A line in the mens’? Unbelievable.” You chuckled but upon looking up, you were met with a nasty grin.

“Kirishima told me you guys were studying.” He cornered you. “You know the deal.”

Katsuki slipped behind your chair as you whipped your head around to stop him. He placed both of his hands on your shoulders, surprisingly gentle.

“Just tell me to stop.”

Oh fuck you you pretty bastard. Is what you thought.

“Oh fuck you.” Is what you said and you wanted to add something but he pushed your upper half into the table simultaneously yanking the chair from under your butt.

It took a lick for your knees to get kinda soft and your morale to stumble between being a decent person or getting this unbelievably lucky chance for a third time.

“Can we at least do it after I finish with Kiri? I can come to your room as quickly as I am able to.” You whispered.

“Or you can call the dumbass and buy me a few minutes.” Katsuki muttered between your folds.

You cursed under your breath and grabbed your phone. Pick up, pick up, pick up, goddamn. Kirishima could be back any second. Although nothing terrible would happen if he came in on you, it would be embarrassing like hell. Finally, you heard his voice on the other side of the line.

“I’m just coming back, literally wait a second-”

“No!” You shouted into the device. “I mean.”

Katsuki seemed to slow down between your tights. Good, the bastard is not stupid and he cut you some slack this time.

“I’m sorry but I just really need a coffee, I thought you’d still be somewhere around the entrance.” You pieced together a makeshift excuse.

“I can go back. ‘Ts the least I can do for your help.” Kirishima laughed so genuinely it made you feel slightly bad for playing him like this.

“Yeah, uh, it really is boring like hell.” You laughed. The whole phone call made you unable to focus on Katsuki who was behind you and you really wanted to go back to minding him. “If I can be honest it would be lovely if you could bring me coffee from that cafe down and opposite of the library. You know which. I slept really bad and need their double espresso.” Kiri, please just say yes!

“Of course, anything for you.”

That sweetheart. Kirishima was really the perfect man, contrary to Katsuki who just now, at the very end of your call, decided to be an absolute asshole.

You felt two of his fingers push past your entrance and force your walls open. A breath got caught in your throat.

“Okay thanks, bye!” You smashed the end call button. “What the fuck are you do-”

But he was turning you around, lapping his tongue over your clit, moving his fingers in and out of your cunt all of which with closed eyes and a blissful look on his face. You gave in, because it felt so good.

After a while you finished all over his face, for the third time this week.

“I told you not to finger me.” You complained, dressing yourself in fear of Kirishima being too neat in his mission to get you coffee.

“I know and I didn’t like it. So I had to distract you.” He smirked, resting his hip on the table.

At that moment, Kirishima came inside with two paper cups, steam escaping the small opening in the lids.

“Oh, hi dude! I didn’t think you’d come here. I’d buy you coffee too.” Kirishima chirped.

“Forget about it, I was supposed to do something anyway. Just came in to say hi.” The blonde flicked his hand in the air. “Oh, and if you want-” He turned to you. “You can come to my room later and finish what we were talking about.” With that he slipped past the door leaving you with a grimace and Kirishima with a dumbfounded expression.

“What were you guys talking about?” The redhead asked.

“Nothing important, just about transplanting a small plant his mum gave him. I’ll help him later, he has already managed to nearly kill it.”

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #mha #bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut

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mead-iocre · 2 months

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Pay Attention To Me | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: do you know what's worse than dating a football player? dating a football fan.

warnings: brief mention of sex

wc: 2.5k words

Sometimes you wonder to yourself what possessed you to date a footballer. You weren’t athletic or sporty, and unlike your athlete brothers, you didn’t enjoy any sport enough to stick to it. Your only means of exercise was pilates and the occasional trip to the beach in your cute bikini.

So how did you end up dating a professional footballer?

You found yourself thinking about that question as you sit curled up on one end of the leather sofa browsing the Chanel website on your laptop. On the other end of the sofa, with her legs sprawled out and a beer bottle in one hand, sat your girlfriend. Leah was dressed in a grey hoodie and matching grey joggers; her hair was down, which was a rarity these days due to the heat, streaks of light blonde strands framing her pretty face. From your place on the sofa, you are granted the most breathtaking view of the ocean thanks to the expansive glass walls. The horizon stretches as far as the eye can see; the sky painted in hues of orange, pink, and purple. As the sun begins to set, it casts a golden glow over the water, making the waves glimmer and sparkle.

The villa was gorgeous, and exactly like how the pictures showed it to be. You had chosen the place yourself, tempted by the promises of walking out onto the deck and being able to jump into crystal clear waters. The spacious overwater bungalow features polished wooden floors, high vaulted ceilings with exposed beams, and furnishings in soft, neutral tones complemented by cool-tone vibrant accents. When you showed pictures of the villa to your girlfriend, she took once glance at it and handed you her gold amex card. She didn’t even ask you for the price.

Back to your own question earlier, the short answer was that Leah was attractive as hell. She was also everything you could ask for in a partner. She's got a cracking sense of humour, she's passionate about her job, family-orientated, and it didn’t hurt that she was the most gorgeous woman you had ever laid eyes on. She made sure to spend as much time with you around her busy schedule. She accepted that you were high-matainance, and gladly indulged you. Leah was the whole package. Sometimes as you lay in bed, when the night is still and quiet, you would take a moment to thank your lucky stars that she walked into your life.

However, no one in this world is perfect– even someone like Leah Williamson.

Your girlfriend’s biggest flaw was that she is a football player–and by extension– that meant she was a football fan.

And that was the problem.

Today was the 2024 Euros final. England somehow managed to slither their way to the tournament final and will be facing Spain to compete for the title of Champions of Europe 2024. The original plan was to head over to the Williamson’s house so everyone could watch the game together. However, your birthday happened to fall in the week leading up to the final. As a birthday gift from your very generous girlfriend, Leah had surprised you with a week-long trip to the Maldives. Her only condition was that she gets to watch the Euros final at the villa

Uninterrupted.

And being the good girlfriend that you are, you were more than happy to compromise. That is until you realise that Leah has pretty much ignored you the entire day.

Well– maybe ignore is the wrong term. She was acting the same this morning– ordering a breakfast spread fit for champions by the time you woke up, booking a luxury spa treatment for the both of you at the resort, and even letting you run wild with her card at the nearby mall where there’s a strip of high-end stores with names like Cartier, Vacheron Constantin, and Dior. You came strutting back to the villa in your new pair of Jimmy Choo kitten heels, while Leah trails behind you, her arms full of shopping bags– all of them belonging to you.

However, you were what other people would call clingy. You craved attention and affection more than the usual person. Physical touch was your love language, and most of the time, your girlfriend was more than happy to meet your needs.

But not today it seems.

She was far too busy watching a bunch of men on telly chase a ball around a field of freshly cut grass to pay enough attention to you.

Finally getting board of looking at bags and shoes on your laptop, you shut it down and put it aside. Stretching one leg over the length of the cream white sofa, you nudge Leah with your foot. “Lee…”

Without even moving her eyes away from the screen, your girlfriend just hums in reply. Rude.

Another nudge with your freshly manicured toes. “Leah”

Finally he blonde turns to you, grasping your foot with one hand effectively putting an end to your incessant poking. “What, baby?”

“I’m bored” You pout at her.

“Then watch the game, darling” She tilts her head towards the 85” Samsung TV that is mounted on the wall. Her hand was now lightly massaging your foot and your calves, probably sensing how tense you are.

You groan in reply, your head falling backwards dramatically. “That's exactly what’s boring me, Lee”

Leah just smiles, but it’s a bit strained. She just wants to watch the game, and you’re making it hard for her to focus. She’s usually used to your indifference for the sport that she happens to make a career out of. You only "enjoyed" football when your girlfriend was playing. You attended all her matches and would cheer loudly for her when she's on the pitch. Whenever Leah would drag you along with to watch football matches as a spectator with her, you would reluctantly agree– after many kisses and promises of shopping afterwards– and armed with the latest copy of Vogue to pass the time. If she wasn’t on the pitch, you did not care.

You sneak a peek at her, wanting to see if she would indulge you further, but she was already turning her attention back to the TV. Stupid tv.

You rattle your foot that is still under her hand. You didn’t know where this was coming from but you had enough of being pushed aside for a game of football. “Leah!”

And that’s when she snaps.

“Fucking hell– would it kill you to be quiet! Can’t you see I’m trying to watch the match, mate?” She gestures wildly at the tv. Her eye brows were drawn together, the skin between them wrinkled. When she looked at you again, her gaze was intense– piercing almost.

You glare back at her, hoping she can feel your wrath from her peripheral since she has once agin directed her eyes back to the tv. “m’not your mate”

You huff audibly, snatching your foot back from her grasp. You could feel the annoyance bubbling up inside you. Sure, you had both compromised that Leah gets to spend one day to watch the game uninterrupted. And yes, you did get your girlfriend all to yourself during the last five days, but you couldn’t understand why she was pushing you away like this. You were being selfish, but who wouldn't be when their girlfriend is being uncharacteristically mean about it.

When you were in one of your moods, you had a habit of muttering under your breath when things don't go your way, making scathing, albeit humorous, remarks. It wasn’t long before the sounds of you grumbling under your breath could be heard by your now equally moody girlfriend.

“bloody football…this was supposed to be a birthday trip yet my girlfriend is spending time watching ugly men kick a ball around…we could’ve been snorkelling and exploring the reefs or having sex on a yacht but nooooooo apparently football is more interesting”

Sometimes Leah found it cute but other times, like today, your grumbling was annoying and it was distracting her from the game. The blonde just wants an hour or two to watch football uninterrupted, yet you can't even give her that. She smacks her hand down hard on the sofa, startling you and putting an end to your angry muttering. Leah turns to you and glares. “If you want to keep grumbling like that go do it somewhere else. You’re actually fucking pissing me off. don't know why I even put up with you” She groans the last bit as she rubs her forehead like you were some sort of nuisance to her.

That did it.

You were annoyed at the lack of affection from your girlfriend, and the same person that you wanted attention from was now mad at you. You glare at her right back, but your eyes were starting to water and you were getting the sniffles.

Wrestling the blanket off your lap like you were fighting an alligator, you swing your legs off the sofa, ready to stomp to the room and slam the door like a mature lady when Leah grabs your arm before you can move. “Sorry. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, baby”

You angrily wipe away a traitorous tear as it slides down your cheek, trying to shake off the blonde’s grip but she holds firm. She moves to stand on her own two feet until she’s standing in front of you. Leah crouches down slightly, forcing your eyes to meet her blue ones. She frowns when she notices your tear stained cheeks. “Darling…hey, look at me, please”

You meet her eyes, albeit reluctantly. She rewards your effort with a kiss on your wet cheek. “I didn’t mean it. Don’t cry, please. You’re breaking my heart, baby”

“Oyarzabal…Cucurella! 2-1 SPAIN!! Time is running out and Spain are nearly there. Oyarzabal hooks the ball out left to Cucurella, who beats a flagging Walker with a lovely diagonal ball into the box.The substitute is stretching ahead of Stones, having timed his run to perfection in between England's two centre-backs, and slides to put Spain back in front. This might just be it for England…”

Shit.

You head snapped towards the tv in shock, your annoyance disappearing. While you weren't personally rooting for any of the two teams, your English girlfriend was rooting for England so you automatically were rooting for England too. Not that you would ever admit it out loud.

You were anticipating a slew of cursed words from the Milton Keynes native, but her eyes had not left your face once, far too concerned about making sure you were okay. You were her number one priority, always.

Taking a step closer to her, you rub the sides of her waist lightly. It was your turn to comfort your girlfriend. You hug her, pressing your head against her chest to listen to the rhythmic beating of her heart. It’s soothing and familiar, and any lingering feelings of frustration have completely disappeared.

“The lads can pull one back” You say to her, peeking at the time running at the left top corner of the screen. Your girlfriend still hasn't said anything and you assume it's because she's sad about the score. “They’ve still got 10 minutes to equalise– plus additional time to play.” Just because you weren’t the biggest football fan out there did not mean you didn’t understand how the sport works.

“Quit thinking about the match for a minute, baby, I don’t care about them right now. Are you sure you’re okay?” Leah pulls back slightly, cupping your face gently, and you lean into the warmth of her palms.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Lee. I was just been silly” You pucker your lips up at her, and she grants your request with a grin. She kisses you once, and then again, pecking your lips repeatedly like she can’t get enough of you.

You give her one more kiss, giving her a sharp bite on her lower lip before you pull away completely. Leah frowns at that, her eyebrows furrowing in displeasure.

“I’m going to grab my laptop and watch Desperate Housewives out on the hammock. I’ll leave you to your football–alone– so you can focus.”

“What no. Baby, you can’t leave me when we’re one nil down during a Euros final” Leah gestures animatedly at the TV, the scoreline still showing Spain in the lead. “Stay with me. Watch your show right here with me”

It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

Without waiting for you to reply, Leah began pulling you by the hand back to the sofa. She sat down, tugging you onto her lap. You just laugh, not even bothering to reach for your abandoned laptop on the other side of the sofa. You snuggle into her, your chest pressed together, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. Just because you agreed to stay with her, doesn’t mean you were interested in watching the match.

A buzzing from the inside of your short’s pocket startles you slightly. You glance at the screen, reading the text, and then gasp.

“love, my Chanel sales associate is asking me if I’d like to book an appointment at their store to see their new collection! There’s actually a cute bag that I've been thinking about…"

Leah hums, distracted slightly, not even looking at the phone screen that you are practically shoving into her face. “Yeah, we can get your bag once we arrive back home”

You squeal, already texting your sales associate to go ahead and book you in.

“–only if England win it” The typing stops and your heart drops. Your celebration cut short.

“w-what…b-but, love…” You look up at her to see if she was serious, and to your dismay there's not a hint of playfulness in her gaze. She's serious. Glancing back at the screen, you see England have only 5 minutes left to equalise if they want to play for additional time, but the seconds are ticking by quickly.

Scrambling off your girlfriend’s lap, you take your place beside her on the sofa instead. You have never been more motivated to cheer for a team your girlfriend was not playing for. Mustering all the manifestation in the universe, and your desperate need for that Chanel medium 25cm double flap shoulder bag in pink quilted lambskin leather with silver metal trim, you shout from the top of your voice “C’mon, England!!”

Leah just laughs loudly beside you, yelling and whooping too.

However, sports can be a cruel thing sometimes.

England did not end up winning the Euros, much to the dismay of your girlfriend— and probably an entire nation. However, you got your bag anyway. Leah could never say no to you. She would give you the entire world if you asked for it, but luckily all you wanted is a pink Chanel bag– for now.

More spoilt!reader x Leah because you all seem to enjoy her.

I wrote this the day after the Euros and then abandoned it because I got stuck and experience a writer's block halfway lol. Hope it still delivered.

-- kisses, butter.

#spoilt!reader #leah williamson #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson imagine #woso blurbs

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