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dabisbratz · 6 months

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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it��s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

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prettyboytsum · 4 months

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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ complaining about his size cw: afab! reader, daddy kink, slightly possessive, initial discomfort disclaimer: all characters are aged up! mdni! wc: 302

“‘s too big, can’t fit!” you whine, bucking your hips as he starts pushing the tip of his large cock into you. tears pricking as you let out a soft moan of discomfort—hands on his chest as you instinctively try to push him away. "too big, daddy!" “i know, baby. i know,” he murmurs reassuringly into your ear. one hand playing with your clit as he tries to dull the pain of accommodating his girth. “but don’t you wanna be a good girl for me, hm? wanna be daddy’s good girl?”

you let out a gasp, now gripping his shoulders as you nod frantically. you bite your lip, a muffled squeal leaving you as he pushes another inch in.

“oh fuck, gotta relax for me, yeah? sucking me in, can’t even move, princess,” he groans, hiding in the crook of your neck as he pushes deeper. you let out another whine, the pain mixing in with pleasure as you start bucking your hips to chase a familiar high. “atta girl, we’ll make it fit.”

“so big—so big,” you blabber mindlessly as he bottoms out, both of you moaning in unison.

“daddy too big for you?” he whispers, planting wet kisses on his neck. his tone is hardly apologetic—if anything, it’s almost mocking. “daddy too big for his pretty pussy?”

you nod dumbly, loud whines escaping your lips as he pulls out before pushing himself back in. his thrusts become more aggressive as his fingers tweak and pull on every inch of skin he can hold onto.

“too bad, princess,” he growls, pinning your wrists above your head as he leans against your legs so that you’re practically folded in half. “because it's the only cock that’s ever gonna fuck you this good.”

toji, suna, geto, eren, sukuna, daichi, reiner, ushijima, iwaizumi, tsukishima

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ginevrapng · 9 months

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the first time james saw you he lost interest in any other girl, you just looked so soft, so adorable. he wanted to keep you all to himself, away from prying eyes. before you he would tell people he doesn't have a type because before you he didn't, now though, well it's a different story, he just wants to wrap his arms around your plush waist and never let you go. he would gladly die between your thick thighs, buried between them.

one day you came into class and he figures that you must have run out of clothes to wear so you had to wear some of your old ones and that may have been one of the happiest days in his life. your shirt too tight and your skirt too short. he could see how the fabric and buttons of the shirt was struggling to stay covering your chest and your skirt short enough that james could see light stretch marks covering your skin, but also long enough to not cause a scene. no one else took notice of your attire that day, but james did. he couldn't help it, and he swears he tried to look away but he just couldn't, you're just so beautiful. he felt like a creep but he couldn't pay attention to anything else, he wanted to delicately trace your stretch marks with his fingertips. he wanted to do things that he'd never say out loud.

james wants to pull you down into his lap while he see's you making your way to your own table in the great hall. he wants to feel your body pressed against his and smell your sweet perfume. he knows you'd complain about being too heavy, he's overheard you mention it before, about how you think you're too heavy to get picked up or be on top of someone. james wants to impress you, to show you that he can, because of course he can pick you up and of course you're not too heavy for him, you're perfect the way you are and he's strong enough to lift anything and everything. he'd carry you with one hand all the way up a mountain if it would impress you and get you to notice him.

he wants to pinch your chubby cheeks and wants to kiss your forehead. he wants you.

his friends obviously notice this new attraction james has towards this girl but chosen not to mention, that is until he started to constantly bring you up and gushes to them about how perfect and cute you are. this getting very mixed reviews from his friends, lily having pity for you, aware of how he gets when he likes someone, sirius constantly teasing him about you, mary saying how nice you sounded, remus seemed mostly indifferent to the whole thing, marlene telling him to make a move. if james was honest he didn't take much notice of the teasing or the annoyance that they had because he kept bringing you up, he just needed to tell everyone about how amazing you are.

james knows how to pine after a girl and god does he do exactly that and he makes that very known to you. at first you were wary and skeptical of this sudden attention the famous gryffindor quidditch captain bestowed on you, he was one of the most popular students in hogwarts but after a while james broke down your walls with his charming smile and his acts of kindness, walking you to classes and pulling pranks on anyone who says nasty comments about you weight.

soon enough you end up in wrapped in red and gold on your way to support him in a match, his scarf keeping you warm from the harsh weather. after his win you end up running into his arms, congratulating him as he spins you around, you complain that he's sweaty, causing him to chuckle.

cupping your cheek, he lowers his voice and whispers to you, "you're my good luck charm, 'course i won." your face heats up and you shyly smile up at him. "what would i do without my good luck charm. you wanna be m' good luck charm always doll? wanna be mine?" he tucks some of your hair behind your ear, leaning in even closer, " 'cause i'm already yours. no one else for me doll." soon enough you accept to be his girlfriend, on the condition that he takes a shower straight away.

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deunmiu-dessie · 15 days

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𝑜𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒶'𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

started ⸺ 04.12.24 ༉‧₊˚.

last update ⸺ 04.24.24 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

𝒷𝓊𝓎 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝑒? | about me! | side blog ( where i post late night sloppy drabbles and my fav reblogs from you guys! ) | ˙ᵕ˙

𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝓊𝓉𝓎 ༊*·˚

( S F W )

simon "ghost" riley - baking with him, a piece of you

john "captain" price - domestic husband, first meeting ⁽ⁿᵉʷ!⁾

kyle "gaz" garrick - infatuated with you, his world

john "soap" mactavish - obsession ⁽ˢᵗᵃˡᵏᵉʳ ᵃᵘ!⁾

( S F W ALPHABET )

john price ♡ 𝒶⸺𝓏

simon riley ♡ 𝒶⸺𝓏 ⁽ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵒⁿ!⁾

kyle garrick ♡ 𝒶⸺𝓏 ⁽ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵒⁿ!⁾

soap mactavish ♡ 𝒶⸺𝓏 ⁽ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵒⁿ!⁾

( N S F W )

price ⸺ 1 2 3 4 5

gaz ⸺ 1

ghost ⸺ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

( N S F W ALPHABET ) w/p-links

john price ♡ 𝒶⸺𝓏

simon riley ♡ 𝒶⸺𝓂 ⁽ᶜᵒˡˡᵃᵇ!⁾

kyle garrick ♡ 𝒶⸺𝓏 ⁽ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵒⁿ!⁾

soap mactavish ♡ 𝒶⸺𝓏 ⁽ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵒⁿ!⁾

𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ⁺｡✩₊✩｡⁺

shade ( sfw )

monster!boyfriend ( nsfw )

dragon ( sfw )

minotaur ( nsfw )

werewolf ( nsfw )

gargoyle ( nsfw )

paralysis demon ( nsfw )

( N S F W )

werewolf

ghost

ulysses ⁽ᵈᵉᵐᵒⁿ⁾ ⸺ 1 2

ahn'thu ⁽ʸᵃᵘᵗʲᵃ⁾ ⸺ 1 2

loran ⁽ᵒʳᶜ⁾

elias ⁽ᵛᵃᵐᵖⁱʳᵉ⁾

wendigo

goblins

drusyn ⁽ᵃˡⁱᵉⁿ⁾ ⁽ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵒⁿ!⁾

caspian ⁽ᵈʳᵃᵍᵒⁿ⁾ ⁽ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵒⁿ!⁾

( S F W )

nim'xen ⁽ᵃˡⁱᵉⁿ⁾

𝓂𝒾𝓈𝒸 ₊˚ෆ ˘͈ᵕ˘ֶ͈֢

mitachurl ( nsfw )

multifandom imagine ( sfw )

#masterlist #deunmiu-dessie #ODESSA⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡#my masterlist #monster fucker #reqs open #kofi commission #monster x reader #monster x you #call of duty modern warfare #18+ content #call of duty #call of duty smut

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purinclover · 27 days

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your f/os share your kinks btw. yes, even that "embarrassing" one you're too humiliated/scared to tell anyone about. maybe they've never heard of some of your more obscure ones, but the first time the two of you try them out they go 'oh, fuck.' because now you've unlocked something new for them too.

#hear her laughter #♡ yume #♡ stay lukewarm #nsft text #mdni #18+ only #★ thirst #sorry. my peanits #selfship community #nsft self shipping #self shipper #selfshipper

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miaowitch · 1 month

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What Makes a Date? (18+)

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Read on Ao3 or below !!

Sam (SDV) / Fem! Farmer OC

cw ⋆｡‧˚♡ swearing, smut, porn with plot, grinding over clothes, blowjobs, cumming without warning, sam pov, sams a loser?, canon/oc

summary ⋆｡‧˚♡

Sam has two tickets to his favorite band, but none of his friends want to come with him. What does he do instead? Ask the farmer on a totally platonic outing, just as friends with no underlying feelings! Everything should go according to plan, especially the part where he ends up in her house! Right?

5k words

Sam found himself in an odd situation. Two tickets to a concert in Zuzu City, two busy friends, and one available farmer. He’d been talking with Bella for a few months. Every time she came around he couldn’t help feeling like his heart would burst from his chest alien-style, but all in all he tried his hardest to be normal around her. Even if he’d written hundreds of scrapped melodies about her, even if he dreamt of her constantly, even if he wanted her laugh as his alarm clock. Samuel Neilson was a normal 20-year-old who could have hot friends.

He’d been a fan of the band JamPot since middle school, and he figured Sebastian and Abigail would’ve died hearing about the tickets. They were all massive fans in fact, they’d discovered them together on YouTube in fact. Sure, he could only take one, but Sebastian rarely left his house anyway. Abigail was his backup plan for concerts most times, he just liked extending the offer to Seb. Abigail would never turn down the option to go to a concert without paying.

He decided to ask them both on their weekly pool night, Sebastian was riding on his first win of the night and Abigail was lounging on the couch closest to the table. Sam thumbed the tickets in his pocket before working up the courage to ask, “Hey uh-” He started, pulling out the envelope. “Either of you wanna go with me to see JamPot on Saturday?” Sam’s hopeful tone was instantly crushed by their simultaneous rejection. “Sorry, Sammy. I’ve got plans on Saturday.” Abigail finally looked up from her phone to look at his defeated expression. “Yeah, I’ve gotta catch up on work. It wouldn’t be smart to..” Sebastian had just finished setting up the next game, but Sam couldn’t care less. “Whaat?” Sam whined out, leaning on the pool stick now. “I spent 50 on the other ticket, just hoping one of you’d tag along!”

Sebastian, as if he was unbothered by his friend's distress, just rolled his eyes in response. “Just ask Bella.” Beginning the match by hitting the cue ball, managing to hit a solid color into a corner pocket. Sam stood dumbfounded. He didn’t want to go alone, but he also didn’t know if Bella would even agree to the…date? Would it be a date? He pondered for a minute before Sebastian cleared his throat in frustration. “You’re stripes, now play the fucking game, dude.”

The rest of the night, Sam was in a sort of daze, wondering if he was even close enough to the farmer to ask her to a concert. What if she rejected him, thinking it was a date? What if he wanted it to be a date? After his…circumstances with Penny, he wasn’t sure if he should even try to make a move. Walking out of the pub at 11, he was still thinking about Sebastian’s suggestion. Abigail waved goodbye, the one sober member of the group. Sam was slumped on Sebastian’s shoulder, the two held each other up with drunk motivation. “Can I..” Sam sighed, tossing his head back. “Just take me to your basement, Sebby.” He didn’t plan on drinking so much, but he knew his mom would kill him if he walked in wasted. “Whatev’r…” Sebastian slurred back, as he lead Sam around the corner to the mountain path.

Sam didn’t quite remember how he’d gotten to Sebastian’s house. He woke up with a twinging headache, sprawled on the rug next to Sebastian’s bed. An old throw blanket was tossed over top of his body, but no pillow. His mouth was dry, lips cracked slightly as he pried them apart. “Seb…” He groaned, his voice was dangerously hoarse. Clearing it, he called once more as he sat up. “Seb. Get up.” Sam reached up to push at Sebastian’s sleeping back, but only received an angry groan in return. Being friends with Sebastian for so long, he understood that groan as a rejection to waking up.

Sam decided to just leave on his own, his mother was probably concerned about the fact that he hadn’t even come home. The alarm clock on Sebastian’s bedside read off [11:00 am]. He sighed, searching for his shirt that had been thrown off in the night. Picking himself up from the floor, he grabbed his phone, found his shirt, and slipped on his laceless shoes. Hobbling up the stairs was the hardest part, with stiff joints it was hard to even walk a straight line.

“Hello, Sam!” Robin announced to the house as Sam emerged from the basement. He winced at her volume, but still put on a smile. “Hey, Robin, sorry I crashed last night.” Sam adjusted the faded band shirt, hoping she couldn’t tell he’d been half naked two seconds prior. “Seb’s still asleep downstairs, I don’t know if he’s getting up any time soon.” He rubbed the back of his neck, anxious that Robin could still smell the alcohol. She didn’t seem to catch on, laughing softly. “Oh, Sam, you don’t have to apologize for staying over.” She sat back in the chair behind the front counter. “You two always stay up so late at night, at least you’re having fun.”

Sam said his goodbyes, walking out the front door and closing it silently for the sake of his aching head. He took a deep breath, feeling around in his pocket for his phone to text his mom that he was headed home. Instead, Sam found the tickets that cursed him. “Fuck.” He muttered to himself, but apparently not quiet enough. Bella was rounding the corner at that very moment.

“Fuck what?” She appeared with a sly, teasing smile. Sam felt his throat tighten up. “Me?” He replied with a violent voice crack. Sam couldn't help feeling like an ass when Bella was around. Something about her jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, and….assets? He didn't want to disrespect her, she was a nice friend. Why would he talk about her like that? He respected her too much.

Bella laughed, harmoniously (to Sam). While covering her smile, which killed Sam, she dropped it after her giggles. A happy sigh escaped her, straightening up to really get a good look at him. “You look rough.” Bella spoke with almost a hinge of concern, looking him up and down. Sam had been so caught up in overthinking, he forgot completely about why he had been overthinking. “Rough? Yeah, I guess I feel the same too.” His hand nervously rubbed at his neck, Sam had a habit of doing it. “A-Actually I had a question for you!” Bella cocked her head, Sam felt his stomach toss.

Bella was a girl who loved music. It was her and Sam’s first conversation. Wearing an old TilledSoil shirt, a band Sam had seen upwards of 10 times. After their hour of conversation on their favorite bands, Sam deemed Bella to be cool. He knew she would agree to going to a free concert with him, but was he even confident enough to ask her out? “What’s up?” Bella asked, now actually concerned for Sam. He’d been clutching the tickets for the entire time. The ticket envelope crumpled in his grip. “Do you wanna go to a concert with me- If you’re not busy or- or anything.” He felt like a total ass.

There was no reason for her to actually reject him, but every bone in his body was cringing out. Standing in front of his best friend’s house, asking someone to go on a maybe-date. If Sebastian had been awake, he’d be instantly cooked. “What band?” Bella spoke up to break the internal panic that fogged his brain. That and the hangover headache. “JamPot!” Sam blurted out, making his headache come back with a vengeance. “They’re just…some dumb pop punk band from overseas.. I just have another ticket!” Yet she was already smiling, “JamPot? I don’t think I’ve listened to them since middle school!” Pulling out her phone, she looked back up at him. “When’s the show?”

Sam seemingly forgot every single detail about the show in that very minute. After frantically opening the envelope to look at the tickets, he looked back up. “Tomorrow, doors at 7?” Bella then started looking through her phone for a moment. “I’ll drive too! All you gotta do is tag along!” Sam wasn’t trying to beg, but god, he just didn’t want to waste the money. She looked back up with a smile, “Deal, I’m free to go tomorrow.” Stammering to himself for a moment, Sam finally got out a sentence. “Cool! I’ll pick you up at 6?” Bella agreed, and Sam floated back into town on a high.

Sure, his mom was pissed, and he was slightly late to work. Sam just couldn’t care. He was just really excited to hang out with his friend Bella. There wasn’t anything else lingering there, no matter how many times Sebastian and Abigail brought it up. This was just two really good friends going to hang out at a concert. Getting close, and sweaty…and doing normal friend things. Sam wasn’t going to ruin anything. Surely.

Sebastian and Abigail heard the ‘news’ from him over a text, both were convinced it was going to end in Sam’s demise. Abigail bet on Bella thinking it was a date, but Sam shut her down immediately. There’s no way Bella would think it was a date. Even as he put a little bit of extra time into getting ready the next day, he was positive that Bella was on the same page as him. After assuring himself that his hair was perfectly quaffed, he headed out to pick up Bella.

His car was just a hand-me-down from Jodie, her old car from before they’d gotten a family van. Sam wasted a few minutes throwing trash from the passenger to the backseat. Scrambling just to make it to the farm at six. Pelican Town wasn’t the most drivable, but it was still nice to have a car for longer trips. He just hoped it was comfortable enough for Bella. Not that it was a big deal, of course, she was just like every other friend. He just wanted her to enjoy her first ride in his car.

Sam arrived at the farm at 5:52, pulling into the gravel driveway just after he was done freaking out about being late. He fixed his hair in the rearview mirror, fussing over nothing at all. Waiting for just another minute, he was too impatient and honked at the horn once. He didn’t have her number, but he also wasn’t sure if he could just walk up to the front door. What if she thought he was rushing her? At the moment Sam honked– Bella opened her front door. A black cat ran from the house, and Bella locked up the front door. Sam was leaning on the steering wheel, watching her. When she looked at him with a smile, he instantly straightened up. His palms were grossly sweaty, and suddenly he felt underdressed.

Bella walked to the passenger side of the car. Sam for a moment felt compelled to brush off the seat before she sat down, but still held himself back. Sharing greetings, Sam took a moment to really look at her. Trying to get his breath back, he smiled. “Ready for the show?” Sam managed to get out, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Bella could probably wear a burlap sack and look good, but her black skinny jeans and cropped tee suited her perfectly. Bella smiled back, buckling in. “You know it.”

It was hard to pay attention to the road with her in the passenger seat. Bella wasn’t distracting in a bad way, but Sam couldn’t help wondering what the feeling in his gut was. He just didn’t want to mess anything up. The drive wasn’t boring by any means, Bella and Sam talked the whole way there. Bella mentioned listening to JamPot’s new album, and Sam had to hold himself back from gushing about each detail in the chord progressions. But– It wasn’t long until he did start gushing about it. It was really difficult for Sam to not spill every thought around her. Normally, people would just grin and bare it while Sam rambled about music, but Bella listened to him. She seemed like she really was interested, a rare find. The drive and the time spent waiting in line was mostly just the pair talking about shared interests. Finding out she also preferred Hawaiian Pizza was a game changer for him.

The venue was old. It’d been there since the early 70s, but was still kept up with. High ceilings, low concrete floors and bars located on both sides. It was already halfway packed in, the merch tables weren’t busy either. Small fairy lights decorated the trim of the brick walls, highlighting the merch tables easily.

When they were actually in the venue, Bella split off to find the merch table while Sam grabbed a spot on the floor. “I’ll see you in a few.” She smiled, softly placing a hand on his upper arm before walking off. Before Sam melted to the sticky concrete, he had to text his friends. Sending a frantic text to Sebastian, Sam felt his head swimming. [ “Is this a date?” ] He typed the words with nervous, shaking thumbs. Sam was wrong, kicking himself in the ass. What if he was in the process of destroying any chance with Bella? What if he did like her more than he was allowing himself?

[ “Yes.” ] Sebastian responded, Sam mentally crumbled.

This was the issue with Sam. He didn’t read the room properly, didn’t understand most situations. It’s what ruined a lot of past relationships for him. Bella didn’t seem like she was hating their conversations, but girls were just so confusing to him. During his overthinking, Bella returned. A new beanie on her head, and a CD in her hand. The new JamPot album. “I got this for you, I wasn’t sure if you had it already.” Holding it out to him, Bella had no clue what had been occurring in Sam’s head. “What?! I’ll pay you back, Bella, I swear.” All fear dropped from his mind, her presence was enough for him to stop overthinking. She shook her head, “It’s for the ticket, don’t worry about it.” Bella’s hand touched his arm again. Soothing his anxiety, but slightly raising his blood pressure.

After each of the two openers, Bella and Sam kept getting closer and closer. The crowd crushed together in excitement, filling the air with the heat of upwards of 200 people. “Are you okay?” Sam spoke up, bending to Bella’s ear just so she could hear him. She responded with a thumbs up, but still moved closer to Sam. Somehow they’d pressed forward to the barricade, in the middle-left. The headliner hadn’t come on yet, but Sam was preparing. His hands were holding the barricade, with Bella standing between them. He knew she’d be fine on her own in the crowd, but he wanted to keep her safe. The crowd had been rough all night, the openers being much heavier than JamPot, but Sam didn’t want her getting crushed against anyone else.

Music played across the loudspeakers to fill the silence for the crowd during the stage set. The energy throughout the show had made him less high-strung, less worried on the topic of their night. “You’re having fun, right?” Sam asked, again at a higher volume, just so she could hear him. Bella nodded, leaning against the barricade and looking up at him. “Thanks for bringing me, Sam!” She hadn’t been able to stop smiling that night.

It was honestly rare that Sam had seen her leave the farm. She and Abigail hung out by the mines occasionally, and he’d see her on walks by the water. Sam just rarely saw her doing anything out of Pelican Town in the few months they’d known each other. He liked taking her out, taking her places with him. “N-No problem.” Feeling that same tossing in his stomach, for some reason his face felt hotter. Maybe it was just the room?

If Sam thought the first half of the show was close quarters, he wasn’t ready for the second half. Pressing up tightly to Bella’s back as she jumped around was the hardest thing Sam had to endure. On one hand, Bella was safe and comfortable at the barricade, while Sam had to get knocked into continuously. On the other, every single movement against Sam’s dick was like the purest form of torture. It’s not like she was grinding into him, but every once in a while they’d make contact when Bella would start jumping around. Gritting his teeth through it, Sam stood strong. Even if he ached, feeling the slightest brush of her hair against him. Her perfume with hints of clove, brushing by him, was his own heaven. The only thing Sam could circle back to at that moment was the original question.

Was it a date? Sam really tried to focus on the band, but how could he? He’d tune in for a song, then get lost in thought, staring at the back of Bella’s head. The end of the show came quicker than he’d been paying attention. The encore was really just one song, then the whole night was over. Sam felt like an ass, once again, for letting his mind wander all night. Walking out of the venue, Sam stayed close behind Bella. He felt like he’d been a weird freak all night, he just watched her. Bella didn’t notice anything, she’d been talking about how great the show was all the way to the car. Sam bantered back, acting as if he had really watched the concert.

After finally making it to the car, everything sort of shifted. Bella felt a little shyer now that they were fully alone. “Um– Sam?” She asked, as Sam put his keys in to start the car. “Yeah, Bella?” He looked over to her, the radio in the car started playing some obnoxious radio song. The CD hadn’t been automatically reading, so he reached up to press the button. “Well, I just wanted to thank you for taking me on this date. I really had a lot of fun with you tonight.”

Sam froze in place.

Date? It was a Date?

The annoying pop track played its repetitive tune. Sam was staring at Bella with a dumb look on his face. “It was a–?” He managed to catch himself before saying his first thought, “Right– Well, I just thought..” His extended hand toward the stereo retracted, holding the back of his neck to feel at any beads of sweat. “I just thought it was about time, y’know?” A goofy grin cracked on his face, feeling suddenly free of his worries. “Me too..” Bella had been messing with a strand of hair framing her face. “I really appreciate it, Sam. We should really do this again, okay?” She smiled again, softly. The fluorescent lights in the garage gave her an outer glow, a soft halo on her black hair. Sam had to look away before he forgot the route home.

Still, a sort of tension lingered in the car. They talked like normal, joking about the show. They talked about typical things from the daily special at the saloon, to weather during the week. Sam considered for a moment that he was just being dense, not understanding the palpable pauses between each topic. Bella adjusted in her seat every few minutes, Sam could’ve sworn he caught her looking his way every few minutes. His energy was high from the concert’s atmosphere, so maybe his mind was just working overtime.

Eventually, though, they made it to Bella’s home. Pulling in the same gravel driveway as a few hours prior. Sitting in silence for a moment, neither truly wanted the night to be over with. Bella finally offered though, “Sam, I think I might have a pizza in the house. If you’re hungry or something..” Bella played with the fabric of her beanie, now clutched in her lap. Her hair was slightly messed up from hat hair, but to Sam, she hardly looked imperfect.

“Yeah, uh.. I don’t see why not.” Sam turned off the car a little too enthusiastically. Mentally high-fiving himself for making it this far. Considering how the situation started, he didn’t even think he’d be in a car with Bella. Let alone be on a date with Bella. It was only midnight, his mom knew he’d be back late, so Sam didn’t have any reason to say no.

“Sorry if it’s a little messy, I don’t normally have people over..” She apologized, unlocking the door with a set of keys attached to a decorated keychain. Sam figured it would probably be cleaner than his room, and he was right in assumption. Bella was exaggerating. Only a couple of cups laid on the coffee table, a few sweatshirts and jackets were draped on one of the dining room tables, and burnt out candles littered the main living room. “It’s not messy, don’t worry.” Sam made sure to close the door behind him, only slightly jumping when a black cat ran through the house and towards the bedroom.

Sam quickly followed Bella into the kitchen, where she was staring at the box of frozen pizza branded with JojaMart logos. “Have you had this before?” She asked with a pensive tone, looking over her shoulder and back at Sam standing in the doorway. He felt a knot in his throat. “Please, I think I’ve had every frozen pizza in the Joja aisles.” Sam tried to push past it, leaning on the dining table to keep himself from collapsing.

“It says it’ll take 30 minutes, can you wait that long?” Bella set the box on the counter and turned to him. It was one of those fancier brands with a rising crust. “I could make us some sandwiches if you’re too tired, I know I’m already keeping you out pretty late..” Her lips pursed in thought, but Sam scrambled. “I-I can wait!” Bella began opening the box, and setting the frozen disk pizza onto the tin tray. Watching her preheat the oven, Sam felt his heart race. Two peers, in a house…alone. Sam hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Sure, he’d kept a condom in his wallet, but that didn’t mean he just expected to get laid. He wasn’t that cocky. He understood that they were just two friends, fresh off an unexpected date. Two very available people that liked each other a considerable amount. Sam just knew the kind of guy that he was. He wasn’t the type to hold off if he wanted something. And god, did he want Bella.

She turned around now, unaware of the horrible thoughts in Sam’s brain. He wondered if he should just go home. “Well, we’ve got a 30-minute wait… anything you wanna do while we wait?” Bella took a few steps closer, setting the flannel she was wearing on the kitchen table behind Sam. “You.” He felt tempted to say his desires out loud, but held himself firm. “Oh, I could just watch TV if you want.” He was lying, but it was late. Sam doubted that she was that into him.

Following Bella into her living room, he took a spot on one end of her blue, velvet couch. Bella placed herself on the other side after getting the remote to her tiny television set. She sat forward, stiff as she tapped through channels, just trying to find something to fill their silence. The tension between the two was thick, Sam just tried to relax. Leaning back in his seat and getting comfortable. It was almost 11 at night, there was nothing to be worried about. As if the notorious early bird farmer Bella would stay up much later than 12.

A couple of minutes passed, but Bella didn’t seem to relax. Sam kept stealing glances, but each time she would lock eyes with him. Her panic hidden as she looked back to the boring music documentary they landed on. “Are you comfortable?” Sam finally offered, figuring that it was an innocent question. Bella finally looked at him, “Um… Well…” She shifted in her seat, “I guess not, I just can’t rest after concerts..” Bella seemed almost embarrassed, “I just have such a hard time laying down..”

Sam opened an arm at the instant. “C’mere then, I’ll show you how to relax, Bella.” He didn’t have bad intentions at all. Sebastian was the same way, you had to force him down to get any sleep after going through concert adrenaline. Sam had no problem getting cozy, he just wanted to help her out.

He was more than surprised when she actually agreed to it, Bella gladly crawled over to lay on his chest. Sam positioned himself to lay along the couch, one hand behind his head to pad the hard arm of the couch. Bella just draped herself on the inside of the couch, pressed onto him, but hardly comfortable. She still felt like she wasn't quite comfortable, so Sam let a hand creep down and rub the space between her shoulders. A sigh released, and Bella let her guard down.

Sam’s hand continued to rub circles around her back, and Bella’s sighs became more frequent. Every shift she’d make against his thigh, every shudder as his hand shifted to her mid-back. He wasn’t sure what he was doing to make her react that way, but he’d always been told he had magic hands when it came to massages. “Are you still comfortable?” He asked again, not sure why he was whispering. Bella could hardly be heard as she softly moaned at his touch. Sam felt himself going insane as their eyes met. Her lashes fluttered, his heart could’ve given out at any time.

It only took a second for Sam to realize what was actually going on. Bella moved up, now straddling him to the couch. A mere centimeter away from his lips as she felt her own hesitation. “Bella? C-Can we…” Sam started, but Bella cut him off. Their lips met with sparks under Sam’s skin. His hands drifted to her waist, rubbing slow circles with his thumb as their tongues mingled. One of Bella’s hands moved to his hair, lacing together with gelled, blonde strands. Even lightly brushed against his hair almost made him burst, but whatever Bella was doing to him made him weaker to the touch.

Their kiss broke with Sam panting, holding on tighter with one hand on Bella’s waist. Basically guiding her to grind against the center of his crotch. “Ohhh… Oh god, Bella…” Sam couldn’t help begging for her, what else was he supposed to do with a beautiful woman on his dick? Her hips gyrated, moving forwards and back to tease at his quickly hardening cock.

It’d been too long for Sam. He didn’t fool around as much as he had before Bella came to town, but she was enough to dedicate his life to a monogamous relationship. “Y-You’re so fucking good, holy shit…” He gasped as her hands trailed up his chest. Holding herself firm as she now stopped and held herself up. Moving down, she positioned herself between his legs. Sam propped himself up, sweaty and confused. Watching Bella lay on her stomach with a determined look in her eyes, she understood her intentions as she unbuckled his checkered belt. Her soft hands pulled down blue checkered boxers, taking in everything slowly.

Sam’s ears were burning hot, he threw his head back to avoid her seeing his embarrassment. Bella, on the other hand, slid her hand around his cock with love. Licking her lips with anticipation as she took it all in. Gently kissing the blushing head of his cock, leaking precum and begging for more. Sam writhed under her, missing her lips after every sweet peck down the shaft. He begged, desperate for something that wasn’t a teasing kiss. Bella listened, smiling devilishly as she swept her long black hair behind her.

Bella’s hands firmly stayed on Sam’s hips, making sure he wasn’t bucking too hard. Her mouth wrapped around him warmly, lowering slowly to halfway, then bobbing back up. “S-Shit..” Sam cursed, biting his lip to stop from exclusively swearing. His right hand gripped at the back of the couch, while his left hand trailed to Bella’s head. Softly petting as she moved with intention. Her big eyes looking up as if she wasn’t melting him with each move she made.

“B-Bella slow down, Please-” She bobbed faster, and stopped teasing him. His hand now gripped in her hair, inky black strands lacing between his fingers. “Fuck- Fuck, you’re so good to me, Wh-” Sam’s rambling was cut short by his body near folding from her mouth hitting the base of his cock. Sam wasn’t monstrously lengthy, but he was still slightly longer than average. Aside from the fact that he wasn’t getting very many blowjobs, he’d just assumed deepthroating didn’t exist. Tortuously, she moved her mouth up, with her tongue pressed to the bottom of his shaft. Sam couldn’t keep his mouth closed. A mixture of her name, whimpering, and swears poured out as she worked her head up and down. His head pounded, a whooshing in his ears grew louder.

Without warning her, Sam crumpled under her. Cumming into her mouth, now holding onto her head gently to keep her still. Bella moaned, the vibrations only making him moan out louder as he bottomed out. She pulled herself off as his hands fell, a quiet ‘pop’ broke the humming in his head. As she got up and left towards the kitchen. He’d realized the timer started going off when Sam heard the creaking of her oven door. “Bella?” Sam called out, almost missing her after she left the room. A second later, Bella’s head peeked around the wall of the kitchen. “Do you still want pizza?” She acted like she hadn’t just been on his cock, like she still couldn’t taste him in her throat.

“No, I think I want something else.” He propped himself up, smiling back at her.

#`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · love notes #`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · 18+#`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · drabbles #sam sdv #stardew valley #sdv #sdv x oc #sam sdv x reader #sam sdv x oc #sdv x reader #stardew valley fanfic #sdv smut

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cherryflavoredbunny · 1 year

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐏♡𝐫𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬🍒🐇

𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

teasing stepdad!hotch in a bikini

grinding on stepdad!hotch’s thigh

stepdad!hotch coming home from a case and using you in your sleep

𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐬

welcoming emily home from a case

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮

𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬🍒🐇

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

weekly movie night with older!neighbor!eddie

𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐢 "𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐨" 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐯

stepdad!dmitri letting hopper use you

stepdad!dmitri making you wait

𝐣𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫

stepdad!dmitri letting hopper use you

𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐫

#🍒🐇#18+ MDNI💌#twitter p♡rn link #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #alex blake #eddie munson #dmitri antonov #jim hopper #karen wheeler

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hopeluna · 3 months

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Imagine being in the moment with Inumaki, the air hot and filled with the sound of your moans, your mind absolutely reeling from just the feel of him kissing down your neck, to your stomach and finally to where you want him the most.

A shiver runs up your spine when you feel his breath on your cunt, body buzzing with anticipation at the thought of his tongue on you when he opens his mouth, directly looking at your core, to utter one word-

"Tuna"

No comment.

#jjk x reader #jjk #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki x reader #inumaki toge #toge inumaki #toge x reader #jjk smut #jjk shitpost #jjk crack #jjk imagines #inumaki x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #♡! 18+

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skenopsiah · 6 months

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ㅤ𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃ㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒ㅤJUJUTSU KAISEN

even in this situation you are unable to stay still — Chosō's sweetheart

sypnosis ; ❛ — you really get too confused in chemistry and over time you don't even pay a minimum of attention and you prefer to sleep or be doing your makeup, but this time it was different. — ❜

tags ; ❛ nerd!choso & reader!fem are 19 - 21 years old, classmates, reader's a little annoying, "popular" reader, modern au, slight degradation, choso dom, rough sex, ruined orgasm, asphyxiation, overstimulation a&v, dacryphilia , use of the names good girl or whore, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial and many more dirty things, ect. maybe some grammatical and spelling errors, apologies ❜

notes ; It inspired me too much and I went crazy writing this. . .w(ﾟДﾟ)w

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who looks at you every class watching how you only spend putting on makeup or sleeping

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who has to help you study the basics of chemistry and not on his own but because of the bribe he received from the teacher when he saw that you would repeat the year if you continued like this

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who tries to teach you the basics of chemistry but you still just ignore him with your phone in hand swiping your finger looking at social media and your fyp

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō gets frustrated when he can't make you understand a simple chemistry formula, he only sees you distracting yourself as always or bothering him for being a nerd

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō offers you a deal in exchange for you learning the basics of chemistry and how to create a formula; And even though it seems like a promising deal, you decide to do it just to spite him.

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō has you on his lap waiting for you to answer his question about the formula written in your unsolved notebook, you can't concentrate when you feel his cock between your thighs

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō realizes that you still can't stay calm and learn the subject, he has nothing left but to annoy you for all your mockery of him.

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō begins to move around because he was restless while he continues explaining every detail to you with his index finger touching each letter written in your notebook.

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō ends up understanding that you are not going to learn this way and all he has to do is grab you by the waist and begin to crush your thighs and pussy in his lap, causing you to stimulate him.

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who has you on the desk in his room giving you like a drawer that doesn't close, leaving marks from so many spankings that he left on your pretty ass, preparing the tip of his cock with your thighs; rubbing it from top to bottom very quickly, letting out gasps and bothering you when you see yourself trembling and a little less begging to fill you with his semen - "C-Choso I can't take it anymore…p-please-!" – Even after begging, he didn't stop until he came in your ass and seconds later he inserted his big cock inside you, making you let out a muffled moan.

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who is fucking you like the devil, thrusting in and out, spanking you and even choking you while he teases you. How shameless is he! – "Oh come on y/n. . .you're having one of the worst averages in this subject and instead of concentrating you're just moaning like the big whore you are!" – "and just for my cock, what a good girl."

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who is leaving you trembling by denying you an orgasm, your mind is totally blank and little by little you are losing the little sanity you have when you feel two of his fingers inserted into your ass, stimulating you just as quickly as he does with his cock in your pussy

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who has cummed for the umpteenth time in your pussy and is now fucking your ass while your pussy is just tight and desperate to have his cock inside you again, you can't do anything but shake and sob hearing him deny you cum and touch you on the spot

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō is on the verge of ecstasy and has already come for the fifth time in your ass while he listens to you cry and some muffled moans because he would suffocate you again

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who is totally lost in your muffled moans and sobs begging to let you cum – "ugghh. . .i-I swear I'm going to concentrate but please let me cum. . ." – letting out a laugh with a mischievous tone, finally, I would allow you to do it

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who left you in his room shaking, with his cum and your juices combined after a long "lesson" on chemistry

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō who now fucks you in the bathrooms whenever he wants because after all that's the deal. Fuck you whenever he wants while you learned about chemistry

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō the most anticipated day of all and you choking on chosō's cock in your pretty mouth, reviewing the last sheets to enter the exam with the bet that if you got an A+ you would get fucked in a special place but if you got the worst grade I wouldn't fuck you for a month

ㅤㅤ𓇼 ࣪ㅤ𓈒 Nerd!Chosō and that's how it was, you got the best grade in your grade and they fucked in that super special place. Do you know which one it is? Of course, the most special place to fuck is the subway.

suggestions are welcome if you like what I write, see you in the next blog which I promise will be twice as long as it is!! >_<

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #choso x reader #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x y/n #jjk x reader #18+ only #18+ mdni #𑂅 ㅤֹ ㅤ. 🎥#♡ . .

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ginevrapng · 8 months

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content warnings: non explicit drunken sex between james and lily, dubcon/noncon? (idk it's fucked up the drunk sex went wrong), emotional cheating(?), (i really don't know how to tag this one guys- if i've missed something lmk)

// (1.5k words) // best friend!james potter lives in my head rent free, reader not specified which house they're from but has access to the gryffindor common room, chubby reader

best friend!james is completely in denial of his feelings towards you so he spends his days chasing after lily evans. days become months and then become years, flirting with her daily and chasing her. he is a chaser it's what he does.

you constantly scowled him as it seemed like lily had no interest in him. you didn't want him harassing her. when he started showing interest in her it hurt, you knew why of course, it's hard not to fancy the great james potter but you quickly got over your feelings when you realised you had no chance with him, he was your best friend and nothing was going to spoil that.

what surprised everyone was when lily started to treat james nicer, when she started to smile at him in class. no one could have guessed this complete 360 of her feelings. the next time james came up to her in the great hall bugging her he asked her to be his girlfriend and she actually said yes, causing james to pause in shock for a moment and then start grinning. "knew you'd say yes eventually evans."

lily just rolled her eyes and told him to shut up.

you heard about what happened later on in the day and were shocked yourself. you never thought they would actually start dating, she never seemed like she was interested in james before and previously you spent so long trying to tell him to let it go and find someone else but you're happy that he's happy. he's finally got the girl.

so why does he feel so empty?

their relationship was good, they went on dates and lily always laughed at his jokes, he started to pay attention more in classes they were both in together to impress her and it seemed like lily became less stressed and uptight. they're both happy yet james feels something is wrong. even through he still grins from ear to ear, still has that mischievous attitude you love and his pranking nature, even though he's acting the same, he knows being with lily is wrong, he doesn't even know why but being with lily doesn't feel right.

lily and james have been dating for months now and james has been able to ignore that nagging feeling. one gryffindor party changed everything though.

gryffindor beat hufflepuff in a quidditch match and the house was celebrating, even people from other houses came to support gryffindor's win, however they may have came for the drinks because the gryffindor house always throw the best parties. either way everyone was wasted by the end of the night, some more than others. james being one of those, lily being someone who is nearly equally as drunk, even though she swore she wouldn't drink much as to try and keep an eye on everyone however that plan was shattered when sirius and marlene kept passing her drinks every ten minutes.

lily and james later made their way upstairs to be in private as the night started coming to and end and as soon as the door was shut they started making out and clumsily taking off each others clothes before falling onto the bed together. james placed a kiss on her neck, making her moan and breathily say, "jamie, come on, no playing around."

the only person who ever calls him jamie is you, every single person teases you about it but you never relent. in james' drunken brain his conclusion is that he's kissing you.

james could never ignore your requests and gives 'you' what you want, he tried his best to be slow but he couldn't, he thrusted into 'you', who he thought was you and started babbling. "god, i love you so much." lily wraps her legs around him causing him to groan. he says your name. your name. he says he loves you. lily realises what is happening and thinks maybe she misheard there is no way that james doesn't love her, not after how long he's been trying to woo and pursue her. that is until she heard him say your name again.

lily pushes him off her and she stares at him, james cocks his head in confusion. she's drunk and angry and so very confused so she storms out the room and slams the door loudly before going into her room, flinging herself on the bed and crying until she falls asleep. the morning after is confusing for james, he's hungover and doesn't remember anything from last night but he knows that lily is ignoring him.

he finally is able to get her alone after some help from sirius, by saying that he needed her for something before leaving them alone, and james asks her why she's so upset and mad. she scoffs. "leave me alone potter." james winces at her tone, now they're dating she always calls him james and only calls him potter when she's teasing him. she turns around to leave and james chases after her. "we're done james! don't talk to me! don't even look at me!" she spits out venomously. his blood runs cold as he just nods, he's never heard her speak like that before, he thought that maybe if he gives her some time she might tell him whats wrong and he can fix it.

she swivels round and marches back over to him, james thinking that she may have already calmed down before he saw her face. she points her finger to his chest, "another thing potter, were you ever going to tell me?" she hissed.

"tell you what?" james asks softly, trying not to anger her anymore but that doesn't work, if anything it just made her more pissed off.

"that you love her!" she throws her hands up exasperated and full of negative emotions towards him and towards you too, despite this is not your fault. james furrows his eyebrows, unaware of what she was talking about or who's she referring too.

"you're in love your best friend! when was you going to tell me james, huh? a year from now, ten years from now? on our wedding day?" she screams at him, not caring if anyone heard.

"oh," james replies quietly, his body posture relaxing.

"oh? is that all you've got to say to me?" she shouts at him.

"yeah. basically. i'll- i'll see you around evans. i really am sorry." james tells her, not really knowing what to say to her before he walks off.

lily's blood boils as he reacts so calmly and doesn't try to defend himself in the slightest. he doesn't try to fight for her. he has the gall to walk away from her.

he spends the majority of his day holed up in his room. he wasn't sure what happened last night but he knows it must have been serious. he's now single. even though she never said the words "we're breaking up" or "i'm dumping you" it was worse. lily hates him and he's now confronted with his feelings. can he really stay in denial and pretend he's not in love with you if lily knows, what if she's told the others. what if she's told you?

he rushes down into the common room, nearly tripping and falling on his way down. he has no idea where you'll be and sirius has the marauders map, maybe you'll be in the gryffindor common room hanging with everyone but you also like the library but you also like- "been look for you everywhere, where've you been all day?" he's interrupted by his train of thoughts by you. he lets out a sigh of relief, you're right here and even if lily has told you you're still cheerfully smiling at him. "jamie, you alright?" you looked concerned after noticing he's just staying silent and not moving.

suddenly he pulls you to him and hugs you tightly, making you giggle. "jamie, this is great and all but you're crushing me." he reluctantly lets go of you and takes you in. your comfy warm clothes you're wearing due to the weather that james finds highly annoying because your clothes are so baggy that he can hardly see your body, he wishes he could see your round frame and your cute soft tummy and plush thighs but you always complain about it being too cold. he looks softly at you, your hair is all messy and windswept, chipped nails from when you've been biting them and picking them because of exams coming up and chubby cheeks prominent as you smile, you look beautiful, perfect.

you put your hands on your hips and look cross at him, playfully, not like lily, but like you're not actually cross, it's not in your nature to stay seriously mad at him. "i've got a bone to pick with you." james freezes up, worried that lily's told you. "why the hell is lily ignoring me? sometimes it's like she's shooting daggers at the back of my head."

james chuckles, "ignore her. we broke up earlier on today." you thought he'd be more torn up about it but he's beaming at you.

"i'm so sorry jamie," you tell him earnestly, grabbing his hands in yours and holding them to your chest.

his heart jumps at how much you care for him. "i promise it's fine. i've realised she was never the one for me." you were about to question what he means by that and to ask him to elaborate and if that means he broke up with her but before you can do that you hear the laughs and chatter of the other marauders come in, they heard that lily and james broke up and came to console him, thinking that he'll be away from everyone in his room only to find him in the common room grinning and laughing, when they saw he was with you it made sense.

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their-kitty · 1 year

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Anyone else think hands are hot? Especially big hands. The feeling of strong hands on my neck, fully in control of my body. Hands on my hips, on my thighs, all over my body as I whimper and plead for them to finger me with one hand while the other hands fingers slide into my mouth

#♡ : the kitten speaks #no minors allowed #not safe for minors #trans nsft #nsft #sub/dom #18+#ftm ns/fw #ns/fw post #nwlnw #polyamarous #ftm nsft #minors dni #mlm nsft #mlm ns/fw #trans ftm #trans ns/fw #nsft mlm #queer nsft

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celiciaa · 2 months

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dejwrld · 8 months

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attack on titan is not dark content lol

idk bestie, it contains gore, blood, death, murder, and the mc literally incited a genocide. i need you guys to understand that it can be levels to dark content. idk if you’re familiar with them ice berg video analysis on youtube, but think of dark content like that.

#dark content is subjective!#you may not think you writing dark content because you being judgy #but you most likely are #your 18 year old reader x 40 year old Toji fics…..dark content #it includes a quite dubious age gap #i can go on!#sobs i can’t believe i gotta put on my dc cap for y’all #because some of you are on this high horse just because you don’t write some shit #like pls grow up #⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒾𝓃𝒷𝑜𝓍

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miaowitch · 2 months

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The Hardest Part

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

read on Ao3 or below !!

gale dekarios x tav oc (baldur's gate)

cw ⋆｡‧˚♡ m/f, semi-public sex, fingering, innapropriate use of mage hand, smut with feelings, pet names, oc/canon

summary ⋆｡‧˚♡

AKA

Local Wizard might be obsessed with a Cleric of the Moonmaiden, will he ever actually tell her how he feels? or will he be alone with his cat forever in a library?

Elle was never the type to assume feelings. Gale wasn’t that elusive anyway. She could always tell how he felt, or at least weasel it out of him. Camp was quiet though, and a lot weighed on Gale’s mind. They had only been traveling a few months, everything was fine in Elle’s eyes. The elf found it easy to say that she considered her party to be very close friends with one another. Growing up, she didn’t have too many friends, so traveling with the group was more of a practice in socialization. When you’re known as the bookish nerd with a heavy devotion to Selûne; not that many people want to approach you in the grove. Except Gale just understood her. She couldn’t joke the same with anyone else, no one understood her when she went on tangents. Just Gale.

Their tents were in perfect eye shot of each other, it’s not like she wasn’t allowed to look in his direction. They set up camp by the shore for a reason, the lakeside is beautiful. Easily she could claim that she was looking at the water, but each time… Gale found her attention. It was always a pleasant distraction in the evening, her dear friend Gale wouldn’t blame her for her wandering eyes anyway. Though when he looked back for a second time, eyes locking directly with Elle before he looked away, she began to think. “The lake is right there, why does he look at me?” Elle had an imagination from the amount of romance novels in her collection, but never would she imagine someone falling for her. She could only picture herself as a spinster holed up in a grove far from civilization. Not that she didn’t notice the attractive qualities of everyone she’d met, the romantic in her could never be silenced. Gale just didn’t seem the type to pay attention to her when people like Wyll or Shadowheart traveled with them. Even Astarion was more appealing than her, in her mind at least.

For just a moment though, she imagined walking up to Gale and just announcing her suspicions. Her eyes for the third time had fixed on Gale. The moon broke through the trees and illuminated his tent now, as if her Goddess was giving her better sight for her fixation. She watched as he sighed, broad shoulders rose and fell quickly as he thumbed at the page of the book he definitely wasn’t reading. The water still distracted him.

Elle took a deep breath to gather her courage. The rest of camp had either retired for the night or had taken up an activity that they couldn’t be pulled from. She thanked Selûne, Elle wasn’t sure if she could handle Shadowheart’s cautious gaze as she watched her with the ‘dangerous wizard’. They’d all worked on their gripes with one another, but Shadowheart still struggled to see Gale as anything but power hungry. Elle couldn’t see him as anything but Gale. Quietly, she gathered herself, wrapped a blanket over her shoulders to help keep her warm on the walk over. The cool night air also helped cool off any embarrassment from rejection, too. It wasn’t that she expected rejection, Gale wouldn’t be so cruel, but she’d been wrong before. The crunch of the dirt beneath her leather shoes alerted Gale, snapping him from his daze. He seemed more on edge for the past few nights than he ever had. “Well, I didn’t expect your company tonight.” He smiled, as if all the previous concern had washed away. “What can I do for you, friend?”

“Is there something on your mind, Gale?” Elle asked, stepping closer and taking a seat on the cushion laid out by his own. He’d always been happy when she stopped by to sit with him for a chat, that he added a seat just for his favorite company. Gale only responded with a sigh, “Oh, just the usual melancholies of the enlightened mind. Brain worms and what not…” Gale’s comment only made her more suspicious, his moodiness was more than the usual tadpole concern. He seemed genuinely lost in his mind with something more. “Of course, it’s your usual weekly brooding session…” Elle looked off towards the lake, the moonlight dancing on the water. “You’re positive it had nothing to do with me? You kept looking-” She was cut off by Gale’s boisterously nervous laughter. “Oh, Elle, what would I be thinking of you for? Aside from your never ending wit or your b-” He sputtered to clear his throat, “Your vocabulary, I mean. My apologies. Perhaps the cold is getting to my head? I should retire.” He began to stand, but Elle grabbed onto his wrist. His pulse was fast, his face flushed, but he still lowered himself back to the patterned cushion.

“What’s really troubling you?” Elle asked earnestly. She didn’t catch onto his thoughts this time, she really had no clue what the wizard was thinking. For all she knew, the mindflayer transformation was upon him, and she would have to do the unthinkable. His hesitation didn’t fully melt away, but she could tell he was easing into the confession of his thoughts. “I just…don’t wish to burden you with my mind. It’s nothing concerning, but it just might be a little…complicated though.” Gale finally admitted, but still kept it vague enough to make Elle officially frustrated.

Complicated? Elle didn’t wish to brag, but nothing was too ‘complicated’ for her to fathom. She’d been subjected to a tadpole behind her eye, she could surely understand the inner workings of a dumb wizard. So, she scoffed. Rolling her grey eyes, she took her hand away. “Right, too hard for me to understand.” Elle now stood up. “I can understand when I’m pressuring you though. I apologize, Gale.” She felt offended, flustered, and most of all disappointed. Perhaps she’d just been misreading the signs from Selûne. “Not everything can be fixed, stupid Cleric.” Elle scolded herself internally, but was interrupted by Gale’s calloused hand grasping her wrist now.

“You must understand…the hardest part is understanding my own feelings for you.”

It clicked at that moment. “Oh...that’s why.” Elle looked around, hoping that no onlookers would interrupt them. “Y-Your feelings?” She felt like her heart was pounding straight out of her chest. “I just can’t get my mind off of you, Elle.” Gale sighed, removing his hand from her wrist to run over his hair earnestly. “I can’t even spend an evening without looking your way…” Brown eyes met grey now, eye contact holding for a moment before Elle broke the silence. She lowered herself back down to his level. “You…um…you mean that?” She questioned in an almost whisper, his response was an honest nod. “Did you not catch me staring your way earlier?” She leaned in, as if the secret would leave the space between them. “I was so afraid I’d been bothering you with my attention.” Elle’s cheeks felt so warm, but she refused to back away. Not with Gale.

“Did you not expect my adoration? Even after all this time?” He questioned, looking at her as if he was studying each feature. He just didn’t want to lose her with this new proclamation. “How was I supposed to ever expect this.. I’m not the type to fall for..” Elle’s own esteem issues would rarely surface, but she found it hard to find the good in herself. “Not the- Not the type to fall for? Elle, that is just utterly absurd.” Gale’s hand gripped each other in his lap, just to hold back from holding her. “How could you not be the center of all my attention when you challenge me so often. Your beauty shows itself in so many ways, how am I supposed to ignore you?” Now his right hand reached out to brush a piece of her longer bangs from her eyes. “I’m obsessed, honestly..” He sighed again, but now she understood his reasoning. Lovesickness wasn’t fatal, but it definitely could hinder a traveling party.

“How long..?” She asked finally, but Gale could easily answer. “When you pulled me from the portal..” He lowered his head, as if to be ashamed. “I suppose you’re not alone then..” Elle scooted in closer, the gap between them just kept getting smaller with each shared confession. When she pulled the wizard from the whirling portal, she almost felt like it was a divine gift from her Goddess. After being with two of the most sarcastic members, it was a breath of fresh air to have the wizard tag along.

“Gale, you don’t understand how long… I’ve wanted you to say this.” She sighed out, her manicured hand resting on his knee closest to her. Elle had such a hard time admitting her own feelings, even if she spent so much time worried about others. “I’m still having such a hard time even believing I’m not dreaming.” Gale’s throat bobbed as he swallowed his anxieties. “What can I do to convince you that you’re truly awake?” His voice was confident, with a slight waver. Not that his own experience was anything to worry about, but being in his tower for so long hadn’t given him a chance for practice. “What do you mean?” Elle asked innocently. Her experience in the love field was basically nothing outside of her novels and mage hand. She had no clue how to respond to his moves.

She didn’t need to respond, though, as Gale had leaned in now. Their lips met with a tender touch, Gale just couldn’t be anything but gentle with Elle. Her tension melted away at his touch. Elle didn’t feel uneasy or unsafe when it came to Gale. Even when the kiss became more intense, she didn’t feel any boundaries being crossed. Pulling her into his lap, Gale helped her sit on his thigh as he held her waist closer. The sound of the crickets chirping, the owls sounding off, and the water crashing soft on the shore just covered the sounds of their clothes rustling. Elle was the first to let her hands wander.

First, they traced his collar bone. Detailing each small scar and running over the low ridge of his tattoo. Then, she traveled lower with her left hand. She just rested it on his chest, but Gale was bursting just from her sweet grazing on his body. Breaking from the kiss, Gale panted to catch his breath. Elle just folded her head into his neck, leaving even sweeter kisses with every whimper he’d release. “Elle…p-please…hold on…” Gale begged, feeling himself about to burst. Elle thankfully relented. “I-I’ve never done anything like this before, Gale… I don’t know what I should do…” Elle confessed, hiding her flustered face in his shoulder.

“Allow me to help you then, my dear.” Gale whispered soft into her ear, not wanting to scare her any. “Will you trust me?” He smiled, pulling her back to look at him. Elle of course agreed. How could she not trust Gale Dekarios?

With a wave of his hand that wasn’t holding her, he cast a veil over the tent. The world seemed normal, just as if a haze had fallen over the tent. “What happened…?” She questioned, Gale just started to smile. “Just something to deter the others.” He leaned into her neck now, trailing kisses from the bottom of her ear to the base of her neck. “My tent appears closed now, so they won’t bother…this.” They were still in the night air, exposed, with all the risk warded off.

Gale’s free hand now moved to hold her thigh, causing Elle to gasp with surprise. Their lips met again, this time with more urgency. The spell could wear off at any moment, so they had to make it count in one way or another. Elle’s own hands began to move down again, this time pushing the limit. Gale groaned into the kiss as Elle palmed his already hard cock through his lounging pants. Her palm rubbed at the length over the cloth as she tried to deepen the kiss. Gale allowed her, his tongue working its way into her mouth now. He moaned with a deep grumble into her, not wanting to waste a moment any longer.

“I’ve dreamed about this exact moment for months now, Elle…” He broke the kiss to now move his pants down. Elle moved off his lap to sit on her knees. Patiently waiting for him, as if she’d expected the evening to take this path. His dick sprung from the tightness of his pants, Gale audibly sighed in relief.

Elle would be lying if she said she wasn’t mildly intimidated by its girth, but she sure was excited. Only reading about this in her risqué books, Elle had no actual experience with sex in real life. “M-May I…” She started to ask, but Gale just feverishly responded with a nod. Elle took it as permission to reach out. Positioning herself between his legs, she pulled at his pants just slightly to make it more comfortable for him. With one hand she began slowly moving up and down, with the other she palmed at his balls that perfectly rested on her hand. “E-Elle…oh gods…” Gale threw his head back when she started to pump at his cock, his wrist moved up to cover his eyes. She was focused, though, her speed quickening with every second passing.

His panting grew louder with her speed. Elle was stopped, though. Gale moved his hand back down to hold onto her hand. “I need you…” He confessed desperately. Pulling at her wrist softly, his puppy dog eyes were too much for her to resist. “Please.” Gale begged again. If Elle wasn’t a sane woman, she’d be clawing at the tent behind them.

She moved back, pulling her pants off with haste. The cool air hit her, the only things keeping her warm was the sweater she wore and the heat from her full body blushing. Crawling forward on her knees, she didn’t feel as exposed, knowing their moment was hidden. She felt almost more excited, knowing that if the veil fell, she’d been seen for all that she is. Elle wanted Gale more than she ever thought possible. His firm hands grabbed onto her soft ass, pulling her up to straddle his lap now. Gale’s cock bobbed with his movement. His erection now rested on her pelvis, throbbing in anticipation. Gale held himself firmly to not absolutely devour her on the spot, needing her more than the magic he craved. He took two fingers to ready her for their endeavor, but was not prepared for just how wet she’d become. Elle wasn’t even aware that a person could make her feel so…euphoric.

Biting her lower lip to hold back her moans, he moved around her clit just to tease at her. Elle’s body crumpled against his torso again, head resting on his neck. “G-Gale-” She sputtered out, breathing heavily into him. Two fingers moved down her pussy, inserting one after another into her. She shook, thighs quaked the deeper he pushed. Gasping softly as she gripped at his shirt with one hand and pulling at his hair with the other, Elle couldn’t sit still. Even the thickness of his pointer and middle finger was enough to drive her mad. “Darling, if I don’t do this I won’t fit, just try to hold on a little longer.” Gale cooed in her ear, petting her head soft to coach her as he began thrusting his fingers faster.

His fingers coated in her wet was a feeling he’d savor. Gale wasn’t surprised that he was growing harder by the second. Each time he’d move his hand, his cock would throb. Tightening around him, her back arched into his body, just trying to hold patience. “Haah… Hah… Gale…” Elle breathed out, her grip getting tighter. Gale wouldn’t let her finish, though, he needed Elle to help him. Pulling his fingers out, fighting the tight suction of her virginity. She mewled at the absence, but Gale tried to console her. “Shh, love. J-Just wait. Please.” Holding the shaft still, he helped Elle stand on her knees to hover still.

Anticipation made him shake slightly, he anxiously ran the tip down from her clit to her waiting hole. Meeting her pussy with a deep moan, Gale felt like he could’ve melted. Elle helped him by lowering her body, her pussy resting right on the tip. Gale sped it up by pulling her further, going deeper. Elle quickly moved a hand over her mouth, his girth stretched her more than just his fingers. Forgiving her cluelessness, Gale just kept trying to soothe her while easing her down. “Gods… Elle…you…” He breathed as he finally bottomed out, “You are….divine…”

Tightening around him from the compliment, Gale once again felt the need to burst then and there. It’d been upwards of a year since he’d been with someone so intimately, but he tried to remain patient. On her own, though, she began to move. Gale tried to lighten the load by guiding his hands to her ass again, allowing him to move for her. “Thank you…for trusting me with this.” His brown eyes looking at her with the sweetest smile, but she was too far gone as he began speeding up his pace. Her arms laced around his neck to hold her stability, she laid on him with her full weight.

Gale was stronger than he looked, but it also just could’ve been the instinct to rail into her. The amount of sound coming from the pair almost made her doubt the spell truly hid what they were doing. The soft padding of skin meeting skin, the soft moans and groans, and the sound of lips against lips. Fucking into her was easy, but Elle couldn’t stop from kissing him. Trailing along his tattoo (which only drove him mad) up to his mouth, Gale’s pace sped up faster to match his own needs. “E-Elle-” He sputtered out, breaking the kiss she kept leaning further into.

He had to pull her off, trying not to upset her too badly by cumming inside her. Pumping at his own cock, he used the lubrication from her pussy for ease. Elle started to whine, but Gale just cast Mage Hand to help her along. A mystical blue hand appeared to work at her clit with the same speed he’d shown prior. He smiled as Elle laid back on her knees, so Gale could get a good look as he stroked his dick. As Elle’s body shuddered with pleasure, she arched her back to fend off the eventual climax. She wasn’t sure what she was fighting off though, maybe she just didn’t want the moment to end. Gale helped her legs get more comfortable, holding her still just to watch her squirm under the hand. Gale felt himself at the point, so he rose on his knees as he continued pumping at his dick.

Elle came with a sigh of relief through her nose, but Gale had to bite his tongue as he came into his fist. The hand still moved, even as Elle softly begged to slow down. Only as she squirmed around did he snap out of his daze, waving his hand once again to send it away. The two sat in exhausted silence, crickets outside acting as a white noise to their panting.

“Well…” Gale began. “I don’t suppose that’ll be the end…right?” He looked at Elle with hopeful eyes, holding out a hand to help her up. Elle paused for a moment to allow herself to catch her breath. “Well, you don’t just expect us to never explore the notion.” Gale scrambled nervously, now expecting rejection from the silence.

“Shut up, Wizard.” Elle finally sighed out, giving a soft kiss onto his cheek.

#baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #bg3 tav #tav #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #bg3 gale #baldus gate 3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 fic #`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · love notes #`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · series #`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · 18+

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