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ur-favboy · 3 months
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𝒼đ’Č𝐾𝐾𝒯 𝒯đ’Șđ’Șđ’Żđ» — shouta aizawa x male reader
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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 !! à»’ê’°àŸ€àœČ➝➝T ˘ Tâžâžê’±àŸ€àœČ১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!
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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.
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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.”
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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?”
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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 clichĂ©, 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.”
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“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.
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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.”
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“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.
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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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ur-favboy · 6 months
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Black Cat!Wanderer, who you find in an alleyway behind your apartment complex, badly bruised and barely conscious. He's poorly dressed, even for a hybrid, shivering and deathly pale, but he still finds the strength to snap at you as you approach him. You have to bribe him with fish you can't afford and a blanket nicer than anything you'd buy for yourself before he lets you so much as touch him, and even then, he's quick to growl and tell you to get away from him as soon as you try to pet him. He's a temperamental kitten, but considering the state he's in, you can't say you blame him for being so defensive.
Black Cat!Wanderer, who lets himself into your apartment after a few weeks of alleyway visits and offered meals. He doesn't scratch at your door or ask to come in. You find him splayed out on your couch when you get home, muttering that it'd been too long since the last time he saw you and scowling into a clawed-up pillow. He still comes and goes as he pleases (you wouldn't try to keep a hybrid so clearly used to being on his own contained), but he spends most of his time curled up on your bed or trailing after you around the house, still pretending he'd rather be anywhere on earth other than in your lap. He says that you're just like every other human, that he only hangs around you for the food and a warm place to sleep, but the way he purrs when you scratch at his ears says otherwise.
Black Cat!Wanderer, who doesn't just visit you at home, either. He always seemed to ""coincidentally"" be passing by your office just in time to walk you home from work, and doesn't seem to consider a quick grocery run or shopping trip to be a good enough excuse to get rid of him. You're lucky he's a cat, rather than something bigger, something more difficult to pass off whenever he follows you into a cafe or bodega. He's lucky that he's so cute, or else you might call his bluff and start treating him like the housecat he won't admit he wants to be.
Black Cat!Wanderer, who doesn't know that you know he likes to cuddle up to you while you're asleep. Most of the time, he'll wait until you go to bed properly before curling up against your side, but you've found him laid out on top of you after passing out on your tiny couch, fast asleep despite his best efforts to always scurry away before you notice he's there. You never considered yourself a catperson before you met him, but god, sometimes you feel like you could spend the rest of your life fawning over your shy little alley cat.
Black Cat!Wanderer, who's been with you long enough to be hyper-aware that there are people - humans, nonetheless - you'd rather spend time with than him. He doesn't need your attention, he doesn't need you, but he's not going to lose you to a human, either - not when you're the only person he can stand to be around.
Black Cat!Wanderer, who might just be a cat but still has teeth and claws as sharp as any predator. Following the coworker you've mentioned just a few too many times home is child's play, and it only takes a few seconds to drag his claws across their throat, to dig his teeth into their jugular and shut them up before they can scream. It's just like killing a rat, something you've praised him for a thousand times, even if he still cringes when the taste of iron hits his tongue.
Black Cat!Wanderer, who spent enough time as a stray to know the best places to put something he doesn't want anyone else to find. The body is dropped into a gutter with a loose grate, the blood washed off of his face in a relatively clean drainage canal. He's home by sunrise, and he can't control the way his chest rumbles as he slots himself against your side - happier than he's ever been before.
Black Cat!Wanderer, who'd do anything to make himself the center of your little world.
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ur-favboy · 6 months
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Fox Hybrid!Childe, who arrives at the sanctuary where you volunteer in the dead of winter. He's brought in by a group of hunters who found him in a decade-old bear trap on the verge of freezing to death. He's aggressive at first, still rattled from such a close call, but comes around quickly after a warm bath, a visit with your on-call vet, and of course, something to fill his stomach.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who can't be released back into the wild while he's still in recovery or left alone overnight, not when he's so eager to play fight with the other hybrids. He gets along well enough with all the volunteers, but he's constantly trying to get your attention, either sulking as you tend to another hybrid or drinking in your generously-given affection. You're clearly his favorite, so you're the one to take him home. He's ecstatic about the change in scenery, to say the least.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who takes to being a housepet like a fish takes to water. You try to make up for the lack of stimulation with a never-ending supply of thrifted toys and as many walks as his injured leg will allow, but he prefers to spend most of his time curled up at your feet or trailing after you, ginger ears perked-up and blur eyes wide and bright. He's surprisingly good at household chores for a wild animal. By the end of the first week, he's cooking and cleaning on his own, and when you insist that he's your guest, that you don't want him to get too domesticated, he just laughs and tells you that he likes it, that he's used to hunting for his siblings. Since you won't let him bring the birds and rabbits he catches past the front door, this is how he's decided to provide for you.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who destroys your apartment the first time you leave him alone for more than an hour. It makes sense, even if you can't say you've ever seen another hybrid react so violently to being separated from their handler. Foxes are social animals, and he hasn't been on his own since he was brought to your sanctuary, since the day he stumbled into a trap he couldn't understand or struggle his way out of. Still, when you come home to find all his toys gutted and all of your furniture overturned, you can't say you're thrilled. Childe spends the rest of the day buried in your sheets, pouting until you finally give in and forgive him. Childe goes wherever you go, after that.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who suddenly seems a lot less friendly than he did, when you first took him in. You try to write it off as him being overly protective of his temporary skulk, but it's a little hard to tell that to your male friends when he bares his teeth and snaps at their hands. In public, he refuses to leave your side, his tail constantly thrashing and his ears pressed flush to his scalp. He'll still smile, laugh, promise he doesn't get jealous that easily, but it's difficult to take his word for it when he holds your hand so tightly.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who's been scenting you in your sleep for weeks, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and gripping at any flesh he can reach and humping your thighs until he inevitably climaxes and has to clean his cum off of your skin with his tongue. He makes a point of 'accidentally' staining anything he doesn't want you wearing in front of anyone but him, letting you think he's too vulnerable to his animalistic urges to not mark your favorite top with his cum, that his separation anxiety is just too severe for you to shower without him, let alone close the door when you change.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, whose leg has been fine for months. You're too much of a bleeding heart not to buy it when he puts on a half-hearted limp, and while he hates having to lie to his future mate, he hates being away from you more. It's not a permanent arrangement, either - he'll be able to tell you the truth when you're fully bonded, when you're heavy with his pups and coming undone on his knot every night, every minute he can get with you.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who's not going to let anyone take him away from his precious mate now <3
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ur-favboy · 9 months
Text
Pretty Risky
⋆.*àłƒâœ§â†’ Top Male reader
CONTEXT→ Y'all Fuck in a public park đŸžïž
TAGS → Top Male reader, Male Reader, X male reader, AMAB! Reader, Scaramouche, Scaramouche x male reader, Genshin, sub! character
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Scara's trembling arms linked around your neck, His form shuddering as visible ropes of sweat formed on his pale skin, subtly moving around your lap, grinding on your hard-on situated on his ass. The sound of people at the park, children playing and the chatter of the people around the both of you made his pussy wet. A wet patch showing on his panty under his pleated skirt. Scara bit his lip feeling your callous fingers slide across his spine, smoothly slipping their way under his skirt and going inside his pink lacy panties.
"A-ahn..~!" He moaned under his breath, feeling you use your two fingers to rub on his already swollen clit, The simulation invoking pretty mewls out of his lips, still attempting his best to stay quiet. His pretty lips turned into a cute pout, hearing you only laugh at his poor efforts of keeping his noises in. He squeaked in surprise as you suddenly (and easily) lifted him and placed him on the branch you were previously sitting on. You kneeled in front of him. Your large hands lift his skirt, looking up at him while you use your teeth to move his panty to the side. The sight of your sharp canines made him shiver, A needy whine escaping his throat. "Let your noises out baby, nobody will hear nor see you." You guys were in a secluded part of the public park, hidden behind a beautiful large oak tree.
Suddenly, Scara's eyes rolled to the back of his head. A loud moan escaped from his mouth as he tightly gripped your hair feeling you eat his pussy raw, Your tongue skillfully eating everything his pussy can offer. The juices of his arousal, everything. You ate like a man starved. As if his pussy is the only water to quench your thirst. You licked, sucked, and ate him out as if it were your life's purpose. Moaning in pleasure at the taste of his juices. You scarfed further, wanting more of his heavenly taste.
Scara's tongue lolled out of his mouth, pupils blown into hearts, drilled into the back of his head. "AHHNG!-" HMPHH!!~" "AH~~!! F-FUCK~~!!", wails of pleasure spewed out of his saliva-dripped mouth, toes curling in pleasure as the knot in his stomach grew and grew at the feeling of your hot tongue slurping and eating his pussy.
"AHNG~!!-" T-THERE!! RIGHT TH-THERE~~!!" choked cries kept erupting out of his mouth, back arching while one hand is tightly gripping your hair, his feet high in the ground, toes curling while you tightly grip his hips, pulling his heat closer and closer into your hot mouth.
A choked cry left his throat when he finally hit his high, Squirting in your warm mouth while gripping your hair tighter than ever, eyes crossed at the back of his head. Vision painted white, toes curling and a fucked-out smile on his lips. Drool at the sides of his mouth.
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ur-favboy · 9 months
Text
geto suguru is willing to lose a lot of things, but he has never been willing to lose you. you're the one thing he can't afford to see leaving, the one person in his life he wishes he could have brought with him when he turned over to the new side.
but he didn't. you left, and he watched you leave.
still, it doesn't stop him from yearning for you—for your presence, for your touch, for the person you used to be to him. he never finds another lover after you, far too hung up on what you were to fall in love again. he tried sleeping around the first few months but ultimately gave up when he realized none of them will ever once compare to you.
so he stops trying. stops trying to get anyone but you because no substitute can satiate him the way you do.
and somehow, by some miracle, he gets you.
suguru is convinced that you must be doing it for the greater good—a mission assigned to him by yaga, most likely, telling you to infiltrate suguru's plans by using his old fondness for you against him. your approach must be part of a deliberate plan, one that has been planned and carefully measured throughout the years. suguru isn't a fool, he sees right through it.
unfortunately for yaga, however, he has underestimated the sheer extent of what he is willing to do for you. to give up information in hopes that you'll stay with him for the night is nothing compared to the numbers he would pile up just for you, to the worlds he would burn down to have a future with you by his side. everything you ask, he'll give as long as you stay with him just a bit longer, as long as you kiss him and hold him as if he still matters to you, as if he's still loved by you.
"good boy, suguru." there it is, the sound of his given name flowing smoothly off his tongue after so long. suguru moans at the sound alone, his body trembling. your breath fans against his nape, just above where your hand is pressing his face into the mattress. suguru's breath comes out in short, desperate pants as he leans into your touch, hips raised and ass in display just for you.
your fingers are buried deep inside him, the squelching sounds echoing through the room. he's rented out a room for tonight, a middle-ground in which business exchanges can run through smoothly. suguru glances to his left, where a massive mirror is propped up. through it, he can see the way you're holding him up, half your fist disappearing into his hole. you're still wearing most of your clothes, only your shirt having been unbuttoned all the way through and it's now hanging onto your frame. you look beautiful like this, you always have, and suguru can't breathe at the sight of you.
suguru himself looks like a cheap whore this way, naked in contrast to your mostly dressed state, his mouth hanging agape and his eyes glassy, hair a mess all over the mattress and his legs spread open without a care in the world. he doesn't care, though, because you called him a good boy. suguru can be your good boy all you want as long as you keep doing this to him, keep holding him and fucking into him like you care.
when you pull your fingers out, he whines so loud that you have to pepper soft kisses all over the expanse of his back, murmuring sweet nothings against his skin. it's irrational, he knows, but he's already halfway to being fucked out of his mind that he doesn't care. suguru will never have you the way he used to have you, whole and unburdened, but he has you now, he doesn't want to lose any more of you than he has to.
"please," he sobs. please don't leave me, he means.
feeling your hand on his hips, a gentle balm soothing the scalding hurt building in his chest, suguru lets out another ruined sound. "i know, sweetheart." you're so soft with him, so gentle in taking care of him, that suguru can close his eyes and pretend that you're still okay. "let me take care of you, okay? trust me."
"okay," he rasps out because there's no question in that. he lets his head fall onto the pillows, shoulders flexing to soothe the tension there as he slips into a relaxed state on the bed. he trusts you. he trusts you so much that he would let you do anything to him. "i trust you."
you're especially gentle with him this time around, he realizes once you're sloppily thrusting into him, the head of your cock always fucking against his prostate rather than teasing him with each fuck. you don't loiter, but you always linger. your hands wander all over his skin, keeping him close to you. you're draped over his back, heartbeat pounding against the skin on his back.
tomorrow morning, you will go back to being enemies. you'll leave at the first sign of dawn, carrying an envelope with you containing all of your pre-agreed information. suguru will have to allow himself losses so that he'll have more of you some night some weeks, maybe some months, from now. tomorrow, this will all end and you'll break his heart a thousand times over in exchange for all the times he has ruined you by leaving. tomorrow, geto suguru will lose you again.
but for now, he is in your arms, reaching high after high under your gentle ministrations, and geto suguru, for however long this moment can suspend for, is loved by you.
( and when he slips into unconsciousness at the end of the night, not forgetting to slur out a weak, thank you as he does, he swears he doesn't imagine the way you press your lips against his hairline; as tender as it used to be when he could still call himself yours. a ghost of a lover in this haunted room. )
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ur-favboy · 9 months
Text
lowkey forgot i had a tumblr lmfao. take this and run wild. pretty short tho.
sub!afab! xiao x dom!amab!reader
c.w : sexual content, more c.ws under cut
SMUT BELOW! DON'T READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE!
c.w : both praise and degrading (xiao receiving), begging (xiao), crying (xiao), sub xiao, dick can be read as strap, uses of 'slut' and 'whore,' basically just you fucking the shit out of xiao's pretty little cunt and him taking it like the silly little whore he is <33, honestly u literally just get thrown into it the moment u start reading it cause im lazy. also reader doesn't talk too much, just does. left it up to you to decide where to go from there bc its midnight and im a little eepy
start below
"please y/n, i can't take it anymore i-- MMPH! PLEASE!-" your pretty little boyfriend sobbed, his hand covering his mouth as you slowly stuffed his tiny little cunt with your dick.
he was sopping wet-- his eyes were filled with tears and he was squeezing the life out of you like there was no tomorrow. he honestly looked like a slut, with only half your dick inside of him, and he was already feeling like he was breaking in half.
"aww, is my boyfriend already becoming a cheap whore for me? how cute, i love it when you make those beautifully lewd faces for me."
"d-don't say- ANGH! P-please!!- I-- mMMPH!" you cut him off by suddenly slamming his cunt down further onto your dick, his eyes rolling back, and he let out a loud mewl, his hand doing practically nothing to keep him from spilling out such lewd noises.
"shh, you're almost there, you've almost got all of me inside of you. you can take me, can't you, my lovely little braindead slut?"
he merely moaned in response, tears flowing down, and his carefully done eyeliner was now smudged and running down with them. he could care less though, of course. all he knew was that you were ripping him apart-- and fucking loved it. he was shaking- you were hitting all the good spots, and you weren't even fully inside of him!
"ANGH, oh, oh, sososo good... please please, there there!! right there, that's-- ahh, im gonna- im so close, pleasepleaseplease, let me--" he sobbed, tightening around your cock in a vice grip with his cunt, he mewled when you started moving him to shove all of yourself inside of him.
''shh love, you can take all of me, can't you? you're my lovely slut, i'm sure you can handle all of me then."
he merely nodded, your lovely little boyfriend xiao was preparing himself for the rest of the night he'd have with you.
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ur-favboy · 9 months
Text
lowkey forgot i had a tumblr lmfao. take this and run wild. pretty short tho.
sub!afab! xiao x dom!amab!reader
c.w : sexual content, more c.ws under cut
SMUT BELOW! DON'T READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE!
c.w : both praise and degrading (xiao receiving), begging (xiao), crying (xiao), sub xiao, dick can be read as strap, uses of 'slut' and 'whore,' basically just you fucking the shit out of xiao's pretty little cunt and him taking it like the silly little whore he is <33, honestly u literally just get thrown into it the moment u start reading it cause im lazy. also reader doesn't talk too much, just does. left it up to you to decide where to go from there bc its midnight and im a little eepy
start below
"please y/n, i can't take it anymore i-- MMPH! PLEASE!-" your pretty little boyfriend sobbed, his hand covering his mouth as you slowly stuffed his tiny little cunt with your dick.
he was sopping wet-- his eyes were filled with tears and he was squeezing the life out of you like there was no tomorrow. he honestly looked like a slut, with only half your dick inside of him, and he was already feeling like he was breaking in half.
"aww, is my boyfriend already becoming a cheap whore for me? how cute, i love it when you make those beautifully lewd faces for me."
"d-don't say- ANGH! P-please!!- I-- mMMPH!" you cut him off by suddenly slamming his cunt down further onto your dick, his eyes rolling back, and he let out a loud mewl, his hand doing practically nothing to keep him from spilling out such lewd noises.
"shh, you're almost there, you've almost got all of me inside of you. you can take me, can't you, my lovely little braindead slut?"
he merely moaned in response, tears flowing down, and his carefully done eyeliner was now smudged and running down with them. he could care less though, of course. all he knew was that you were ripping him apart-- and fucking loved it. he was shaking- you were hitting all the good spots, and you weren't even fully inside of him!
"ANGH, oh, oh, sososo good... please please, there there!! right there, that's-- ahh, im gonna- im so close, pleasepleaseplease, let me--" he sobbed, tightening around your cock in a vice grip with his cunt, he mewled when you started moving him to shove all of yourself inside of him.
''shh love, you can take all of me, can't you? you're my lovely slut, i'm sure you can handle all of me then."
he merely nodded, your lovely little boyfriend xiao was preparing himself for the rest of the night he'd have with you.
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ur-favboy · 9 months
Text
thinking about 'hate' sex with geto suguru after he defects as his past lover before everything happened except it doesn't go the way you think it would.
the way you fuck him is practically the same as how you would take him before. he still takes your cock so well, and you always fuck him slow and hard instead of fast and sloppy just as he likes it. you still check in after entering him and you always give him time to readjust before you start fucking into him with intent. you still make sure that he comes before he does, that he's satisfied by the end of each session.
except, it's now missing the familiarity it once held. you don't hold his hands anymore, fingers interlacing and pressed against the mattress as he takes you so well, choosing instead to press your palm over the expanse of his hips instead. you never fuck him on his back anymore, keeping his face pressed against the pillows so that you don't look at his face. you always wear a condom so that he can't feel you — or, on the days when he can convince you to bypass that (because he's not a whore. he's only yours, always has been. he's clean for you, okay?), you always pull out before you can fill him up to the brim.
and, look, he can cope with that, okay? he knows he messed up. it's good enough that you even want to see him at all.
but he's also so terribly selfish. and if there's anything he can't live with in this current arrangement, it's two things: one, the fact that you never kiss him anymore when you used to pepper so much of that all over his skin, his face, his lips until he suffocated on your taste, and; two, the fact that you never call him suguru anymore.
"shit." your voice is a low grunt, hovering over the shell of his ear. your breath is ragged, and he can tell that you're already getting close. he's already come earlier and now, he's just lying on his front, taking your attempts to chase after your own high like the good boy that he is.
he whines past the overstimulation, clawing at the sheets. he's glad that you made him fold his knees underneath his chest so now, he doesn't have to hold himself upright. he just has to let himself be pulled in by you, used by you, held up and fucked thoroughly by you. his entire world comes down to just you; the feeling of you inside him, around him, suffocating him.
(but never with him.)
"i'm close," you warn him. as if it matters. as if you'll let him take it the way he used to. you're not wearing a condom, which means that he can feel your pre-cum dripping inside him. he whines once again at the feeling, his hips moving to meet your every thrust.
he takes it as an opportunity to beg anyway. "inside," he gasps out. "i want you inside, please."
you don't listen to him. "fuck, geto." and there it is again, his name but not his given name. never his given anymore. he has given you everything—his heart, his future, his name—but you never want it. no, you don't want it anymore.
you don't want him anymore.
as if you want to rub more salt into the wound, you pull out right as he finishes that line of thought. his hole gapes at the sudden emptiness, twitching as it begs to be filled once again — to be filled by you.
however, you ignore his wants. he hears you wrap your hand around your cock, tugging once, twice, before you're spilling all over his hole, dripping into it, but never inside him.
a choked sound escapes his throat, a sob and a moan all at once. he claws at the sheets one more time, his face burying in the pillow to hide the ugly want and hurt painted all over his face. it shouldn't hurt anymore. this is something that's already been established. you don't want him, you won't even use him to find your own pleasure, won't even stain him and fill him up with your cum despite how often you used to tell him that you loved coming inside of him.
his body shakes and he feels your hand coming to rest on his shoulders, running a smooth line down the length of his spine. you're talking, but he can't hear you with the way that the entire world feels as if it's underwater. he understands what you're telling him all the same. stay here. i'll be back. he's still shaking when you leave, the hotel room he's rented for this very purpose tonight feeling emptier than ever.
he still doesn't move.
stay here.
you didn't kiss him before you went.
but he's not your suguru anymore, and he has long lost the right to being yours.
i'll be back.
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ur-favboy · 9 months
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↳ summary: random thoughts about how the boys might have reacted to you just vanishing due to the events of NB & how it affected the pacts with each of them.
↳ Tags: Gender Neutral Reader, Mammon (Obey Me!), Leviathan (Obey Me!), Lucifer (Obey Me!), Satan (Obey Me!), Asmodeus (Obey Me!), Beezelbub (Obey Me!), Belphegor (Obey Me!), Nightbringer Setting, SFW, Headcanons.
writer's blurp: let's all get onto the train of wild shit happening with MC being away from the boys they know once again and how their handling it. hopefully, it won't be a timeline wipe lol
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↳ Lucifer
◆ despite everything that makes lucifer what he is, it means little in the grand scheme. both power and pride are useless in the wake of your sudden disappearance. ◇ his fuse seemed short, but now it feels even shorter. horribly, and painfully shorter, but despite that, he is taking more care to check on his brothers if he is acting like this then he can only imagine how his brothers are handling it. ◆ it won't stop. he can't stop the pain of his pact mark. as if it had been ripped clean off your person like a band-aid. it hurts like it should, the painful reminder of your existence, and your warmth are gone for the moment. he waits for you, for someone who may never walk through those doors again, but he waits.
↳ Mammon
◆ the first to feel it and the one who hurts the most. the one who grabs at himself where the placement of his pact mark is on your person just trying to feel something in the sudden wake of the void left behind. ◇ if he isn't out looking for you then mammon can be found in your room either curled up in your bed d.d.d in hand while he tries to contact you somehow. ◆ it hurts. horribly, painfully and mammon wails. the void that digs into his being and grows a little bigger with each day, he cannot find you. with each empty brush of your bond that isn't answered back is soul-crushing. each day is another call he makes to hear your voice, each day he asks, voice broken where are you?
↳ Leviathan
◆ the burning pain was enough to wake him up. leviathan couldn't breathe, and he couldn't think. so he panicked, grabbing his d.d.d and calling the first person on his list while he tried to calm himself down. ◇ leviathan couldn't tell who it was who did come in to help him, but when they did he just clings to them. comfort, warmth, family, here and alive. all the things he couldn't feel from you. whoever came held him even tighter while he blubbered from too many emotions and fear. ◆ when it gets to be too much the loss of the pact mark and just feeling you just brush back when he needed it the most. it seeps into his bones, leviathan feels cold and lost like he's somehow fallen once again. he does what helps him feel the safest-- hides away.
↳ Satan
◆ it almost feels like he is being skinned alive, with how you are torn away from him. with the pact missing, you're no longer just a touch away to be felt-- he feels wrath like he hasn't since he was born. ◇ his wrath is quiet, it is carefully moving beneath his skin. satan sees how each of his brothers slowly one by one seeks out one another. your loss is felt by each one of them, a void that none of them can feel you through. ◆ some days are harder than others, and satan feels the small spot inside of him that held you so close to his heart just-- close itself off to not feel hurt, but sometimes when he swears that he could feel the tug of you calling for him.
↳ Asmodeus
◆ watching the mirror break right before him, followed by how his soul feels as if it's being torn apart. the pact he shares with you feels so, so faint he fears the worst. ◇ the worst being that you died. alone, away from him, away from everyone who loves you, but-- he can sometimes feel your warmth when he reaches out. ◆ as comforting as that should be faint warmth and whispers of you still being alive are cold comfort. even if he can just barely feel you... he wouldn't be able to help you wherever you may be.
↳ Beelzebub
◆ beelzebub drops everything and moves. transformed, and in pain, he runs home, he looks, and he looks, but he cannot find you. his whole self hurts, his heart most of all. another, another person he loves is-- no. no just because he couldn't feel you didn't mean that you were dead. ◇ the world around him seems to move so slowly, but he eventually stumbles to the planetarium to find belphegor curled in on himself, and the moment belphie says that he can't feel you. that you're just... gone beelzebub breaks down with him. ◆ beelzebub can't sleep, but belphie tries to help him. nothing tastes right, nothing looks right when he eats and his brothers worry even more. nobody knows what's going on-- nobody can find you and beelzebub blames himself for not being able to keep you safe. his brothers say differently they all failed, but... none of them has failed to keep a loved one safe as he had.
↳ Belphegor
◆ belphegor wishes that he was asleep when he felt it because it would have hurt less in a dream (or so he thinks). to be awake, to be gazing at the stars to watch one suddenly blink out of existence followed by pain-- it was excruciating. ◇ just like the star, you had vanished, taking a piece of belphegor with you. and when beel stumbles into belphegor's sight... he crumbles. the two of them breaking down together. ◆ even when belphegor sleeps he doesn't feel at peace, but some nights... he can see you or he thinks he might. the dreams are always fuzzy, but in those dreams, it feels like you're right there with him. that somehow you're safe even if none of them can find you, much less feel the bond each pact has made with you.
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ur-favboy · 11 months
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STREAMER TAKES BACKSHOTS ! kenma kouzume
warnings ! black , top male reader. afab character , nsfw , dacryphilia , daddy kink , creaming , creampie , degrading , spit kink , exhibition , voyeurism , feminization , interracial couple , twitter link (★) , readers big dick , dirty talk , pounding ken’s pussy , squirting , hair pulling , dumbification
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the headboard and the creaking of the bed would surely have someone knocking at your door by now. did you care? fuck no. let them come knocking. you wouldn’t stop fucking kenma either way. not with how his fat pussy was pulling you back in for more every time you pulled out.
" fuck ! k-keep fucking me . . ah ! " kenma drooled into his pillow , knees quivering as he tried his best to keep his hips in the air for you. he’d been pumped full once or twice, your stamina was unmatched.
back arched and thighs spread wide as your cock plunged in and out of his leaking cunt with lewd incessant plaps. with every push of your pelvis , kenma's juicy pussy would splash back a bit , the wetness leaving your pubic hair slick.
" you like that ? huh ? dick stretching this sloppy pussy ken ? ”
kenma's wireless headset sat atop his head in a crooked fashion , the same camera he'd use during gaming streams now being put to use for something much more intimate and nasty. the comments of his stream were in a damn blaze.
almost ten thousand people were watching their favorite streamer take your black cock over and over again , the camera picking up every look on kenma's face and the way you knotted his core.
it had felt as if kenma's pussy was molding to the shape of your heavy dick , his pink minge was absolutely perfect. the way he gripped at you and pushed back onto your cock was heavenly , you loved when he found the strength to fuck you back.
nails digging into his soft skin of his waist hard enough you were sure to leave bruises in their wake. the way he looked so small and helpless beneath you with every thrust almost knocking his little frame further up on the bed.
“ shittt , raw pussy feels so good . . mm ” , his dainty hands found purchase on the sheets. he needed something to keep him grounded with the way you were deep in his guts. taking every inch that his venal pussy could
the poor man had been reduced to nothing but a babbling mess , fuck you were so deep in his tummy. heavy ball smacking against his clit with every stroke of your hips. “slow . .ah! slow down! ”
“ shut the fuck up and take it. ”
you punctuated your statement with a thrust that sent you balls deep. the duvet was soaked and damped from the sloppy mess that connected you both. a thick white ring that frothing around your cock every time you pushed into kenma.
the smack of his pretty pale ass against you whenever you fucked so deep into him. his little recoil making you laugh. kenma squealed and his hole fluttered. you grunted and stilled your hips , watching him cum around your dick.
“ damn not even a warning ken ? ” , watching while his hips shook as he tried to recuperate from cumming. you pulled out , tip against his entrance and spread his cheeks , gathering a wad of spit in your mouth before letting drip along your cock and his hole. kenma’s cum falling onto the bed as your slapped your dick against his folds before pushing back in.
“ f-fuck . . ngh ! i just came damnit , w-wait ” kenma brought his hand back to press against your abdomen , but it didn’t stop you from pounding back into his pussy with a loud plap , groaning as his warmth wraps around your big cock.
" ohh shit . . your cunt takes this dick so so good kenma ! look at how he clenches around me. fuck , he's practically asking for my nut ", kenma whimpered out a string of slurred words.
he could barely collect his thoughts , everything felt like a jumbled mess in his brain , but god did it feel so good. you were reaching so impossibly deep inside of him. tongue resting on his lips.
" hmmph . . d-daddy ! pleasee ” he whined, speech slurred as his upper half went completely limp on the bed. you shoved his arm out the way and continued delivering deep strokes to his raw cunt. grunting with every slam of your pelvis against the curve of his ass.
“you like it don’t you ken ? want daddy to cream your pretty pussy raw ? knock you up and have you carrying my kids yeah . . oh fuck ! listen to how wet and full you are of me baby ”
and you were right. his cunt sounded so fucking dirty while you fucked into him. “ c-cum daddy ! c-cum . . ”, he looked and sounded brain dead.
“ i know baby, i know. i’m cumming to love ” you grinned and let go of his waist, allowing him to fuck himself back on your cock as he pleased , slightly impressed with the way he could damn near make his own shit clap.
his hips shook again and he tightened around you more , the coil in his stomach snapping as he came with jumbled cries. the pressure of his shocking release pushing you over the edge once more as you painted his insides white with your own thick heavy load, leaving no area untouched.
đ—°đ˜ƒđ—»đ˜đ—Č𝗼𝘁đ—Č𝗿𝘇đ—Č𝗾đ—Čℱ
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ur-favboy · 1 year
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ur-favboy · 1 year
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He’s Not Cute. He’s A Dick. - Omega!L Lawliet
-_-_-_-_-
A/N: For @animeomegas​. CATBOY/HYBRID AU  >;p Okay so my angle for this was that he is the L we know when Reader is not around. He’s more hybrid, instinctual around Reader, which is why he seems a bit OOC.
Warnings: I tried. Also its late. Sorry about it XD L is very bad at being a person. A lot of the behaviors L does are behaviors a cat has when they like you so keep that in mind. 
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Keep reading
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ur-favboy · 1 year
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Hi!
Is it okay for me to request a sub xiao?
Where the reader continues to edge him and tug at his collar prasing him.
and then at the end completely overstimulates him and praises him.
Can the reader call xiao cute petnames too?
like good boy, cutie, sweetie and etc please?
Good kitty
characters: sub!xiao x nb!dom!reader
warnings: collaring, praise, dacryphillia, overstimulation, edging, small hints of corruption, light petplay, cock can be read as strap on, reader is an immortal but what they are can be completely up to you.
notes: forgive me nonnie, i took so long to write this😔i’m starting to think writer’s block is catching up to me
nevermind. all i needed was to see xiao on the official stream break to get motivated againđŸ˜â—ïž
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you and xiao first met centuries ago, shortly after the archon war has ended, the seven seats of the heavenly principles had gotten their victors. when you had first ran into the yaksha the poor thing was caught up in his own karmic debt, suffering the consequences of his own actions, writhing in agony. he tried to push you away but you were a thousands year old immortal who has seen everything teyvat had to offer.
the beginning of you two’s relationship was definitely odd and trippy for sure. however over time, when xiao figured out you were immortal just like him, he slowly began to open up. first it started with simple little talks and grunts, then the full blown chatting about everything phase began. soon that evolved to you and xiao opening up to each other about your pasts, deeds, mistakes and successes. and before you two could even understand the relationship you two have is what humans call “romantic love”, there you two were, holding each other close, stripping each other naked, learning about all sorts of pleasure.
it took a long time just for xiao to start talking with you, so of course sex life was incredibly slow and gentle between you and the yaksha. but slowly the more nights you spend with xiao, the more you realized he really enjoys being referred to as “kitty”.
at first it your thousands year old stubborn self found it odd since from what xiao told you, his true form is that of a bird’s not a cat. however soon you grew to love it for the sight of the cold and unstoppable yaksha, being reduced to a crying, babbling mess underneath you, clinging to you tightly and begging for you to fill him up was greatly addicting. which is what led to now.
“AANH~! nyaah! [n-nameee]
” whining and sobbing your name loudly with his red eyeliner running down his cheeks, xiao pawed at your finger curled around the soft collar around his neck. you’ve been forcing him to continue riding your cock for hours and it fucking hurt. not to mention your other hand was wrapped around the tip of his cock, toying with the tip slightly before putting your thumb over the slit of his cock when it starts to twitch violently. his poor tiny cocklet was already an angry red, twitching whenever your thumb would circle over the sensitive, slick tip.
“it’s alright kitty. keep riding me. you’re doing such an amazing job, kitty” cooing soft praises and tugging on the collar around his neck again to guide his hips to slam down onto your cock, you ignored his sobs and pleas for you to let him cum. it feels better, he knows that! but he just can’t help but be so greedy!
your big, fat, cock rearranging his insides, splitting his ass open, your voice cooing honeyed words into his ear, your hand teasingly, painfully rubbing at the slit of his twitching, red cock was just all too much for him. even though it’s not the first time you two are having sex, it feels like it is.
to the tiny, trembling, wailing yaksha on your lap, your dick just makes his eyes roll to the back of his skull, reaching places he never thought was even there. it just hits on all the right spots so good and his mind can’t comprehend the praises flowing out of your mouth.
noticing how your sweet boyfriend’s head was already fucked stupid with his hazy eyes and gibberish nonsense, you smiled sweetly before finally letting go of his cock. holding onto his waist tightly before thrusting up into his sloppy hole, creating more loud, wet, squelching sounds you can barely make out what he’s saying.
“aaannhg~! nyaAAH~! t-there—sho good! [name]—sho good♄” blabbering drunken words, he couldn’t even hear you calling him sweet nicknames at all. finally cumming all over his and your tummy with a loud squeal when you harshly thrusting up into his sensitive spot, your lovely kitty fell on top of your chest, shuddering and twitching, too lost in the pleasure. managing to only weakly whimper when you continued to fuck into his wet hole before mewling when he felt the familiar warmth of your cum shooting into his walls.
patting him on his head and cradling his trembling tiny body, you whispered another praise before cuddling him close.
“good kitty♄”.
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ur-favboy · 1 year
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xiao who waits for you to come home to him months after your breakup. xiao who stands outside of the entrance of wangshu inn until the early hours of dawn. waiting for you to walk up those stairs one more time. waiting for you to see him, for your face to light up as you greet him with a breathtaking kiss. telling him how you missed him.
it never happens. the staff try to get him to go to bed, but he refuses. they try to reason with him, saying things like; “you need rest xiao.” or “do you want some almond tofu? i can bring it to your room?” he just shakes his head. turning back to stare at the empty pathway.
“they’re not coming xiao. you need to sleep.” the receptionist’s words broke him out of his trance. “you don’t know that.” his voice sounds so far off. so out of place he doesn’t even know if it’s his. when was the last time he had spoken without broken cries in between? or tears just dying to fall? the woman sighed behind her desk.
“i will get you if they appear. will you sleep then?” she asked softly. xiao’s mind protested. thinking that as soon as he would leave you would appear and he would miss his chance. but
 it had been months. and his body was oh so tired. practically begging him to go to bed instead of waiting on someone who was never coming back.
with a small nod, xiao turned and walked up the stairs. as he lay in bed with the blanket you had gifted him pulled tightly up to his chest he couldn’t help but think of the fond memories he had of his lover. oh when would you come home to him? why aren’t you here now? holding him in your arms to replace this worn out blanket with seams on the verge of tearing? fat, wet, tears rolled down the adeptus’ face, his body falling into a much needed sleep as he reminisced once more on the one who left too soon from his life.
“hello? excuse me is xiao here at the moment?” you asked, quietly whispering with the voice that the adeptus in question loved so dearly.
“no. i’m afraid he left.”
“oh, okay then. i’m sorry for the bother.” and with that you turned on your heel and walked out the way you came. clutching the matching blanket in your satchel.
gone too soon.
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a/n: luv yah <333 don’t hate me i swear i’ll bring you porn soon 🙏
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ur-favboy · 1 year
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can’t stop thinking about scara who wakes up from his slumber much much later than he did in canon. traveler!reader, who’s looking for their siblings, aether and lumine, stumbles upon innocent!scara during your time in inazuma and he just. follows you along like a lost puppy, practically imprinting on you at first sight as he decides, yes, this is the person i will be following for the rest of my life.
you teach him about this world, showing him little tricks using multiple elements and laughing when he gets all pouty after you tell him that wielding multiple elements isn’t possible for him. you like protecting him, even though he says he doesn’t need protection, but you never fail to remind him about that one time he cried after getting burnt by a pyro slime. he gets all red in the face and shy whenever you bring it up.
he does worry, on nights when you’re asleep and the only company he has is the stars, that you’ll leave him someday in your pursuit of finding your siblings. and it’s inevitable, perhaps, but he’d like to cling on to this small slice of happiness, pressing himself closer to you and ignoring your sleepy protest about how his toes are too cold.
you won’t leave him, he’ll make sure of it. he just has to convince you, is all.
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ur-favboy · 1 year
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☆ xiao -> sub!xiao x dom!reader
content -> sub!xiao , voyerism, reader calls xiao “princess” and “good girl” but he still is addressed by he/him, choking, anal fingering, the girls are all futas, umm idk what else
note : btw this is not the exhibition fic i was talking abt, that one is still in the works. i love making xiao a slut.
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one of my guy friends is always surrounded by women that’s eitheir his height (cause he’s tall) or taller then him, always cooing at him and playing with his hair and calling his name. he always visibly melts and giggles when he’s with them, just so infatuated with these warm dominant women touching on him..
i can just imagine this with xiao.. you and your friends coddling him when they come over to visit. he sits in your lap while you guys converse and giggle about past memory’s. he feels warm when your hands run up thighs and up his stomach under his shirt.
two of your friends start staring at him, mentioning how your so lucky to have such a cute little thing home with you all the time. He squirms from the praise, not spoken to him but to you as if he’s not even there. your hands move higher and scratch at his nipples. slowly circling the flushed buds.
the girls move closer to surround him, taking in his quiet sighs as your fingers tease him with no rest. soon his pants are tugged off along with his shirt. he lays spread on your lap with only his boxers clinging to his shaky thighs.
“he makes the cutest sounds when you pinch him right..” you unexpectedly pull at his nipples, hard, eliciting a loud moan from his throat. “here!”
they all coo and giggle at his reaction. his flushed cheeks and small hands pawing at your arms making them want to drag out more of his sweet sounds. he feels several pairs of hands feel all over him;
one pushes his thighs apart, exposing his small bulge to the rest of them. another pair rubs up and down his ribs, helping you tease around his nipples.
teeth nip at his milky thighs causing him to tremble and jump. whines never stop pouring out of his mouth, progressively getting louder with the more hands roaming his lithe body.
“ feeling good princess?” at your words he nods quickly. he could feel you smirk against his neck as you kiss and lick below his ear. you drag your hand up and place it around his neck, squeezing. “such a good girl, showing my friends how pretty you are.. making me want to show them what’s mine.”
xiaos cock twitches harshly in his boxers just at the thought of you fucking him so hard in front your friends, causing them to coo and giggle even more at his reactions. “please..” he whispers hotly.
the hand around his throat squeezes harder in its place, coaxing him to say what he wants. “ please f-fuck me master, g-guh— fuck!” choked out moans gargle out his throat, slim hips bucking up into nothing.
one of the girls drag down his briefs while the others hover their mouths over his cocklet. hot breathes and stifled laughs making him burn all over while your hand releases his throat.
xiao feels like he’s swimming. eyes barely able to stay from rolling into the back of his head. his dick is so sensitive he could cum any second now, your hot cock pressing into his ass doesn’t help either. they whisper his name in sultry voices, hands touch all over him, and a single one of their fingers prodding at his perked asshole does it for you.
“get on the floor baby, all fours.” it takes him a minute to slide off your lap-- his legs loosing all will to help him stand up, and he kneels into position. xiao bites his lip and almost whimpers in anticipation.
you kneel behind him and spread both his cheeks apart, watching his muscle twitch from the attention. leaning forward, you lick a heavy stripe onto his hole pulling a surprised yelp from his mouth. you circle around his puckered rim with your wet thumb. xiao unknowingly pushes his hips back into your hand, trying to help your digits sink into him.
globs of frustrated tears well up in his pleading eyes, practically begging for you to finger fuck him senseless while he presents his ass to you. he lets out a happy squeal when he feels your long finger slide into him. xiaos arms immediately give out and he collapses onto the floor, two wobbly knees left to keep him propped up. his eyes can barely stay open to witness the figures gathering around him.
the sounds of zippers and the smell of hot cock blur around him as you slide in another finger into his hole, distracting him from realizing what’s happening just in front of him. squeaky gasps constantly pour out his mouth as his hips pummel back to meet your thrusts, desperately trying to help the pass of your fingers prod at his throbbing prostate.
the girls each have their hand busy with getting themselves worked up. hands either down their pants rubbing their own bulge or stroking their dick to the delectable sight of xiao loosing his mind over two fingers. if he’s this cute just from a bit of prodding they can’t imagine how delicious he’d look getting filled to the brim.
“ O-Oh my archons!” xiao shrieks suddenly, legs trembling harshly as you suddenly thrust directly into his prostate. “please, please more.” he whines into where his face is smushed. his hips slam back into your hand trying to suck you in deeper than possible. a third finger slides in and xiao nearly faints from the pleasure.
he’s close, and it’s painfully obvious. toes curling squeaky moans rising in volume and his neglected cocklet drips precum continuously. so you don’t stop drilling into his spongy insides, getting off on the lewd squelch of his whorish hole. fingers pounding harder and faster against him with each plunge, listening to him babble unintelligible warnings.
normally you’d work him up until his highest peak and let him almost tip over the edge right before you’d slip your fingers out of him to hear his adorable whines. however, just watching your friends bore into him with ravenous stares makes you want to show off. flaunt that your the only one who gets to fuck him this good with just your fingers.
let them watch him erupt and claw for your cock to fill him up and ruin him. remind them he’s yours and yours only. reaching over to envelop him with your hand, you jerk his cock at a fast pace. your fist tugs tightly, already insanely slick with his precum making it all the more pleasurable.
xiao physically cannot utter a single word, instead going completely silent at the height of his orgasm before wailing extremely loud. bursts of hot cum gush out of his weeping dick. xiao moans with each spurt he trembles out, your fist still mercilessly tugging at his spent cock. sensitive bulging tip spitting out cum even after you let him go.
he immediately collapses onto the floor, desperately trying to take in heavy breathes of air after the most intense orgasm he’s had in the day. he’s so caught up with himself xiao hasn’t realized the looming shadows over him until he opens his eyes.
each girl harshly tugs their massive cocks over xiaos face. tainting his cute exhausted expression with heavy lust once again. everyone can see it swirl darkly in his eyes and he sticks his tongue out like the slut he pretends he isn’t. he can feel you line up your angry tip with his puffy asshole behind him and moans at the thought of being stuffed full from both ends.
xiao waits patiently with his tongue out, watching with droopy heart eyes as each of the girls near their peak. large amounts of thick cum squirt onto his face, landing on his tongue and long eyelashes.
“enjoying yourself princess?” you whisper hotly into his ear, slowly pushing your dick into his hole. xiao released a heavy whine of your name as his head drops down to the floor once again. he can feel his cock twitch sensitively but expectant underneath him. “ you didn’t forget about me, did you?”
he quickly shakes his head no and reaches behind himself to arch into a kiss. you taste the others on his tongue and bite him teasingly, cause him to break away with a small yelp. xiao silently moans when he feels you fill him to the hilt, throbbing veins snug against his plush walls already expecting you to fuck him silly.
“ let me show them who you belong to, alright princess?” you groan. xiao nods quickly in response, pushing back to press against your hips in hopes you’d ruin him sooner. “good girl.”
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art credit: link
note : i love this artists style sm it’s so hot makes my (imaginary) dick hard đŸ˜”â€đŸ’«
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ur-favboy · 1 year
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I feel like female yanderes appear more in animes than male yanderes, while male yanderes appear more in games
I see your point and, not to be political, but I raise you:
A lot of anime that have yandere are targeted towards a male audience (both as horror and kink) and since Japan is still pretty conservative they are made as a "romantic horror trope" towards the male population.
On the other hand, games are often made with more diverse views and without the limitations and regulations, especially by indie developers.
Just my hottake.
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