FEAT. pro-hero CELLOPHANE & CHARGEBOLT
“eatin' real good, ass fat, i'm greedy,”
“i don't want yo n*gga, he needy,”
“oh my god— let me get through the fucking door first.”
“oh, so-you-hate-me-and-you-want-me-to-die,” you silence denki, and his spew of stupidity with a single hand that cups his face and squishes his cheeks together.
he can be cute when he’s being a whiny bitch. the scrunch on his face turns into a pout, so you lay a teeny tiny peck on his lips before pushing him backwards so you can come through the doorway.
he had bitched and moaned all morning, it’s his one day off in the last, like, month, and you’re “leaving me already.”
you knew he was gonna try and pull some sneaky shit, some stupid shit, so you took your sweet time coming home from work.
practically itching himself like an addict, rocking himself back and forth, all fucking day, waiting for you to get home.
you take a peak into the kitchen, at least he cleaned, no dishes in the sink, floor mopped, some leftovers on the stove for you, what a cutie.
but you don’t even get that far.
you don't even get to eat.
why should you, you didn’t let him eat this morning.
arguably, it's his fault for not waking up early enough to treat you before you left. you’re not the late type. well you can be, but you like sleeping so much your morning routine has been carefully crafted so that you have the bare minimum amount of time needed to get ready when you get up. and if he thought his little, annoying, blonde ass self, was going to disrupt that, he should think again.
so you left him like that, hard, pouting, itchy for five more minutes of your touch.
you can’t indulge him, you give him an inch and he’ll take a fucking mile. you let him have one ‘last little smooch before you leave’ and then your panties are off before you even realise.
he’s always been like that. the worst combination of greed, always greedy, always hungry, and being so, what’s the word…charming, that he’s able to talk you into whatever he wants 99% of the time.
so you put your foot down, for once, and he’s so used to being spoiled.
blowing up your phone the whole day, he missed you, missed you so bad he just had to send you twenty different pictures of his leaky dick.
flushed, pink, angry at you for leaving it in this state, and he always says his hands aren’t as nice, not as soft, they don’t know him as well as yours do.
“missed you so fucking much,” he murmurs into your ear, hands skirting round to feel up your chest. you’re still in your work clothes, sweaty from the day and from the journey home.
missed you? you can tell.
his hard, aching, cock slots itself into the crease of your ass, as he rocks back and forth, so fucking greedy. you haven’t even taken your shoes off yet, you’re still holding your bag, he can’t be serious.
you spin round and grab his face, again, and sneer, “i saw you this morning, stop fucking around.”
but that doesn’t do much to deter him, it makes it worse if anything. eyes misting over at the tone of your voice, the bite, the exasperation, and the way your soft fingers grip him, with force, with control.
and you, his poor, exhausted, darling. so angry. so fed up.
he knows how to make you feel better.
lays you out flat on the couch, peppers your skin with apologies, with thanks. thanks for letting him touch you, thanks for being his, thanks for how, fucking, good you smell.
he inhales at the junction of your neck when he kisses you there, he thinks you can’t tell. the scent of your skin, the honeyed warmth of whatever body lotion you use, the traces of perfume, and of you.
your sweat, your skin, it’s some crazy pheromone bullshit the way it makes his cock ache. god, he wants to smell you everywhere, wants to taste you everywhere, wants to lap up every inch of your skin, of your flesh, wants to lick it all up and drown in it.
pulling down your bottoms with haste, denki's fingers slide the fabric all the way down so it pools at your ankles, and stuffs his face into your panty-clad crotch so he can take a deep inhale.
shit, shit, he couldn’t put it into words, the way your scent makes his brain melt, slip out of his ears, flooding his senses with you and only you. he’s exactly where he wants to be, with you resting on your elbows and glaring down at him like he’s some sort of nuisance, like a pest, he has to restrain himself from making a mess all over the couch, again. instead focusing on making a mess out of you.
he mouths at your clothed pussy, slobbering all over the fabric, teasing your clit with his tongue, the dulled pressure making your toes curl as your legs come to wrap around his shoulders, and one hand fists his hair to push him deeper, closer.
you tsk at him like he’s a misbehaving dog, “if you’re gonna do it,” another shove of his head, “do it properly.”
you think he’s nodding, or maybe that just the movement of his tongue, lapping at the fabric, soaking your slit so your pussy clings to it, like he’s trying his best to suck out your juices from the damp cotton.
“nasty bastard,” the words are harsh, but the tone is breathless, a soft sigh, as you card your fingers through his soft blonde locks, twisting the hair around the digits, nails scratching at his scalp, “can’t even lemme have dinner first, huh?” punctuated by a yank of his head so he can face you.
his dazed amber eyes meet yours as he giggles, “m’sorry babe, m’gonna make it up to you, yeah?" as he kisses the crease of your thighs, over the fabric, below the fabric, "y’gonna let me? lemme make you feel good,” he murmurs into the soft creamy flesh of your inner thighs, leaving bruises in his wake.
“c’monnn,” he’s so hot when he’s trying to convince you to let him give you pleasure, “c’mon mama, it’ll be so good,” he kisses at your stomach, staring up at you, fake innocent puppy dog eyes that make you pulse, “just lemme have this first, then i’ll fix you a plate.”
“ain’t shit sweet but the pussy he eating,”
same routine, same business as usual but, for some reason, it hits him so much harder today.
he feels it every time he moves. in his shoulders first, that dull pull from overusing his tape all day, elbows stiff from swinging between buildings for hours straight, thighs sore from landing wrong one too many times. there’s a nasty knot in his lower back that’s been there since some concrete support beam nearly pancaked him during a rescue op last winter, and he's been skipping his physio.
that’s the feeling. the deep, marrow-level ache that settles into your bones after years of throwing your body around a city that never fucking sleeps.
his day started before sunrise, and he had to creep out of bed at four am. because his agency got called in for traffic management after some villain tore through the motorway barriers during a police chase. then paperwork, then patrol, then a proper emergency downtown.
he had to keep his head on straight for that, collapsed scaffolding, trapped civilians, tape anchored around snapped steel beams while emergency crews yelled directions over each other.
but now he's done, now he can rest for the day, now he can go home and have a sweet treat.
your thighs bracketing his head, his mouth moves like he’s starving. he’s been thinking about this all day. about you. about your juicy pussy. he tallied every hour at work, counted down every single minute until he could come home and eat.
“fuuuck, lemme get in there.”
he’s worked all day for this, tirelessly, dutifully, protecting the city, protecting civilians, and this is his reward. this is what he deserves.
“don’t even think about it sweetheart,” when you flinch, when you try to squirm out of his grip, how could you even think about leaving, not when needs you this badly. and god does he need you. needs your sloppy cunt all over his face. needs to rub his nose against your throbbing clit, needs you dripping down his chin, he wants to drown in it.
as soon as he walked through the door he collapsed here, face first into your sweet pussy. mouth salivating, his body rutting against the bottom of the couch, he really has been thinking about this all day, about the meaty flesh of your thighs wrapping around his head and suffocating him. and now that he’s here, finally, it feels like he’s in a dream.
a dazed, drunken state, his shaggy black hair shaking with every movement of his mouth, of his tongue bullying its way in between your puffy pussy lips. and then his lips latch onto your clit, one harsh suck, and you’re spilling more and more of your delicious pussy juice into his greedy mouth.
it’s so fucking sweet, his fingers bruise the side of your thighs, he can barely hear you, hear how you whimper, hear how you moan for him, with how your thighs are acting as earmuffs. it’s a shame really, and he considers, briefly, on changing positions, just so he can hear the way your voice cracks when you call out his name. but he prefers this. prefers how easy it is to drink up each wave of cream that gushes out of you. and he likes how he can feel your legs shake like this, how you foot kicks at his back on a particularly malicious flick of his tongue. he likes how you anchor yourself onto him, how much you need him, how you've been craving this, the feeling of his mouth slurping up every last drop, just as much as he has.
if he passed out, right here, like this, and you got up, or moved, he would gain conscious back just to tell you to leave him there. he wants you to keep him here always, he's nothing but an instrument for your pleasure, he's nothing except what you need, a mouth, a tongue, some fingers. the desire to make you feel good is all consuming.
and he's so messy with it, so hungry and loud, god it's embarrassing, the wet smacks of his lips echoing throughout the room and intermingling with the shattered moans he’s pulling out of you. when you grip his hair, like a handle for a rollercoaster ride you can't stop, when you pull on it, he let's out a deep appreciating rumble that vibrates its way up your spine. his nose bumping against your clit, soaking his face in your essence, your scent infiltrating his brainwaves, making him stutter in his movements, making him drool.
the scratch of the stubble scattered across the surface of his chin rubs your pussy raw in the most delicious way. sends tingles all the way down to your toes, which in turn causes you to dig your heels into hanta’s sturdy back, which causes the cycle to repeat itself.
you could stay here forever, both of you blissed out after a long day. your back pressed into the couch by the firmness of his grip, the guardian of your pleasure, his big palms allow you to crumble into him and, well,
your pussy really is that sweet.
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