styofa doing anything
Love Begins
noise dept.
NASA
KIROKAZE
Misplaced Lens Cap
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Mike Driver
art blog(derogatory)
Janaina Medeiros
will byers stan first human second
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Xuebing Du
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
@theartofmadeline
tumblr dot com
Origami Around
todays bird
h
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Tanzania
seen from Singapore
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
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@crstilia
Masterlist (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)
Genshin Impact
Diluc x Reader - NSFW
One Piece
Law x Reader - NSFW
Smoker x Reader - NSFW
Koby x Reader - NSFW
Arcane
Various characters actor au
Dispatch
The Z-team finding out Sonar has a GF - NSFW-ish
The Z-team finding out Waterboy has a GF - SFW pt.1
“At least Waterboy can get a girl wet” Waterboy x GF pt.2
Waterboy x GF Reader headcanons - SFW, NSFW
SPIDER-MAN: BRAND NEW DAY (2026) dir. Daniel Cretton
olderbf!nanami headcannons ! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
tags :
babygirl : @sadisticslut666
perm - @whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings@grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @naammiii @liasacountgothacked @annicishana @my-starlights @error-racoon-404 @afreakforyautja @cupidstrace @iam-souless@sindulgent666 @chewiebee @tojisballhair @ex1acy @palanggaaa@yourlocalcatscammer @ehcilhc @gravecyte @restingoasis @satorupi@laburantesdoll @sxpernova @thethyri @lostgeto @lilytrn @mikaari0 @chososballhair @nanamissilkytie @iwasabs @tojis-juicymantitys @laitifly @farylfordaryl @bl1ndv3lvet @booboobear-12 @6arcxm @sleeplessdancer @chloeee20 @deartoru @neptunezxx @ash273819 @sketchbonked @vanillakirstein @valberryboos @itimisu @livviaaaaa@kebablover @babyluvlol @audreytoru
no fool for discretion
synopsis: Sometimes, dating Adrian Chase means sneaking through basement windows because he really wants you to see his secret basement and really doesn't want you to meet his mom.
gif by @/chaseadrian
pairing: adrian chase x reader tags: 18+!, smut, established relationship, (protected) sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, humor, fluff, quiet sex, hand gagging, mild sensory deprivation, not fully sub or fully dom adrian but a secret third thing, overstimulation, biting word count: 5.8k notes: brought to you by this request! title from the song "big dumb sex" by soundgarden which I firmly believe Adrian would like because it reminds him of all the glam metal songs about sex that Peacemaker likes but it has none of the subtext.
“Honestly, I’m kind of looking forward to meeting your mom!”
Adrian slammed on the brakes so hard you had to brace your hand against the dashboard, your seatbelt cutting tight across your skin. His eyes were wide, a grimace of pure panic on his lips.
“You can’t meet my mom!”
You blinked back at him. “Sorry?”
“There’s no fucking way you’re meeting my mom,” he said again, his tone firmer this time, but not any more elucidating than the last outburst.
“I don’t understand. Aren’t we going to your house?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“A house you live in with your mother?”
“Also yes.”
“Is she home?”
“Probably!”
“But I can’t meet her?”
“Fuck no!”
You stared back at your boyfriend who looked like he might throw up at any second. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. A blaring horn behind you made you nearly jump out of your skin, and when you looked in the rearview there was a line of cars held up behind you. Right. Because Adrian had stopped in the middle of a busy road. Adrian, however, suddenly no longer seemed to be in a rush to get home.
You put your hand on his forearm. “Ade, you gotta drive.”
“Okay,” he managed, voice a ragged whisper. He pried his foot off the gas and then proceeded to drive a blazing 25mph the entire rest of the way. You waited until the Seabring was parked on a cute, tree-lined neighborhood street to speak again.
“I’m not going to lie, I’m a little offended you don’t want me to meet your mom,” you said finally. Adrian laughed, doubling over so sharply you were afraid he was going to smack his face on the steering wheel.
“She’s the one who should be offended. She’s a total fucking bitch and I don’t want you to meet her because I don’t want her to, like, get her stupidness all over you.”
“Babe…” you breathed. “Respectfully, what the fuck?”
Adrian raked his hands over his face. “You don’t get it.”
“Okay. You’re right. I don’t think I get it,” you agreed. You laid a hand on his arm. “But, clearly it’s stressing you out. So, decision made, easy peasy!”
Adrian peeked at you from behind his hands. “Yeah?”
“Yeah! Although…” you hesitated to ask because you could only imagine you weren’t going to like the answer. “How are we going to get in without your mom finding out?”
“You’re lucky I love you,” you grumbled, wiggling in his grasp. “Your hand is so far up my ass I’m starting to feel like a puppet.”
“Just let go of the window sill!” Adrian hissed. “I’ve got you, I’m not going to let you fall.”
You groaned and finally relented, knowing for a fact that Adrian did not have you. But the boy was going to have to learn his lesson the hard way, you supposed. The two of you fell into a tangled heap, your elbow landing squarely in his ribs, his knee striking against your hip in a surge of pain, your forehead colliding with his chin.
“Ow fuck – ow, ow, fucking hell, Adrian,” you grumbled, trying to gain any sort of leverage, but your hands were sinking into some sort of fabric over and over again on either side of Adrian while he tried to get his hands in between you, making sure you weren’t injured.
“Sorry! Sorry, are you okay? Are you alright? Speak so I know you’re not concussed!” Adrian said, scrambling. You rolled your eyes and batted his hand away.
“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “That is not how you check for a concussion, by the way.”
“What…what is this?” you asked. Whatever it was groaned under your weight as you struggled to your knees. “Is this a futon? Why do you have a futon in your basement?”
You climbed off of him with a bit of difficulty before you turned your attention towards the rest of the basement. “What the f – ”
Adrian clapped a hand over your mouth from behind. He was blazingly warm against your back, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he was afraid you were going to run. You swayed slightly in his arms as you regained steady footing, your balance entirely thrown off by his sudden seizure of you. You nipped at his palm gently and he let you go. You turned to find his wide eyes focused on his slightly wet palm.
“Care to explain the drugs, Adrian?” you asked, this time managing to keep a lid on your volume.
He simply shrugged. “What do you mean? Where else would I put it?”
“Where did this all come from?” you asked, turning to look at it all again – pallets of drugs (was that fucking cocaine?) and what had to be millions of dollars, carefully banded and stacked in various places. You reached out to run your hand across the money but Adrian batted your hand away.
“That’s blood money, don’t touch it!”
“Where did all this come from, Adrian?”
“What, you think I’d just leave drugs and cash at crime scenes where anyone could take it? Like corrupt fucking police? Absolutely not,” he asserted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can’t believe you think I should let the cops have all this.”
“I never said that, Adrian!” you exclaimed. “First and foremost, fuck the police – ”
“Fuck the police,” Adrian agreed with a thoughtful nod.
“Secondly! I just can’t believe you never told me about this! I thought that we tell each other everything? I mean, you told me you were Vigilante on our first date.”
“Second date.”
“Adrian, we’ve been over this, having sex after a first date does not count as a second date.”
“Agree to disagree.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “And it’s not my fault your pussy is like my personal truth serum.”
“Adrian…”
His face contorted. “What, is that a weird thing to say?”
“It’s not really a normal thing…”
“Whatever,” he pouted. “You don’t get it.”
“Come on, Ade, you were so excited to show me your basement. So give me the grand tour.”
“Fine,” he huffed. He crossed to a workbench and gestured at it vaguely. “These are my power tools. Over there is my wall of chemicals. Tour concluded.”
“Adrian,” you groaned.
“What?” he snipped. “You wanted the tour – there it is!”
“I cannot believe you made me shimmy through a window for that.”
“Yeah, well, sorry it’s disappointing.” It was said in a way in which you knew he was not sorry at all. He was being petulant.
“It’s not disappointing, it's just…a lot for me to take in. I’m very interested in it!”
“Uh huh,” Adrian mumbled, mindlessly thumbing through what appeared to be a box full of pocket knives?
Well, you could be petulant too.
“Fine!” you proclaimed, hands on your hips. Adrian rolled his eyes and you bit back a grin before climbing up onto the futon.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going back out the window,” you explained with a nonchalant glance over your shoulder at him. He was looking up at you with those big eyes of his and you almost caved instantly. It would be so easy to climb down, wrap your arms around him, kiss the grumpiness right off of his handsome face. But you liked teasing him so much more.
So you stretched up, desperately trying to hook your fingers into the windowsill that was just out of reach.
“You’re not going to be able to reach that,” Adrian said matter-of-factly.
“Watch me,” you countered, wedging your tongue between your teeth as you tried to will yourself taller out of pure spite.
“Do you think you’re magically going to get taller or…?” Adrian asked like he could read your goddamn mind.
“Be quiet, Adrian, I’m concentrating,” you snipped back. You rolled up onto your tiptoes but the physics of standing on a soft surface made that change negligible. You dropped your arms down with a huff and jumped off the futon.
“Okay, I’m using the door!”
“What?” Adrian gasped, lunging for you as you feinted towards the basement door. You laughed in delight as he grabbed you by the waist and yanked you backwards onto the futon, pinning you beneath him.
“Oh no! You caught me!” you wheezed out, all the air knocked out of your lungs.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Were you really going to go out the door?”
“Well, well, look at the situation we find ourselves in,” you commented drily, ignoring the question, batting your eyelashes at Adrian.
“If you don’t answer my questions just know I know a lot of really effective torture techniques,” Adrian said lowly, a familiar hunger already creeping into his expression. You ran your fingers through his curls, dragging your nails against his scalp. “Are you trying to distract me?”
“Me? Never,” you murmured. He shivered against you and you gave his hair a testing pull. His mouth dropped open slightly and you took the opportunity to sweep your tongue across his lower lip. He whimpered into your mouth as his hips rolled against yours instinctively.
“Someone’s eager,” you assessed, grasping at his shirt and trying to untuck it from his jeans. “What did it, the puppet thing? Threatening to torture me? Tackling me onto your weird sex futon?”
“It is not a weird sex futon! Just a regular futon!” Adrian laughed against your neck and then winced. “Stop making me laugh, I can feel it in my dick.”
You hooked a leg over his hip. “Then maybe you ought to do something with that dick of yours.”
“I really want to have sex with you right now,” Adrian began.
“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming – ”
“Butts can’t come,” Adrian snickered. Then he shook his head like a hapless puppy, his curls tossing about. God he was such a dork sometimes. But he was your dork. “Though, I do sometimes feel like I could come just by looking at yours.”
You narrowed your gaze at him despite how adorably stupid he was being. “Just say it, Adrian. Why can’t we have sex right now?”
“The thing is…you’re kind of loud?” Adrian said with a wince. Then his eyebrows lifted. “And I love that about you. I love how loud you are. I love thinking about how if we lived in Metropolis Superman for sure would have heard us having sex and he’d be so fucking jealous. Thinking about it right now actually is making me, uh, a little hard – ”
“Adrian!”
“I’m just being honest!” he huffed. You decided not to comment on exactly who was the loud one in the relationship because you knew he would take it as a challenge and you liked hearing all the little pathetic sounds he’d make. He pushed his glasses up his nose only for them to slide right back down again as he looked down at you. “My mom cannot hear us.”
You nodded slightly. “I understand that that might be embarrassing for you. We don’t have to.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be embarrassed!” he said, eyes wide. “I just don’t want her to know you’re here. Because if she hears us then she’ll ask who you are, and then she’ll want to know how we met and if we want snacks and if you’re staying for dinner and it’s a whole fucking thing.”
“Ade, that sounds very normal.” You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows. You hooked a finger into the collar of his rugby shirt. “What if I promise to be quieter than a church mouse?”
“What does that mean? I don’t really have a reference point for how quiet that is?” he replied, his tone tinged with the beginnings of a classic Adrian spiral. “On a scale of like 1 to 10 where 1 is – ”
You interrupted him with a kiss, your tongue wasting no time dipping into his already open mouth. He came alive, wriggling against you, hands grabbing hold of your biceps, grip tight, muscles taut and somewhere between pushing you away and pulling you even closer.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured against your lips.
“It’s just an expression, love,” you replied, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. Then you narrowed your gaze slightly, squinting to study the color of his eyes up so close. In the dark basement his pupils threatened to swallow the dark green whole. Well, the darkness and your hand that had slipped below the waist of his jeans probably had something to do with it too.
“How about if I get too loud then you just put your hand here,” you instructed, bringing his hand over your mouth and pressing it firmly.
“Okay,” Adrian said, practically drooling. “I think I can do that.”
“Well then, problem solved!”
You were working to shimmy his jeans down slightly when he grabbed you by the wrist.
“I wanna go down on you,” he breathed.
You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Okay. We can do both things…unless you’re in a rush for some reason?”
“It’s just that if you keep touching my dick like that I’m going to come in my pants, and I really want to put it in you,” he said, practically a whisper. There was absolutely zero reason for that sentence to be as hot as it was.
“Why is it that you seem like you’re begging every single time even though we’ve had sex a lot, Adrian,” you teased gently, brushing a stray curl out of his face.
“What if you change your mind, hm?” Adrian asked, dipping his head so you could scratch your fingers across his scalp. “What if one day you wake up and you’re like, oh gosh, I never want to have sex with that weirdo ever again?”
“First of all, being a weirdo is strangely part of your charm,” you replied, pausing to kiss his forehead. “Second of all, I do think you’ve ruined me for life. You dick game is incomprehensibly good and you’ve literally made me go temporarily blind with your head between my legs. I don’t want to have sex with anyone but you.”
“Not even Peacemaker? Because I really couldn’t blame you if you did want to have sex with him. Trust me, I get it, he’s kind of a perfect human man,” Adrian insisted like he was rationalizing in an argument he was having with only himself. His lips pursed. “Although he is kind of all hard edges so having sex with him is kinda sharp which you might not like.”
You were already reaching between the two of you to undo your button-down shirt.
“Not even Peacemaker,” you affirmed. Adrian seemed to wrestle against his own grin, both pleased as punch that you didn’t want to have sex with anyone but him, and also a bit insulted that you didn’t want to have sex with his favorite person in the world.
Tugging your shirt open, you guided his hands up to the front clasp of your bra and used his fingers to flick it open. Whatever logic war was raging in his brain was struck silent by the sight of your breasts. Maybe it was an unfair hand to play, but you wanted your boyfriend to stop thinking about his best friend and start thinking a little more about fucking you senseless.
He wasted no time taking each of your nipples into his mouth in turn, because, as always, he insisted it was only fair for them both to get the same amount of attention. Though you’d never asked, you were fairly certain Adrian had been the type of kid to make sure each toy got the same amount of playtime so that no one toy felt left out.
He swapped his mouth for his hand on your chest and kissed his way down the rest of your body. He deftly yanked your pants and underwear down, kissing the inside of your knees as he peeled them the rest of the way off your body. In his eagerness to get down between your legs he scooted down the futon, his boot kicked one of the metal shelves behind him. The whole unit swayed slightly, the metal ringing out in a resonant sound.
“Adrian?” A woman’s voice called from upstairs. You froze, but Adrian wasn’t deterred. “Are you down there, sweetie?”
Adrian’s mouth was decidedly preoccupied between your legs so he didn’t answer – it was a good thing, because it probably would have involved some absolutely blatant response about the fact that he was, in fact, down there. You pushed at his head but he only looked up at you with a hungry glint in his eyes as he dragged his tongue through your folds, painfully slowly. You hissed in response and he moved his hips slightly against the futon, settling in for a hearty meal. When Adrian ate you out it was almost always multiple courses, a real fine dining experience.
He hadn’t even put his fingers in you yet – just used one hand to spread you open wider for him while the other still played with your breasts, alternating between them, pinching and palming and scratching. His face was pressed so firmly between your legs, his tongue so deep into you you wondered if he was trying to eat his way to your heart.
“Jesus, Adrian!” you whispered, your heel kicking at his hip, trying to get him to ease up a little. But he was hyper focused, like he was speedrunning his way to your orgasm. He moved, wrapping his arms around your thighs, pinning your hips down as they tried to wriggle away from him for just a little reprieve.
You heard footsteps on the stairs and you dug your heels into the futon, trying to pry yourself loose from his perfect, stupid fucking mouth. Instead, he traced his teeth over your sensitive clit and you came hard suddenly. You clapped your own hand over your mouth and Adrian batted it away. You managed to stay quiet, the only sound your own ragged breath in the quiet of the basement and the wet, obscene noise of Adrian’s mouth against you.
Except Adrian continued his ministrations between your legs, letting up with his mouth only to look up at you and grin while he slowly slid two fingers into you. He had that calculated look in his eye again and you knew he was studying you. He liked knowing exactly how each movement, each touch affected you. He crooked his fingers inside you, watching closely as you bit down hard on your lower lip in a desperate bid to stay quiet.
He was doing it on purpose. He wanted an excuse.
You hated giving him what he wanted so easily when he was being a menace but you could taste your own blood on your tongue and he used his other hand to rub at your clit while he kissed your hip bone. A noise squeaked out past your lips and Adrian’s grin grew into a full fledged smile, the kind where you could see all his teeth. The kind that was both predatory and full of genuine delight.
He moved his fingers faster, pushed deeper, bit hard at your hip, bruising the skin. You fumbled for his head but you could barely see straight. You managed to pull a fistfull of hair but it only made him giggle before he lapped at your cunt and made you come undone all over again.
“Adrian!” you hissed through the rheumy film of your orgasm. Adrian pulled his fingers free and popped them straight into his mouth and pure, wet want flooded your own.
“Adrian?” There was a knock at the basement door. You clapped your hands over your burning face but Adrian just seemed annoyed.
“Fuck off, mom!” he called, sliding his way up your body to bite at the sensitive spot below your ear. He loosely pressed his hand over your lips and you weren’t sure if you were grateful or pissed. When the friction of his jeans between your legs almost made you sob against his hand, you settled on grateful.
“Do you have a friend in there with you?” his mom asked. “Should I make some snacks?”
“Jesus fucking – no, mom!” he whined, even as he rolled his hips against you. He grabbed at your breast with his free hand again and you bit his hand in retaliation.
“Ow!”
“Are you okay, honey? Please tell me you’re not giving yourself stitches in there again!” his mom continued. She seemed kind of sweet – what the hell was Adrian’s deal?
“Your mom seems nice,” you managed, free of his hand.
“Stop getting ideas, I can see you getting an idea right now!” Adrian protested, pinning your hands above your head and silencing your mouth with a kiss.
“Adrian, hon, who are you talking to? Is that…is that a girl in there?” His mother’s voice noticeably ascended the scale in pitch and Adrian swallowed your laugh, your shoulders shaking silently.
“I’m talking to my bros in the Fortnite lobby, Jesus fucking Christ! Can you hop off my dick for like five seconds, please?” Adrian shouted back, pulling away from your mouth, making you unacceptably hungry. When he returned to you, you bit his lip in recompense. He hissed but surged forward anyway, his tongue deep in your mouth.
“Okay, Addy, you just let me know if you need anything! Just holler! I’ll be upstairs!”
You waited for the sound of footsteps retreating back up the stairs to pull back.
“So, I’m one of the bros now?” you taunted.
“Well, you’re better than one of the bros. You’re like…you’re my best bro. A bro for life. But, like, in a romantic way, a romantic bro,” he explained. You nodded like that made sense. Because, strangely, it did.
“So…Addy?”
“Please don’t – ”
“It’s kinda cute!”
“No, it makes me sound like a fucking infant. And I’m not an infant. I’m a grown man.”
You giggled. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten, Ade. As a matter of fact…”
Your hand slid in between you, grasping at him through his pants. He was, unsurprisingly, already completely hard. He hissed through his teeth and then wrangled himself out of his rugby shirt, treating you to a spectacular view of his chest. A thin sheen of sweat covered him in a way that made him look unfairly hot – like the centerfold in a magazine of hot nerds. You ran your hand up from the waist of his pants to the small, pale trail of hair just above and let your fingertips press firmly into the skin of his stomach. His gaze narrowed at you.
“Flip over,” he whispered, voice husky.
“Make me,” you whispered back. Adrian blinked back at you for just a moment before he slipped his hands around your waist and tossed you onto your stomach like it was no effort at all. He reached up and stripped you of the button down and the bra that still clung to your shoulders. His fingertips bit into the swell of your ass but then he paused.
“Sorry, was that okay?” he asked, sounding breathless in a nervous way. You looked back at him and offered a calm smile.
“That was perfect,” you assured him. “You’re perfect.”
“Okay, because if you want to fuck some other way that’s totally okay too, I just thought – ”
“Oh no, not you fucking me while I’m laying on my stomach! Whatever will I do!” you drawled sarcastically as you started to twist in his arms, bringing the back of your hand up to your forehead like some scandalized, vaguely transatlantic woman. Then you paused and blinked at him. “That was sarcasm by the way.”
“Uh, duh, I totally knew that because you love when I fuck you like that! It’s like one of your favorite things. Remember that time we prone-boned and you like totally ruined your sheets?”
“Oh my god, Adrian,” you whined, your hands flying up to cover your increasingly red face.
“What! It’s just a statement of fact. And a statement of hotness.”
You finished flipping onto your stomach if only to bury your burning face in the futon. Adrian’s hand ran along your damp inner thigh for a moment before he nudged your leg up slightly, and pulled your hips up and flush against his.
“Oh shit,” he mumbled, and not in the good way. You lifted your head to look at him over your shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know if I have a condom?”
“You have a fucking arsenal down here but not a single condom?”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever had a girl down here before!”
“Aw, is that your roundabout way of saying I’m special?” you asked, batting your eyelashes. But Adrian was too preoccupied scrounging around for a condom. He was so cute doing it you were loathe to tell him all he had to do was open your purse. The man was desperate for it and you were willing to torment him just a little bit – he would be handsomely rewarded for it in the end.
“Hey Ade?”
“Hold on, I’m sure there’s one here somewhere!” He yanked another drawer open, violently rattling whatever was inside. He slammed a cabinet open to no avail. You started to feel bad, even if you were getting a great view of his impressive physical form in the process.
“Adrian!” you called, louder this time to get through to him over the small ruckus he was making, but hopefully still quiet enough to not rouse his mother’s suspicions again. Finally, he turned and looked at you dangling a condom from your fingertips.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he said breathlessly. “No, seriously, I wish I could paint you Titanic-style right now exactly like this.”
Adrian was on top of you again in the blink of an eye, teeth tearing at the foil of the condom and spitting it aside. You watched over your shoulder as he realized he still needed to take his pants off and was trying to figure out balancing the opened condom while he did that. You giggled and held out your hand for him to rest the condom on your palm.
He tripped up off the couch, halfway out of his pants before he was even fully upright. He hopped on one foot as he desperately tried to free his other from the leg of his jeans, and you were treated to an increasingly silly whispered string of curses.
When he was finally free he paused, putting his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling quickly.
You giggled. “Are you winded?”
“No!” Adrian said, full volume. Your eyes flicked to the ceiling of the basement, but Adrian’s mom seemed to have gotten the memo. “This is…I’m doing breathing exercises, actually. Gotta loosen up my diaphragm for optimal airflow so I can have so much sex with you.”
“Get over here, you absolute goober,” you replied with a beckoning crook of your finger. Adrian stooped beside you to retrieve the condom you were still holding and pressed a quick peck to your lips, upturned in an amused smile.
He settled back between your legs, kneeling on the futon as he rolled the condom on and you waited patiently with your chin in your hands. The feeling of his warm fingers back between your legs surprised you, dragging through your folds, gathering slick before sliding his hand over the condom.
“Are you good? Are you comfy?” Adrian asked as he grabbed hold of your hips and angled them slightly upward. He positioned himself at your entrance, dragging the tip through your folds, but waited for your approval. You quietly hissed at the sensation.
“Please, Adrian,” you managed. That was approval enough for him – he wasn’t in one of his taunting moods, determined to draw it out forever to the point of insufferability. No, Adrian was borderline efficient. It was a mood he sometimes got into – careful, precise, skilled. He pushed in, a long, slow stretch of flesh, the warm weight of Adrian partially against your back, keeping you pressed into the futon. A hand groped at the flesh of your hip and he gently guided you into the position he needed.
And that made your eyes water, the perfect depth, the perfect speed, the perfect amount of pressure – a gasp dragged from your lips at the angle. Adrian knew what made you tick. You’d witnessed the man disassemble and reassemble a gun with alarming speed on more than one occasion, and he knew how to disassemble you just as easily.
It took no time at all for pressure and warmth to mount between your legs.
“Put your hand over my mouth,” you panted.
“What?”
“I don’t think that I can keep being quiet,” you said, voice ragged. As if attempting to prove you wrong, Adrian buried himself, deep and slow, and a yelp came from your lips before you could stop yourself.
“Right. Okay,” Adrian said in the kind of voice that sounded like he was processing a direct order. You tilted your head up slightly and Adrian dutifully cupped one hand over your mouth.
“Oh shit,” he managed. His fingers flexed against your skin as he thrust into you again, angling your hips ever so slightly once more, perfecting the position. Your needy hand slid under your body and Adrian groaned as your fingers touched at where your bodies were joined, fingers parting around the slick base of his cock for one taunting drag before retreating to your clit. Adrian’s pace faltered and you grinned into his hand. You nipped at his palm again but he stayed firmly in place and instead responded by draping himself further over your back, his weight pressing you further into the futon and your own eager fingers.
You were close, close, closer as his fingers bit into your skin and you rubbed desperate circles at the apex of your thighs. You clenched around him and Adrian whined.
“That’s not fair,” he hummed into your hair. He slowed for a frustrating moment and then his mouth was at your ear. “Can I try something?”
A million things raced through your mind – an electric series of possibilities, some of which perhaps bordered on terrifying. But you trusted Adrian. You loved him. Fucking you was a science at which he was studiously determined to excel. So, you nodded. And Adrian draped the full weight of himself on you, carefully, gently. And then he wrapped his other hand over your eyes, casting you into total darkness.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low in his chest against your back, words that sounded equally like reassurance and threat. A loving adage and a declaration of total possession. Your body responded unconsciously, pushing back against his thrusting hips, terribly wanting. “I want you to come, just for me, okay?”
You made a noise, something wrenched from deep within, muffled expertly by Adrian’s capable hands. He dragged his tongue along the side of your neck and then his teeth nipped the skin. A jolt of pleasure ran down your spine. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out when Adrian was dragging himself in and out of you with a studied speed, burying deep every time, hitting that perfect spot.
“’m close, are you…close,” Adrian slurred before biting at your jaw, his words barely coherent.
“Mhm,” you spoke into his hand, sure you were probably drooling. You didn’t care. Adrian nudged your knee ever so slightly with his own, spreading you open just a bit more. But it was enough. In the total darkness of Adrian’s embrace, you crashed over the edge, a shout muffled into his hand. You breathed quickly through your nose, finding it significantly harder to catch your breath and Adrian chased you into bliss only a second later, a curse hissed through his clenched teeth, certainly too loud. His hand released your mouth as his forehead fell into the curve of your shoulder. His sweaty hair tickled at your chin and you turned, still blind, to clumsily press a kiss to his temple.
“Well, that was new,” you remarked, still trying to catch your breath. In the darkness beneath Adrian’s hand, the edges of your vision sparked.
“Was it okay? Did you like it?”
“It was more than okay, babe,” you murmured assurance. That was Adrian – aiming to please, even when it came to dabbling in something like minor sensory deprivation.
After a long moment, his hand fell from your eyes to the futon with an audible thump and he slipped out of you, laying half on top of you and half wedged beside you on the futon.
“I feel like I don’t have any bones anymore,” he muttered. “You stole them. You’re a bone thief.”
“I’ll keep your bones safe in my bone collection. Promise,” you laughed breathlessly. He perked up slightly, lifting his head so he could look at your face.
“Yeah?” he asked, eyes wide with puppydog-esque devotion.
“Yeah. You’ve got centerpiece level bones. Real main attraction stuff.”
He brushed your hair from your face, and then wiped your cheeks free of tears, thumb grazing across your lower lip, collecting any errant spit. He popped his thumb into his mouth and you recoiled.
“Adrian, gross!”
“Sorry I just want part of you in me,” he replied like you were the one being unreasonable.
You smirked at him and shifted so that you could slip on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. “Maybe it’s time we revisit that conversation about peg – ”
“Adrian?”
Adrian’s mother’s voice came from directly outside the door. You clamped your mouth shut, looking down at Adrian with wide eyes.
“What, mom?” he called back, rolling his eyes, his head falling back onto the futon.
“Do you and your girlfriend want to come upstairs for dinner? I made a baked mac ‘n cheese with the breadcrumb topping you like so much!”
“Girlfriend?” he scoffed, voice traitorously too high. “What girlfriend? You’re so crazy, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Oh, sweetie, Mrs. Peterson from across the street called and she said she saw you sneaking in through the basement window with a very pretty young lady!”
You had to laugh. There was simply no other choice. Adrian groaned and draped his arm over his face, treating you to a wonderful (very biteable) view of his bicep. “Fuck, I knew I always hated Mrs. Peterson. No trustworthy person has that many chihuahuas.”
When Adrian didn’t respond one way or the other to the evidence presented, his mother called out again, “Does the pretty young lady like mac ‘n cheese?”
You grinned down at Adrian who appeared to be going through the five stages of grief in quick succession. Luckily for him it was going to take a lot more than an overbearing mother to scare you off. If you could survive the Vigilante of it all, you could survive anything. You leaned down, bit Adrian’s bicep and then kissed his swollen lips before he could protest.
“The pretty young lady loves mac n’ cheese!” you called back.
adrian taglist: @countvonklit @tlfg-adrianchase @vigilantexreader @faelvz @a-young-g0d @euinein @fangirl48 @navs-bhat (as always, if you want to join my taglist, just let me know! respectfully, no minors! there are some people who have requested in the past and if you're a minor/I couldn't verify if you're over 18 you've been taken off, I'm sorry!)
jack abbot x f!reader⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ mdni
I just know Jack is an absolute menace in bed.
So composed, so smug while he nails you into the mattress. His hand tangled in your hair, pushing your face down in the pillow with your ass in the air.
“S-so-o good” you groan, your words choppy from each time he pounds into you.
“What’s that baby?” He speaks casually, like you just asked him a question over dinner. It’s mean, he knows even better than you that you can’t make your words any clearer, not with his insane force and your mouth muffled by the pillow.
“J-Ja-a-ckhhhh” the sounds coming out of your mouth are completely out of your control at this point. You weren’t even sure what you were gonna say anyways.
“My poor girl. You can’t take it?” If you were in your right mind, you would roll your eyes and scold him for being so demeaning.
“Mmm g-o-nna cum” you manage a few frantic words, something of a warning.
He tsks his tongue, like he’s thinking. “Hmm, it sounds like you said you wanna cum… but we both know you would need permission for that.” His voice is becoming gruff, but it still doesn’t sound like he’s breaking a sweat. It more so sounds like he’s having too much fun with this.
A loud whine rips from your throat, earning you a sharp slap on the ass. Even though he knows you like it, knows you ask for it, he’ll still rub that spot later and say he’s sorry.
He lifts you by your shoulders, watching you try and fail to hold yourself up on all fours. Leaning down from behind you, his scruff scratches against your cheek. As much as he can try to put on his whole tough guy act, he simply cannot help himself from kissing your cheek.
“Think you can do that for me doll? Think you can ask nicely?” His voice is borderline pornographic in your ear. He’ll never admit it, but he lets up the force a little bit to give you a little room to form a semi-coherent sentence.
Suddenly feeling a little less pathetic, you’re able to sit up on your elbows as his lips and teeth dig into your neck. “P-please can I cum?”
He licks over his bite mark, trailing saliva all the way up to your ear. “Of course you can, baby.” A hint of desperation is laced in his voice. He’s starting to fall apart.
It’s all the confirmation you need before you’re grinding your hips back against his and falling on your face again. You pulse around him as your cum absolutely gushes around him.
“That’s my sweet girl.”
can i mayhaps request steve with a nerdy fem reader?? like glasses and awkward but not really that shy just kinda socially unaware? idk how to request things sorry if this sucks </3
steve would be totally whipped for this.
i mean, think about how far he has come as a person. he hangs around nerds all time now.
i can imagine him struggling to keep up with you and dustin's nerdy little conversations about this and that, some science theories that don't quite make any sense to him.
but steve would (and could) sit there for hours every day and listen to you talk.
i can imagine him also asking you questions about things just to hear you yap and get all excited.
does he understand it? not one bit. but does he still love watching you freak out over it? absolutely.
he'd one hundred percent tease you. a lot. but especially someone with glasses, i mean, you look so adorable. how could he not?
you'd be mid rant or focusing really hard on some book, completely immersed in your own little world when he'd come over to you and pluck the glasses off your face.
he can't help it! he just wants your attention. then before you can scold him for it, steve would lean down and kiss you.
"you're just too irresistible, baby. y'know for someone so smart, you don't seem to understand what you do to a man."
steve would one hundred percent adjust your glasses for you, too.
he's a gentleman at the end of the day, despite his teasing.
if they sit a little crooked on your face he'd adjust them to sit upright.
if they're falling down your nose slightly he'd reach over and push them back up for you.
"what? can't have those slippin' off your pretty face. how else would you be able to see me and my irresistible charm, hm?"
missed opportunity to give him a tighter tac shirt.
i’ve played these games before
rare aesthetic: closeted gay men mourn for their lost potential with the love of their lives
i hope everything works out for you, bisexual person on Tumblr
projection final boss
@_castlebyler on TikTok ^^
I LIKE JOCKS / Steve .H
Steve beats himself up over the fact that you’re Eddie’s type, and Eddie is totally your type as well, and you’re type is absolutely not Steve Harrington.
w.c: 6k
Tags/warnings: Jealous!Steve, Oblivious!Steve, brain damage Steve, alternative reader (Jesus Christ I was so self indulgent she’s literally me) slight dry humping, dialogue heavy? Niche punk politics, Eddie is alive and canon is my bitch. Not proof read LOL
AO3 | THE ARCHIVES
-
“This-this–this is all just shit!” Eddie is one more cassette away from a meltdown. His pretentious music taste protrudes from his pores and he’s currently making it everyone’s problem. “Seriously? Please tell me you are not actually playing Rick Astley on your radio?”
“Are you the DJ here?” Robin asks, not like it was an actual question, swiping the tapes from Eddie's hand and putting them back where they belonged. “Yeah, thought so.”
It has been three days since Eddie Munson got back from LA, attempting to seek out new music and a new scene, yet somehow he's back in his hometown—Hawkins has a strange pull. And after everything he's gone through with these people, being apart really made him feel like something was missing.
And there has been constant terror at the WSQK since his return.
“Are you going to be like this all the time?” Steve asked, annoyed and swiveling around in a chair. Just wanting to get back to work so they'll be prepared for the next show.
“Until you guys start playing some real music.”
Steve sighs, both palms running over his face. “Jesus Christ."
Robin laughs to herself, organizing a bin of records, "Steve's just annoyed because he thinks you're gonna take his job.”
Eddie's eyebrow arch, barely visible behind his mop of curls. Sending Steve a look, a cheeky look. Before the metalhead goes back to the shelves of music, his finger grazes over the spine in search of this so-called real music.
Then suddenly, a shriek leaves Eddie's mouth, grasping the cassettes as if the secret to the universe was written along the spines. “Where in the hell did you get this rockin’ Robin?”
The girl's head shoots up, stepping over to see what Eddie was looking at. Her head cocked to gaze over his shoulder, Eddie handed over a tape from a cardboard box left on the desk.
“See, this is real music! Minor threat, Descendants, Bad Brains… Why are you hiding this gold?”
Robin clicks her tongue, “Not mine, theirs a girl who runs a late-night alternative station down the hall. She goes up to DC, New York, and Chicago a lot and gets them at shows. She is super, really nice.”
Steve not-so subtly perks up at the mention of you. Trying to play it off by looking over at the tapes like he hadn't looked at them over a million times before, Steve couldn't afford adding any more suspicion Robin had about Steve's not-so-secret infatuations.
“Where are you hiding this chick?” Eddie asks, putting the tapes back into the cardboard box.
“She's out of town,” Steve responds a little too quickly, sounding almost snippy as he has his arms crossed, still swiveling in his chair. Trying hard not to grumble at the fact you've been gone for a week now.
“Hopefully getting more good music, you'll have to introduce me.” Eddie gawked, Steve rolled his eyes at the implication.
On cue, the loud echo of the front doors of the Squawk rang through. Steve popped out of his chair on instinct, brain kicking himself after, to see who it was. Well, he knew who it was.
“That might be our neighbor,” Robin noted, getting up to smack your tapes out of Eddie's hands. “Put those back, I’ll return these and introduce you two.”
“Sweet,” Eddie grinned, his various metal accessories clanking against each other as he headed for you. Steve's stomach suddenly felt like it was caving in on itself.
Steve felt too eager with his steps towards the hallway, trailing behind an even more eager Eddie Munson, Robin leading the two to you.
The sun was shining through the windows, casting a gaze upon the narrow room. You took big, confident strides down the hall. A box in hand, your hair fell in that effortlessly messy way Steve has tried to accomplish his entire life, outfit adorned in political or band buttons. You presented yourself with this soft edge that Steve couldn’t help but think about late at night.
Your eyes found the group, Steve swears they found his eyes first—before bouncing to the unfamiliar metalhead. Of course. A large smile spread across your face, “I’m back! Hopefully I didn’t miss anything awesome while I was gone, and oh, who is this?”
Eddie put his hand out to shake yours, you had to quickly shift the box you held to your left hand and balance it against your hip.
Steve almost scoffed out loud, did Eddie not see that your hands were occupied? He could have reached out and grabbed the box from you, like a gentleman, but that tug inside him held his hands down—body unmoving.
“Eddie. Nice to see someone else who listens to real music.”
You shook Eddie's hand, smiling and introducing yourself. Eddie's smile matched yours and it just made Steve want to wipe the smugness off his face.
“Whatcha’ got in there?” Eddie's head tipped to look inside the box you held.
“Oh! Some tapes I got from New York this past week, some punk and youth crew stuff, you ever been to shows there?” You asked him.
Eddie's curls shook with his head, “been meaning to.”
You met his eyes, “I can always show you around if you want.”
“I’d love that.”
God, Steve was going to throw up.
Some other words were exchanged, Robin cut in and asked about your trip, Eddie asked about “real” music, again. Steve just stood there like an idiot, swaying on his feet. Mostly because he genuinely did feel like he was going to hurl. His vision fuzzed and his head spun, that loud and annoying ring that had been plaguing his ears for over a year now kicked in.
Then suddenly Steve was in your booth, the warm room with the familiar copy and paste flyers that covered your wall. Steve doesn’t really remember moving his feet to get here, but he was.
“Steve?” Your voice muffled behind the ringing, but he heard you enough to snap out of his daze. “Are your ears and head doing that thing again?”
Steve's mouth felt dry, “Yeah, the ringing.”
You stood only a few feet from him now, leaning against your desk while Robin and Eddie rummaged through your records. It was just you and him now.
“I told you to go to the doctor for that,” you told him. Looking him up and down and checking for any other concerning signs.
“It’s fine. I’m fine, really.” Steve said, not to worry you, despite the vertigo still possessing him most days.
“You’re so stubborn, Steve.” You mumbled, bending over to search through a messy junk drawer.
Your booth was a stark contrast to rockin robins. It was messy, records and tapes stacked everywhere. Your clothes and belongings were scattered around like you lived here, which was partly true. A few instruments leaned up against furniture. It was comfy and warm, paper flyers and posters covered every inch, and overlapped each other. You had been here for many more years than Steve and Robin had, so of course it was more lived in.
Steve watched your hands switch from a second drawer, brows adorably furrowed together, not even realizing he was smiling at the sight. You found what you were looking for, turning back to Steve, “You should start wearing these when your ears ring, or just go to the doctor as I told you.”
You held out two earbuds in your palm, “I wear them at shows, I switched out the rubber part so—no cooties.” You laugh to yourself before dropping them in Steve’s hand. “They're expensive ones, so don’t lose them or I’ll kill your entire family”
“Thanks.” He croaked, vision still hazy. He liked the dimness of your space. Steve brought the buds up, trying to shove them into his ear canal. Yet, he was only met with more discomfort, already in a bad mood, his face only grew more sour.
And you noticed. Of course you did. Tipping on your toes to check his ears, laughing to yourself. It brought Steve's mind back down to earth a little.
“Hey, you got 'em’ upside down.” You spoke gently, brushing his hair from his face and adjusting the buds to fit comfortably. Relief washed over him and his body was incredibly warm from your sudden closeness.
Steve just hoped you didn’t notice the tips of his ears growing hot pink.
“Better?” You asked, the ringing stopped and he could only comfortably hear you. No background noise. Steve could seriously get used to this.
(Steve definitely couldn’t hear Eddie and Robin in the corner, watching the interaction from afar with a teasing giggle on their lips.)
“Better.” He forced out a thin-lipped smile, you deserved better than that but his brain was still a little fuzzy.
You hesitated for a moment, watching over the brown haired boy attentively. Before you awkwardly gave him a pat on the back, rubbing the red sweater-covered shoulder for a moment before parting from Steve. Cold. Steve’s head fell to the floor when you turned your back to go join whatever the other two were doing.
You were unfortunately too quick to fall into mindless chatter with Eddie, you two conversed about music genres and instruments that Steve had no clue about. Not a single guess. Even Robin had half the mind to know what you were talking about. And Steve had never felt more out of the loop. Biting his cheek and standing awkwardly off to the side, god, why was he even here?
Steve felt pathetic, grasping at straws for your attention around Eddie was going to just push him further in the friend-zone that—in full honesty—he never had a chance to climb out of.
Despite, being in your own world. Every few minutes when Eddie had his head held back laughing at something funny you said. Your eyes would find Steve instead, an unspoken expression of worry, one Steve could only see at pity.
“Would you wanna go out tonight? Theirs a dive bar uptown called the Hideout, you been?” Eddie asked you, catching your attention once more from Steve’s pitiful state.
Your face scrunched up, “That place where all the washed-up drunk old heads hang out at?”
“Okay, it’s not appealing, but my band plays there now and then. Just a few hours, maybe a few drinks?”
Steve's ears started ringing again, the more Eddie spoke the more it sounded like he was asking you on a date right in front of him and Robin. Real subtle, real classy Eddie Munson.
What made it even worse is that you said yes.
“I don’t drink, but I’ll hang for a little. I got a curfew of 9:15 though, gotta get back here for the show.” You beamed, overjoyed by the offer. Steve's knuckles went white, and that same dizziness took over.
So he excused himself to the Rockin’ Robin booth.
-
Steve bit his cheek hard. Lips swollen and bleeding from picking at them. His eyes glanced at the clock ticking again. Foot bouncing.
Steve didn’t really have life outside of work, or the chaos of the children that followed him like a cult. So despite Rockin'Robin's radio time being over multiple hours ago, he still chooses to laze around off the clock. Better than the ghost of a home he lives in now.
Check the clock again, it was 8:47. You were probably still out on your date with Eddie. Telling him his eyes and curly hair are pretty or probably sucking face in that dive bar after talking about how good his band sounds. It was gonna drive Steve to insanity.
Steve checks the clock again.
“Oh my god, will you spit it out?” Robin yelled.
“What?”
Robin dropped her pen on her notebook, turning her head to glare at Steve from her place on the couch. “I can hear you thinking yourself into a hole, much less the way you’re acting like you’re going through withdrawal from her.”
Steve mentions your name, slipping from his tongue without thought like a prayer.
“I knew it.” Robin shook her head proudly, just satisfied to figure out the main issues of Steve’s worries. “You’re jealous.”
“What?” Steve choked out, offended at the accusation coming from his best friend. “Why on earth would I be jealous of her being on a date with Eddie right now?”
“Oh my god!” Robin sprang from her couch, almost excited. “Is this room filled with truth serum?”
“Besides the point, I’m not jealous.” Steve shook his head, as if the motion would convince himself, slumping further in his chair.
“Okay well—besides the point—you have no reason to, by the way,” Robin adds.
“Why’s that?” Steve asks quickly, completely throwing out the I’m not jealous “ act. “Are they not, you know, on a date?”
“Steve.”
“What?”
Robin felt fuzzy with this oblivious straight male in front of her, feeling the exact way she felt in that mall bathroom high out of her mind on Russian torture drugs.
A part of her wanted to keep Eddie's secret under wraps, it wasn’t necessarily a promise and Steve had done more than enough to keep up his promise with her.
So she bit the bullet to spare Steve’s misery.
“Eddie is very gay,” Robin whispers.
“Oh.”
The Déjà vu hit them both like a freight train. Steve shook off the feeling.
“Okay, well, hypothetically.” Steve started, trying to keep his eyes away from Robin’s intense stare.
“Sure, hypothetically.”
“Hypothetically, if Eddie wasn’t gay, you know, he’d be the type of guy she'd go after, right?”
Robin rolled her eyes, not even believing this conversation could have possibly become this juvenile. “I don’t know, maybe you can ask her?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you look at her with googly eyes.” Robin threw it out there. No hypothetical.
“I do not!” Steve defended.
“Yes. Yes, you do!” Robin yells, “It’s honestly insufferable sometimes!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Steve, I’m going to throw this chair at your head.”
Steve sighed heavily, running his head through his hair, contemplating letting Robin throw the chair at him to just take him out of his misery.
“Either way, if I did look at her with googly eyes, or whatever you said, it doesn’t matter,” Steve said, with little fight left in him. Which was unusual for Steve Harrington and it ached Robin’s heart
“Why not?”
Steve opens his mouth to speak, but only a croak is heard. Looking around at his surroundings and hoping a message would just pop up for him on what to do, what to say, and how to feel.
“I like her a lot, Robin. But I’m not what she wants and-and that’s okay! I’m not gonna try to be the person she wants so I’ll just be around for when she needs someone… like me.”
“You’re so self-deprecating, it’s going to kill you,” Robin mutters into her hands, frustration evident on her face. “What do you mean you are not what she wants? Did you ask her?”
“No, but I mean, I can assume,” Steve spoke with a laugh lingering on his words, self-deprecating, as Robin said. Confused by the obvious in front of him.
“Assume what?” Robin asked.
“Look at me, Robin!” Steve motions to himself, from the top of his head to his worn-down Nikes. “I’m ex High School royalty, mind you, a piece of shit High School royalty. Who also fell off before graduation, that is like the exact opposite of who she would be attracted to.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna throw this chair at you.” Robin huffs, pacing now. Stressed out from Steve’s own stupidity. “You graduated what? Over two years ago? And you are still using High School politics to define your life?— Oh my god, that little shithead was so right.”
“Dustin?—Hey, no, no, he is not. Don't say that.” Steve shook his head wildly, offended.
“Uh-huh, yes, he is.” Robin nodded aggressively in response. “Either way, have you stopped to notice that she didn’t know you in high school? And that you have also changed a lot since the whole ‘King Steve’ era”
Steve went silent, not really taking a moment to remember that. God, he was so self-absorbed. You weren’t even in his and Robin’s grade to witness the peak of his assholery that constantly haunts him, that was his constant reminder to be better every day.
“So yeah, Dustin is right.”
“Well, you don’t have to add that in to make me feel like shit,” Steve mumbled, arms crossed and practically pouting.
“Stop putting yourself in a box and stereotyping your girlfriend. Just talk to her.”
“She not—“
“Steve.”
“Whatever, I’ll talk to her.” Steve mentioned, “But, what do I even say?”
“How many times have you hit your head—actually don’t answer that. Do what you would usually do with a girl, confess! Ask her out!”
“I haven’t successfully asked a girl out since junior year. My charm is dead.” Steve said, A slight panic is rising. Understanding now he’s actually confronting his infatuation with you, never having talked about it out loud. Robin fell into this information like it was a known fact already and Steve tried not to dwell on that too long.
“You’ll think of something, Harrington,” Robin said, giving him a small pat on the back and walking away from the conversation. Leaving him alone right when his panic set in. No advice. No support.
Steve was fucked now, especially when his brain decided to rely on Robin Buckley for dating advice.
Then, he heard the door slam closed, truly leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.
He could just ask you out, but the embarrassment of you rejecting him and thinking he’s weird would be worse than having to witness you dating Eddie Munson. Maybe.
Steve could test the waters with you, throw out some cheeky compliments, and make a request to hang out on one more. See how you take that and go from there. Steve thinks, every time he's done that he’s fallen more into the friend zone. His pride was too defeated for that route.
The ringing was back and his head started to pound. Steve’s hazy eyes found the clock again. That special time he found himself looking forward to, maybe something would come to him.
9:30
With a heavy sigh and even heavier shoulders, Steve walked himself to the radio booth and switched to your channel. Getting comfortable in his seat to mull over how he can get you to fall for him despite everything.
The soft wine of a guitar rang through, “hello my night owls, this is Waiting Room radio with your host, back from her treacherous journey to the big apple for that oh-so anticipated Youth of Today show… I brought back some souvenirs and it’s not just the Sharpie stains on my fist… here is “Take a Stand” by Youth of Today”
Steve didn’t love some of the music you listened to. It was angry and fast-paced and messy. Yet for some reason, he tunes in most nights that you are live, even if it’s just to hear your smooth voice introduce yourself and the music. It was enough.
-
It had been a few hours of busying himself at the station enough so that thoughts didn’t protrude into his mind. It was getting late and your radio time had ended a while ago, a yawn escaped him and Steve decided it was better to leave now before getting too sleepy to drive. He’s crashed on the stuff couch too many nights recently and his aching back was evidence of it.
Steve knew he’d be back tomorrow, not caring enough to be thorough with packing his stuff up before he headed through the hallway and out the door.
He kept his eyes to his feet until they passed your studio, his gaze betraying him as he glanced at your door and the dark-tinted windows. Steve’s sneakers squeaked on the tile when he noticed the lights still on, the outline of you still lingering.
Which wasn’t unusual, common actually. You spent a lot of overnights here abusing the radio system and coffee machine. Steve only knew this because he found hanging out with you on your overnights was a good excuse not to go back to his ghost of a home.
It was the start of this friendship between the two of you, despite the differences in background. He didn’t meet you through fighting monsters or cracking Russian code, no trauma bonding through bruised eyes and drugs.
You just saw Steve for more than his family or reputation, he didn’t really understand how and why you spared him your time and care. But it was something he had to learn to appreciate and—obviously after some reflection and confrontation with Robin—to even notice.
Steve's body and feet betrayed him as he stood inches from your door, hand held high and knocking. It was only a few moments before you were standing before him, sweatpants and band t-shirts that looked a few sizes too small and hugged in the right places.
“Late night?” You asked him, unsuspecting, just open.
Steve nodded, “You too?”
“Always.” You grinned, “wanna come in and hang? Or are you gonna try to pester me to go home?”
Despite his worry and anxiety, a smile grew on his face that he couldn’t fight, “not tonight. and yes, I’m all yours.” Steve slid into your space, the flirt escaping his lips before he could realize.
Maybe something about confronting his feelings made it more real. In his hands. Attainable. Steve could only dream.
You found your chair as usual, and Steve moved a cart of records to the floor and sat on your couch-part-time-bed. It looked like you were in the middle of organizing with papers and tapes spread out everywhere in front of you. And you didn’t stop even with Steve’s present in the room.
Steve always liked that he could just live in your space, you never expected anything from him. Just a steady breath and sometimes an opinion of a flyer you’d drawn up.
“How was your date with Eddie?” The words slipped from his mouth before he could realize where his brain was.
Your face instantly scrunched up, almost a look of embarrassment painted on you. Yet, you still scoffed at Steve’s question, “That was the farthest thing from a date ever.”
“It go bad?” Steve asked, no usual sarcastic, just honest.
“Uh, yeah. Well, no—um, I don’t think it was a date to begin with anyways… but I hung out for a little, Eddie's scene is all very nice just… not my usual crowd.”
“Really?” Steve genuinely sounded surprised, finding himself getting more comfortable on your couch as he gazed at you. “You and Eddie seem pretty similar though, like your type. Thought that would go well?”
Steve tried not to let his bitterness linger in his words. You had teased him for his attitude problem before. But you just smiled at him, for no real reason, but you did. “I’m sure Eddie and I will be good friends, but there is a difference between punk and metal.”
Steve could ask about it, never understanding anything about music politics and the differences from what. More often than not he’d ask and barely comprehend much, sometimes he just needed an excuse to listen to you talk or have you look him in the eyes. Steve was just silent tonight.
“And Eddie…” you trailed off, laughing, “…definitely not my type.”
“You got some New York guys that are more your type?” Steve said, his brain too tired to even filter his words. Bitterness wasn’t even laced in his speech anymore, but defeat. Steve didn’t even want to know yet, but he still asked. Bracing for the information that’s only going to kick him further down.
“Steve.” You breathed out, your usual voice thrown away. Replaced with something new, a tone Steve never heard from you, he wasn’t even sure how to describe it.
“What? Do you not have a type? Are you one of those girls who don’t have a type, ya know, that kinda just…” Steve couldn’t stop the word vomit. Curse this comforting feeling that has grown too impossibly strong—built on late nights yearning to not be anywhere but here in this studio, to not be anywhere but with each other. Steve’s chest ached and he just couldn’t shut up. “..just think they don’t have a type but then they go after the same kind of person that’s just like them, they just won't admit it.”
“Steve.” You laughed, amused by the spill of utter nonsense leaving him. The self-inflicted and honestly ridiculous madness he’s driving himself into. “What’s gotten into you?”
He felt like a kid again. Lips pouting and shrugging his shoulders, mumbling a barely audible, “I dunno.”
You almost gave him a wary look, turning away and avoiding his gaze to busy yourself with anything else. Goddamit. Robin was so wrong and Steve was so going to wring her neck tomorrow.
“Where’s the sudden interest come from? Trying to set me up on a date, Harrington?” You teased.
Steve scoffed.
“That's funny?”
“No, it’s—it’s just, no, it’s nothing.” Steve shook his head, you still couldn’t look at him.
It was silent for a while.
The tension in the room grew heavy all of a sudden, awkward. Any of you could have left at any point, Steve could have excused himself home. You could have gotten up and explained how late it was getting and kicked him out.
But you both stayed put, sitting in the heavy air.
“I have an unfortunate history of falling for jocks, ya know, the boy next door type.” You said, a peace offering that Steve didn’t really deserve disguised as information.
“Unfortunate?” Steve spoke softly, turning his head to try and chase your face that still stayed turned away.
You laughed, it was cut short and self-deprecating, “I’m always chasing after boys that would never spare me a glance, it sucks but, I can’t fake attraction.” You sighed deeply, dragging out a confession that weighed you down sore and tired. “So I just stopped, no point in trying, right?”
Finally, you turned to him.
“Right.” He whispered to himself, an almost silent agreement as his brain went haywire. Sweaty fingers fiddling around themselves in his lap. Because, yeah, you are right. Steve looked at you and understood.
He swallowed down his pride, a ball of hope replacing it. “What if you did try, just one more time?”
The weight in the room was unbearable, you'd have better luck cutting the tension between the two bodies with a knife. A slow realization played on your face, you might as well be half scared, a buzz rising up your back. An unspoken understanding.
“Steve…” you said his name again, not followed by a giggle or snarky comment. It was barely above a whisper, your breath suddenly stolen from you.
“Would that be so bad?”
Your eyes found his, trailing up from where he slumped into your couch. His shirt bunched up in awkward places, the constellations of moles painted his neck and face, and the unruly brown hair from the day’s activities. Full of boyish charm and hesitant courage. You wanted to melt into him.
“I guess not…” You said, watching Steve finally move. Stepping up from his seat and closer to you, with every step closer your heart pounded, brushing your chest. Barely a foot stood between you, despite how the world seemed to be in slow motion, Steve wasn’t stopping. He couldn’t even if he tried. “Steve?”
Steve Harrington was going to die right here in Studio C of the Hawkins WSQK Squawk building if you kept up the way you were looking at him now. You are still sitting pretty in your chair, as he towered over you, a man possessed. Your eyes were wide, pupils dilated with hope. Just staring, searching.
“You gotta give me a chance or I’ll just embarrass myself.” He said, not even realizing his hand was rising to your face. Ghosting against your cheek, then you leaned in slightly, it was enough for Steve to finally cradle your soft skin. “Come on, just one chance.”
That tense rubber band that stretched thin between you two snapped, you were breathless.
“I’ll give you as many chances as you need, Harrington.”
It was a final spell of a confession before you rose quickly, almost dizzy. Finding Steve’s lips like it was second nature, he had stayed cradling you, guiding you once his body caught up with yours. It was electric, two buzzing bodies finally connecting. Leaning, melting. Both your hands grasp at each other's faces and necks, your fingers twisting in the strains of hair on the nape of his neck.
Steve swears he must have slipped and fallen in the hallway, died, and gone to heaven. Your lips parted for him and he didn’t think twice before swiping a lick in between your lips, he didn’t realize how hungry he was for you until now, maybe he could have guessed this feeling was incoming when he got a migraine thinking of you doing this with the metalhead.
But you weren't.
No, you were in Steve Harrington's arms after months of late nights in this studio. After being his sole escape from this whole fucked up world. ‘Cause Steve didn’t need to know these walls were soundproof to know everything went quiet when he was with you. You were the peace that settled after the dust, you were warm. You were the smell of nostalgia and lavender, cotton and sugar. You tasted like it, too.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” Steve parted from you, an audible click of your spit-covered lips, he felt breathless, wild. “That you don’t want this, you don’t want me, that I could never do it for you.”
It almost pained you to think Steve could ever believe that. “God—Steve, you are so, so fucking wrong.”
Steve literally shuddered, like a spike of cold air had run up his spine. But it was just you, grasping him and knocking him down all at once. You leaned back a few steps, leaning against the corner of the soundboard. Steve followed, kissing you again like you were his oxygen. Needy. Hungry. Pushing his body against yours, caging you in.
All Steve wanted was to be closer, because his tongue in your mouth wasn’t enough. His hands roamed and his knee slotted in between your legs. Pushing against your core, pulling a sweet, surprising sound from you. Vibrating his lips that lit a fire inside of him.
“Want you, Steve.” You breathed, “always have.”
“Yeah?” Steve couldn’t believe this, after silently and hopelessly pining for you. For it all to come to this so suddenly. “Tell me.”
You kissed him, pulling away just as quickly as you leaned in. “When I first met you, you and your stupid—,” you kissed him again, “messy hair and your.” Another kiss. “Charm that made me feel dizzy.” Kiss. “Your stupid blue jeans that fit too well and” another breathless kiss. “Your smile, these pouty lips-“ kiss. You kept your eyes on him now, “and the way you care for people when they aren’t watching.”
“Sweetheart..” The name left his lips like a prayer.
“Since the beginning I wanted you, I didn’t know how obvious I could make it… so I just assumed you weren’t into it… into me.”
Steve’s finger rubbed your cheek, he tried not to get too lost in your eyes, “Robin says I give you googly eyes.”
Your face scrunched up, “I used to think you were looking at me funny.”
“What?” Steve's face dropped at the information, like he was personally offended by your words. “No, oh my god, no, never.”
“Really?” You asked, unbelieving.
Steve didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. Only smiling at you, all giddy and full of nerves like a boy during his first kiss. Steve's hands held you steady as he brought you in closer.
Your legs intertwined as you leaned farther into the soundboard behind you, Steve’s leg slid up further, nudging in between your legs. A heat rose up you quickly, Steve’s hands still roaming further down, holding gently on your neck.
Maybe you leaned down first, or Steve's leg hitched up, you weren’t sure who moved first. But Steve's knee had pushed up enough to send a shiver up your spine, a surprised gasp of pleasure running from your mouth. You felt Steve smirk against your lips, kissing down your jaw and neck.
Then he did it again, rubbing his thigh against your sweatpants-covered core, the sweet spot that kept pulling sweeter sounds from you he had only dreamt of hearing.
“Steve..” you whined, lips brushing his messy head of hair as he found that ticklish spot under your ear.
“Yeah? ‘That feel good?” He mumbled against your skin, vibrations down to your thighs. “Just tell me to stop if that’s what you want, hmm?”
Steve hesitated for a moment to wait for your response, hands hovering above your waist.
“Keep going,” you ached for him. And Steve obliged, because he’s realizing he'd do anything for you. Absolutely ruined. And he was going to return the favor.
Steve’s finger found the skin underneath the hem of your tiny, tiny t-shirt. Spreading his grasp across your hips and stomach, wanting nothing but to feel you more. Pulling you into him, against him. Drawing more sounds from you.
You ached, you squirmed under his hold. Feeling the giddiness radiating off the boy like sunshine. Your hips bucked against his thigh, and an overly intense sensation struck you.
“Come on, sweet girl.” Steve cooed, and you practically melted into him. “Let me hear you, I always wanna hear ya’”
Steve's hands pulled you down again, guiding your hips to cross the larger part of his thigh, pushing you to slowly drag your covered and aching clit onto him. Giving you that permission to let yourself use him to feel good, to keep making noise. Steve wanted to drown in it.
“Mhmm,” you wined, a hitch in your throat as you kept moving your hips, Steve's hands practically doing all the work. “Ah—Steve, oh my—“
Steve swallowed your moans with another kiss, letting his hand reach further down, toying with the elastic waistband around your lower lips.
He needed you more than oxygen. Closer. “Keep going?” He said against your lips, pausing at your pants, because a part of him still felt like this was a dream, a sick joke. That you in his arms, literally aching for him, could never be real.
You nodded, pulling at his neck. Shifting your hips higher and Steve moved with you, one hand pushing past your pants and the other bracing hushed behind you.
With the make-out frenzy, both of you far out of mind, Steve's hand slips on some switch, some button, who knows. The loud noise or high-pitched guitar and fast-paced drums made you both jump, literally. You even yelped.
“Ah, fuck.” You scrambled to move off of Steve, the sudden departure from your body made him feel cold, but it was more than enough to watch you completely flustered and seemingly forgetting how to work your whole system. “Goddamnit, shut up!”
Steve was laughing, and by the time the shouting from your speaker turned off. You were too. Still practically on top of each other, you had turned back from pausing the disruption.
“Sorry…” Steve apologized with a boyish, lopsided smile. His hair a wild mess after what your hands did to him. His eyes wild, possessed by lust and darting to your every inch, he just wanted to soak in the sight of you and everything more.
You shared a look, and you both laughed. Steve's head falls into your chest, as you knock your head back to let out more giggles. Because, of course the exact makeout sesh you’d been yearning for would take place here, where you’d always imagined, just to be interrupted by an accidental switch on the soundboard. It was ridiculous, you couldn’t help but laugh, it was everything you’d ever wanted these past few months.
Steve's shoulders shook with joy, until you pulled him back up to face you. His irises were dilated and shining at the sight of you, satisfaction pained him.
“You wanna keep this going where Ian McKaye can’t interrupt us.” You asked, a slight bite to your lip after you looked down and still found yourself slotted into him. Like a perfect puzzle piece.
“I don’t even know who that is but, yes.” Steve grabbed you suddenly, taking you somewhere, anyway, you didn’t care. “Oh my god—yes, please.”
𝜗ৎ 𝓣UTORED, 𝓣OYED, & 𝓣OTALLY 𝓕UCKED !
𝜗ৎ┊pairings: camgirl!reader x select jjk men [college au]
❝ you join a discord study group to pass stats and accidentally discover it’s a porn server dedicated entirely to you—your tiktoks, your voice, your body, and the way you moan. anonymous classmates, TAs, and even faculty tip, dare, and compete for your attention, blurring the line between studying and being watched. you should leave… but the money’s good, the sex is better, and everyone on campus wants extra credit. ❞
𝜗ৎ┊warnings: 18+, smut/p with plot, chars unknown, voyeurism/exhibitionism, public play (lecture, library, etc), recording (consensual & anonymous), reader is desired by many, possessiveness/obsession kink, anonymous sex, casual objectification/slut talk, crack plot + chaos, mild stalking vibes (e.g., reader’s schedule being tracked), slut-positive, shame-negative tone.
𝜗ৎ┊kassie's note: first series kinda nervy </3
❑ PROLOGUE :: welcome to studybuddiez!
chapters tba!
taglist is open! leave me a comment if you're interested <3
virgin reader giving robert a handjob?
you’re a little clumsy, but you have the spirit. pressing messy kisses to his lips, fingers fumbling for his belt, swallowing hard when he’s finally bare in front of you.
“here, let me show you what feels good,” robert whispers, pulling you towards him. you’re practically sitting in his lap, and the position is laughably awkward, but he doesn’t mind.
his breathing hitches when your unsure fingers wrap around his cock, head falling back slightly. “is that good?” you’re biting your lip, eyes flickering between robert’s flushed face and where your fingers press against his length, and robert has the sudden urge to kiss you.
“y-yeah.” his throat is suddenly too dry, so he clears his throat and tries again. “try moving your hand up and down.” you do, and robert has to swallow back another moan, hips twitching up because he’s suddenly this close to coming, just from your touch.
“good, that’s—you’re doing so good, baby,” he pants, grasping for the back of your neck to kiss you, feeling so fucking elated when you whimper against his lips. your movements are sloppy, and you’re stroking him just a hair of being too tight, but he could care less.
he wants to fuck you properly, but then your finger brushes against his tip, and that knot in his stomach unravels.
“shit—wait—“
but you twist your wrist again, thumb rubbing clumsily against his slit, and robert is coming. gasping against your shoulder while you clutch him tight, still stroking him but stopping when his whines take on a particularly overstimulated tone.
it takes a few minutes for him to catch his breath, but when he does, robert kisses you, nipping at your jaw just to hear the whine you make. “your turn, sweetheart.”
bimbo!reader and the jjk men being obsessed with parts of her body 😫😫😫😫 nsfw or suggestive if you're comfortable with that!
•●PRETTY GIRLS GET WORSHIPPED●•
── the jjk men are feral for certain (all) parts of bimbo!readers body
୨୧●• satoru ৴ suguru ৴ nanami ৴ choso ৴ takuma ৴ sukuna ৴ toji ৴ shiu
request something ୨୧ navigation ୨୧ smau m.list ୨୧ the bimbo files
୨୧●• warnings: highly suggestive but no actual explicit smut (for now;), 18+ minors do not interact
•●SATORU GOJO●•
you don’t even realize why he’s staring.
you’re just sitting on the edge of his bed in a little skirt. tiny, soft, riding up your thighs every time you shift, legs crossed and uncrossed again like you’re trying to kill him without knowing it.
satoru stands in the doorway, sweaty from training, hair messy, shirt hanging open and breathing harder than he should be.
but it’s not the mission. it’s you. or more specifically, your thighs.
"you’re trying to ruin my night," he says, voice low, closing the door behind him.
you blink, sweet and confused. "i-i’m just sitting…"
he laughs, not kind, not teasing; hungry. "yeah. that’s the problem."
he walks toward you slowly, inevitable, consuming, too big to outrun. when he stops in front of you, he grabs your chin gently but firmly, lifting your face to his.
his eyes are blown, wild. "do you know what got me through today?"
you swallow. "um… coffee?"
his smile turns feral.
"the thought," he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath warms your lips, "of coming home to those thighs."
your breath stutters.
he pushes the hem of your skirt higher with two fingers. "these," he says, voice rougher, long fingers caressing the soft skin of your thighs, "kept me alive."
your cheeks burn. "s-satoru-"
"on that mission," he continues, ignoring the tremor in your voice, "all i could think about was how warm they are. how soft they are. how the inside of them tastes when you’re shaking and trying not to say my name too loud."
your thighs snap together on instinct.
satoru notices, as he always does. he laughs softly, pleased and the tiniest bit cruel.
"oh? that got you shy?" he asks, tilting your chin up more. "after everything you do to me?"
"i-i didn’t mean-"
"didn’t mean what?" he breathes, brushing his knuckles along the inside of your thigh. "didn’t mean to sit here like this? didn’t mean to show me all that soft skin? didn’t mean to tease me with something i’ve been thinking about all damn day?"
your lips part, helpless.
he drops to his knees on the floor, same height as your thighs. like a prayer he whispers daily. (he does).
his hands slide up from your ankles to your knees, slow enough to burn, spreading your legs just an inch, then another.
"you have no idea," he murmurs, "how obsessed i am."
you whisper, "o-obsessed…?"
he kisses just above your knee, not the center, not the inside, close enough to make your breath break. then he looks up at you with a smile that’s almost sinful.
"yeah, baby," he murmurs, "obsessed. like, ‘I wanna lose myself between your thighs until i forget my own name’ obsessed."
your whole body goes hot.
"satoru-"
"i think about them constantly," he continues, voice dropping even lower, "the shape of them… how they clamp around my head when you’re close… how they shake when you’re trying not to fall apart."
your hand flies to his hair, not to pull him closer, just to steady yourself.
he smirks. "mm. that little grab? yeah. that’s what i like."
his hands slide higher, squeezing the flesh of your thighs like he owns every inch.
"you know what else?" he asks, tone darkening. "you walk around all day with these pretty thighs out… and i have to pretend i’m not thinking about how they’d look wrapped around my face."
your breath catches, hard. "s-satoru… we- you-"
"i know."
he spreads your knees another inch. "we’re not doing anything…" the grin he gives you is wicked. "…yet."
your heart slams.
he leans in, lips hovering a whisper above your inner thigh, not touching, but close enough that you feel the ghost of his breath.
"you make the sweetest sounds when i touch you here," he whispers. "do you know that?"
you shake your head, dazed.
he laughs. "you do. you moan without realizing. you whimper when my hands get a little higher."
his thumb brushes the crease where your thigh meets your hip, feather light, torturous.
"and you scream," he finishes softly, "when i hold you open and tell you to."
your thighs tremble.
he watches them with genuine delight.
"god, you’re adorable," he purrs, squeezing harder, marking you with his fingers. "you know how many times i thought about this today?"
you whisper, "how… how many?"
he kisses your thigh again, higher, slower."every. damn. minute."
your legs shudder around him and he exhales shakily.
"yeah," he murmurs, "that’s the reaction. that’s what i came home for."
he presses his cheek against your thigh like he’s settling into the place he belongs.
"open a little more," he whispers. "let me look at what kept me sane today."
you do, slowly and shaking.
and the way he breathes, low, reverent, starving, says exactly what he wants without him needing to say it.
"good girl," he whispers, voice shaking with hunger he’s barely controlling. "don’t move."
•●SUGURU GETO●•
you’re doing nothing special.
just sitting on the floor of suguru’s living room, legs folded beneath you, hair clipped back with something sparkly and childish, flipping through a magazine like time moves slower for you than everyone else.
your lip gloss is fresh, though.
and your lips keep parting in these absent little pouts as you read… and suguru can’t breathe.
he’s pretending to organize books he already organized twice, but every time you purse your lips to blow a strand of hair away or drag them together to spread the gloss, his spine tightens.
"sugu?" you ask, still flipping pages, not seeing the way his eyes darken. "do you like this color? it’s, um… strawberry sugar sparkle."
you lean in to show him.
your lips shimmer.
he forgets what air is.
"yeah," he says, voice low, "i like it."
you blink. "really? i thought maybe it’s too shiny-"
his gaze drops to your mouth again.
slowly.
hungrily.
"no," he murmurs, taking the magazine out of your hands before you realise he’s moved closer, "it’s perfect."
his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth. you freeze, cheeks warming.
"you had gloss there," he lies gently.
"oh," you whisper, breath warming his finger, "thanks…"
your tongue flicks out to wet your lip and he makes a sound you’ve never heard before, half gasp, half groan.
"don’t do that."
you tilt your head. "do what?"
he laughs under his breath, strained and dark.
"that," he says, eyes heavy lidded. "you have no idea what you do when you lick your lips like that."
you pout instinctively, gloss shining.
absolutely ruining him.
"i didn’t mean to," you say.
"i know," he breathes, leaning closer until your knees touch, "that’s the problem."
his fingers slide up your jaw, lifting your face toward his.
"come here."
you always listen. you crawl closer, soft and trusting, settling between his legs on the floor. his thumbs cradle your cheeks, stroking the plush curve of your lower lip.
your breath trembles.
"suguru… you’re staring."
"i know."
"why…?"
his eyes darken, warm and hungry all at once.
"because your lips are unfair," he murmurs. "soft and sweet and always shiny and always… inviting."
your heart jumps.
"inviting… who?"
his smile is slow, sinful, tender.
"me."
your fingers curl into his shirt.
"open for me," he whispers.
you do.
instantly, sweetly, without hesitation. and he slides his finger between your lips.
slow.
testing.
careful like he’s touching something sacred.
your mouth closes around him without thought, gloss smearing across his knuckle as you suck gently.
suguru’s breath breaks.
"sweet girl…" he whispers, voice shaking, "don’t do that unless you want me to lose every bit of control i have."
your tongue brushes him.
his other hand tightens on your thigh and his jaw flexes hard enough to hurt.
he pulls his finger out slowly, shining with your gloss and spit, and presses his forehead to your cheek like he needs a second to stay sane.
"you’re going to be the end of me," he murmurs.
you tremble.
"suguru…"
he lifts your chin and pulls you into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your thighs fall around him, settling flush against his hips.
your lips hover inches from his, wet, glossy, soft, and swollen from his touch.
nothing touches, not yet. but the air between you grows hot and tight.
his voice drops lower. "if i kiss you now," he says, thumb dragging across your lip again, "i won’t stop."
your breath hitches.
your thighs squeeze around him.
your fingers clutch his shirt.
he smiles, slow and dark.
"later," he whispers, brushing his nose against yours, "i’ll show you exactly what that little mouth does to me."
•●KENTO NANAMI●•
you don’t usually visit nanami while he’s working. not because he minds, he likes when you show up unexpectedly, but because you always get lost or distracted or stop to look at something shiny.
yet today, you walk straight into his office with purpose, soft steps echoing across the room.
he looks up from his paperwork.
and freezes.
your sweater… is falling off one shoulder.
your hair… is tucked behind your ear on the other side.
your neck… is exposed.
and the fading evidence of him is right there.
marks he left days ago, the ones he worried were too much, the ones he kissed after, apologizing even though you told him you liked it- they’re almost gone.
and you’re showing them to him like a gift.
nanami reaches up to remove his glasses, the gesture slow, deliberate, betrayed by the way his hand isn’t entirely steady.
"you came to see me," he says, voice quieter than usual.
you brighten instantly, leaning on his desk in a way that makes your neckline slip even lower.
"mmhm," you hum, tapping a finger over the fading marks. "i wanted to show you something."
his breath catches.
you tilt your head and brush your hair aside, revealing every inch of skin he once claimed.
"look," you whisper. "they’re going away."
nanami closes the file he was reading, slowly, like if he moves too fast he’ll lose control.
"i see," he murmurs, staring far too long at your neck for someone trying to be professional. "they faded quicker than i expected."
you pout.
actually pout.
"i didn’t want them to."
something in his composure splinters.
he stands before he means to, pushing his chair back, stepping around the desk until he’s standing inches from you. his hand lifts, hesitates, then touches your chin with an unbearable gentleness.
"you really shouldn’t come here looking like this," he says quietly, leaning just close enough for you to feel the warm brush of his breath.
"why not?" you blink up at him, confused and sweet.
nanami’s eyes darken.
"because i can’t be responsible for what happens next."
your pulse jumps, he feels it beneath his thumb. you tilt your head, shy but inviting.
"kento… will you make more…?"
his control snaps, but not wildly. not greedily. slowly, inevitably. like he’s giving in to something he never stood a chance against.
his hand slides to the side of your neck, fingers barely curled, touch so careful you almost whimper.
"come here," he breathes.
you step into him without thought.
and nanami bends his head, lips brushing your neck in a kiss so soft it aches.
you gasp, fingers clutching his tie.
he exhales shakily against your skin.
"i should not be doing this in my office," he murmurs, but his mouth finds you again, lower now, warmer, lingering in the place where your pulse flutters.
you melt completely.
"k-kento…"
the sound of your voice breaks something in him. he presses a firmer kiss to your neck, then another, marking you with slow, deliberate heat that spreads through you like sugar dissolving in warm tea.
your knees wobble.
nanami steadies you instantly with a hand at your back, still not touching anywhere else, still impressively disciplined despite the hunger in his breath.
he kisses the base of your neck, letting his lips linger there.
"you came here to tempt me," he whispers.
you shake your head, too dazed to speak right away. "i just… wanted you to see…"
he hums against your skin.
"i see everything," he answers.
he sucks a new mark into your neck, slow, warm, claiming in the quietest way possible.
"is this what you wanted?" he asks softly.
you nod, breathless.
he kisses higher, lips brushing your ear.
"good," he murmurs, voice roughening, "because i’m not finished."
•●CHOSO KAMO●•
choso has never cared about hands before.
never thought about them, never noticed them, never looked twice at anyone’s fingers or nails or the way they moved. nothing about that ever mattered.
until you.
until the first time he saw you tapping your glossy nails against your phone case, absent and dreamy, little sparkles catching the light with every tiny movement and something in his chest clenched so sharply he mistook it for pain.
now he can’t stop staring.
you’re sitting on his futon, cross legged, humming as you show him your latest nail set. soft pink, little gems, delicate bows on your thumbs, holding your hands out for him to see like it’s nothing.
like it isn’t ruining him.
"they’re cute, right?" you ask, voice light. "the girl who did them said they’re, like… super girly."
super girly.
yeah.
that’s one word for it.
choso reaches out slowly, too slowly, taking your hand between his larger ones. your fingers look impossibly small against his palms. your nails glint when he tilts your hand toward the lamp.
"pretty," he murmurs.
you beam. "really? i wasn’t sure if they were too much-"
he shakes his head, thumb brushing over the gem on your index finger. "not too much. never too much on you."
your cheeks warm.
his eyes track the motion of your fingers as you wiggle them happily, brushing lightly against his skin, leaving trails of heat wherever you graze. he inhales, a shaky sound for someone usually so composed.
"choso?" you ask softly. "you okay?"
he nods… but doesn’t let go of your hand.
doesn’t stop tracing your fingers.
doesn’t stop staring at your nails like they were made for him.
"your hands," he says, voice rougher than he intends, "they’re… small."
you blink. "um… thank you?"
his thumb slides over your knuckles, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing them.
"and soft," he adds, swallowing. "too soft."
your breath hitches at the shift in his tone.
"choso…?"
he lifts your hand to his mouth before you can finish, brushing a kiss to the back of it, gentle, warm, almost worshipful.
you gasp quietly.
he exhales against your skin like the shape of your fingers is something he shouldn’t be allowed to touch but can’t stay away from.
"you have no idea what you do with these," he murmurs.
your heart jumps. "with… my hands?"
he nods, lifting your wrist to kiss that too.
"different nails every week… always matching your outfits… always so pretty…" he trails off, eyes darkening by degrees. "and you touch everything like you don’t notice what it does to me."
your thighs squeeze together without you meaning to.
he notices.
of course he does.
choso’s fingers slide between yours, dwarfing your hand entirely, thumb sweeping over the bow on your thumbnail.
"i think about them more than i should," he admits quietly.
you swallow, lips parted. "what do you think about?"
he meets your eyes and heat coils low in your stomach at the look on his face.
"the way they feel on me," he says simply.
your breath catches.
"choso…"
"the way you trail them over my skin without thinking," he continues, voice low enough to shake you, "the way you tap them when you’re nervous… the way you curl them into my shirt when you want attention…"
your chest tightens.
and then his voice drops even lower, dark and warm and honest, "and how good they look…" his thumb lifts your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze.
"…when you’re using them for me."
your entire body heats.
your fingers tighten around his reflexively.
he exhales sharply through his nose, jaw flexing.
"don’t do that," he whispers.
"do what?" you breathe.
"hold me like that," he murmurs, leaning closer, forehead almost touching yours. "you know what it does to me."
his breath fans across your lips.
your nails, all cute pink bows and glossy gems, rest against his chest.
his eyes flick down to them again.
ruined.
completely ruined.
he takes your hand and presses it to his cheek, closing his eyes like he’s savoring the softness.
"i love your hands," he admits, voice barely a rasp.
you swallow. "choso…"
he opens his eyes, dark, fixed on you, nothing restrained left in his expression.
"lie down," he murmurs. "before i stop pretending I have any self-control."
•●TAKUMA INO●•
you sit on his couch, legs tucked under you, humming while you scroll your phone, doing absolutely nothing except being pretty and that’s enough to destroy takuma every single time.
your hair is long today. soft today. shiny today. falling over your shoulder in loose curls that look like they were made specifically to tempt him.
he’s pretending to watch TV.
he’s not watching TV.
he keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eye, pretending he isn’t losing his mind over the way a single curl keeps slipping against your collarbone.
finally, he caves.
"come here," he says, voice too casual to be real.
you crawl over, mindlessly sweet, not noticing the way his breath stutters as your hair bounces with each movement. you sit beside him, and before you can even ask why he called you, his hand is already in your hair.
he twirls a strand around his finger, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the texture.
"you changed it," he murmurs, voice low.
you blink. "changed what?"
"your hair," he says, leaning closer, fingers sliding through it again. "it’s softer."
you smile. "i used that pink bottle you like!"
his throat bobs and his hand fists gently in the back of your hair as if he’s stopping himself from pulling harder.
"yeah," he whispers, "i noticed."
you giggle and lean into his touch without hesitation. "you always play with it. you must really like it."
he laughs, the shaky kind, the kind that means he’s trying very hard to keep himself together.
"you have no idea," he says, brushing your hair over your shoulder, letting it spill across your chest. "you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?"
you tilt your head. "what do i do?"
his eyes darken in a way that makes your cheeks heat instantly.
he toys with the ends of your hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers.
"this right here," he says quietly, "makes me lose my mind."
you blink, clueless and sweet. "my hair?"
"yeah," he breathes, leaning in close enough to feel his breath on your cheek. "the way it falls over your face… the way you play with it when you’re thinking… the way it spreads over my hands when i-"
he stops himself.
your thighs press together.
you whisper, "when you what…?"
takuma exhales hard, fingers sliding deeper into your hair, gathering a handful gently but firmly.
his voice drops. "when I pull it."
your breath catches.
he smiles, slow, nervous, a little crooked, because he knows you felt that.
"takuma…"
"don’t say my name like that," he murmurs, tugging your hair just enough to make you gasp. "i’m hanging on by one thread right now."
you swallow, dizzy. "i… didn’t know you liked it that much."
"sweetheart," he whispers, leaning closer, "i think about it constantly."
your eyes widen.
"a-and i like when you play with it too-" you start, flustered.
"not the same," he interrupts softly, pulling your hair into a loose ponytail just to let it fall again. "you don’t understand what it does to me."
his hand travels to the back of your head again, fingers slipping under the roots.
"if you knew…" he says, tone turning low, confessional, "…how often i imagine these pretty strands wrapped around my fist while you’re on your knees…"
your entire body lights on fire.
"t-takuma-"
"yeah," he whispers, forehead brushing yours, "that’s what drives me crazy. watching your hair bounce when you move. feeling it against my thighs. imagining how it’d look sticking to your cheeks while you look up at me with those big pretty eyes-"
you whimper.
he freezes, only to let out a shaky breath, thumb brushing your lower lip.
"that’s it," he says, voice a warm rasp. "that’s exactly the sound."
his hand tightens in your hair for half a second, enough to make your legs go weak, before he forces himself to let go.
he sits back.
breathing hard.
chest rising.
jaw tight.
eyes molten.
"if i keep going," he says, "i’m gonna forget how to stop."
you lean forward, lips parted, dazed and wanting.
"then… don’t stop."
takuma groans under his breath like you just broke something inside him.
he grabs your hair again, slow, deliberate, hungry.
"careful," he warns softly, "because i’m two seconds away from putting this pretty hair to work."
•●RYOMEN SUKUNA●•
you don’t even notice you’re making noise.
you never do.
that’s what ruins him.
sukuna sits on his throne like futon, legs spread, broad chest bare, tattoos dark against his skin, watching you with that predatory fascination he saves just for you. you’re doing nothing but putting lotion on your legs, soft little hums under your breath, sighs every time your fingers brush your knee.
he pretends he’s bored.
he’s absolutely not bored.
"you’re noisy today," he says lazily, head tilting, eyes glinting like knives.
you blink up at him, doe eyed, utterly unaware of how sweet your voice was a second ago. "i-i wasn’t being noisy…"
"you were," he corrects, lips curling. "you always are."
you pout, confused. "you never complain…"
"why would i complain," he growls, leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, "when your pretty little sounds are the best thing in my entire damn kingdom?"
your breath stutters.
he notices instantly.
your thighs press together.
he notices that too.
in two slow steps he’s in front of you, crouching down, thumb hooking under your chin to tilt your face up toward him.
"there it is," he murmurs, voice low and smug. "that little catch in your throat. the one you make just for me."
you try to look away, shy and flustered, but he grabs your jaw gently, forcing your gaze back to his.
"don’t," he warns softly, "don’t hide from me."
you breathe out a tiny sound, not even a real whimper, barely a breathy exhale, but his fingers tighten.
"that one," he says. "i like that one."
your cheeks burn hot.
"s-sukuna-"
and there it is again. the whisper of his name, soft and trembling. it goes straight to his head.
a slow smirk spreads across his face. "say it again."
you shake your head weakly. "no… you’re teasing me…"
he laughs, deep, cruel, delighted.
"of course i’m teasing you." his thumb brushes your lower lip, dragging it down just enough to make you gasp. "you’re adorable when you get all flustered."
you grab his wrist, trying to steady yourself. "you’re being mean…"
"i’m being patient," he corrects, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "if i were being mean, you’d be screaming already."
your legs nearly give out and sukuna watches your reaction like a starving god watching a sacrifice.
"ahh…" he murmurs, tracing your throat with a single claw tipped finger, not pressing, just caressing. "there’s another one i like. that tiny gulp you make when you’re nervous."
he leans closer, close enough that his breath ghosts over your neck.
"you make the prettiest sounds," he whispers. "you know that?"
you shake your head, too warm, too overwhelmed. "i-i don’t…"
his lips brush your ear.
"yes you do," he growls. "you moan for me. you whimper for me. you say my name like a prayer you don’t know the meaning of." his hand slides to the back of your neck. "and you scream-"
your knees buckle hard.
he catches you instantly, pulling you into his lap like that was always where you were meant to be.
"easy," he murmurs, voice warm but mocking. "getting weak just from my voice?"
"you- you’re doing it on purpose-" you breathe.
"of course i am."
he tilts your chin up again, holding you there like you’re fragile and breakable and his favorite thing to break.
"you’re my woman," he says simply. "your sounds belong to me."
your breathing turns uneven, soft gasps spilling out before you can stop them.
he presses his forehead to yours, eyes half lidded with hunger he’s not hiding at all.
"that’s it…" he whispers. "give me another."
you shake your head.
he smirks.
"fine. i’ll take one."
his hand slides up your spine, slow, careful, devastatingly gentle for someone so monstrous. his thumb grazes that spot just under your ear, the one he discovered by accident and now uses like a weapon.
you gasp. soft, broken, involuntary.
sukuna’s breath shudders.
"there it is," he growls, grip tightening. "my favorite one."
your lips part, another sound caught on the edge of your throat.
he nudges your nose with his, voice dropping to a whisper that feels like a touch.
"give me one more," he murmurs, eyes burning into yours, "and i’ll decide what to do with you next."
the room goes quiet.
your breath trembles.
his smile sharpens.
"go on, princess," he purrs. "i’m waiting."
•●TOJI FUSHIGURO●•
you’re bending over his counter when it starts, not even for a sexy reason, just because you dropped your lip gloss and are trying to reach it without getting on your knees.
toji walks in and stops dead.
absolutely no shame, no hesitation, just outright staring at the curve of your ass sticking out in tight shorts.
"the hell are you doin’?" he asks, voice low and amused.
you pop back up with the gloss in your hand, smiling cluelessly.
"i dropped this! sorry- did i get in the way?"
he stares at you with that expression he always has with you, the one that sits somewhere between hungry and trying not to ruin something too delicate.
"get in the way?" he echoes, stepping behind you. "sweetheart, if you knew what you look like when you bend over in front of me-"
you tilt your head. "what do i look like?"
his palm comes down on your ass in a sharp, perfect smack.
you yelp, stumbling forward.
"like that," he says, grinning as he palms the spot he just smacked, slow and heavy. "fuckin’ perfect."
your heart stutters.
"t-toji-"
he slaps it again, slower this time, fingers spreading, squeezing like he’s testing something he already owns.
"yeah," he mutters, voice dropping, "that’s it. that little jump… i like that."
you try to step away but he pulls you back with a hand at your hip, pressing his chest to your back, large body crowding you effortlessly.
"why’re you runnin’?" he murmurs into your neck. "thought you didn’t mind when i touched you."
you breathe out, "i don’t- i just-"
he grabs a handful of your ass and pulls you flush against him.
"then stop pretending you don’t like it," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear. "you walk around in these tight little shorts… wigglin’ this perfect fuckin’ ass in front of me… and expect me not to touch?"
your knees buckle.
he chuckles, catching you easily, sliding a hand under your thighs to lift you onto the counter like you weigh nothing.
"careful," he tsks. "can’t have my pretty girl fallin’ apart before i even start."
your face burns. "toji…"
he stands between your legs, smirking up at you like the devil got bored and decided to wear sweatpants.
one hand rests on your hip.
the other?
firmly cupping your ass like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
"relax," he says, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper. "i’ve already made it clear this is mine."
"y-yours…?" you squeak.
he leans forward until his lips touch your cheek.
"yeah," he rumbles. "been mine since the first time i saw you walk away. don’t act surprised."
your breath shudders.
his hand slides down, fingertips tracing the bottom curve of your ass, coming dangerously close-
you grab his wrist, trembling.
he laughs softly.
"what?" he frowns playfully. "shy now?"
"you’re- you’re being intense," you whisper.
"baby," he says, gripping your ass tighter, "this is me holdin’ back."
your thighs squeeze around his hips instinctively.
he groans, low, rough, like the sound was punched out of him. "don’t do that unless you want me to lose every bit of control i’ve got."
"i wasn’t- i didn’t mean-"
he kisses your cheek again, slow and hot.
"you never mean to," he whispers. "that’s the problem."
his hand slides up and down the curve again, slow, savoring.
"you have no idea what this ass does to me," he murmurs. "i think about it all the damn time… hittin’ my hands just right… bouncin’ when you walk…"
you make a tiny sound, something between a gasp and a whine.
his voice drops even lower.
"and don’t get me started on what i wanna do when you get on your knees. how good that view is. how good you look with my hand in your hair and my other hand right-"
you slap your hand over his mouth before he says something that melts you into the counter.
his eyes glint with laughter and hunger as he pulls your hand down gently.
"don’t stop me, sweetheart," he murmurs. "you asked."
you swallow.
he spreads your thighs a little, kisses your jaw once, heat spilling through you like a slow burn.
"i’ll behave…" he whispers, lips brushing your skin, "if you sit still."
you don’t move. you can’t.
toji smirks, squeezes your ass one more time, firm, deliberate, claiming, and steps back just enough to look at you, breath heavy.
"good girl."
your stomach flips. "toji…"
"yeah," he says, looking at your thighs, your mouth, then your ass again, "i’m not done. not even close."
•●SHIU KONG●•
shiu sits in his chair like a king, cigarette between his fingers, jacket half off his shoulders, legs spread, expression unreadable except for the faint curl of interest tugging at his mouth.
you stand in front of him wearing almost nothing.
not for him, not exactly. you’re just trying on outfits, holding up a little sheer robe, humming to yourself.
but you keep stepping into the light.
and every time you twist your body, his eyes drop to your waist, to the faint bruised shapes of his fingers, and something darkens behind his calm smile.
he’s watching it move. watching the soft curve, the narrow dip, the way your skin catches the light. you have no idea how much he’s drinking it in.
"turn around," he says.
you blink. "why…?"
"just turn."
you do. slow, soft, hair falling over your shoulder as you face away from him. the robe slips off one arm and pools at your elbow.
he exhales, slow and dangerous, smoke drifting upward as he leans back further in the chair.
"there they are," he murmurs.
you glance back shyly. "my… my marks?"
"my marks," he corrects smoothly. his eyes lower again, fixated. "and my favorite place to see them."
your waist.
bare.
soft.
warm.
perfect height for his hands.
"they’re fading," he adds, studying the shape of you like a craftsman inspecting something he made with intention. "didn’t take. tsk."
you flush. "i… didn’t think you liked them that much."
his jaw flexes, just enough to show he’s not half as calm as he looks.
"sweetheart," he says, tapping ash off the cigarette without looking away from your waist, "i don’t put my hands anywhere i don’t intend to see later."
you swallow.
he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t look away.
and you realise, a little too late, that shiu kong doesn’t stare like a man admiring something beautiful.
he stares like a man identifying territory.
"come closer," he says.
you take a step.
"closer."
another step.
he grabs your wrist when you’re within reach, pulling you down effortlessly so you end up straddling his thigh, naked waist pressed right against him. your breath stutters, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself.
he smirks, slow and cruel.
"look at you," he murmurs. "nothing on… except the marks i left."
your skin burns under his gaze, not shame, but the heavy weight of being seen.
he touches your waist with both hands this time, thumbs brushing the curve, fingers wrapping the sides, holding you still like he’s claiming something fragile and delicate.
"you fit here too well," he mutters, almost annoyed. "like your body was made for my hands."
your breath shakes.
he squeezes gently, pushing in just enough to remind you exactly how large his hands are.
the robe slips further down.
he looks delighted.
"you know what the problem is?" he asks, dragging his thumbs slowly along the dip of your waist, tracing the exact places he bruised you before.
"i like this part of you too much."
your eyes widen. "my… waist?"
"mm," he hums. "this small little thing-" both hands tighten possessively around you "-driving me insane every time you walk by."
he shifts his thigh beneath you, forcing your body to settle lower.
his lips brush your cheek. "you have no idea how distracting it is," he murmurs. "watching your waist sway like that when you move. watching your shirts ride up. watching you stretch in the morning and not even realise what you’re showing."
you make a small sound, something soft and breathy, and his grip immediately tightens. his hands slide up and down your waist again, shaping it, memorizing it, marking it.
he studies the bruises like someone admiring fine art.
then, "stand up."
you do, shaky.
"good girl," he murmurs.
the robe falls away completely.
your waist catches his attention instantly, clean, bare, all soft skin and curve.
shiu drags his gaze down your body, slow, calculating and deliberate, stopping right at the center of you.
and then he says, almost irritably, "come here."
you step closer.
he wraps his hands around your waist again, lifting you onto his thigh with obscene ease.
"this," he says, squeezing just hard enough to leave new prints, "is mine."
your breath hitches.
his eyes darken further.
"and i want everyone to see it."
your stomach flips at the intensity.
he leans back, watching you, thumbs stroking the ridges of your waist like he’s mapping where next to bruise.
"wear something smaller next time," he says. "or nothing. nothing works too."
your lips part.
he chuckles, deep and dangerous.
"go on," he adds, tapping his thigh again. "i want to see how your waist moves when i touch you."
Guys I’m alive I’ll drop a fic soon I’m so sorry everyone I’ve been so busy omg
Hi Hi!! Can i request waterboy x reader that has been on the Z-team for a while but is like, actually nice to him when he joins? And ofc they end up dating and shiz. Can be any format, this is my first request so im sorry if its buns and feel free to ignore! ty!! (Sorry if requesting waterboy is basic)
Not buns at all!!! I’ll be writing this very soon! Hopefully in a couple days!
robert robertson x single mom!reader
You were in the middle of a mission when you received a call from your little girl's school. She has gotten sick and needed to be picked up at that moment. You didn't give any explanations to Robert, you just heard him in your ear warning you that leaving a mission would bring you problems. You didn't care, you had a 6 year old girl waiting for her mother.
Robert would be lying if he said that caught him all of a sudden. You were... probably the best one of the Z Team. The only one who didn't insult him every few minutes, who brought cookies once and matched his sense of humor. He didn't understand why would you risk your place on the team by leaving a mission.
Until next day, when you appeared in the elevator door, suit neat and hair tied up. And a little girl grabbing your hand and hiding behind your legs. You hear a few whispers around the office but try to ignore them while walking straight to Blonde Blazer's office.
Robert lifts his head from his cubicle after hearing the murmurs and sees you wearing your signature armor and the little girl... wearing a Mecha Man's t-shirt?
You knocked once in Blazer's office and forgot to close the door behind you and your daughter. The blonde blinks twice at your daughter and then at you.
"What is happening right now?"
You cleared your throat. “Sorry for the… unconventional arrival. My nanny canceled last minute and the school needs proof she’s recovered. I’ll keep her out of everyone’s way.”
"I don't think this is the right place for a kid, Y/N. This isn't daycare—" Blazer said, keeping it as professional as she could, even though she didn't like telling you that. She knows the struggles.
Robert appeared behind you before she could build momentum. The man moved like someone who had spent his life punching asteroids but was trying very hard not to look like he had spent his life punching asteroids.
“It’s fine! he said, with this easy shrug. “I can keep an eye on her. Chase owes me a favor, he’ll help. No disruption.”
You spun toward him, incredulous. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” His smile had a softness you had never seen during briefings or combat drills. “Besides, Chase loves kids. And your kid seems pretty awesome already.”
Your daughter peeked out at him at that exact moment, big eyes blinking slowly and not breaking eye contact. Robert drew a kind smile and was already holding the door for you to get out of the office with your daughter.
"Robert, you really don't have to. I don't want to put more pressure on you, and I'm pretty sure Chase doesn't love kids."
“You’re not putting pressure on me,” he said. “You’re being a parent. That’s it. Nothing heroic about it, nothing villainous either. Just human.”
Your daughter clung to your hand like a tiny barnacle, watching him with this shy suspicion that children reserve for adults who seem too cool to be real. The Mecha Man painted across her shirt practically glowed under the office lights, and Robert kept sneaking glances at it like it was a ghost from a past life waving at him.
“She’ll be fine,” he continued. “She’s already got half the office wrapped around her finger. Chase included. He pretends he hates kids, but he cries every time Beefs licks his shoe.”
You snorted once, then sighed. “Still… it feels like a lot.”
“It’s not,” he said. “Let us help.”
His certainty hit you harder than it should have. You crouched down to your daughter’s level, brushing a few rebellious hairs off her forehead.
“Sweetheart,” you murmured, “can you introduce yourself?”
She blinked up at you, then very slowly rotated toward Robert, as if turning to face a giant robot. “My name is Faye,” she whispered into her own collar.
Robert crouched down too, hands resting on his knees, smile wide and warm. “Hi, Faye. That’s a cool name. I'm Robert.”
Faye fidgeted, twisting her fingers in the hem of her shirt. Robert pointed gently at her chest.
“That is a fantastic Mecha Man shirt.”
It was like someone flipped a switch inside her. Her entire face brightened, all shyness melting instantly. “Do you know who he is?!”
“I might’ve heard of him once or twice,” he replied with an innocent shrug.
She beamed, absolutely radiant, and Robert looked like he’d just been handed a secret he didn’t know he missed.
You pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Alright, my brave girl. Listen to Robert. Behave. Be polite. And don’t touch anything that glows or hums.”
She nodded solemnly, the vow of a small warrior.
You straightened and exhaled. “Robert… thank you. Seriously. Thank you. I owe you, like, a thousand thank-yous.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “Just go do your job. We’ve got this.”
Faye slipped her hand into his without hesitation. The image of her tiny fingers curled around his large ones tugged at something deep in your chest.
You turned to head toward the mission floor, feeling lighter than you expected. Behind you, Faye’s excited chatter drifted through the hallway. Robert had pull a chair by his side for her to sit.
“Do you think Mecha Man likes apple juice?” Faye said dangling her legs.
Robert’s gentle laugh followed. “I have a feeling he does.”
Faye kept swinging her legs, tapping her heels lightly against the chair as if powering some invisible engine. Robert pulled his own chair a little closer to hers so she wouldn’t feel swallowed by the giant desk, and the two of them settled into this strangely natural orbit like they’d always been meant to share a corner of an office together.
“What else do you know about Mecha Man?” Robert asked, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You seem like an expert.”
Faye straightened her spine with a smirk. “He saved a whole city once. And he fought a giant flame guy. And he did it with only one booster fist because the other one was broken.”
Robert huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “That was a rough day.”
She blinked. “You sound like you were there.”
“I… watch a lot of TV.”
That satisfied her completely.
She swung her legs again. “My mommy says he was the coolest hero ever. But I think he’s also the nicest.” Then she paused, thinking hard. “And I like how he doesn’t yell at anyone even when he’s mad.”
Robert couldn't hide his smile
“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think he’d be very happy to hear that.”
Before she could reply, claws clicked against the polished floor. A snuffling sound. A sneeze. A thud.
Then a tiny but somehow wide dog barreled around the corner like a furry meteor.
“Beef!” Robert said, though his tone was more delighted than scolding.
Faye gasped so dramatically her entire torso lifted. “Dog!”
Beef trotted straight toward her, tail whipping so hard his whole back end wiggled. Faye dropped from the chair, landing on her knees, arms wide open.
Beef didn’t hesitate. He nudged his head right into her chest and licked her chin after deciding that she was perfect.
Faye squealed with joy and grabbed his face gently between her little hands. “Hi, Beef! You’re so fluffy!”
Chase arrived two seconds later, out of breath and annoyed in a very theatrical way.
“For the record,” he said, pointing at Beef, “he is supposed to stay in the lounge. He is not supposed to escape because he smelled ‘a new small human.’ His words. Not mine.”
Robert grinned. “Chase, meet Faye.”
Chase raised both eyebrows, then crouched down to her level. “So you’re the tiny chaos agent causing all this disruption.”
Faye blinked once.
Then narrowed her eyes.
Then delivered her judgment, very calmly: “You look like someone who takes naps at work.”
Robert choked.
Beef wagged harder, apparently approving of the burn.
Chase sputtered, hand over his chest. “I—what? Excuse me—”
Faye nodded, sealing the deal. “It’s okay. Old people get tired.”
Robert burst out laughing, loud enough that a few heads peeked over cubicles. Chase stood up, muttering something your daughter didn't catch while Beef sat proudly beside Faye like her loyal knight.
Faye hugged Beef again, burying her face in his fur. Robert watched the scene unfold, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes gentler than you had ever seen.
“You two are going to get along,” he murmured.
Faye popped her head up. “Robert? Can Beef sit next to me?”
“He already decided he’s your bodyguard,” Robert said. “You might as well make it official.”
Faye giggled, grabbed Beef’s ear, and began explaining (very seriously) the entire Mecha Man lore to both of them.
Robert listened too. Because hearing a child passionately recount his own adventures without knowing who he was? That was magic for him.
In the break, he took Faye to the vending machine and had to pick her up to let her choose whatever candy she preferred after promising that she wouldn't tell her mom. The bag with her lunch perfectly prepared was long forgotten.
"I want the twinkies!" She said with a bright smile, tapping the glass, then she added: "Please!"
"That's the best decision you could ever make, kiddo." Robert said, sitting Faye in the table while he pressed the buttons to take two packs of twinkies and a cup of coffee for him.
Then all of a sudden, Faye says: "My mommy called you a twink once."
She opened the plastic without any problems, staring at the letter of it. Faye didn’t say it with mischief. She said it with the same open sincerity she used to declare the sky blue or Beef fluffy.
Robert froze like someone had unplugged him.
“Uh,” he managed. “She… what now?”
“A twink.” Faye nodded gravely and shoved half a Twinkie into her mouth. “But she said it very nicely.”
Robert had faced down plasma cannons with more composure. His brain performed several regrettable somersaults. “Ha. Did she? Funny word to use... What else does she say about me?”
Faye swung her legs and examined the second Twinkie. “Mommy says you have twink energy. And that she likes your voice. And your arms.”
Robert’s soul left his body, filed for leave, and never returned.
“She—your mom? She said that? About my arms?” His voice cracked like a teenager bumping into their crush at a mall.
Faye nodded so hard her ponytail slapped her cheek. “She says you’re very polite. And she says you don’t talk too much but when you do, it makes her tummy feel funny.” Faye tapped her own belly like she was solving a medical mystery. “I think that means she likes you.”
Robert blinked slowly. “Does she. Huh. That’s… information.”
He sipped his coffee. Burned his tongue. Tried to pretend he hadn’t burned his tongue.
Faye continued, blessedly oblivious to the concept of emotional privacy: “Sometimes when she comes home from work she says, ‘Robert said the funniest thing today,’ and then she laughs and laughs even though I don’t know the joke because it’s about weird stuff.”
Robert set his coffee down a little too fast. “She laughs? I make her laugh?”
“Yep.” Faye took a dainty bite of Twinkie and spoke around the crumbs. “She smiles when she says your name.”
Robert attempted to gather his dignity and ended up gathering Beef instead, who had waddled over and pressed his snout into Robert’s knee like you okay, buddy? you need grounding? you spiraling?
Robert scratched Beef’s ears, eyes darting anywhere but Faye’s tiny truth-bomb face.
“Well… your mom’s pretty cool too,” he said, trying for casual. “She’s… brave. And kind. And she does this thing where she makes jokes under her breath that nobody else hears, but I hear. And she’s nice to me for some reason.”
“That’s ‘cause she likes you,” Faye said, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. She leaned forward. “Do you like her?”
Robert inhaled his coffee steam like that might help. “Uhh. I think your mom is… neat.”
Faye squinted like an old wise hermit. “Neat is a word mommy uses for socks.”
Robert winced. “Okay. Stronger than neat.”
Beef barked once, as if urging him on.
“Your mom is… great.” Robert rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s hilarious. And terrifying. And she’s smarter than everyone on the team. And she makes good cookies. And she leaves missions for you, which is kind of beautiful, actually.”
Faye tilted her head. “So you do like her.”
He exhaled in defeat. “Yeah, kiddo. I do.”
She grinned “I’m telling her.”
Robert nearly levitated off the break-room floor. “PLEASE do not tell her.”
Faye hopped off the table, hands on her hips. “You can’t stop me. I’m fast.”
Robert held up both hands, laughing helplessly. “Kid, listen. There’s a very complicated adult dance happening here, and your mom scares me in, like, a deeply attractive way.”
Faye gasped dramatically. “Mommy likes your arms and you like her scary!” She clapped. “You should get married.”
Robert paled. “We’re not getting married yet. Wow, Faye, that’s—ambitious.”
She shrugged. “Beef agrees.”
Beef barked again, absolutely supporting the union.
Robert buried his face in his hands. “I’m so fucked.”
"Fucked?" Faye tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. The fear on Robert's face is instant.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. We don't say that word, Faye."
"You just said it."
"But that's because I'm dumb. People who are dumb say that word. You aren't dumb, right?"
"Nope!"
"Then don't say that word ever again."
Thank God, that was enough for her to not think about it anymore. Robert felt his chest smaller after the talk with the girl, or maybe it was just his heart getting bigger. He tried to not pay much attention to it, knowing that you kinda have a crush on him took him out a little.
Robert tried very hard to focus on anything except the emotional supernova blooming in his ribcage. He wiped a crumb off Faye’s cheek tenderly, then let her scamper back toward Beef, who immediately flopped over so she could rub his belly.
He watched her for a second. Kids are startling creatures, tiny engines of sincerity who toss truth around like confetti. And she had tossed a whole bucket at him.
He leaned back in the break-room chair and told himself to get it together. You liked him? That wasn’t supposed to be real. You were… well, you. The one who took disasters as lightly as he took paper cuts. The one who made terrible puns under your breath because you knew he’d hear. The one who had a daughter who loved Mecha Man without knowing she was sharing snacks with him.
He looked down at his hands and they were trembling. Just a little. Just enough.
The next hours of the shift were more relaxed, Faye was starting to get sleepy, dropping her head in Robert's shoulder with her little fists curling in Robert's shirt. He scooped her without any trouble, letting her sit comfortably on his lap and falling asleep almost instantly.
Robert sat very still, like if he breathed wrong, the spell would break.
And then the shift ended.
The elevator chimed.
You stepped out.
You froze.
Because there they were. Your daughter asleep in Robert’s lap, her cheek pressed directly against the broadest part of his chest, his hand resting gently on her back.
Robert looked up at the sound of your boots.
And for one heartbeat, the world went oddly quiet.
Something warm and ridiculous and enormous unfurled inside your chest, blooming like those butterflies people always talk about. But butterflies were too polite. This felt more like a whole migrating colony of cosmic moths slamming around in your ribs.
Robert opened his mouth, closed it, then spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, instinctively soft so she wouldn’t wake.
“She got tired,” he said quietly. “Didn’t want to say she was tired, obviously, because that would imply she’s mortal.”
You stepped closer, mindful of the moment’s fragile gentleness. “Yeah,” you whispered. “She does that. Fights sleep like it insulted her.”
He smiled, eyes flicking back to Faye asleep on him. “She’s… a really good kid.”
“She likes you,” you murmured.
The words slipped out without your usual protective quips. And you felt the heat crawl up your neck as soon as you’d said it.
Robert swallowed. Hard. His fingers twitched once against Faye’s shirt but didn’t move.
For a moment you just stood there. Close but not touching, both speaking softly.
“I should take her,” you whispered, stepping forward.
But Robert didn’t move, not out of reluctance, more like uncertainty. As though passing her over might feel like waking up from some strange dream he wasn’t ready to leave.
You reached out, gently lifting your daughter into your arms. She murmured and nestled into your neck, arms dangling loose with exhaustion.
Robert watched you with an intensity that almost ignited the air between you.
You adjusted Faye’s weight, then looked up at him. “Thank you… for all of this. I mean it.”
He leaned close enough you felt the heat of him, close enough the whisper brushed your ear.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
A pause.
Breathless honesty slipped into his tone. “I liked being around her. And I… like being around you.”
Your heart stuttered so violently you wondered if he could hear it.
You whispered back, “Did she told you anything?”
He huffed out a helpless laugh. “She told me just enough.”
Another pause. A charged one.
He looked down at his hands, then back at you.
Robert’s throat worked like he was swallowing gravel. Words hovered behind his eyes, trying to form, trying to gather the courage to jump the fence of his teeth. He wasn’t usually this skittish, you were a different kind of danger. The kind that could say no. The kind that could change everything.
His fingers flexed once, curling back into his palms. “There’s… something I should—”
Whatever he meant to say tangled itself into silence.
Your daughter’s sleepy weight in your arms, the faint warmth of her breath on your collarbone and the quiet hum of the building settling for the night. It all made the hallway feel like a snow globe of too-soft feelings.
You tilted your head just slightly. “Robert?”
The sound of his name seemed to shove him toward honesty. You watched him gather himself like someone preparing to leap across a very long, very uncertain gap.
“I was thinking,” he said, voice low and careful, “that maybe… sometime… maybe you and I could—”
He stopped again. Not because he changed his mind. Because fear punched him directly in the courage.
He cleared his throat. It didn’t help. “I mean, if you ever wanted to go somewhere. Not for work. Just… you know.”
You waited. Letting him work it out.
He squeezed his eyes shut once, like rebooting a very overwhelmed system, then tried again with a shaky exhale.
“I’d like to take you out.”
A beat.
“But if that makes you uncomfortable, or if it complicates things with Faye, or if you think it’s a terrible idea—”
“Robert.”
His mouth snapped shut.
Your eyes held his, steady in that dim hallway glow. He looked like a man braced for an explosion that might tear him in two.
You spoke gently. “You’re asking me out?”
He nodded with the smallest motion imaginable, as if anything bigger might spook his own resolve. “Yeah. I am.”
“I didn’t think you were capable of being this nervous,” you murmured.
He huffed something like a laugh, but it was shaky. “I’m terrible at this. Apparently asking you to dinner turns me into a malfunctioning vending machine.”
Your smile softened. “You didn’t malfunction.”
He gave a disbelieving snort. “I absolutely malfunctioned.”
“You tried,” you said. “You asked. That counts.”
A long breath left him, like he’d been holding it for twenty minutes.
“So… is that a yes?” he whispered, barely audible.
You shifted Faye in your arms and you stepped just one inch closer, letting the air between you warm.
“It’s a yes,” you said softly. “But we’re taking it slow. For her and for us.”
Relief hit him so visibly it softened the line of his shoulders, loosened something taut in his expression. A smile broke through the nerves.
“Slow is fine,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The elevator chimed again behind you, a polite reminder that the world still existed outside this moment.
You backed toward it, eyes still on his. “Goodnight, Robert.”
His voice followed you in a rough whisper that held far more than the words themselves.
“Goodnight.”
The doors slid closed and you had the dizzying sense that something had just begun like the first quiet click of a lock sliding open.
robert robertson masterlist
