hiiii! throughout august, i’ll be doing a writing challenge! each day, i’ll write a <1k blurb that must include the word of the day. each fic will be tagged #august25.
if you’re a fellow steve x reader writer (or even eddie x reader!), please feel free to join in on the fun! i would love it if more people wrote along with me! the fandom has been so dead - maybe this list will spark some imagination? who is to say!!
thank you everyone who sent words in! if you did not send your word on anon, i’ll tag you in the blurb that corresponds to your word.
i hope you all enjoy 🫶🏻🫶🏻
EDITING TO ADD: if you want to join but don’t write smut, please still write something!! this does not have to be smut based. it can be whatever you want! and again, i know the graphic says steve but please feel free to write for eddie too.
please also tag me in your fics!! i wanna see them!! hehe
all works will contain smut. 18+ only!!
[list below the cut for better reading - consider this a master list for the challenge as well]
contents: reader with a vagina and breasts; perv!/voyeur!steve; masturbation (reader); steve cum in he pants :/ (CLASSIC)
It’s fucked up. Steve knows it’s fucked up. But he can’t pry himself away. It’s your fault for leaving the damn door cracked like he doesn’t live in the same apartment.
He can feel his heartbeat, vibrating quick and fast, sounding like a drum in his blushing ears. He’s tried several times to pull himself away from the sight of you, but he can’t. He feels stuck in place, bewitched by your soft body, your head thrown back, your hand shoved into your underwear.
You look so pretty like this. When you think you’re alone. He kind of gets what Jonathan said about Nancy. He can see the slick sweat on your forehead, how it drips down to your temples and disappears into your hair. Pearly teeth biting your plush, swollen, pink lips, like you’re trying to hide this dirty secret. You must not know the door hadn’t latched.
Steve should be a gentleman and shut it for you, then tell you to forget about it when you came out embarrassed. But he continues to watch the way your chest rises and falls. He can see your perked nipples through your shirt and, Jesus, what would those feel like between his lips? Between his fingers? What sounds would he pull from you?
A pretty moan slips past your lips before you bite on them harder. You exhale shakily, shifting, your hand stopping its movements for just a moment before continuing. Steve can’t tell what, exactly, you’re doing to yourself. He tries to figure it out by watching the movements of your hands, and it becomes apparent that you’re fucking yourself once your free hand moves downward to find your clit.
It’s so unfair, Steve thinks. That you have to put in all that work by yourself. He’s sure your hands are cramping, knows how little your fingers are, that you probably don’t even know where your g-spot is. He’d give anything to help you. To teach you what you like and what you need.
And he’d give it to you.
Your hips start to shift now. Fucking up into your hand. He can’t take it anymore, and with shame, he starts to palm himself through his boxers. Eyes wide, drinking you in, already dreading the moment you stop and he has to go back to real life. As if he hadn’t seen you in your most intimate moment.
You sigh, then whine. Steve bites his lips, now, to quell his own moans. He wonders how many fingers you can take at once. How hard it would be for you to take his cock. He’d help open you up for however long it took, talk you through it, make you love it. And he, of course, wonders how tight you’d feel around him. How warm and soft and wet. He shudders thinking about having you raw, feeling every bump and ridge.
Your mouth falls open in silent reverie. Steve begs in his head for you to make a noise, something for him to remember. But all that comes out are strangled moans and tiny ah!s while both of your hands work faster.
Haphazard, quick breaths make their way past your lips. He watches as one hand moves from your cunt to grope at your tits. Steve realizes that the hand you’ve brought up was just inside of your cunt, one finger slick.
One finger. Oh my God.
Steve has to bite back a groan as he slips his hand underneath his waistband to tug at himself. The hand still at your pussy moves quickly, surely working at your swollen clit. His mouth salivates thinking about what you might taste like.
You pant, loud and heavy, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open again.
You look so goddamn pretty when you cum.
“Ste … ah! Ffffuck!”
Steve’s heart stops. Were you about to say his name? His cock twitches in his hand and he quickly stops touching himself, suddenly overcome by sickness at his own perversion. Guilt grips him, makes him nauseous.
But still, he watches you come down, your movements stilling. You pant, face relaxing. You use the hand that was just inside of you to wipe sweat from your brow.
Steve’s quiet when he takes three steps back and heads into his own room. He doesn’t shut the door, knowing it’ll squeak. He just sits on his bed like an idiot, staring at his closet, trying to think of anything other than what he just saw.
He hears you moving, the floorboards groaning as you stumble into the hall and down to the bathroom.
Gritting his teeth, he lays down and tries to act like nothing happened. Tries so hard to distract himself — counts backwards from one thousand, tries to remember every teacher he had from kindergarten to senior year, every song on the mixtape that Dustin gave him that he only listened to, like, once. Nothing really works.
“Hey, Steve?”
He sits up so fast it makes him dizzy. He feels caught. “What? Hi.”
You stare at him from the doorway for a moment. “Hi. Am I… interrupting something?”
The irony isn’t lost on him. He laughs out loud, a bit shrill. “No!”
You stare a little longer. Steve keeps thinking about how your pretty face looked when it was etched with pleasure.
“I was just going to tell you that I’m going to bed.”
“Oh! Oh. Yeah, yes, go do that. You should. I will, too.”
“Are you okay?”
He shakes his head, then nods quickly. “Just tired.”
You laugh a bit, amused and confused. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He waves at you while you turn and shut the door, then throws himself down onto the bed and sighs loudly.
He falls asleep on the couch hours later with the TV on, having stayed awake until he couldn’t anymore. Trying to forget you.
I’m thinking about knight!steve ever since you mentioned him, sigh. I’m thinking about him at his post and he hears something in the kitchen and it’s you in your linen sleeping gown under candlelight eating the leftover dessert from dinner because you can’t sleep and he’s like fuck, I really didn’t need this today but he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame and will take any attention you give him and it’s addicting and he knows he shouldn’t entertain it and he should leave you be but he can’t. I’m thinking about him falling short of breath as he watched you come down the stairs at the ball and you look so beautiful and him getting so jealous that all these twats get to dance with you and be so close to you in a way he’s only dreamt of (and he’s dreamt of it many times). I’m thinking about his friends absolutely hounding him about it and how dangerous it is and how he needs to stop drooling everytime he sees you but he can’t help it. Your dad loves him and always says Steve is like a son and he wishes he was of higher rank so he could wed his daughter and this absolutely kills Steve because he knows this all too well.
taking a long drag of a cigarette rn…. idk what this ask did to me but i’m truly just rambling for a long time under the cut. simply basking in this ask i love this so much
reader with a vagina; reader referred to as ‘princess’; reader wears dresses; yearning so much yearning; dry humping; piv, mentions of masturbation; and ofc knight!steve!!!
knight!steve wants you any way he can, and he feels strangely honored when he’s around you during seemingly ordinary but quiet moments.
he’s always watched you from afar. he’s constantly battling with himself over the authenticity of his knighthood - did he choose his station for the love of his country, or for you?
it’s during a nightly round through the castle that steve finds you in the dark, wandering around without a light. you’re like a ghost, gracefully haunting the centuries-old halls.
after a long moment of staring at you, in awe of being in your presence when he wasn’t scheduled to be, his pretty face turns concerned. he softly calls your name and asks if you’re alright, if you need a light to guide you. and you let him. he leads you back to your chambers but still feels like he’s following you instead, desperate for your attention like a puppy.
now that you’re properly acquainted, he can’t go a day without seeing you. you’re walking through the grounds much more often, spending time looking at the tapestries in the hallways. when he catches your eye, you smile and wave before wandering off.
steve finds you in the corridors again just a few days later, your face illuminated by moonlight. it takes his breath away, his knees quivering.
“you must be sir steven,” you say softly.
he does a small bow. “at your service, your highness.”
you shake your head and wave him off. “my father’s talked about you,” you continue. “he’s quite fond of you.”
steve smiles softly. “does he play favorites?”
you smile back. “if he does, it would be you.”
it sort of keeps up like this. steve’s fighting with the others over night patrols. he finds you in that same moonlit spot every few nights. your conversations aren’t very long, but they’re enough. you take his arm and he escorts you back to your room, leaving you with a dumb joke and a sweet “goodnight, princess.”
after a while, you start to interact with him more, often at inappropriate times. he has to act normal and refined as you come by to rough up his hair or whisper in his ear, trying to do anything to make him break focus and laugh.
“what the hell was that all about?” his friend asks later, gawking.
steve shakes his head and does not elaborate.
it’s always been hard to watch you at balls, but now it’s excruciating. he stands idly by and watches you dance with the many suitors you’ve been brought. forced to watch you laugh and smile with them - it looks like how you laugh and smile with him. he spends the entire night watching your hands as they lace through someone else’s, gritting his jaw when one of them pulls you in tight. he knows you hate it, the forced proximity, the way you’re treated like something to be conquered and traded away, but you still play the game.
it drives him goddamn mad, and yes, his friends make it worse.
“you’ll be killed one of these days, y’know,” one says, tone oddly serious. “if you keep this up, i mean.”
“her father likes me,” steve grits. the very last thing he needs tonight is a lecture. he would take an invasion of the castle over this. hell, he’d rather fight a dragon without a sword over seeing you dripping in rubies and emeralds and laughing with some ugly creep from a few kingdoms over.
“but does the counsel?”
which immediately shuts steve up. he knows your father isn’t the one who forces you to meet with so many suitors. there are traditions that simply must be up-kept, and there are many people willing to do anything to stay conservative. including killing one of the king’s favorite knights.
you still torment him in and around the castle, day or night. he always smells you before he sees you - honeysuckle and violet. he wants to taste it, lick the perfumed oil off of your skin and savor you. your nighttime strolls are intimate, but not intimate enough. he wants to be certain he’s the only person you feel like this with - the only one who you’d like guide you back home, night after night.
this night is like any other. he finds you in the moonlight spilling through stained glass, giggles with you for a few minutes, then walks you back to your chambers sloooowly. hushed whispers and butting into each other, walking much like your father and mother do.
he returns you to your wing, as usual, and prepares to bid you a goodnight until next time.
“nights are rather lonely for me,” you say before he can speak. you pause for a long moment. “it would be very kind of you to keep me company until i fall asleep.”
he tries desperately to remember what his friend reminded him of - his own mortality - as he steps into your space. your linen nightgown is thin and he can see right through it with the help of the soft candlelight glowing in your reception parlor.
steve’s not quite sure if he’s imagining it, but he swears the air has shifted.
you’re rather casual as you lead him to a chair by the fireplace in your bedchambers. steve cannot believe he’s here. it doesn’t look much different from his imagination. fisting his cock to the idea of your soft body under his, rutting in and out of you slowly.
“would you like some tea?” you ask softly, breaking him from his perverted thoughts.
he shakes his head. “no, thank you, your highness.”
you swat at him. “stop that at once.”
“is that not who you are?”
“did you know that knights are not supposed to talk back to royals?”
steve grins. “take me to the gallows, then.”
it’s really not funny. he’s practically putting the noose around his own neck by being in here, anyway. you’ve told him before that you dismiss staff at night and he prays that you weren’t lying. if he was caught…
you move closer, sitting in the chair positioned next to his. it’s turned slightly towards him, and you stare him down, fire casting a red glow over your face.
hellfire, perhaps, is what it is.
“i enjoy your company,” you whisper. “very much so.”
steve nods, a bit gobsmacked and rendered speechless by your beauty.
“do you enjoy mine?”
steve nods quickly, then remembers he can speak. “of course.”
your eyes scan his face and you do a once-over of him. eyes drifting downwards, from his hair to his legs. then you look back up at him, eyes intense.
“when i’m here and lonely, my mind wanders. i think of all sorts of things. but what i always go back to is you.”
steve forgets he can speak again.
“i think of how you look in your armor. i think of the jealousy etched on your face when i’m dancing with someone. i think of your eyes, your smile, your scent.”
steve blinks.
“and i start to wonder what your hands might feel like on my body,” you continue, sounding a bit breathless. “what your lips might feel like. what sweet sounds and pretty faces you make. how sinful we would be together.”
that intimacy he wanted so bad has hit him like a badly-aimed cannonball.
you stand. he sees your body trembling and he reaches for you, thick brows laced with worry.
but you instead let your dress fall to the floor, standing before him naked.
steve breathes heavily. he knows he shouldn’t - can’t - look. but he still does, soaking you in, eyes wide, pink lips parted. his cock kicks hard in his pants, stomach somersaulting.
you take a step closer, standing directly above him. you lean down, lips pressing against his ear.
“do you think of me, too?”
he shivers, his hands desperately clenching the edge of the chair he sits in.
“yes,” he breathes. doesn’t even need a moment to think about it.
you pull back, looking at him softly. “then have me.”
steve doesn’t know what to say or do or even where to look. his mouth opens and closes, eyes wide, cock stiffening.
you part your thighs and lower yourself onto his lap, planting yourself right onto his dick. he gasps, eyes growing darker, blood pumping hard and fast.
“touch me,” you plead quietly, taking his hands and moving them to your waist.
“your highness,” he says, deathly serious, “i cannot.”
he makes no effort to push you away.
you glare at him for the pleasantries and, impatient, you do the work. rubbing yourself back and forth on his crotch while his strong hands finally grip your hips to keep you steady.
he knows how pathetic he looks - is - and he knows this night will ruin him. there will never be any going back from this. there will never be any moving on from you, never any night for the rest of his life where he doesn’t imagine the noises you make and the soft plush of your body.
he’s holding you in his hands tightly, as if you’d slip right through them. and that’s the thing - you will. there aren’t any other options.
steve doesn’t stop you when you kiss him, despite his conscience begging him to. every next touch and kiss and breathless moan sends him further and further into the pits of hell, which is rather ironic. he’s never been so happy in his life and yet he’s horrified of what you’re both doing. he’d much rather yearn than have you stripped away from him after he finally has you.
but all of his brain has transferred itself down to his dick. he isn’t thinking. he can’t think.
and when he finally sinks his cock into you? it’s like a dream. he can’t shut the hell up.
“beautiful — you’re so beautiful — i need you.”
“i’m yours,” you sigh softly, eyes hooded, trying to get used to the stretch.
it’s not like steve’s never had sex. he’s certainly went to bed with plenty of suitors. but he’s never made love quite like this before.
you both work in sync, each push and pull calculated with no effort. beads of sweat drip down steve’s temple as he looks up at you, entranced.
“i think of you,” you moan, riding his cock slowly, face so hot he can feel the heat radiating off of you. “all of those boys - when they come to c-court me - i think of you.”
steve groans and buries himself into the crook of your neck and shoulder. you run your soft, perfect hands through his dirty, messy hair, cooing at him.
it only makes him fuck up into you harder, moving tenderly but with much more intention. he sneaks a calloused hand down between your bodies and gently rubs circles into your clit. he has meticulously planned this moment out, though he’s never thought it would come to fruition.
“pretty boy,” you gasp, back arching, mouth dropping open. you’re fucking sinful. “please, don’t stop, i need it, i need you.”
he sinks his teeth into your sweating skin and focuses hard on your pleasure, not his own, lest he cums inside of you and gets himself hanged.
every word that comes out of your pretty mouth is blasphemy. steve kisses you to stop the noise but it just makes his hips rut faster, deeper, and he really doesn’t want this to end so soon but he can’t take much longer.
“please,” he pants, hands swiping all over your curves. “please, princess, have mercy.”
your hands tangle up in his hair so hard it hurts and your body stutters as you cum tightly around his cock. his hand slaps over your lips to stifle the noise and he must move his mind elsewhere.
stab wounds. scratchy linen. heavy armor. those bastards that try to have you for themselves.
he’s in tears by the time you’re done, trying desperately not to cum. you try to convince him, though.
“don’t pull out,” you slur, sleepy and content. “make me yours, make me stay with you.”
“don’t,” he grits.
you shift. that tone excites you.
he’s gentle as he peels you off of him, but his hands still grip you strongly. his cock weeps, swollen and needy and it’s so embarrassing.
you simply look at him with wide, hungry eyes. it makes him feel light headed.
he has to take care of it once he’s back in his own dark, dingy quarters, skin still smelling like yours, trying to push away the realization that he’s fucked on several different levels.
cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks, fingering
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The sheer force he kisses you with aches. Shouta's lips are slick with your cum and his tongue tastes like you, musked and slightly salty in the way that almost makes you search for it, but you don't care. No, you revel in it. In the dark, you both grope and grind, his clothed knee sliding between your legs. You wonder if he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, but then you remember he already knows. It’s all his fault.
Your hands slide under his shirt. His body is soft in ways you like, in ways you don't recognize. Touya’s body was thin to the point of almost frailty, while Aizawa's feels perfect for grasping, for pulling towards you, perfect for pressing against. Sex is fun, you decide. Despite all the awkwardness and tension and overstimulating, sex is good. You get Nemuri's obsession with it, you understand why people crave it. It's so basic, so primitive; it tickles the back of your brainstem, a fundamental part of you that needed it most of all.
And yet.
And yet you need more.
You can feel how used your body is, how puffy and fried your clit is from the attention, but it's barely done anything to quell the want that's been building inside you. How, after all of that, can you still feel so unsatisfied? So insatiable? What the fuck has this man done to you? What door has he unlocked inside your mind?
Together, you peel his shirt from his body. Skin to skin contact, your breasts against his chest: it all feels right. The animal part of your brain sparks up once again. It’s so basic of a need that it eats at you like hunger. Lust drives you, pushes you. You never feel old, but suddenly you feel young and excited.
When your hands wander south, Shouta breaks away.
“What do you think you're doing?” You swear he's glowering at you through the dark; you can feel his breath huff, but it doesn't stop your fingers from slipping open the button of his pants. He smells like aftershave, but there’s still a patch of scruff on his jawline, presumably missed in the rush to see you. Blindly, you try to kiss at it.
“Touching you.” Why are you so giggly? So sweet?
Your fingers brush against the trail of hair between his stomach and the edge of his briefs. It's short, cropping as if he used to shave, but hasn't in a time. His body shudders at the touch, his hands pulsing tighter, tighter around your tits. Oh, that makes something burn hotter inside you, knowing how you have an equally big effect on him as he had on you.
“Careful.”
“Or what?” Your voice is still quivering from cumming so hard, but you're gaining confidence. “You afraid I'm going to make you cum?”
You force the fly open and work his pants down. He doesn't help you, his hands frozen in place as you wiggle. The effort steals a laugh from you, then he joins in, softly. It’s a surprisingly tender moment, but it doesn’t rob you of the tension. The want is building in your throat, threatening to choke you.
“I just don't think-” he whispers. Your thumbs are tucking under his waistband. His skin is warm and soft; you want to touch more of it.
“-I'll behave-”
With a press, you can feel his briefs inch down and the weight of his cock shift. It strikes you that you haven't touched it yet. No, you've only seen it in that picture, only felt it through cloth. Something inside you flutters at the thought of how thick he looked. Could you even take all of it? Truthfully, you doubt it; you’re not a virgin, but you aren’t exactly experienced either. Is it possible to be bad at sex?
Just as you start to spiral, Aizawa catches you by the elbow. It’s almost impossible to worry with him and the way he touches, the focus he gives you. Even the way he grips your arm feel scandalous, charged with want and desire, like he's going to hold you like this forever, like he's going to live up to his promise and use you however he wants.
“-if you pull my cock out while I'm between your legs.” Aizawa swallows deep. “So, really think about-”
Clumsily, you crane up and catch him in a kiss, your lips blindly smooshing into his cheek. It’s just enough to catch him off guard, to steal an extra moment before you reach down the front of his pants and wrap your hands around his member. God, it's thick. Almost grossly so. Can your body even take all of that?
“I thought you were gonna do whatever you wanted with me,” you mumble into his scruff. His cock is hot and slick with his own precum. When you run your fingers down the underside, Shouta practically chokes on his spit. That’s right; you’ve cum three times today, but he’s been practically untouched. He must be aching for it.
With a shaky hand, you drag his cock down, through the wet of your pussy. The sensation sends a shock through both of you; at the same time, you both gasp and hiss, keening deeper against each other. Earlier, everything felt hot, soft and dripping like your core was nothing but melted metal, but now it’s purely electric. Every touch of skin trills through you like a shock, lights up your brain like sparks. Fuck-- this is fun. You’re having fun.
“You said you wanted to go slow.” Aizawa’s voice is almost a plea-- a final warning.
You slide your legs wider and Aizawa’s body shifts down, lining up against yours. You can feel him, pressed just hard enough against your cunt to nestle between your lips, barely an inch away from where you want him. The promise of stretch nearly takes your breath away. No-- he isn't where you want him: he's where you need him.
You swallow down your last bit of worry and let your head fall back on to the pillow.
“Then fuck me slow.”
It’s not unusual for Aizawa to curse, but the string of swears that escape his mouth sends a chill down your spine. It’s blurted, rushed, slurred; He’s never a chatty man, but now he rambles, mouth never stopping as his hips press forward.
“Needy thing, pretty thing, sweet thing.” The tip of his cock pops inside you without much resistance. You're too soaked for friction, almost too wet. The taste of him makes your toes curl, pussy clench- it's not enough, not enough, not enough-
Your partner hunches over, forehead clunking against yours with a pained groan.
“How are you that fucking tight?” he gripes. “How are you so fucking perfect ?”
“Shou-” you wiggle your hips and he groans again, deep and wild. “Fuck me, fuck me.”
“I will, I am--”
“Please!”
“I'm trying not to--” He takes a shaky breath. His hands are clenched in the sheets, so hard you can feel his bicep flex against your side. “Embarrass myself.”
A thrill runs down your spine. Your body suits him so well that he's already on the brink, already ready to cum. It makes your ego flare. He wants you. he wants you so badly. After making you cum so many times, the only thing you should want is petty revenge, but now, in this moment, you want him to feel good with you.
“I don't care,” you urge. Your hand sneaks down between your legs, working tiny circles around your abused clit. The sensation is electric, so much so that you swear you can see lightning behind your eyes. An orgasm might not even be possible at this point, but you can't help but try. “Just fuck me.”
Finally- thankfully, beautifully, finally- Aizawa sinks his whole cock into you. It's been a while since someone's been inside you, so the pressure feels good, but strange and unfamiliar. A sound must escape you: Aizawa suddenly stops, pulling back ever so slightly.
"Are you okay-?"
“Keep going-” You urge as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Keep going.”
Ever so obedient, Aizawa rolls his hips, harder this time. Your body makes lewd sounds with every stroke, the wet smack of your folds being spread audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. Your muscles give to his thickness and you can feel every stroke deepen until his hips are finally pressed against yours. The button of his pants digs into your ass, but the discomfort is almost pleasurable.
“Needed this, didn’t you?” he whispers. “Needed to be taken care of?”
Your voice is staccato with his thrusts. He’s not being rough, but you’re so sensitive that it feels like he is manhandling you, abusing your overly loved body- “Y-yeah.”
“Your boyfriend didn’t take care of you?”
If he had said that at any other time, you may have gotten upset, but you feel so open, so bare-
“No…” You flop back onto the mattress. You hadn’t realized how curled you had been against him, how hard your fingers had been digging into his skin. The relaxation changes to pleasure; it’s a sweet, liquid heat, rolling through you like melted molasses. “No, he never-- he couldn’t--”
“Poor thing-” His teeth nip at the stop under your earlobe, catching skin with his canines. “So neglected-”
Oh, that cocktail of hormones in your brain has you stupid and emotional. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he bites again and you know there’s going to be another bruise to explain away tomorrow. “I’ll spoil you.”
Aizawa hooks an arm under your leg and lifts it. The angle changes and his cock hits a previously untouched spot; your body kicks and twitches. It feels impossible, but you’re going to cum again, you’re going to cum before he does, and you’re going to revel in it.
“Touch-” Your voice is high with want. “Touch my tits?”
It’s barely a question, almost a demand, and Aizawa is more than eager to obey. His free hand finds the pebbled curve or your nipple and flicks his thumb over it, searching for a positive reaction. When he doesn’t get it, he changes his touch, waiting to your approval.
“Like that-” you finally confirm. His rutting gets harder, but not faster; it's slow grinds, taking advantage of every inch and then some. The coarse of his pubic hair is delightful friction against your clit; it nearly hurts with how good it feels. “Just like that-”
“Good// girl, yes.” His tone is so desperate. “Tell me what you need.”
Oh, you wish you could, but your voice is failing you right now. It's like every brain cell in your head is dedicated to lighting up with ecstasy, downing in him, him, him, him--
“I'll give it to you, give you everything you ever want-” Shouta whispers into the shell of your ear. He's being so steady, so patient; it's nothing like the other times you had sex. There's no rush, no urgency. “I want you spoiled. I want you greedy. I want to ruin you for anyone else.”
You can't cum again. Your body is too spent, too used, too-- too-- too--
Everything inside you goes rigid and you come undone once again. It's embarrassing and loud: both your mouth and your cunt. You're saying something, but you don't know what, if it's even words at all. The heat of pleasure is boiling your mind, your senses.
You’re not a virgin. You haven't been for years, but suddenly you feel inexperienced, naive. Sex could feel like that? It could make you feel like this?
Shouta's hips press against yours and he groans, deep and unabashed. Warm fills you, accompanied by the twitch of his cock, and you realize he's cumming too, melting into you--
At the last moment, he catches you in an open mouthed kiss. It's messy, mostly tongue and spit, the kind you can't breathe through, but you find yourself pressing back, licking and sucking and nipping and drowning in it all, giving yourself to the moment--
“That was-”
You clumsily slap a hand upwards, tapping the side of his face. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you still can’t fully make out his silhouette.
“Don't talk,” you mumble. “I-- haa.”
The roll of your hips just won't stop. The last flickers of your orgasm are still burning and you can't help but stroke them on. You swear there's literally sparks behind your eyes and no bones left in your body; you don't know how you're even moving. Against your will, your cunt twitches, pulling a pained groan from Shouta.
“Can I speak now?” he mumbles through your fingers. Your hand falls back to the bed. “You're going to have to give me a couple minutes before another round.”
The hard of his cock is already softening inside you. God, the cloud of post-coitus bliss has you so soft you feel sappy; you never want him to pull out, never want to lose his body heat. If you could lift your arms again, you'd wrap them around him.
“My heart might stop if we go again,” you whine. That was the first bare cock you've ever taken.
He chuckles and it hits you in the chest like a fucking bullet. Oh, this is bad. Pathetic. Lovely. You might cry or laugh or pass out.
“Is that good?” he asks, tone evident that he knows it's very, very good.
“I think I came so hard I had a stroke.” That has to be the only reason you’re feeling so wobbly.
“The only stroke is you stroking my ego.” A pitiful noise escapes you as he rolls away, groaning as he gets to his feet. He sucks in air through his teeth, then releases it carefully.The room is suddenly unbearably cold; you shake and shiver, silently wishing he’d come back. “Let's get you cleaned up. Light’s coming on.”
The sound of his hands fumbling on the side table is followed by the click of the lamp turning on. Warm light floods the room and you finally get a glimpse of him. His already loose curls are mussed, fallen in front of his flushed cheeks. His chest has a sprinkling of hair - trimmed, it seems - and a trail down from his belly button. He's already tucked his cock away into his briefs, but his pants are unzipped. His underwear is a light green; it makes you laugh a bit. At least both of you are fucked.
Shouta takes his turn to observe you. You must look even worse: naked, hair a mess, legs spread and cum dripping down the track of your ass.
“Shit-” Sleep nearly sideswipes you immediately, so hard you’re struggling to even care. “We made a mess.”
Aizawa regards you again, brow raised. “Mostly you.”
Oh, you beg to differ. The mess he made inside you feels sloppy and slippery, leaking from much too deep inside you. It's the first bare cock you've ever taken, you realize. It felt dangerously good, with none of the friction or stink of the condom. Even the tickle of warmth inside you is surprisingly pleasant.
That's dangerous knowledge, especially with the consequences.
“You shouldn't have…” you try to sit up a bit to be serious. “Inside me.”
Realization catches Aizawa's face.
“I should have asked,” he says. “I was… caught up.”
“It’s okay.” Especially because you liked it. You flop back down with a sigh. “I’ll get a Plan B in the morning.”
Aizawa shifts his weight and hisses at the pressure. Before you can say anything he turns, headed towards the bathroom.
“I… I can’t get you pregnant.” The faucet runs while he speaks. “I can buy it for you anyway, if you want to be extra safe.”
“Oh,” you say, shifting uncomfortably. You believe him, of course; he's not a liar. Maybe about silly things, but not about this. “I didn’t know that.”
He turns the sink off and returns, washcloth in hand.
“Of course you didn't.” Aizawa gestures for you to spread your legs. You hesitate, then remember exactly what you've been doing these past two days. He's eaten your cunt; you guess he can see it again. Resting against the edge of the bed, he runs the cloth against the mess inside of your thighs. It's hot, but not uncomfortably so. “Sterility doesn’t come up in conversation very often.”
He runs the cloth into the crook between your leg and pussy. You would have thought the act demeaning, but it’s sweet.
“Vasectomy?” you ask.
“Nature. Maybe the accident. Either way.”
He shrugs it away, but there's an edge of something deeper in his voice. He tries to hide it, eyes focused down as he folds the towel over itself and then gingerly touches it to your outer lips.
“I shouldn’t have pried,” you mumble.
“It’s not prying,” he says. “I’d argue it’s very much your business right now.”
The washcloth gets tossed into a corner. The thought of it mildewing there makes your stomach turn, but you're entirely too tired to consider picking it up yourself. Your partner knots his hair into a low hanging bun, just something to get the hair off of his nape. He hesitates at the edge of the bed, not entirely on or off, just hovering in the periphery.
“Did you want kids?”
Aizawa glances up, brows knotted together. This time, you really think you may have overstepped.
“I didn’t mean with me!” you try to recover. Just… in general.”
You're ready for him to step away, but instead he sinks a bit closer to you in the bed, head lounged, lips pursed.
“No, I don’t.” He heaves it like a confession. “Considered it for a moment. But, I decided I’m not the paternal type.”
Shouta huffs so hard that his body puffs and deflates.
“Can barely handle those fucking interns.”
The laugh sneaks out of you. Aizawa watches you from his perch, eyes narrowed with amusement. The cool air starts biting at your skin; you scuttle under the covers, then pat the space beside you.
“You scare the shit out of them,” you say.
“Good.”
“You could be nicer.”
You pat the empty space again. This time, Shouta obliges. He settles under the covers, a healthy distance from you.
“It's my job to be mean. We're making items that directly affect people's lives.” He shares your pillow, the special one you brought from home, the silk one that gives just right. “Have you ever been in a hospital bed?”
“No.”
“It's miserable. You don't get a lot of rest. Nurses come in every couple of hours to check on you-- nurses working twelve hour shifts with too many patients to handle.” His eyes are distant, even as he looks your way. He's thinking about the accident. You want to ask questions about it, but instead you listen. “If we can design something to make that experience better, something to help patients and nurses, we should be serious about it. They should care.”
A moment passes. You try to imagine him younger, sadder. You try to imagine him in those beds-- then try to imagine him before. The silvered scar on his cheek: what would his face look without it?
“I know on the surface it sounds silly,” he continues, a bit more grave. “It's a bed. But if we can make monitoring tools for nurses easier, feed reports directly into the system. Heart rate, breaths per minute, blood pressure-- it takes a load off of their plates and lets them focus on patients who need it.”
His head rolls towards you and your noses are only inches from each other. It feels like you’ve been momentarily allowed into an inner sanctum, opened a door to a part of him you shouldn't be allowed to see. The long nights at the office make more sense now; you had always thought he was just a workaholic.
“And these beds might be the last place someone lives before they die.” Aizawa says. “They deserve comfort. Dignity.”
He tilts his head down to regard you, then starts a bit, bewildered.
“Why are you giving me that look?”
You bite down your own smile.
“Just…” Your hand finds his chest. “Didn't realize you cared so much.”
Aizawa rolls his eyes as he places his own hand over yours.
“Don't tell the interns,” he grumbles. “Don't want them to think I'm soft.”
The sleep that nips are your cerebellum is the cozy kind, the kind that eeks your eyes closed bit by bit. Aizawa places the towel on the ground and you watch him. His features are the same as they always are, but your brain has recontextualized it all; the silvered scar on his cheek, the flat of his nose… you smile.
“Do you have pictures?” you mumble.
“Hm?”
“Of your cats.”
Aizawa looks back at you, surprised. Then, he melts a bit, pulling his phone from his pocket. He joins you back on the bed, over the covers, arm scooping behind your head almost protectively. The position is intimate; you make it more so by resting your head on his shoulder. It only takes a moment for him to pull up a photo of two cats, both lounging in a strand of sunshine, both tummy up and dead asleep.
“Sesame.” He points to the black cat in the picture, then the fluffy white and orange one. “Sushi.”
“They're cute.”
“They're good cats.” His voice rumbles in his chest, undertones you've never heard before. You cuddle in closer to listen better, close your eyes to really focus. “Sushi is older now, so she mostly sleeps. Sesame is two-- three, actually.”
You hum in acknowledgement. The thrum of his heart is slow and strong.
“Been considering getting another. For when Sushi dies.” he tilts his head in thought. “I'm not ready to be a forty year old man with three cats.”
You try to give him that look again, but your eyes just won't open. “And you said you aren’t paternal.”
There's a long stretch of quiet behind that.
“Do you have pets?” His voice takes you out of your sleep, but not enough for you to fully rouse.
“Are you falling asleep?”
Again, there’s a long stretch of silence, only the rise and fall of your breaths and the hum of the air conditioner to fill the room. Right as you start to lose grip on the waking world, Shouta moves, pressing his lips right into the center of your forehead.
“Do you want children?” he asks into your skin, voice frailer than you ever thought possible.
contains: sub!steve; top!reader; reader with a vagina; grinding; teasing; steve keeping his hands to himself etc etc
You grind down on Steve. He looks so pretty — head tilted back against the plush, expensive pillow beneath his messy brunette hair. It’s summer, so the golden highlights shine in the dim lamplight. He pants, gives you little moans that drive you absolutely crazy.
But tonight isn’t about you. It’s about him and his limits.
You keep his hands pinned beside his head. He cared a lot about this at first, not being able to touch you. But now he’s complacent, squeezing your fingers between his with every movement.
“You promise you haven’t touched yourself?” you ask.
Steve shakes his head, swallows hard. “Does it look like I’ve touched myself?”
It’s a funny thing to say, but it’s true. His cock throbs under you, underwear to underwear. Grinding usually doesn’t get him this worked up. You’d told him not to touch himself for five days, until Robin left their two bedroom apartment for a camping trip with her parents. Now it’s just you, Steve, and the lamp casting a golden shadow over Steve’s pretty face.
“You’re a good boy, Stevie,” you say, and he keens. Blushes so pretty. It makes your head spin, seeing Steve — big, strong, occasionally bitchy Steve — underneath you like this. Willful, a little helpless as you keep his hands pinned. You lean forward, rubbing the tip of your nose against his. “Want to see what I can do to you, honey.”
Steve groans. He keeps his lips to himself, even though yours are right there. “Wanna — I want to see it, too.”
You giggle. He chuckles. You press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Steve,” you sigh, turning serious. “Want you to say ‘red’ if you really want me to stop, ‘kay? I’m going to push you a little tonight.”
He nods. “Okay, coach.”
“Not your coach,” you murmur, brushing your lips against his. You watch his eyes fall shut, his face softening. It’s so cute. “Think ‘trainer’ is more appropriate.”
You cut off his moan with a kiss, a real one. Moving your lips nice and slow, sucking on his, squeezing his hands. You lick at his bottom lip and he sighs, opening slightly so you can taste him. He’s all mint and cherry chapstick, always prepares before things like this. You wait til he rolls his hips against your idle core before pulling away to kiss down his neck.
“Hands to yourself, okay?” you whisper into his ear.
He shivers. “Gonna be hard.”
“I know,” you sympathize, unraveling your hands from his. “I’ll give you a treat if you’re good.”
“Jesus,” he sighs, eyes rolling back.
You suck a hickey into his neck and his head tilts back a little more. You take a moment to appreciate his expression, the softness of it, the eagerness. You lick at the bruise you’ve left and move down, sinking your teeth into his collarbone.
“Shit,” he groans, hips bucking again. “Are — are you just g-going to beat me up?”
You wish he wouldn’t joke about that. There’s a reason why he isn’t tied up. “Bite you up, maybe.” You sit up fully to look at him, cupping his warm cheeks in your palm. “You’re safe, okay?”
“I know,” he whispers, leaning into your hands.
You stare at him for another minute. His eyes are hooded, loving.
“I love you,” you say.
“I know,” he grins.
Your hands leave his face and move down to rest on his chest. Your run your hands through the wirey hair there. “Don’t be cute.”
You grind your hips before he can snark back, which shuts him up. His mouth falls open, brows knitting together. His hands twitch beside his head but stay in place. You know it won’t last like that. The moment you actually put your skin on his cock his head’s going to be empty.
Just how you like it.
“So handsome,” you praise, scratching gently at his chest, watching it bloom pink. “The prettiest boy, Steve, I’m so lucky I get to see you like this.”
He laughs breathlessly. “Pathetic?”
“Mhm. My hickeys on your neck. My pussy on your cock.”
He groans. “Gonna make me bust.”
“That’s the point.” You reach for the drawer beside you to grab some lube to aid in your upcoming handjob, but Steve grabs your hips and pushes you back down.
You gasp, scandalized, while he smiles and ruts his cock into you.
“Steve,” you grit, grabbing his hands and forcing them above his head. “Who’s on top here?”
“You.” He’s still grinning.
“Who gets to control if you get to cum tonight?”
His smile falters. “You.”
“Want me to leave? I know your hand doesn’t feel as good as my cunt.”
His face falls, but his cheeks turn scarlet at the word. “I’m sorry.”
“After all that praise, too,” you tsk, reaching once again for the lube. “Should have known you can’t be good, huh?”
“Won’t do it again,” he says softly. “Love you, I’m sorry.”
You smile, grabbing the ‘cherry’ flavored lube from his night stand and sitting back on his lap. His cock’s so hard it almost startles you. “I’m not mad,” you promise, reaching up to lace your pinky through his. “You’re an angel, Stevie, you just act like a fallen one sometimes.”
“Are you calling me Lucifer?” he asks, corners of his mouth quirked up.
“Forgot you were Roman Catholic,” you sigh, kissing his forehead and scooting off of him to lay between his legs.
“Wasn’t that good? That I got your reference?”
“Yes, I’m super proud of you for getting my biblical reference.”
“Kinda kinky, isn’t it?” You should have gagged him. “Talking about religion when we’re fucking?”
“Steve.” It’s not a threat. You kiss the inside of his thigh, eye-level with his swollen cock.
“Wanna know something else kinky?”
You look up at him. “Sure.” Because all he’s doing is delaying his own orgasm to be funny. You can wait.
“I’d totally fuck you in the pews after service.”
You don’t like how it makes you clench. “You need something in your mouth?”
“Your pussy would be nice.”
He shuts up when you gently palm over his cock. His hands twitch again but he stays good this time, clenches them above his pretty head.
“You don’t want me to touch you here?” Your hand moves leisurely against his cock. “Just want me to sit on your face?”
you never had a proper ring. The elopement was sudden and bit earlier than anyone had anticipated, so jewelry wasn't a concern.
one day he takes you out to dinner- a nice, nice restaurant, one that he certainly can't afford on a teachers salary. he wears a new button down- not one Mic gave him, not one you forced into his closet. its simple and new, still creased from how it was folded in the store.
"What's the occasion?" you joke, swirling your wine in the same way you saw someone else do once in a movie, "If we weren't married, I'd think you were about to propose."
Aizawa shifts at that eyes flickering to his lap. "Do you remember when we decided to get married?"
"Of course I do." You take a sip of your wine. It's expensive, but you can't tell why. Tastes practicallythe same as the bottle you have at home. "I called every hospital in the city looking for you, you know."
"I know."
"And no one would tell me if you were even a patient, let alone if you were okay. Then, when I found you, they wouldn't let me into the room because we weren't legally family," you laugh, but the memory of it all makes your smile fade. You had only been dating for six months at the time,so it was your first taste in what could go wrong.
"And then Eri's school wouldn't let me pick her up because I wasn't an approved guardian-"
Aizawa places his arm on the table, palm up and waiting. You place your hand within his and squeeze three times, a silent I-love-you. "I know. I'm sorry."
After that incident, marriage just seemed like the smartest choice. There was no big confession or discussion- the idea was proposed one day, the paperwork done the next. At the time, it was done more convenience than for love.
"It's not your fault. You didn't get hurt on purpose and you didn't create privacy laws," you say, "And we should be happy that the school takes that much care in who the kids go home with."
Aizawa doesn't smile at this. His expression is locked downwards, the crinkle in his brow deepening. Every year it gets bigger, just like his hair gets greyer.
"I wish our story had a different beginning," Aizawa says, "One less... pragmatic and more romantic."
"Shouta, are you still thinking about the wedding thing?" you laugh, "I told you, I don't need one-"
"Maybe I do."
Aizawa brings his other hand up. This one isn't empty; a small, velvet box sits on his surprisingly sweaty palm.
"Would you do me the honor of marrying me again?" he asks, "This time, I'll do it properly."
thinking about getting fingered by Steve in the backseat of his car and being crowded against the door and sitting at an awkward angle but not moving because the thought of his fingers losing that spot is a million times worse than the sore neck… just UGHHH 😩
a hungharrington fic? in 2025? i'm just as surprised as you <3 1.3k, fem!reader, what the prompt says hehe MDNI this entire blog is 18+
The numbers on the dashboard blink in the night, reflecting the late night hour.
From the outside, Steve's car looks unassuming, parked in between the trees out by Skull Rock.
You're given away only by the faint fogging of the windows, though you have little doubt of how steamy they'll be soon enough. With the hot heat of Steve's mouth against the skin of your neck and the surety of his fingers, curling closer between your thighs, it's not an if, it's a when.
"God, I missed you s'much," He murmurs heavily. His words get smothered beneath his own fervent kisses, your skin tingling beneath the attention. He can't bring himself to break away from you for more than a moment.
Steve had headed out of Hawkins for the better part of a week, dragged by his parents who wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd returned just tonight, maroon car glinting the last of the evening sun up at your window.
You'd slipped down and taken the passenger seat always reserved for you.
And then, somewhere between there and now, Steve had cajoled you into the backseat, his hazel eyes bright with an adoring lust as he nipped at your neck.
"Missed you too," You gasp breathily.
Tilting back, your head gently hits the glass of the car window behind you. Your hair wipes some of the fog off and Steve nibbles a soft lovebite under your ear, soothing it with his tongue. His hands paw hungrily at your waist and you grapple to find purchase on his shoulders.
"Not as much as me, baby," Steve pants.
He finally pulls himself back from his affectionate attack on your neck, eyes darker, face flushed. His hand on your waist slides forward, following the line of your hips forward, down, til he's cupping your cunt. You think you get a little lightheaded from the way your blood rushes south, gloriously hot at the touch.
He kisses you, his groan seeping into your mouth. It fills your head, heavy and sticky with lewd thoughts.
"Thought of you every," He rubs you through the denim softly. "Damn," Another rub, more pressure this time. "Day."
You keen, hips canting forward, searching for more of that delicious friction. Steve gives you what you want; he always does. You reward him, your hands on his shoulders shifting. You twine your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, just how he likes it.
The inside of the car feels much, much warmer now. The windows can't be seen through anymore and it seems to cast the red light of the dashboard clock much further. Steve's heavy breath fanning across your face is the loudest thing in the car.
You should've worn a skirt, you think— right as Steve asks, "Can I?" his hand now up, thumbing at the button of your jeans.
His check-in douses the ember within you with gasoline, burning hotter, brighter, in an instant. You know what he's asking for, know exactly how well Steve knows how to use his fingers. The thought of them buried in you, crooked just right, suddenly has you aching for it.
Nodding, you murmur out your yes' as you shuffle about, working to kick off your shoes quickly. Steve pulls back to not be in the way, jumping back in time to help you peel the denim off from your legs.
You manage to get your fingertips beneath the elastic of your panties before you're interrupted.
"Keep them on," Steve says, knocking your hand aside. He surges back in, his fervour undulled, and his large hands find your hips, tugging forward.
You end up slightly perched in his lap, slightly pressed into the back corner against the window and the seat. It's an awkward position but when the warmth of Steve's fingers pet your cunt again, cotton stickier now, you can forgive it. You sling your arms around his neck to get closer.
"That's it," Steve murmurs lowly. He ducks his head to reignite every lovebite left on your neck as his fingers get bolder, pressing firmer. Your breath gets thinner, chest heaving more and more.
"God, my girl," He breathes, fingers spreading the wetness up and over your clit tantalizingly. You mewl at his too-soft motions, needing more.
"Steve," You urge.
He doesn't make you wait. Pinching the edge, he pulls your panties to the side and then dips his fingers into the well of slick wet waiting eagerly for him.
You make matching groans; Steve moaning at heat of your inviting cunt, wrapped around him, and you sighing at the way his long digit sinks into you, slow and so sweet.
"Steve," You say his name again, this time a honey, lusty thing.
Steve breaks his kiss to moan against your neck, feeding on the obvious salacious eagerness in you. His finger draws back and then he sinks it back in, beginning slowly to fuck it in and out.
"Missed you," He whispers. A second finger prods at your entrance and eases in gently, sending a streak of something white hot down your spine. Your arms around his neck tighten.
"Missed this," He continues, still a whisper. He's picking up the pace now, having found a lazy rhythm, fingers sliding in and out of your cunt so perfectly that it makes your clit twitch, envious and missing out.
You whine into the crook of his neck. "Me too."
Then, just as you think the angle of your back might be just a tad too uncomfortable, Steve curls his fingers.
A gaspy noise escapes your throat. Desire pulses wildly and you can feel the way you flutter around his fingers. Steve's other hand on your waist tightens, gripping you tightly.
"Fuuuck," He groans. "I missed that too."
Then he does it again, fingers crooked to hit that perfect spot that makes you feel like you might cry if he rubbed it too much. Your noises sound much louder now, jagged and pitching up.
"You're such a tease, honey," Steve accuses, his motions not slowing. "Keeping me from this. Keeping all your cute noises to yourself."
And, as if he'll know what it'll do, he stretches his hand, veins bulging in his forearm, and plants his thumb on your clit. You jolt against the new stimulation, another cute gaspy noise, and Steve moans against your neck.
His hand keeps moving, fingers still plunging into your sopping cunt, thumb rubbing tight, small circles on your clit. You cling to him, hips rolling to meet his strokes, the heat in you building, suddenly desperately fast. Your breathing comes out heavy and if it's not a moan, it's his name that slips from between your lips.
"Feelin' good? M' making my girl feel good?" He says raspily. "You deserve it, being left alone. So mean of me."
Something fiery swells within you and you inhale sharply, squeaking out Steve's name in warning. His hand, which must be cramping much like your poor back, still rocks into you, unfaltering.
"C'mon, let me have it. Please," He pleads. "Let me see you cum f'me, honey."
The sincere thread in his voice, the genuine plead, is what unravels your last ties. You tremble, lusty and quivering sounds that you bury away in his neck, as you ride his fingers through a dazzlingly hot high. It drags on, nerves glittering with a fresh coat of pleasure that have you whining Steve's name pitifully.
When your breath starts to settle, Steve eases his fingers out, already beginning to pepper little kisses along the side of your head.
"That was big, huh?" He says. It's mostly care in his voice but there, in the back, is a smidgen of smugness.
"Shhhh," You shush him, still gathering yourself, eyes closed. You body gives a volatile twitch when Steve politely moves your panties back to their original position. "I'm deciding if that was worth fucking up my back a little bit for."
Steve makes a wounded noise, realising that he'd had you crowded up in an uncomfortable position the whole time. He's a worrier. That's enough to make you lift your head off his shoulder, eyes lidded low.
"Mmm, decided." You hum, the pleased smile of post-bliss on your face. Steve softens at the sight of it, at your easy happiness. "Worth it."
cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks, fingering
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Sticky and wet. Your pants are sticky and wet.
Pulling your panties up while still damp was a big mistake, you think as you walk back through the restaurant. The water you spilled in the restroom is all down your ass and is quickly cooling to an uncomfortable temperature, not to mention the absolute mess of cum and spit that's currently in the gusset of your panties-
And yet none of it manages to ruin your mood.
Really, you should feel bad. Guilty, at the very least. You should be feeling bad about doing this to Touya, doing this in a public fucking space--
But, you don’t. Not in the slightest. No, you feel good. Better than you have in a very long time. There’s a levity in your step that you don't think you've ever had. It takes effort to tamp down your smile as you slide back into the table, adjusting your hair just in case. Your whole body is buzzing with post orgasm bliss, but you can't let Hizashi know that.
“Oh my god, there you are!” Hizashi slams his hands down and groans. “I thought you got lost!”
You never even got to pee. That’s a bit of a bummer, but you think it’s a worthy sacrifice. Fuck, you’ll never pee again if that's the alternative.
“There was a line,” you dismiss. God, you need to cum more often. This is great. Maybe you can masturbate tonight when you get back to the hotel room-
A tingle thrills up your spine as you remember the fact that you won't be alone tonight. No, Aizawa is coming back with you, putting that talented fucking mouth of his to good use. You should have tried this years ago; it certainly would have made work more tolerable. It would have made Aizawa more tolerable too.
Fuck, you wish you could tell Hizashi that he was right; having fun is great. You had almost forgotten that being in love could be fun.
Not that you're in love. That would be criminally insane. You're just high off of post orgasmic bliss.
“Where did Aizawa go?” you ask, casually. Hizashi quirks a brow as he takes a sip of his drink.
“Taking a call. Manufacturing had an issue, apparently.”
“Again?”
Manufacturing is always having an issue; it comes with the territory for biomedical companies. Production of the products is actually outsourced, including the computer chips needed for the bed. Most of the time, issues can be dealt with internally, but there are also times that it has to be elevated all the way to engineering. It’s a good lie, in theory, but Aizawa is going to have to explain why they are contacting a lead engineer and not someone lower on the food chain.
“Um,” you shift in your seat. The excitement inside you needs to come out or else you might explode. “I got a text from the guy from last night.”
“Shut up-- that’s why you were gone so long, huh? Sexting in the bathroom?”
Oh, he’d die if he knew the truth. Absolutely die.
“We weren’t sexting.” Not a lie! “But, I think I'm going to invite him over to my room tonight.”
Hizashi tilts his head down so he can look at you from over his glasses. It's a very Nemuri move, complete with her little smirk.
“Are you gonna just make out again, or…?”
You tap your heels against the floor.
“No,” you hum, as innocently as possible.
“No?”
“No, I--” Oh, you have to literally bite your tongue to kill your smile. It's like being sixteen again, giddy and giggly over nothing- “I think I wanna do more.”
With a mouth like that, you might just let Aizawa do whatever he wants. Hell, you had asked to go slow, but now that you've had a taste, you don't know if you can keep the brakes on. You had forgotten how good it feels to be wanted, to be craved, to be touched… and Shouta seems determined to give you everything you need.
Hizashi physically reacts by grabbing the table and shaking it with a slack jawed amazement.
“Yes! Yes!” You have to grab your drink and Aizawa to stop them from spilling, but you're laughing all the while. “Good for you!”
“Hizashi, the waters!”
“Who is this guy?” Hizashi asks. “Is he cute? Is he nice?”
Is Aizawa cute? Not really. He's more… handsome than cute. Hardened, but soft. And he's certainly not nice. In fact, you’d label him as very not nice. Mean, even. Though, he did get you that sandwich this morning, which was really sweet. And he has those cats, which makes him a little softer than you first imagined-
“He's okay, I guess,” you settle on.
Hizashi nods, a bit too solemn. It sets you on edge, the way he clams up as he watches you, eyeing up and down over and over. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he thinks.
“Shut up.” He leans in on his elbows, sternly. “It's Shouta, isn't it?”
Don't panic. You're pinned down, like a bug under glass, but you can't panic. Luckily, your brain is still stupidly swimming, so you're able to fight your institution and just stare back at him with what you hope is a bewildered glare.
“What.”
The man leans back and scoffs, then scoffs again, louder. His hand lies over his heart as if you've slapped him, indignant. The restaurant suddenly isn’t loud enough; you need the music to be turned up or for the crowd to get thicker to hide what’s about to come out of this man’s mouth.
“Oh my god, it's totally him! You’re totally boning!”
Fuck. Double fuck.
“I mean, you both just disappeared at the same time-” Hizashi jolts up mid sentence. “Did you guys just fuck in the bathroom?! Oh my god, good for you! Is he good? He’s gotta be good-”
Oh, shit. Oh, damn. The room might be closing in on you actually. It's time to do what you do worst: lie. You push away from the table with a snort, lip curled up the way Aizawa's does.
“That's disgusting , Hizashi.” Oh, there’a vitriol in that. You almost smile out of pride, but you keep your cool. You have to-- you can't ruin this thing between you before it's even really started. “In a bathroom? With him? I'd rather die.”
Your charade doesn’t seem to affect him.
“Oh, come on-” he laughs. “You're telling me you two don't have something going on? You both just magically found other people last night?”
“I wouldn't sleep with him if he was the last man on earth,” you insist. “Aizawa is awful! Awful! Why would I ever-?”
A figure looms over you. “What did I walk into?”
Triple fuck. From someone who stomps most of the time, Aizawa certainly has a quiet step today. You swivel around, trying to flash a panicked look. Somehow, Aizawa seems to understand. His brow flickers up for a brief second, then returns to the usual unimpressed spot. Should you be worried that the two of you have figured out lying this easily? Usually, Touya just lies to you, not with you.
“Hizashi thinks we're sleeping together.” You wave a hand dismissively. You hope that no one else notices that Aizawa’s face is noticeably damp-- freshly washed.
“Ugh.” He rolls his head back as if he’s been slapped, sliding into the seat beside Hizashi. His foot bumps against you and you question if it’s on purpose. Is.. was that his good leg? Or the bad one? Maybe he’s kicking you accidentally. “Her? What's wrong with you?”
Oh, ouch. That. Huh.
Logically, you know it’s just part of the lie you’ve started, but it still somehow stings. Rejection, even fake rejection, makes you ache. It falls too close to home, too close to Touya. (Not that you’re thinking about Touya tonight. No-- you’re allowing yourself to have fun. You’re forgetting him the same way he’s probably forgotten about you--)
Swallowing down your pride, you adjust yourself in your seat, pulling on your still soaked pants-
“You aren't a prize either.” Again, your own bite surprises you. “I've been dealing with your shitty attitude for years and-”
“My shitty attitude? You're the one who stomps around when your boyfriend gets fired.”
Your jaw falls slack. Okay, you should be offended, but… there’s an edge of something attractive in the way his dark eyes narrow. The grit to his voice reminds you of moments ago, how he talks to you when you’re alone-
“That’s rich.” You’re watching his face. Oh, that sting? It’s changed. Now, there’s a simmering want inside you, begging to be fed. You need him mad, need him angry, need him riled up- “Where’s your girlfriend?”
There’s a freeze. Both men have mirrored expressions of surprise. Aizawa blinks, then tightens his expression. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, that’s right.” You lift your glass and pretend to inspect the liquid inside. “You’ve been single since I’ve met you.”
Stunned, Hizashi opens his mouth to say something, but Aizawa beats him to the punch. He bends over the table with a glowering expression, those dark eyes boring into you. It reminds you of the fights you two had in office, but now that expression thrills you instead of terrifies.
“Oh, fuck you,” he seethes. “Sorry that I’m not whoring myself over the office with the interns.”
Oh, you kind of want to suck his cock right now. Obviously, you’ve always had a thing for red flags, but this is kind of ridiculous. He must have done something fucking magical or satanic to you pussy to make you act like this. Are you acting insane? You might be acting insane.
“Excuse me?” you ask through your teeth.
Oh, he’s riled up now, his eyes narrowed into slits. “ I saw those bruises you sucked into Kaminari.”
That steals a genuine laugh from you. Is that a genuine concern for him? You certainly hope not; Denki is… well, he’s Denki. He’s a sweet guy in his own regard, but you wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. He’s young and, clearly, you prefer older guys.
(Huh. That’s a new revelation for you. Touya is your age, but… There’s something unbelievably sexy about the grey at Aizawa’s temple, the wrinkles next to his eyes-)
“You think I’m fucking that kid? Fuck you.”
“Fuck you.”
Oh, you hope he does. You hope he absolutely ruins you.
“Fuck-”
“Okay, okay,” Hizashi interrupts you, arms spread as if keeping you both from leaping over the table. “You people! What happened to the truce?”
“You happened!”
Somehow the rest of dinner goes well. Hizashi makes sure the conversation steers towards work and his plans for the night. You do have to give the wait staff an extra big tip-- Hizashi may have said ‘butt plug’ a bit too loudly for the poor guy’s comfort.
Occasionally, Shouta looks your way. He ponders a bit too long on your features, has a bit too much of a smile on his face. His leg bumps against your again, a silent reminder that he’s there. Honestly, thank god that Hizashi was convinced by your lies, because this man is being obvious.
And frankly, you’re living for it.
You’re still vibrating with excitement by the time you all leave together. He’s coming back to your room tonight, coming back for more. You might be getting addicted to this feeling, addicted to being wanted, to cumming on someone’s tongue-
Maybe you should throw caution to the wind and fuck him.
Oh, that thought sends a chill up your spine. It’s been so long since you’ve been filled. Sex always came with anxiety before, but now, you might be excited. Especially when Aizawa’s cock seems so fucking thick-
“You all ready for tomorrow?” Hizashi’s voice shocks you out of your thoughts. God, you’re worse than him! One orgasm and you’ve devolved into a needy pervert.
Aizawa groans, pressing his thumbs into his temples. The hotel lobby buzzes with life as you all enter. The tiles seems to get more dazzling at night, blue illuminated by the dangling chandeliers and air of excitement.
“No. It’s going to be a long night.”
Hizashi elbows his friend’s side. “No mysterious girl for you tonight, huh? Too busy studying?”
Aizawa is starkly quiet for a long moment, mouth screwed tight as if the question upset him. You almost worry that he’s considering it-- that he’s going to go back to his room without you, and dread sets into your bones. The need has already built back up inside you, anticipation tingling all the way to your fingers. It’s a little alarming, how quickly you’ve gotten addicted to the idea of fucking him, to cumming with him-
Aizawa shrugs away your worries. “I’ll find time.”
Internally, you cheer.
“Aw, you dog. Now- Do I need to supervise you two?” Hizashi teases as he turns on his heel, walking backwards into the hall. “Escort you to your rooms so you don’t murder each other in the elevator?”
“I think we’ll manage,” you say as you press the button. Hizashi leaves and the two of you are left in silence.
The elevator door rumbles closed behind you two after you both set in. Aizawa shifts back against the wall with a sigh, barely audible over the gentle muzak. He looks tired, but in a different way than usual: a gentle, content exhaustion, one that wears well on his features, but doesn’t deepen the creases on his brow. It suits him much more than the usual, miserable look he has.
“I should stop by my room before-” Aizawa starts.
You press off of the wall and close the distance between you. It doesn't matter what he was going to say, because you weren't going to listen anyway. Instead, you press yourself up on to your toes and catch his lips mid sentence, moving fast and sure enough that you catch him completely off guard. You can feel his surprise in his inward gasp as you force him back against the cold steel wall. There's a moment of hesitation -shock, you realize gleefully- before he caves into you, hands on your waist dragging you in until your hips press against his.
The quiet gives you space to enjoy the tiny moments he gives you: the hitch in his breath when you hold him tighter, the rumble in his chest when your teeth close around his lower lip, the sound of fabric against fabric as his hands drift lower and his hands grip your ass-
“You really piss me off,” he mumbles into you. “You get off on lying, don’t you?”
Only with him, you think. Only with you. The door dings open and you loosen your grip, but Aizawa holds firm, holds tight.
“Aizawa,” you mumble into his lips, but he just keeps going. “Ai-”
Another peck shuts you up for a moment.
“Shouta!”
Finally, he reacts and lets you go, his touch trailing on you for just a moment longer. You have to jut out an arm to stop the door from closing again.
“Listen-” he exhales. “I am going to my room. I’m going to shower, brush my teeth, then come to you. Okay?”
More than okay. Perfect. Excellent. Ideal.
“Okay.” You try to play it cool, but his nose wrinkles in delight at the tremble in your voice. “I’ll be waiting.”
Stepping out of the elevator, you glance behind one last time. It feels like you should say something, give him a goodbye, but instead you just watch the doors close in silence. His eyes never leave you, staring with a silent, hungering desire.
You might have to fuck him.
Back in your room, you do the same as him. You brush your teeth, rinse the day off of your body, and contemplate yourself in the fogged reflection of the mirror. The buzzing in your skin is either anxiety or excitement, maybe a bit of both, but you can’t stop riding the high that comes with them. Being wanted feels good, too good, impossibly good- so good that you’re afraid it’s about to be taken away.
Logically, it will be. This… thing must have a terminating point somewhere. There’s no possible way that the two of you continue this into the workplace, is there? Everything ends at some point, everyone leaves eventually-
No. Focus. Have fun. Focus on having fun.
You didn’t pack any perfume, so you hope the hotel body wash smells alluring enough. Your hair still looks okay enough that you don’t need to bother styling it- but you still try to, just a bit. It’s normal to want to look nice, to smell soft, to be soft, but there’s also an embarrassment to wanting to be pretty. You hadn’t felt it before, but now, you’re suddenly concerned about the curves of your body and how it sits differently than you want. He’s seen most of you before, and yet you’re now caught up in the imperfections. Which underwear did you pack again? Nothing sexy, that’s for sure. Only skin tone bras too. Fuck-- you don’t actually know if you own anything enticing.
Do you even own anything sexy?
What clothes should you even wear for him anyway? I’d be strange to put your clothes back on, right? What about pajamas? What will he be wearing? Hopefully not that fucking yellow sweatshirt he works in. You find yourself pacing around the room in only your towel, tidying up and trying to decide what the best option is. Maybe just a shirt? Like Winnie the Pooh?
No, that’s stupid. Ugh, you wish you were someone like Nemuri, someone bold and sexy and confident--
What would Nemuri do?
The dreaded knock at the door stocks you from your worry. You make a quick decision; turning out all of the lights, you tiptoe to the front door and peer out the peephole. Yes, it’s him, dressed in a simple white shirt, dark hair freshly washed. His expression is unreadable, as usual, but perhaps on the brink of anxious.
Why would he be nervous? The thought makes you giggle. Maybe, just maybe, he’s just as jittery as you are over this-
But you doubt it.
Before you lose your nerve, you open the door, still in your towel. Aizawa’s eyes widen just a bit, then narrow with a keen excitement.
“Am I too early?” he teases.
“No,” you reply, “Just in time.”
And you let your towel drop.
A beat passes before he reacts. Aizawa’s jaw literally drops. Before you can revel in the satisfaction, he’s crowding you again, hands ghosting over your body as if he can’t decide where to touch first. His shirt is rough against your bare skin and you’re suddenly very aware of how your nipples have pearled up. The hotel’s air conditioning is rolling, much colder than you’d ever make your home, and your skin is goosepimpling under it, but you’re still so hot, so warm-
“Oh god,” he whispers, breathy, barely sane. “Look at you.”
The first kiss is wild, breath stealing, rough- it forces you back a step, just far enough that the door slams closed and leaves you in the dark. His touch has settled on your chest, cupping your tits up between his fingers in a boyish way, one that's so much less precise than his usual way of loving you.
“God-” he says again. “God-”
Suddenly, his lips are gone and you can feel him hunched over you, breath hot against your tits. The gentle tug of teeth scares a gasp out of you, then floods your body with heat.
“I want to see you,” Aizawa's mouth closes around your nipple for a second, his spit cooling almost instantly. ”I want to touch you-”
His hand wraps around your thigh and squeezes. Your body burns hot, your core tight, cunt wet- Hotel darkness, with the curtains drawn, feels deeper than home. Only the red numbers of the clock illuminate the nightstand. You can't see how he moves, how he looks, but you can feel it--
And you want to feel more, more, more, as much as he'll give you.
“Touch me,” you beg. “Please.’
He drops to his knees with a quick, labored exhale. Fuck- his leg. He’s already kissing the lower round of your stomach, trailing down to the curve of your mons, taking his sweet, sweet time.
“Aizawa-” Your hands run through his hair and gently urge him back, but he just presses on, pulling your knee over his shoulder- “Your leg-”
He's not listening. He's too busy nudging your legs apart, bumping his shoulder into your knee until it gives to him. For the second time that night, Aizawa puts his mouth on you. This time, he inhales, embarrassingly deep.
“Ah-” the sound escapes you involuntarily. “Don't-- don't smell me.”
The hot press of tongue ignites something inside you, something innate. Your hips buck on their own, the ridge of his nose bumping against your still swollen clit. After earlier, your pussy is still puffy and well loved, and the pressure sends your spine straight.
“I should have shaved-” you babble. His arm has looped around your supporting leg. “I'm sorry, I should have-”
In the dark, every touch feels more. More powerful, more potent, more smoldering: his hand is drifting up, under your ass and in, in, in-
When his fingers join his tongue, spreading your cunt open wider from behind.
“God-” Your brain is soup, stewing in its own electric pleasure. You can feel the chill of his inhales again and it's all you can do to whine, to push away his forehead- “God, don't smell me-”
“Shut the fuck up.” He rips his mouth away from you and you can feel his eyes staring up in the dark. “Just-- shut up and take it.”
Your jaw clamps shut. Aizawa’s back on you, huffing and sucking greedily. Every muscle in your body is perking and clenching, your knee wobbling. His hand digs into your ass, dragging you so firmly against him that his nose bridge digs into your skin. The way he kisses at you is overwhelming; it feels like he’s pulling pleasure out of you, dragging it out hand over hand like it's attached to a string-
You want to cry or plead or curse or something. but Aizawa’s stolen your words from you, so all you can do is silently whine.
It's too much, it's not enough, it's-
His free hand is suddenly on your cunt, a finger pressing up and into you. The sensation shocks a gasp out of you. It's not a lot, but it's been so long since anything been inside you; the sensation only worsens your needs, tightens the want-
A second finger slides in. There's a stretch and you suddenly feel drunk, like the room has tilted on its axis.
You're going to fuck this man. You have to fuck this man. You might go insane if you don't get that cock inside you.
When you cum, it flushes every inch of your skin with a lumbering heat, like he's raking you over coals. It's ugly and brutal, it almost brings you to your knees, but Shouta holds you steady. He doesn't miss a beat, still lapping at your folds like he needs you to live.
It's horrendous. It's torturous. The air punches out of your body as he strokes your already overworked clit. Tension bunches in every muscle, pulling you over him, hunched and panting. Your fingers claw at his scalp, tug his hair, but Shouta doesn't stop.
“I came-” you protest, voice climbing higher than ever. “I came, I came-- aa--”
He pulls away to speak.
“I know.” His fingers curl and press into you again, right against a deep spot. “Do it again.”
And he's on you again.This time, he’s more forward, aggressive with how he licks and suckles. It's no longer hungry-- it's mean. It doesn't coax pleasure from you, it forces.
“I can't,” you whine. Every flick of tongue shocks more pleasure from you, burning through your cunt deep into your gut. You're boneless, you're stiff, you're wobbling-
“I can't, I can't-”
Aizawa rests his cheek against your thigh, his fingers working harder and harder. It’s much more intense in the dark, where the only thing you can focus on is the feeling and the sound of his fingers squelching into you.
“You can-” He insists into your skin. He kisses the crease of your leg. “Let go.”
“I can't-”
Oh, a pressure is building inside you, one that's rolling and rabid. You think you might literally be drooling, but you can't tell anymore; all you can think about is his fingers drilling into your pussy, urging faster-
“I can't.”
He's not telling you to shut up anymore. He just says, firmly: “You can.”
And you do.
It's a lift, that moment where gravity forgets you when the roller coaster crests the hill. There's nothing, blissful nothing, a weightless second where you can finally pull in a full breath. Maybe this is it, maybe you’ll never fall-
Then, it crashes.
You think you might have gone blind for a moment. Stars flicker over your vision and your brain just can't keep up. Earlier, he compared it to a computer resetting and you suddenly understand exactly what he meant like that: your body slumps over as if he's pulled your batteries out. Aizawa has to pull his hands from you and brace to stop the both of you from tumbling over.
“Hey now,” he grunts. “Do not fall.”
“Shut--shut up,” you manage to say, still all twitches and kicks. There’s… you’re.. There’s a lot going on right now and you can’t pull your brain together enough to process any of it. For a blissfully long time, you just are: no thoughts, no doubts, no worries.
When you finally catch yourself, Aizawa’s still down on his knees, patting your flank in silent support.
“Are you alright?” His cheeks are dreadfully wet with you, caught in his stubble
“No,” you whine. “I think I died.”
He pats the side of your thigh again. “You're fine. Help me up.”
Oh, shit. His leg. You pull yourself together enough to stand on your own. Your thighs rub together with their own wet and you’re horrified at the amount of it all. It’s down to your fucking knees. God, you didn’t even think you could do that. Blindly, you reach into the dark and take Aizawa’s hand, hoisting him off of the floor.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“Peachy. I’m just old.” He pulls on your hand and brings you closer. When his lips find yours, your own taste shocks a gasp out of you. His face is as wet as your legs, stubble gritting against your chin. It’s surprisingly gentle and affectionate, as if he didn’t just change your fucking life with his tongue.
“I should get you a towel or something,” you say as you pull away.
Aizawa snorts, his grip on you only tightening. You try to imagine the look on his face. Maybe he’s licking the ridge of his teeth, maybe he’s glowering. Maybe he’s smiling, looking down at you with that almost loving affection. “You don’t think we’re done, do you?”
Uh oh.
Uh oh.
In the dark, he pushes you backward, both of you blindly bumping into walls and the edge of the tv stand. Each bump and bruise steal a giggle out of you and him, but the laughter does nothing to diffuse the want you feel emanating from his touch. Eventually, the back of your legs hits the soft down of the bed and you pause, trying to hold him a bit farther away and failing. You had forgotten that he’s still fully dressed; his belt buckle is frigid against your skin.
“Shouta, my legs are shaking.” Your hands find the bottom of his shirt, fumbling with the edge. Maybe you can distract him, give yourself time to recover. “I can’t take anymore.”
Shouta is mirroring your motions, running his fingers across the soft of your stomach. The touch makes you feel shy and you wiggle away from the touch. Technically, he’s seen you completely naked, but touching feels like a deeper sense of knowledge, especially in the dark.
“Two orgasms?” He squeezes your side again. “That’s really all it takes?”
“Three…” you remind.
“Two.” He’s firm. “The second one doesn’t count.”
The air conditioning rushes back on and you nearly shiver. The heat of your orgasm still warms your cheeks, but you’re still naked, still exposed. “Why not?”
“Wasn’t big enough.”
“Felt big.”
He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “You poor, neglected thing.”
Hands find your shoulders and push, knocking you back on to the mattress with an ‘oof’. The bed shifts under his weight and you can feel him there, hovering over you in the dark, just a breath away. All you can do is lay there and try to make out the shapes of him. The red glow of the alarm clock catches his eye and you suddenly know he’s watching you, probably searching for your way in the same way.
“What-?” you breathe. “What are you gonna do with me?”
You don’t know what you want the answer to be, but you aren’t expecting a chuckle.
“I’m going to do-” Shouta breathes, deep and dark and hungry, closer to a growl than a whisper. “Whatever I want.”
ok also so i can't stop thinking about it's unexperienced!reader's first time getting high and bsf!steve's somewhat experienced so she trusts him to teach her. they smoke a few joints, she takes quite a few hits, and new discovery!! reader is HORNY when she's high. not even subtly, so so blunt like 'ugh i wish someone's head was between my thighs rn' ASFHSHHFS..... anyways.... it ends up with steve not being able to help himself and they INDULGE. like raw, next question. 😭😭 anyways
😵💫😵💫😵💫 this got me fucked up…
i see this and raise you fucking steve raw when you’re stoned. and he’s like, we can’t fuck without a condom!!! and you’re like, well it’s okay if you cum inside of me because you’re my best friend. and for some weird reason that makes sense…
like reader being so loudly horny the first time they smoke and asking steve personal questions that make him keep smoking because he needs to be on your level. pronto.
and the moment you say “i’ve always wondered what it would feel like if someone came in me,” he’s a damn goner.
“yeah?” he breathes, a hand resting on your thigh, your eyes unbelievably red.
“have you ever came inside someone?”
“uh,” he stutters. “in- in a condom, yeah.”
and you lick your lips, staring intently at him, your hand moving to his. “raw?”
which leads to him fucking you (after the longest and most sensual foreplay you’ve experienced in your life). he’s so soft and sweet, taking such good care of you - but deep, nearly enough to hurt. you don’t stop him, though - not when you can feel every vein and the warmth of his smooth shaft. the feeling is magnified from your weed fueled stupor. feels better than anything you’ve ever felt before.
steve looks so handsome from your point of view. he always has been, of course, but this feeling of lust for him is sort of new. “does it feel good?”
licking his lips, steve nods. “god, love it — always wanted - wanted to —“
he cuts himself short, biting his tongue. he has enough brain left in his head to know he shouldn’t talk about how much he wants to knock someone up. maybe even you, now that he thinks about it.
but his brain is gone in an instant when you clench down on him, your cunt gripping him like a vice. “oh f- shit, shit, shit — wanna cum in-inside this pretty pu-pussy, christ!”
“oh, do it!” you sound like it’s the best idea you’ve ever heard. “wanna feel it too, steve, c’mon.”
he shakes his head, swallowing hard. “c-can’t.” he’s begging, pleading at you with his pretty pussy-drunk brown eyes to stop saying that. he can’t bust inside of you, not raw, not during your first time together.
“it’s okay,” you pant. “be-because you’re my best friend, doesn’t - it doesn’t count. ‘s okay for us.”
the remnants of steve’s brain are in his dick and he can’t find any problems with your point.
begging steve to fuck your face but he just canttt see your pretty face all whorish while he uses you but as soon as he’s in your mouth he melts and gets all whiny. maybe your nails are digging into his thighs and he can’t help but move his hips a little 🫣
EEEEEK!!!! ugh. moving his hips a little bit, hardly at all - slow, shallow strokes that hardly help him slip past your back teeth. but you want him to, so bad. want him to fit in that tight heat, want to watch his eyes roll back, want to watch him lose control.
“come on,” you whine against his tip. “make a mess of me, please?”
you’re sucking him again before he can answer. he gasps, grips your hair harshly in a fist, the tendons in his neck flexing while he throws his head back.
“c-can’t,” steve whines.
you wait until he’s looking at you again before pulling back and spitting on his cock.
his knees shake, looking down at you, scandalized.
you smile, taking his cock in your palm and tapping it against your cheek, spit transferring over. you slip it across your lips and onto the next cheek, getting properly messy.
“just think, steve,” you coo, “you get to take care of me after.”
you watch him bite at his lip, his thick brows furrowing together. his eyes are worried and conflicted while they search yours.
and then, in one fluid motion, his shaft is buried right in the back of your throat. you gag, rather gleeful, as your nails dig into his thighs.
“oh, jesus!” he sighs, hips slowly rocking to fuck himself down your throat. “c-christ, that feels so good.”
you would have said told you so if your mouth wasn’t otherwise busy.
stormborns
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
kaledo-art
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
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