seeing people say "this trope has been done to death" as if that's ever stopped anyone from eating bread. BREAD HAS BEEN DONE TO DEATH FOR LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF YEARS AND WE STILL WANT MORE BREAD. write your chosen one AU. write your coffee shop meet-cute. write your 47th iteration of "there was only one bed" because guess what??? we're still hungry.
tags ; facials, non penetrative sex acts, light incest, sexual tension, reader is labelled as a sister but no description of gentials, 18+
you and caleb have a lot of memorable almosts when it comes to sex. it takes a lot of convincing to push caleb into putting his cock inside of you, no matter how much you cry and fuss to him about wanting it. and he never has.
most of the time, he really won't even let you touch him. he'll touch you all you want, give you whatever you need, because that's what good older brothers give to their little sister who they adore. you can cum wherever you feel like, on his mouth, his fingers, on the hard outline of his cock insistently, without anything but underwear keeping the swell of his cock from sliding into you when you're grinding down on him so hard and desperate.
the first time you ever see caleb's cock is already when you have that routine. where caleb makes you cum, then locks himself in the bathroom to relieve himself, unsure of if he can control himself.
you don't know how you've convinced him. you must've sobbed with abject frustration, must've clawed at his back and begged him to at least let you see. a part of you doesn't remember what led up to it, what broke caleb away from his usual avoidance and uncertainty.
you do remember asking him to do it over your face, but you didn't think he would oblige you.
this is your most memorable first with caleb.
laying on your bed while his knees are on either side of you, his hands wrapped around his shaft while he jerks off over your face.
your heart is hammering. it's the first time he's ever let you see it. you could've guessed from how he feels underneath you, but he's huge. his cock is thick with veins and uncut, balls swollen and heavy with cum.
he twitches with every stroke, his chest falling and rising so rapidly. erratically. you can tell he's straining a little not to cum, but he's failing - pre-cum starts to leak from the tip, but he's quick to keep it from falling on your face.
his breathing is so heavy. "fuck, pipsqueak, your—fuck,"
the tip is blush-red, whole thing pulsating heat. you can feel your own body go hot with need looking at it. but the sound.
the sound of him fisting his cock is what makes you feel like you're going to lose your mind. a wet, filthy slick sound. it's so vulgar and noisy. you think of what he'd sound like if he was inside of you, where you're even wetter than his hands could ever be, where you'd pulse and squeeze around him and take everything he has, and what it would sound like if his dick was re-arranging our insides with the same pace, the same clumsy need.
you wonder what caleb would feel like inside of you all the time. the pressure and feel of his cock, the heat of it. but it's so easy to imagine now that you know what it sounds like when he's fucking something wet and tight.
you want to know what it feels like, too. you want to know so bad.
you crane your neck up without thinking, hearing caleb start to speak, his voice dying as you press your lips up to the swelling head of his cock. you kiss it gently, even though you're trembling.
it's so hot. hard and throbbing against your lips, pre-cum spilling onto them that you lick without thinking and crinkling your nose at it. salty.
before you can blink, or apologize, caleb groans.
his whole body shudders hard before you feel it hit your face. thick ropes of cum painting your skin, getting into your hair, causing your eyes to close with surprise.
when you open them, sure nothing gets into your eye, caleb looks down at you with what looks like horror.
but, as if he didn't cum at all, his cock cast shadow on your face all the same.
(DO I WANNA KNOW?) IF THIS FEELING FLOWS BOTH WAYS?
♡ TAGS ; AFAB + Fem!Reader (gendered language + performance of femininity. Readers wears a skirt and heels.), Dumbasses in Love Eventually, First Kiss, So Much Sexual Tension, Bickering, Not-so Unrequited Feelings, Intoxication, NSFW but not Explicit, Making-Out 18+
♡ WC ; 4.6k
♡ A/N ; i will be writing a part two where they fuck like more than likely. like almost guaranteed lol.
this is just a pre-amble to them. they're stupid. please be gentle with my otoya character voice i have never actually Written him before lol.
♡ SYNOPSIS ; You're drunk, lonely, and horny. In your stupor, you confess to your best friend and unrequited love, Otoya that you have a thing with your mutual friend Karasu. And a bunch of other stuff he wasn't prepared to hear.
For some reason, it makes him want to kiss you.
“Kiss me,”
“Dude, you’re so fucking drunk.”
“Shut up,”
He’s not wrong. You are very drunk. You’re very drunk and incredibly horny and a little lonely, and actively trying to console yourself about all three.
Summer nights like this one don’t come around as often as they used to. It’s still early enough in the season that the night air is cool and dry without being humid. The alcohol in your bloodstream keeps you from freezing, since your dress barely reaches your thighs. You’re sitting at the bottom of a stairwell knees up to your chest, your heels pushing your legs up higher. The alcohol makes it hard to hold yourself upright so you just let yourself be limp as you hug your knees. You’re thoughts are hazy from how much you’ve had.
Otoya is with you still, by some miracle. Him and Karasu always bring you to get-togethers with their soccer buddies. You’re used to your best friend ditching to go chase tail. You’re sure he’s bored out of his mind considering there’s no other girls around. He hasn’t spoken much since earlier. Just been on his phone looking for someone to hook-up with, most likely.
You’re used to that, it’s standard Otoya shit. You really shouldn’t care at all but you have those pesky ass feelings for him, so that’s a lie. It makes you feel weird so you just try not to dwell on it. It’s hard to be disappointed when you don’t have any expectations.
The fact you’re even thinking about those feelings means you’re drunk out of your fucking mind. If you were sober, you’d probably go straight home to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself.
You’re not sober though. And you’re lonely. Otoya is there, but he’s not gonna give you what you’re after—at least not tonight. You sigh dramatically.
“Where’s Karasu?” You whine, sniffling. “I miss him.”
Otoya shrugs. “Him and Hiori are in the basement, I think.”
You move before your mind can catch up with you, immediately a little dizzy. Otoya goes stiff with worry but relaxes when you manage not to fall on your ass upon standing up. Your feet hurt a little from your heels.
You turn away from him.
“Gonna go find him.” You say, words slurring together.
“And leave me here? By myself?” He asks, mildly offended. You furrow your brows.
“You could just come with me.”
“Nah. Don’t wanna.”
He’s uniquely annoying sometimes. You scowl, not turning back round.
“Okay, then die I guess. Just text whenever you get back home,”
With your back to him, you wave to indicate your departure. It’ll be better if you go now, so your feelings don’t have a chance to rise anymore up in your throat, like you’ve had a little too much to drink and you’re trying to keep the bile down.
You’d never actually tell him, no matter how fucked up you got. You’d sooner jump into oncoming traffic before letting him get the hint. You’re not worried that you’ll confess but there’s just something unbearable about being right next to him when your body feels hot. He’s here, and the wine has gone straight to your clit, but you can’t have him. You can’t even let yourself even think about it. It’s frustrating and too heavy for the night you want. Karasu is always good at consoling you when you get like this, get your thoughts away from everything.
You wanna suck his dick. Maybe today will be the day you hook up finally. Either option sounds better than lingering next to source of your troubles.
“You can hang out with Karasu later,” He insists. “Hang out with me.”
It becomes clear quickly that Otoya really doesn’t want you to leave.
“You’re gonna ditch me in like…” You do some drunk math in your head. “An hour to go get your dick wet, anyway. Did you want me to stay with you until you made your pick?”
You ask as a half-joke, but Otoya seems inclined to take you up on it. You flick his forehead with manicured fingernail.
“Have some decency.”
“Whatever,” He replies, nonchalant. “Anyways. I’m not even trying to get laid right now. Do you think that’s all I think about?”
You laugh out loud. “It literally is.”
He has no rebuttal so he doesn’t try to argue.
“Well, I’m not right now.” He offers lamely. You roll your eyes at him but eventually sit back down with a sigh.
He’s enough of a gentleman to hold your hand and steady you as you sit back on the steps
“Really? Aren’t you bored out of your mind?”
“Why would I be bored when you’re here? But I will be bored if you ditch me for Karasu.”
He offers the words up so casually, it makes you thankful to be drunk. There’s some chance him saying it will simply wipe from your memory. You want to ask him if he ever hears himself. If he notices the lingering implication of telling you that you’re the most fun thing here.
You’d never, in your life, bring it up. He says it all the time, though. Despite how often in your lives he’s ditched you to go on dates, he always comes back over to your place, eventually. Like a stray dog who always sleeps in your backyard, but never comes through the front door. He sleeps in your bed, eats the food out of your fridge, hangs out and plays games. You’ve known each other since elementary so all of that is normal. You just thought it’d stop eventually.
How many times has it happened now? That he breaks up with a girl then comes over? Says he got bored, but it’s fine. You’re more fun, anyway. You get sick of hearing it.
You know him too well. Better than he knows himself. Fun is all that matters to Otoya. What does it mean for you, that you’re the one thing he never tires of? You don’t let yourself wonder, and it’s part of the reason you refuse to cross the line—let alone acknowledge your feelings. If Otoya gets bored of you, you’re sure you’d never see him again.
You try to shake the thoughts away from your mind. “I’m not ditching you. You could literally just come with me. You don’t even like…hate Hiori.”
Otoya shrugs “It’s just a different vibe, and not my current vibe. Why are you so obsessed with him, anyway?”
You pause at the accusation as Otoya walks around to sit down close to you, his back against the wall adjacent to you. Your heels are touching the edge of his sneakers. They’re the same color, though it wasn’t on purpose.
The small intimacy chokes you a little. You take a sip of your drink before replying.
“Obsessed? With Karasu?”
“You were about to ditch me for that guy. I’ve known you how long. Since elementary school basically? Does our friendship mean nothing to you?”
He’s mostly being sarcastic, but not entirely. He’s prone to sulking, and he’s never really liked when you get other guy friends. Girls, he’s perfectly content with, obviously. How many friends you’ve lost to that asshole in your life is astounding. But never guys. He’s possessive about your friendship in particular. You have one guy best friend, and it’s him. Anything else is betrayal.
Usually, Karasu is the exception to this rule. So this kind of comes as a surprise. If you were in a better mood, you’d be content to wait it out with him until he found something else to occupy his attention.
“Shut up,” You say irritably. He has a talent for getting on your nerves when you really need him not to. “We’ve hung out like, everyday this week, dude. I haven’t seen Karasu since you like what…? January or something.”
Otoya makes an impatient face. You can tell he’s also a little drunk. “So I’m chopped liver to you just cause he’s here. What happened to loyalty?”
“Can you be fucking for real? Literally what the hell are you talking about.” You reply, dazed. Though you’ve been friends with Otoya for long enough that you get into petty spats like this all the time. He’s always been kind of a hypocrite. He can ditch you all he wants for a girl but god forbid you can’t hang out with him one day. “I like Karasu, alright? He’s fun to hang with. You guys play on the same team but it’s not like I play with you.”
He scoffs. “So you wanna hang out with him over me.”
“Sure I do” You say, knowing it’ll upset him further. “He’s nice, and he smells good, and I like his accent,”
Your lips are loosened from alcohol, and you wonder in the back of your mind how this conversation will feel to you later. It’s taking a specific direction that you most often go out of your way to avoid. You’re not sure you’ve ever uttered a word to Otoya about any man you’ve liked or even found pleasing to look at. For reasons aside from just being a little in love with him. He has a unique way of fucking things up by association for you because of his reputation.
As far as he’s concerned you’re basically siblings, but the guys you like never seem to believe you. You don’t want him getting any ideas about trying to play wingman, and it’s also just something you’re not comfortable telling him about. You both want different things out of relationships. It’s just weird, or something.
With all of this in mind, you still can’t stop yourself from saying what you want to say. You speak bluntly.“He gives me attention, sometimes. And I want some right now. I’m horny and this outfit is wasted hanging out with you.”
Otoya’s eyes go wide. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him make a face like the one he is now.
“Woah, woah, what? What did you just...? I mean hold on. You’re—you have…You have a thing? With Karasu? Of all fucking people?”
You wave your hand dismissively, no longer having the strength to care about how he feels.
“It’s not like a thing. Like we haven’t hooked up yet—“
“Yet?!”
You ignore him, continuing to run your mouth.
“But he gives me attention, y’know. Like just for kicks. He’s real sweet about it. It’s nothing serious. He’s very…boyfriend though. The kind of guy you date, whether or not you like him, just cause he’s such a good guy.” You really should not be telling this to Otoya. It’s going to be a huge pain later. But he’s being annoying right now, and you’re a little sick of everything. “Easy to fall in love with. And he smells so good.”
There’s a long stretch of silence. You pick your beer can back up and take another few drinks, content to leave him with whatever thoughts he’s having.
Otoya speaks after a long time, his voice still low with shock. “Dude, why do you—like—why do you sound like a girl?”
This asshole. You’re really going to kill him. “I am a girl, dickwad.”
“No, no like. Yeah, technically. But you’re,” Otoya makes a face. “You’re… I mean… and with Karasu?”
You snort. “We’ve been friends since elementary and you’re just now figuring out I like getting attention from the opposite sex? Are you going to discover the sky is blue next?”
He gasps in offense. “Dude. Our whole lives, and you’ve never even mentioned a dude before. And now you’re horny over Karasu? Of course I’m shocked. That’s the wildest shit I’ve ever heard.”
“Wow. I know you’re kind of stupid but this is next level,” You say, a little resentful but not seriously. “It’s not easy to find a guy who’d willing to hook-up with a girl whose best friend is a fuckboy.”
He frowns. “What? So it’s because of me you don’t bring it up?”
“No, but like, yeah.”
You can see the gears in his mind turning slowly, probably rusted over from lack of use.
“So…wait. Have you dated other guys before?”
You laugh out loud. “No shit, man.”
“And you never told me?”
You shrug. “It didn’t get serious enough to tell you.”
“I tell you about all of my relationships.”
“Yeah cause it all starts to blend together, Eita. Be serious for a sec.”
“Wait. So then. Have you…I mean are you still…?”
The implication is easy enough to discern. You roll your eyes, hands reaching for the beer besides you for another drink.
“Quit thinking with your dick. No, I’m not a virgin. Not since highschool”
Otoya yells what so loudly nearby members of the gather all quiet to turn and look at him. You wave them away then proceed by smacking Otoya on his arm.
“Dude. Seriously?”
Otoya ignores your concern, still caught up on the revelation.
“Who was it?” He probes
“The captain of the judo club,”
Otoya looks at you with his jaw dropped.
“That guy? You were friends, I remember, but you—“
“We hooked up like right before the end of second year. Invited him over for tutoring or something. He was really attentive,” You drift a little, remembering your first time with abject fondness and a little arousal. Something clenches between your thighs. “And so insanely ripped.”
Otoya looks so shocked. You feel a little guilty for laughing but at the same time, it’s kind of funny to see him so speechless over something that would be obvious to anyone else.
It makes you feel that familiar fondness for him that you hate. He’s a lot of things, mainly a fuckboy and a moron. But he has a way of endearing you with his cluelessness, a naive and genuine part of him that makes you laugh.
Otoya is a simpleton, through and through. For better or for worse. He chases pleasure, and good times. But he’s generally personable, easy to get along with, and loves to adventure. Between the two of you, he’s always the one that’s dragging you to have new experiences and chasing adrenaline and live more of your life. He’s a good influence on you in that way.
He’s consistent in his inconsistencies, so it’s easy to be his friend. You don’t know what it is about him that keeps you being his best friend. You’re sure anyone else would work for him but you’re familiar. It just… works, somehow. It keeps you here.
Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for him to finally get bored of you, but you keep that thought to yourself.
“I feel mindfucked. Like. What’s going on anymore?”
“You can’t genuinely be this surprised. Like I know I’m not really in your scope, but dude.”
Otoya shakes his head. “I just assumed you were like a sexless blob. I feel like I just found out Santa isn’t real. Even worse, you were about to ditch me, your best friend, to go try play tonsil tennis with Karasu?”
You smack his arm. “Don’t be gross.”
“You didn’t deny it!” Otoya accuses.
“Yes, I was. I was gonna ditch you to get laid. Like you do with me, like all of the time. C’mon, man.”
He looks so genuinely upset and surprised, you don’t whether or not you should laugh or cry.
“So earlier when you told me to kiss you, you really wanted to kiss?”
You feel your breath hitch a little but smooth over it quickly.
“I mean, yeah. Not you forreal, but in general, yeah.”
“You like kissing?”
You give him a look. Sometimes you wonder if anything goes on in his head when he speaks. Like anything at all. You feel your face get hot and avert your eyes somewhere else.
“Yeah. If the other person is good at it.”
“And Karasu is good at it?” He squawks.
You laugh. “Very, very good at it.”
He scoffs, shaking his head.“Well, I’m probably better.”
“Don’t be childish. But no, I don’t think you are,”
“I have way more experience!”
You laugh, at ease with the silliness of the conversation. “Yeah but Karasu is like…I dunno. Sensual. He’s really, really good at it, actually.”
Otoya goes silent again.
“Kiss me.”
He can’t be serious.
“Eita.”
He ignores your obvious disdain for the suggestion. “I’m better than him. But I can’t like, prove it to you, any other way.”
“Oh my god. Are you serious? Why would it matter what I think anyway?”
He pouts. “Cause you think he’s better than me.”
“At kissing.”
“Whatever. I can’t accept that. Just kiss me.”
You feel a headache come on. “Dude. Be serious for a second. Do you seriously think you can kiss me?”
He waves you off. “It’s all the same if I close my eyes. It’s fine.”
“Maybe for you. But I can’t just kiss you. It’s weird.”
“Why not?”
“For the same reason I can’t fuck or date, dipshit. We’re best friends. Like siblings, or whatever.”
You wonder if it’s always been this easy to lie to his face about your feelings for him. Over the course of your life, you’ve buried the want so deep inside of you, that it doesn’t hurt much anymore. It’s just always there, somewhere trapped in the depths of you, waiting to be uncovered.
A part of the reason you never get close to anyone else, never try to move on is because inevitably, when someone wants to know you, they’ll find him. The part of you that loves him idiotically. You’re always waiting to be found out it seems like. It’s such an annoying part of your life.
Yet it’s so easy to lie about it. So simple.
“Not actually related though. I can’t accept you thinking he’s better than me. And didn’t you wanna do it, anyway? If you can do it with him, why not me?”
“Please use your brain for five fucking seconds.” You say, exasperated. “And with Karasu…he just gets me.”
“In a way that I don’t?” He seems genuinely hurt. But you might just be seeing things that aren’t already there.
“Yeah.”
You don’t want to tell him that Karasu knows about your feelings for him. Your camaraderie with him is based in a sense of mutual understanding. Karasu happens to like you, so it’s easy for him to give you what you need as friends or something else. You remember when he asked you the first time about if you liked Otoya that way. You cried and he even awkwardly consoled you.
He knows how serious you are about moving on, so he lets there be something between you. Something to make it easier, when you’re ready. You really do like it about him. You get why Otoya doesn’t like it, but you can’t exactly explain what you have.
“Whatever, then. I’m still your best friend. Come on. It’s a win-win. I get to prove you wrong and you get to kiss someone whose a good kisser.”
“Eita, come on, don’t be—“
Without much pre-amble, as if deciding suddenly, Otoya to his feet, then pulls you up with him.
Then you’re being dragged away from the backyard of the party. He’s being careful enough that you don’t trip over your heels, but you find yourself stumbling all the same. You keep trying to tug away from him in gentle protest, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.
He’s stubborn when he sulks. Damn it.
He walks you around until you’re on the opposite side of the fence that walls in whoever house the party is being thrown at (Oliver, you think?), in the neighbors empty yard. Otoya traps you there, his body caging you in.
All the air between you seems to disappear in that moment. You can’t breathe. Otoya is still a little taller than you in your heels, and his face is so close to yours. You hate him. God. He’s so stupidly good looking, even with that dumb stripe in his hair. He smells good, like mens deodorant mixed with sweat.
Fuck. You’re freaking out at this unfamiliar sense of distance, or rather the lack of it.
He’s all you can see, and your heart is hammering. If he could hear the sound of it beating, you’d be so fucked.
“Eita.” You protest weakly. “Don’t be stupid. C’mon,”
“Don’t pussy out. It’ll be fine,” His breathing seems a little different too. A little uneven, but maybe he’s just horny in a way that has nothing to do with you. Maybe, some part of him thinks he could turn you into an easy lay, cause he’s a piece of shit like that.
He just wants to get his rocks off, and he realized you’re also a girl. It’s just convenient. You tell yourself that’s all this is, even when you know it’s not true
(Deep down, you know it’s nothing. You could think of a million reasons but it’s probably as simple as him being curious. You think it would hurt less if he outright tried to use you, instead of just wanting to know.
But you know Otoya. Eita. You know he just wants to know what it’s like. Since you’ve done it before, with someone else and since you think Karasu is a better kisser than him. Somehow it hurts worse than anything else.)
“God, you’re so—fine. Fine. Just, ugh.”
Before he gets a chance to make the first move, you steel yourself in your mind and lean back into your drunkenness. Let your instinct take over. Take a page out of Otoya’s book and stop thinking.
You place your hands on his chest, and feel your breath hitch. His chest is defined, and you can feel it easily through the Henley he has on. You make the mistake of looking up at him when you do. His eyes are alight with curiosity and interest. He’s hesitant, almost. Maybe he’s starting to understand why this is a bad idea, but you decide not to worry about it. He can back out if he wants, whenever he feels like.
You slide your hands up his chest, up to his neck, until your fingers are tangled and threading through his hair. You just stay there a while, quietly. And the both of you seem to be suspended here. You watch his breathing grow heavier as you tug lightly at the root, staring at him, in limbo.
Just kiss him once. Once and it’ll be over.
You pull him down closer, closer until your lips are nearly touching. A beat later, you press your mouth to his chaste but deeply. A real kiss, but a short.
Otoya moans when you press your lips together, even though it’s so brief. A deep, needy sort of sound that makes you reel. Makes you panic all over again. And when you go to pull away, he leans back in. His hands find your waist and you sigh into his mouth, as he pushes you back up against the fence harder, parting your lips with his to kiss you deeper.
You feel so conscious of him, but your mind can’t keep up with thinking when he’s kissing you. You can’t form a single thought that isn’t about wanting more, more, more. The greed shakes you to your core, your hands growing desperate. You can’t hide it like this, your want for him feels so open to air. Everything is spinning.
He’s aggressive while kissing you. It’s surprising. Otoya does everything lightly, without care or trouble. Everything is about having fun, avoiding displeasure. This level of intensity, like you’re lovers, it’s so much.
His hands move to hold your waist then move further down to grip your ass. You gasp a little into his mouth. Otoya uses it as an opportunity to swipe his tongue against your lips.
You lose yourself in it. Time, noise—everything melts away. Kissing like this, drunkenly, frenzied, already needy, there’s nothing to do but lose yourself. You keep telling yourself to pull back, to move away, to stop this from going further, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. You’re both catching breaths in between kisses, and every time you pull away, Otoya kisses you again like he’s starving for it. And his hands are everywhere on your body, pulling you in so close you can feel the heat of his skin spread through yours.
And it’s noisy. In between moaning and deep breaths is the soft, wet noise of each kiss that makes your stomach flip. He tastes like shochu. You can’t tell anymore where he starts and you end. Your head feels so hazy. Fuck, you’re going to regret this when you sober. Maybe you’ll start regretting it the minute it’s all over.
Otoya pulls you closer until your bodies are pressed up firm against each other.
You feel him, then. His dick is hard, pressed up against his jeans, and currently brushing up against you.
You whine. It all feels out of your control. And for a brief moment, it feels like the thing you’ve wanted for so long is so close to being yours that something keeping you together starts to fracture.
You separate after that. Pull yourself from him. You’re both breathing heavy, still and it’s dead quiet as you linger there.
You wonder what stupid thing he’s gonna say as you steady your breaths and try to sober. It almost comforts you—the though that Otoya will just gloat, or say something dumb, or whatever else.
But he doesn’t do any of that.
“You made me hard.” Otoya says, dumbstruck. “I’m so fuckin’ hard right now.”
“You just,” You close your eyes, ignoring the throbbing between your legs. You’re so wet. “You just need to go get laid,”
“Are you seriously telling me to go fuck someone else?” Otoya asks, half-laughing.
Your voice is shaking. You can’t go any farther than this. You won’t be able to go back.“No shit. What, you’re gonna tell me you wanna fuck me next? Don’t be stupid, Eita. You already got what you wanted.”
Otoya is looking at you with such intense desire your knees feel like they’ll buckle. “Look, I don’t get why you’re mad at me. But I kinda really wanna fuck you actually. I mean,” He leans in closer and your eyes snap open. “It was really good. It felt super good. I dunno why, but you wanted to get laid right? And I’m here,”
“You asked me to kiss. Do you even know what you’re saying right now?”
“Yeah. I wanna have sex.”
“We’re friends. You don’t even see me like that.”
“We’re best friends, so it’ll be fine. And I usually don’t but right now….it’s different right now. So, c’mon, let’s just do it,” He says. His voice almost sounds like a whimper. “I’m so hard, it seriously hurts. I’ll return the favor so,”
He grabs your hand and puts it up to his dick. Your whole body goes hot, like lightning through your veins.
Fuck. “Why can’t you find someone else to do it?”
“Because I want you. I don’t think it’ll feel as good as how it feels when you’re touching it,”
You close your eyes, knowing you’re about to make the worst decision of your entire life.
Just once. To get it out of your system. Then it’s time to box these feelings up for good.
“Fine. You better be able to get it up for me,” You tell him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him close. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.”
If u and ur beloved were in Bridgerton what anachronistic song’s orchestral cover wld play over ur first meeting (and if u want more: what songs wld play for ur first kiss/fuck and last dance 🫣)
hi mint ! so robby fucking smaira, hypothetically, to tears, what does he do? i imagine he just kinda pats her on the shoulder like….alright bud ill see u in the morning….maybe hes more into it in the moment, talking her through it, until they both finish, is it awkward?
i cant stop thinking about how emotionally charged theyre sex is im sure theyre taking their frustrations out on each other…….
ALSO i still remember that little snippet u posted about robby and whitaker RAAAAAA i just really like that tired old man hmmm i just know u could write a mean robby fic
do you want me dead. do you want millions of teens after my head. they killed Jesus for less than this. I will be brutally murdered by the fandom.
anyway here's wonderwall
(probably the worst quality shit ive ever written im sorry) ((kink untagged because I love a surprise))
--
Thirty minutes before the end of shift, Michael Robinavich explodes.
Samira isn't even sure what he's screaming about this time, she just knows it's towards her. As much as she hates to admit it, her mind is elsewhere. It's locked into how her mother has a new boyfriend while the man she was supposed to see last night didn't even have the decency to show up at the restaurant. How her apartment's been so empty since her cat died. How life just keeps hitting from every angle.
"Hello?" Dr. Robby repeats, leaning back with crossed arms and a laugh. "Even your responses are in slow-mo."
And, for once, Samira explodes back.
"I can't keep doing this." Her voice squeaks from the volume. "These stupid slights, all the time-"
"Criticism is part of being alive, Mohan." He projects his voice as if it's a lesson to the wbtire goddamn hospital. "If you aren't tough enough, maybe this isn't the right career path for you."
"And maybe--" Samira isn't a spitfire. Insults don't come easily. "Maybe you're just pissy because-- because---"
She plucks at straws and strings in her mind, trying to find something that would wound him deeper than any claws he's gotten into her. She tumbles over every ounce of knowledge she knows about him, every moment she's seen some sort of human vulnerability: Dana leaving, Collin's last day, the shift where Jake's mother said she wouldn't be dropping the kid off here anymore-
"Maybe you're just pissy because every woman in your life leaves!"
Oh.
That hits.
Robby blinks, then scoffs, then blinks again, twice, working his jaw side to side. The way he laughs is low under the bustle of the ED, but Samira can hear it, existing ad barely more than air. Sometimes Robby's anger is like a nuclear bumb: you can see the impact and the subsequent cloud rolling towards you from miles out, with no way to stop it-
"If you ever-"
A wall wedges itself between them. Dr. Abbot, still in his street clothing, backpack slung over one shoulder, has his back to Samira. He looks between the two, his usually calm demeanor ruffled. When he looks at her, there's an actual annoyance in his eye.
Her stomach sinks at that. She just wants him to like her.
The only attending that likes her, the only place she's been able to scrounge of any encouragement, staring at her with that look on his face. She wishes it was possible to shove every word back into her mouth and swallow the memory of it down.
"You should take a walk." Dr. Abbot's voice is soft until he turns to Robby. "You//. Take a walk."
"I have a shift-"
"I got it." Abbot shoves him back, so firmly that the nurses behind him all of wide eyed and scurry. "Take a fucking walk."
"Jack-"
There's more to their argument, but Samira's sneakers are already squeaking against the linoleum. Her chest feels frail with breath. The pull of air in her nostrils is loud and sharp and she can imagine it drowning out the scene behind her. The whispers of Tagalog, Santos' snitty comment, McKay's genuine, yet annoying, motherly empathy, Mel's inability to read a fucking room-
Samira holds her arms to the top of her head and breathes through her mouth. That brings everything into better focus. She stalks the halls of the hospital, up and down the stairs, past oncology and pulmonary, past the rounding night hospitalists, into the empty wing that used to be OB before they were crammed into the eighth floor. The dim settles her more. but Samira's heart is still tap dancing against her ribcage.
I want him to like me.
That's the thought that's dominating her mind.
I want him to like me.
It plagues her, how she wants nothing more than this asshole of a man to approve of her, to shake her by the shoulders like he does Whitaker, to pat her back like he did with Langdon. She also never wants to see his face again. It's a two wolves situation, both of them choosing to eat her instead of each other.
The day has frayed the burlap sack that is Samira's brain. Maybe she isn't meant to be here. Maybe she isn't meant to be in medicine at all. Maybe she isn't supposed to date or love or live, maybe there's something inside her that was simply stitched incorrectly or-
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Down the hall, also in the dark, Robby is there. He must have entered from the opposite stairwell. Somewhere along the way he had lost his sweatshirt and scrub top, his underscrubs' sleeves pushed up past his elbows. The thick muscles of his forearms are bunched tight, even as he laughs. That's what pisses Mohan off the most about him: how he laughs when anyone else has the audacity to do anything less than perfect.
"Jesus." Robby lifts his hands above his head. "J-e-sus. Can't get away from you."
"I left first. You followed me," Samira says and it sounds immature. "You're the one with the issue."
He plants his feet with that goddamn laugh again. "Clearly not, Samira."
Before she can stop herself from unraveling, Samira storms up and closes the distance between them.
"Don't do that!" she says, jamming a finger into his chest. "Don't pretend--"
"Pretend what?" Robby steps over her, as usual. They're so close, closer than they've ever been, even in the cramped quarters of an emergency.
"That you aren't the problem!"
"What's my problem then?" His eyes flicker down to her lips. Just for a second, more than a reflex than a look. "Tell me my problem."
"The problem is that you hate me!"
Robby's face is so close to hers that she can smell his aftershave. His face has creases: crow's feet around the eyes, smile lines that she never gets to see, a knot between his brows-
"I could never hate you!"
She reels back, tension dropping from her face. He doesn't hate her, but she wants him to //like// her.
"You are the most promising, talented doctor I have-" It rips out of him. "And I know you can do better!"
Samira wishes more than anything that she wasn't the one to close the gap. That it was him that broke the boundary, him that wrapped his hands in her hair and breathed her in.
But Robby isn't the one that kisses her.
She's the one who kisses him.
The touch of lips to lips itself isn't inherently a good feeling. It's skin. It's two people. She doesn't even really want to kiss Robby: she just wants to chase that high of approval.
When Robby doesn't move, it feels like that approval is crumbling.
"Shit-" she jerks back. Robby -her boss, her attending- stares down at her with wide eyes, mouth popped open with either surprise or horror. It's never escaped her that he's in attractive man, but the glow of the exit sign catches the broad of his nose and the dig of his forehead creases. His body is lived in, well loved, with years left to go.
"Samira," he says, with a gentleness Robby has never reserved for her.
There's an apology on Samira's lips, but then he's on her. Robby's mouth tastes like coffee with cream and maybe the hint of cigarette, one that she didn't know he smoked. She tries to think, but the way he kisses her, the way he touches her, it's rushed and bordering on thoughtless. A few steps and she's backed against the wall, his large, wide hands around her waist.
His teeth bump her lower lip and the surprise pops a squeak out of her.
"Fuck," he groans into her mouth. "Fuck-"
There were times in Samira's life that she wished her body was different. Wider in the hips, softer in the chest, heavier in the places men like: But when Robby easily hoists her off of the ground, she loves her body.
His body is soft and warm. She had forgotten how nice it could feel to have another person's body heat pressed against her, how good it feels to have skin under her palms, how the tickle of body hair runs a chill down her spine.
Samira's eyes open. The bubbling longing in her stomach only gets brighter when she catches the side of his face and how it's relaxed into her, pristine, like he's dreaming-
Robby's hand boldly slips under her waistband. The calloused palm feels firm and hot against the bare skin of her ass-
Samira should tell him to stop. She should slap him, remind him that this is an ethical nightmare, an abuse of power.
But she wants Robby to like her.
So she stays quiet when he kneads her, finds a sick delight building in her gut when his hips push against her. Each kiss feels less and less like skin and more like a lifeline, a string pulling her forward into him. It's been a long time since anyone's touched her and she had forgotten the way it can make her brain tangle-
"God," Robby whispers into her.
Shamefully, the grit in his tone makes her core pulse. Against her better judgement, she arches her back and pushes her hips into him, searching for any friction, grinding herself against his stomach. That changes something in Robby; suddenly, she's pulled from the wall and practically thrown back. Before she can yelp, her back hits something much softer.
There's a bed that was moved into the hall -probably broken in some way- and Robby has hoisted her on to it. It creaks as he shifts on top of her and the weight of his body lights up synapses in her brain that she thought had atrophied years ago. For the first time in a long time, her pussy pulses.
For Robby.
Everything is moving quickly and in slow motion. Her hands are under Robby's shirt, his hands under hers, gripping at her tits through her sports bra. Somehow, he finds the pebbled raise of her nipple and drags a thumb over it, back and forth, almost worried in pace. It's ridiculous how sensitive she is, how it runs electricity through her skin, tightens the burning in her core. If Robby wasn't stealing every breath she had, she might have moaned.
"Fuck." Robby's beard has wore her chin sore. He's suddenly between her legs, grinding against her with this horrible, beautiful rhythm. "We shouldn't-"
But his big hands are already pushing down her pants. Scrub bottoms have so much give, it's easy. Samira can barely get her hands underneath her enough to lift herself up and let him. She's grateful for that canceled date; she had shaved for that.
Does that impress him? Does he like a smooth pussy? Does he like her pussy?
Robby must, because he's already jamming a fist down his own pants, fumbling and fisting his cock. He's unshaven, with a trail of hair running up his stomach.
"We shouldn't be doing this."
When the head of his cock pumps against her clit, it suddenly strikes Samira that they're about to have sex. It's a silly revelation, of course that's where this is going, but the logic behind it feels impossible. She's about to fuck Robby, her attending, her living nightmare, the-
Her mind goes blank when he pushes in. Robby's cock isn't small; taking it suddenly aches in a way that she feels all the way up to her stomach. Her toes curl in her shoes and she bites back a horrid squeak, but he hears it anyway.
"I know," he whispers into her neck. Both his breath and facial hair tickle. His hips don't stop moving; he's fucking into her steadily, greedily. Not quite hard, but not softly either. For a moment, Samira thinks the discomfort was because she wasn't excited enough, but there's the tacky sound of wet, clicking as he pushes into her. She's just tight. It's just been a very long time since she's been touched. "I know, sweetheart."
Sweetheart. Robby must feel how that makes her body clench around him because he chuckles and rests his forehead against hers. His eyes are the color of his coffee: one tiny splash of cream to cut the bitter darkness.
"You like that?" he whispers. "You like sweetheart?"
Samira is a smart woman. She's a doctor, for God's sake.
But the only sound she can manage is a dumb little: "Uh-huh."
"Look at me." Samira doesn't want to, but she obeys Robby. "Spread your legs wider, let me in-- good girl, that's it."
She obeys. The rub of fabric against her inner thigh, the coarse feeling of hair as he sinks all the way in: none of it makes her body sing like his praise.
"Tell me-" Her voice wobbles. This isn't enough. She needs to hear it: "Tell me I'm good."
There's no time to feel embarrassed.
"The best," Robby promises into her neck, fucking her harder now, with short, hard thrusts that shake the bed. "So pretty, so smart-"
Samira digs her nails into the back of his neck. It's a lie, but she needs to hear it, needs his cock to hit just a little deeper-
"It's been a while since someone's touched this, hasn't it?" the whisper sends a chill down Samira's spine in the most delicious way. "I can feel it. You're dripping, sweetheart."
Samira has never orgasmed during sex. It's felt good before, but she's always finished the night in the guy's bathroom, riding her own fingers. Tonight, that tension inside her is spun so tight her body had gone hot, that she can't even hold her head up, that she can't pull her nails out of the back of Robby's neck. Her skull thuds against the mattress and she whines.
"Fuck, daddy."
It slips out. Robby's hips studder. Before Samira can even feel embarrassed, Robby grinds his hips hard.
"Yeah, I can be your daddy," he laughs and it's mostly air. "I'll be daddy, sweetheart."
The tension has changed inside her. The grind of his hips pressing against her pussy puts pressure against her clit, sending sparks across her vision with every movement. Robby's right; she can feel how slick she is, how it makes his fat cock glide so easily, how she needed this-
The orgasm hits her like a train. Every muscle in her body goes weird and it feels absolutely fucking fantastic. Her cunt clenches down hard and she knows he can feel it because it makes Robby groan deep.
"Oh, there you go. Feels good, doesn't it?" His voice is kinder than it has ever been. "You feel good for your dad?"
omega verse but mates only last one breeding season and your mate is determined by whoever knotted you. so for most couples, they tend to be mates year after year.
but you're single. and have been single three mating cycles.
its getting to the point where any alphas scent is making you stupid. you almost ask your 60 year old coworker to do the job because his scent if getting to you-
"I'm looking respectfully" well can you look at me like you're dying of a fever. like you're delirious and it hurts. like you're fighting desperately for your life.
