Imagine being loved by me
I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I could do
So I try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imagining you
Summary: Steve really doesn't like the person you're interviewing, so afterwards he fucks you senseless.
Trigger Warning(s): unprotected sex, cursing, degradation, slight forcing, mentions of breeding kink, not proof read, maybe some typos
Word Count: 3.4k
A/N: After many moons searching for this post from a deleted account (I finally was able to get my old tumblr name back!!!) I present to you this filthy piece ~ I wrote this back in 2022 (I think) when I was supposed to be doing homework. Here I am, four years later reposting this piece that is my absolute guilty pleasure! Please enjoy ~
**Minors and ageless blogs do not interact. 18+ only**
“You’re interviewing him?”
You turned to look at your boyfriend as you buttoned up your blouse. You cocked a brow at the tone of his implication. You had been getting ready for a meeting for an interview that was to be done in an hour when he stalked into the room.
Ever since Steve had found out you were interviewing Loki for his part in the literal destruction of New York City, he had been making comments here and there on why this was a bad idea. Maybe he was right, but you were just over the moon Loki had even agreed to do an interview with you.
"Babe, I don't really see what's the problem," you responded nonchalantly, taking your time to button up the last few buttons. To show some boobage or to not. You chewed on the inside of your lip in thought.
Steve scoffed. "Are you kidding me? He just tried to take over New York City, causing millions in destruction. He's dangerous."
"Dangerous." You repeated. "Everyone is dangerous, Steve, even The Avengers. Besides, there's going to be, like, a bunch of police guys there guarding him. I actually think they might be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."
You watched as the muscles on Steve's arm flexed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Jesus Christ, Steve--"
"Language--"
"Why don't you just come with me? Brood in the corner like my silent protector."
It was silent for a few heartbeats, and you thought Steve might laugh in your face. Instead, he shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Fine," Steve said, leaning back against the door frame. "Button up your shirt again, I missed the show."
You giggled and rolled your eyes, but obeyed. You unbuttoned your blouse, then buttoned it back up again slower this time, giving a good show.
You walked into the interview room: Loki's cell. He was held behind some type of glass box, the floors some sort of dark, holographic tile. The room was bare, housing only a dozen or so S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Loki had escaped once from a cell similar to this, the chances of him escaping again were likely. These agents wouldn't be able to do much to stop it.
You stepped towards the glass, stopping a foot or two from the cell. Loki was already standing, and as he stalked towards you, he made sure to trail his eyes over your body.
"Did you get all dressed up for me?" Loki drawled, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.
You rolled your eyes and pulled out the small recorder that was tucked into the waistband of your tight skirt. "I hate to bruise your ego, but it's actually a job requirement," you responded, tripling checking the recorder had enough charge. You had checked the decent sized black rectangle before you left the apartment and then on your way over here. A nervous habit and the constant feeling that something would go wrong.
"An enjoyable job requirement. For me," Loki commented.
You heard a low growl come from Steve and felt the warmth from his chest as he stepped closer to you.
"Oh," Loki hummed. "A displeasure to see you Mr. America." Loki took a few steps closer. "Did they send you in to keep guard, too?"
"No," Steve answered roughly. "And it's Captain."
"Yes, so sorry. Mr. Captain." Loki smiled wide, clearly enjoying making your boyfriend irritable.
You couldn't help but giggle and look down. Loki was charming and funny. Too bad he was an absolute menace to society.
"Mr. Laufeyson--" you started, pressing the record button.
"Oh, I like the sound of that," Loki purred.
"--I want to make you aware that from this point forward, I'll be recording or conversation for the interview you agreed to."
The door that lead to Loki's cell closed with a loud thud and you walked down the quiet hallways in silence. Steve hadn't said much since speaking up before the interview, and you had this gut feeling that something was wrong. You stole a glance toward him and frowned. He was brooding, his brows knitted together with irritation. Even as pissed as he looked, he still looked so beautiful, like he was carved by the hands of a goddess.
"Stop staring at me," Steve said sharply.
You frowned at the roughness in his voice. "You're angry."
"I'm not."
You moved your gaze back to the labyrinth you were walking through, deciding to stay quiet. It was no use trying to talk to Steve when he got in these moods. His walls would come up and anything you'd say would just bounce right back at you. You'd just have to wait until you got home.
The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of your shoes echoing off the dark floors. At this point, you weren't even sure where you were going, and you were hoping that Steve would guide you in the right direction. But he stopped, causing you to stop with him.
"What--?"
"I told you, you shouldn't have done that interview with him," Steve hissed.
You turned towards him, your brows furrowed with confusion. You opened you mouth, but closed it as soon as Steve continued.
"The whole time--the whole fucking time--he was doing nothing but flirting with you. Commenting on your clothes, commenting on your hair, commenting on your hips--"
"I do have nice 'birthing hips,'" you interjected playfully.
Steve backed you up against a wall, his hand slamming against the tile above your head. "That's not the fucking point," he growled, his face inches from yours.
"Language," you breathed. Your thighs instinctively rubbed together at the close proximity of your bodies. With just a slight arc of your back, your aching breasts would be flush against his chest. You mentally kicked yourself. Now wasn't the time to have your head in the gutter. Not when Steve was finally addressing the situation at hand.
"You looked like you were enjoying the flirting, too," he spat. "Did you?"
You were at a loss for words. Of course you enjoyed the playful flirting. You enjoyed the senseless comments just to irritate Steve and the below the belt jabs just to get a response out of him. How could you not? Steve was always so tense, so worried about his image in public that it came home with him. He didn't know how to let loose, how to just be Steve Rogers instead of Captain America.
"Yes," you finally answered. "I enjoyed it. A lot."
Steve pushed himself off the wall and ran a hand through his perfectly combed hair. "Fuck--" He took a deep breath and looked at you, then looked away. He seemed to be having an internal battle with himself.
"I liked the way you reacted to it," you continued bashfully, looking down. "Y'know, this--" You quickly gestured with a hand to Steve and stepped away from the wall.
You felt stupid at the disclosure, but you didn't want Steve to think you enjoyed the flirting because of who it was coming from. You liked the way Steve would place a subtle hand on your hip or gently brush back your hair whenever Loki would make a sly remark. Steve wasn't the possessive type, and you enjoyed it. But you also didn't know him being possessive would do these things to you. Your breasts felt heavier, your nipples pebbled, and your core ached with a neediness you had never felt before.
"This..." Steve trailed off. He gave a breathy chuckle and shook his head. "You're mine."
You blinked, taking a shallow breath. You needed to hear him say that again, needed to hear him say that while he was in you.
Steve shook his head again and backed you up against the wall once more. "You're mine." He buried his head in the crook of your neck and gave you a rough kiss against the sensitive skin. "Mine."
"I'm yours," you whispered, digging your fingers into his shoulders. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck for Steve to explore.
He pushed a knee between your legs and pried them open as much as your skirt would allow. His thick, muscled thigh rest on your lower thighs. If only you could hike this skirt up more, you thought, you'd be able to get some friction on your core. Your hips bucked and you licked your lips.
Were you really going to do this right here in the hallway? Steve tangled a hand in your hair and tugged roughly, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. To hell with this being a public space, you wanted Steve now. Your hands trailed down the blue button up he was wearing down to the gold buckle of his brown leather belt. You groaned in frustration, the belt lodged deep within the buckle.
"Steve Rogers and very horny girlfriend," echoed Fury's voice through the PA system. "Go fuck in your own house before I have you arrested."
Your hand froze, as did the rest of your body. How could you have forgotten you were in a public S.H.I.E.L.D. hallway with dozens of cameras? Nick Fury was practically watching the beginning of a porno. You moved your hands away from Steve's belt buckle and fixed your skirt. He stepped away from you, fixing his shirt. That's when you noticed his smirk. Had he planned all this? Realization hit you like a semi truck. Fury had exposed you all over the speakers. Speakers that sounded everywhere. Everywhere like in Loki's cell. After all the shameless flirting, Steve had proven to Loki that you were his.
You frowned. How could Steve have done this? It wasn't like him at all to dangle you like some prize.
"Real fucking mature, Steven."
"What's wrong, angel? You haven't spoken to me the whole ride home."
"Can it Steven," you snapped, tossing your purse on the kitchen counter. "You used me back there."
Steve scoffed. "Did I make a little scene in that hallway knowing Fury would say something? Maybe, sure. Did I know that Loki would hear? Yes. But, Angel, what was I supposed to do when you liked his flirting?"
You whirled on the ball of your foot toward Steve and pointed a finger at him. "You tricked me! I thought you were finally showing--I don't know, this dominant and possessive side? And I thought it was genuine, not some fucking show!"
Steve gave a heavy sigh. "Angel--"
"Don't fucking 'Angel' me, Steven." You pointed at him again, this time poking his chest. "I wanted to fuck you in that hallway. I was ready to fuck you in that hallway."
Steve grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you closer to him. "I was more than ready to fuck you in that hallway, too," he said, his voice a tad more gentle. "I would have fucked you against the glass of Loki's cell to claim you." A hot shiver ran down your spine and fluttered in your core. "I would have fucked my cum deep inside you until it ran down your legs for everyone to see. Especially him."
Your breath caught in your throat and the anger that was once boiling over in your blood had now dispersed. What replaced it was a deeply rooted lust that burned to your very core. Your blood, your body was on fire and the only way to sate it was to rip the clothes from your body and ride Steve until dawn.
"Do you want that, Angel?" Steve ran a hand down your arm and gently turned you around. His hand ran over your abdomen, his fingers catching in the buttons of your blouse. Your back was now flush against his chest and you felt something hard against your lower back. You breathed a shaky sigh of anticipation as he untucked the shirt from the tight skirt. His fingers worked to free the buttons and you shivered at the tension it caused your body.
You could only nod as the last button was freed, your chest nearly exposed. Your nipples hardened further at the coolness of your shared apartment, your lace bralette doing nothing to keep you warm.
He ran his hands up your bare stomach, then to the bottom of your bralette. His fingers dipped under the black, Lacey fabric and caressed the bottoms of your breasts. Another shaky sigh passed your lips and you rest your head back against shoulder. The feeling of his fingers sliding and squeezing your tender breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers had you squirming for more. Wonton mews fluttered through your lips and your own hands rest over his, begging to handle you more rough.
Warm, wet kisses trailed along your neck to the outmost corner of your jaw. Your skin tingled where his lips met your flesh, tingled and buzzed until you felt as if you were going to explode. Steve had never handled you like this, had never been so passionate with you before.
Sex had always been mostly simple with Steve. Standard missionary was the go-to, with the occasional cowgirl. Everything else was…uncharted territory. Of course, you didn’t mind the simplicity, but this…this was amazing.
You pushed your bottom against his hard bulge and whined softly. “Steve,” you mewled. “I need more—please.”
Steve paused his ministrations on your breasts, his breath shaky against your neck. He slid his hands out of your lacy bralette, pausing at the bottom. In an instant, his fingers were digging into the lace, ripping the fragile fabric in two. Goosebumps pimpled over your breasts as the cold air of your apartment enveloped you skin. You gasped softly, the sudden show of aggression catching you off guard. His hands found place at the hem of your skirt, pushing the tight professional ware down your ass.
“What do you need, sweetheart?” Steve asked, his voice an octave lower.
You shakily stepped out of the skirt now pooled at your feet, now only standing in your opened blouse and a simple black thong. You shrugged the blouse to the floor, the remnants of your bralette falling with it. You turned around to face Steve in your nakedness.
“I need you,” you answered timidly, your gaze on the floor. “I need you inside me.” It was weird to tell him what you needed, having never spoken to each other during sex other than the occasional “you like that?” But you felt brave and…sexy. You took the smallest step closer, your fingers teasing the button of his jeans.
Steve let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping your hips tightly. You managed to undo the button one-handed and drag the zipper of his pants down, your fingers brushing against his clothed cock. You felt him twitch slightly, and you couldn't help the smile that tugged on your lips. He must be so hard, probably harder than he's ever been.
"Do you need me, too?" you asked, your hand fingering the hem of his boxers. Where was this braveness coming from? You slipped your hand inside his underwear, gently grabbing his cock. Your thumb swiped along the head of his penis, smearing his pre-cum.
Steve swallowed hard, and you could see the effort it took for him to bring his hand to caress your cheek. "I want you to suck my cock," Steve grunted.
Your thumb stopped its ministrations and you pulled your hand from his boxers. "No." You stepped back, looking Steve up and down.
Steve cocked his head to the side, his brows furrowed. "'No'?" he repeated. He took a step towards you, and you took a step back, your lower back brushing against the kitchen island counter. Steve shook his head and pulled up the shirt he wore. Understandably, you were quite distracted by his chest and the dark hairs leading down to--
You let out a small yelp as Steve grabbed you by the backs of your knees and placed you on the counter. He forced your legs apart, running a finger over the thin g-string covering your heated mess. A finger pushed the thin fabric aside and delved inside your needy cunt. His finger flexed and curled almost instantly, and you let out a loud moan.
"You sound so needy," he growled, pulling his finger out. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, spreading your juices. "Is it me that's got you like this? Or him?" He shook his head, disgust shining through his features. "Slut."
You winced at the word, at the harshness of it. Did he really mean that? "Steve," you started, "of course it's you--" You were cut off with a loud moan pushing through your lips as Steve inserted two fingers inside you. His fingers curled once more, and with it your toes.
"This pussy belongs to me," he pumped his fingers inside you, his other hand pushing down his boxers and pants. "Your pussy belongs to me."
Without a warning, Steve's fingers abandoned your needy core, and in its place was his cock. The thickness stretched you out, and the head of his penis hit against your puffy walls. He pulled out quickly, then bottomed out inside you once more. His hands gripped your hips roughly, his thrusts just as rough. You cried out each time, nearly feeling him in your stomach. It was too much, but not enough at the same time. You had never been fucked like this before, and you relished in it. Relished in the way Steve's balls slapped against you with a wet snap. Relished in the way Steve made a mess of you--your wetness dripping down to the counter.
"I belong to you," you whimpered, back arching. Your hands gripped his thick biceps, your nails digging into his flesh.
Steve's thrusts faltered and he finally looked at you. He pulled you flush to his chest, your bare breasts against him. He gripped your chin and looked deep into your eyes. "Say it again."
You were caught aback, never having seen Steve so vulnerable before. You moved your hands up to rest on his shoulders. "I'm yours, Steve. Body and soul."
It was as if a switch had been pressed in Steve. One minute you were on the counter and the next you were bouncing against the wall. Steve thrust up into you, his cock never leaving the warmth of your pussy. His grip on your hips was ironclad as he fucking you on the wall. You screamed in bliss and in pain. You'd never been explored like this--Steve had never explored you like this. His cock was hitting places you didn't even know existed or felt good. He shifted his position, thrusting into you at a different angle and you saw stars. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes as your orgasm washed through your body. Your legs wrapped around his torso, your ankles locking around each other.
Steve fucked you through your orgasm, sweat lining the both of your bodies. Your hands tangled in his hair and tugged lightly, another cry emanating from your lips. You ground your hips down against him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. You could feel another orgasm coming, could feel the tension in your body rise. Your fingers tightened on the strands of Steve's hair as another orgasm was nearing its peak. Your back arched as your body trembled with another orgasm, your legs shaking. Steve's thrusts faltered and he groaned loudly. His cock twitched inside you as he pushed himself as deep as he could in your battered cunt. He allowed himself to spill his seed within you, and you both stayed in that position for quite some time. Even when you felt his cock soften within you, you stayed like that, each breathing hard.
"Steve?" you breathed, untangling your fingers from his hair.
"Hmm?" he answered. His head rest on your shoulder, his breath fanning against your neck.
"Did you really mean that? That you'd fuck me in front of Loki?"
Steve lifted his head and looked at you. "Well, maybe not in front of someone--"
"But like," you paused timidly, "in public?"
Steve chuckled. "I wouldn't mind, angel. We can try it one day."
Things literally could not have ended up worse. There you were, trapped in an elevator with the ultimate douche bag: Ushijima Wakatoshi. Why the hell did he have to be so blunt all the time? Or so cocky? Has this man never heard of being humble?
You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the elevator wall far from said douche bag. You huffed in annoyance for the thousandth time, earning another pointed glare from Ushijima.
“Huffing won’t make the elevator work,” he stated matter of factly.
You rolled your eyes. “It seems it won’t make you disappear either,” you retorted, a bit of bite to your tone.
Ushijima stared down at you and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the look he was giving you. It seemed to be a mixture of annoyance and something else..? His features were hard, but his eyes were soft.
You tore your eyes away from him, not wanting to see him look down at you for god knows how long you’d be in this elevator. You pulled out your phone for some company, only to find zero bars. Great, just what you needed. Tense silence with a man you hated.
You huffed again. How the hell had you gotten into this situation? Oh. That’s right. The both of you were on your way to a dinner party with the team. You weren’t the manager or anything, but you helped out a lot since your uncle was the coach.
When you arrived in the parking garage, you opted to take the elevator up since you weren’t too keen on walking up stairs in heels. That’s when Ushijima showed up. He passed the elevator and had done a double take. You could tell he was debating on whether or not he should join you, and, before the doors could close, he stepped inside.
You mentally cursed yourself for not pressing the close door button as you adjusted your slip dress. True, it was only a dinner, but your uncle had chosen one of the fanciest restaurants in town and the occasion was black tie. You assumed there would be some sort of after party once the dinner was over.
You stole a glance at Ushijima, looking him up and down. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t look good in that suit. He looked very good. Instead of wearing a basic white button down with his suit, he wore a black turtleneck. You subconsciously bit your lip as your eyes trailed over his toned arms that were very noticeable in his jacket. Your eyes trailed up and met his gaze and you quickly looked away, cheeks heated. You saw him smirk from your peripherals and you scowled. Of course he would be a douche about catching you checking him out.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“Yes,” you answered, not daring to look towards him.
You heard him grunt and shuffle. “Why?” he questioned. You heard him step towards you and you tensed up.
“You’re a douche bag. You only care about yourself and you think you’re so much better than others,” you answered. The more you spoke, the more angry you became. “You’re so cocky and rude and…and arrogant! And for what? You’d be a lot more attractive if you just were a bit more humble!” Your breathing was ragged, your chest heaving. You were fully looking at him now, your eyes boring into his.
You searched his face for any sort of emotion. He was frowning and his eyes were no longer soft. Instead, they were dark and roamed down your body.
“Is that what you truly think of me?” he asked, the question coming out low and soft.
“Yes,” you breathed, sticking out your chin.
He shook his head. “I don't mean to be so arrogant. I know my talent and my worth, much like you…” he trailed off. “Please forgive me if I’ve made myself unbearable.”
You only just realized the lack of space between the two of you. Your chest was brushing against his with every breath you took and your faces were mere inches away from each other. You looked down to his lips, your mouth salivating at the thought of kissing him and having your way with him in this elevator. You snapped back to reality, shocked at your lewd thoughts.
You pushed him away, growling softly. “Oh, shut up! Don’t try and be nice now—god what the fuck is your problem?! You—you’re so—URGH!”
You crossed your arms over your chest and shoved yourself in the corner of the elevator, breathing heavily. You were so worked up and you had no idea why. Why was he getting you so angry so easily? You dared take another glance at him and instantly regretted it. You were met with another smirk, this time wider.
“I’m what?” Ushijima asked, stepping closer to you.
You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, least you say something you’d regret. You instinctively backed further into the corner, looking anywhere but him. You could feel him looming over you--his eyes boring down into you. You shifted your stance, feeling suddenly small and heated. Why…why were you so heated?
“I’m. What?” he repeated, smirking a bit. He stepped even closer to you, tracing your jaw with a finger and tipping your chin up to look at him. “Look at me,” he ordered.
Your eyes flicked up to him, his words making your core throb. You cursed yourself for deciding not to wear underwear, feeling your wetness drip down your thigh. You examined his features, your eyes tracing over his eyes, then his lips. You wanted to kiss him so bad…to feel his warmth on you and his cock in you. Subconsciously, you puffed your chest out to show off your cleavage. You noticed his eyes trail down to your chest, then trail back up, stopping at your lips.
“Truly, you’re such an infuriating woman,” he admitted, cupping the back of your neck and placing his lips on yours before you could respond.
You stood there, shocked, but quickly kissed him back. His hands trailed down to your waist, pulling your hips flush against his. You let out a small gasp as you felt his hardness against you, the movement of your lips allowing Ushijima to slip in his tongue. He pulled you closer, his large hands settling on your ass, the fabric of your dress barely guarding you from his warmth. Ushijima squeezed your ass, pulling you even closer.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful…” Ushijima murmured against your lips.
Your eyes flickered up to his, your hands trailing down his chest and to his belt. He watched you fumble with the buckle and helped you pull his trousers down. His bulge seemed bigger now that he was only covered with his boxer briefs. You stroked his length through his boxers and palmed him, eliciting a soft groan from Ushijima. God, you really didn’t want to get dirty in an elevator, but at this point, your cunt was practically begging for it.
Ushijima grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from his crotch and swiftly picking you up. He gripped your thighs and pinned you up against the elevator wall, his lips attaching to your neck. He sucked on the sensitive spot on your neck, earning a small moan from you. The position you were in caused your dress to hike up your thighs, your pretty pussy on display for Ushijima. He trailed his fingers down over your folds.
“You’re so wet already,” he mumbled, pecking your lips. “All this for my cock?”
You huffed, your chest puffing out again. “Well what if it was?” you asked, pursing your lips.
Ushijima let out a deep chuckle, pushing past your folds and softly circling over your clit. Your hips bucked up and you moaned, throwing your head back. His lips attached to your neck once more, adding a bit more pressure to your clit.
“U-Ushijima, please…” you whined, rolling your hips up. “The elevators can be fixed at any--!” You were interrupted by a loud moan as Ushijima eased his cock inside you.
Ushijima was a tall man, his features larger than most, but you hadn’t expected his cock to be this big. As he pushed himself deeper inside you, you felt every inch of his cock stretch you out. You gripped his biceps, your nails digging into the fabric of his white pressed shirt. He thrust into you, picking up a hard pace. With each thrust, he buried himself deeper inside you until your clit met his pelvis each time. He was pounding into you, the lewd noises of your sopping cunt and his balls slapping against each other filling the room.
Your puffy walls clenched around him as your orgasm built in your abdomen. If Ushijima kept up this pace, you’d surely come undone soon. He adjusted his stance, snapping his hips into you at a different angle and hitting your g-spot. You screamed out his name, nails raking down his arms.
“F-Fuck, I’m close,” Ushijima breathed against your neck, thrusting into you harder.
You bit his shoulder, a scream coming out of your lips as your walls fluttered around his cock. You desperately tried to hold on a bit longer, but the pressure in your abdomen was too much, causing you to squirt on his cock. Ushijima thrust a few more times, cuming inside you. He stilled his hips as he painted your walls white and breathed heavily.
You tilt your head back against the cold metal wall, your legs trembling and your breathing labored. “Fuck,” you let out, chuckling. “The minute you pull out and set me on this floor, your cum is gonna drip down my leg…”
Ushijima let out a chuckle and pulled out. “I have a handkerchief in my pocket,” he said, adjusting his trousers and buckling his belt once more.
You shifted, feeling his cum start to travel down your thigh and grabbed his handkerchief. You quickly cleaned yourself up and jolted as the elevator began to move once more. You looked at Ushijima, smiling as you watched him fix his tie.
Summary: Daichi is very eager to get you home and ruin your lipstick.
Word Count: 1.2k
Content: MDNI, cursing, oral sex
Daichi couldn’t stop looking at your lips since you’d left the house. He knew he should’ve been paying more attention to his Sargent, or even his Corporal, but he couldn’t. Your lips looked too damn good in that shade of red. Had your lips always been so plump? So fuckable? The hand around the champagne glass he was holding clenched slightly . This party had only just started and he already wanted to leave. He took a long drink of the bubbly liquor.
It’s not exactly that this party was boring. It was boring, but he knew it was just the beginning. There was a process to go through. Mingling. Formalities. Speech. Party. They were now halfway through the formalities. That was the boring part. In a perfect world he’d be interested in meeting the other sectors’ Corporals and Sergeants, maybe even try to climb the ladder. But god he could not stop looking at your mouth as you talked.
He supposed he’d always taken your mouth for granted until now. He loved the way you took him in your mouth, yes, but he’d always enjoyed fucking you more. Spilling his seed within and pushing it deep inside you. But now he wanted to know what it would be like to spill himself in your mouth—on your face. Daichi shifted from foot to foot.
He casually looked over to you, to find you already looking at him. You scrunched your eyebrows, only enough for him to notice. He knew what you were asking—If he was okay. He wasn’t, but he couldn’t exactly say that. You’d probably go into a small panic and pull him to the side just to ask what was wrong. And he couldn’t exactly tell you his fantasy. Not yet at least. Daichi knew if he told you, you’d be on your knees begging for his cum. He felt his cock twitch and shifted again. He wondered if you caught on.
He practically groaned when you walked in front of him and took his hand. He was far from touch starved, but it didn’t help the way you brushed subtly against him. Neither did the small smirk on your face help when your ass pressed against his hard cock.
Reluctantly, he let you take him to a nearby table to hear the speech. It was a long speech, long enough to sedate the intense lust driving him. But then he stole one glance at you as you took a sip of water, and there it was again. His cock straining against his slacks, begging to be taken out and stroked. As he watched you lick your ruby lips, he could feel the precum spilling into his boxers.
The sound of applause drew him out of his stupor, and he clapped along with his colleagues. He shuffled along with everyone else to the reception area where music was already playing, his hands firmly placed on your hips.
“What’s got you so hard, babe?” Daichi heard you ask quietly, your head turning slightly to face him. If he hadn’t been fixated on your lips, he wouldn’t have heard you at all.
Daichi had to suppress his irritation at the question. The answer was obvious. “You.”
“Me?” You feigned confusion. “Little ol’ me? I haven’t done a thing.”
His grip on your hips tightened and he pressed himself against you. He leaned down to speak in your ear, a gesture that to others seemed innocent. “You’ve been tempting me all night with those red lips of yours.” He pressed a hard kiss against the back of your ear. He smiled as he felt a shiver roll through your body.
“It’s a nice color, isn’t it?” you mused, a smirk gracing your lips. “I wonder how it’d look smeared on your—”
Daichi guided you back towards the entrance, muttering something about an emergency to his colleagues. Of course there was no emergency, unless they counted going back to the hotel you shared for the weekend and fucking you until morning. That was his current emergency. He’d fuck your mouth first–that he knew, needed. Then he’d have you writhing beneath him as he ate you out. Daichi opened the door for you, practically pushing you inside and rushed to the driver’s side.
It only took ten minutes to reach the hotel, and then another five to get to the hotel room. It wasn’t like he was counting. Which he was. It was just he’d never been so hard before for so long. The anticipation made him more aroused as you opened the door to the room. He closed the door quickly with his foot, hastily undoing his belt and zipper. His cock was freed, a hand stroking it sensually.
“Get on your knees,” he commanded. Daichi didn’t think he’d ever been eager enough to be so dominant and commanding, but gods be damned if he was going to wait. One more look at those ruby lips and he thought he might just come undone.
Thank heavens you obeyed. He wasn’t up to the brattiness–at least not now. He stepped closer to you, the tip of his cock tracing your bottom lip. Smearing the red lipstick. Daichi groaned deeply. He wanted to see the lipstick all over your face. At the base of his fat cock.
“Open your mouth.”
He pushed his cock in your mouth slowly as you opened your mouth, another deep groan pushing from his chest. You flicked your tongue against the head of his penis and his eyes rolled back. He let you suck him off, let you bob your head up and down his thick shaft, let you tighten your cheeks as you moved. He was trying desperately to keep himself under control, but as he dug his fingers in your hair and heard you choke on him, he snapped.
His other hand tangled itself within your hair, both of his hands now on your head. He snapped his hips against your face, balls slapping against your chin and his cock hitting the back of your throat. You let out another choking sound, and he thought he might have gone too far. Until your hand gently cupped his balls and started massaging them.
Daichi was moaning now, thrusting harshly into your mouth and guiding your head to take you in with his hands. He loved this so much, loved the way your lipstick was already smearing all over your face. Loved the way your mascara ran as tears streamed down your cheeks. God, you looked like such a mess.
“That’s it, baby, you’re doing such a good job,” he praised. And you were. He could practically feel the head of his cock twitch against the back of your throat. He was going to cum soon.
He pulled himself out of you harshly, eliciting a soft whine from your lips. He pumped himself–once, twice–until his cock was twitching as he unloaded himself on your face. He watched as the cloudy liquid streamed on your face, in your open mouth. It still wasn’t enough. He let the tip of his penis rest against your bottom lip, still hard.
“You look so fucking hot,” Daichi breathed. “You’re such a good girl.”
You smiled, the action causing slight friction against his cock. “I should wear this lipstick more often.”
Daichi let out a breathy laugh. You were always so eager to please, to tease. “You’re going to get me in serious trouble one day.”
“Gods, I’d pay a king’s ransom for a hot, lavender-scented bath – minstrels serenading as I close my eyes and let the water’s warmth dissolve all woes.” 🛁🫧💜
Things literally could not have ended up worse. There you were, trapped in an elevator with the ultimate douche bag: Ushijima Wakatoshi. Why the hell did he have to be so blunt all the time? Or so cocky? Has this man never heard of being humble?
You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the elevator wall far from said douche bag. You huffed in annoyance for the thousandth time, earning another pointed glare from Ushijima.
“Huffing won’t make the elevator work,” he stated matter of factly.
You rolled your eyes. “It seems it won’t make you disappear either,” you retorted, a bit of bite to your tone.
Ushijima stared down at you and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the look he was giving you. It seemed to be a mixture of annoyance and something else..? His features were hard, but his eyes were soft.
You tore your eyes away from him, not wanting to see him look down at you for god knows how long you’d be in this elevator. You pulled out your phone for some company, only to find zero bars. Great, just what you needed. Tense silence with a man you hated.
You huffed again. How the hell had you gotten into this situation? Oh. That’s right. The both of you were on your way to a dinner party with the team. You weren’t the manager or anything, but you helped out a lot since your uncle was the coach.
When you arrived in the parking garage, you opted to take the elevator up since you weren’t too keen on walking up stairs in heels. That’s when Ushijima showed up. He passed the elevator and had done a double take. You could tell he was debating on whether or not he should join you, and, before the doors could close, he stepped inside.
You mentally cursed yourself for not pressing the close door button as you adjusted your slip dress. True, it was only a dinner, but your uncle had chosen one of the fanciest restaurants in town and the occasion was black tie. You assumed there would be some sort of after party once the dinner was over.
You stole a glance at Ushijima, looking him up and down. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t look good in that suit. He looked very good. Instead of wearing a basic white button down with his suit, he wore a black turtleneck. You subconsciously bit your lip as your eyes trailed over his toned arms that were very noticeable in his jacket. Your eyes trailed up and met his gaze and you quickly looked away, cheeks heated. You saw him smirk from your peripherals and you scowled. Of course he would be a douche about catching you checking him out.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“Yes,” you answered, not daring to look towards him.
You heard him grunt and shuffle. “Why?” he questioned. You heard him step towards you and you tensed up.
“You’re a douche bag. You only care about yourself and you think you’re so much better than others,” you answered. The more you spoke, the more angry you became. “You’re so cocky and rude and…and arrogant! And for what? You’d be a lot more attractive if you just were a bit more humble!” Your breathing was ragged, your chest heaving. You were fully looking at him now, your eyes boring into his.
You searched his face for any sort of emotion. He was frowning and his eyes were no longer soft. Instead, they were dark and roamed down your body.
“Is that what you truly think of me?” he asked, the question coming out low and soft.
“Yes,” you breathed, sticking out your chin.
He shook his head. “I don't mean to be so arrogant. I know my talent and my worth, much like you…” he trailed off. “Please forgive me if I’ve made myself unbearable.”
You only just realized the lack of space between the two of you. Your chest was brushing against his with every breath you took and your faces were mere inches away from each other. You looked down to his lips, your mouth salivating at the thought of kissing him and having your way with him in this elevator. You snapped back to reality, shocked at your lewd thoughts.
You pushed him away, growling softly. “Oh, shut up! Don’t try and be nice now—god what the fuck is your problem?! You—you’re so—URGH!”
You crossed your arms over your chest and shoved yourself in the corner of the elevator, breathing heavily. You were so worked up and you had no idea why. Why was he getting you so angry so easily? You dared take another glance at him and instantly regretted it. You were met with another smirk, this time wider.
“I’m what?” Ushijima asked, stepping closer to you.
You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, least you say something you’d regret. You instinctively backed further into the corner, looking anywhere but him. You could feel him looming over you--his eyes boring down into you. You shifted your stance, feeling suddenly small and heated. Why…why were you so heated?
“I’m. What?” he repeated, smirking a bit. He stepped even closer to you, tracing your jaw with a finger and tipping your chin up to look at him. “Look at me,” he ordered.
Your eyes flicked up to him, his words making your core throb. You cursed yourself for deciding not to wear underwear, feeling your wetness drip down your thigh. You examined his features, your eyes tracing over his eyes, then his lips. You wanted to kiss him so bad…to feel his warmth on you and his cock in you. Subconsciously, you puffed your chest out to show off your cleavage. You noticed his eyes trail down to your chest, then trail back up, stopping at your lips.
“Truly, you’re such an infuriating woman,” he admitted, cupping the back of your neck and placing his lips on yours before you could respond.
You stood there, shocked, but quickly kissed him back. His hands trailed down to your waist, pulling your hips flush against his. You let out a small gasp as you felt his hardness against you, the movement of your lips allowing Ushijima to slip in his tongue. He pulled you closer, his large hands settling on your ass, the fabric of your dress barely guarding you from his warmth. Ushijima squeezed your ass, pulling you even closer.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful…” Ushijima murmured against your lips.
Your eyes flickered up to his, your hands trailing down his chest and to his belt. He watched you fumble with the buckle and helped you pull his trousers down. His bulge seemed bigger now that he was only covered with his boxer briefs. You stroked his length through his boxers and palmed him, eliciting a soft groan from Ushijima. God, you really didn’t want to get dirty in an elevator, but at this point, your cunt was practically begging for it.
Ushijima grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from his crotch and swiftly picking you up. He gripped your thighs and pinned you up against the elevator wall, his lips attaching to your neck. He sucked on the sensitive spot on your neck, earning a small moan from you. The position you were in caused your dress to hike up your thighs, your pretty pussy on display for Ushijima. He trailed his fingers down over your folds.
“You’re so wet already,” he mumbled, pecking your lips. “All this for my cock?”
You huffed, your chest puffing out again. “Well what if it was?” you asked, pursing your lips.
Ushijima let out a deep chuckle, pushing past your folds and softly circling over your clit. Your hips bucked up and you moaned, throwing your head back. His lips attached to your neck once more, adding a bit more pressure to your clit.
“U-Ushijima, please…” you whined, rolling your hips up. “The elevators can be fixed at any--!” You were interrupted by a loud moan as Ushijima eased his cock inside you.
Ushijima was a tall man, his features larger than most, but you hadn’t expected his cock to be this big. As he pushed himself deeper inside you, you felt every inch of his cock stretch you out. You gripped his biceps, your nails digging into the fabric of his white pressed shirt. He thrust into you, picking up a hard pace. With each thrust, he buried himself deeper inside you until your clit met his pelvis each time. He was pounding into you, the lewd noises of your sopping cunt and his balls slapping against each other filling the room.
Your puffy walls clenched around him as your orgasm built in your abdomen. If Ushijima kept up this pace, you’d surely come undone soon. He adjusted his stance, snapping his hips into you at a different angle and hitting your g-spot. You screamed out his name, nails raking down his arms.
“F-Fuck, I’m close,” Ushijima breathed against your neck, thrusting into you harder.
You bit his shoulder, a scream coming out of your lips as your walls fluttered around his cock. You desperately tried to hold on a bit longer, but the pressure in your abdomen was too much, causing you to squirt on his cock. Ushijima thrust a few more times, cuming inside you. He stilled his hips as he painted your walls white and breathed heavily.
You tilt your head back against the cold metal wall, your legs trembling and your breathing labored. “Fuck,” you let out, chuckling. “The minute you pull out and set me on this floor, your cum is gonna drip down my leg…”
Ushijima let out a chuckle and pulled out. “I have a handkerchief in my pocket,” he said, adjusting his trousers and buckling his belt once more.
You shifted, feeling his cum start to travel down your thigh and grabbed his handkerchief. You quickly cleaned yourself up and jolted as the elevator began to move once more. You looked at Ushijima, smiling as you watched him fix his tie.
Happy Spring, everyone! Now, I know I said that my March recs was gonna be stacked…I lied. Look, I’ve been in a bit of a reading slump and dealing with mental health shit. It has sucked, BUT I did manage to read several good pieces of writing and I wanted to highlight my favorites because that’s what we do here.
So, please enjoy!
Bucky Barnes x Reader
Anesthesia Haze by @w1nter-fairy
-> boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Reader
-> “After waking up from surgery still under anesthesia, you meet a ridiculously pretty stranger who claims to be your boyfriend. Convinced he's too perfect to be real, you spend the next hour flirting with him.”
Spring Break by @heldbybarnes
-> Bucky Barnes x teacher!Reader {18+, MDNI}
-> “You bring Bucky to work with you as the class wanted to meet him. He couldn’t get rid of the thought of how good you are with the kids, so on spring break Bucky spends the entire time trying to get you pregnant.”
Warm Like Loving You by @majestyeverlasting
-> Bucky Barnes x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
-> “With a movie abandoned in the living room, you and Bucky direct all your attention to each other OR you and Bucky have sex for the first time.”
Wrong Number, Right Call by @metal-armed-muse
-> Best Friend’s Dad!Bucky x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
-> “One bored afternoon, one wrong contact. Now your best friend’s dad knows exactly what you look like.”
Steve Rogers x Reader
Virgin!Steve Headcanons by @laufeydottirs-writings
-> Virgin!Steve Rogers x Reader {18+, MDNI}
Jealous by @violette-hue
-> Steve Rogers x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
-> “Steve really doesn't like the person you're interviewing, so afterwards he fucks you senseless.”
Stucky x Reader
The Brooklyn Special by @superbassbuck
-> 40s!Stucky x Childhood Best Friend!Reader {18+, MDNI}
-> “After Steve is injected with the super soldier serum, Bucky decides to show his best friend what it truly means to be a man—and what better way to do that than through you, their lifelong childhood friend?”
Matt Murdock x Reader
Matt Murdock Breeding Kink Drabble by @lovelybucky1
-> Matt Murdock x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
Cowgirl by @foli-vora
-> Matt Murdock x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
-> “Title sums it up—riding Matthew Michael Murdock right off into that sunset. As we should.”
Frank Castle x Reader
Smutty Frank Castle Blurb by @obsessivefreaks
-> Frank Castle x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
Peter Parker x Reader
Smutty Peter Parker Blurb by @carmysdoll
-> Peter Parker x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
Bob Reynolds x Reader
Seasons by @abbysbenchpr
-> Bob Reynolds x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
-> “Three times you and Bob are almost walked in on and the one time you are…”
Sam Winchester x Reader
Easy by @wendichester
-> Sam Winchester x Chubby!Reader
-> “When Sam casually picks you up during a hunt, you’re shocked he does it so easily—while Sam is mostly confused about why you ever thought he couldn’t.”
Squirt Agenda by @midnightfragment
-> Sam Winchester x f!Reader {18+, MDNI}
-> “Sam goes full nerd: researches squirting like it’s his next law school paper, force-feeds you water for 72 hours, eats you out until you see god, then methodically fucks you until you squirt on his cock too—just to “confirm the hypothesis.””
Bruce Wayne x Reader
The Dress by @snowleopardkisses
-> Bruce Wayne x Childhood Friend!f!Reader
-> “At a Wayne Foundation gala, Bruce Wayne freezes when he sees you—a childhood friend—in a stunning gown. The sight makes him realize the feelings he’s hidden for years. Tension builds through lingering glances and quiet moments together—when the crowd fades, Bruce finally gives in to what he wants, turning the night far from innocent.”
❥ 𝓗OW TO BAG A HOT DILF: 5-STEP BEGINNER’S GUIDE !
𝓼ummary: the hot, grumpy dad next door won’t give you the time of day? here’s how to make him fuck you stupid anyway. warning: side effects may include pregnancy.
❥ STEP 1 — commit to the bit (and the bit is wanting him SO bad you’re willing to risk federal charges)
you don’t believe in love at first sight. you’re not that kind of girl.
but lust at first sight?
yeah. that one had you in a chokehold the second you saw him hauling a case of bottled water into his apartment, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a faded black tank top— one that clung to the broad curve of his back like it owed you something. like it knew what it was doing.
he didn’t even look at you. not really. just grunted out a soft “hey” when you passed, voice low and rough like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, and disappeared into the dark crack of his doorway with a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck, muscles flexing under golden skin and black ink.
you’ve been down so fucking bad ever since.
toji fushiguro.
your across-the-hall neighbor. father of one. age: probably late thirties. height: unfair. attitude: uninterested.
the kind of man who walks around the building shirtless at night with a beer in hand, who leaves his door cracked open when he’s working out in the living room, who definitely has a “don’t talk to me” aura and the look of someone who’s been burned by love and never really recovered from it.
and of course, of course, that’s exactly your type.
(but in your defense, it’s not like this came out of nowhere. you’ve always had a thing for older men. it’s the deep voice, the scars, the rough hands and emotional unavailability. it’s the way they look at you like they’ve lived five lives and none of them ended well. also? your dad never called you back after your high school graduation. so. connect the dots.)
it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you were just supposed to move in.
fresh start. new city. small apartment, low rent, okay view. the listing said “quiet neighborhood” and you said “sure, whatever” because all you needed was a clean kitchen and decent lighting. you didn’t ask for a brooding, musclebound dilf living directly across the hall like some kind of cruel test of character.
but now?
you’ve memorized the exact time he leaves in the morning. you know which beer he drinks. you know the sound of his shower turning on. you’ve adjusted your hallway appearances to “casually hot girl next door” levels and tried every combination of crop top and pajama shorts known to man.
and the worst part?
he hasn’t made a single move. not one. no smirk. no side-eye. not even the classic “didn’t know girls like you lived around here” line. he’s just… normal. silent. borderline rude. polite only when necessary, otherwise acts like you barely exist.
you wave when you see him— he nods.
you held the elevator door once and he told you, “don’t worry about it,” like he was doing you a favor by taking the stairs.
you’ve walked past him in tight leggings, skimpy pajama shorts, cute little tank tops with no bra underneath, but still, nothing.
not even a flicker of interest. not even a glance.
at first, you thought maybe he wasn’t into it. maybe he had a secret wife. maybe he was— god forbid— celibate.
but then you caught him on the balcony one night. shirtless. sweaty. cigarette between his fingers, hair pushed back, staring off into the distance like he was thinking about his tragic backstory. and when you stepped out to water your plants, leaned just slightly over the railing in your tiniest shorts—
his eyes dropped.
slow. deliberate.
right to your thighs.
then back up to the skyline like nothing happened.
and that’s when you knew.
he’s not blind. he’s just resisting.
which brings you to now.
standing in front of his door like a fucking maniac, heart pounding like you’re about to ring the bell at the gates of horny hell, holding a suspiciously clean, never-before-touched envelope you pulled from the depths of your junk drawer ten minutes ago.
it’s addressed to his unit, obviously.
but it’s been in your apartment the entire time.
because you’re a liar.
and you’re going to get your neighbor’s attention if it kills you.
the door opens faster than you expect. no warning creak, no slow reveal— just a single click and then bam, it’s open, and there he is.
up close. full resolution. shirtless again. grey sweats again. taller than he looked in the hallway. and staring down at you like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re here to sell something or commit a crime.
his hair is messy— fresh out the shower messy, strands curling a little at the ends, pushed back and damp like he towel-dried and gave up halfway. a faint scratch trails down his collarbone. there’s a tattoo peeking from under his left pec. you are not okay.
“…yeah?” he asks, voice still that same low, unbothered gravel. like he was just in the middle of something. like you interrupted him.
you blink once. then twice. and hand him the envelope as if it’s some kind of peace offering.
“this was in my mailbox,” you say, a little too fast. “but it’s for your unit.”
he glances down. doesn’t take it yet. his brow furrows.
“…you live in 402, right?”
your heart drops. you manage a nod. “yeah.”
he looks back at the envelope, then back at you, and cocks his head a little. “this says 404.”
“right,” you nod again, smiling like a liar. “which is your unit.”
there’s a pause. a long one.
toji squints slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide whether you’re stupid or suspicious. then— finally— he sighs, takes the envelope from your hand with two fingers, and mutters, “thanks.”
and then. then. a small voice behind him:
“who’s at the door?”
you peek past him instinctively—
and there he is. a kid. dark-haired, serious-looking, big eyes and bigger pout. tiny arms crossed over a cartoon t-shirt like he pays rent. he clocks you immediately, gaze traveling from your face to your outfit and back again, like he’s judging you in 4K.
toji looks over his shoulder. “just the neighbor. ‘gumi, go back inside.”
“you said we could watch something,” the kid says, very clearly not moving. very clearly invested.
“yeah, and i will,” toji sighs, the kind of sigh that sounds like he’s already used to negotiating with a tiny lawyer. “in a minute.”
you’re standing here braless, in a crop top and fluffy socks, trying to flirt with a dilf, and his child— his ten-year-old child— is right there in the background watching this all go down like it’s an episode of Love Is Blind: Divorce Court Edition.
you panic. you smile. you crouch slightly like a Girl Who Is Good With Kids™ and wave.
“you were singing in the stairwell yesterday,” he adds, like he’s filing a noise complaint.
toji exhales through his nose, clearly already tired. “alright,” he mutters, shifting his weight as if he’s trying to end this conversation with his entire body. “thanks for dropping this off.”
you panic again. you’re spiraling. this is not going to plan. you were supposed to be effortlessly hot, a little mysterious, maybe get invited in for a drink. instead you’re sweating through your tank top, getting stared down by a ten-year-old and dismissed like some door-to-door scam.
abort mission. regroup.
you nod, stepping back quickly. “no problem! anytime.”
he doesn’t respond. just closes the door halfway and disappears, voice fading as he calls back to megumi— “pick a movie that isn’t garbage this time” —before the door clicks shut behind him.
silence.
the hallway feels colder now.
you stand there for a second. maybe two. then turn on your heel and march straight back to your apartment, locking the door behind you with a little more force than necessary and collapsing onto your couch with a dramatic, miserable groan.
okay. so maybe the fake-mail delivery thing was a bust. maybe you didn’t make the strongest first impression. maybe megumi’s gonna go to school on monday and tell his friends he saw a thirsty neighbor try to seduce his dad and fail in real time.
but you’re not giving up!
because toji fushiguro isn’t oblivious. he looked. you know he looked.
he’s just being difficult. reserved. nonchalant. you love that shit. it’s practically a challenge.
which brings you to:
❥ STEP 2 — establish neighborly rapport (aka: force more interactions)
you’ve already had contact. now it’s time for consistency. eye contact. hallway banter. the illusion of familiarity. you’re gonna bump into him enough that he has no choice but to acknowledge your existence— and then? then you’ll break him down. slowly. methodically. emotionally.
you have a plan.
a little awkward start isn’t gonna stop you. not when he looks like that with wet hair and lazy sweatpants. not when his voice sounds like it could ruin your entire sense of self-worth with a single sentence.
step two starts tomorrow.
or tonight, depending on how bold you feel. your package is supposed to arrive soon— you could just happen to be outside when it gets delivered. or drop something near his door again. or, worst case scenario, start a small fire and see if he comes running.
you’re in too deep to turn back now.
besides— if megumi’s already seen you at your worst, there’s nowhere to go but up.
you start running into him a lot more.
not in a weird way. you’re not, like, stalking. you’re just… situationally strategic.
like this morning— how coincidentally, you happened to take your trash out the exact moment he left for a run. and when he walked past you in those same criminally low-hanging sweatpants, headphones in, shirt clinging to his chest like it wanted you dead? yeah. totally natural timing.
you smiled. waved. gave a little “morning!”
he gave you a nod and kept jogging.
progress.
and yesterday? you timed your laundry schedule to line up with his, based purely on auditory research (aka: eavesdropping through the vents), and when he came down to switch out his load, you were already bent over the dryer in your tiny shorts like a good little trap.
he walked in. saw you. paused.
you straightened up way too fast and bumped your elbow, trying to look breezy while hiding the way your heart rate doubled on sight. “oh- hey! laundry day?”
toji looked at you. then at the dryer. then back at you. “…yeah.”
another pause.
god, he’s so fucking impossible.
you gave him your brightest smile and added, “mine too! small world.”
“…we live in the same building,” he said, completely deadpan, before opening the washer and pulling out a fistful of dark clothes like you weren’t trying to orchestrate a meet-cute over tide pods. he moved with the exhausted efficiency of a man who hated small talk and suspected you might be trying to sell him essential oils.
you wanted to scream. you smiled instead.
“right,” you laughed. “duh. neighbors.”
he didn’t answer. just shoved his clothes into the dryer, grabbed his detergent, and left the room like it was a hostage negotiation and you were the threat. didn’t even look back. but you saw it.
the twitch in his jaw when you bent over again. the extra second of eye contact before he left. the little crack in his silence when you giggled at your own joke and his mouth twitched— barely, but it did. you’re starting to learn his tells.
like tonight— when you caught him coming back from the grocery store, arms full of bags, and offered to hold the elevator door open for him again.
“you don’t have to,” he said, almost automatically.
but this time you didn’t let him off so easily.
you flashed a cheeky smile, cocked your head to the side, and replied, “well i want to. unless you wanna take the stairs and pretend you’re not tired.”
that got you a look. brief. amused. his lips pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not nothing either.
he stepped in and stood beside you, towering and silent and pretending he wasn’t eyeing your legs in the reflective elevator wall. you leaned against the side and grinned to yourself like a lunatic.
“what floor?” you asked, already knowing the answer. playing dumb. living your sitcom fantasy.
“…same as yours,” he muttered, setting the bags down for a second. “you know that.”
you beamed. “just making conversation.”
he sighed. quiet. tired. maybe even a little fond, but you couldn’t tell.
and then, just as the doors opened, a sleepy voice echoed from down the hall— “dad?”
toji blinked. glanced up.
megumi stood outside their apartment in socks and Spider-Man pajamas, squinting at the two of you like he was already judging this moment for future therapy sessions.
“you took forever,” he said. “i thought you died.”
“well i didn’t,” toji grunted, picking up the bags again. “get inside.”
you waved. again. because apparently, this is your life now. it’s not enough to get embarrassed in front of your crush— his preteen son also has to witness your descent into neighborhood whore madness.
megumi stared. then looked at his dad. then back at you.
“…hi.”
victory.
you’re three days into operation ‘establish rapport’ and you swear it’s working. slowly. he’s still playing it cool— gruff, quiet, annoyingly unaffected— but you’re catching those little cracks. the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. the tiny pauses before he responds. the way his eyes always drop to your mouth when you smile too wide. the way he takes just a little too long to look away.
he’s slipping.
and you’re gonna be right there to catch him.
❥ STEP 3 — engineered domestic proximity (create a situation where he owes you and then emotionally blackmail him with kindness!)
it starts with a fake injury.
not like, hospital fake. just a little casual suffering. something light and flirty and “damn she might be unwell” coded.
you pick a thursday. the hallway’s quiet. you hear his door open— the soft clink of keys, the slow creak of the hinge— and then you strike.
toji turns the corner just in time to see you slumped against your apartment door, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off your shoulder, clutching your ankle like a romcom extra who’s about to fall in love with the first man who offers her an ice pack. you even let out a pitiful little “ugh,” as though gravity personally attacked you.
he stops. eyes narrow.
“…what the hell happened to you?”
you wince, voice trembling perfectly as you look up at him with wide eyes and say, “i tripped on the stairs.”
technically true. you did, in fact, trip. you just made sure it was today. and loud enough for him to hear.
“you didn’t even leave your apartment,” he deadpans, looking absolutely done.
“…gravity’s everywhere.”
he sighs like you’re the world’s most annoying problem. runs a hand over his face. and then crouches down.
you try not to short-circuit.
his hand wraps around your ankle— casually, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before, and his thumb brushes over your skin, rough and warm and way too distracting. he presses, checks the joint, and you flinch very dramatically.
he doesn’t react. “it’s not broken.”
you pout. “still hurts.”
toji gives you a long, tired look. then rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably something that sounds suspiciously like “fucking drama queen,” but reaches out anyway. big hands slide under your legs and back, and suddenly you’re being lifted. literally carried.
you make a noise that is not normal.
“jesus,” he grunts, shifting you in his arms. “what the hell do you eat?”
“excuse me??”
“relax,” he says, toeing open your apartment door. “you’re light.”
you are going to die here.
he carries you across the threshold like a goddamn bride and sets you down gently on the couch, muttering something about “needy neighbors” as he tosses your throw blanket over your lap. then pauses. stares at you for a second too long. his brows draw together like he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be.
“…don’t move,” he says finally. “i’ll get an ice pack.”
he disappears into your kitchen— uninvited, completely aware of where your freezer is— and you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s holy protection from your own bad decisions and whisper:
“oh my god.”
step three is officially a success.
after that, things shift.
slow. subtle. like the hallway air is warmer now. like he doesn’t avoid you anymore.
the next time you make too much pasta (on purpose), you knock on his door and offer leftovers. “just in case,” you say with a smile. he raises an eyebrow, gives you a long look, but takes the container anyway.
“it’s good,” he mutters a few days later, passing you in the hall.
you blink. “what?”
“the pasta. wasn’t bad.”
you nearly trip over your own shoes.
when you run into him carrying groceries, you casually ask if he needs anything next time you go. he grunts something about paper towels. the next day, you drop off a pack at his door with a sticky note that says ‘paper-towel princess strikes again >:)’ and you swear you hear him laugh. just once. low. barely there.
and megumi? megumi is your new little buddy.
you “accidentally” bump into them on the stairs one weekend and ask him about school— next thing you know, you’re helping him with a science project at your dining table, glitter on your shirt and glue in your hair, and he actually smiles at you when it lights up. his eyes go wide. he looks proud. you melt.
toji shows up to get him an hour later.
he stops in the doorway, arms crossed. eyes flick between you and megumi on the couch, surrounded by worksheets and snacks and a movie playing softly in the background.
“…you don’t have to babysit, y’know.”
you glance up, then nudge megumi with your shoulder. “he’s cool. we’re having fun.”
toji stares. unreadable. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something he won’t say. and then he nods. once. slow.
“…yeah. he’s good.”
he leaves with megumi five minutes later, and you spend the rest of the night curled into your couch like a girl who just got emotionally married in the hallway.
a few days pass.
and then— he knocks on your door.
you open it and nearly fall over, because he’s standing there in a black t-shirt, holding a plastic container full of something that smells like soy sauce and heaven. his hair’s messy. his jaw’s tight. he doesn’t look like he wants to be here. but he is.
“we made too much,” he says. pauses. adds, almost begrudgingly, “me and ‘gumi.”
your brain goes static.
you accept it like it’s a holy relic. your hand brushes his. it’s fine. you’re normal.
“thank you,” you breathe, like it’s something sacred.
you eat together on the steps between your units that night. plastic forks. beer for him, water bottle for you. megumi’s inside watching something with way too much volume. the hallway buzzes with soft domestic noise.
he chuckles— an actual, real chuckle— when you tell him about your failed ankle stunt getting you out of gym class in high school. it sounds like it surprises him. like it doesn’t happen often. you want to bottle the sound and save it for winter.
and then, as you’re wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth, he gives you this long, unreadable look. his eyes flick to your mouth. linger.
“you’re trouble, aren’t you?”
you almost pass out.
“yeah,” you say, smiling slow. “but i’m cute about it.”
he laughs again. soft. huffed. the kind that makes your stomach flutter in the worst/best way.
note to self: a chuckle = an emotional orgasm in dilf language.
❥ STEP 4 — desperate times, horny measures (blur the line between “friendly neighbor” and “would let you hit raw if you asked nicely”)
you’ve played the long game. you’ve laid the groundwork. you’ve smiled, cooked, lingered in doorways and memorized his hallway habits. you helped his child with a diorama. you have earned your place in this man’s orbit. and now, you’re upping the ante.
tight tank tops with no bra? daily.
asking if he needs help lifting shit? always.
bending down in front of him for no reason whatsoever? the moment requires it.
you’ve “accidentally” dropped your keys outside his door. twice.
you’ve complimented his cologne when he wasn’t wearing any.
you’ve said the phrase “you must’ve been crazy hot in your twenties” with a completely straight face and full eye contact— just to watch his eyebrow twitch like he was deciding whether to argue or kiss you.
and toji?
toji has looked.
slow. restrained. but it’s there.
the way his gaze drops and lingers. the way his hand flexes when you laugh too hard. the way he sometimes says your name like it annoys him to have it on his tongue, like he’s chewing on it instead of swallowing. you’re getting to him. you know you are.
especially tonight.
it’s late. you’re bored. your hair looks good and your shorts are criminal. and you know he’s home because you heard the clink of a beer bottle hit his counter through your shared wall. so naturally, you text him:
you up?
no response…
you try again:
i’m making cookies and need a taste tester. u down?
there’s a pause. long enough to make you regret it. then finally:
don’t burn your kitchen down.
which— okay. rude. but also? not a no.
you show up at his door with a plate of warm cookies and the dumbest smile imaginable, leaning against the doorframe like a horny little housewife in denial, praying your lip gloss doesn’t smudge when you inevitably start smiling too hard.
the door swings open. and there he is.
shirtless, because of course. low sweatpants, towel around his neck, hair still damp. a vein in his bicep flexing like it’s personally here to ruin you. he raises an eyebrow when he sees you.
“you actually baked something?”
you pout. “don’t sound so shocked.”
he huffs. not quite a laugh. steps aside and lets you in. silent permission. another small victory.
you sit on the couch, drop the plate between you. he takes a cookie. you take a risk.
“so…” you say, crossing your legs slowly, letting your voice dip soft and sweet. “what do i get if they’re good?”
toji chews. swallows. side-eyes you. “…you want a prize for not poisoning me?”
you tilt your head, smile like trouble. lean a little closer, so your thigh brushes his.
“i want something,” you murmur.
he watches you. unreadable.
your heart’s racing. your leg’s touching his. the tension is so thick it could suffocate a small village. he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a second— a single, traitorous second— you believe. believe he’s going to touch you. say something filthy. kiss you.
and then— he stands up.
you freeze.
no.
he walks to the door.
absolutely not.
he opens it.
“go home, sweetheart.”
you blink. “…what?”
he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t even flinch.
“you’ve had your fun,” he mutters, voice low. final. “time to go.”
the plate of cookies is still on the table. your lip gloss is still perfect. and this man— this walking thirst trap of a dilf— just opened the door and told you to leave as if you were an inconvenience.
you stand there for five full seconds. staring at the wood grain like it personally wronged you. your mouth opens. closes. no words come out.
no explanation. no thank you. not even a cookie to-go.
you take the hint.
you walk home— five steps that feel like a funeral march— let yourself back into your apartment with hands that won’t stop shaking, and close the door behind you like it might collapse if you don’t hold it up. then you crawl into bed, pull the blanket over your head, and try very, very hard not to cry over a man who never asked you to try this hard in the first place.
❥ STEP 5 — let him come to you (the part of the spiral where you stop trying, and he starts breaking)
you’ve stopped trying.
no more cookies. no fake run-ins or conveniently timed errands. you’re done bending over near his door like some desperate domestic goddess waiting to be claimed. no more lingering glances, no flirty texts, no smiles he could possibly mistake for an invitation
you go cold. polite. distant.
“hey,” he mutters in the hallway one morning, voice a little rough from sleep.
“morning,” you reply. clipped. unreadable. no smile.
you don’t linger. don’t wait for anything in return. you catch him glancing over when you pass, but you don’t look back. just keep walking like you’ve got better things to do than pine for a man who slams doors in your face.
when megumi finds you on the stairs the following weekend and asks if you want to help with another project, you smile softly, press a hand to the top of his head, and say, “not this week, bud. busy.” he frowns a little. you ruffle his hair, and walk away without looking up.
you start going out more.
wearing new outfits. dresses you hadn’t felt bold enough to wear before. lip gloss that makes your mouth look mean. you let strangers hold the door for you. let them compliment you. you let them linger.
you laugh too loud outside your apartment one night, on purpose, after coming back from a date with someone who isn’t him. your heels click against the floor. your voice drips with honey. you lean against your door while someone says something into your ear and you throw your head back like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
you know he’s listening.
you feel his eyes on you like a bruise forming slow.
and then the shift begins.
it’s subtle, at first.
he starts speaking more.
“mornin’,” he grunts one day, voice thicker now. rougher.
you nod, toss him a quiet “hey.”
“new dress?” he says one night when you pass in the hallway.
you glance down at it, fingers brushing your hip. nod again. “yeah.”
he stares a second too long.
you keep walking.
the next week, he holds the elevator for you. for the first time.
you step inside without looking at him, lean against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. he stands beside you, silent for a second too long.
“…got plans tonight?” he asks.
you glance at him. his hand’s on the railing. his eyes are on your legs. the heat between you is palpable.
“maybe,” you shrug. “why? you wanna know if i’m free?”
he doesn’t answer. just scoffs. looks away.
but his jaw tightens. you see it.
and you smile to yourself when the elevator dings.
you don’t stop. you don’t wait.
and then— one night. late.
a knock at your door.
you weren’t expecting it. you’re in your tank top and sleep shorts, hair still a little messy, face clean of makeup. for a second you debate not opening it at all.
but then you do.
he’s there.
black t-shirt. low voice. tension rolling off him like heat. his eyes sweep over you once— bare legs, bare face, bare everything— and settle on your mouth.
you open your lips to say something but nothing comes out. for a second, he doesn’t speak. just stares. like he’s trying to remember why this was a bad idea.
“you done with your little game?” he asks finally, voice rough, jaw set.
you blink. tilt your head. heart stuttering.
“why?” you say. “you jealous?”
he exhales slow. like he’s holding something in. then steps forward, just once. close enough that his chest nearly brushes yours. the hallway hums with silence. you can feel it thickening between you—every breath, every second, every inch of space closing.
he looks down at you, jaw clenched. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. his gaze drops to your mouth. lingers.
“you think i haven’t thought about fucking you since the first day you moved in?”
jackpot.
you smile. slow. wicked.
“well,” you murmur, stepping back just enough to tug him inside, “what are you waiting for?”
❥ STEP 5.1 — fuck the dilf. repeatedly!! (aka: daddy finally breaks, and so does your spine)
the door isn’t even fully closed before he’s got you pinned against it, one hand slamming it shut behind you while the other grips your jaw hard enough to tilt your head back. his mouth crashes into yours— hot, hungry, furious— like he’s trying to erase every other man who’s ever looked at you, every laugh you gave someone else, every second you weren’t his.
his hands are everywhere. gripping your waist, your throat, your jaw. rough. greedy. like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through sheer force, like he doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks, dragging you closer, forcing your body flush against his so you can feel him— hard, heavy, pressing insistently between you.
“this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he growls, dragging his mouth down your neck, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver. “walkin’ around like that every damn day- no bra, tiny little shorts, always smilin’ at me like a fuckin’ tease—”
you gasp when he shoves his thigh between yours, grinding hard, forcing your hips to rock against him. your pussy’s already soaked— soaked enough that the friction makes your head spin, a broken little whimper slipping out before you can stop it. he feels it. of course he does.
“fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, eyes darkening as he watches your face fall apart. “already wet. knew it. knew you were walkin’ around like that for me.”
“you shouldn’t be here,” you breathe, even as your hands clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer, nails digging into his back like you’re scared he’ll disappear and you’d rather die than have him pull away now.
“don’t fuckin’ care,” he snarls, cupping your pussy through your panties, pressing just enough to make your knees buckle. his thumb drags over you, feeling how drenched you are through the thin fabric. “been thinkin’ about this cunt for weeks.”
you moan— full body, spine-arching, dignity-leaving moan— as he yanks your panties to the side and sinks two fingers into you without hesitation. nothing stops him. your body takes him easily, molded for him, as though his hands belong there and they’ve always known exactly where to go.
you’re so wet it’s obscene. it squelches. it gives around him immediately, your walls fluttering, clenching like they recognize him, like they’ve been waiting.
“shit,” he hisses, pumping his fingers slow just to feel it, watching the way your face twists. “tight little thing. messy already. all that attitude just ‘cause you needed a cock in you, huh?”
you nod, crying out, grinding against his palm like a bitch in heat, chasing the friction, chasing him, hips moving on instinct, your body no longer yours to command.
he slaps your cunt. hard. you jerk, a broken sob ripping out of you.
“use your words.”
“yes, fuck, yes, i wanted this, wanted you, please- needed you so bad- been thinking about you too—”
“yeah?” he mocks, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, your knees give out. “needed daddy’s cock that bad? all that work just to get it, huh?”
he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, making eye contact while his tongue drags over his knuckles— savoring you, devouring every trace with the hunger of a man who’s finally getting what he’s craved.
you feel your face burn. your thighs tremble. your body aches.
“needy lil thing,” he mutters. “so desperate for daddy’s cock you made friends with my kid to get it.”
your mouth drops open.
“fuck,” you whisper, humiliated, horny, heart beating out of your chest. “i-i didn’t—”
“yeah, you did,” he cuts you off, voice low and certain, already tugging his sweats down. “i saw right through you. every little look. everytime you bent over in front of me like you were askin’ for it.”
his cock springs free— massive, thick, veiny, heavy against your stomach, already leaking. it twitches when he drags it through your folds, smearing your wetness all over himself, groaning under his breath at the feeling.
“watchin’ me, droppin shit in the hallway, showin’ up all cute with cookies—” he continues, voice roughening. “all so i’d fuck you like this.”
he grabs your hips. lifts you like it’s easy.
you wrap your legs around him on instinct, clinging, desperate, your ankles locking behind his back.
he slams you against the wall and shoves in deep.
you scream.
it burns for half a second— then it’s just full. overwhelming. he stretches you open, every inch fitting so perfectly it feels intentional, inevitable— your body made to take him, built around the shape of him alone.
“this what you wanted?” he growls, already moving, already setting a brutal pace, hips snapping hard into yours. “wanted daddy to stuff this sloppy little cunt so full you can’t think?”
you’re crying already. sobbing into his shoulder, nails clawing at him, dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines. “yesyes- oh my god- yes please- don’t stop, don’t stop—”
he doesn’t. he can’t.
he fucks you hard. no mercy. no build-up. just punishing, deep, filthy strokes that slam into you over and over, your tits bouncing with every thrust, your body jostling against the wall, the wet sound of it echoing in the room— proof of how wrecked you are for him.
“listen to that,” he grunts, one hand coming down to grab your ass, spreading you open, forcing himself even deeper. “fuckin’ soaked. takin’ me so easy.”
“toji—”
“nah,” he snaps, grabbing your jaw again, forcing you to look at him, eyes blown wide, mouth open, completely ruined. “say it right.”
“daddy—” you choke.
his hips stutter for half a second. then he loses it.
“yeah,” he groans, fucking into you harder, deeper, pace turning reckless. “that’s it. say it again.”
“daddy, fuck, daddy please- please don’t stop—”
“good girl,” he breathes, voice wrecked now, forehead pressing against yours. “knew you’d sound pretty sayin’ it.”
he keeps going until your legs shake so hard you can’t hold yourself up, until your body goes limp in his arms, until you’re nothing but weight and noise and need. then he drags you away from the wall, carries you like you weigh nothing, and drops you onto the couch.
your shirt’s gone in seconds. your tits spill free, bouncing when he grabs them, squeezing hard, biting one, then the other, tongue dragging over the marks he leaves, teeth sinking in just enough to make you cry out.
you whine, arching into him, completely gone, hips lifting even though you can barely move.
“look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “fuckin’ ruined already.”
he spits on your chest. spreads it with his thumb. then shoves you back, spreading your legs open, staring at your dripping cunt like it’s dinner, like he could spend hours there.
“not done with you yet,” he mutters.
then he dives in.
he eats you out starving— insatiable, greedy, nothing held back. hasn’t touched anyone in years, and now he’s buried in you, treating your pussy like a lifeline. his tongue moves everywhere— flicking, sucking, pushing deep, groaning into the mess he’s making, matching your desperation, needing this with the same feverish hunger you do.
“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing your clit, making you jerk violently. “all for me, huh? all this just for me?”
you’re shaking. crying. your hands in his hair, grinding down onto his face, desperate, greedy, nasty.
“yes- fuck- yes—”
he hums, pleased, and the vibration sends you over immediately.
you cum once. then twice. he doesn’t stop. he eats you through it, moaning into your pussy while you scream and sob and claw at the cushions like a feral bitch, your thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the couch.
“too much, too much—”
“nah,” he mutters, holding you down, hands gripping your thighs so hard they’ll bruise. “you can take it.”
and you do. you take it until your body gives out and you’re nothing but a twitching, whimpering mess under him, tears streaking your face, chest heaving.
when he finally pulls back, his face is soaked. his chin’s messy. his pupils are blown so wide he looks dangerous.
he strokes his cock over your twitching cunt, dragging it through your folds, tapping your clit just to make you jolt, smearing your wetness back over you.
“you want daddy to put a baby in you next?” he growls.
your brain breaks. completely.
you whimper, nodding frantically, tears still clinging to your lashes. “yes please”
he grins. dark. cocky. dangerous.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
and then he slams back in and fucks you like he means it— like he’s trying to knock you up, ruin you, break you down and rebuild you around his dick. your body takes it, greedily, desperately, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let him go, like you want to keep him there.
“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy now, deeper somehow, grinding into you. “gonna keep you full of me.”
you’re sobbing. babbling. “pleasepleaseplease—”
he finishes deep. thick. hot. doesn’t pull out. just buries himself as far as he can go and groans into your neck, hips stuttering while you feel it— feel him— filling you, spilling inside you, too much, too warm, your body fluttering around him.
he stays there. holds you. keeps you plugged with his cock while your body trembles and leaks around him.
“good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, softer now but still possessive. “took me so well.”
his hand slides down your stomach. presses there. like he’s already imagining it.
“you’re mine now.”
you barely come back to yourself before he’s moving again.
you’re still shaking. still sensitive. your cunt is pulsing, aching and full and leaking around him, your thighs sticky, your body limp and boneless against the couch. every nerve feels raw, like your skin’s been turned inside out.
and he’s still inside you.
still hard.
you let out a weak, broken sound when he shifts his hips, cock dragging inside you— slow, deliberate— he’s reminding you exactly where he is.
“toji—” you whimper, voice wrecked, barely there.
his hand tightens on your hip immediately.
“what’d i tell you?” he mutters, low and sharp.
you choke on a breath. “d-daddy—”
“yeah,” he exhales, satisfied, rolling his hips again, slower this time, savoring it. “that’s better.”
you feel everything now. every inch. every drag. the way he stretches you again even though you’re already so fucked out it hurts. your walls flutter around him uncontrollably, oversensitive, and he groans at it— deep, filthy.
“fuck,” he hisses. “still squeezin’ me like that? after all that?”
“too much,” you whimper, pushing weakly at his chest, even as your hips betray you, rocking up into him. “i can’t—”
“you can,” he cuts you off, already pulling out halfway just to slam back in. you sob.
“you will.”
your body jerks with it, your tits bouncing weakly with each thrust, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. everything feels too intense— too deep, too full, too good.
“s-sensitive—” you gasp, nails digging into his arms.
“i know,” he mutters, almost mean about it, dragging his cock against that spot again on purpose. “that’s the point.”
you cry out, back arching hard, your whole body trembling as he starts fucking you again— slower than before, but somehow worse. deeper. more intentional. every thrust aimed to make you feel it, to drag it out of you.
“so fucked out already,” he murmurs, grabbing your chin and forcing your head up so you have to meet his eyes. “can’t even think anymore, huh?”
you shake your head, tears slipping down your temples. “no—”
“all that attitude gone,” he continues, voice low, almost mocking, thumb brushing your lip. “all that mouth, and now you’re just- what?”
you swallow, breath hitching. “yours—”
his grip tightens.
“say it again.”
“yours,” you sob, louder this time. “i’m yours—”
“yeah you are,” he groans, pace picking up just a little, just enough to make your head spin again. “fuckin’ made for me, aren’t you? takin’ me like this, still beggin’ for more—”
“i’m not—” you try, voice breaking, but your hips roll into him again, chasing it, proving him right.
he laughs. low. mean.
“yeah,” he breathes. “that’s what i thought.”
his hand slides down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit— already swollen, oversensitive, aching.
you jolt hard.
“nono, please- s’too much—”
he circles it anyway.
slow.
you squeal.
your body spasms instantly, thighs clamping around him, back arching so hard it almost hurts. it hits you out of nowhere— another orgasm ripping through you before you can even process it, your cunt clenching down on him so tight he curses.
“fuuuckk,” he groans, thrust stuttering. “that’s it, there it is—”
you’re sobbing now. full-on crying. your body shaking uncontrollably as he keeps moving, keeps rubbing, using you through it.
“can’t take it- can’t—” you gasp, voice dissolving into broken sounds.
“you are takin’ it,” he says, not slowing down, not stopping, cock dragging in and out of your fluttering, oversensitive cunt while your body keeps spasming around him. “look at you. still squeezin’ me. still want it.”
you don’t even know if that’s true anymore. you just know you can’t stop reacting, can’t stop feeling.
he shifts suddenly— grabs your hips, flips you over like it’s nothing.
you yelp, barely catching yourself before your face hits the couch.
“stay,” he mutters, pressing you down, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding himself back in.
you whine the second he pushes back inside— somehow deeper like this, your body folding around him differently, more exposed, more helpless.
“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips tight. “yeah. this is better.”
and then he starts again.
hard.
faster this time.
your body jolts forward with every thrust, your cheek pressed into the cushions, your fingers clawing at the fabric as the sounds get louder, wet and messy.
“daddy—!” you cry, voice muffled, broken.
“that’s it,” he groans behind you, hand sliding up your back, gripping your neck— not choking, just holding. controlling. “say it louder.”
he fucks you deeper with every word.
“who’s pussy is this?”
“yours—!” you sob.
“who you doin’ all that shit for, huh?” he snaps, pace turning relentless again. “all that dressin’ up, all that flirtin’—”
“you—! just you—!”
“damn right.”
his hand slides down your back, grabs your ass, spreading you open again so he can watch himself disappear inside you, over and over, your cunt clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go.
“fuckin’ made a mess of you,” he mutters, almost impressed. “can’t even keep it in.”
you can’t. it’s leaking. every thrust pushes more of him out, slick and messy, your body too full, too used.
you’re gone. completely.
he leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your ear.
“one more,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous. “gimme one more.”
you shake your head weakly. “can’t—”
“yes you can.”
his hand finds your clit again.
you break.
your whole body locks up, a scream tearing out of you as another orgasm crashes through, sharper this time, almost painful in how intense it is, your cunt clenching so tight around him it drags him over the edge with you.
“fuck—” he groans, biting into your shoulder as he finishes again, hips stuttering hard against you, spilling deep, grinding into you as he rides it out.
you collapse under him completely.
he stays there for a second. breathing heavy. still inside you. still holding you down.
then, softer this time— just a little—
“told you,” he mutters against your skin. “you could take it.”
you don’t respond. you physically can’t.
you’re just… gone.
and he sounds way too pleased about it.
you wake up sore. sore in ways you didn’t even know were possible. your thighs ache, your hips feel bruised, your legs do not work. your pussy’s twitching— puffy, overstimulated, and leaking. there’s cum literally dripping out of you, sticky between your thighs, cooling against the sheets.
and toji’s still there.
sprawled across your bed like he owns it, like you’re his bed now, arm heavy over your waist, breathing slow against the back of your neck. his chest rises and falls steady, the heat of his body sinking into yours. it’s warm. safe. a little filthy. you can feel his cock pressed to your ass— soft, but still there, like a threat.
you’re not sure if he’s awake. you’re not sure if you’re awake. your whole body feels broken in. chewed up. worshipped. wrecked. you blink blearily at the sunlight slanting through your blinds, brain swimming in the slow syrup of morning-after haze, and shift slightly beneath the weight of him.
he moves with you. groans low, deep in his chest, like the stretch of his limbs aches. then, voice gravel-thick and sleep-rough:
“fuck. you made me pull a muscle.”
you try to laugh, but it comes out cracked. “good.”
he snorts, lazy and fond, burying his face in your shoulder and muttering, “brat.”
you hum, cheek pressed into the pillow, toes curling under the sheets. you don’t move. don’t want to. his arm tightens around your waist just enough to remind you it’s still there.
you’re quiet for a second. breathing in the moment. then— soft, teasing, and only half joking:
“so… what are we now?”
he goes still. just for a beat. long enough for your stomach to drop a little. you tense, suddenly hyperaware of how real this feels, how easy it would be to ruin it. your heart thumps like you’re asking him to raise a child. (which. maybe you are. unknowingly. oops.)
he exhales.
then, low. rough. certain.
“mine.”
you short-circuit. go quiet.
he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to. just grabs your thigh, still sore, and drags you back against his chest like he thinks you might try to leave— even though you physically can’t. you melt into the mattress with a broken little sigh, breath catching when his cock shifts against your ass, not quite hard, but heavy and possessive all the same.
you stay there. warm. stupidly happy. still full of his cum.
his fingers trail over your waist lazily, absent-minded, like he’s petting you. like you’re his. like this is normal now. you close your eyes, let yourself float in it, wondering how the hell you went from faking ankle injuries to getting bred in your own hallway by the hottest dilf alive.
and when megumi knocks on the door half an hour later and yells, “dad, i’m hungry,”
toji groans like a man betrayed. buries his face in your neck, kisses your skin as if it’s your fault he has responsibilities.
“you’re makin’ breakfast,” he mutters.
you turn your head, blinking at him. “me?!”
“you want me to limp in there with my back blown out?”
“…you blew my back out.”
“exactly,” he grins against your throat. “teamwork.”
you roll your eyes. groan. try to wiggle away, but he doesn’t let you. just holds you tighter and mumbles something about five more minutes before letting you go— barely.
you’re smiling as you get up. your legs are still jelly. your thighs stick when you move. you’re sore and used and leaking, and you’ve never felt so fucking good.
i rlly spent the whole night editing/finishing this osmgdkkdks, i’m lowk experimenting and thought i’d try smth different so i hope u guys like thissss >.<
Summary: Steve really doesn't like the person you're interviewing, so afterwards he fucks you senseless.
Trigger Warning(s): unprotected sex, cursing, degradation, slight forcing, mentions of breeding kink, not proof read, maybe some typos
Word Count: 3.4k
A/N: After many moons searching for this post from a deleted account (I finally was able to get my old tumblr name back!!!) I present to you this filthy piece ~ I wrote this back in 2022 (I think) when I was supposed to be doing homework. Here I am, four years later reposting this piece that is my absolute guilty pleasure! Please enjoy ~
**Minors and ageless blogs do not interact. 18+ only**
“You’re interviewing him?”
You turned to look at your boyfriend as you buttoned up your blouse. You cocked a brow at the tone of his implication. You had been getting ready for a meeting for an interview that was to be done in an hour when he stalked into the room.
Ever since Steve had found out you were interviewing Loki for his part in the literal destruction of New York City, he had been making comments here and there on why this was a bad idea. Maybe he was right, but you were just over the moon Loki had even agreed to do an interview with you.
"Babe, I don't really see what's the problem," you responded nonchalantly, taking your time to button up the last few buttons. To show some boobage or to not. You chewed on the inside of your lip in thought.
Steve scoffed. "Are you kidding me? He just tried to take over New York City, causing millions in destruction. He's dangerous."
"Dangerous." You repeated. "Everyone is dangerous, Steve, even The Avengers. Besides, there's going to be, like, a bunch of police guys there guarding him. I actually think they might be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."
You watched as the muscles on Steve's arm flexed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Jesus Christ, Steve--"
"Language--"
"Why don't you just come with me? Brood in the corner like my silent protector."
It was silent for a few heartbeats, and you thought Steve might laugh in your face. Instead, he shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Fine," Steve said, leaning back against the door frame. "Button up your shirt again, I missed the show."
You giggled and rolled your eyes, but obeyed. You unbuttoned your blouse, then buttoned it back up again slower this time, giving a good show.
You walked into the interview room: Loki's cell. He was held behind some type of glass box, the floors some sort of dark, holographic tile. The room was bare, housing only a dozen or so S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Loki had escaped once from a cell similar to this, the chances of him escaping again were likely. These agents wouldn't be able to do much to stop it.
You stepped towards the glass, stopping a foot or two from the cell. Loki was already standing, and as he stalked towards you, he made sure to trail his eyes over your body.
"Did you get all dressed up for me?" Loki drawled, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.
You rolled your eyes and pulled out the small recorder that was tucked into the waistband of your tight skirt. "I hate to bruise your ego, but it's actually a job requirement," you responded, tripling checking the recorder had enough charge. You had checked the decent sized black rectangle before you left the apartment and then on your way over here. A nervous habit and the constant feeling that something would go wrong.
"An enjoyable job requirement. For me," Loki commented.
You heard a low growl come from Steve and felt the warmth from his chest as he stepped closer to you.
"Oh," Loki hummed. "A displeasure to see you Mr. America." Loki took a few steps closer. "Did they send you in to keep guard, too?"
"No," Steve answered roughly. "And it's Captain."
"Yes, so sorry. Mr. Captain." Loki smiled wide, clearly enjoying making your boyfriend irritable.
You couldn't help but giggle and look down. Loki was charming and funny. Too bad he was an absolute menace to society.
"Mr. Laufeyson--" you started, pressing the record button.
"Oh, I like the sound of that," Loki purred.
"--I want to make you aware that from this point forward, I'll be recording or conversation for the interview you agreed to."
The door that lead to Loki's cell closed with a loud thud and you walked down the quiet hallways in silence. Steve hadn't said much since speaking up before the interview, and you had this gut feeling that something was wrong. You stole a glance toward him and frowned. He was brooding, his brows knitted together with irritation. Even as pissed as he looked, he still looked so beautiful, like he was carved by the hands of a goddess.
"Stop staring at me," Steve said sharply.
You frowned at the roughness in his voice. "You're angry."
"I'm not."
You moved your gaze back to the labyrinth you were walking through, deciding to stay quiet. It was no use trying to talk to Steve when he got in these moods. His walls would come up and anything you'd say would just bounce right back at you. You'd just have to wait until you got home.
The next few minutes were filled with the sounds of your shoes echoing off the dark floors. At this point, you weren't even sure where you were going, and you were hoping that Steve would guide you in the right direction. But he stopped, causing you to stop with him.
"What--?"
"I told you, you shouldn't have done that interview with him," Steve hissed.
You turned towards him, your brows furrowed with confusion. You opened you mouth, but closed it as soon as Steve continued.
"The whole time--the whole fucking time--he was doing nothing but flirting with you. Commenting on your clothes, commenting on your hair, commenting on your hips--"
"I do have nice 'birthing hips,'" you interjected playfully.
Steve backed you up against a wall, his hand slamming against the tile above your head. "That's not the fucking point," he growled, his face inches from yours.
"Language," you breathed. Your thighs instinctively rubbed together at the close proximity of your bodies. With just a slight arc of your back, your aching breasts would be flush against his chest. You mentally kicked yourself. Now wasn't the time to have your head in the gutter. Not when Steve was finally addressing the situation at hand.
"You looked like you were enjoying the flirting, too," he spat. "Did you?"
You were at a loss for words. Of course you enjoyed the playful flirting. You enjoyed the senseless comments just to irritate Steve and the below the belt jabs just to get a response out of him. How could you not? Steve was always so tense, so worried about his image in public that it came home with him. He didn't know how to let loose, how to just be Steve Rogers instead of Captain America.
"Yes," you finally answered. "I enjoyed it. A lot."
Steve pushed himself off the wall and ran a hand through his perfectly combed hair. "Fuck--" He took a deep breath and looked at you, then looked away. He seemed to be having an internal battle with himself.
"I liked the way you reacted to it," you continued bashfully, looking down. "Y'know, this--" You quickly gestured with a hand to Steve and stepped away from the wall.
You felt stupid at the disclosure, but you didn't want Steve to think you enjoyed the flirting because of who it was coming from. You liked the way Steve would place a subtle hand on your hip or gently brush back your hair whenever Loki would make a sly remark. Steve wasn't the possessive type, and you enjoyed it. But you also didn't know him being possessive would do these things to you. Your breasts felt heavier, your nipples pebbled, and your core ached with a neediness you had never felt before.
"This..." Steve trailed off. He gave a breathy chuckle and shook his head. "You're mine."
You blinked, taking a shallow breath. You needed to hear him say that again, needed to hear him say that while he was in you.
Steve shook his head again and backed you up against the wall once more. "You're mine." He buried his head in the crook of your neck and gave you a rough kiss against the sensitive skin. "Mine."
"I'm yours," you whispered, digging your fingers into his shoulders. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck for Steve to explore.
He pushed a knee between your legs and pried them open as much as your skirt would allow. His thick, muscled thigh rest on your lower thighs. If only you could hike this skirt up more, you thought, you'd be able to get some friction on your core. Your hips bucked and you licked your lips.
Were you really going to do this right here in the hallway? Steve tangled a hand in your hair and tugged roughly, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. To hell with this being a public space, you wanted Steve now. Your hands trailed down the blue button up he was wearing down to the gold buckle of his brown leather belt. You groaned in frustration, the belt lodged deep within the buckle.
"Steve Rogers and very horny girlfriend," echoed Fury's voice through the PA system. "Go fuck in your own house before I have you arrested."
Your hand froze, as did the rest of your body. How could you have forgotten you were in a public S.H.I.E.L.D. hallway with dozens of cameras? Nick Fury was practically watching the beginning of a porno. You moved your hands away from Steve's belt buckle and fixed your skirt. He stepped away from you, fixing his shirt. That's when you noticed his smirk. Had he planned all this? Realization hit you like a semi truck. Fury had exposed you all over the speakers. Speakers that sounded everywhere. Everywhere like in Loki's cell. After all the shameless flirting, Steve had proven to Loki that you were his.
You frowned. How could Steve have done this? It wasn't like him at all to dangle you like some prize.
"Real fucking mature, Steven."
"What's wrong, angel? You haven't spoken to me the whole ride home."
"Can it Steven," you snapped, tossing your purse on the kitchen counter. "You used me back there."
Steve scoffed. "Did I make a little scene in that hallway knowing Fury would say something? Maybe, sure. Did I know that Loki would hear? Yes. But, Angel, what was I supposed to do when you liked his flirting?"
You whirled on the ball of your foot toward Steve and pointed a finger at him. "You tricked me! I thought you were finally showing--I don't know, this dominant and possessive side? And I thought it was genuine, not some fucking show!"
Steve gave a heavy sigh. "Angel--"
"Don't fucking 'Angel' me, Steven." You pointed at him again, this time poking his chest. "I wanted to fuck you in that hallway. I was ready to fuck you in that hallway."
Steve grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you closer to him. "I was more than ready to fuck you in that hallway, too," he said, his voice a tad more gentle. "I would have fucked you against the glass of Loki's cell to claim you." A hot shiver ran down your spine and fluttered in your core. "I would have fucked my cum deep inside you until it ran down your legs for everyone to see. Especially him."
Your breath caught in your throat and the anger that was once boiling over in your blood had now dispersed. What replaced it was a deeply rooted lust that burned to your very core. Your blood, your body was on fire and the only way to sate it was to rip the clothes from your body and ride Steve until dawn.
"Do you want that, Angel?" Steve ran a hand down your arm and gently turned you around. His hand ran over your abdomen, his fingers catching in the buttons of your blouse. Your back was now flush against his chest and you felt something hard against your lower back. You breathed a shaky sigh of anticipation as he untucked the shirt from the tight skirt. His fingers worked to free the buttons and you shivered at the tension it caused your body.
You could only nod as the last button was freed, your chest nearly exposed. Your nipples hardened further at the coolness of your shared apartment, your lace bralette doing nothing to keep you warm.
He ran his hands up your bare stomach, then to the bottom of your bralette. His fingers dipped under the black, Lacey fabric and caressed the bottoms of your breasts. Another shaky sigh passed your lips and you rest your head back against shoulder. The feeling of his fingers sliding and squeezing your tender breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers had you squirming for more. Wonton mews fluttered through your lips and your own hands rest over his, begging to handle you more rough.
Warm, wet kisses trailed along your neck to the outmost corner of your jaw. Your skin tingled where his lips met your flesh, tingled and buzzed until you felt as if you were going to explode. Steve had never handled you like this, had never been so passionate with you before.
Sex had always been mostly simple with Steve. Standard missionary was the go-to, with the occasional cowgirl. Everything else was…uncharted territory. Of course, you didn’t mind the simplicity, but this…this was amazing.
You pushed your bottom against his hard bulge and whined softly. “Steve,” you mewled. “I need more—please.”
Steve paused his ministrations on your breasts, his breath shaky against your neck. He slid his hands out of your lacy bralette, pausing at the bottom. In an instant, his fingers were digging into the lace, ripping the fragile fabric in two. Goosebumps pimpled over your breasts as the cold air of your apartment enveloped you skin. You gasped softly, the sudden show of aggression catching you off guard. His hands found place at the hem of your skirt, pushing the tight professional ware down your ass.
“What do you need, sweetheart?” Steve asked, his voice an octave lower.
You shakily stepped out of the skirt now pooled at your feet, now only standing in your opened blouse and a simple black thong. You shrugged the blouse to the floor, the remnants of your bralette falling with it. You turned around to face Steve in your nakedness.
“I need you,” you answered timidly, your gaze on the floor. “I need you inside me.” It was weird to tell him what you needed, having never spoken to each other during sex other than the occasional “you like that?” But you felt brave and…sexy. You took the smallest step closer, your fingers teasing the button of his jeans.
Steve let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping your hips tightly. You managed to undo the button one-handed and drag the zipper of his pants down, your fingers brushing against his clothed cock. You felt him twitch slightly, and you couldn't help the smile that tugged on your lips. He must be so hard, probably harder than he's ever been.
"Do you need me, too?" you asked, your hand fingering the hem of his boxers. Where was this braveness coming from? You slipped your hand inside his underwear, gently grabbing his cock. Your thumb swiped along the head of his penis, smearing his pre-cum.
Steve swallowed hard, and you could see the effort it took for him to bring his hand to caress your cheek. "I want you to suck my cock," Steve grunted.
Your thumb stopped its ministrations and you pulled your hand from his boxers. "No." You stepped back, looking Steve up and down.
Steve cocked his head to the side, his brows furrowed. "'No'?" he repeated. He took a step towards you, and you took a step back, your lower back brushing against the kitchen island counter. Steve shook his head and pulled up the shirt he wore. Understandably, you were quite distracted by his chest and the dark hairs leading down to--
You let out a small yelp as Steve grabbed you by the backs of your knees and placed you on the counter. He forced your legs apart, running a finger over the thin g-string covering your heated mess. A finger pushed the thin fabric aside and delved inside your needy cunt. His finger flexed and curled almost instantly, and you let out a loud moan.
"You sound so needy," he growled, pulling his finger out. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, spreading your juices. "Is it me that's got you like this? Or him?" He shook his head, disgust shining through his features. "Slut."
You winced at the word, at the harshness of it. Did he really mean that? "Steve," you started, "of course it's you--" You were cut off with a loud moan pushing through your lips as Steve inserted two fingers inside you. His fingers curled once more, and with it your toes.
"This pussy belongs to me," he pumped his fingers inside you, his other hand pushing down his boxers and pants. "Your pussy belongs to me."
Without a warning, Steve's fingers abandoned your needy core, and in its place was his cock. The thickness stretched you out, and the head of his penis hit against your puffy walls. He pulled out quickly, then bottomed out inside you once more. His hands gripped your hips roughly, his thrusts just as rough. You cried out each time, nearly feeling him in your stomach. It was too much, but not enough at the same time. You had never been fucked like this before, and you relished in it. Relished in the way Steve's balls slapped against you with a wet snap. Relished in the way Steve made a mess of you--your wetness dripping down to the counter.
"I belong to you," you whimpered, back arching. Your hands gripped his thick biceps, your nails digging into his flesh.
Steve's thrusts faltered and he finally looked at you. He pulled you flush to his chest, your bare breasts against him. He gripped your chin and looked deep into your eyes. "Say it again."
You were caught aback, never having seen Steve so vulnerable before. You moved your hands up to rest on his shoulders. "I'm yours, Steve. Body and soul."
It was as if a switch had been pressed in Steve. One minute you were on the counter and the next you were bouncing against the wall. Steve thrust up into you, his cock never leaving the warmth of your pussy. His grip on your hips was ironclad as he fucking you on the wall. You screamed in bliss and in pain. You'd never been explored like this--Steve had never explored you like this. His cock was hitting places you didn't even know existed or felt good. He shifted his position, thrusting into you at a different angle and you saw stars. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes as your orgasm washed through your body. Your legs wrapped around his torso, your ankles locking around each other.
Steve fucked you through your orgasm, sweat lining the both of your bodies. Your hands tangled in his hair and tugged lightly, another cry emanating from your lips. You ground your hips down against him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. You could feel another orgasm coming, could feel the tension in your body rise. Your fingers tightened on the strands of Steve's hair as another orgasm was nearing its peak. Your back arched as your body trembled with another orgasm, your legs shaking. Steve's thrusts faltered and he groaned loudly. His cock twitched inside you as he pushed himself as deep as he could in your battered cunt. He allowed himself to spill his seed within you, and you both stayed in that position for quite some time. Even when you felt his cock soften within you, you stayed like that, each breathing hard.
"Steve?" you breathed, untangling your fingers from his hair.
"Hmm?" he answered. His head rest on your shoulder, his breath fanning against your neck.
"Did you really mean that? That you'd fuck me in front of Loki?"
Steve lifted his head and looked at you. "Well, maybe not in front of someone--"
"But like," you paused timidly, "in public?"
Steve chuckled. "I wouldn't mind, angel. We can try it one day."
Summary: Inspired by this song. Ushijima (aged up, 18+) breaks up with you, leaving your heartbroken and without an explanation.
Trigger Warning(s): Angst, crying, miscommunication, not proof read
A/N: This is an old work I found in my Google drives that was posted to a different, deleted blog.
I am thinking of you
In my sleepless solitude tonight
You lay awake, staring at your alarm clock. It was 3.00am. You should be asleep, but you just couldn’t. How could you when you were falling apart? The events of earlier ran through your mind, the memories still fresh and stinging.
Ushijima had came over to your flat unannounced. You had just finished making dinner, so you invited him in.
“No,” he had said, his voice as monotonous as ever. “This will be quick.”
You picked at a loose string on the dish rag that was in your hands, suddenly nervous. “Is everything alright?”
“I am breaking up with you,” he said bluntly. Ushijima was never the type to beat around the bush, but the sudden demand shook you to your core.
Your eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”
“I don’t have time for you. I need to focus more on my career,” was the only explanation he gave before stepping away from your door. Wishing you well, he left. He left, taking your heart with him. Your heart would always belong to him.
If it's wrong to love you
Then my heart just won't let me be right
'Cause I've drowned in you
And I won't pull through
Without you by my side
He was your first for everything: your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first time. You choked on the memory of your first kiss, tears falling freely onto your pillow. You had loved him so much. That day, the two of you were at his house, watching this sappy romantic movie called The Wedding Planner. You were such a sucker for happy endings, crying once they finally kissed. Ushijima had tilted your face towards his, wiping your tears away with his thumb. When he asked why you were crying, you just gave a pathetic chuckle in response.
“How can I not cry at such a beautiful ending?”
Ushijima had given you a small smile in response, resting his forehead on yours. He called you a cry baby, half jokingly, and had caught your arm when you tried to playfully hit him. You looked from his grip to his face, not realizing how close he was. Without thinking, you had placed your lips on his, giving him a soft kiss. You didn’t expect him to return the kiss, moving his hand from your wrist to your waist. The two of you couldn’t stop kissing after that. You went home that night with swollen lips.
You didn’t bother wiping away your tears. There was no point. You were sure you would be crying the whole weekend. Your heart was just too broken. He left you, just like nothing. All for volleyball. How could you gather yourself without him by your side?
I'd give my all to have
Just one more night with you
I'd risk my life to feel
Your body next to mine
'Cause I can't go on
Living in the memory of our song
I'd give my all for your love tonight
The only thing you wanted was to feel Ushijima’s arms around you. His warmth never failed to comfort you. The bed now seemed too big without him by your side. You stretched out your arm to the empty side of the bed reserved for Ushijima. Though he rarely slept over, the sheets never failed to smell like him or radiate his warmth. But tonight, they were cold and foreign and the air around you smelt stale.
Another sob racked through your body, your wails bouncing off the walls of your small room. You sat up, choking on your saliva. You needed Ushijima. You needed him to comfort you, to tell you everything was okay. Though, you knew you would never see him in person again. Once his mind was made up, he rarely changed it. The thought of calling him crossed your mind, but what good would that be? You would only embarrass yourself... Your turned towards your night stand, looking for your phone. Fuck it, you thought.
Baby can you feel me
Imagining I'm looking in your eyes
I can see you clearly
Vividly emblazoned in my mind
And yet you're so far
Like a distant star
I'm wishing on tonight
Through your tears, you saw a picture of the two of you from high school. You gently picked it up, reminiscing in the memory. Your fingers traced the features of your beloved’s face, circling around his eyes. You loved his eyes. He wasn’t an expressive person, but his eyes always gave him away. His dark olive eyes were fixed on you, watching you break down. You bent over once more, the weight of your sadness pushing you down. The cool glass touched your forehead, reminding you what was in your hands.
Rage suddenly over came you. You threw the picture against the wall screaming, glass flying all over the floor. How could you not have realized the distance between the two of you sooner? For weeks Ushijima had not come over, volleyball consuming every part of his day. You rarely had time to see him and when you did, it was over facetime.
Deep down, you understood why he chose to break up with you, but you were sure you could’ve worked it out. You could’ve gotten married and shared your life together. You could’ve given birth to strong sons. Now, all that seemed like a delusional fantasy...
I'd give my all to have
Just one more night with you
I'd risk my life to feel
Your body next to mine
'Cause I can't go on
Living in the memory of our song
I'd give my all for your love tonight
From the corner of your eye, you spotted your phone. If Ushijima had time to come over and break up with you, surely he had time to come back, or at least talk with you on the phone. Swallowing your pride, you dialed his number, each ring a stab in the chest. Finally, he answered.
“Hello.”
“Toshi-” you choked out. There was a lot of background noise coming through the phone. You could make out the sound of balls being hit and bouncing on the floor. “I- ...please come over. Let’s just talk this out.”
You heard him sigh on the other end. He started saying something, but then the signal cut out. The the call dropped.
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