Latest Posts by bookvvitch - Page 5
♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡
Link To Masterlist
WC: ~3,000
CW: dirty talk, cock warming, orgasm control, edging, fem dom, loss of virginity. Proof read but no beta.
Ch 9: Ready Player Two
The night creeps by like the quiet steps of a felid, a soft presence, but one you can feel around you nonetheless. It’s near two in the morning at this point, the hideout still and devoid of any interaction. You’re somewhat used to this, the nightowl which you are—but the flashing of lights that seep from the cracks in a doorway signal that you aren’t the only one who’s awake. And naturally, it would be coming from Shigaraki’s room.
Not that you’re complaining.
It’s just been particularly difficult to feel close to him since you’d accidentally moaned at his pressing you into a wall.
You’re certain that it’s well past time to redeem yourself.
You knock lightly, a scratchy, “What?” soon to follow.
“Mind if I come in?” You ask, opening the door ever-so-slightly ajar.
Tomura’s mouth forms a tight line, his skin prickling. He thinks for a moment on whether or not he should approve your request, carmine eyes shining below a tousled mop of blue bangs. He doesn’t want to deny you. In fact, he craves this opportunity, the chance to show you that he can be desirable. You just make him feel so… weird. Like he ate something too fast, or he’s about to be stabbed. It makes his palms sweaty and causes his brow to crease at the center.
“Okay,” he relents, “But I’m not done with this level,”
You grin playfully, bouncing over to his messy bed, eyes fixed to him as he slumps over in his gaming chair. There’s something about him that’s appealing to you in a way you hadn’t quite expected. He’s adorable. Kind of a loser, but in the best possible way. So far, everyone you’ve been with has had some kind of experience, even if it had been years prior. Hell, the guy you lost your own virginity to had a kid.
But Tomura has no clue what he’s doing.
And that’s a little bit hot.
Truth be told, he really is clueless. He doesn’t know what to do with you. This doe-eyed, proper thing who smiles too much, who speaks like falling rain on a rooftop and smells like something inexplicably tantalizing, as if you’ve been kissed by the sun on a spring day. The lingering shock of you even wanting to talk to him still has him a bit shaken. What interest could you possibly have in him? He definitely doesn’t have anything for you right now. Riven’s mechanics have proven to be difficult for even him to master, and the skill cap is underwhelming him, which is a combination that is sure to have this game less than enjoyable to watch. So then what do you want?
You, on the other hand, find yourself drawn to him for several different reasons. He’s unconventionally attractive, which is hard to come by. He’s smart. He’s funny in a mean sort of way. And if you were really being honest with yourself, you’re pretty well fetishizing the virginity aspect, very high-key getting off on that power grab. You like the idea of being able to dominate someone who is so respected in the villain community. Want to see what exactly he’ll let you get away with doing to him.
“What are you playing?” His shoulders tense when you ask him this.
There it is again.
That rollercoaster swoop in his lower belly.
“League of Legends,” he mutters, steadying his voice as much as he can manage. His tone is cool and even, but there’s this underlying shake that you barely make out, a sliver of the weakness that’s lying beneath the surface.
Perfect.
You walk to him leisurely, place your hands on the back of the leather chair, your breaths tickling the nape of his neck, “Want to play something else?”
The screen flashes his face in stark technicolors, his breath hitching at the timbre of your tone. It sounds darker. Warmer. Sends a shiver down his spine.
“We could play RuneScape,”
With a giggle that bottoms out his stomach, you grab a lock of his hair to twist between your fingers. He smells kind of like fresh sweat from all of the panic. Has this rosy flush to his cheeks like he’s smoldering. And he trembles like a lamb, the poor thing, so unused to the physical attention. You can hear the irregular pattern to his breaths when you lean into him, his face awash in crimson, eyes owlish and large, peeking in your direction through his peripheral. What are you getting so close for? There’s no way someone like you is flirting with him right now.
“You could always play with me if you wanted,” you purr.
Oh holy shit.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit.
He shuffles in his seat to readjust the tent in his pants.
“Like,” he swallows thickly, “Like you.. want to be player two?”
You laugh under your breath, “Oh my God, you are so cute,” your hand finds its way to his chin, and you gently coax him to face you, “More like I want you to lay down on the bed and let me take care of you,”
Eyes like saucers, he nods his head, does as he’s told and lies supine atop his mattress. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he pleats them across his stomach, pinkies lifted. He feels like he’s vibrating. Every single cell in his body is on fire, his bones reduced to gelatin. You slot your mouth to his, pressing your lips together in a kiss that’s chaste at first, his stutter-stop gasps catching in the back of his throat. You only deepen the kiss when you feel him begin to relax beneath you, nibbling at his bottom lip, licking into his mouth, eliciting choked grunts from him as he tries to hold these lewd sounds back. Your hand traces the bulge in his pants, and his eyes bolt open, jaw slacked in surprise. With him rutting against the hand that paws at him, you part to take in his expression, all pink in the cheeks and puffing breaths like smoke plumes, looking so incredibly gone after such light petting.
“You’re doing so good,” his eyes gleam at your praise, willingly accepting the way in which you play him like your own little fiddle, “Now go ahead and take your pants off,”
He shamelessly gawks at you as you undress yourself, totally stripped down and bare in a way none of them have seen you before. If you’re going to be a first for him, he could at least be the first to see you completely naked. It takes him a few seconds to register that he hasn’t done the same, lurching forward to remove his sweatpants, the throbbing length of him now exposed. He’s already so hard he’s afraid he’ll cum as soon as you touch him, dripping from the tip and achingly hot.
“Ever done this before?”
He shakes his head—not that you were expecting a different answer.
“Don’t worry about lasting long, then, sweetness,” his cock jumps when the epithet hits his ears, “Just let me handle everything,” you climb on top of him, and he winces as your legs cage him in, at the way you look down at him as if you’re about to devour him whole, “You just relax and take it,”
He’s already panting before you’ve even taken him inside of that wetness between your thighs, his hips preemptively canting, four-fingered fists clutching the bedding beneath him. You pat his cheek, let him keen into the touch as you line him up to your entrance. Tomura gasps when the tip of him slips into the heat of your cunt, pupils blown out, back arching off of the mattress.
“Aahk! D-don’t move!” He whines as you sink down, enveloping his cock inch by inch.
His face is so needy and twitched-up, throat bobbing in an audible gulp, stomach coiling with that taut winding that threatens to pull him apart. Fuck, you feel so good. He can’t even vocalize how amazing it is, the pulsing grip of your pussy already near to pushing him over the edge. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it beneath your palms as you steady yourself against his chest.
“You like that? Gonna cum?” There’s a glint in your eye when you ask him this, something mischievous and wild as you slowly drag yourself along his length.
“Oh, f-fuck, I.. Nngh, I c-can’t, gonna—slow down,” the jumble of words he offers barely resembles a sentence. Perspiration lines his brow, tendrils of baby blue sticking to his forehead, smothered under the stifling pressure that’s boiling just below his skin.
“I think it’s time for that game I was talking about,” you simper, “It’s called, 'how many times can I cum on your cock before you bust from that alone?’”
He grins up at you, broken little whimpers giving way to a throaty laugh. Seems as though he likes the idea of you teasing him. But judging by all those scars that litter the pale expanse of his body, you should’ve guessed that he’d enjoy something kind of mean like this.
“Do it,” he grits through his teeth, “Cum on me,”
The heaviness to his tone sends a bolt of electricity to charge through your veins. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, watching as you run your index finger along your clit in tight circles. Your expression twists, feeling his dick nudging that spot deep inside of you as your walls tighten, the sensation alone of being full of him like this pulling you closer to unraveling. You remove your digit, press it to his lips until he parts them, sucking it roughly. He flits his gaze down to your apex, relishing in the way it twitches each time he throbs within you. The knowledge that you’re getting such pleasure from feeling his cock has his head full of cotton. When you remove your finger, a string of spit breaks before you return it to your puffy clit.
This has got to be the hardest he’s ever been.
With each swipe of your fingertip, you moan a little more, a little louder, the octaves of your voice climbing.
“Shit, I feel you getting tighter. Hah—so wet and so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, absentmindedly clawing at your thighs.
“I’m-I'm cumming,” you spread your legs further, burying him deeper inside of you, the pulsing heat of your cunt sucking him in.
He takes in a deliciously ragged inhale, holds his breath for several seconds as you writhe, as you moan and spasm all around him. Tomura’s voice pitches higher, sighing and chest heaving, pitiful cries sounding off with each throb of your pussy.
“You sound so fucking cute,” you breathe.
“What ‘m I—a-ahh—supposed to sound like when you’re fucking.. nngh, squeezing me like this?” He tosses his head back, growling, “Fuck. Fuck, I can’t take it, l-lemme move,”
“I know you can take it,”
“I can’t—“
“You can. It's gonna feel so good after you wait for it, I promise,” you card your fingers through his dampened hair, “Now hold still so I can show you how to make me cum yourself,”
You guide his hand to your apex, encouraging him to ball his hand into a fist so you can safely maneuver his thumb to the pulsing need there. He’s quick to overtake your movements from earlier, studying the way your expressions change, how the tilt of your brow and crinkle of your nose tell him the best pattern to move in. A lighter touch has you sliding your hips forward for more, and a firmer press of his thumb in those same small circles he saw you doing before has your face screwed up in pleasure. It feels different when he knows this reaction is from what he’s doing to you.
“Am I making you feel good? Is that why you’re shaking like this?” His question is half a moan.
“Uh-huh. Keep going. It feels so good,”
“Shit, you look so hot like this,” he murmurs, husky and raw, “Been cumming in my hand to this thought for months. Aah—you feel so much better ’n I’d imagined. Got such a tight—uhn—pretty little pussy,” his babbling causes you to flutter around him, the muscles of your center constricting, and he tosses his head back, “Mmnn, how—how are you this wet and warm inside? Fuck, fuck!”
Before he even has the chance to ask for a warning, you’re tumbling headlong into another orgasm, that torturous slamming of your cunt driving him to madness once more. He curses under his breath, stifling a yelp when he hears you moan his name as you cum, as you writhe in his lap and gush all over him. He wants to pull out of you and see for himself how wet you’ve made him. If you were anyone else, he would ignore your demands, take control until he’s gotten off. But for some reason, he wants you to keep telling him what to do. The fact that you get to decide when he’s allowed his release has a tension winding deep in his core, a thread that’s close to snapping, barely held together by your command for his compliance. His gaze travels your form while you collect yourself, pushing the hair away from your face, your skin blushed and dewy. He takes in the curve of your jaw, the slope of your shoulders, the starry twinkle in your eyes. You’re the kind of beautiful that people write songs about. He has no idea how he managed to get you into bed with him of all people.
“You can cum when I do this time,” your words are beginning to slur, worn out from the excursion.
You spread your legs wider for him, grind against him just enough to give him some friction, let him see his cock filling you up all the way to the hilt. He’s panting, strained and hot and aching as he rubs your swollen little clit. The idea strikes him that you may enjoy something different this time. A new stimulation that could send you careening over that edge quicker than before. He pinches your clit, rolls it between his thumb and index finger, and your walls throb in response. You’re so overstimulated that all it takes is for him to angle himself the slightest bit upward, to nudge the head of his cock into that soft spot up inside of you, the twitching of him the final movement that’s needed to have you raking your fingernails down his chest and marking him up for everyone to see later. His voice yields to another rasping chuckle at the sensation, ruby eyes lifting skyward, so pussydrunk and mussed upon the pillow that you’d think he had seen heaven.
“Look at you, so worked up over my cock and I’m not even moving. God, just looking at you is enough to—oh—t-that feels good. I love it when you cum,” he sounds so fucking deliciously broken that you can’t hardly stand it, a blissed-out mewl bleeding into the air that damn near resembles an actual meow. That’s how incredibly far and away you’ve got him.
“Yes. Yes. Oh fuck yes,” slithers from your lips, thighs quaking as you milk his dick for the third consecutive time, “That’s it. I want you to cum for me, Tomura. And I want it now,”
Snap.
In an instant the winding tension of that thread is broken, and he's sent over a tidal wave of euphoria that’s been building within him, the crushing, rapturous squeezing of your pussy pulling the release from him. He whines and whimpers below you, close to crying as you ride him outright, a reward for being such a good boy and letting you warm his cock all this time. With an iron-clad grasp, eight fingers clamping down, he takes the plush of your thighs within his hands to pull you down into him, to make sure you allow for him to pound into you while he finally gets to breed your cunt.
He’s wrecked below you, a mess on the mattress, splatters of white leaking out onto his legs as his lower lip trembles.
“Yumemi,” he gravels.
You catch your breath enough to reply, “Yeah?”
You think he’s about to ask for a glass of water or for some help sitting up with how utterly devastated he looks down there.
But to your surprise, he asks, bright eyes locked onto yours, “Can we go again?”
Idk if it's just the filthy degenerate in me or if it's the lust for big hairy men that's to be blamed but I kinda want to write some smut of Hound Dog
Update: I'm doing it
Me becoming immediate best friends with the people who Kudos and comment
I love when people Kudos my fic, because that means I get to stalk their AO3 profile and steal their bookmarks to read later >:]
Reposting with the link! :)
Come to me (smut writer) those who are weak and weary (people who never see their favorite characters in things) and I shall give you rest (write about said character pounding you stupid)
An Unexpected Guest
My first request, fulfilled! Thanks for trusting me with this smut drabble 💚 I hope this is what you were looking for!
WC: 1,220
Blood play, slight hand kink, explicit smut, rough sex, MDNI, Kick-Ass, Dave Lizewski
You’ve sat so long that the bathwater has become tepid, shivering as you towel off. It’s freezing out. Snow is falling in swaths, a chill pricking your skin in spite of the space heater at your feet. This is the fourth night in a row you’ve sat pretty at the edge of your bed, applying lotion to your legs in long, silky strokes in front of your window. Although your apartment sits nestled at a thick line of trees, you’ve had this feeling, this inexplicable thought in the back of your mind that someone is watching you. For this reason, you’ve left the window cracked some tonight. You told yourself it’s just to let some fresh air in. But with the bite in the air, you know the truth.
This is an invitation.
You let your hair down to dry, exposing yourself fully from beneath your towel, the dim light of a lamp casting shadows across your form. Something moves outside. Tension tugs at your chest.
“I know you’re out there,” your voice calls out into the room.
You think for a moment that you’ve imagined it. That you’re simply hoping that someone is there to save you from this painfully dry spell you’ve been experiencing. Until a green-clad hand, tentative and slow, reaches to push your window fully open from out in the dark. Your heart pounds in your chest, pulsing through your extremities.
A grin overtakes your face as a man steps through, “You’re that hero I keep hearing about,”
Dave nervously wipes the blood from his hands onto his pants, unsure of what to do now that he’s taken the leap and revealed himself to you. It wasn’t supposed to get this out of hand. He was patrolling the area a few nights prior, much as he usually does, when you just so happened to catch his eye. You’d left your curtains open as you dried off from your bath. He was transfixed from the very second he saw you. The way you glowed in the half-light of your room, body glistening, how that toy you pulled from your drawer slipped between your legs. He was pretty sure that watching you like this made him some sort of pervert, but with the way you locked your eyes onto where he was hidden in the trees, he thought that maybe you were hoping he was there. After three more nights of the same routine, he was proven right.
“The way you say it makes me sound famous or something,” his voice holds a shaky chuckle, some cute little warble that has you ready to devour him.
“So what are you doing watching me? Didn’t wanna come say hello?”
He gulps audibly, clenches his hands into fists, “I, uh.. I was just patrolling this area,” he clears his throat, “I wasn’t planning on coming in,”
Your gaze travels his body, at the blood that mars his suit, soaked into the material and still dripping from his fingertips.
“Looks like you’ve had an eventful night,” you purr, “Need some stress relief?”
There’s no way this is actually happening to him.
Things like this don’t happen to him.
Girls like you don’t talk to him.
He nods, and you spread your legs, open yourself up with a hither of your finger. Without so much as a second thought, he stumbles to your bed, already throbbing through his suit. He drags his palms up your legs, blood spreading like the red-hot heat that stirs within him, primal and raw, arousal coursing through his veins. Unsheathing himself from his clothing, his length springs free. Fuck, he’s big. You wonder for a second if he’s even going to fit.
“I just.. You meant have sex, right?” His cock jumps when you nod your head, tilting your pelvis to receive him.
He curses under his breath, slips himself inside of the scorching wetness of your cunt. The air is knocked from his lungs as he adjusts to how tight you are, the way you’re squeezing him, how your brows tilt in rapture at the feeling of being so full. He trembles atop you, and you guide his still-bloody hand to the hardened peak at your center, encouraging him to work you there. With a stuttered inhale and sloppy, untimed thrusts, he rubs your clit in circles, his voice climbing as you become a vice-like grip around his cock.
“Oh, f-fuck, that feels good,” he groans, crooning and broken from his chest.
“Give it to me,” you rasp, “C’mon, be more rough with me,”
He captures his lower lip between his teeth, marvels at how his dick returns to him slicker than before, your arousal coating him down to the hilt. Dave thrusts into you harder, delves into you with deep, long strokes, the tip of his cock nudging against the ledge within you. He isn’t sure how much more he can take before he comes undone, but he obliges you nonetheless, wraps your pretty throat in his strong, deft hand and gives you a firm squeeze.
“Just like that! Ahh—fuck!” You moan, something long and drawn out that scoops from your chest to your head, your pupils blown-out and legs shaking.
“You like it when I fuck you?” He grits through his teeth, “Hmm? You gonna cum on my cock for me?”
He pushes his thumb into your mouth, and you suck it, laving your tongue across the pad and relishing in the metallic tang which lingers there, humming in agreement. It’s all so fucking filthy, and you want more. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he feels you unravel, the gush of your orgasm slicking down his cock. You rock against him, his index finger pressing into your clit to draw out every last bit of pleasure from this pliant little pussy of yours.
Your hero leans in closer to you, “I’ve cum in my hand so many times thinking of you doing this,” he pants into your ear, “God, you’re so much hotter up close when you get off,”
Head full of cotton and all other thoughts thoroughly fucked out of you, your legs wrap around his waist, caging him in.
“Cum in my pussy,” you mewl, still twitching around him.
His hands grope at your breasts, your hips, your ass, taking greedy grasps of you as if you’ll soon disappear.
He bucks into you ruthlessly, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he attempts to stifle the needy whines and whimpers that you pull from his throat so effortlessly.
“Nngh, you feel so good. Feels so fucking good, I-I’m gonna.. I'm cumming,” The lilt at the end of his sentence has you clenching him further, milking his cock until rivets of thick, hot release splatter into your walls.
You’re both gasping, euphoria rippling through your bodies, the pulsing of his cock and the messy, ruined noises he’s making are causing you to see colors flash behind your eyelids. You tremble there below him, quivering with a second climax you hadn’t expected to transpire just from feeling his cum pour into your cunt.
“Hope you’ve got as much stamina as I do,” he nips at your neck, already hardening once more, “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet,”
Kick-Ass himself? If you're fr message me with details and I'll whip something up!
Come to me (smut writer) those who are weak and weary (people who never see their favorite characters in things) and I shall give you rest (write about said character pounding you stupid)
This actually happened to me not too long ago 😭 I just stared at the screen for like 20 minutes. Like, I could not accept what I'd just done. Had to rewrite the whole damn chapter.
Let this serve as a warning for those who are following my Spinner fic
Come to me (smut writer) those who are weak and weary (people who never see their favorite characters in things) and I shall give you rest (write about said character pounding you stupid)
When I don't have time to write my fics so I gotta store all my ideas in the ol' noggin
Me and the guy who does whatever I ask because I'm always doing some freaky shit in the sack
First half of Season 2 is so under appreciated for having the funniest fucking group of characters
Christa - Secretly Historia Reiss, royal-blooded bastard child of the King of the Walls, and only remaining heir to the throne of Paradis
Ymir - Secretly the Jaw Titan, a girl out of time who comes from Marley 60 years in the past, preserved for decades in Pure Titan form
Reiner - Secretly the Armored Titan, a soldier from Marley sent on a mission to act as a double agent and recover the Coordinate, who orchestrated the Fall of Shiganshina
Bertholdt - Secretly the Colossal Titan, a soldier from Marley sent on a mission to act as a double agent and recover the Coordinate, who also orchestrated the Fall of Shiganshina
Connie - Bald
My plan is to create a new and revolutionary snack. I call it: Foot By The Fruit™. This will be, of course, foot meat in the shape of various different fruits.
Thoughts?
♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡
Link To Masterlist
WC: ~3,000
CW: dirty talk, first time blow job, oral sex, praise kink, male dom, submissive reader, car sex. Proof read but no beta.
Ch 8: If He's Rex Harrison, You're Audrey Hepburn
“A date?” You blink twice in succession, startled by the unexpected suggestion.
You were right in the middle of making yourself a cup of noodles when he had approached you, seemingly out of nowhere, after several minutes of playing Nintendo games in Spinner’s lap. It’s easy to tease Spinner. He hasn’t made a move on you outright, but you know you’ve got him close to his limit.
Or so you thought.
Apparently, all of the attention directed at another man pushed someone else to his limit instead.
Atsuhiro flushes. Perhaps he should have worn his mask for this discussion after all. But since watching you cuddle up into Spinner’s chest, manually wrapping his arms around you, he’s eager to speak with you as soon as humanly possible. Despite the stinging heat of his cheeks, he proceeds, “That’s right. I’d like to take you out tonight. Just the two of us,”
Normally, he would give you more time to not only consider his request, but to prepare for it should you have accepted it. This situation required a bit more haste than that, though. If he didn’t get this plan solidified and underway tonight, someone would, inevitably, try to delay it or have it cancelled entirely. Compress needs to strike while the iron is hot. It’s now or never.
You fidget with the hem of your shirt, capture your lower lip betwixt your teeth. His asking you out was sudden, but not unwanted. That isn’t what’s delaying your response. There’s just something about Compress that makes you a little nervous. Twice did as well before you two had fooled around, but that feeling has since faded, having fallen to the wayside in place of a near-constant sexual tension. When it came to Compress specifically, though, there was something about his authority and confidence that made you feel the tiniest bit weak in the knees, bones gelatinous any time he approaches you. It wasn’t like the false bravado that Dabi tended to carry or that Spinner often attempted to hide behind. Atsuhiro knew what he wanted and then some. And that was intimidating.
Yes, Atsuhiro considered himself to be a confident man. He spoke with purpose. He stood tall. He had experience.
But dammit, you make him so tense and sweaty!
Abandoning your noodles, you tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear with a meek, “Okay,” and a sweet smile.
He nods, reigning himself in so you don’t see how giddy this has made him.
“Well then, Yumemi,” he straightens his back, “Get dressed and I’ll take you out for a real dinner,”
When you exit, he exhales deeply, smears his face with his hands. He pulled it off. You said yes, you’re going out with him. He has to make this night unforgettable for you.
He’s going to be the first one to take you on a date.
You hand the steaming cup of noodles to Toga as the two of you enter into the den, a grin spreading across your face, and she takes it without question.
“Mimi, you look so happy!” She chirps between sips of hot broth.
“I, uh.. I have to get ready for a date toni—“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before she’s dragging you into her room. The door slams closed behind you. She looks manic.
“With who?!”
“Atsuhiro,”
“Oh my God, no way!” She downs the entire cup of noodles in one impossible gulp before she begins sifting through her clothes, “I can’t believe one of them actually nutted up and asked you out! Okay, lemme see. I have something here somewhere.. Ah-hah!” Toga retrieves a cocktail dress from her closet, the material a sleek, black taffeta.
You cock your head, “Jesus, Toga, this looks expensive,”
She shrugs, “It probably was. But I stole it in case someone grew enough hair on their chest to ask you out. Good thing, huh?”
You hold it up to yourself, admiring how the cut appears to be flattering for your figure. It shows just enough chest to be seductive, just enough leg to say you want him, while still being classy for a nice occasion. She really knows her shit for a teenager.
“Wow, I mean.. Thank you,”
“If you wanna thank me, give me details when you get back,” she smiles until the points of her teeth show, golden eyes crinkling.
You snicker, blushing as you nod your head.
“And one more thing,” a drawer is opened on her nightstand, the quick grab of a bottle serving as proof that she’s had this preplanned for quite some time, “I also took some pheromone perfume!” Without so much as a warning, she dabs it onto your wrists, your neck, spreads it into the back of your hair, “Now he’ll definitely make a move,”
There isn’t much of a smell on your end, so you ask her, “You sure this stuff works?”
“If you can’t smell it, yeah, probably. This one is to attract men,”
You hum, somewhat skeptical, but step into the dress regardless. Worst case scenario is that now you smell like nothing. Not much of a loss considering that this is a stolen dress layered on top of some stolen perfume. Your phone buzzes from the bed.
Atsuhiro: I’m parked out front whenever you’re ready. I’ll be waiting for you, dearest.
“Toga, he has his own car!” You tell her while slipping on a pair of black pumps that she’s procured from under her bed.
“Why do we have to walk when Kurogiri’s busy, then?” She pouts.
You stuff your phone and wallet into a little clutch that’s been handed to you, shrugging, mouth tilted as if to convey confusion.
“Why are you so prepared for this?”
“I took it all in one haul. Now get out of here!”
The shove she gives you isn’t really needed. You’re impossibly excited to be taken on your first ever actual date. You’ve been in a couple relationships before, but nobody had ever taken you out like this, the majority of your relationships being ones of convenience more than anything else. A cold sweat sends ice to shoot down your spine when you traipse out the door, the reality hitting you in one sweeping lurch that you have no clue what you’re doing.
You inhale sharply as Atsuhiro, clad in his ‘in case she says yes’ suit, opens the door of his ivory Rolls-Royce. His hair is slicked back with pomade and he smells of leather and bergamot, his bare hands soft and well-manicured.
Fuck.
This guy is old money.
The scent of you envelopes him, drowns his senses, and he finds himself longing to bite into the tender flesh at the nape of your neck. However, he’s a gentleman. He controls himself as you slide onto the tan, leather seat of his passenger side, lips curled into a playful grin when you look up at him. He closes the door, sits behind the wheel. The smell is stronger when the two of you are confined, a subtle, musky vanilla undertone with something more that hits his nose as primal and vulgar.
“Where are we going?” Your voice travels to his ear like petals on the wind, gauzy moonlight pouring in through the tinted window to emphasize the arch of your lashes.
How is he supposed to get through a meal like this?
“La Vie Est Belle,” he answers cooly, “If you like bread, you’ll love this restaurant. Their baguettes are made in house,”
“Mhm. I love bread,” you thumb the hem of your dress anxiously as you speak.
Your family is fairly well off, but you aren’t what you would consider to be rich. More like comfortably middle class. Mom and Dad have always spoiled the hell out of you, but it’s not like they would take you to some fancy French restaurant on a whim. Especially not anything this fancy. As soon as Atsuhiro ushers you from his vehicle, it’s whisked away by the valet, a suave young man in a white tuxedo and matching shoes. The valet doesn’t speak a word to either of you, simply takes the keys and parts, which has you feeling somewhat strained. It seems wrong not to exchange pleasantries.
Compress indulges in another whiff of your hair as he guides you into the restaurant, his palm cupped on the small of your back. It tingles his toes. Leaves him with a heaviness in his core.
You, on the other hand, are gobsmacked at this place. The exterior resembles that which you would expect of something like an upscale wedding reception hall, the stone steps leading to a heavy, oak door that rests in between a set of pillars on either side of it, which hold up the scaffolded and overhanging roof. Once inside, you’re greeted with vaulted ceilings, walls painted in a deep, navy blue, and crystal chandeliers hanging gracefully above each round, golden-clothed table. A bouquet of irises, blue and white, sit in the center, lit candles circling them. You look around at all of the people here in their affluent attire, the men dressed in velour and fine suits, the women in organza gowns that touch the floor, peep-toe shoes hidden behind the curtains of fabric. One lady appears to have brought with her a tiny, white dog in a bag.
You, the proletariat which you are, do not belong here.
Atsuhiro takes notice of how you shift uncomfortably in your seat, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Your smile is but a farce, voice feigning placidity. So when the waiter comes, he orders for the table, something safe that most people would enjoy—though you wouldn’t know this. Apparently, Atsuhiro speaks fucking French. You are so out of your depth it’s not even funny.
You mouth the words ‘thank you’ as the waiter scurries off, the tails of his coat fluttering when he turns. Another waiter has stopped in his tracks behind you, your back turned to him as his gaze flickers over your form, much too long for your date’s liking. Compress narrows his eyes at the young man who burns bright pink when he realizes he’s been caught. You’re absolutely stunning tonight. Streamlined and gloss-black as a raven’s feather, the twinkle in your eyes rivaling each and every gem in the room. He doesn’t need the gawking eyes of some college freshman to tell him that. But something roils beneath his skin when he thinks about how many young, spry suitors are taking note of how you’re gorgeous and how you smell like this. Had he really never noticed before?
“Well, I’m sure you’ve guessed this already, but I don’t speak French,” you giggle nervously, “Did you order dessert?”
Two glasses of red wine are sat at the table by a gloved hand, which he swirls to aerate as soon as he receives it.
“I don’t think we should get dessert,” he says dryly.
Your brows tick up, “Why?”
Atsuhiro inhales slowly, deeply, before he takes a small sip of his wine. 1955 was a good year from what he can tell. One would assume such a minuscule drink of alcohol would leave him entirely grounded, however, the way you’re intoxicating him has left him unencumbered.
“Because you smell like sex and I can’t have people thinking such things about you. In fact, I won’t. So I'd like to take you back to my place instead,” the sedulity in his tone has your heart pounding, his sharp eyes and even sharper tongue cutting into your chest which heaves sluggardly beneath your dress.
He wears his years too differently for you to tell his age, but with the way his eyes hang low and steady, fixed onto your own, you feel so young and small. You’re all doe eyes and exposed legs across from him, his decadently oppressive aura weighing atop you, smothering you in a relentless tide. The crossing of his legs is just barely captured in your peripheral, as is the twitch of his hand, the unsteady rhythm of his breaths. It appears as though you’re both struggling to maintain your composure.
With the slightest nudge of your lips, you lean in closer to him, ignoring the clinking of plates as they’re sat on the table when you say, “Maybe I’m not hungry for dinner,”
His stomach tightens, eyes bouncing open, and he’s forced to coax them back to his typical steely affect.
“You really should try to eat something,” his voice takes on a low gravel, “I’ve heard that truffles are an aphrodisiac,”
You’re smiling outright at this point. He wants to finish dinner? That’s fine. You’ll make sure he gets dinner and a show.
His breath hitches when you press your breasts into cleavage, cleverly guised as a reach for your wineglass. Your lips graze the rim, a wispy hum in approval, though your pallet isn’t particularly refined enough to enjoy the red to its full potential. You flick your eyes to him, setting down the glass and then smoothing the bodice of your dress to encourage his eyes to travel there. Totally shameless, you slack your jaw, staunch in your eye contact as he feeds you a forkful from his plate. You rub your foot along his thigh, and he grips the tablecloth. Something behind his eyes shifts, a threatening darkness that leaves every hair on your body standing on end. And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t standing at attention himself.
“My, Yumemi, it looks like you’re having a good time,” he murmurs.
You slink back in your seat so to extend the length of your legs, to ruche the fabric of your dress further up your thigh as you cross one heeled foot over the other, “You could say that,”
Atsuhiro waves over the waiter, eyes shining when he hands the man a stack of bills, telling him to keep whatever was left over. He rises with a poised demeanor, warm hands guiding you up and out the door, heels clicking across the ornate tiles of the restaurant, heart thundering throughout your extremities. You find yourself unintentionally holding your breath as the two of you wait for the valet to return his car, wondering if perhaps you’d crossed a line by the way he avoids eye contact with you. He opens the door for you once more, silent as you sit, as he takes his place at the driver’s seat, your breaths the only things audible in the car.
Perhaps you made too much of a scene in there.
He’s probably a regular at La Belle… whatever. God, even your internal dialogue sounds like you’re a mere pauper. Tonight was as though you’d been isekai’d into some My Fair Lady universe where you’re a transient nobody who’s graciously allowed into the prince’s quarters. You’re normally much more polite than this. Much more buttoned-up in public. Maybe this should’ve been treated as more of a business occasion rather than a sexually charged date. Maybe that’s just what extravagant dining was like.
“Atsuhiro,” saying his name knocks something loose in him, and he pulls into an empty lot, parking calmly and cooly with his eyes still fixed straight ahead.
You say his name again, and he draws in a sharp breath before lunging across the console, cupping your face in his hands as he plants a ferocious and hungry kiss to your lips. His initial plan was to bring you back home, to savor you, to sweep you off of your feet and carry you bridal style past the threshold of his room and onto his bed, to map out each and every beautiful inch of your body until he knows it by heart. He thought he could keep himself tethered to his sanity long enough to make it there. But he is able to withstand this burning, snapping, fizzing want that boils within him no longer. He melts into your touch as your fingers card through his hair, as you’re nibbling at his bottom lip, licking into his mouth, heat pooling between your thighs. He parts from you, gasping, the air electric and sparking wildly.
“I want you,” his voice rakes over your skin, each rasping syllable zipping up your spine.
You’re aching and hot, desire bubbling just beneath the surface, stomach bottoming out when he speaks these words to you.
“I can’t get you out of my head,” his gaze travels your body, and he revels in the way you shiver at his touch, “Can’t stop thinking about the things you do to me,”
“What I do to you?” The phrase is more of a slurred sigh, “God, Atsuhiro, I fucking need you,”
He tosses his head back, jaw clenched, close to feral when he grits, “Be a good girl for me and I’ll give you what you need,"
He nips at your clavicle, and you moan, the sound so cloyingly heady that he finds himself dizzied at the release of your voice. He grunts at the sound, gentle squeezes into his shoulders prompting his own hands to fall at your thighs, your breath skating across his cheek. With another keening groan, he presses you up against the door, the glass cool against your back as he laves the plush of his tongue over the column of your throat, his strong hands palming the fleece of your inner thighs. The scent of you has become too much for him when he’s this close to you, the throbbing tent in his slacks grazing your thigh with each further push to the window. Your fingers grasp at his shirt, curl into the fine material, urging him closer.
“Come on, now. Be a good girl and spread your legs for me,”
With heavy eyes, you nod, wholly subjugated when you tell him, “Yes, sir,”
All you can offer him is a weak little whine as he pulls your soaked panties to the side, his touch careful but firm, the pad of his index finger soon dragging to spread the slick up from your slit to your swollen clit. He smirks when you buck your hips, satisfied by your submission. He admires the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath him, how your breaths hasten when he rubs the apex of your sex in a tight circle. Another whimper falls from your lips as he delves two digits into the wet heat of your cunt, eliciting a shaky exhale from him, his cock pulsing, precum dotting the front of his pants. Lazy, unhurried circles of his fingertip over your clit tests your patience. This is torture, and he knows it.
But the way that you tilt your brow and dig your nails into the flesh of his chest have him wanting to spoil you.
Your eyes flutter closed when he finally presses his thumb to your clit, cheeks flushed and lips parted to release stuttered gasps from the back of your throat. He pats the side of your leg with his free hand.
“Watch me,” he says, “I want you to see what I’m doing to you,”
He throws your legs over his shoulders, soft, fleeting kisses ghosted over your clit to once more tease you the way you’ve been teasing him all this time. You fix your gaze to him, eye contact unbroken when he flicks his tongue across the puffy little bud, and you tremble, near to falling apart at the sight. His tongue rolls over you, the stifling heat of his mouth sucking you in shortly thereafter.
“Fuck, Atsu—oh, God,” slithers out of you, and a moan rackets up from his chest.
The windows are fogging, condensation beading across the glass, much in the same way which your arousal drips down his palm. You’re so slippery and ready for him, tightening around his fingers with each lap and lave of his tongue. Your toes curl in your shoes, self-restraint now relinquished when you take a handful of his hair. His eyes roll back as you pull, tension tugging at your muscles, staring hazily down at him as he releases your clit with a lewd pop. He’s pretty like this, with his lips all red and swollen, eyes half-lidded and foggy with lust, hair mussed. It doesn’t take long before he’s running the flat of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re about to come undone, he can tell. Your breaths have become choppy, in ragged intervals, walls fluttering around his digits, until suddenly—fuck, so hot—you’re cumming all over his face. The throbbing of your clit is felt against his tongue, a gush of arousal slickening his hand.
“Ah-aahhh-yes! Fuck, fuck, like that!” The phrase falls from your lips, lilting at the end in such a way that has him about to lose his mind, has him moaning into the pulsing betwixt your legs.
He uses both hands to keep your legs spread, gripping at the meat of your thighs, drawing each and every delicious sound from you that he can manage, that sinfully skilled mouth of his leading to another string of curses to spill incoherently from your throat. When you’re a gasping mess beneath him, thoroughly finished off, he parts from you, something carnal and unbridled within him that longs to bite and cling and breed. But you’re too quick for him to get you into the back of the car, knocking him into his seat so that the breath leaves his lungs. Although somewhat unexpected after you’ve gotten off already, you appear just as feral as him. His icy demeanor falters when you sink into his lap, deft fingers undoing the button of his slacks. A rush of pink warms his cheeks when he sees you licking your lips, grinning up at him, eyes sultry and soft through your lashes.
“You don’t.. have to do that,” he whispers.
“I’ll stop if you want me to,” you release the stiffened length from its confines, “But I really want to do it,”
His cock bobs in front of your face, long and curved and dripping little pearls from the slit. He’s already so hard that it’s painful, the tip of him rosy and flushed.
“I-I don’t.. I’ve never…”
Your brows lift in surprise, “Never?”
Compress shakes his head, “It’s always seemed rude to ask,”
“Good thing I’m offering, then,” you giggle, and it sends a bolt of electricity to skitter through his extremities, “Let me make you feel good,”
The relentless squeezing of your pretty hand around his shaft has him lost in the sensation already. It’s different, somehow, your hand around his cock in place of his own. Not as mind-blowing as he’d heard it is, but still really—
You lick from the base all the way to the tip of him, running your tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft.
Oh.
Oh, shit. Okay. He gets it now.
You open your mouth, show him your tongue in the same display he’s come to know many times before. It takes only a few seconds for him to realize what you want from him, tension twisting up in his center as he spits onto the surface of your tongue. You’ve barely touched him and you’ve already ruined him. The whimper that snakes from him is damn near shameful, bordering on pathetic, what little composure he was holding on to dead and gone as you pull him into your mouth. A shaky groan, unable to be stifled, huffs out when you hollow your cheeks to suck, his legs jerking each time you swivel your hand around his cock. He can’t help the urge to push further into the enveloping heat of your mouth, quivering underneath you, your tongue dragging across the ridge of his tip.
“F-fuck,” he twitches in your mouth, voice climbing in a way you’ve never heard him before, “oh, fuck me, that feels so good. Nngh, you’re doing so good for me,”
Eyes locked onto his, you hum over him, and he sucks in a sharp breath in response. A pang of brash noises from him accompany the way you reach to play with yourself with your free hand, and you swallow around the tip of his cock, prompting him to fist the leather interior with a tighter grasp. You’re still so sensitive from the previous orgasm that you can feel yourself getting close already, his needy little whines only spurring you on. Another sound chokes out of him, almost sobbing, when you moan around him, mouth nestled all the way to the hilt of him.
“Gonna cum with my cock in your mouth?” He asks with a hungry glint in his eye.
You give a delighted hum in answer, circling your clit with your index finger, taking his dick down your throat with another squeeze of your hand. Lewd, wet sounds, slick and vulgar, combine with your moans. The car smells like you have all night now. Like pheromones, and sex, and sin. It hits his nose like a punch. Your tongue grazes the span of his length, lapping him like you’re trying to devour him whole, greedy swipes of tongue and palm laving over him. Your rhythm has become hungrier, rapacious and wild, eyes slamming shut as you unravel for him once again. He curses to himself, runs a hand through the front of his hair as he watches you work him, feels you moaning against his cock.
“Show me,” he rasps, and you delve your fingers into your sopping pussy, remove them so he can see the release that glistens there.
“Oh my fucking God,” a groan escapes him, and you mirror him with a whimper of your own, tensing your hand around him until he ruts his hips, “I'm about to cum. Such a good girl, taking my cock like this. Doing so good. Feels—nnn, feels—gonna-ah!”
His cock pulses in your mouth, a broken, wrecked cry slinking haphazardly up from his chest as he spills into you, thrusting, gasping, ruined. You swallow all of him, licking up and down his shaft. Parting, you look at him through wet lashes, glossy lips swollen and red. His chest heaves, the taut thread of tension having finally snapped.
“Did you like it?” You ask him between precious chugs of air.
Spent, he wipes the sweat from his brow, taking in your dewy skin and heavy eyes. The windows steam and streak, trapping in the desire which now sinks into the fine leather of his car. He hopes it never leaves. Wants the memory of this night with him as long as possible.
He pulls you into him, crushes you to his chest when he says, “It was amazing. You’re amazing, my dearest one,”
You smile to yourself, your very first date having been a success.
How many details of this does Toga really need?
can you guys reblog this with your birth month and favorite mha character i’m trying to test something
#2 here. Currently stuck because I'm figuring out what cheese they would have in a place where our countries and regions don't exist.
It's harder than you think 🥲
There are two types of writers:
1. 'It's fiction, it doesn't need to make sense!'
2. 'I didn't account for the rotation of the planet and how that affects the constalations while my characters stargazed at different times of year, I have failed as a writer, and this entire thing is trash'
Every time 🥲
Thank you for the follow! I took a look at your blog and I love it sm 🥺👉👈
Thank you, love!! I took one look at your blog and knew we were kindred spirits, had to follow back 💜
my love for you is like a jar of pomegranate seeds, each kernel i dig from the flesh an unwavering sign of devotion to you; bloody, sticky, tart against your lips. crush me under the weight of your canines. i'd let you devour me if you asked.
My insulin pump doesn't make me unattractive. Neither do my scars, or all the tubes that hang off of me, or the needles and ports and machines that are attached to me at all times. Parts of my body don't work like they should. I have neuropathy in my hands and retinopathy in one eye. My kidneys need help to work. I've been on beta blockers since my 20s because my heart doesn't work right. That doesn't make me undesirable. I'm worth having sex with. I'm worth pursuing romantically and sexually. I am a whole person that deserves love and to feel good about myself.
feeling sexy and being disabled are things that can exist together. I can have medical devices and a feeding tube and still feel sexy, and i really dislike that people think that the two are completely separate and cannot exist together. I'm allowed to feel confident and love myself and the way i look even if i look a little different, and every other disabled person is too. I love myself and i have a feeding tube, not i love myself but i have a feeding tube.
you don't even like me. you just like my dubious morals and fat ass
USA people! Buy NOTHING Feb 28 2025. Not anything. 24 hours. No spending. Buy the day before or after but nothing. NOTHING. February 28 2025. Not gas. Not milk. Not something on a gaming app. Not a penny spent. (Only option in a crisis is local small mom and pop. Nothing. Else.) Promise me. Commit. 1 day. 1 day to scare the shit out of them that they don't get to follow the bullshit executive orders. They don't get to be cowards. If they do, it costs. It costs.
Then, if you can join me for Phase 2. March 7 2025 thtough March 14 2025? No Amazon. None. 1 week. No orders. Not a single item. Not one ebook. Nothing. 1 week. Just 1.
If you live outside the USA boycott US products on February 28 2025 and stand in solidarity with us and also join us for the week of no Amazon.
Are you with me?
Spread the word.
shorthands for dumbassery that i have grown to love deeply
"how dare you say we piss on the poor" in response to someone misinterpreting your post
"_ isnt gonna fuck you" for suck up behavior
"woah. should we tell everyone? should we throw a party?" for who the fuck cares
"and what if the world was made of pudding" for when would this ever matter.
"and sharks are smooth both ways" for a group of people heatedly arguing with 1 guy who is fucking with them all
".. but its about a witch in the alps finding her lost cat" for someone trying to sanitize something to the point of absurdity
BEST FRIENDS & BAD IDEAS
♡ — jean kirstein x f!reader
Big aspirations and even bigger dildos—in which a poorly thought out plan makes it incredibly hard to act like your feelings for Jean Kirstein are platonic. Not when they’re anything but. And especially not when you’re half naked in his lap.
18+ ONLY
wc — 2.7k
prompt — cockwarming, creampie
additional content — NSFW, 18+, best friends to lovers speed run, dildo use, implied masturbation, unprotected p in v, praise kink, jean kirstein’s big dick
╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist
“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” Jean growls, and his low, rough tone sends you off-kilter, shoving you headfirst over the precarious edge you’ve been foolishly dangling from.
In retrospect, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.
–
In the long list of questionable decisions you’ve made today, one of the first catalysts guaranteeing inevitable disaster was your lack of foresight to lock your bedroom door before stripping off your shorts and underwear and preparing to lower yourself down onto the ridiculously large dildo that had been delivered in an even more comically large Amazon box this morning.
Your best friend of many years and college roommate, Jean Kirstein, came home just as your makeshift “stand”—you’d hastily attached the suction cup at the base of the dildo to the last clean plate in the cabinet for lack of a better surface—went flying across the rug, ripping the few inches you’d manage to ease down onto right out of your lube-slick channel. You’d hit the floor with a thud, growling in frustration. This, understandably, had the unfortunate effect of attracting the concern of said roommate, who swiftly burst into your room as if you were in the middle of being robbed.
The concern quickly morphed into hysterics as he spotted the giant purple dildo wiggling uselessly a few feet away from where you were lying on your stomach, punching the carpet and yelling at him to get out with as much dignity as you could muster.
“That’s my shirt,” he commented dryly, ignoring your pleas for him to forget everything he had just seen.
“Well it was in my drawer,” you spat back, trying to push the dildo-plate behind you, although the damage was already done.
Jean leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I have so many questions.”
“Our business hours are between 8 and 5, so you’ll have to call back tomorrow. Sorry,” you said with a dismissive wave, subtly kicking the plate and dildo beneath the bed.
The suction cup chose that moment to pop off, and all ten inches came rolling back into view right where a bar of sunlight was stretching across the floor from the window. It would have almost looked artsy.
If it weren’t a fucking dildo.
“I thought you ordered a lamp,” he observed mildly, motioning to the huge cardboard box you’d yet to take out to the recycling bin.
“I’m gonna order you a fleshlight if you don’t shut up,” you grumbled, shoving on a pair of sweatpants.
Jean crinkled his nose, running a hand through his hair. “That thing’s so big, the landlord might start charging us for three tenants if he sees it. Is this a cry for help?”
“I’m trying to prepare myself for seducing Eren at the party Saturday night,” you whisper-yelled, as if anyone else was going to overhear you in your otherwise empty apartment.
“Jaeger?!” he barked out with a disbelieving laugh.
“Everyone says he’s huge. I don’t want it to be a disaster.”
“He’s not that fucking big!” he exclaimed incredulously.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Can you like, go be somewhere tonight? Go get so high with Conny you forget you saw anything? I’m gonna go try in the bathroom instead.”
“You’re kicking me out of my own apartment so you can shove a giant, sparkly purple dildo inside of yourself imagining it’s Jaeger’s dork ass?”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Jean.”
He groaned. “The bathroom sounds like an even worse idea. You’ll slip, hit your head on something, blood will go everywhere, and we’ll lose the security deposit.”
“Or my plan will work, I’ll get laid this weekend, and you can stop complaining about how grumpy I’ve been lately,” you reasoned matter-of-factly.
Jean’s hand came to rest on your shoulder as you attempted to push past him to leave the room, aforementioned dildo jiggling menacingly in your hand. “You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said a little more softly, raising a brow as he cast another look at the offending object.
“I have lube!” you shot back defensively.
Jean glanced up at the ceiling, muttering something about regret under his breath before exhaling, “Let me help you.”
–
In all the years that you’ve known Jean, you’ve done an excellent job at keeping your little crush on him your best kept secret. A secret kept under the most formidable lock and key, buried deep in the depths of your psyche. Tucked away in the very back of a dusty, old cabinet like an expired can of corn.
Objectively, you know Jean’s handsome. You’re well aware.
With his intense, hazel eyes—ones that see everything.
His tall, solid form.
His sinfully curved, pink lips (and his habit of idly sliding his tongue along the bottom one).
His long, dexterous fingers—a dangerous thought.
That fucking mullet he let grow in, which shouldn’t be nearly as sexy as it is when he rolls right out of bed and leaves his room looking like a pillow-rumpled supermodel.
He’s hot, okay?
And sure, you’ve drunkenly kissed at a few parties over the years. Jean’s seen your ass more times than you can count. Definitely your boobs that time he ran into the bathroom to puke while you were showering. Sometimes he has a habit of putting his head on your lap when you’re both on the couch, nudging you till you card your hands through his soft brown hair like a damn dog.
But it’s always been platonic.
Friendly.
Two people who are just very, very comfortable with one another. Comfortable in knowing that neither intends to ruin their stable, solid friendship by carelessly sprinkling feelings into the mix.
Comfortably going so far as to share the sordid details of your sex lives (or lack thereof, lately) while leaning against the kitchen counter eating take out food without batting an eye—though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t try to one up him sometimes when you feel that familiar, unwelcome twinge of jealousy yawning awake inside of you.
But this?
This is asking too much of your restraint to keep your heart walled off and your mouth clamped shut. In your defense, it was already left in pitiful tatters after grinning-and-bearing it throughout the seven-month-long nightmare that was Jean dating fucking Pieck.
—
The next phase of your slew of terrible ideas today began with Jean sitting at the head of your bed, back against the wall, holding the dildo between his legs. Like your own personal fucking dildo holder. Grinning like this wasn’t the single most awkward thing the two of you have ever done (save for the time you both fell asleep with your head in his lap on the couch and woke up to his accidental boner poking you in the ear—neither of you ever mentioned that again).
And it would have been totally fine if it worked out like you imagined in your head the moment he pitched it—you sinking down onto the silicone schlong a few times, stuffing in as much as you could while he held it still. Then letting him carry on with his day while you lay there in bed for a little while with it lodged inside of you, getting yourself used to the stretch. Totally fine.
The reality of the situation was far different, entailing a sticky, slippery mess of lube coating of your hands and a dildo that bent and flopped in every direction as you tried to carefully impale yourself on it while maintaining some sense of dignity.
You had given up fairly quickly, butting your head against Jean’s collarbone and sighing as you asked if he thought Eren would go slow.
He was quiet for a moment.
“…do you trust me?” Jean had asked carefully, like his next suggestion wasn’t going to send you spiraling.
Like “Just sit on my dick, as a friend!” wasn’t the most fucking confusing statement your heart, brain, and vagina had ever heard.
–
Which is how you find yourself in your current predicament, straddling Jean Kirstein’s lap with far more inches of him than you’d realized he’d been keeping tucked away buried to the hilt in the velvety heat between your thighs. Raw, skin-to-fucking-skin, because you’re both in a miserable dry spell with not a single condom to be found between the two of you. And somehow the combination of “known you for half of my life” and “just got tested” and “IUD” sounded better than one of you being tasked with trudging to the pharmacy.
Or, god fucking forbid, going down one floor to ask Conny for one.
Nope.
You have three days to prepare yourself for whatever may come with Eren, so sitting on your best friend’s intimidatingly large dick sans condom the least of your worries. Even if it feels so incredible you’re literally silently choking on the moan threatening to spill past your lips.
Even if you fucking swear you heard his breath hitch when the thick head of his cock began to slip past your entrance, stretching you open wide as he breached your damp channel.
Even if he hardly had to touch himself to get hard for this.
Even if his gaze darkened when you choked out, “Jean, your dick is huge.”
This was a terrible idea.
“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”
“Doing what?!” you ask, exasperated.
He rests his hands on your waist, “Doing this,” and squeezes firmly, “on my dick.”
“This isn’t even sex,” you tell him, ignoring the way the close proximity of his hazel eyes sets a flurry of emotion stuttering in your chest. “It’s like, cockwarming at best. You can’t come from cockwarming if you’re not even turned on.”
Jean raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know how tight you are?”
“That’s obviously why I was worried about Ere—”
“It’s like this,” he cuts you off, wrapping a hand around your throat. It’s a loose hold, only meant to prove a snarky point, but a spark of arousal seeps through your body anyway at the mere suggestion. His eyes widen a fraction at the traitorous way your walls clamp down on him even harder in response. “What, you into being choked?”
“I’m into a lot of things, Jeanie,” you tell him haughtily, trying to ignore the heat blistering beneath your skin.
“Like dumb idiots named Eren Jaeger?” he counters, making to grab for the tongue you’re currently sticking out at him.
If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think Jean sounds like he’s jealous.
Which he definitely isn’t.
But you poke the bear anyway.
“What, are you jealous?”
He shifts slightly, and you bite your lip to stifle the moan as your cunt spasms around the pressure from his cock.
If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, his brow furrows as the corners of his mouth tilt downward slightly. “I just think you deserve better.”
You tug on his earlobe, letting out a weak laugh in an attempt to dispel the sticky, messy feeling of hope trying desperately to cling to the arousal stirring in your gut. “Says the guy who’s currently fucking me.”
Jean scoffs and deadpans, “I thought this wasn’t sex.”
Who are you kidding? Certainly not the tension coiling ruthlessly in your abdomen.
You move a little, trying and failing to relieve the sensation of hot wax dripping down your spine. Instead, you let out a tiny, strangled noise when your throbbing clit presses down against his pelvis, the resulting flood of pleasure setting every nerve ending in your body on fire.
The way he growls out your name through gritted teeth is a warning, but his low tone only serves to stoke the flames licking their way up between your thighs.
You move again, inhaling sharply through your nose.
“Fuck,” he groans quietly, head hitting the wall behind him with a resounding thud.
You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, but his hands find their way back to your hips, calloused fingertips pressing directly against your skin as he slides them up beneath your shirt. His shirt.
The next time you rock against him, his grip on you tightens. And then, you feel it—he tugs you forward.
You lean further into him, without really meaning to, forehead coming to rest against his. “What are we…”
“Just keep going,” he murmurs.
He shifts again, sinking down lower so his back is pressed against the mattress, and you realize the angle gives you more purchase to grind down against him when he pulls at your waist, thumbs lazily skimming your hip bones.
“Jean…” you whisper, not really sure what else you intend to say.
“I want you to feel good,” he says softly, pushing his hips against you, even though he’s snugly bottomed out.
It feels so fucking good—
—laying atop Jean while he stares back up at you, pupils clearly dilated in arousal—
—watching his eyes fall shut as you run a hand along the stubble on his jaw—
—knowing he’s well aware the slickness between your legs is no longer from the lube, your cunt gushing with arousal at the feeling of being stuffed deep with his thick cock.
So you tell yourself you’ll figure the rest out later when you start to shamelessly grind down against him.
“You don’t have to be quiet for me,” Jean teases when you cough to cover up a gasp.
Your answering moan is nearly a whimper, and Jean’s muscles tense beneath you as he continues to guide your hips. He doesn’t try to pull his cock out from where it’s lodged inside of you, doesn’t start thrusting and fucking up into you. He just lets you chase the clitoral stimulation you so desperately need while you’re cockwarming him, groaning along with you at each needy drag.
“Good girl, that’s it.”
This is far more intimate than you bargained for, the gentle slide of his hands up your back scraping your heart out bit-by-bit.
“Holy shit, you don’t know how close I am to coming right now,” he moans in a gravelly, unsteady tone.
All you can do is whimper his name when the rubber band suddenly snaps in response, your body trembling as a wave of white-hot pleasure crashes over you.
And then Jean’s hands are cupping your face, his lips crashing into yours. He kisses you fiercely as you whine and shudder through your orgasm, moaning into your mouth as you card your fingers through his hair. You can feel his cock throb inside of you, pulsing with need as your tight cunt spasms and contracts, relentlessly squeezing his shaft while you soak him with your release.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s groaning, both of you too drunk on pleasure to move when he suddenly climaxes, cock pumping thick, hot ropes of cum deep in your pussy.
Chests heaving, Jean slowly sits up, forehead falling against your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist.
After a few minutes of silence, he finally murmurs, “Don’t fuck Jaeger.”
You tilt his head upward, finger resting just below his chin, skimming the stubble that’s there. Too many emotions are swimming in his hazel eyes, more than you can identify—save for one that you recognize with a jolt of clarity. It’s the way you look at him, when he’s not paying attention.
Longing.
Desire.
Soft, gentle, unfiltered affection.
This time, you’re the one to close the distance between your mouths, brushing your lips against his.
“Who?” you ask, smiling into the kiss.
Jean chuckles, the sound like warm honey, and he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding to the back of your head. Though you remain seated on his softening length, cum begins to seep from your slick heat, pooling on his balls and abdomen.
He goes to move, but you don’t budge. “You wanna get cleaned up?”
You shake your head, the corner of your mouth tilting upward with a smirk. “I’m comfortable.”
Jean bites his lower lip, huffing, “My cum’s dripping all over, and I’m two seconds from getting hard again if you keep squeezing down on me like that.”
Feigning a look of innocence, you flex the muscles in your tight, soaked channel one more time for good measure. He chokes, and you grin.
“Good.”
— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!
"Why do you have so much trouble making friends? Why do you say things that way? Why don't you know how to talk to people? Why do you have these mannerisms?"
"Well I have ADHD and Autism,"
"That doesn't make sense, you're not running around and you made eye contact with me!"
🤡
People: "You're so weird!"
People: *find out I'm autistic*
People: "No way. You're like, so normal."
It looks different for everyone!
Reblog if you understand that disability is not a monolith and two people with the same disability do not have identical experiences ✨
