if there's one thing enjin will forever love doing, it's teasing the hell out of you. enjin x reader!!
enjin has a multitude of petnames from you, and with every day that passes, you swear each and every one of them becomes more absurd.
you had grown used to semiu snickering and zanka gagging every time he called for you — names like sweet cheeks, little lady, pretty thing, buttercup, princess — but the name he calls you by today? you're positive it can't get any more egregious than this.
"bugaboo? enjin, please tell me i've misheard you."
"hahh? what's wrong with bugaboo?!"
he yelps when you smack his arm before the sound transforms into a hearty cackle, and you resist the urge to smack him again and instead grip his arm firmly
"you are such a jackass! call me that in public and i'll turn you inside-out."
enjin has hearts for eyes when you tell him that, grinning with all his teeth as his fingers tap rhythmically against the steering wheel in front of him. he's driving leisurely today, for once, but the only reason for it was because he wanted to talk with you longer.
"don't say that stuff to me, bugaboo. ya'know it turns me on—yeeeeowch! you smack hard, lady!"
"the kids are sleeping in the back—"
"pshhh, they've heard me say worse," he snickers, and you shake your head in disbelief, flustered and speechless more than ever as you sit back in your seat with a huff
"you're so....ugh." you grumble, and enjin doesn't hesitate to lean over the center console and press a hard kiss onto your cheek. you whine, trying to push him off, but he just presses another one onto your forehead before pulling back
"—i have a colorful selection of nicknames for you, there has to be at least one that you like." he says, and when you don't respond, his eyes light up
"ohh so that's how it is? which one is it?! tell me!" he demands eagerly, but you merely look out the window and ignore him. unluckily for you, enjin loves a good challenge.
"all right then. we've got a bit of a ride ahead of us, so don't think i won't get it out of you, babydoll." he teases, but you merely roll your eyes, squinting to keep a lookout on the road since enjin would rather stare at you than be a responsible driver.
—unfortunately, your boyfriend was equally persistent as he was annoying (which was very much), and he knew you like no other. so, when he finally says the word pretty girl while reciting his long list and sees your lips twitch in his peripheral, his entire face lights up as if he's discovered something sacred and special.
"pretty girl? you like that?" he questions, smooth voice sending shivers down your spine, and when you mistakingly stammer, his eyes sharpen like a predator finding its prey
"aww, don't pout, pretty girl! pretty girl, pretty girl, my pretty girl, the prettiest girl," enjin coos, and your face is positively on fire. enjin's ridiculously loud laughter eventually stirs rudo from his sleep, who sits up with a confused mumble while zanka continues drooling all over the younger cleaner's shoulder — on the other hand, you keep one arm braced against the door so you can get out the moment the truck rolls to a stop
"wha...what's so funny?" rudo slurs sleepily, but enjin only grins in response, yelling at zanka to wake up as he yanks his keys out and chases after you. you're speed walking towards the entrance of hq after prompty exiting the truck the second it stopped, but enjin is quicker, coming from behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind
"you little—" you start, but enjin spins you around in his arms before you can cuss him out, and instead you squeal and tighten your hold on him
"what was that, pretty girl?" he questions with that handsome smirk that sends your heart racing, and the only thing you can do is hide your face in his neck as he throws his head back and laughs at you—again.
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✦ zanka nijiku whose ego always gets a boost whenever you praise him, no matter how small or big your words were.
✦ zanka nijiku who tries his best to hide his growing smile whenever you tell him his skills has improved. His shoulders twitching with how hard he's trying not to burst out giggling.
✦ zanka nijiku who adores the way you pat his head or ruffle his hair whenever he finishes a mission, whether it was a success or not.
✦ zanka nijiku who loves the way you never doubted him. Always cheering him on and always having high expectations of him—but in a good way.
✦ zanka nijiku who always looks and checks if you saw how amazing he was in battle. He tries not to, but it's already become a habbit of his.
✦ zanka nijiku who tends to reach out to you first when he has troubles. It makes enjin a tiny bit jealous sometimes.
✦ zanka nijiku who just loves to rest on your lap after a long day. He relaxes the millisecond your fingers play with his hair.
✦ zanka nijiku who gets a little jealous whenever you praise someone else. Thinking his spot as number one has been taken..
✦ zanka nijiku who wishes his big brother and big sister treated him as kindly as you do. Comforts him like you do when he's sad, calms him down when he's angry or congratulate him when he accomplishes something.
✦ zanka nijiku who doesn't want you to see him hurt or get injured during battle because he thinks you'll see him as a weak person.
✦ zanka nijiku who knows you also love showering him with praises cuz you love the way his eyes lits up before trying to act fool.
✦ zanka nijiku who listens to your advices as much as he listens to enjin's advices.
✦ zanka nijiku who got super jealous once when someone said you and enjin were like the mother and father of the team. He didn't like that one bit.
✦ zanka nijiku who denies his crush on you whenever someone mentions it but immediately looks behind when someone says you passed by.
✦ zanka nijiku who won't hesitate to jump infront of you if you're in danger. He wont allow himself to lose the person who fills in the neglected void his family had left inside him.
✦ zanka nijiku who fears the idea of you and his big sister meeting or ever crossing paths.
✦ zanka nijiku who tries to understand adult's topics so he could strike up conversations with you like how the boss and Semiu does.
✦ zanka nijiku who wonders why you joined the cleaners instead of having a quiet life with a family but is glad you joined instead.
✦ zanka nijiku who gets really jumpy and giddy whenever you entrust him with a very important mission and even assign him as captain!
╰┈➤ you've reached the end! bye-bye!
⋮ ⌗ ┆ a/n : Tumblr not saving the story version of this made me tweak out 😭 kinda ooc(?) but it's okay ( ˘̩╭╮˘̩)
He starts by pulling you towards him by the waist using both of his hands, pushing your bodies together, leaving no space for air or doubt. His hands are steady and strong, afraid of the thought of you moving just one inch away, afraid of the separation. He wants you near, he needs to feel you.
One of his hands moves from your waist to your back, caressing it like something precious, while the other one moves to let his entire arm hug your waist, trapping you in position.
And while his arms are around you, his beautiful eyes are scanning every single detail on your face. Admiring you like something holy, something unreal. In your eyes you're the most beautiful being that has ever stepped on the planet earth. He gets drunk by the sight of you, and the feeling of having you with him.
And while he’s taking his time worshipping you, your hands move to his chest, rising to his shoulders, and finally ending in the back of his head, with your fingers intertwining with his hair.
It doesn’t matter how much time has passed since you both saw each other—it could be years, it could be months, or it could be just one day—the moment Jason’s lips touch yours he can’t hold back.
You taste the desire and longing in his tongue. The kiss is deep, heated and long. Jason only pulls apart to groan, making your entire body shiver with pleasure.
He needs you to be impossibly closer. He needs your hands touching him all the time. He needs to feel your breath against his skin. He always needs more when it comes to you.
Sometimes—whenever the situation allows it—without stopping, his kisses start lowering towards your neck; lower, your chest; lower, your stomach; lower-
But, when the situation is different—and he can’t have you like he wants to—he’s the one that pulls apart first. His body doesn’t move, he’s still holding you against him. His grip hasn’t loosened. It’s still strong, holding you against him, like he is afraid you might run away, or just vanish into thin air.
He admires you again, but this time with pride. Proud of being the reason your lips are swollen now. Proud of being the one having you.
Jason Todd kisses like a starved man, but only because he’s obsessed with you.
A/N: Don't ask me what this is, I don't even know myself. This is probably the closest you're going to get to smut written by me.
lord... saw someone mention babytrapping with lohen and can't stop thinking about mutually obsessed weirdos lohen x reader 'fighting' over whos trapping who here like they arent both way too into it 😭 everyone in mondstadt has CONCERNS about the idea of either of you reproducing let alone together
Hi Anon,
I'm not sure why, maybe I forgot English, but I feel like I didn't really write this correctly? I wanted to post this earlier, but I kept getting ideas, so I might have lost the narrative. Regardless, Reader/Lohen really want that baby, and they will get it by any means necessary except for actually sitting down and having an honest conversation about wanting kids.
It’s not as though this is the first time you’ve gone along with Lohen’s whims, all while working toward your own hidden agenda. Somewhere along the way, you stopped asking whether this was a good idea and started asking what would work. Like that time during a celebration with the Knights, when everyone started dropping like flies except for the Grandmaster. A new batch of wine and a surpringly low tolerance to alcohol from knights who drink rather frequently. Who would have thought? You had been sprawled on the ground, staring up at the night sky, by the time Lohen hauled you into his arms and carried you back to your shared tent. It was nice being lifted so effortlessly, tucked securely against his warmth, that you forgot to mention you'd swapped your drink for juice before the festivities had even begun. Varka had been there the next morning and looked far too concerned about the whole situation, but you told him it was fine. It had been easier than explaining why you hadn't done anything to stop it.
In hindsight, maybe you could have sat down with Lohen and had an honest conversation about your relationship. Unfortunately, you'd already committed to a much worse idea, and there was no backing out now.
"Gonna' cum-" Lohen groans into the curve of your shoulder, his face tucked against your neck. Bloody bite marks litter your skin, sitting far too high for your clothes to hide, and you know he did it on purpose just to be a brat. You're going to get so many pained looks tomorrow. The entire city is going to know exactly what the two of you have been up to. Again. Though you suppose you cannot exactly play the innocent card. Not when you spend far too much time standing in front of the mirror, absentmindedly tracing the indents and bruises scattered across your skin. Not when your nails are stained red from how often you pick at the scabs, never quite giving them enough time to heal properly.
"Y-You need to- ah! You... hah-You need to pull out," Your words cut off in a whine as Lohen jostles you higher in his arm. His fingers dig into your thighs as he adjusts his hold, folding you closer against him. Your stomach clenches, both because he's attempting to carve a space for his dick there and it's working, and the weightlessness now that your back isn't supported against the wall anymore. Everything but your shoulder and head is relying entirely on Lohen's strength, and your heart flutters at the display of strength. It's your second-favourite thing about him.
"Yeah, yeah, 'heard you the first time," Lohen is infuriatingly blasé about your stipulation, too busy making the most of you finally letting him fuck you raw. He's been away for weeks working on a solo mission. Something about an auction, though you cannot be entirely sure those were the exact words when you had been too distracted by sucking on his tongue. Regretfully, your gaze drifts down to the floor, where two broken condoms lie discarded nearby. Two failures in a row seem unlikely enough to be bad luck rather than anything else. Probably just a bad batch. It would be a shame to end the night over so soon, so as long as he pulls out, everything will be fine.
He's surely wasting no time making up for the weeks he spent away, returning all of his pent-up desire tenfold as he fucks into you mercilessly. His hips never stop moving as he holds your thighs apart, keeping you pinned between him and the wall. It feels deliriously good, enough to leave you dizzy with it, your body clenching around his cock, sucking him in deeper. In, out, in, out, in, in, in-
"Hey."
Your hands fly to his face, pulling him down until he's forced to meet your gaze. It's the clearest your eyes have been all night. You draw him closer, your lips brushing his as you whisper the words directly against them.
"If you cum in me, I'll get pregnant."
There is nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and the sting of nails digging into each other's skin as Lohen stares at you with half-lidded, clouded eyes. Then, like the stupid little pervert he is, his cock twitches inside of you. Warm thick cum floods where it shouldn't, and you're too stunned that Lohen seriously just came at that. Only when you feel yourself being lowered gently to the ground does he let out a quiet grunt, pulling out to watch your combined slick and cum ooze out of you, little wet sounds splattering onto the floor.
"You-" you're about to bitch and cry, ready to find the nearest object to break over his head because this isn't fair! If you seriously get pregnant from this, you're going to drug him and ride him until his hips snap in half! Your murderous thoughts come to an abrupt halt when you hear giggling. Lohen has a hand clamped over his mouth in a pathetic attempt to muffle it, but with how hard he's trying and failing to hold back a full laugh, it isn't working. His head tips low enough that his bangs fall across his face, and his other hand scoops the cum that leaked onto the floor. Lighting his hand, he slightly spreads his fingers before dipping them into his mouth to suck clean, and you frown at how gross he's being again. The cum is supposed to go into you; has he never attended a sex ed class before?
A soft pop sounds when he pulls his now-clean fingers from his mouth. He pushes his sweat-damp hair back, finally giving you a clear view of his face, and you shiver at his expression. That same deranged smile still plays at the corners of his lips, but his eyes look almost blown wide, so dark you could swear they're glowing red. He plants his hands on either side of your head and leans over you until his shadow swallows you whole, until all you can see is him.
It's hot. You're breathing each other's air, neither of you making any effort to pull away. Your legs remain locked around his waist, and he doesn't move back to give you space. You can feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest just as surely as he can feel yours. Occasionally, you wonder how you let it get this bad. How someone could have such a monopoly over your life to the point you'd find any reason to keep them with you.
"You still think I'm the one being trapped?"
Before you can answer, his hands fall back to your thighs, and with a single pull, you're flat on your back again, your knees bent so far they nearly brush your head. He cracks his neck, then proceeds to slam in so hard you can feel him in your throat. So hard that you see stars behind your eyes. Hard enough that every coherent thought scatters, dissolving into nothing but a barely intelligible string of Lohen, baby, Lohen, baby.
When you manage to look up at him, you find his gaze already fixed on your face. You can feel the intensity of it as he takes in your parted lips, the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, the fresh bite marks blooming darker against your neck. You see the tenseness of Lohen's mouth, still smiling but undeniably strained from pleasure, pleasure that you're giving him, drowning him in-
Lohen grunts under his breath, closing his eyes, enjoying the feeling of you swallowing every inch of him. He looks like a man on a mission, teeth grinding together, you can almost hear them crack from how tense his jaw is. His fingers bend at odd angles, lifting you and slamming you down that nearly gives you whiplash at each push and pull against sensitive nerves. At this point, you're more of a sleeve than an actual human being. You couldn't imagine anyone touching you like this, let alone fucking you. Thank the Archons, you hadn't done this on a table. Jean might actually kick both of you out if you showed up asking for another budget increase to replace broken furniture. Considering the look she'd given you after the bookshelf incident, you'd be lucky if she didn't start assigning the two of you retraining orders.
"S-Slow- slow- down-! You promised you- you wouldn't!!" You sob, fat tears slipping from your eyes. Despite your words, your nails dig into his skin, your ankles digging into his back to pull him closer. You'll fucking kill him if he doesn't cum in you again.
"Shut up-" Lohen rarely curses, so it's always a treat to hear him lose that princely appearance. Not that you have long to relish in your small victory when his hand slams beside your head, cracking the floor from the strength of his fist. With half your support gone, you feel yourself tilting to the side, the sudden movement making you tense up, clamping down on him. He lets out a low hiss, leaning forward to fully pin your body to the ground, as he buries himself deep on one last particularly bone-shattering thrust. You let your head drop harshly onto the floor as he cums, a burst of warmth that fills your stomach. You're shaking in his arms as his hips instinctively grind to ride out the waves that went on far longer than usual, throbbing in heavy pulses as he somehow dumps even more cum into you. It feels so good that you can't help but follow him, finally letting that wire inside you snap free.
You both don’t move for a while, just taking the time to catch your breath and settle back into each other’s presence. It has been getting increasingly lonelier each time Lohen gets sent halfway across the world. While you can understand his role as vice-captain, you don't appreciate seeing him fewer and fewer times. You move your hand to settle over your stomach, hope in your eyes, that hopefully now he'll have a better reason to stay.
“Sorry, I know I promised, but I couldn’t resist,” he says easily, voice soft as he presses a few lingering kisses to your cheek, yet making no move to pull out, “I’ll get you something for it tomorrow morning, alright?”
With your body fully caged in by Lohen, there's no wiggle room for you to kick him away or knee him in the gut to let you go. It's almost as if the past few minutes never existed. That same deceptively gentle smile sits on his lips, eyes catching faintly in the low light as he moves his hand on top of yours, lacing your fingers together. He raises it, pressing a small kiss on the back of your hand, whispering, "Don’t worry, nothing bad will happen."
Tomorrow morning, when you are still sleepy and woozy, Lohen will coax you into opening your mouth so he can slip in the same two white tablets, and you will groan and complain the entire time. They're oddly sweet for morning-after pills, and you've never been fond of sugar.
sypnosis: tasked by Alice to keep watch over Mondstadt in person, you decide to entertain yourself by taking on different roles within the city—changing your occupation as you please. Yet to the citizens of Mondstadt, nothing ever changes. In their minds, you have always been exactly who you are when they see you.
Only Varka seems to notice the inconsistency.
contains: 4.1k wc, female reader, fluff, reader is lowk a troll, varka being silly, varka is also indicated to be taller and bigger than reader (hv you seen his hand vs lohen oml..), kinda slow burn?
Varka was certain he had never been wrong about a person before—until he met you.
The Grandmaster had stopped by the cathedral one afternoon in search of Barbara for some light healing after a morning of training recruits. The injuries on his hands were nothing serious, just the usual wear from constant sparring, but he had learned long ago that ignoring small things often led to larger problems later on. Mondstadt was peaceful, but the knigths were never idle, and neither was he.
What he hadn't expected was to be greeted by an unfamiliar woman.
You were standing among the nuns near the altar, speaking with them as though you were part of the daily rhythm of the cathedral. There was nothing unusual about your posture or your presence, nothing that suggested that you didn't belong, and yet the moment Varka saw you, something in him faltered because he was certain he had never seen you before in his life.
"Oh?" he said, pausing. "I wasn't aware we have someone new in the cathedral."
The conversation around you stopped almost immediately as the nuns turned towards him with polite confusion, as though his question itself was strange.
Grace tilted her head slighlty, "A new face?" she repeated, as if trying to understand what he meant.
"Grandmaster, what are you talking about?" Victoria asked.
Grace's brow furrowed faintly as she looked between Varka and you. "[Name] has been with us for as long as I can remember," she said, her tone carrying absolute certainty. "How could you forget the second deaconess, Grandmaster?"
'Huh..?' The words made something in Varka's mind stall.
He glanced over at you again, then back at the nuns, searching for any sign of uncertainty, any hesitation that might suggest a misunderstanding or a simple prank they decided to play on him.
But there was none.
Grace, Victoria and the others all looked genuinely puzzled by his reaction, as though the question he had asked made no sense at all.
And yet, no matter how long he looked, he could not recall ever meeting you.
Not once.
As far as he knew, Barbara was the only deaconess of the cathedral...
The realisation should have unsettled him more than it did, but what unsettled him even further was the fact that you were smiling at him as though this entire situation was perfectly ordinary. More than that, nothing in him reacted with alarm. Even his instincts, honed through years of battle and command, remained quiet. There was no sense of threat, no warning to step back or prepare for combat.
"You must have had a long day," you finally said, stepping forward slightly. "Training recruits can be rather exhausting, Grandmaster."
Before he could respond, you raised a hand towards his arm, your attention shifting to the shallow cuts he had almost forgotten about. "May I?" you asked, already reaching for him without pressing.
Varka hesitated for only a moment before extending his hand. Something about the way you moved made resistance feel unnecessary, not because he trusted you fully, but because there was an odd sense of inevitability to it, as though this interaction had already been decided long before he arrived.
The moment your fingers made contact with his skin, warmth spread through him.
It felt like sunlight pressing gently against his muscles, easing tension he had not realised he was carrying. The shallow cuts closed almost instantly, the skin knitting itself back together in a way that suggested precision far beyond ordinary healing. Even the lingering soreness from hours of training seemed to dissolve, leaving behind an unfamiliar lightness in his arm.
He exhaled slowly, forcing a light laugh as he rolled his shoulders back, "Hahaha...maybe," he said, scratching the back of his head as if trying to shake off the strange feeling. "That might be a sign I should start taking breaks earlier in the day."
You only smiled at that, and then without lingering any longer, you turned back towards the nuns and continued your work as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
Varka remained for a moment longer, watching you as you moved seamlessly back into the rhythm of the cathedral.
Eventually, he convinced himself that perhaps he had simply misremembered. It was an easy explanation, especially after months away from Mondstadt. Faces blurred together over time, and he had never been particularly good with names outside of battlefields and command structures.
By evening, he had almost managed to let it go.
Almost.
The streets of Mondstadt were lively when he arrived at Angel's Share, the glow of lanterns spilling warm light across the cobblestones. Laughter drifted out from the tavern, mixed with the sound of music and clinking glasses, and Varka allowed himself to relax as he stepped inside.
The relaxation did not last long.
Behind the counter, you were there again.
Varka stopped just inside the entrance without realising, his gaze locked onto you immediately.
There was no mistaking it.
The same face he had seen at the cathedral only hours earlier was now serving drinks behind the bar with practiced ease, speaking with customers as though you had done this job for years.
"...Deaconess?"
Rosaria, seated nearby on the bar, glanced at him over her drink with mild disinterest. "I don't think Barbara works here, Varka." she said flatly, before returning to her glass.
Varka shook his head slightly, still not taking his eyes off you. "No, I'm not talking about Barbara..I meant [Name]."
Rosaria's gaze flicked over to you before it settled back onto him, "[Name] isn't a deaconess, Grandmaster," she added, as though correcting something obvious.
At the sound of your name, you looked up from the drink you were preparing, giving him a small smile as you finished the drink you were working on, sliding it across the counter to Kaeya, who was already watching the exchange with quiet amusement.
Kaeya gave you a small nod of thanks before taking a slow sip, clearly enjoying himself. "She's been working here for quite a while," he said casually, as though confirming something universally known. "One of the best bartenders in Mondstadt, actually. You've had her drinks before, Grandmaster. Don't tell me you've forgotten?"
Varka frowned.
"I don't remember ordering from her before.."
Kaeya raised an eyebrow, "Well your memory does get fuzzy when you drink.."
Varka didn't respond immediately. His attention had drifted back to you, watching the way you moved behind the counter, the way customers interacted with you as though there was nothing unusual about your presence at all. Someone even greeted you warmly as they entered, and you responded without hesitation, calling them by name as though you had known them for years.
Everyone else seemed completely certain you had always been here.
Just like the nuns in the cathedral.
"..What are you?" Varka finally asked, lowering himself onto the stool beside Kaeya, his voice quieter now, gaze serious.
The question hung in the air for only a moment.
You blinked from behind the counter, tilting your head slightly, the same small smile still present on your face.
"Just a bartender, Grandmaster," you said gently, as if the question itself was unnecessary. "Perhaps your workload is getting to you."
Varka sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I..maybe."
You poured another drink and slid it towards him without breaking eye contact for long.
"On the house."
Kaeya let out a low whistle, placing his empty glass down. "Lucky," he commented lightly. Then, turning his attention back to the counter, he added, "On another note, what do you put in these? They always taste better than Charles's."
You let out a small laugh, shrugging as you turned back to your work.
"A little magical touch, maybe."
When Alice had told you to stay in Mondstadt for the time being, mentioning that someone should be there to keep tabs on things physically, you had accepted without thinking too much about it.
Mondstadt was...peaceful.
Too peaceful, in fact.
After the Traveller's help in resolving various incidents happening, there was almost nothing left in the city of freedom that required immediate attention. Even the usual disturbances had quieted down.
With the return of the Grandmaster, Mondstadt had never felt safer.
And it wasn't as if you could simply go out and deal with nearby monsters either. Apparently, someone had already been clearing out camps before you could even get to them. (and judging by the aftermath, they seemed to enjoy it far too much.)
Hence there was little else to do.
So what else could you do to entertain yourself but to experience the daily roles the citizens provide?
A librarian one day.
A florist the next.
A bartender after that.
The cycle came easily to you. Your magic allowing you to blend in rather easily, people remembering you exactly as you appeared to them in that very moment, each version of you settling into their minds as something natural.
It has become a routine of yours.
However, Mondstadt, for all its charm, could only offer so many occupations to slip into—after a while, even the novelty of it began to fade.
Until today.
As you cleaned a wine glass at Angel's Share, you could feel the Grandmaster's gaze on you. Despite what he had said earlier, it seemed even he was having difficulty believing his own conclusion.
For the first time in a long while, someone in Mondstadt was not playing along with the version of reality you had quietly arranged.
No wonder the Hexenzirkle spoke so highly of Varka at times. He could clearly break through some barrier of your magic.
A small spark of interest stirred in your chest.
Finally
Something fun again.
"...So you're working at Cat's Tail again?"
Varka leaned against the counter of Cat's Tail, a drink in hand as he watched you move around behind it.
After his first encounter with you, he had started noticing a pattern—or rather, he told himself it was a pattern he was noticing on purpose.
The truth was that his eyes seemed to find you in Mondstadt far more often than coincidence should allow. At first, he had convinced himself it was caution. Your existence was, after all, unusual to him.
Someone who appeared in multiple places, in multiple roles, without anyone questioning it...that warranted attention.
A potential threat, perhaps. One that simply had not revealed itself yet.
But the longer he watched, the harder that explanation became to maintain.
You were harmless.
Not only harmless, but competent in every role you took. Whether behind a bar, in a cathedral, or serving food at Good Hunter, everything you did carried the same ease.
Even children gravitated towards you without hesitation.
Klee had shown up more than once, proudly presenting drawings, and you had responded each time with genuine enthusiasm, as though it was the most important thing in the world.
And if Alice hadn't stopped Klee from hanging around you, then surely you must be safe.
Therefore, you must just be..
A very hardworking person who had taken up multiple jobs in Mondstadt—and somehow, everyone else had agreed to keep up with it.
"Whatever do you mean, Grandmaster?" your voice cut through his thoughts.
Varka blinked, returning to the present. You were looking at him now, head tilted slighlty, expression calm as ever.
"Oh?" he said, letting out a short laugh as he straightened slightly, "You're still keeping that up?"
He took another sip of his drink before settlinng down on the counter.
"I think I've figured you out."
"Really?" you asked, voice light.
"Yep!" Varka nodded, a little too confidently. "It's actually simpler than I thought."
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing something important.
"You're just one hardworking citzen." he grinned. "And everyone just agreed not to mention your other jobs when you're working somewhere else, right? Like, I get it. People don't usually bring up other work in the middle of a shift. It's just..very committed of everyone to keep it consistent."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then you burst into laughter.
Varka blinked, straightening up again, "What? Did I get it wrong?"
You wiped a small tear from the corner of your eye, still smiling as you shook your head slightly.
"Oh, Varka.." You said softly, almost fondly. "Never stop being you."
Before he could respond, you picked up a few boxes from behind the counter and stepped out from your station, brushing past him as you moved towards the back.
"Hey—wait," he called after you, grabbing his drink as he went. "What does that mean?!"
But you didn't answer, only continuing down the corridor, humming a light, almost teasing tune as if the conversation had already ended in your favour.
He met you again when he was out exploring.
It seems this time, you were a knight, now dressed in the classic uniform belonging to the Knights of Favonius.
"Fancy meeting you here," Varka called out as he jogged up beside you, quickly matching your pace. "On patrol duty?" His gaze briefly swept over you, lingering for a moment longer on your face. "I don't think I've ever seen you as a knight before."
"Mhm..." You were only half-listening, eyes scanning the surrounding terrain.
In truth, Alice's message had been brief but clear—there had been an unusual concentration of Abyssal energy in the area, and you had come to investigate.
You hadn't expected Varka to be here as well.
"Are you exploring the area?" You asked, turning your head slightly towards him.
"Ah, yeah." Varka replied easily, hands loosely at his sides as he walked. "Just checking a few things. Got some intel that something might be going on around here."
Intel?
Had Alice alerted him as well?
You exhaled softly, shaking your head. That woman was definitely scheming something. She knew you were more than capable of handling Abyssal disturbances alone—sending Varka as well meant she wasn't concerned about the threat.
She was interested in something else entirely.
"What's wrong?" Varka's voice pulled you back.
"H—Oof-!" your thoughts cut off sharply as you bumped into something solid in front of you.
A hand caught your waist almost immediately, steadying you before you could stumble back.
When did he get infront of you?
"Woah," Varka said, his grip careful, "What's got you so lost in thought?"
You looked up, and only then did you fully register how close he was.
Varka was already looking at you, concern evident in his expression, his attention entirely fixed on you as if the surroundings didn't matter as much anymore. For a brief second, your focus slipped and warmth rose faintly to your face.
"Nothing, nothing." you said quickly, pulling away and letting out a small cough as you turned forward again, picking up your pace.
The attempt at normalcy lasted only a few steps.
The air ahead of you shifted.
It wasn't subtly. The space in front of the path warped unnaturally, as though something had torn through the boundary and before you could fully react, purple vines snapped out from the portal, coiling around your wrists and ankles, yanking you forward with violent force.
The suddenness stole even your voice.
Your body moved on instinct, magic gathering at your fingertips to sever the bindings without hesitation—annoyance flaring sharper than alarm at how easily you had been caught off guard.
But before you could act, something cut through the air beside you with overwhelming force.
Steel cleaved through the vines in a single, decisive motion, and the restraints loosened instantly as the entire construct fractured under the impact. In the same movement, a strong arm hooked around you again, pulling you cleanly out of reach.
This time, the motion carried you fully against his torse.
You blinked once, adjusting to the sudden change in position. Your hands instinctively pressed against his chest for balance, and only then did you register just how solid he actually was—how the impact hadn’t shifted him in the slightest.
Oh.
Varka was…buff buff.
“Are you alright?!” Varka asked immediately, already scanning you for injuries. His grip was steady but careful, his focus entirely on you rather than the fading remains of the trap. “Any injuries anywhere?”
“...” You could only nod, your eyes lingering a second too long on his arm where it flexed as he adjusted his stance.
Maybe you could play as a damsel in distress a little longer.
The portal had long since collapsed behind the two of you, leaving only the unfamiliar stretch of land ahead and the quiet awareness that there was no immediate way back. Whatever had dragged you in had not left a clear exit, which meant the only option now was to move forward and find one.
As you walked through the dim terrain, Varka stayed close—close enough that it was no longer subtle. His presence remained slightly angled between you and the surrounding space, as though he had quietly decided that if anything else tried to appear, it would have to go through him first.
His gaze shifted briefly, taking in your equipment with a faint crease of confusion.
“Where’s your sword?”
“What?”
Varka nodded once, as if it should have been obvious. His eyes flicked down toward your belt again, where a weapon would normally sit if you were truly on duty as a knight. “Your sword,” he repeated, more pointedly this time. “Don’t tell me you were on patrol without it.”
“Oh…” you said slowly, as if searching for an answer that sounded remotely normal. “I… forgot?”
Even you could hear how unconvincing that was.
Varka stopped walking for half a step before continuing again, though his expression had shifted into something more serious. Not angry, but unmistakably disapproving in the way someone in charge of too many reckless recruits eventually becomes.
“[Name],” he said, your name carrying a weight of habit and command, “as a knight, you should always be prepared.”
“You’re lucky I was here,” he continued, tone firm. “Who knows what would have happened if you were alone—without your sword, no less.”
You hummed softly under your breath, falling back into step beside him as your hands rested loosely at your sides.
“…Mm,” you responded, deliberately mild. “That would’ve been unfortunate.”
Varka didn’t look entirely convinced by your lack of concern, but he didn’t push further either. Instead, he simply exhaled through his nose, as though silently accepting that you were one of those knights—reckless in a way that somehow still managed to work out in the end.
You let out a quiet chuckle, following after him as the two of you progressed further into the area. Varka cleared each wave of monsters with practiced efficiency, his claymore moving with the kind of ease that came from years of experience.
At the same time, he made sure to keep you positioned safely behind him.
Not that you weren’t helping.
Just subtly adjusting things here and there, unseen currents of magic bending outcomes ever so slightly in your favor as you watched him work. It was almost entertaining, the way he cleared each wave with such straightforward efficiency, completely unaware that the battlefield itself had already been tilted.
“Huh,” Varka said after the last enemy fell, sheathing his claymore and glancing around with a slight tilt of his head. “That’s strange. I usually clear these fast, but this felt… smoother somehow.”
Before the two of you could progress any further, a faint ringing sound cut through the air.
You both paused.
A small Dodoco-like device sat nearby, vibrating lightly as if waiting to be answered. Varka instinctively stepped forward, but you reached it first, tapping it lightly.
“Hello, hello?” came a bright, unmistakably amused voice.
Alice.
“Oh, wonderful,” she continued without waiting. “It seems my two very reliable friends have cleared the area quite nicely.”
“Ah yeah..we’re just trying to find a way out.” Varka scratched the back of his neck, looking around. “Say, do you know anything about this place Alice?”
“Oho? But I’m sure my fellow member here could have easily teleported you two out,” Alice said lightly, “right, [Name]?”
“Wha—fellow member?” Varka’s head snapped toward you immediately.
You didn’t look surprised at all. If anything, your expression leaned more toward mild resignation, like this was exactly what you expected from Alice.
“I knew you were up to something,” you said, frowning slightly as you poked the Dodoco. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Oops!” Alice chirped. “Well, Barbie and I just thought we’d help our dear Grandmaster a little. After all, who wouldn’t want to play matchmaker with him?” The device bounced slightly, as if delighted with itself.
“Matchmaker?” you repeated, turning your head slowly toward Varka.
He had gone very still.
Then, far too casually, he looked away and gave a small whistle as though suddenly fascinated by absolutely nothing in particular.
“Why yes!” Alice continued happily, entirely unbothered. “After noticing what—or who has been keeping the Grandmaster so distracted, I simply had to try! Well then, I’ll leave you two to it!” The Dodoco gave one last cheerful bounce before disappearing in a soft burst of smoke.
Silence settled.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then Varka cleared his throat.
“So…” he said, slower now, finally looking at you again. “You’re a Hexenzirkel witch.”
“Yes,” you admitted.
You paused for a moment, then added with a small sigh, as though genuinely reflecting on something lost, “There goes my entertainment in watching you figure things out.”
“You’re no fun anymore.”
The teasing remark was supposed to be harmless.
Instead, Varka's expression changed almost immediately.
Before he fully thought it through, he stepped forward and reached for your wrist.
The movement wasn't forceful. If anything, it felt strangely instinctive, like he had reacted before his mind had caught up. The moment his fingers closed around your wrist, he seemed to realize what he'd done—and yet he didn’t let go, only loosening his hold.
"Don't say that."
The words came out quieter than expected.
Varka exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to you. There was something unguarded in it now, something that hadn’t been there a second ago.
"I'm still me, you know.." he mumbled, a faint crease now between his brows.
"I found out one thing about you. That's all. It doesn't suddenly mean I've got you completely figured out."
His thumb shifted unconsciously against your wrist before stilling when he realised what he was doing.
"If anything, I think I've got more questions now than I did before."
"Oh?"
"Yeah.."
Varka let out a short laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself either.
“I mean, come on! One moment I think you’re a knight who somehow forgot her sword, and the next Alice is telling me you’re with the Hexenzirkel and someone who could’ve teleported us out of here whenever you wanted.”
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he spoke, some of his usual warmth returning. “I’m still trying to process that.”
You glanced away briefly, hiding the amusement that threatened to surface. “Sounds like a skill issue.”
“It probably is.”
The answer came so quickly that it caught you off guard and a chuckle escaped before you could stop it.
Varka's smile widened at the sound, though it faded into something quieter a moment later. His gaze dropped once more to where he still held your wrist.
"Ah but…” He hesitated, suddenly looking far less certain than usual. “If all of this bothers you—the matchmaking thing, I mean…”
His words trailed off.
For the first time since meeting him, he looked genuinely unsure of himself.
"I don't want to come off too strong.." Varka said softly, his free hand moving to rub his neck. "After spending so long watching you and trying to figure you out, I guess I..." He paused, a faint look of self-consciousness crossing his face. "I found myself looking forward to finding out more about you."
The admission hung in the air between you.
A quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head.
"Honestly, finding out you're a part of the Hexenzirkel just means I've got even more things left to learn."
His gaze met yours again.
“So don't go deciding I'm boring now."
A familiar grin finally returned, softer than the easy, carefree smiles he usually wore but no less genuine. His fingers slipped from your wrist to lace gently through yours, holding your hand as though it already belonged there. Then he lifted it, his eyes never leaving yours, and brushed a lingering kiss across your knuckles.
"Aftr all, I haven't even had the chance to impress you properly yet, [Name]."
notes: aaaaa i kinda had to rush the ending a little so hopefully it's not too wonky. But yay i finally finished it!! witch x knight is such a fun troupe tbh
edit: rewrote a few things because i wasn't really satisfied with the way the ending was written..🙏
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Summary: You take down a monster but it has one last surprise for you – a polar plunge. Leon's forced to go in after you. Once you're free of the ice, you've got to go get warm, fast.
WC: 4.5k
CW: NSFW, minors DNI, you and Leon are partnered DSO agents, monster fight, no use of y/n, no mention of ages, reader put in peril, reader is injured, shared body heat, sex in the back of the Porsche, first time (together), unprotected p in v, creampie, synchronized orgasms, sort of aftercare (Leon is sweet and attentive), I'm so incredibly not kidding half of this is porn
Notes: MINORS DNI
The root of the problem is there are too many fucking limbs to keep track of.
The monster’s knotted, slimy arms – if you could call them such – are clawed into the ground, keeping it pulled onto the shore, and it has plenty more to swing and slam and bludgeon with, swatting at you and Leon running around like you’re nothing more than pestering flies. After an initial trial of overwhelm, you’re learning: shoot for the bends to shatter joints, hit the ground when it swings then immediately roll to avoid the follow-up slam meant to unite you with the dirt. Permanently.
There’s an additional complication.
“It’s a fucking hydra!” Leon shouts.
It’s a fucking hydra. You’re dealing with more limbs now than when it had burst out of the frozen lake and charged you, with a screech so piercing it still rings in your ears. This changes things, if you don’t want to end up popped like a sauce packet on the patchy grass bank.
“Fuck.”
You have to keep moving, but you’re not shooting at it now. You’re reassessing, heart pounding, breath loud in your ears and visible in the cold, grey air. Leon grunts as he dives clear of a slamming limb, rolling to his feet and dodging the bullwhip crack of another arm.
Your gaze locks on the grenade hanging from his belt. A plan fills in behind your singular focus.
He sees you half a second before you slam into him at full tilt, no time to slow down, but his stance is wide enough that it doesn’t knock him over.
“What–!”
You meet his eyes. You can see the next threat in your periphery; your one, his six, another slimy limb coming in hot. He’s realizing where your hand is. It all happens in the space of a heartbeat.
“Spicy meatball,” you explain, then drop him by kicking your heel into the back of his knee, folding it. Your grip on the grenade yanks it free of his belt and you hold it up over your head as the hydra’s arm, great ugly claw-hand open, misses Leon on the ground and grabs you, ripping you into the air. Leon shouts your name but it’s lost under an ear-splitting, triumphant screech.
The monster’s clutching you too tight, you're gasping for air. Your dominant arm is free, grenade in hand, even if your other arm is squashed in against your side. The fucker’s whipping you around like a litigiously unregulated county fair ride; black edges your vision and your head pounds horribly. You manage to arm the grenade with your teeth and grip it, breathless, waiting.
You need the hydra to screech again. You need the great stinking mouth open, throwing saliva and mucus past rows of needle teeth, the perfect basket in which to throw your one and only egg.
Leon’s already caught on.
A single splattering gunshot splits the air and the monster jerks, limbs flying skyward as it screams in fury; you’re helplessly along for the ride, heaved almost directly above it – and here’s your window.
You drop the grenade. It goes right down the gullet.
The explosion ruptures the monster’s body cavity in a great geyser of green and black gore. Its limbs thrash and flail, whipping high, slamming into the ground. You brace as the arm gripping you speeds for the ground, but then it swings you around and back up, your stomach lurching violently, and –
It throws you.
Your heart and lungs hitch, suspended; time runs slow as you arc high, tumbling, too high, way too high – and start falling. You see where you’re going to land and curl yourself into a ball, protecting your head and neck.
Your body blows a hole right through the lake ice, plunging into the freezing water below.
Leon’s already running.
The hydra is nothing but a tangled, limp, caved-in pile of slop, disregarded the second Leon saw you go airborne. He’s running, stripping off his jacket, ripping open the buckles on his chest rig, tearing off his tac belt, leaving a trail of weapons and ammunition and nylon webbing strewn in his wake. He reaches the bank in his street clothes, shoes skidding to a stop just before the water, breath loud in his ears and visible in the air.
The jagged crater you left in the ice is still sloshing dark, slushy water.
You haven’t come up for air.
“Fuck.”
He looks down at the scuffed grey ice pack, gauges the distance to you, and sprints.
The ice groans and cracks under his feet; he keeps moving. He closes the gap, every pounding footfall turbulence that fractures the lake ice in great echoing snaps, the whole thick sheet weakened by the violence of your intrusion. Finally, with a leap that calves the ice beneath him, Leon dives into the freezing water after you.
The shock of the cold pulls on Leon’s lungs, he has to fight against the primal instinct to gasp. His limbs are immediately leaden, but he doesn't stop moving. The flat grey daylight barely filters through the murky ice above and the water is dark with disturbed silt. He kicks towards the lakebed in search of you, his pounding heartbeat a timer counting down.
Something that looks like a branch solidifies into your arm, limp hand floating in a slack reach skyward. Leon grabs your wrist, hauling your dead weight towards himself, hooking his arms underneath your shoulders and swimming up for the gap in the ice.
He heaves in air when your heads breach the surface.
You do not.
“Don’t you dare,” he growls through gritted teeth, and manages to slide you up onto the ice pack, pushing you clear as he kicks his legs up behind himself and drags flat onto the ice beside you. He moves you onto a thick, uncracked stretch of ice and pushes you onto your back, plugging your nose and forcing air into your mouth.
You choke, spurting dirty lake water, rolling onto your side and spitting up more, coughing and heaving. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow, your throat raw and tight, nose stinging and burning. Your eyes are blurry when you open them, your ears are waterlogged. You squeeze your eyes shut and blink them clear enough to see what keeps pulling at you.
It’s Leon, wet and pale, saying something to you, his eyes intense. You squint at his mouth, trying to read his lips because your ears might as well have been left underwater for all the good they’re doing you.
Get up
We need to move
Can you “hear me? We have to go, now!”
As if to punctuate his statement, the ice below you jerks, a crack scything underneath your body like a bolt of lightning. You recoil onto your hip and Leon pulls at your arm, pulls you up, the ice creaking and popping under your shoes.
“Run!”
It’s a bit much to ask.
You do your best, stumbling after Leon, short on breath and coughing. You’d impacted the ice with your left shoulder, the force ramming your curled arm into your ribs, hard. That side is tight and painful, and you know you’re too frozen to feel the full extent of it yet. It’s really not gonna be pretty.
Your foot catches on a rising gap in the ice and trips you; you slide and weakly scramble back to your feet. Ahead of you, Leon’s almost to the shore.
You’re almost there.
You hit the bank on your hands and knees, gasping. Your fingers, clawing into the crumbling dirt, are pale, the nail beds blue. You can barely feel the dry grit of the cold earth under your hands.
Leon grabs the collar of your jacket and yanks you to standing.
“Keep moving. Keep moving, come on.” He grabs your hand, already running, pulling you after him.
You half-register the scattered bullet clips, weaponry, and leather jacket on the bank as you run in Leon’s wake. You pass the fuckass hydra; it’s nothing but a gelatinous stinking puddle that you quickly leave behind.
The thin, brittle air razors through your lungs, freezing and metallic. The bitter wind axes at you. You can’t feel your extremities; you keep stumbling and it’s slowing you down. Leon looks back just in time to watch you actually fall, tripping in a rut, knees slamming into the ground. He runs back to you and helps you up. You’re both breathing shallow, wracked with tremors, teeth chattering and skin close to blue.
“Almost there. Come on.”
Leon’s car is half-hidden behind a broken fence and an overgrown shrub, parked haphazard on the dry, patchy grass. He hits the driver’s side door with more momentum than he meant to, pressing his thumb to the door handle; it unlocks and he yanks it open. You hear the whole car unlock, the lights flashing, and he slaps the driver’s door shut in favor of the backseat.
“Get in. Get in!”
You slip in the back passenger’s door just as he slides in on the other side, the both of you slamming the doors on the freezing wind. Leon immediately grabs the hem of his soaked shirt, peeling it over his head and dumping it over the headrests into the trunk. It lands with a wet plap.
“Wet stuff in the back,” he says, twisting over the seats to grab something out of the trunk. It’s a duffel; he grunts in frustration when his numb fingers fail at first to catch the handle but then he drags it into the backseat while you’re struggling out of your soaked jacket and shoving it over the backrests. It lands with an even wetter plorp.
You’re still wearing your chest rig; your numb, stiff fingers can’t get the fucking plastic buckles to open.
“Fuck!”
There’s a sharp snk noise; Leon shoves your hands clear and slips a folding knife under the nylon webbing of your rig. The straps pull taut and dig into your injured side, but then he’s cut clean through the belts and he’s helping untangle it from your arms. The buckles clatter against the back windshield as you throw it in the trunk. Leon uses the knife to make quick work of his shoelaces, kicking his soaked and muddy shoes into the footwell, then he leans across and holds your ankles steady, cutting your bootlaces while you peel your shirt up over your head. Your side screams at the stretch and you rasp out a cry of pain.
Your left side is already violently bruised, livid and dark against the pale blanch of your goosepimpled skin. You’re caught for a moment by the horrible picture it makes, trying to remember to breathe.
“Jesus,” Leon says in agreement. In your periphery, he’s struggling with his waterlogged skinny jeans and there’s suddenly a lot more skin above the line of his waistband; the denim sucked his boxer briefs halfway down his hips before he managed to shove the jeans to his knees and off. He throws the jeans in the back, pulls the waistband of his underwear up, and again he’s in your space undoing your useless fucking tac belt that your frozen fingers can’t open. His hands are just as cold and numb as your own, why the fuck do they work better than yours?
Wind gusts against the outside of the car, scratching the scraggly branches of the nearby shrub against the doors. You feel a draft even through the sealed door. Your teeth are clacking uncontrollably.
“Can we get the fucking heat running?” You shove your pants and boots into the trunk, smearing mud on the leather seat. Leon’s rooting through the duffel again.
“No.”
“No?”
“The keys are in my coat.”
“The fuck kind of agent are you? Hotwire the car.”
“Smart, when I can’t feel my hands,” he says, and shoves the duffel into the footwell, tearing open a passport-sized plastic package with his teeth and turning towards you on the seat. “Come here.”
He shakes out the mylar safety blanket and you realize exactly what’s going to have to happen, here. It’s a thought you’ve had triaged as a last-resort solution while stripping semi-nude in the backseat of his car; now it turns out it’s your only solution. He’s scooting to lay down across the backseat and you’re going to have to get on top of him. He’s scooting to lay down across the backseat in nothing but wet cotton boxer briefs and you’re going to have to get on top of him in nothing but a wet bra and panties, and then he’s going to close you both in under the mylar blanket to trap heat like you’re a fucking turkey in a roasting pan.
Fuck.
You clench your jaw against your chattering teeth and don’t let yourself hesitate. There’s no can or can’t here – you’re both freezing, this is life or death. So you climb up over him in the limited space available, helping to pull the mylar blanket around you and tuck it in under your shins, under his head and shoulders, sealing you together into a lumpy, creased foil bubble.
It’s not pitch black like you'd hoped. The mylar filters the grey daylight into a dim, intimate dusk. You can still see Leon’s face clearly, on your hands and knees above him; you could count his eyelashes if you could bear to look him in the eyes. You keep your head down and focus on the uncontrollable chatter of your teeth, the way your whole body is shivering unpleasantly, and not the way his knees are framing your hips. He’s too tall for the backseat.
Your disloyal stomach flutters when you feel his hand brush your darkened side.
“How are your ribs?” He presses his thumb carefully against the darkest patch, low on your ribcage, where your elbow impacted. You hiss and jerk away.
“Tenderized, Leon. Ow."
“How bad?”
“I don’t… think anything’s broken.”
“Deep breath in.”
You oblige, slow and careful, your ribs expanding over your lungs. It stings horribly, your skin feels too tight, but nothing stabs you. His hand rides the motion of your ribs, feeling for telltale hitches or jerks. It’s nothing but clinical.
“Alright,” he says, quiet. He eases his touch but doesn’t drop it away. You’re staring at your hand in the crumpled landscape of the mylar blanket over Leon’s shoulder, because everything else is his naked skin.
His hand moves from your side to your arm, fingers close to the bend in your elbow like he means to fold it.
“You gotta get down on me."
You want to laugh but your side only lets you make a pained huff through your chattering teeth.
"Nice one, icebrain. Lemme loop HR in real quick."
“The air pocket only works if one of us is warm,” he says, steamrolling the comment. And he’s right.
Fuck.
"I don't know where you think my knees are going."
You have to play some strange and painful backseat Twister, the foil blanket complicating shit by clinging to your damp skin and hair, but then you’ve puzzled yourselves together so you can drop onto him with a put-upon huff.
He hisses and pushes you back up by the shoulders.
“Fuck, how much water is in that thing?”
You both look down at your high-impact bra. Squeezed between the two of you, it's now weeping drops of frigid water down your stomach. It's also left an imprint across Leon's chest, wet enough to bead up and roll towards his armpits.
“You can’t be wearing that.”
“Leon–“
"No, this isn't an argument. That's over your heart."
Yes, but. It's also over your breasts. Preventing them from being all over Leon. All over Leon's naked skin.
"Do you trust me?"
You don't even hesitate, because that's the easy question.
"Yes."
It's a zip-front bra. His fingers touch the zipper.
"Okay?" His gaze is holding yours, strong, a promise to keep his eyes up.
It’s taking all your energy to appear calm and unaffected right now.
“Yeah. Fine."
It’s a relief, actually, the compression easing as he pulls the zipper down, releasing entirely when the sides come apart. It’s easier to breathe. He pushes the straps from your shoulders, brushes them down your arms until you can drop the soaked bra into the footwell, tucking the foil blanket back in place. His chest, still cold, feels warm against your freezing breasts.
He rubs the damp, freezing skin of your back, paying special attention to the deep impressions left by the bra seams like he can smooth them out, putty under his fingers.
“Do you know you're doing that.”
He stops. You shift, shoulderblades rolling under his hands.
“I didn't tell you to stop,” you say.
“Yes ma'am.”
Your head is turned away from his, because otherwise your nose would be right against his cheek. You have to maintain at least one boundary in the smoking ruin of all the others. He keeps stroking your back; the gentle flats of his palms, the firm pads of his fingers. You’re starting to feel like putty.
Your eyelids are heavy.
“Is it bad to fall asleep?”
He pinches you hard and you jolt away from it, knocking against the seatback. Your injured side flares with pain.
“Fuck! You ass,” you gasp, poking him hard between the ribs. He jerks under you, cursing, and you brace for retaliation, but he’s gone still.
And you register why.
His face is right under yours, noses almost touching. You’re sharing breath.
And something else is different.
“…Where are your hands?”
You know where they are. He moves them from your hips up to your back again.
“Good boy.”
You don’t know what fucking possessed you. It sounded like a joke in your head, but released into the narrow space between your faces it’s far more charged than that, because of course it is. You’re hearing it now, where it’s too late to take it back. You still have a brain like a frozen chicken cutlet, fucking cold and smooth, he has to understand–
He’s breathing out hot against your mouth, pushing his hands down to the small of your back, pressing your body tighter against his, and it ignites something sharp and fervid in your belly.
“Shit,” you whisper, and kiss him.
He meets it. He kisses you back like he’s just been waiting, gathering the damp hair at your nape with one hand, blunt nails scraping the skin of your neck. His other hand goes lower, the heel of his palm digging in, fingers gripping your ass. You gasp and roll your hips, body lighting up.
“Fuck,” he says into your mouth. “Careful with your side.”
“You be careful with my side.”
“Damn.”
“Shut up.” You fist his hair and pull his head back, kissing the taut line of his neck under his ear, scraping your teeth against the skin. He’s got both hands on your ass now, sliding his fingers under the sides of your panties to gather the fabric into a thong, palming the cool skin of your bared cheeks. You hum, rolling your hips again.
“You’ve got a fixation.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, unashamed. He smooths his hands down your thighs where they’re framing his sides, his fingertips digging in. You’re sitting on his pelvis, grinding on nothing but the flat of his low abdomen, his thighs closed behind your ass, his knees pressed to the car door. You kiss his mouth, open and loose, and speak against it.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you that cold?”
“Don’t be rude.”
You stop moving, pushing up to stare down at him. “Are you serious?”
“No.” He opens his legs, shifting his hips, and you gasp when you feel him against your ass. You shift back, rubbing yourself against the hardening length of his dick, the lake-wet fabric of your underwear dragging together, no longer cold and clammy where you’re touching. His breath tumbles hot from his open mouth, hips rolling to meet you.
“Fuck, Leon.” If this is him with shrinkage, how the hell has he been packing all that into skinny jeans all these years?
He’s watching you, his eyes half-lidded, hands on your naked waist. You sit up more, tipping your head back, running your hands along his forearms as you drag your wet pussy along the firm heat of his cock.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he tells you, molten. You groan, arching.
“Jesus. Keep talking like that.”
“Yeah?” He tugs you by the arms to bring you lower, kissing your neck with an open mouth, his scruff lightly scratching your skin and making you shiver. His hands find your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples, and your breath hitches. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to touch you like this.”
You laugh, just a teasing exhale against his lips. “What, cold and injured?”
He’s pulling the fabric of your panties to one side, holding it there, out of the way. You moan when he rubs his fingers through your drenched folds, slow.
“Naked and wet,” he growls, teeth grazing your shoulder. You whimper and thread your fingers into his hair, gripping, gasping when he circles your clit. Your hips jerk erratically; he’s mouthing kisses up the side of your neck, nipping lightly, then speaking against your skin, his voice subterranean.
“What do you want?”
Holy shit. You don’t remember what it feels like to be cold, anymore. Your body’s on fire. You’ve maybe never been this turned on in your life, and all this after a fucking ice bath.
“Take yourself out," you tell him. "I wanna feel you.”
The first drag of your wet cunt along the satin heat of his naked cock has him groaning, his hips rocking helplessly. You glide on him like that, wetting his dick, feeling it jump and throb between your pussy lips. You prop yourself up on his shoulders, pressing him down into the seat, grinding your clit firm against the head of his cock with little gyrations of your hips. He’s gripping your waist, mouth open, just watching you.
“I’ve never seen you so speechless,” you tell him.
“I’ve – shit – never seen you riding me.”
“Mm. Lucky day.”
“I know.”
“Any last words?”
“What?”
You cant your hips back, reaching down to guide the glistening head of Leon’s cock to your entrance. His fingers tighten on your sides, breathing in sharp.
“Be careful,” he says.
“You’re sweet,” you tell him, bearing down with little adjustments, caging his dick in place with your fingers. The tip of him presses into your tight wet heat and Leon gasps, head thumping back against the seat. You stare at the display of his body below you; the taut stretch of his neck, the flush of his chest, the tight muscles of his stomach as he works to keep his hips still, letting you control this. You take him into you in increments, the burning stretch of him blurring into white-hot pleasure, the length of him making your thighs shake before you’re finally fully seated, the throbbing heat of him bottomed out inside of you, filling you deep. You drop forward, hands on his shoulders, panting.
“Are you okay?”
You manage a nod. “God, Leon.”
He moves his hips, just a small adjustment, experimental. You gasp, lifting to half-mast him, sliding back down. He’s so thick.
Your thighs are shaking too much and you don’t exactly have the room to adjust. You lean down, desperate.
“Fuck me.”
He doesn’t need telling twice. He grips your ass, pushing you down into every thrust of his hips, long and slow at first so you can feel every inch, grinding tight against you when he bottoms out. He uses your breath by his ear as a barometer, picking up the pace, the wet glide turning into a wet slap, and turns his head to catch your moans in his mouth.
“Think you can come like this?”
“Limited menu of options, garçon,” you pant. There’s no fucking space back here.
“Tip your hips down,” he says.
You do; he slams in deep, grinding, putting delicious pressure on your clit. You cry out.
“Fuck, like that Leon!”
He pulls your earlobe into his mouth, sucking lightly, resuming the faster slap of his hips.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, filthy, and jesus christ, he is going to get an orgasm out of you. Almost just did.
“Shit,” you gasp. “Are you close?”
“Do you want me to be?”
You clench around him and he groans, hips stuttering.
“Fuck. I am if you do that,” he gasps. You do it again and he buries deep to grind on you, like he’s warring you, fighting to set you off first.
“Fuck, I’m close, I’m close,” you whimper, bouncing on him, stalling for time. He’s got you right on the edge and you don’t wanna go over yet. “With me. Come with me.”
He curses, fucking into you hard and fast, thrusts starting to go erratic. You keep a litany of babble going in his ear, obscene, feeling him catching up, drawing tight; and then he’s bottoming out hard against you, groaning brokenly as he pulses deep inside of you, your walls convulsing as the final slap of his hips sends you tumbling over the edge with him.
When you come back down to earth, the foil blanket is askew, his leg sticking out in the passenger’s side footwell, your forearm dangling in the driver’s side footwell. You’re lying bonelessly on top of Leon, riding the heaving of his chest as you both catch your breath. He pulls the mylar down to the middle of your back and the cold air raises new goosebumps on your flushed skin.
"I think that did the trick,” he says.
You hum, your eyes closed, face pressed to the side of Leon’s neck. He runs his thumb lightly along the dewy column of your spine.
“How’s your side?”
“Stings.”
He’s still inside you, starting to slip free as he softens. He gently pulls out and your forehead creases, a grumpy noise escaping you.
“Hey,” he says, soft. You don’t lift your head, it feels like too much effort. He shifts under you and you grumble your displeasure, but he’s just resettling you so you’re not leaning your bruised side so heavily against the seatback. He cards his fingers through your hair, pulling it back from your sweaty temple.
“I’m going to sleep,” you murmur. “Try to pinch me again and see what happens.”
He laughs, just a short rumble low in his chest.
“Worked out fine the first time.”
You smile, eyes closed, and tuck your arm in under his body.
“Beginner’s luck.”
There’s a lot of shit to do. There’s kit to grab from the beach, samples to take from the hydra, clothes to dry, reports to fill out, bruises to heal, complex developments to talk through with your partner.
But right now, there’s just Leon’s heartbeat and steady breathing beneath you, his fingers combing lazily through your hair, and you’re pretty sure it’s all gonna work out okay.
On AO3
Guys quick tip don’t take survival advice from a gratuitous x reader they probably died lmao
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“she told you she celibate, she told me i can nail her shit.”
leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
cw: mdni ! smut, loud sex, kind of rough sex, riding, lowkey fwb, mating press, uhh jealousy if that counts, kissing, lots of pet names (girly, princess, i think i out sweetheart in there), NOT PROOFREAD!!
a/n: based off that one sound on tiktok bc i keep seeing edits 🥹 also high key reminds of heated rivalry “scott hunter is right next door…” LMFAO hope u enjoy!!
Leon hates these stupid work parties. Banquets that could’ve been an email, award ceremonies with medals and badges he would’ve preferred to see in the mail. It’s not like he’s antisocial, he likes to hang out with the people he works with, but a night in a stuffy suit and endless conversations is almost worse than a mission.
Don’t get him started on the plus one bullshit. He simply doesn't have time or patience for a partner, much less at these godforsaken events. He usually goes alone and regretfully suffers the teasing comments—“Oh, alone again Kennedy? No girlfriend this time?”
His only saving grace is you, another agent who he works with on his rare duo missions. You’re just about the only other single person in the entirety of the DSO—that’s what it feels like. Sometimes, you two will sit at events and roll your eyes at people showing off their partners. Then an awkward silence after of a silent agreement ‘cause you both know you’re just envious.
“Do you think we can call in sick?” Leon sighs as you both sit in your hotel room before you have to leave for an event. This ceremony thingy-bullshit is a bigger, more nationwide one that your boss sent you both to. One room, but two beds, at least. Cheapskates knew you didn’t have significant others and didn’t bother with privacy.
“I mean, prolly… but we lowkey might get flamed,” you reply. He leans against the doorway of the bathroom as he watches you do your makeup. The pretty, long dress you have on is a far cry from the tactical gear he usually pairs you with. Both looks are hot as hell, he definitely can’t deny that. He’ll just tuck that secret in his pocket for now.
“Well, hurry up. Maybe we can show up and leave as quick as possible,” he says as he checks his watch and pretends as if he didn’t just try to check you out. Not that it would be the first time.
Extremely unfortunately, you make it to the event, dreading every click of your heels against the marbled floors as you step inside. This one’s clearly expensive and fancy—that’s worse. The bar quickly becomes Leon’s victim. He lets you know he’ll get you a drink while you find them a spot at a table with an easy escape.
Well, he didn’t really expect to come back and find some guy hitting on you. He’s more curious than annoyed, but it’s there. This guy has the audacity to hit on a girl like you?
“Really? They flew you all the way out here, huh? So you’re pretty special,” this idiot smirks, thinking his blinding white teeth are gonna win you over. Leon can tell you’re irritated.
“Sure, you could say that,” you reply with pursed lips and your best disinterested voice. Your gaze shifts briefly to Leon standing behind him who looks amused. You’re only taking note of your drink that he’s holding.
“Well, special lady, would you maybe like to go to dinner with me somewhere more… private?” He lowers his tone leaning in a little, thinking he’s smooth as hell.
“Uh… no, y’know my schedule’s kinda full…” you shake your head, using that very obvious rejection tone. If he hasn’t taken the hint already, he has to take it now, right?
“Okay, no date. Maybe just uh… a night together?”
Nope. You were stupid to think a man would ever take a hint.
His tone makes it obvious what he’s asking, he wants his head under your dress. He says it like he knows you’ll say yes.
“Oh, I’m celibate, actually,” you smile tersely. He gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you.
“Really? A pretty girl like you isn’t interested in sex?” He raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer as if that’s gonna fix your supposed virginity. “I find that hard to believe, sweetheart.”
“Ah, too bad. Really sucks when not every living female wants to fuck you, huh?” You can’t help but mock, returning the raised brow. “Afraid it’s just gonna be you and your fist tonight.”
He scoffs, trying not to look as offended as he clearly feels. He finally seems to take the hint. “God, some special lady you are,” he grumbles, pushing off the chair he was leaning on and giving you a look before disappearing.
“Celibate? Really?” Leon chuckles when he finally gets to talk to you again, holding out a glass of wine for you. He knows first hand that you're just about the opposite of celibate. You’ve been out drinking together multiple times… one thing leads to another.
“Just a white lie, cant hurt,” you shrug with equal amusement. You finally sit down at your carefully scouted table right next to the exit for a quick, uninterrupted escape.
The rest of the night is as boring as you expected, but a couple more glasses of wine gets you through it. The millisecond you receive your awards—some bullshit that you don’t even think needs to be awarded—you and Leon are out of there. You’ve never been more happy to see your hotel room.
Taking your time undressing and relaxing for a while, eventually you turn in for sleep. You’re even wearing your cute silky set, all curled up under the sheets. And clutching them tightly. It’s literally freezing.
“Mmh, Leon…” you mumble, trying desperately to warm yourself up. You look over your shoulder at his bare back turned to you on the other side of the room. When did he take his shirt off? “Are you awake?”
After hearing a quiet grunt, you continue. “Are you cold? I’m freezing.”
“No. ‘S hot as hell,” he grumbles. He waits for you to say something else, and just as he’s about to offer you all his sheets, he hears shuffling from your bed. A moment later, he feels the mattress dip behind him and turns over to see you kneeling on the bed and inviting yourself in.
“Y’don’t mind if we cuddle?” You murmur, slipping under the covers. He swallows as he sees your cute pajamas with the lace and he can already tell this isn’t gonna end with just cuddling. He wordlessly opens his arms up for you, wrapping them around you when you make yourself the little spoon.
He makes sure the sheets are pulled up over your shoulders, rubbing your arms and thighs underneath to try to warm you up. “Still cold?”
Well, not really. You're very hot now, actually, but you nod your head, mumbling yes.
“Want me to warm you up another way?” Leon offers, his voice quiet and rough in that way that sends a shiver down your spine. He rubs his nose against your neck, fingers brushing up under your shirt. How are you supposed to resist?
“Yeah,” you nod against the pillow, squirming slightly as he rubs your side—ticklish little thing. You help shift your legs as he pushes your shorts and panties down.
“There you go. I got you,” he murmurs, sliding his hand back up the inside of your thigh. He kisses the side of your neck as his fingers part your soft curls to get to your pussy. You can feel him smirk against your skin when he feels how wet you are.
“Doesn’t feel very cold to me,” his warm digits spread your slick around, finding your clit with ease and gently circling it with his middle finger. You whine quietly, hands grabbing his forearm that’s around your waist.
You’re snug but not tight around his fingers, easily dipping them in your wet cunt and spreading you open. He shifts, almost draping himself over you to “keep you warm” as he fingers your needy little pussy and gets you nice and ready for him.
“Oh, Leon, right there,” you whisper into the pillow as he makes sure the heel of his hand is rubbing against your clit as he adds a third finger. Your hips lightly rock against his palm, your brows pulled into that soft crease that makes you look fucking adorable.
“Look at you, going around telling people you’re abstinent and yet you’re crawling into my arms,” Leon teases gently, curling his fingers in a slow, languid way that makes your spine straighten and your breath catch.
Just as you’re mumbling about getting close and about to cum, he takes his hand away with a kiss to your shoulder beside the strap of your top. You whine, but he turns you around in his arms with one of those dumb smirks.
“C’mon, girly, you’re on top tonight. Show me how celibate you claim you are, hm?” He taunts, bringing you with him as he rolls into his back, big hands on your soft hips.
“Ugh, how did I let you talk me into this? Didn’t we say we’d stop after last time?” You complain as you settle your hands on his bare chest, your naked hips lazily grinding against the tent in his pajama pants.
“We both know we can’t stop. ‘Sides, I barely talked to you, just tried to warm you up,” he grunts as you start dry humping him, rough hands sliding down your scarred thighs. Rubs his thumbs over the small, raised lines before giving you a light slap on the ass.
“Get going, princess. You’re slow,” he says with fake impatience, staring up at you with that cheesy smirk. You roll your eyes but start to pull down his sweats and boxers anyway.
Your hips shift restlessly with need as you grip his hard cock, giving it a couple light strokes before positioning yourself above him. With your eyes on your movements, you hold him still as you slowly sink down on him with a low, gravelly moan.
“Mmh—fuck, there you go. Hug me so nice,” he sighs with a grunt of your name as he watches you. You sit there on his cock, looking up at him expectantly. This is usually the part where he takes over again and holds you hips while he thrusts up into you.
He simply returns the look. Asshole. What happened to chivalry?
You sigh dramatically, your knees on either side of his waist as you find leverage with your hands behind you on his hard, strong thighs. You don’t usually do this part.
You suck in a breath, lifting yourself up a bit, and then back down with a soft moan. Up and down, up and down, grinding softly against him and keeping eye contact.
But it’s just not the same! Even as you keep up a nice rhythm, your soft moans getting louder and your grip getting tighter, he’s not deep enough. Not hitting the spots he usually gets.
“Leon, c’mon… it’s better when you do it,” you sigh as your hands come back to the front, tracing his abs as you do your damn best riding his cock. He simply stares, amused as his hands rub up and down your thighs.
“…Leon,” you say more firmly this time, hoping you can chastise him into fucking you. It doesn’t work, and you’re getting impatient. You groan dramatically, circling your hips as you lock your eyes on his. “Leon, just fuck me already! Fuck me hard!”
He can’t help but laugh. It gets him going to see you all frustrated, as much as he hates it when you’re anything but happy. Anyway, who’s he to deny you? His hands slides up to your hips, pausing to grope your ass before firmly planting themselves above your thighs.
“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before lifting you up and then pulling you back down to meet his thrust. A moan slips from both of you this time as your fingers dig into his bare chest.
“Mmh, fuck yeah Leon,” you groan, leaning back so you can see his face a bit better. Not for long, ‘cause then he pounds into you hard enough to pull out a high-pitched whine and make you throw your head back with pleasure,
“God, fuckin’ love that, don’t you? You can’t even ride me properly. Always need my help,” he grunts as his hips jump to meet yours every single time. He always scolds you in that sickly sweet voice that has your pussy dripping.
“Oh—mph! Right there—yeah, nail my shit, just like that,” you say breathlessly, your head dropping to his chest as one of your hands snakes beneath you to find your clit. A half moan-half growl slips from your lips as your back arches deliciously, teetering right on the edge.
“Jesus, cumming already? Needed it bad, did you?” He murmurs as he trails gentle, contradicting kisses compared to his rough thrusts against your shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.”
It’s hard to hear his words over the squeaking of the bed and your own moans. Almost forgot you were in a hotel—no, you definitely did forget. That’s not what’s crossing your mind right now, though. You’re too busy crossing the finish line. Moaning his name, your fingers still on your clit as i grinds up into you to help you ride it out.
“That’s it, girly. Good girl,” Leon mumbles in your ears, rolling your hips against his pelvis. Once he’s decided you've had enough rest, he gently manhandles you onto your back, quickly pushing your legs up and squishing your knees against your tits as he gets right back to work.
His hands grip the backs of your thighs, his fingertips denting into the plush skin as he pounds into your pussy. His voice leaves him in harsh grunts and satisfied groans, his gaze fixed on his cock coming in and out of your soft cunt.
“Y-Y’know… how much it pissed me off… when that guy was flirting with you?” Leon grunts through gritted teeth, almost like he was trying to keep it back.
“Fuck… yeah?” You question through your sex haze. You guys don’t really talk about other people, or your feelings. Especially not towards each other. So to have him essentially admit that he’s jealous.
“Yeah, princess. Couldn’t believe he thought he had a chance with… you,” his words come out a little slurred—he always talks too much when he gets close. You whine softly, the jealousy woven in his voice making your insides quiver.
His hands grip tighter on your thighs, not enough to bruise but definitely no less than firm. He leans over you a bit, putting a little more of his weight on top of you as he fucks you harder. He barely manages to remember he didn’t use a condom, whining pathetically as he uses all the forces of his self restraint to pull out.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” he whispers under his breath, one big hand pushing your thighs together as he strokes himself with the other. You make sure you’ve got a front row seat to see his brows furrowed and your name falling helplessly from his lips.
Leon moans your name, his head falling back as he finally pours his hot, sticky cum all over the backs of your thighs. Rope after rope lands on the soft flesh, making him moan a little more as he squeezes as much as he can out of the tip. You look so pretty like that, he’d take a picture if he knew you wouldn’t kill him.
“Oh god… so perfect, sweetie. Did so well,” he mumbles lazily stroking himself a little longer before letting go. He smears a bit of jizz across your skin before bringing his thumb up to your mouth, letting you lick it off.
It takes a moment to recover with his thighs feeling like they’re on fire, but eventually he pats your hip and gets up. He finds a small towel in the bathroom and runs it under warm water to come clean you up. Once you have everything you need, he puts your panties back on and double checks that you're nice and cozy as his little spoon after a very abstinent night.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The light wakes you up in the morning, streaming in through the thin curtains. You grumble, waking up and shaking Leon’s shoulder awake soon after. He kisses you and says thanks for last night, before the two of you return to your “normal friendly mission partners” routine.
Just as Leon closes the door behind you, about to head out to go home, you glance over at the sound of the persom in the next room over leaving as well.
The last thing you expected was to lock eyes with the man who tried to hit on you at the event, looking tired as hell, as if he didn’t get any sleep.
“…you didn’t sound very celibate to me.”
a/n: hi hope u enjoyed!! any notes always super duper appreciated 🙌
Leon hates having his hair (and back) touched by anyone who isn’t you. Only you could dip your fingers into his locks or drag your nails down his back and turn him into a carnal, heaving mess.
Leon loves having you wrapped around him like a backpack. He carries you around the house on his back with your arms wrapped around his neck. Whisper into his ear and you’ll soon be under him.
Leon secretly wants to be under you, letting you take charge of him. Tell him how good he feels. Tell him how much you love him. Then use him like a toy.
Leon knows his ultimate weakness with you — his hair. Mess it up, play with it, tug on it, just weave your fingers in his hair. If you’re making love, he’ll wait for you to pull his hair before he slides himself into you. It drives him absolutely crazy, eyes rolling back into his head as he nearly sees stars. He’ll bury his face into the crook of your neck and whine until you play with/pull his hair. And when you do, it spurs him on, pushing your hips down into the mattress with his weight. What comes after is pure ecstasy.
Leon will pull out if you ask, but prefers to finish inside. Less of a mess, he says. His sweat-streaked hair will fall over his eyes when he lifts himself off you, looking at his masterpiece. He’ll roll out of bed to get you cleaned up, but not before placing a gentle kiss on your temple.
it's different from when you're having sex, okay? kissing during sex is rough, passionate― its him making sure that you know he's obsessed with you.
but like when you're lounging on the couch together? you're pinned beneath him. there's tension, so he'll lean in. and kiss you. slow. painfully slow. his hand will hold the back of your neck and glide his tongue across your lower lip. bakugo would pull back a little, dark eyes on yours, and he'll stare with hooded eyes.
"open."
and you would. he'd lean back in and dip his tongue into your mouth. deepening the kiss. this seems like it'd lead to something freaky, but it rarely does.
i think kiri will only mark you — like full blown, uncontrolled marking — when he's overstimulated...
going raw for the first time and you can tell he's barely holding himself together, his thrusts are shallow and his eyes glossed over like he's trying not to break.
having to coax him through each movement, kissing his jawline and thumbing away the tears in his eyes as he moves inside you, mouth agape like it needs something to cling to.
so you give that to him.
guiding his head to the crook of your neck and whispering 'bite' against the shell of his ear. you expect him to ignore you, give a warning thrust, laughing as he tells you he 'isn't that far gone.'
but it doesn't happen, and instead you're graced with teeth digging into your shoulder.
it's gentle at first, like he's holding onto the slightest bit of restraint, but when you clench around him, back arched and moaning in his ear — he knows it's an invitation to be a little rougher <3
a/n: to go off this blurb from 🦈 nonnie, marking supremacy | masterlist
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╰ breakfast, lunch, and dinner, these pro heroes are STARVING!
pairing(s): katsuki bakugo x reader, shoto todoroki x reader, izuku midoriya x reader, denki kaminari x reader (separate!)
18+ MDNI. CUNNILINGUS, fem! reader, lots of pet names, fingering, spit, face sitting, pussy pronouns, talking you through it, butt play and butt plugs (izuku), pussy spanking, (izuku), making you BEG for it, manipulation, crying, stretching you out, dirty talk, down bad shoto, denki cumming in his pants, wedgies?, panty ripping, teasing, overstimulation .ᐟ
Katsuki Bakugo swore he could handle the weight of you sitting on his face, and when you reluctantly agreed, knees wobbling as you gripped the mahogany grain of your shared headboard to hover on top of his panting chest, you never would’ve expected him to adore the feeling of you suffocating his carved jawline.
He had the best seat in the whole fuckin’ house, plump pussy lips spread open inches above his mouth with a ‘pop’, the mess of your heightened arousal deliciously decorating the flesh ‘n swirling prettily around your smooth thighs.
“So fuckin’ pretty baby.” His huge hands find purchase in the sides of your hips, fingertips gripping the thick flesh to spread you open even further, the most personal parts of your body gaped wide open for his greedy viewing.
“Look at ya,” Katsuki breathes in, inhaling the sugary scent of your sex, the smell instantly watering his tastebuds, “can’t believe this s’all mine.”
“Just feel like I might hurt yo—oh fuck!” Two large palms quickly move to grip the flesh of your withering hips dropping, cunt planting firmly down to his opened maw.
A ravenous growl rumbles through him, the saccharine droplets of slick quickly swiping across his nose bridge, coating his cheeks in your aroma. His long pink tongue flicks out to slot between your lips, kitten licking a trail of salvia up your slit.
“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet baby,” he’s moaning, the sounds muffled by the weight of your entrance fully smothering him, yet he’s loud enough for you to hear him, voice low and vibrating your clit, “stop movin’ ‘n lemme take care of my girls.”
Licking and slurping, the noises fill the bedroom, silky wetness so egregious it rivals the sobs slipping from your shocked face. “Katsuki!” It’s astonishing how easily he holds you still, even as your legs completely give out beneath you. Bulging biceps hardening against your thighs and lifting you up, up, up! to the ceiling, gripping you perfectly in place to lick your walls clean of sap.
“Thinkin’ you’d hurt me? That I can’t handle you?” He’s questioning, tongue sliding down to your tight hole, digging the flicking the fat muscle up into it, “would let you kill me as long as you were the one askin’, baby.”
The gravity only works you closer, body caging in your hips to rock against his mouth, skilled tongue diggin’ in and out of your clenched hole, the button of his nose smushing into your clit. “Oh Kats, s-shit! I—too much! C-Can feel you everywhere!”
Holding onto the headboard for dear life, the wood grain begins to squeak at the hinges, soft nipples hardening when you press yourself tightly against it, the cold texture sending shivers down your spine.
“Can’t help it,” Katsuki's tongue travels back up towards your clit, placing a sloppy kiss to the warm bud, “tastes so damn good, baby.”
You throw your head down to the top of the headboard, drool collecting at the sides of your mouth. Squishy cheeks pressing deeply into grain in an attempt to stifle your moans, eyes slamming shut to savor the feeling of him absolutely ravishing your sex.
He looks up, passionate crimson eyes squinting and blond brows furrowing when he can’t find your face looking down at him. “Oi!” His strong arms prod at your thick hips, swiftly pulling you further down to his chin, your body tumbling backwards.
“H-Huh?” You should have never underestimated his strength, large hands easily spaying around your ass to throw you around like a ragdoll, fingers white knuckling at the soft flesh he grips snug to his mouth. “W-Wha—”
“—Quit hidin’,” he mumbles, teeth nipping at your inner thighs, placing a graphic porno-sounding kiss to the skin, the slick residue from his swollen mouth painting your skin, “needa hear you screamin’ so I know I’m doin’ a damn good job.”
Biting your lip, you rapidly nod down at him, jaw falling open as he begins to rock you on his lips, pink tongue flattening on your slit and applying even pressure.
“K-Kats—mmfuck! Gettin’ close.” Your voice comes out high pitched, a sinful moan roaring from the back of your aching throat, fingertips hooking into the hair sticking to his sweaty forehead to rock against him, mouth perfectly rolling the gooey flesh of your clit.
“Take what ya want from me, know you deserve it,” he’s grumbling beneath you, hand reaching up to spay on your tummy, digits traveling up your navel and towards your breasts, fingers rolling around your nipple. “Know you’re close baby, give it to me, yeah?”
Katsuki knows the exact moment you finally break, head thrown back with a sob, your slick coats his face, hips rapidly rolling fast around the slope of his nose to ride out your high, cunt drenching his face full of your glistening essence.
“Tsuki—Stop!” The high hits you much harder than usual, the strong pink muscle pulling every last ounce of pleasure out of your sore clit, causing you to jump off his face with a yelp, “too much!”
“Where you goin’,” he scoffs beneath you, palms massaging the soft flesh of your ass to anchor you back down, his tongue finding your used hole, “‘m not done yet, come ‘ere.”
It all started with that damned house dress, the one you slipped on just as you tumbled out of bed, body completely bare beneath the silk.
Seeing you standing in the kitchen swirling sticky honey into a steaming mug, every last sense of rationale Shoto Todoroki had left inside of him quickly evaporates, leaving the man at a standstill in the doorway. It’s as if he was still stuck in a dream, a dizzy bout of sleep walking he doesn’t dare pinch himself awake from.
Shoto’s legs move on their own accord, bare feet stepping off the tatami towards you. The hardwood flooring speaks before he can, the paneling creaking beneath his heavy frame.
“Shoto?” You’re asking, popping your head over your shoulder, and when you see him standing in the doorway, you're smiling—eyes wide as saucers.
You twirl around to greet him, skirt easing off your hips as the fabric swishes in the air, “was getting started on some tea, I know you like to make it but I thought I’d surprise you.”
Shoto can’t speak.
Not when you’re looking at him like that.
Shoto desperately wants to fill the empty void due to his lack of response, yet every word falls flat on his lips, heterochromia irises far too focused on your presence to think of anything else.
It wasn’t like you were wearing anything special. The airy, cloud-white garment hung loosely on your frame, chantilly lace wrapping around the swell of your breasts matching the hem at your hips, the length cutting off just above the small divot between your thighs.
You looked angelic, and when the sunlight cut through the opened window, warm hues dancing over your features like a painting, Shoto found himself tumbling down to his knees.
“Sho? Are you okay?” Gasping, your hands grip his forearms, the stocky man easily wrapping himself around your front, red and white hair spaying over your abdomen.
He can only find it in himself to shake his head ‘no’, hands fisting the fabric on your thighs, lips pouting into the silkened garment. “I love you.”
You laugh, fingertips grazing the hair out of his eyes, his chin digging into the soft spot just below your navel, feeling his warmth surround your skin. “I love you enough that I want you to get off the floor,” teasing him, you reaching behind you to turn off the stove, giving him your full attention. “You’re looking at me like you’re going to eat me alive or something.”
Oh? But I am.
The words linger, never daring to leave his mouth.
It’s unfair, he thinks. Everything about you is so perfect. You always know exactly what to say whenever there’s an uncomfortable beat of silence, how you’re so kind to everyone you meet—including himself, showing your appreciation in the small moments that many others would ignore.
Shoto can feel his heart swell in his chest, blood pooling to his ears, the tips surely shining the brightest shade of merlot.
“Love when you wear this,” he mutters, head bowing to place a chaste kiss to each thigh, soft lips mumbling into the flesh, “you are beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it, Sho.”
I’d like to rip it off.
He’d buy you ten more if he could; if you’d let him that is, all to tear the flimsy fabric to shreds, a shameless cycle of his devotion to you.
Shoto doesn’t realize his hands have fallen onto your legs, palms gliding smooth over the skin, hands massaging your hips. He kneads the skin just to feel the way it pebbles beneath his grip, the slightest hint of your blood thumping through your veins instantly grounding him in you.
“Sho,” it’s your turn to grip at the fabric, body flushing with the tiniest bit of warmth that pools in your belly at his groping, the hem treading just above your bare mound, “d-don’t know what’s happening but—”
“—You.” He’s growling, voice slicked in the same way the honey sticks to the forgotten ceramic mug, face diving between your legs.
Shoto doesn’t ask as he’s spreading you open, tongue indulging in the way your silky slit coats his tastebuds, the heady flavor causing him to moan, voice shaking. “You happened.”
Taken aback, the sheer force of his greedy muscle licking you clean makes your hands shamelessly bundle the fabric frantically off your hips to gaze down at the starving man, his eyes closed to focus on funneling his tongue deep inside of you.
“Shoto! Oh my god! W-What are you—”
“—Showing you how much I love you.”
Your cunt was his altar, the delightful sap-like nectar seeping out from your drenched folds his savior, lapping the honey slick as if it’s his last meal on earth, one to praise and devour all at the same time.
“Love you,” he’s moaning, reddened tongue making out with your sex as if it was another pair of your lips he was kissing instead, mouth moving in tangent with his words, “love you so much.”
“Sho! Love you too, l-love your mouth.”
“Keep talking,” he smiles, head bowing up and down with each fat lick to your cunt, his tongue prodding the fleshy bits of your sensitive nub, pleasure blossoming in your upper thighs, “tell me how you’re feeling, honey.”
“Wha—I can’t!”
Not when he’s devouring you with a fever you can’t seem to recognize. Tongue soft and sweet; licking every little crevice between your legs, mouth taking every last rational thought from your mind out of your body with a suckle to your clit.
“Please,” he’s begging, widened pupils gazing up at your fucked out face, “tell me what you love about it, talk me through it.”
In fear of him halting his moments, you’re talking faster than you can think, words shakily fumbling out of your withering chest. “Your mouth,” you moan, thighs shaking at the force of him kitten licking your clit, “a-always take your time—shit! So warm ‘n soft.”
“Keep going, love.”
His hands move you easily, arching your hips to allow his long tongue to plug its way into your aching hole, the action causing you to squeak. “Oh your hands Shoto! Love your hands s-so much.”
“Want me to use them?” He asks gently, dominant hand leaving your hips to prod at your entrance, anxiously awaiting your approval.
How could you possibly tell him no?
“Please.”
His finger dips between your lips, the digit easily swallowing up past your entrance from how wet it is, knuckles pressing into you with a ‘squelch’. He pistons it in and out of your hole, tongue latching on your clit to create a seal, loud slurping sounds echoing from damp skin.
It would be dirty if it was anyone else other than Shoto.
“Shoto! D-Don’t stop—please, please don’t stopppp.” Tears are brimming the corners of your eyes as he adds another finger to the equation, fingerprints curling up into your g-spot to brush the point of no return, your sobs turning into wails of pleasure.
“Close? I can feel you squeezing.”
“Yes, yes!” You were stricken by some life altering hysteria, mind utterly preoccupied by the way Shoto worked your cunt wide open, “want—gonna cum in your mouth.”
“Go ahead, I’ll take care of you,” he’s whispering, mouth muffled by the sound of your pussy, nose deep into the puffy flesh of your mound.
Clammy fingertips grasp at his hair, gripping a handful of hair to roll your hips against him. You’re not sure what you're going for, yet nonetheless you chase it, curses falling from your slacked mouth. “Shit, shit, cumming!”
The sensation hits you all at once, Shoto’s hands, his mouth. He will always take care of you, always worship you, even in the kitchen on his hands and knees in the early hours of the morning.
Flurries of sputtering stars burst behind your eyes, Shoto’s hand holding you in place as you ride it out, hips shaking, spine aching.
When he finally pulls away, licking your slick off his lips he’s smiling, hands finding yours.
His fingers are wet. Your tea still isn’t made.
Izuku Midoriya's been waiting for this all day long, discovering you tucked snugly in bed awaiting for him to finally come home, your frame slowly snoozing between the sheets.
His tartan suit was half way off, beige dress coat hanging over the peg of the bed frame, white sleeves of his button up rolled past his elbows, work badge still hanging from his stocky chest.
He’d woken you up in a daze, scarred hands spreading your legs wide open for him, cunt gleaming in the lowlight of the yellow lamp, your nightie barley clinging to your skin.
“Was waiting up for you, didn’t think you’d be so late,” you’re mumbling, voice shy.
He gleams. Of course you waited for him, cunt leaking and begging to be touched, holes ready for him to toy with.
“I’m sorry baby, a-and thank you for being so patient,” he’s murmuring into your neck, taking a deep breath and smiling when he smells traces of his body wash on your skin, “want to make it up to you, will you let me?”
An hour later he had you fully awake and stretched out for him, knees kissing either side of the mattress with his favorite green hued plug popped inside your tight ass, the customized authentic jade gemstone poking out between your cheeks.
“How are you feeling?” Izuku asks, face inches away from your cunt, watching the soft rise and fall of your belly, pussy dripping slick down to the white sheets.
“G-Good,” you’re stuttering, tight ring clenching the metal protrusion inside of you, words glued to your tongue so nicely; gooey mind worried you’ll say the wrong thing starting to scare you, “feels really good ‘zuku.”
“Good.” He parrots, running two fingers that rest on your knee up towards the inside of your thigh, the soft skin feeling like butter on his calloused fingerprints. “I think you’re ready for something else though, aren’t you?”
“Y-Your mouth? Please?” Your woozy eyes look down at him, body shivering as goosebumps erupt everywhere he’s touching you, a hopeful dopey smile spreading on your shiny cheeks.
“You’re silly,” he’s almost chuckling, chest swooning at how devoted you are to him, mind and body completely vulnerable to his heavy presence.
His fingers dip into the crevice just beside your mound, trailing a ghost-like touch up and down to watch you writhe against the mattress, nipples hardening in the dim lighting.
Two fingers lightly touch your clit, the thick digits forcing your slit wideee open, the sloppy sounds of your lips widening to fit him forces your sensitive body to heat up in embarrassment, face smushing into the side of your pillow.
“A-And you’re mean,” mumbling, you suddenly jump at the contact, a firm slaaaappp! landing down on your clit. “Izuku!”
You feel your clit begin to throb, the rapid heartbeat in your chest traveling down to the aching bundle of nerves as he goes right back to massaging it, his eyes absorbing your wild reaction.
Clenching down, the plug presses itself even deeper inside you, the cold metal working its way around your ass, the width squeezing around your sensitive walls.
Izuku goes back to massaging your clit, the soft touch doing little to stimulate it, hips jerking up to reach his touch.
He pulls back, slotting the slick coated fingers into his lips, tongue licking them clean. “Mean? You think this is mean?”
Suddenly, two thick digits are plunging into your cunt, walls clenching down around the protrusions, hot womb easily sucking him in, fingertips hitching knuckles deep.
“Fuck!” You’re mewling, head thrashing.
You wanted him to be inside you think, mind woozy as your holes become equally filled, the pressure of the large plug shifting his chunky knuckles up towards your g-spot—still not fully touching it, yet letting you feel that he’s there.
“Still so tight,” he’s observing, watching the way your pussy expands to take his fingers, the tight lil’ hole squelching for attention around them. “Can feel you sucking me in… feels good, doesn’t it?”
You can’t respond as another finger joins your slit, the pointer finger long and prodding as it slips inside, the stretch forcing a cry out of your dry mouth.
Izuku talks you through it, tells you just how good you’re doing for him, coaxing your body to relax for him, now three fingers deep.
“Let me in, you’re almost there.”
“Doing so good for me, baby. Look so pretty stuffed full of me.”
“You trust me, right?”
You focus on his words, body contorting around his intrusion deep inside of you, fully relaxed to take whatever he gives you.
“Izuku?” The pain quickly blooms into pleasure, an uncomfortable sensation building deep inside your core causing you to beg. “Want your mouth so bad Izuku, e-everything feels too tight—too full!”
Izuku almost feels pity for you.
His pretty baby begging for release, pleading for a smidge of attention from him.
“Since you’ve been so good tonight, maybe I’ll give you what you want?” He’s coaxing you to say what he wants to hear, emerald green eyes laser focused on the soft prodding of your squishy mound, fingers swabbin’ around in your gushy insides like he’s trying to memorize the ridges of your canal.
“Please Izuku,” wishfully thinking, your words slur, spine arching off the bed to greet his freckled cheeks, warm breath tickling your slit.
He places a kiss on your clit just to watch you squeak, eyebrows raising down at you like a hawk watching his prey. “Please what? Use your words.”
“Please use your mouth,” you’re whining, yet he doesn’t move, your eyes widening, “Izuku, can you please u-use your mouth and…”
“Go on.”
He wants to hear you say it out loud. The very words that always cause you to shy away from him, the perverse nature of the descriptions of what you desperately crave from him heating your body up.
“Please eat me out.”
You must really want to cum tonight Izuku’s thinking, his thighs tensing at how sweetly you’re asking, wide eyes gleaming over with sex.
He doesn’t respond, and right when you believe he’s about to stand up from between your legs, an arm anchors around your lower belly, mouth diving in between your legs.
Izuku is messy with it. All tongue and meticulous direction, he teeters between light swiping and harsh sucking against your nub, fully coating himself in slick.
“Mppf! Zu! Oh god!”
He’s purposely holding you from bucking off the mattress, rather having you thrust around in his grasp to feel how his pleasure blooms throughout your body.
His large fingers reach spots inside of you yours could never, rapidly flicking up into your spongey g-spot, he easily stretches out the muscle to take what he wants.
“I’m close—”
“—already? Such a good girl.” He has a way with making you hold on to every word he says, Izuku’s heavy presence invading your space in every way possible.
The only thing you can picture is him, the way his fingers smooch your pussy, tongue licking your clit; even down to the plug, stuffing you completely, all because he asked so nicely.
“Izuku, Izuku, Izuku!” You’re the fullest you’ve ever been in your life, tummy bulging as he flicks his fingers up, the depth so strong you can almost taste it.
You throw your head back, eyes slamming shut to devote yourself in the feeling, your high coming head on, body unable to escape the way its throwing you off the edge.
“Don’t go shy on me now, look at me.” Izuku’s pulling you from that ledge, dripping eyes peering up at him in awe, irises daring to roll back into your skull as he eats you like an animal, fingers scooping your cunt.
“There she is, mmmm my pretty girl,” he hums in approval, the vibrations heading straight to your clit, thighs shaking. Izuku notices, forearm pressing roughly into your lower belly, “oh baby, you’re so close, do you want to cum?”
Izuku is attentive, calculating the best possible outcome using your cunt as his test subject as the feeling takes over you, thighs tensing, toes curling.
“Yes, yes, yes! Please Izuku!” Mumbling, you get lost in the moment once he’s pressing his lips roughly to your clit, the pleasure overbearing, jaw dropping, mouth going silent.
“Go ahead honey,” he’s mumbling, fingers fucking your g-spot, your body breaking beneath him, “because after this one, you’ll give me another, right?”
“Fuck!” You’re nodding, mind blacking out into perpetual bliss, completely unaware the night is just getting started.
“Babe… didn't realize you were this wet, would’ve left Sero's place like hours ago.” Denki Kaminari can’t help but gawk at the painfully beautiful sight unfolding before him.
He’d been teasing you all evening, sitting you prettily on top of his lap whilst everyone else was far too focused on the movie playing in front of them to realize he was rubbing your clit beneath the blanket spread on your legs.
Darling lil’ pussy lips soaking right through lace panties, the skirt you wore granting him easy access as he dipped two fingers between them, pressing the fabric snugly into your slippery clit.
It was blatantly obvious when you were about to finally cum. Body twitching on top of him, legs shaking and muscles flexing. Each attempt to hide your mewls by chewing loudly on pieces of popcorn or sipping your drink, Denki would quietly laugh in your ear, gold earring cold against your skin, as he’d quickly pull his hand away from the mess he’d made to rub at your thighs instead, wrinkled fingertips edging you to soaked oblivion.
When the movie was finally over and you were waddling around in a puddle of slick with legs like jelly, Denki rushed your goodbyes, swearing that he couldn’t get you home any faster.
Feverishly pulling you down onto the carpet of the living room, the anticipation of tasting you takes over him. Large hands flip your skirt above your belly, his golden locs situated snuggly between your legs to stare at the sloppy liquid pouring from your poor neglected pussy lips onto your panties, his mouth salivating at the sight.
“Stop teasin’ me,” you plead with him, the fabric so embarrassingly wet it nips at your heated slit, thighs uncontrollably sopping as Denki's tongue only makes it worse, a fat dribble of spit slopping against your covered cunt.
“I’m nottt—hey! If I knew it was this bad, I would've ate you out in the bathroom.” He’s laughing, voice sleazy, golden irises blown out and dark, pupils fully covering the amber hues.
His fingers pinch the fabric up, up, up! between your fat lips, watching them rapidly swallow up the material like they’re quenching for thirst, your fat cunt sticking out on the sides.
Gasping, you wiggle around in his grasp, hole pulsating and clit throbbing, your hips pressing up towards his nose, the slope catching on your covered clit. “You’re such a freak, a-and Sero’s a perv… he would’ve probably liked that shit.”
You can hear the same thick digits touching your lips begin to tug at the fabric, a dull ‘riiiiipppp’ screeching beneath you as he breaks the stingy fabric in two, leaving your bare glistening cunt shining in the darkness of the room.
“Not when I’m done with ya he won’t,” placing a slow lick from the bottom of your tight hole up to your sensitive clit, Denki groans at the taste, his own hips humping the floor, “it would suck having to buy him a new sink though.”
Your fingers find purchase in his hair, rolling the yellow tendrils between your hands in a tight grip, matching the hectic rolls of your hips to the lazy gyrations of his head.
“Fuck Denki!” You let out a relieved curse when he begins to suck on your clit, his wiggly tongue lapping every last drop of slick that falls from your hole, “I’m done replacing his furniture everytime we b-break it.”
“Want to-mfdph—I want to.” Denki's words are inaudible as he rapidly licks at your pussy, tongue getting completely lost in the feeling of your cunt rubbing his face raw, cheeks warm and covered in your essence.
You peer down at him, his eyes slammed shut as he shakes his head like a dog, mouth moving side to side. “What babe? C-Can't hear you over your sloppy mouth.”
“Shit,” he’s gasping, head coming up for air just long enough to take a sharp breath, his finger finding your neglected hole, “wanna fuck you in every room in his house, show everyone who you belong to.”
“Oh Denki, everyone already kno—oh, fuck!”
His finger instantly flicks up into your gummy g-spot, mouth latching on your clit to lap at the flesh as if he needs to taste you to survive, skilled tongue flicking up and down your sensitive bud.
“Denki!” The familiar hitch jumps deep inside your core, body heating up as your thighs clench around his head, voice cracking, “gonna make me c-cum!”
“Fuckkk-please, give it to me.” Moaning, his cock head manically weeps through the fabric of his pants, the taste of your gushing cunt pushing him closer to the edge, your voice causing his balls to tense up.
Denki’s hips roughly fuck into the floor with such veroccity it jerks him forward, your body fully rocking aginst his fingers, the knuckles traveling further past your walls.
“M-More! Fuck—Please!”
He groans in approval, slipping another finger into your stuffed hole. The burning stretch causes your waterline to prickle with the faintest globes of tears, fingers alternating between gripping the frills of your skirt and the strands of his hair, body teetering on the edge of your high.
“C’mon, you’ve got it babe,” Denkis mumbling into your clit, words vibrating deep into the slippery flesh sending little dull bolts up and down your thighs, knees shaking beside his ears, “soak me—pleaseee, need to feel it-ruin me babe—”
Your voice cuts him off, a wild mantra of his name rapidly falling from your slacked maw as you cum against him, little volts of electricity swirling around the sensitive nerves in your mound, body rolling in ecstasy.
“Fuck babe, jus’ like that,” he’s mumbling, ripping off your swollen clit to watch your face as you fall apart on the floor, his hips stuttering on the pale carpeting beneath them, “aw, shit!”
Before he can realize what’s happening, Denki is cumming untouched with a whimper, mouth returning to lap at your release while his own creates a syrupy mess in his pants.
The pleasure quickly becomes painful, clammy hands gripping him by the head to pull him up towards your lips, locking him into a sloppy kiss.
You moan when you taste yourself on him, palm falling down to fumble his belt wide open, pulling his shaft out of the material and swipin’ your hand over his red beating cock, his cum sticky on your fingers.
“Fuuuck,” he mumbles between your lips, dragging his face down to rub between your neck, sticking your slick onto your skin, “should have done that at his place babe, n-next time I’m dragging you to the bathroom, I swear!”
Your hand grips down hard on his sensitive cock, releasing a whine from the overstimulated boy. “Can you please stop talking about your friends when you’re about to fuck me, please?”
a/n: divider by @/cafekitsune okay… so! this started as a bakugo drabble and then i saw a vid on x that instantly reminded me of shoto and so of course, jenni got carried away
★ CW: pre-established marriage, body worship, breeding, mommy kink, riding, making love, yearning, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (with the intention of getting pregnant), mentions of pregnancy, (implied) size kink
YEARNER!CLARK who absolutely worships your body and the ground you walk on. he never forgets to make it known to you how ethereal you are in his eyes, inside and out, each and every day, even after 3 years of marriage. not only does he tell you, he shows you.
YEARNER!CLARK who doesn't just make love to your body, he makes love to you, and everything that makes you you; your flaws, insecurities, and your body. even just having him by your side in bed counterbalanced every negative quality you could possibly find in yourself.
YEARNER!CLARK who still looks at you like a starving man. Like you're sunlight and he's been freezing for far too long. He still stares at you from across a room like a teenager only just discovering what this thing called love feels like. A soft, reverent look that says he'd stop the world from spinning if you ever gave the signal.
YEARNER!CLARK who handles you as if you were just a delicate lily you'd find in one of Monet's paintings, as if you would break with one wrong graze of his fingertips on your body.
YEARNER!CLARK who refused to have sex with you for the longest time. he was too afraid, knowing the fact that he quite literally had the ability to break bones if he unintentionally thrusted too hard. but he couldn't hold himself back much longer when it came to your honeymoon. that night, the only thing he needed was to make sweet love to his wife. his wife.
YEARNER!CLARK who, the moment you even slightly mention an insecurity, makes sure to get that thought right out of that pretty head of yours. he'd lay you down onto your shared bed so cautiously and start peppering your entire body with kisses, muttering soft praises against your delicate skin; from your forehead, to your plump lips, to your perky nipples, to your belly button, all the way down to your ankles.
then for good measure, he'd bounce you up and down on his girthy cock until he's absolutely positive that your negative thoughts have been knocked out of your mind.
YEARNER!CLARK who, when you first met, only ever kissed your wedding ring finger (other than your lips) because he knew he just had to be yours, and that he had to marry you, no matter how long the wait was. now, he loves to see your wedding ring on your dainty finger whenever you wrapped your hand around his cock (which didn't even wrap all the way around). hell, he could cum at that sight alone. he sees that gem on your finger and can't help but take pride in the fact that you, of all people, were his real life wife.
YEARNER!CLARK who wants nothing more in life than to fill you up and take good care of you while seeing you grow his baby in your swelling tummy. the only thing better than one of you is two of you. when you finally agree to doing so, he'd give you his hot loads every night for a full month until he's 110% certain that you were nice and pregnant with his baby.
"Pl- Please, take all o' my cum, mommy- g'nna make you a momma, i promise- hnghh, fuck.." he'd mutter against your neck while he came deep inside you for what felt like the thousandth time that night.
So remember how katsuki' sweat is and smells sweet because of his quirk? So imagine what else could be sweet too...
Yes, I'm having unhinged thoughts about this. Yes, I'm thinking about cumplay...
🍓
my 🍓 !!!! i’ve missed you my love 🫂 i just ,, i’m on my period and i wanna suck his dick
“fuuck just like that.” katsuki groans.
each glob of pre that drips down your throat makes your toes curl, you don’t even care that he’s hitting the back of your throat because he tastes too sweet for you to even come up for air. his fingers are tangled in your hair trying to slow you down but you have one goal in mind, get him to fill your mouth.
he’s heavy on your tongue, hot and throbbing with each swirl around his tip. you hollow your cheeks, blinking up at him with tears and clenched thighs. he’s a mess above you, thighs shaking and chest heaving.
“baby i’m gonna cum.” he tugs your hair.
all you do is press down until your nose meets his pelvis and he groans and the first thick rope of cum shoots down your throat. you pull back and jerk him, mouth wide open as each spurt lands onto your mouth and awaiting tongue. you’re whining, moaning at the taste and when he’s done you lick around your lips to get anything you missed and then go back for his cock.
“shit baby.” he pants when you lick at his over sensitive tip again.
“want more.” you suck his tip into your mouth.
you suck on his tip like a straw and pump him so fast his hips are jerking up. his abs are flexing, hair stuck to his forehead, little beads of sweat dripping down his muscles. it only take him two more minutes before he’s coating your throat again with a broken moan.
“a break.” he pants.
you slowly let his tip pop out of you mouth, placing open mouth kisses down his shaft to clean him up. you kiss up to his hip, sucking a soft mark there, giggling when his hips jerk again. you kiss up to his abs and let your tongue trace the hard muscle as it flex under you. you keep this up until you’re hovering over his blissed out face.
“can i suck it again?” you peck his lips.
“gonna suck me dry.” he brushes your hair back and brings your lips back to his.
jason todd is no coward. especially not in bed. he'd literally do anything and everything you ask, especially during sex.
he doesn't let anything get in the way of his personal time with you, so when you begrudgingly tell him you're on your period when he's already hovering over you, his boner pressing insistently against your thigh, he can't help the confused look that takes over his face.
"wha-" he also can't help but smirk at the sheer ridiculousness of you thinking a little blood is going to stop him from making you feel good. "baby..." he shakes his head, running his big fingers through your hair, "you think some blood's g'na scare me off?" he asks, "think i don't see that shit everyday, hm?" he speaks, pressing kisses to your the sensitive skin of your neck.
"s'gross, jay!" you whine, but you don't dare to stop him from nipping at your skin.
"angel, i really, really don't care" he says genuinely, somewhat fed up, and also somewhat offended that you think he could ever find you gross. "jus lemme make you feel good, honey," he already starts to work your shorts off, not caring to listen to anymore of your half-assed protests.
who are you to say no? especially when he's speaking oh so gently to you, and treating you with the most care when you're in such a fragile state.
before you know it, he's buried deep inside you and has you squirming underneath him, mewling in pleasure. "fuck!-" you squeak, every touch and every movement intensified to a degree that's overwhelming. he's moving in and out of you, his arm in between the two of you as he works at your clit restlessly.
"that feel good, baby?" he'll say, "fuuuck– you like that?" he purrs. he has no idea why you think this is gross, the blood only makes you warmer and wetter, in fact he prefers it.
his dick twitches violently inside of you whenever he looks down to see where the both of you are connected, his breath hitches at the sight of his shaft covered in blood and slick.
"s'not so gross now, huh?" he teases, a smirk that says he knows how good you feel right now, playing at his face. he's making you eat your words. "n-no jay!" you shake your head, your jaw slack as your orgasm approaches quickly. "yeah, that's right pretty" he coos, leaning down further to kiss you deeply, swallowing your moans and whimpers.
he feels himself grow closer as well, his balls tightening. it's only been about 10 minutes. he usually lasts much longer, but you're just so much wetter, yknow, given the circumstance.
you cum around his cock with a cry, and he reaches that peak right with you. after he spills deep inside of you with a low grunt, he just has to pull out to see his cum dripping out of you, the blood mixing with his release a plus. he swears he could cum again just from that sight.
he looks up at you, your eyes closed and your chest heaving as you lay there in a fucked-out state. but you can't deny your cramps have lifted. jason speaks,
jason was completely drained from patrol as usual, so what does he do ?
take it out on you of course, let you fuck the energy back into him while you ride the thick of his cock nice and hard, taking it all the way down to the hilt.
he couldn't be bothered to change let alone take off his mask, pants tugged down to his knees as he laid back on your shared bed.
you couldn't exactly complain about it either, whenever jason wore the mask it did something to you, made you a little rabid for him and him the same for you. he found himself always being a little rougher whenever he wore it, his touch too hard and his words too mean.
no, you weren't fucking jason, you were fucking red hood.
you sat on top of him with his thick cock stuffed all the way inside your pulsing cunt. you were so wet he practically slid in, all perfect and drooly for him, your slick dripping down to his balls. he let his head fall back watching all your pretty bare skin as you began to fuck yourself on him, completely naked while he was still dressed. you began bouncing as hard as you could, he watched his cock disappear and reappear with each movement and lewd squelch.
you took it so well, taking his hard length inside you inch by inch. a sharp hiss escapes his lips and you imagine his eyes closing for a moment, head tilting back against the bed headboard. his hands find your hips quickly and his fingers dug hard into your flesh with the familiar grounding friction of his calloused touch. jason grabs at you hard and forces a faster pace, making you gasp out and grab at the solid of his muscle for balance.
"easy baby—", his words are low and muffled through his mask.
but you don't want easy. you want it raw, rough and real, feeling the satiating throb deep inside you as you squeeze your sopping cunt around him. jason grunts, a hand reaching for your face roughly, making you stare down at his mask all wide eyed and frozen.
"behave."
you almost cum right there, but you swallow and nod, listening to his word like it's law, then you feel him begin to move. even with his face covered you could feel his gaze intense, tracking your every movement. he takes his time with each filling, hard thrust of his cock his hands flexing on your hips, forcing you steady.
his hand on your jaw stays there, keeping your gaze on his mask, if you look carefully, manage to focus your eyes you can see your reflection, faint and blurred and dyed red.
you see what he sees, your own reflection.
your own face staring back at you, lips parted and mouth held agape with his big hand.
his hips speed up with each upward thrust to meet yours, chasing the friction.
hes forcing you to ride him harder, faster, chasing the building pressure low in your belly. his thumb traces a hot path along your hipbone, his grip tightening possessively. the rhythm between you is relentlessly now, pushing up into you with powerful thrusts that steal your breath and make you cry out softly. you feel the tension coiling tight within him, mirroring the near unbearable tightness building inside you.
even when you feel yourself so close to release your eyes stay focused on the little smudge of your red reflection on his mask, you rode him faster, leaning back as your tits bounced with you.
you hear him groan at the sight.
he's as desperate for release as you now, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a flesh light, letting out little huffs and grunts. his other hand slides from your jaw down between you two to seek out your pretty clit, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at the twitchy nub in tight hot circles making you jump and squeeze around him at the simple action.
“that’s what you were missing—"
"pussy's so fuckin' tight around me— so wet—”
you feel your orgasm getting closer, eyes rolling back as he slots in and out of your lulling body. the sheer size of him causes an ache inside your core that arches your back, clutching and clawing at the skin of his muscled abdomen, he feels you gush around him, all soaked and perfect and moaning and crying for him, melting with every of pull of his cock only to fuck it back in.
you can faintly see your fucked out face in the reflection of his mask and that's what does it. it has you fall forward onto him, laying across his hard body limp, face flushed into the crook of his neck but he persisted through your muffled cries and glossed over eyes.
your glistening wetness dripped down his cock every time he lifted your hips, and the way your mouth hung open, releasing moan after moan, it was driving him wild. fuck he was close, he could feel his balls tighten from the feel of your fucked out cunt as he kept thrusting up into you, balls deep. he felt your pussy twitch and squeeze, poor thing all tired out practically sopping around him with your wet heat.
he managed to ram into you once more, the ridges and veins of his cock rubbing harshly against your velvety walls as your pussy sucked at him greedily. you both held quiet listening to the wet squelches in harmony with the fleshy smacking of his balls relentless against your cunt.
"dirty girl—"
"letting me fuck you like this with my mask on—"
"bet you get off on it—" ,he lets out a lazy half groaned laugh before rearing back his hips for another brutal thrust, this time, he hit you deep, pressing into the cervix, causing your vision to blur momentarily. you were a pathetic mess, eyes watering, spit dribbling from your lips and soaking through his dark shirt while as you whined loudly.
when jason cums you swear you see stars, you feel him paint your walls with thick, creamy release, his cock humping into you weakly with a few more stuttered thrusts.
"my pretty girl", he lets out a lazy huff of laughter as he strokes your face and hair roughly, petting you all sweet like, cooing and coaxing to help you calm down,
"fuckin' pathetic—"
he laughs lazily at your fucked out state, pure bliss behind your eyes and lets his hands squeeze and flex around your ass, feeling how you were still shaky and twitchy from the high, trying to get comfortable over him.
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you rolled your eyes hard. "i know how to handle a blade, jay, relax."
"jus' making sure," jason smirked.
it was a friday night and neither of you had plans. so when you noticed the stubble shadowing your boyfriends jaw, naturally you took it as your opportunity to kill some time. your offer led to him skeptically handing you his razor and letting you perch on his lap as he sat on a stool in the bathroom. he gazed up at you with amusement and exasperation both as you gently dragged the blades edge across his cheek, scraping the shaving foam off.
large hands travelled slowly up your thighs and settled on your hips. you bit your lip in concentration, barely noticing jasons thumbs caressing your sides. slow strokes of the razor down his jaw left behind clear skin. you pressed your hips to his as you moved closer. a low grunt left his lips.
"don't tempt me while you have a blade to my neck."
you suppressed the urge to grin. "one track mind, huh?" you teased, shifting more deliberately just to tease him, earning a half-hearted glare.
"brat."
"hush, let me concentrate."
minutes passed in comfortable silence, save for the buzz of led lights and the occasional scratch as you continued to shave. at some point, jason's eyes began to close. his head rested against the bathroom wall, exposing his neck for you. a small smile pulled his lips, completely content with you in his arms.
getting the last bits of hair off, you grabbed a pair of wipes and cleaned his face with a bit of aftershave. jason peeked through a half lidded eye as you inspected your work. satisfied, you pressed a kiss to his jaw and moved to get off his lap. "all done."
"hold on," jason dragged you back easily to straddle him again. "i haven't paid you for your service yet."
you raised an eyebrow playfully, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "yeah?"
"yeah," he murmured, his stare dropping to your mouth. "you did such a good job, baby, i gotta show you my appreciation."
"i'm also gonna need a tip, you know," you brushed your lips against his, just close enough but still too far. he narrowed his eyes and fully kissed you, firm. you hummed, pleased, clutching him tighter.
"oh, i'll give you more than just the tip," he replied in between, half serious, pulling your waist to him. you laughed out loud.
"you're so corny," you giggled. a yelp stumbled out of you as he abruptly stood up with you still clinging to him. his hands gripped your thighs as he walked to the bedroom while you continued to laugh. the sound made his gaze soften. he let out an amused huff despite himself and simply held on to you closer.
✧.* a/n: if i had a nickel for everytime i ended a fic with reader being carried/picked up, id have more than one nickel. also idk how to end this :p fade to black ig ✧.*
The couch dips under Jason's weight, and he's already reaching for you before he's even fully settled. It's unconscious and routine at this point—the way his arm finds the back of the couch behind your shoulders, the way his thick, muscular thigh presses against yours like he's making sure you're still there.
You are. You've been here for an hour, pretending to read, mostly just watching him doze. As if you’d miss out on a chance to dote on him when he’s like this.
His head tips back against the cushion. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly open. The line of his jaw is soft like this, unguarded in a way he'd hate if he caught you looking. His henley has ridden up just enough to expose a strip of skin above his waistline. Not muscle there—well, not all of its muscle at least. There’s something softer. Something that shifts when he breathes.
You close your book. You’ve been on the same line for maybe ten or fifteen minutes now and you don’t even remember to put a bookmark in. Too entranced by how hot your boyfriend looks all comfortable like this.
"Jay."
Nothing.
You poke his side. His eyes crack open, bleary and suspicious as he groggily eyes you.
"Mm… what."
"You're comfortable," you say.
"That's not a crime."
"No." You turn onto your side, facing him fully. Your hand lands on his stomach before you think about it. Palm flat and fingers spread. The fabric is warm from his body heat, and underneath it, there's the sexiest pudge you’ve ever seen on a man. A soft layer that yields to your touch before meeting the solid wall of what he used to be beneath.
Jason looks down at your hand. Then up at you. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing."
"The thing where you look at me like I'm a stray dog you found in an alley."
"A very handsome stray dog."
He snorts. It's not an attractive sound. You love it.
"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, but he doesn't move your hand. Doesn't even pull away. If anything, his stomach rises a little more against your palm as he takes in a a deeper breath, deliberate or not. It’s a soft sigh. One that tells you what his words won’t. He loves being here.
"You have a belly," you tell him.
Jason blinks. "I have—okay. Sure. Thank you for that." He rolls his eyes, throwing a beefy arm over his eyes.
"It's not an insult." You trace a slow circle around his navel through the shirt before reaching out to pull his arm off his eyes. It’s heavy. Big. Just like everything else about him. His abdominal muscles twitch underneath, instinctive, but the softness stays. That's what gets you. The way he's still undeniably him—broad, strong, capable of breaking things without so much as trying—but there's this now. This evidence of rest. Of takeout eaten on weeknights. Of sleeping through alarms. Of a normal life where he’s not running himself into the damn ground every single hour of every single day.
"I like it," you say with that cheeky smile of yours.
"You like—" He stops. Rubs a hand over his face. "It's just weight. I've been eating like garbage and I haven't been running as much. It's not—that's not a thing you like. It's just a thing that is."
You lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. He freezes. You kiss his cheek, the hinge of his jaw, the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver every time. Every damn time. A weak spot, if you will.
"Liking it," you murmur against his skin.
Jason exhales. Slow. A little shaky at the end because—sure, he’s used to this—but it still gets him hot. His hand comes up to rest on the back of your neck, not pushing you away, not pulling you closer. He just holds you there, fingers gently brushing the nape. Like he's trying to steady himself.
"You're weird," he says quietly.
"You've mentioned."
"Yeah, well." His thumb continues to brush the baby hairs at your nape. "It bears repeating."
You pull back just enough to look at him. His face is flushed—not from embarrassment, exactly. Something closer to disbelief. Like he's waiting for you to reveal the punchline.
You don't have one. He should know this already.
You push his henley up, just a few inches. His stomach tenses on instinct, but you shush him like you're calming a spooked animal, and he lets you, because fuck it, right? He secretly loves the attention anyway. The skin underneath is pale, a roadmap of old scars, and softer than anywhere else on him. You press your lips to the spot just above his waistband.
Jason makes a sound. Not a word. Just a breath punched out of him. A little bit of a groan maybe. Why must you torture him so?
"You're so warm," you say.
"That's—" He clears his throat because if he doesn’t, his voice will definitely crack in a way he would rather it not. "That's generally how bodies work."
"Yours is special."
"It's really not."
You kiss his stomach again. Then again, an inch to the left. Then right where the softest part gives way to muscle underneath. Jason’s not fat—never has been, never really could be with the way he moves, the way he fights, the way his body remembers things yours doesn't. Like years of brutal training and patrol and other shit he had to do, being Red Hood and all. But there's padding now. A layer of proof that he gets to sit down. That he stays. That he isn't running himself ragged every single night.
Jason's hand tightens on your neck. Just a little bit. He’s careful not to crush it—and he definitely could.
"You're gonna give me a complex," he sighs, peeking at you from the corner of his eyes.
"Good. It'll match the others."
That earns a laugh. It's rough, startled out of him, and his stomach jumps under your lips. You smile against his skin and chuckle.
"I'm serious," you say, propping your chin on his belly so you can look up at him. You’re lying in between his legs and even though the position’s pretty compromising when you’re pressed up against him like that. His eyes are soft. His mouth is doing something unreadable, somewhere between a smirk and something a little more fragile. "I love this. I love you. Every part."
Jason stares at you for a long moment. Then he hauls you up by your armpits like you weigh nothing—because to him, you basically do—and places you against his side, sandwiched between him and the back of the couch, with his arm around your shoulders.
"You're annoying," he says, lips pressing against the top of your head. He breathes in your shampoo like he’s trying to commit it to memory. Old habits from when he wasn’t sure if he’d be coming home. But he’s got you forever now.
"You love it anyway." You give his side a squeeze and he groans, grabbing your hand, then your wrist and forces your arm around his waist instead.
"I guess," he agrees quietly.
His hand then drops yours and finds your hip. His thumb rubs back and forth over the bone. His stomach rises and falls against your ribs, soft and warm and alive, and you press your face into his shoulder so he doesn't see you smile too wide.
He knows. He pretends not to notice anyway.
You stay there until the light shifts and the room goes dark, and neither of you moves to turn on a lamp. Too lazy. Too comfortable. And probably asleep by now.