#bixlow

he guides you towards the job board and snatches a flyer off it without even looking at it, waves it in your face, and grins. “let’s go break somethin’!”

“you didn’t even read it…”

“that’s what you’re for, baby.”

you smack his arm, he laughs, and just like that you’re dragged into another job with him. because he refuses to go without you.

the mission itself is chaotic. he’s reckless, loud, and having the time of his life. he uses his dolls like missiles, taunts the enemy mid fight, and keeps glancing back at you every few seconds like he’s making sure you’re still breathing. he’ll never admit how protective he is, but it’s obvious in the way he positions himself between you and danger, in the way he snaps “watch it!” when something gets too close, in the way he grabs your wrist a little too tightly when the dust settles.

“you good, baby?” he asks, voice low, eyes sharp.

you nod, and he relaxes instantly, grin snapping back into place like it never left.

the walk home is quieter. not silent—he’s never silent—but softer. he bumps your shoulder, steals your hand, swings it between you like a kid. the dolls float behind you both, humming.

your shared apartment is small and warm, with mismatched furniture, an area dedicated to his dolls, a lively living room, a corner of your room dedicated to your stuff, and the middle claimed by both of you. he kicks the door shut behind you, tosses his boots somewhere that isn’t the shoe rack, and flops onto the couch with a dramatic groan. then, he easily shoves off his mask and hood, freeing his hair. while he prefers to keep it on around other people, he learned to keep his magic at bay just so he can see you more clearly.

“baby…” he whines, reaching for you without even opening his eyes, “come here.”

he’s still chaotic at home. loud, clingy, incapable of sitting still… but there’s a softness to it. he tugs you onto his lap instead of yanking you around. he presses his face into your neck instead of shouting across the room. he wraps his arms around you like he’s grounding himself.

the dolls settle around the room, quiet for once.

his hands slide up your thighs, slow and gentle. he kisses your shoulder, then your jaw, then a quick one onto your lips, voice dropping into something low and warm.

“missed you all day.” he murmurs, fingers tracing your waist. “c’mere, baby… closer.”

“i am close,”  you giggle, “and we were together all day!”

“it’s not enough.” he tsks, finally opening his eyes to look at you, the best part of his day. he drags you closer, hand squeezing your thigh.

you snort, trying to play it off. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you love it,” he fires back instantly, smirk tugging at his mouth.

you roll your eyes, but he sees the way your lips twitch. he always sees it. bixlow reads you like it’s his favorite hobby.

he shifts under you, settling you more firmly on his lap, arms looping around your waist like he’s locking you in place. he buries his face in your neck again, breathing you in like he’s been deprived.

“you smell good,” he mumbles against your skin.

“i smell like sweat and dirt from the mission...”

“yeah,” he says, like that’s the point, “you smell like you.”

you feel his smile against your throat, warm and stupid and so him.

and the dolls? they’ve retreated into their spot—a cramped area stuffed with pillows, shiny trinkets, and whatever strange objects he insists his babies “need.” they hover there for a moment, tiny heads poking out, watching the way he’s holding you, the way his hands are already sliding up your thighs. one of them tilts its head like it’s about to say something, but another tugs it back inside. they shuffle away with soft little taps and hums, disappearing behind the curtain he hung up for them. they know better. they know when to cause chaos and when to leave him alone.

they know this is his time with you.

bixlow’s hands roam lazily, sliding up your sides, down your hips, back to your thighs. he’s always been like this at home. the moment the door closes, he lets himself melt.

“you were cool today,” he says suddenly, voice muffled against your collarbone.

you blink. “cool?”

“yeah.” he leans back just enough to look at you again, visor gone, eyes bright and unfiltered. “that last hit you dodged? sick. almost made me jealous.”

“jealous of what?”

“that you didn’t need me,” he says with a shrug, like it’s nothing, even though his fingers tighten on your waist. “but then you did that thing with your magic and i was like—” he makes an explosion gesture with his hands, “—that’s my baby.”

you laugh, and he beams like he won something.

“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, heat creeping up your neck.

“like what?” he asks, tilting his head, pretending innocence even though he’s the furthest thing from it.

“like you’re proud of yourself.”

“baby,” he says, dragging the word out, “i’m always proud of myself.”

you snort, and he grins wider, like he’s been waiting for that exact sound. his hands slide up your waist again, but under your shirt this time, fingers spread over your ribs, thumbs brushing slow circles that make your breath stutter.

“see?” he murmurs, voice dropping, “there it is.”

“there what is?”

“that little noise you make when you’re trying not to smile.” he taps your cheek lightly. “drives me crazy.”

you try to swat him away, but he catches your wrist effortlessly, guiding your hand to the back of his neck. the moment your fingers brush his skin, he shivers—a tiny reaction he tries to hide by leaning in closer.

“careful,” he warns, but his voice is soft, warm, almost reverent. “you touch me like that, i’m gonna think you want something.”

“well,” you huff, “maybe i do,” you tease, even though your voice comes out quieter than you meant.

his eyes flicker with heat, surprise, hunger… and he exhales a low laugh against your jaw.

“baby…” he breathes, “don’t start unless you’re ready to finish.”

his hands settle on your hips, firm and steady, pulling you closer until your chest presses to his. his breath ghosts over your lips, warm and impatient, like he’s holding himself back by a thread.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. “all day, i’m thinkin’ about getting you home. getting you right here.”

your pulse jumps, and he feels it, his grin turning slow and wicked.

“yeah,” he whispers, thumb stroking your hip, “right there.”

he leans in, lips brushing yours but not quite kissing you, teasing you with the barest touch.

“baby…” he rasps, “come on. don’t make me beg.”

you let the moment hang. just long enough for him to feel it. long enough for his breath to hitch, for his fingers to tighten on your hips, for that cocky grin to falter at the edges.

then you smile. slow and dangerous.

“beg for what?” you whisper, tilting your head just enough that his mouth misses yours by a hair. “you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

his inhale is sharp, almost a growl, and you feel his hands flex against your waist like he’s fighting the urge to just grab you.

“don’t play with me, baby.” he warns.

“why not?” you murmur, brushing your lips along the corner of his mouth. not a kiss, just a ghost of one. “you started it.”

his eyes darken, pupils blown wide, and his voice drops even lower.

“baby… you’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

“maybe i want trouble.”

you say it lightly, teasingly, but the effect is immediate. his grip tightens, dragging you closer until your chest presses to his.

“that so?” he grins, suddenly lifting you up, hands gripping onto your ass, and walking towards the bedroom. “let’s test that.”

you chuckle in his grasp, playfully wiggling around. “hey! drop me! i didn’t do anything wrong!”

he laughs with you, throwing you onto the bed and quickly hovers over you. your legs teasingly wrap his waist, and he happily grabs onto one of your thighs, caressing before throwing your leg up over his shoulder. he presses a trail of kisses onto your ankles.

“hey—!” you giggle, trying to pull your leg back, but he holds you in place with one hand, thumb stroking your skin.

“what?” he asks, looking up at you with that stupid, smug grin. “you said ya wanted trouble.”

you just smile, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him close. “yeahh... so are you gonna give it to me?”

his grin turns feral. you have no idea what you’re even doing to him. saying stuff like that with your head tilted, eyelashes batting up at him with that sultry smile like you were innocent...

“shit baby, i’ll give ya everything i have.” he replies, voice low, and he finally closes the gap to kiss you.

you hum, melting into his touch, arms holding him more tightly. you whine when his tongue pushes your lips open, slipping into your mouth with ease. his free hand grips your waist, toying with your top before moving up to cup your cheek, anchoring you to him.

the kiss got more passionate as time passed, lips clashing, tongues brushing in rhythm. you gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as he pressed you deeper into the mattress.

“driving me crazy,” he mutters, pulling away only to trail kisses onto your neck, licking a stripe down with his tongue.

“bixxx,” you whine, “baby... don’t tease.”

he just chuckles, “you were teasin’ earlier. this is just payback.”

your huff turns into a whine when his hands wander under your shirt, fingers gliding across your soft skin until he reaches your chest. he pauses for a second, eyebrows furrowing, “no bra?” he tsks.

“what? you know i hate those things—ah!” his hands teased your hardened nipples from under your shirt, “someone could’ve been staring! were you planning to tease me tonight? or were you teasing someone else..? ya slut..”

you pout, tugging your top up so your chest was exposed to the air, hands covering his to squeeze at your chest, “or maybe i’ve been waiting for you to touch me all day.”

a deep groan comes from bixlow’s throat, “you really are a slut, baby,” he laughs, thumb rubbing at your nipples again. then he moves down, but not before shoving off his shirt. you hum, taking this opportunity to follow and take off your own, laying back down on the bed like you’ve been waiting all day for this.

he’s literally folding you in half now, face staring at your clothed pussy, “shit baby, she’s dripping everywhere. can smell her from here..”

“shut upp.. don’t say stuff like that.”

“yeah? but you were just telling me how you wanted me to touch you all day! you backing out?” he laughs.

“no! but—”

his hand rubs over your pussy. “but what? this slutty pussy has been wet all day, huh? waiting f’me to touch her…”

“hah... bixx!”

“don’t worry babe,” he smirks, slowly tugging off the rest of your clothes, “i’ll take of her.”

for the next 30 minutes—or maybe even an hour—you can’t even tell anymore, you’re too far gone from the way he’s eating you out like there was no tomorrow.

bixlow loves eating you out. he genuinely believes he was made for this, i mean, why else would he have such a long tongue? and his perfect girlfriend just made it ten times more enjoyable. your juices flowing on his tongue, the way you tasted, the way you writhed under him... fuck, he’s addicted.

“anghh! hah—ahn... bixlow!” you moaned, thighs attempting to close around his head, to push him off from your overstimulated clit, but he just keeps them in place, grinning and lapping his tongue against you.

“yeah, baby? can give me one more, right?” he laughs. laughs. that stupid laugh that felt beyond mocking at this point. you were tugging at his blue locks, grabbing onto anything to anchor yourself, nails digging into his skin to maybe try to make him stop, but he persists, devouring you until you lost all sensation.

“bixlow! hahn! pleasee— it’s so much!”

he was fucking you with his tongue now, groaning when your poor pussy clenching around it, begging for something more.

“hah.. ya like me fucking you with my tongue? with the damn guild mark on it— fuck,”

“anghh! yesyes— oh myy..! can’t take it!”

“c’mon... if ya can’t take this tongue how can ya take this dick?” he pulls off with a pop, spitting on your clit and rubbing it with his fingers. “fuuck— so fuckin’ wet. baby... you’re so hot.” he chuckles, staring at your puffy, wet pussy. so overstimulated and so cute. “you can take it— fuck.” he was sure he can cum at the sight of you like this.

“hahn! ‘m gonna— gonna cum!” you moan, back arching off the mattress.

“yeah baby? c’mon— oh, shit..” you were squirting all over, and he laughs again, finger rubbing faster at your clit, “fucck, squirting for me?”

you were gone, panting, tears at the corner of your eyes from all the hard orgasms you’ve had tonight, way too sensitive to even think of anything else. he always has you fucked out every time he eats your pussy. he gets way too carried away... not like you were complaining though. well... maybe a little.

he looks up at you as he comes up to embrace you with a soft smile on his face. “you good baby?” he coos, kissing at the corner of your eyes.

you nod, accepting his sweet embrace, “yeah... jus sensitive.”

“my poor baby.” he coos again, rubbing your back, but then he watches as you close your eyes. he pokes your cheeks. “baby.” ... “babe. don’t fall asleep!”

“whaa?”

he just grins, squeezing your waist, pressing his hard clothed cock against you,

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