ੈ✩‧₊˚ RICHTIVITIES PT. 2!

even if he won't say it, touya really is a big softie for you.

you know it when you see the look on the league's faces when he lets you get close enough to touch—it's a "what the fuck is wrong with dabi?" look. you can see the confusion and near repulsion amplify tenfold when not only does he allow you to grasp his hand, he holds yours back. everyone in the LOV knows dabi would rather die than have anyone's hands near his scarred skin.

you know it when, on non-busy days, he follows you with a fake reluctance to the so-called "hangout spot" of the league's hideout. at this point, spinner is always asking you to "get dabi" because everyone knows he won't let anyone else drag him out. but when your big eyes plead with him to spend some quality time with the LOV, he just can't say no.

you know it when he hisses a sharp "no, get your own," when a soul dares to ask for a bite of his food (even if he's complaining about it being bad three seconds later), but will hand-feed you a big bite of your own. sometimes, he'll even offer you the rest if you really seem to like it.

you know it when he hides his face in a pillow as you diligently change the staples on his back. he knows he can do it himself—you know he can too, considering he was stapled up years before you met him—but he knows you'll do it better. you make sure his skin is aligned perfectly, each silver sliver placed evenly apart. you make him look like a work of art. it doesn't hurt like it used to, is what he always says, but he's still biting down on that pillow like he'll die otherwise.

you know it when your hand is wrapped around his cock under the covers while you two lie face-to-face. his hands are in your hair or on your waist as he bucks into your fist. white lashes are against cheeks, sheilding those teary turquoise eyes from you. even if the dim light, almost all of his pale flesh is dusted pink. when he's close, he'll pull you flush against him and duck his face into the crook of your neck. he keeps humping your hand, tip now rubbing and spreading a mess of pre against your soft stomach. he's whining, and he's greedy for you, and his whole body feels like it's on fire in a good way for once, and his brain is a mess except for one, consistent thought—you. "thank you," he rushes out of his lips between moans as he spurts cum on your tummy, "'love you."

you know it.

➸ ask: “Hey! How about “one more kiss, please” from the prompt list for Jayce. I just need him desperately yearning for reader” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.3k ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, yearning, mutual pining, gender-neutral reader, no mention of y/n. ➸ notes: tysm for asking! ask came from this prompt!

You couldn’t count on ten fingers how many nights you dreamt of Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress himself. The image of him rattled through your mind at every waking hour, that stupid smile you always wanted to wipe from his lips with your own. 

What you hadn’t known was how he reciprocated the sentiment. Jayce would find you at your workstation, dirt on your face and welding goggles on as you carefully put together pieces that would host the hextech gemstones for further research. You had become a treasure to him, someone he could rely on when his days were busy, which were more often than not.

There were plenty of times you hadn’t been aware of his presence, he would stand in the doorway watching you work. Hearts for eyes and forcing himself to turn away before his heart ached too much, knowing that you weren’t his.

He yearned for you each day, staying up into the late hours, wondering if you felt the same.

How could you? You were too…perfect. 

It was the night of one of Piltover’s illustrious charity events that brought in only the richest of citizens. Any and all who put in their well-earned money for the academy, and you, had been invited by Jayce himself. Viktor had decided against it, not so much inclined to spend his night at another event when he could be spending his evening in the lab with Sky.

So, you took his spot – and you did not belong.

With your hand wrapped around an empty glass which once held a darkened liquor, you stood off to the side in the large area that had been decorated so elegantly. The tunes of the live music and sounds of chatter filled your ears, eyes looking amongst the swarm of rich Piltovians sharing conversation about gods knows what.

Jayce had been everywhere and nowhere, the Golden Boy was easily the most important icon of the evening. Everyone wanted to talk with him, ask about his research and his plans for improvement of the city. 

It was irritating to be stuck alone, but at least the invitation filled your stomach with top-shelf food and liquor you wouldn’t be able to afford yourself.

There Jayce stood amongst a group of rich folk, eating him up, just like you knew they would. He was surrounded, a big smile on his lips as he moved his way through each conversation with his natural knack of charisma. You wondered what he was talking about, watching his lips move as he spoke so goddamn passionately, hands flying with each word. 

His eyes connected with yours at one point, lingering on you for a quick moment with that stupid smile, before his attention was enraptured by another generous donor.

After a few more minutes of watching, you gave up. There was nothing else for you here.

Footsteps clicked along the surface of the tiled floors, the empty halls more inviting than the gala ever was. Your fingers dragged along the surface of the brick walls, the liquor having left you in just the perfect amount of bliss as you made your way home, knowing you could sleep the next day away.

“Hey!” A voice called from behind you, startling you with a soft gasp.

You snapped your head around, eyes widening when they settled on Jayce hurrying down the hall behind you. He wore a smile, wearing too fancy of clothing to be chasing you down.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked once he reached a few steps away of you, breathing a bit heavy, “Sorry… out of breath,” he chuckled through deep inhales, “I didn’t think I’d catch up to you.”

The thumping of your heart against your rib cage didn’t go unnoticed, stilled in silence over the fact that he chased after you. A tiny smile spread across your lips.

“It’s not really my style,” you finally replied, hands landing on your hips, “why do you care if I leave?”

“Why do I care?” Jayce’s eyebrows furrowed together, “because I invited you here. I… I want you here.”

You hated how sweet he was.

“You’re a busy man, Jayce,” you smiled, offering a slight shake of your head as you stepped toward him, better seeing him under the dim lighting of the empty hallways, “I’m not too fond of just standing around watching you get swarmed by every wealthy person from Piltover. As inviting as that sounds.”

He snorted out a laugh, eyes watching you closely as you stepped directly below one of the overhanging lights. It illuminated your features perfectly, made you appear like a glowing angel.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here by myself?” He asked, those big eyes of his making you want to melt right into the floor beneath you.

You laughed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, “you’re not alone.”

“But I want you here,” he was adamant, eyebrows furrowing again, “come on. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re annoying,” you groaned, trying to act like this was worse than it was. You had a flair for the dramatics when you needed to pull something out from your sleeve, “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, it’s fine,” you brushed him off with a wave of your hand, “plus, you’re going to be busy all night, so if I stay, I’ll end up getting drunk by myself and that’s never turned out well for me.”

Jayce’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression carefully. Neither of you had realized how close you had gotten, close enough that he could tuck back some of your hair behind your ear. The movement of his hand made you both tense up, a fleeting touch that he hadn’t realized he’d done. Fingers brushed against the shell of your ear as he pulled his hand away, redness tinting his cheeks.

“Oh, uh–” he forced out an awkward laugh, eyes now looking anywhere other than your face, “you had some hair… in your face.”

Lips parted, but you couldn’t speak. His touched left you stunned in place, eyes big as you watched him. You watched as his eyes focused somewhere along the walls, hands balling into tense fists and teeth biting at his lower lip.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the late hour of the night, but you hadn’t the slightest care in the world anymore. All you wanted was Jayce, and it was his fault that he made you feel this way, so you were going to pull him into the mess that was you.

Even if it ruined the friendship you worked so hard to maintain, all these years.

His amber eyes landed back on you when he felt your hands reaching to his cheeks, cupping his face oh-so delicately. They widened as he watched you lean closer, noticing the way your gaze flickered down to his lips he’d been habitually chewing on all evening.

Jayce’s heart fluttered, and he acted on what felt right. Meeting you halfway and sighing when your lips touched after years of imagining what this would feel like. 

Both hands reached out for you, resting on your waist as he pressed forward. The kiss developed slowly, lips moving together a bit clumsily as your patience wore thin. Hands explored each other, touching hips and shoulders, and your tongue slipped from between your lips, and that’s when you froze.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you pulled back, taking a slight step away, “sorry–”

“No, don’t,” he whispered, closing the distance with a forward step until your chests were pressed together. He stared deep into your eyes, his own full of love as his gaze continued to flicker down to your lips that he needed to taste again, “one more kiss… please.”

You smiled like an idiot.

“Just one more,” you murmured, rolling your eyes affectionately, before he pulled you back into another kiss that took the breath from your lungs.

Jayce would be the death of you.

Hi!! I saw your posts that you're busy writing reqs, so sorry if this ask is too much now!! Could you write a pt 2 for the tinder match with ushijima? :3 I liked your writing sm and I need more fics with him 😭

❥ tulips and roses | wakatoshi ushijima

part two of this drabble

warnings: timeskip! usjijima, fem! reader, experienced! reader, ushi isnt a virgin and he KNOWS how to fuck now, fingering, cunnilingus, making out, kitche counter sex, protected sex, ushi is so serious i adore him, lewd language, size kink but only if u squint

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.2k

a/n: hopefully i did this big guy justice. i wrote this when i literally just woke up lol

got a request? my asks are open!

“Fuck!” echoed through your apartment, your hands bunching up Ushijima’’s chartreuse hair in little clumps as he lifted you onto your kitchen counter with no struggle at all, his large and calloused hands squeezing the fat of your hips. You giggled as his meadow eyes stared at you with such a longing desire, a desire for more of your guidance. “You really missed me, huh?”

“You have absolutely no idea,” he groaned, melding his lips with yours in a frenzied kiss. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer to yourself. His teeth bit down onto the pout of your bottom lip, rolling it between the pearly whites. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you since that night,” he broke the kiss, aiming to pepper your neck with delicate nibbles instead. “About what you did to me.”

“You mean how I took your virginity?” you giggled, tilting your head to the side so he could suckle on your delicate skin. “I gotta admit, it was one of my better hookups.”

Ushijima chuckled into your neck, his hand wandering upwards to grope your breasts through the thinness of your white tank top. “I’m glad I could make you feel that way. You were…” he pulled his lips away from your neck, staring longingly into your eyes. “Spectacular.”

“I’m flattered,” you purred, trailing your hands across his shoulder, your fingertips dancing along the toned muscles. “So, what did you have in mind today? Since you’ve been craving me so much, ‘Toshi.”

He groaned as his given name fell from your lips, his thumb pulling down your soaked panties with ease. If he knew you had only slept in a tank top and panties, he would have offered for you to spend several nights in his penthouse. “You’re dripping for me,” he sighed at the sight, sliding the rough pads of his fingers up and down your glistening heat. 

“When did you learn to talk so dirty? Had any other encounters since last week?” you moaned softly, your face contorting in pleasure as he carefully inserted his index and middle finger inside of your cunt.

“No, it’s just been you,” his nose brushed against your clit, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. “But I’ve seen videos. I’ve done research.” he curled his fingers inside of you, your hands clenching onto the granite countertops. 

“Shit,” you whimpered, spreading your legs further apart for him, your glistening heat fully on display. “I-it’s paying off, your fingers are amazing, ‘Toshi.”

“I wonder if my tongue will be amazing as well?” he offered you the ghost of a smirk, gently kissing your soaked folds while his fingers continued their ministrations inside your core. He flattened his tongue, sliding the muscle up and down until he had a taste of your slick. You squirmed above him, the slow and sensual pace driving you mad. 

Ushijima practically made out with your pussy, his tongue swirling around your throbbing clit as he felt your gummy walls contract around his fingers. This meant you were close. He was sure of it. He pulled his fingers away, his mouth leaving your clit.

“Why’d you stop? I was so close!” you whined, blowing your hair out of your face. Ushijima didn’t respond, only taking off his pants and boxers. A condom rested between his soaked fingers, the metallic packaging shining in the moonlight of your kitchen. 

“Because I want you to cum on my cock,” he plainly stated, kissing you briefly. He easily ripped the foil with his teeth, sliding on the latex. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel the night you took my virginity.” his hands pried your legs apart even further, the tip of his cock teasing your soaked entrance.

“Don’t be a fucking tease, ‘Toshi,” you muttered, arching your back forward. “Fuck me already, please.”

“So demanding,” he whispered against your ear, snapping his hips against yours. His massive cock filled you up instantly, the sensation still being incredibly foreign to you. You choked out a sob, your hands choosing to find purchase on his sturdy shoulder blades instead of the kitchen counter. “That’s what I like about you, darling,” he thrust into you again, this time a bit sharper. “You take what you want,” another thrust. “When you want it,”

“Fuck, ‘Toshi! T-too big!” you cried, your legs wrapped around his waist once more for support as he pounded into you, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass filling the room. Every thrust was calculated. He knew exactly how to make you scream his name. He was a prodigy at everything he did, after all. 

“You can take it. I know you can,” he kissed your neck, grasping onto your hips as he fucked into you, adoring the sensation of your gummy walls squeezing around him. “So fucking tight for me, hm? Tell me, darling,” he bit down harshly on your neck for a moment, sucking on the skin. “Did you touch yourself to the thought of me?”

You nodded in agreement, letting out a cry of both pain and pleasure as the head of his massive cock finally hit your G-spot. “Y-yes, ‘Toshi! Missed your touch, fuck!”

“I missed you as well. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you wanted me,” he apologized, gently kissing the blooming bruise on your jugular. “You’re fucking squeezing me. Are you close? Use your words, darling.”

“Mhm!” was all you could choke out, pleasure causing your brain to grow fuzzy. He fucked you like a man gone wild, but yet he was simultaneously so calculated with his movements. “M’gonna cum!”

“Then cum, darling. Don’t hold back now,” he ordered, his cock twitching inside of you.

Your world disintegrated around you as your orgasm finally came, your slick coating the latex that encased his cock. “‘Toshi!” you cried, clawing desperately at his shoulders as he fucked you through your high. He did not relent after your orgasm stopped, instead choosing to chase his own nirvana. His thrusts became sloppy and uncoordinated, the thought of his release consuming his mind.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” his deep voice rumbled, his lips finding themselves on yours once more. His tongue pried your mouth open, exploring it once more as his seed filled the condom. His thrusts slowed down until they came to a halt, his cock resting snugly inside of your heat. 

“Was that good enough for you?” he asked, pulling away from the kiss. He pecked your forehead, sliding the condom off of his length and disposing of it in the kitchen trash. 

You nodded, giggling slightly. “Yeah, it was. You’ve really improved since we first met.”

“I aim to improve all aspects of my life, including how to fuck,” Ushijima offered you a small smile, a rare sight indeed. “I don’t think I’ll need any other women, though,” he placed a hand on your shoulder. “I have only eyes for you.”

He took a deep breath and pecked your cheek again, the faintest shade of pink ghosting his cheeks. “Would you like to come to one of my games sometime? I can assure you that we will win.”

You chuckled and cupped his cheek. “I’d very much like that.”

𝗡𝗢 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗗 *+:｡.｡

summary. “I’ve known Geto since we were kids, and trust me when I say that he’ll fuck you and forget about it.” | wc. 3.5k+

cw/ tw. fem!reader, college au, fratboy!geto, slightly dark content, obsessive behavior, smoking (not by the reader), frat parties, dubcon, cherrypicking, degradation, jealousy, slightly yandere, deception, pet names (ex. pretty girl, baby), intended for 18+ readers

an. I haven't posted in what? two weeks?? maybe three? and I'm surprised people are still following me after how dry it's been on here...heh (thank you if you stuck around while I was away). enjoy a repost, comments and reblogs are appreciated ༉‧₊˚.

You met Geto at a frat party Shoko dragged you to after listening to you complain (for the third time that week) about classes and a paper due next month—and you couldn’t say that you were too upset about it now that you were standing beside him. 

He was twice your size. Easily a head taller than you, which had your stomach twisting into neat little knots.

Geto was the type you’d usually avoid and admire from afar. Because rich, popular guys like him didn’t have time for unspecial girls like you. But he too easily derailed that thought without doing more than flashing you a smile.

It should be disconcerting how openly you were staring, not even trying to hide how your eyes traveled from the perfect bun atop his head to his broad, slightly tanned chest. His open, silky, short-sleeve button-up revealed a necklace dangling low around his neck and a glimpse of a tattoo that started at his ribs and trailed down beyond his shirt.

You almost felt a little underdressed, standing beside him in just a cropped sweater and tennis skirt.

“Hey, I’m Geto,” he said. 

His voice was nice. Low and sweet. Sly, in that way most guys like him tend to embrace after years of getting what they want.

Then you realized he had been talking to you, the corners of his mouth curling as he stared at you expectantly.

Embarrassment swam through your veins as you shyly gave him your name before shifting behind Shoko until the heat in your face melted away. Geto's lips twitched, bringing his cup to his mouth with a hand covered in rings—you wanted to disappear into the floor.

It wasn’t until after he plied you with a few fruity drinks, your head a little fuzzy and less anxious, that you relaxed around him, swaying on your feet towards him instead of away. The slight buzz had words easily falling off your tongue, and you were surprised to find that he listened instead of going glassy-eyed the longer you went on about classes and your work study.

Your fourth cup in, you followed him into the corner of the living room on a lumpy old couch where Geto sat with you in his lap—you weren’t even sure what you were talking about anymore—while he took long drags from a blunt you let him roll up on your thigh.

He offered you a hit, which you politely declined, and he pulled you along with him when he leaned back further into the couch, his voice close humming along your eardrums and his lips softly brushing against your ear.

Geto turned his head to blow out another hazy cloud of smoke before leaning in to ask if he could taste your drink.

“S-sure,” you breathed shakily, about to give him your cup, only to freeze when he kissed you instead.

He chuckled when you released a startled squeak against his mouth—the faint smell of weed on his breath fanning across your face and making you slightly light-headed. Then his tongue sought out yours, and the taste of mint and cheap vodka graced your tastebuds. 

You sighed, subtly rubbing your thighs together, and before you could even return the kiss, he’d pulled away with a wry smile.

“Tastes good,” he hummed, a warm hand gently running along your thigh. Your tongue ran over your bottom lip, and you watched his gaze track the movement. “Can I have another?” 

You were already leaning in before he could finish asking.

He texted you while you were hunched over a petri dish in the lab on Tuesday. 

Then, while you were studying in the library a week later—another victim to you venting about your paper, though it felt like he made an effort to understand—after a long shift and bus ride home, followed by a steady succession of texts for several days straight. 

You thought he was sweet, in his own way—little things that made your heart flutter like butterfly wings and stomach bubble with anxiety because this was bound to crash and burn. But one crooked smile, and you suddenly forgot why guys like him were off-limits.

Sometimes, he’d bring you coffee after long nights of studying, and it made you sway on your feet whenever he’d tuck hair behind your ear after it fell out of place.

You’d find yourself pressed against your soft bed whenever Shoko wasn't around while Geto licked away the little whimpers dripping from your lips. Some days it went further than that, where the messy grinding and needy kisses weren’t enough, and his hand would tease up your skirt to smooth over your drippy-wet cunt through damp underwear. 

However, it didn’t go beyond dry-humping and heavy petting because—

“I’ve never done this before,” you admitted softly, staring up at your speckled ceiling. Too afraid to see the look on his face until the hand still delicately wrapped around your throat suddenly forced your gaze back on him.

It was as if something about him almost shifted, dangerous, eyes as dark as pitch in the soft light of your bedroom lamp. But it dissolved with a syrupy smile as he squeezed your hips. “We’ll take it slow, okay?”

The amount of trust you had for him after only a couple of weeks should be alarming—

You grin at him instead of thinking about it too much. A dumb and foolish part of you held onto the fact that he promised.

And you believed him.

Or wanted to. 

“Slow,” you agreed, kissing the edge of his mouth.

A month goes by, and you could only keep the secret from Shoko for so long before she finally caught you smiling like a love-sick idiot over a text Geto sent one day. She wasn’t as upset as you’d expected; she almost seemed disappointed.

And that was somehow worse.

She warned you not to take anything seriously that came out of Geto’s mouth because he had a habit of running the same script on every girl he met.

“I’ve known him since we were kids, and trust me when I say that he’ll fuck you and forget about it,” she told you, pointing her coffee spoon in your direction.

“Oh.”

Shoko reached over and patted your shoulder at the look of dejection on your face. "I just don’t want to see you get hurt, alright?”

You turned over Shoko’s words in your head because you knew this.

Part of you knew all of this. And yet…

And yet, Geto made it easy to forget.

He texted you that night, inviting you to a party his frat house was throwing.

Are you coming? 

You told him you needed to study for a test coming up. Shoko insisted you go to it anyway.

At the party, you scanned the crowd for a familiar head of dark hair until you got dizzy from turning your head so much. And just when you were about to give up and leave instead, you spotted him from where you stood in the archway to the kitchen, and what you saw had your heart sinking bitterly into your stomach.

It shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise after what Shoko warned you of—how you already knew that he had an assortment of red flags dangling around his head like thick drapes since the moment you met him.

But you hoped that maybe…well.

You watched Geto share a blunt with the girl in his lap, that familiar crooked smile curling his mouth as cherry-red lips wrapped around the end.

Some of you wondered if someone else had looked at you with the same amount of pity when they witnessed you falling so easily for Geto’s soft-spoken words and recycled pick-up lines—the sweet, shy girl who didn’t know any better ensnared in a neatly woven trap.

He caught your wide-eyed gaze from across the crowd with his bloodshot one, though you didn’t stick around long enough to see what he did after that because you were already walking back home.

You were a bit heartbroken, or that was what you called it, for the first few days—ignoring the texts he’d send late at night and leaving for class earlier than usual to avoid bumping into him.

Avoiding him was more difficult than you thought since his friends ran in the same circles as your roommate. And lately, he seemed more interested in movie nights, or somehow, he always needed to borrow notes from Shoko for a class.

Those days, you sat next to Gojo when there was nowhere else to sit in your cramped living room—none the wiser about the fact that Geto had a strained relationship with your new couch mate.

At parties, you no longer paid attention to where he was in the room, choosing to hover by Shoko and her girlfriend the entire time. It was only during a moment of misplaced curiosity that you finally looked over, already finding Geto’s darkened gaze on you, sneering as you talked and laughed with other guys.

Decent guys.

This game of cat and mouse went on for two more months: Geto trying to get you to notice him, and you acting utterly oblivious.

Because it was easier this way, and eventually, this will all get brushed over and become nothing more than a minor slip in your decision-making.

It bothered him for reasons he couldn’t put into words. He could have a different girl warming his bed almost every weekend, and before he met you, he never batted an eye when they stopped talking to him once they found out that he wasn’t interested in anything other than sex.

Yet, here you were, taking over his every thought like a fucking disease.

He saw you walking around campus with guys that were nothing like him—guys that probably didn’t get high five days out of the week, that willingly took you out on proper dates, that bought you flowers and walked you to your door—then he’d creep onto your Instagram and get annoyed by the new number of male friends liking and commenting on how pretty you were.

He shouldn’t care. He didn’t. Really.

But he did.

Geto wondered if you held out for them as you were so hellbent on doing with him or if one of them managed to taint the innocence you wrapped yourself with before he could.

That put a sour taste in his mouth, one he couldn’t wash away with shots of cheap vodka. And after he watched you leave the party with a guy who looked like he didn’t know what to do after getting your underwear around your ankles, Geto decided he needed to find out.

That was one of the worst dates of your life, by far, since the guy didn't even show up. All night, you earned pathetic looks from the restaurant staff while you sat at your table set for two.

What an asshole.

He would get an earful whenever you saw him in your Psych class on Monday. You’d make sure of it.

You washed off your makeup and sticky hairspray, hoping a warm shower would help brighten your sulky mood.

Your soft, fluffy towel was at least a small comfort as you stepped out of your steamy bathroom to get a change of clothes. Only, you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of Geto lounging on your bed in a black hoodie and grey sweats—his long legs hanging off the edge so he could spread his knees, accentuating the very obvious bulge between his thighs.

He gave you a wry smirk when he caught you staring. 

"Should learn to lock your doors, sweetheart. Never know what kind of creep might sneak in."

Finding him sitting on your bed, uninvited, should terrify you more than it did, and all the alarm bells going off in your head clearly indicate that you should tell him to leave instead of standing there clutching your towel to your chest.

"What are you doing here, Geto?" you asked quietly.

He blatantly ignored your roused suspicion, unable to stop himself from thinking about how cute you looked, skin soft and dewy from the shower you just took, a scowl painted on your features. 

Fuck. He wanted to ruin you, to see how flustered you could get, no matter how many cheap praises he whispered into your ear.

Although tonight, he was set on seeing what you hid behind a thin layer of fabric, finally having what he’d been craving for months. You just needed a little encouragement, that’s all.

Because he was tired of waiting.

Geto sat up, then, now so close that he could reach his hand out and grab your towel. And he did, tugging you closer and watching in amusement as you stumbled between his spread knees on coltish legs.

Finally, he met your gaze: "Isn't it obvious why I’m here?"

You swallowed. "Geto, I—"

He watched your confidence crumble a little when his hands snaked up your thighs under your towel, up, up, up until you were shivering underneath his fingers. 

"I-I made it clear that I didn't want to talk to you anymore."

His brow arched. "Yeah? You don't want to talk to me?” He swiped a thumb through your folds, and you gasped in shock, trembling. “Then why are you so wet?”

Geto could tell that you wanted to deny it, even as he pulled his hand out from under your towel to show off your shiny arousal clinging to his thumb, the pink string lights hanging around your room making it more glaringly obvious.

“I-I’m not—”

“I-I’m not,” he mocked meanly. 

His eyes swam with the same flicker of intensity he showed you that day you told him you were a virgin. Although this time, it swallowed his gaze entirely—the soft brown of his irises washed away by something that had your body betraying you with another rush of slickness between your thighs.

“Get on the bed, pretty girl. Leave the towel on the floor,” he said under his breath, patronizing. “And don’t make me say it again.”

Your back was in an uncomfortable arch as Geto curled over you from behind, large hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

“What do they have that I don’t, hm?” 

You ignored how your stomach plunged at the mere fact that he might’ve been jealous, that perhaps he cared just a little.

“Bet you were whoring yourself out for them, huh?” He sneered, grasping your hair and tugging so you were looking up at him upside down. The odd angle had you wincing in discomfort, and he laughed humorlessly. “You know what I think? I think that you’re secretly a little slut.”

“N-not a, ah, not a slut.”

He slapped a hand down against your ass just to hear the sharp cry he knew you couldn’t hold in, enjoying the pretty picture of tears prickling the corners of your eyes. “Liar.”

“M’ not,” you pleaded as the impact of the next blow against your tender flesh had you gasping for air, your empty cunt clenching almost painfully.

Geto smoothed his hand over the curve of your ass, smiling when you flinched. You looked so fucking wrecked, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. “Prove it then,” he said. “Prove that you’re only a fucktoy for my cock.”

You wracked your brain, head too dizzy with how fast this was happening to think properly—

“K-kiss me first,” you babbled.

"How about you beg me first," he threw the word back in your face. 

You didn't answer—everything you wanted to say was choking up in your chest. The smile Geto gave you was uncharacteristically sweet, yet it didn't meet his eyes, and he laughed. “Or are you too dumb to think already?”

“Please, kiss me,” you sniffled, lips wobbling. The sight made Geto’s cock twitch.

So fucking pretty, he thought.

You knew he would at least give you this when his eyes slightly softened.

Then his mouth was on yours. Heavy and unforgiving, teeth clacking and nipping at your lips. The familiarity of his lips soothed the overwhelming feeling in your chest and made you feel like you were touching the ground again. 

He always made your brain scramble whenever he kissed you, turning thoughts into air. And you didn’t even realize that he was lining himself up with your entrance. 

His cock heavily slid against your slit once, twice. Up and down, and back up again. You whimpered when he nudged your clit, parting you open slowly. It nearly gave you whiplash with how gentle he was being compared to how he treated you moments before.

"Open up for me, baby."

It was embarrassing when you parted your knees, showing him a part of your body that nobody else had seen before—

"Ah!" you squealed when he unexpectedly pushed in to the hilt, your walls straining to accommodate the new feeling of fullness and trying to push him out. You cried and squirmed in his hold—the stretch too much as you took big gulps of air to make room where there wasn't.

"Huh, looks like you still had a cute little virgin cunt after all," he grunted, jerking deeper inside.

Geto didn't even give you a moment to adjust to his length before he was roughly pounding into you, his balls slapping against the sore flesh of your ass. And all you could do was lay there and take it.

He loved this part, feeling a virgin pussy stretch around him for the first time. It made his stomach twist and his head fuzzy—he swore it was better than getting high.

Suddenly, he shoved you into the mattress, his hands pressing against your shoulder blades to prevent you from moving. The new angle had his cock going deeper, pushing against a soft spot deep inside you that felt nearly devastating when his tip hit it again and again.

Your thighs were shaking, no longer able to control the lewd noises leaking from your lips. The tight coil in your abdomen had you twitching, only coiling tighter as Geto continuously abused that sensitive spot in your cunt. It was so overwhelming and intense that you nearly burst when Geto reached between your legs to play with your sticky-hot clit.

It twitched violently against the rough pads of his fingers. "'m gonna—"

"Shut up," he sneered, his voice dangerously low before shoving your face further into the mattress with a hand at the back of your neck. "Shut up and cum."

No sounds left your mouth, your body seemingly obeying his command. Your thighs clenched, trying to close, but his broad body prevented you from pushing him away. And then—

“Fuck —look at that,” he groaned as you felt a gush of liquid spray between your legs, splashing his thighs and getting the blankets under you sopping wet. All you could do was sob, overwhelmed by how fast he made you cum.

He gave you a rough thrust, a long whine slipping out of your throat. “Gonna fill this pussy nice and full. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

With your face pressed into your comforter, it prevented you from shaking your head no; the only sound coming out through the mouthful of cotton is an mmph, nearly choking on your own drool.

“I’m ‘gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine—shit, keep squeezing me.” He released a feral moan. "Just like that! Good girl."

Geto held you still, his mouth attaching to your shoulder to muffle the loud groan rumbling in his chest as his balls twitched and drew up almost painfully. His hips pressed flush against yours to cum as deep as your cunt would allow, trying to make it stick.

"Fuck," he panted.

Afterward, he tangled you up in his arms, his soft cock still nestled in your snug, tacky-wet walls. Cuddling was the last thing you expected, but you decided not to bring it up lest he got upset.

Nor did you say anything when you noticed the small bloodstain on his grey sweats after getting dressed and his slightly bruised knuckles pulling the cotton up over his hips. You never brought it up, not even as your date from Saturday showed up to class with a suspicious swollen lip and a black eye.

And you didn't ask if Geto wanted to hang out after class. It had just been sex—a one-time thing.

He'd already gotten what he wanted and left. That was always how this would play out: no extra dates or late-night texts. Guys like Geto didn’t do str—et cetera.

You knew this. 

You knew.

However, the dark look he shot Gojo when he pulled you into his lap for movie night could make you believe otherwise, that maybe it was more than sex—

—it was probably best just to keep your mouth shut.

A few weeks later, Geto muffled low groans into his shirt caught between his teeth as he fisted his cock to a picture of you—because you were avoiding him again. 

But that was okay, silly, that you ever thought you could. He already had it planned out how he’d have you again, and just the thought of feeling your tight cunt wrapped around him had Geto painting his stomach white.

DABI AS A BOYFRIEND ✫

✫ incurably watches you sleep. you get used to waking up to it eventually. maybe.

✫ neck kisses all the time

✫ his communication skills are shit. you feel like a kindergarten teacher explaining to his expressionless face how to talk about our feelings

✫ he keeps a hand on your back or your shoulder or in your hair when you’re together, absently keeping track of you

✫ “you’re cute when you’re scared.”

✫ warm ass hands

✫ he definitely has a weird and scary thing for pain. “you want to touch the staples? yeah, you can touch them. you can rip them out of my face with your teeth if you like.”

✫ dabi doesn’t do nicknames. pet names are once in a blue moon.

✫ driest texter to walk the earth

✫ the self deprecating jokes are actually mad funny. sir please stop calling yourself crispy

✫ gets very um. creative about degradation.

✫ it’s all “come get in the shower with me” and then you stick a toe in and the water is two degrees away from freezing to ice. sorry not all of us have fire inside okay

✫ he doesn’t like you cautious around his injuries, even treating/tending them: “stop being fucking gentle with me.”

❥ timeskip! haikyuu captains matching with you on tinder | daichi sawamura and toru oikawa

warnings: timeskip! daichi and oikawa, fem! reader, tinder, unprotected sex, protected sex, bondage/handcuffs, multiple orgasms, biting/hickeys, fangirl fucking, dirty talk, spanking, hair pulling, missionary and doggy style, fluff at the end, pwp, this made my editor loose their mind (ily opal mwah)

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 1.5k

Daichi Sawamura | Stress relief

Being a cop was a good job. Steady income, health benefits, all that jazz. And there really wasn’t a lot of crime in Miyagi, so there was little to no stress. Perfect for a guy who spent his high school years screaming at underclassmen to behave, right? Wrong. Paperwork was a pain in the ass, and his only relief was going home to an empty apartment, along with the occasional visit from his younger siblings or old teammates. Overall, Daichi was stressed as hell. Did he have an early grey?

Anonymous sex was his only relief. Yeah, it was unlike Daichi to not know the girl before making her see stars repeatedly, but he just didn’t have the time. Balancing being a police officer with his sex life was hard work, and emotions just complicated things. He didn’t see women as objects, absolutely not. Daichi was a gentleman (at least in the streets.) He just sees the sex as a good way to let himself go, to pound his frustration out into a gorgeous angel beneath him, her moans and cries of euphoria filling his apartment. 

So when he saw your pretty face appear on his Tinder feed, how could he say no? Swiped right immediately, and the two of you were a match. 

“F-fuck, Daichi!” you mewled into his neck, attempting to hide your flushed face in his tan skin. Your hands were cuffed together in front of you, wrapped around his broad and gorgeous shoulders. “M’gonna cum again, shit!” your wanton sobs were like music to his ears, although they were slightly muffled by your hiding.

“Hey, I told you I don’t like it when pretty girls hide from me,” Daichi purred, stopping his thrusts inside your sobbing core to adjust your body. He pulled your face away from hiding by gripping your messy and tangled hair; a dark desire pooled in his chestnut eyes. “I wanna see that face of yours make cute little expressions as I fuck you, baby.” Fuck, his voice was so fucking filthy, and it made your legs quiver beneath him. 

You pathetically nodded as Daichi pushed your legs further up into your chest, placing your arms around his neck. The cold metal from the handcuffs tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, the steel sensation only further adding to the pleasure of your warm pussy squeezing onto his pulsating cock. “God, you feel so fucking good.” he punctuated his sentence with a harsh thrust, feeling his orgasm approach. He usually lasted much longer than this, but the sensation of your gummy walls pulling him impossibly deep was driving him insane. Fuck, were you trying to kill him?

“Fuck!” he growled into your ear, biting down on the cartilage of the shell. “You’re gonna cum with me, yeah? I know you’re fucking close, baby girl. I can feel you squeezing around me like a slut. You’re gonna milk me for all I’m worth, huh?” 

“Yes, fuck!” his words sent you over the edge, his rough and powerful thrusts only making your release even sweeter. You made a mess all over his cock, sweet moans escaping your puffy and bruised lips. An animalistic, almost feral grunt emerged from Daichi’s throat as he slammed his mouth against yours, drowning out his moans as he came inside, hot ropes of cum filling you up so nicely. 

“Good fucking girl,” he pulled himself out of you, wiping the sweat from his forehead. The bed felt lighter as he got up to put on the rest of his casual clothes, his jeans pooling at his ankles. He didn’t say anything, causing you to raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

“What, no aftercare?”

Daichi turned to look at you, equally confused. “I thought girls who wanted to hook up got grossed out if a guy stays too long.”

You shook your head and gestured to the handcuffs on your wrist, a displeased expression on your flushed face. “First of all, you’re sleeping with idiots. Second of all, please uncuff me.”

Daichi let out a nervous chuckle, unlocking the handcuffs. He noticed a faint purple bruising on your wrists, which rubbed him incorrectly. “Do…do you want me to stay a little while?” He just wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all. He wasn’t catching feelings for a girl he wanted to hook up with, right?

“You’re more than happy to stay if that’s what you want.” your smile is so sweet and sincere. How could he refuse some after-sex cuddles? Especially with you.

“I’d very much like that.”

Toru Oikawa | Fangirl fucker

It was no secret that Oikawa had plenty of fan girls. No matter which team he played for, there were always several hundred pretty faces in the crowd ready to cheer his name. It fueled his already massive ego, that was for sure.

Being a professional athlete came with rules, of course. Sure, he was allowed to have sex. It was against the law to prevent sex between two consenting adults, no matter what league or team he played for. However, one of the unspoken rules of being a professional athlete was not to sleep with your fans by any means necessary. It would ruin your career and tarnish the reputation of the team. But Oikawa didn’t care. It didn’t stop him from setting up a Tinder profile that very clearly showed off his athletic ability, getting so many matches a day. Fucking fangirl after fangirl was the best, and you weren’t any different. You were still a fan even though you only had an “I <3 Toru Oikawa” button on your lanyard displayed on your profile. His fan.

“Say my name again, princess,” Oikawa huffed from behind, his soft yet calloused hands tightly gripping your hips. His fingers squished the flesh between them, rolling it sensually. You looked so pretty like this; face down, ass up, mascara running down your face, and his handprints beautifully decorating your round ass. Fuck, you looked so perfect for him. “Say my fucking name.”

“Oikawa!” you mewled, your walls fluttering around his pulsating cock. You knew he was strong from the various shirtless photos of himself floating around, but he was showing you no mercy as his member pounded in and out of you, the lewd sound of his balls slapping against your sweaty form filling the expensive hotel room. 

His hand cracked down onto your ass in disapproval, his bottom lip pouting in mockey. “Nuh-uh, pretty girll. That’s not my name. You wanna try again?” he purred, slapping you ass a second time, not as harsh as the first. “C’mon now, don’t tell me I’ve already fucked you stupid?” Oikawa loved teasing you, your cunt became tigher with each word that fell from his lips.

“T-Toru! Fuck!” you sobbed in both pain and pleasure, your knuckles turning white from gripping onto the silky sheets that were drenched in your sweat. “Harder, fuck me harder! W-Wanna cum all over you!” Your desperate little begs and pleads were music to his ear, filling his head with dark and twisted thoughts. Fucking his fan girls was a high in of itself, but you were a special kind of breed. You made him want more, more than just a random fuck on a Saturday night. No, Oikawa could definitely get used to this. 

“Cutie,” he decided to indulge you, grabbing onto your messy ponytail so your back could arch in an even more beautiful way. Oikawa’s other hand left your hip and chose to massage your throbbing clit, rubbing and pinching the sensitive bud. “Cum on my cock be a good fucking girl and cum on my cock for me.”

You let out a wanton shriek as your orgasm hit you like a runaway freight train, making a mess all over Oikawa’s cock and hand. Fuck, no one has ever made you cum that hard before. “T-Toru! Fuck…”

His thrusts were becoming disorganized and sloppy as Oikawa’s orgasm washed over him as well, his cum filling up the condom. “Mm, fuck,” he sighed, pulling himself out of you with a small squelching sound. Oikawa tied the condom off and tossed it into the nearby waste basket, landing it perfectly. He pulled you into his arms, cuddling his face into your bruised neck from an earlier hickey assault. “You feel good, cutie? It’s my job to make sure my pretty fans feel good.”

You slowly nodded, giggling slightly as his taped fingers massaged your pert nipple. “Mhm, I feel fucking amazing. I never thought I would ever live out my fantasy of having sex with you, this feels like a dream.”

“Fantasy, hm?” he playfully purred, licking your collarbone with a glint of mischief in his milky brown eyes. “Do you…have any other fantasies about me? I’d be more than happy to help you make them come to life.”

You blushed and covered your face with your hands, earning a dissapoving look from Oikawa. “Y-yeah, I got a lot of other fantasies about you…but don’t you have other fangirls you need to, uh, attend to?”

Oikawa shrugged and pulled you closer to his chest, your cheek landing on his right pectoral. You could feel his heartbeat, calm and steady. It was relaxing, welcoming, and warm. “Eh, they can wait a little longer. I’d much rather keep cuddling you than drive to another hotel.”

“You’re a sweetheart.” you smiled at him, feeling comfortable enough to give him a peck on the cheek.”

“I know, cutie. I know.”

kuroo, bokuto, and ushijima are next! should i do other guys as well? what positons?

𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 + 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅𝐅

BNHA VERSION HERE

includes: hanma shuji, ryuguji ken, haitani ran, hanemiya kazutora, sano shinichiro

tags: nsfw 18+, minors don’t interact, male masturbation, brief mention of blood (ran after a fight)

notes: i added tora just for kc so you better see this kc >:(

✰ 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐌𝐀 hates that he can’t come home to you right now, hates that his meeting in fifteen is going to last long into the night, hates that he has to wait—because he needs you now. his buttons fly open and his zipper is pulled down as he frees his cock, standing tall and dribbling with pre cum at the tip while he hisses from the cool air. he hears the sound of your voicemail greet him, and a vein all but pops at how everything seems to be going the opposite of how he needs it. “baby, you should’ve picked up,” he groans, stroking his cock fast, tight, desperate. “can’t stop thinking about you, or the way your pussy feels,” he rasps, and he tries to copy the way you always touch him, tries to mimic the way your thumb slides through his slit, the way your free hand massages his balls, the way you squeeze at the tip a little tighter at each upstroke. his breath is ragged, panting harshly into the phone as he lets out a sweet whimper—and any other day, he’d be mad you have evidence of such a sound falling from his lips, but today, he simply doesn’t care. “shit, gonna cum, wish i could’ve filled you up,” he chokes, and then his head falls back against his chair and his curls fall loosely onto his forehead as he cums in thick spurts, moaning into the speaker as his cock twitches with each rope that shoots past his sensitive tip. “not the same without you,” he grumbles as he catches his breath, “gonna cut the meeting short today.”

Keep reading

Bad Medicine

Ran Haitani x f reader

Reader is a veterinary surgeon. You specialize in treating animals. You never expected your shift to end like this- a loaded gun pointed at your head, performing an emergency operation on one of the most dangerous criminal members of Bonten.

CW: fem reader, gun threats, blood mention, blackmail(?)

There's a pattern used in the underworld by criminals when they get injured badly enough to have to seek professional medical help.

Injuries that go beyond the limits of pouring vodka on a stab wound, and getting your boys to patch it up in the morning.

When these things happen, criminals prefer to avoid actual hospitals. They don't need the police sticking their noses into their affairs anymore than usual.

So the common alternative among gangs, thieves, and ex-convicts on the run, is to seek out a Veterinarian clinic.

Vets are basically doctors... right? Granted it might be harder for them to perform on an animal ten times the size they are usually operating on, or stitching up.

But you're left without much of a choice when the Haitani brothers enter your clinic just after close.

There's a whole mess of blood trailing through the lobby and a man with a gun carrying another nearly-unconscious man on his shoulder.

The conscious one with the octopus haircut is shouting so many things at you, that it's hard to process at first.

"We need help...! He's losing blood, damn it!"

"Get some towels...! and bandages.. Shit.. Shit! I don't know what to do!"

"Ran..? Ran! are you still with me? Fuck! ....Don't you dare die on me-! You hear me?!"

You have a pistol pointed between your eyes and your hands in the air screaming about how you'll give them the money if they don't shoot.

"Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up already! Just save my brother! He's been shot! You're a doctor right?"

It dawns on you that you could be killed if you don't comply. The severity of this situation is life or death. The man on his shoulder, his brother, apparently, is losing a lot of blood.

You're stunned when the bleeding man manages to raise his head a little to speak.

"You'll have to forgive my little brother's language- he's just so scared his big brother might die, ya know?"

You manage to prepare the operating table as quickly as you can under the amount of pressure you're under. Ran removes his shirt and lays on the table. There's two bullet wounds in his side.

You don't have the time to sedate him, and you aren't sure if he's even in any condition to go under anesthesia. He could stop breathing or end up choking on the contents of his stomach if he's eaten in the last 24 hours.

Ran is surprisingly tolerant of pain. He keeps this lazy smile on his face while you work on retrieving the bits of the bullet. His face will scrunch up a little if you dig the tweezers in too deeply, but he's pretty resilient for the most part.

It catches you off guard when the man bleeding on your operating table begins to strike up a friendly conversation with you, all while his brother keeps his weapon pressed to your back and a deep scowl on his face.

He's already crushed your cell phone to bits under his shoe, and you're too scared out of your wits to think about running off or contacting help.

"Hurry it up, doc," he spits at you, shoving the barrel of his gun harder into your back.

Rindou, his name you learned from the other, Ran. He clearly seems to care a lot about his brother. You can gather that much of their bond from the hours spent in your clinic, late into the night until sun rise.

Ran slipped out of consciousness sometime during the process. Rindou, despite his panic had agreed to give his blood for a transfusion. The brothers were lucky they shared the same blood type. Or he may not have survived the night.

Rindou has very obviously been fighting back tears, and exhaustion, repeating the same thing every so often with the faintest crack in his voice.

He better not die.

Over the course of the early morning, you finish up your work. You're sweaty and covered in another person's blood. Your cell phone is cracked to pieces. The lobby is stained with a substantial amount of blood as well, and the front door to your clinic has been knocked off the hinges.

Ran isn't well enough to move around, but he survives.

He's back on his feet sooner than you expect. Rindou seems to have finally calmed down. He's finally lowered his gun and took a minute to breathe.

You catch bits of their exchange as you clean up your tools and wash up your face and arms the best you can in the sink.

"You really had me scared, you son of a bitch."

"I'm not gonna go dying on you just yet. Who do you think I am? We're a team. You and me together, always."

You turn away, not wanting to seem as though you're eavesdropping. But Rindou approaches you anyway. You weren't exactly expecting any sort of thanks per say, but it did come to you as a shock when he pulls a wad of bills from his blazer, tossing it into the counter.

"Keep your mouth shut about what happened here tonight. And get that door fixed. If we hear about the cops coming around here, you'll be the next one bleeding out in this lobby."

With that, he leaves, popping a cigarette in his mouth and heading outside to smoke out front while Ran finishes fixing his hair in the mirror.

His hair should be the least of his worries, you tell him, holding out a small bottle of pain killers.

"Take two of these, evening and night. And change those bandages daily."

He really shouldn't move around so much until he's healed, but he seemed to be doing fine.

He takes the pill bottle with a look you can't quite place. He smiles at you, says thank you. But it hardly feels genuine.

You saved this man's life- but he's still a criminal. You worry about the future of your safety in this city.

Your worries are only confirmed when Ran gives you a little pat on the shoulder, speaking low into your ear. Despite the polite way he spoke, his tone still gave you chills.

"We're not finished here. I'll send some guys to help you fix up the front door tomorrow."

You sigh, hanging your head. The last thing you wanted was more men with guns near your job. You we're just trying to make a living- same as anyone else.

Why on Earth was this happening to you?

Ran speaks with a bit of sympathy. You must be exhausted. You expect he must be looking at you with some degree of disgust. You're dressed in bloody scrubs and your face and hair is damp with sweat.

His eyes soften, and he tells you he's sorry about your phone.

"Rindou doesn't like cops. I'm not fond of them myself either."

He trusts you can understand why it's necessary that you don't talk about what happened tonight with anyone else, right?

You nod, you weren't going to phone the police. You weren't that stupid. And you didn't have a death wish. You just wanted to get home and shower and get some sleep before you had to work again.

Good. Very good, Ran notes, leaving you to close up the clinic and be on your way home.

He makes a note of the street the taxi you flagged turns on as he lights up a cigarette next to Rindou. Both men watching as the vehicle disappears into traffic.

"You think that bitch is gonna go running her mouth?" Rindou asks, stomping out his second cigarette on the sidewalk.

"Should we take care of her?"

"Hmm.. We'll see."

Ran gives him a smile he's seen before. He's thinking about something.

Fuck, his sides hurt, he thinks as he climbs into the passenger side of the car. He's gonna be limping around the rest of the week. He takes two painkillers on the ride home, stretching out his long legs with a sigh.

Rindou bitches at him for bleeding all over his interior. He's back to his normal self, a good sign that this whole thing has finally slowed down.

The sunlight warms his face, and it's then that he's truly grateful he's able to feel such a thing for another day, all thanks to you.

He'd stayed calm for his brother's sake. But he really could have died today. He ought to show his thanks.

The first order of business would be fixing the door they'd kicked in. But maybe he'd get you a new phone. He'd put his number in it, of course. And he'd be expecting you to pick up when he calls.

It's funny how such a short interaction has left him so curious about you, and wanting to see you again.

You're good at your job. You're also clearly skilled at working under pressure. You didn't do anything stupid like scream or go running for the phone. Or trying to put a scalpel in his throat when his defences were left wide open. Granted Rindou was holding his gun on you the whole time, but you handled the whole situation with a level head. He couldn't help but think about how attractive that was.

He wondered what kind of life you'd lived until now. You've clearly seen blood before, at least from animals in your line of work. He wondered what you did outside of this job. He wondered where you lived. That kind of information should be easy enough to find.

You hadn't told him your name, nor had he asked, despite wanting to. There was just a better time and a place for such things.

That didn't mean he hadn't noticed the name tag pinned to your bloody lab coat you'd tossed on the floor. He knew your last name, and the location of your clinic. That should be more than enough to track you down in the days to come.

You could definitely prove useful in the future if these events ever repeat themselves. It's hard to find a good medic under the table in this city who won't try to ask for loads of cash or go blabbering off to the law.

Plus you're really cute. He wouldn't mind coming back here just to see you again. It really works out perfectly. He'll have to run this information by the rest of the gang once they make it back.

Drunk Dabi Headcanons

I’m sure plenty of others have already done this but….

burnt man can drink, like FUCKING drink he’s a heavyweight

you two are in a bar just chilling and he keeps pounding the drinks back

normally he doesn’t go too far but tonight he just does

beer, shots of dark liquor, jagerbombs, man even finishes off your cocktail when he sees you taking it slow, ice melting and diluting your drink “you’re wasting it”

Dabi is handsy as hell, groping your ass and trynna squeeze your tits while he holds you from behind, whispers in your ear how he’s gonna fuck you so hard when he gets you in bed “i’m gonna fuck you doll, you’re gonna scream pretty for me”

and normally you’re all for it except….

he’s drunk as hell, you barely understood what he said and you just kinda giggle and go “yeah babe, sure”

you kinda struggle to shoulder dabi’s weight as you walk to the car but you manage

the entire drive home Dabi is slurring out how good you’re gonna get fucked, tries to sneak his hand in between your legs while you drive

once you’re back home he’s like “so we’re gonna fuck right?” and you just play along and tell him yeah, all the while he doesn’t notice how you’re actually helping him get ready for bed

teeth brushed, face washed, fresh boxers on, he barely fights you when you put moisturizer on his face

“Doll… come ge’ this cock…”

alright, lay back dabi how about I ride you

“Fuck yea that’s…. what… I….”

he lies back on the bed but as soon as his head hits the pillow….

“ZzZzzZ….”

Keep reading

i just think that service dom kageyama (who happens to be virgin and keeps asking for your guidance to help him make you feel the best that you can. who, after he makes you cum for the first time, keeps making you orgasm again and again because “you’re so pretty when you cum”. who has such incredible self control that the first time he actually has sex with you he ends up fucking you stupid before he even thinks about finishing) is something we should talk about more :)