\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/ So Cute

(✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)⁾⁾ can wait for that date ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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buff guy

╚══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╝

ʚ Part 1 ɞ

❥ CW: chubby fem reader x buff guy

❥ A/N: hello!! I compiled the first two drabbles of this series into one fic! Im hoping to continue the fics in the future :) feedback is always appreciated!!

It's when he brings you flowers for the third time that you become a little suspicious of his intentions.

"He likes you," your coworker whispers as he leaves. "When are you gonna give him the chance?"

You shrug, putting the flowers on the counter by the register, rearranging them a bit.

"I think he's just trying to be nice."

"Why in the world would he keep bringing you flowers if he wasn't interested in you?" She grabs your shoulder, pulling you to face her. "The next time he comes in, just ask him how he feels. Maybe he'll be more direct and tell you how he feels."

Two days later, he's back, carrying a red bag. He approaches the counter, opposite hand in his pocket.

"The usual?" your coworker asks, but he's not looking at her, staring at you across the room, watching you steam milk. You pour the milk in a paper cup, placing down the pitcher and finally making eye contact with him. The two of you stare at each other, your coworker glancing back and forth before approaching you.

"Let me take over," she says, taking the cup from you and putting on a lid. She leans in to whisper. "Ask him."

You glance at her before looking back at him, running your hands over your apron, approaching the register where he stands.

"The usual?" you ask, and he nods. You click on the screen, bringing up his order. "Anything else?"

"What's your favorite drink?"

You twist your lip, looking up in thought.

"It's a little complicated."

"Tell me."

You take a deep breath.

"Well, I like to get two ristretto shots over ice, add two blue sugars, sometimes I add toffeenut or white mocha, and then I add oatmilk. Or soy, if I want some protein."

He hums.

"One of those too."

You pause, tilting your head quizzically before reaching towards the register.

"What size?"

"Whatever size you get."

You squint in thought, typing in the order. You give him the total, let him insert his credit card, and grab the cups you need. You make his order quickly, placing it at the other end of the counter where he now stands. You work on the second drink, placing it in front of him a minute later. He doesn't move for either drink.

"Is... there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yeah." He pushes the second drink back towards you. "Drink this for me."

"I—"

"And take this." He places the red bag on the counter next to the drink.

"Uh... what is it?" He nods towards the bag.

"Open it."

You hesitate, sliding the bag towards you and glancing inside.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, you think as you reach in and take out a heavy box wrapped in plastic.

"Perfect by Marc Jacobs?" you ask in a whisper. You glance up at him and he's just staring at you, an intense look in his eye. You swallow, peeling off the plastic and opening the box. You pull out the bottle, removing the cap and sniffing.

"Smells nice." You put the cap back on and look at him again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

You both stand there silently for a moment before you put the perfume back in the box.

"Did you get this for me because I smell?"

His eyes widen, his hands raised.

"I didn't—"

He stops when you smile and laugh, tossing the plastic in the trash.

"I'm just messing with ya." You see his shoulders loosen as he lowers his arms, a smirk creeping up on his lips.

"Funny."

You move the bag behind the counter, making sure there wasn't a line before returning to him.

"Do you usually buy perfume for girls?"

"No," he replies quickly, finally taking his drink. "Just you."

You hum, grabbing the drink he bought for you.

"Why?"

He swallows his drink, staring at you the whole time.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Um... no, not really."

He scoffs, putting his cup down.

"The flowers, the perfume... what do you think it means?"

"Uh..." You glance at your coworker who's just leaning against the counter, smiling as she watches the two of you. "I, um... I thought you were just trying to be nice."

"You think buying perfume for a stranger is 'trying to be nice'?"

"I don't know," you reply defensively. "I just don't see why else you would give me stuff."

He leans his hands against the counter, bringing his eyes down to your level.

"You really can't think of any reason why someone would bring you flowers and perfume?"

You pause, then shrug, pouting at him. He sighs, hanging his head before standing up straight, grabbing his cup.

"Guess I'll have to try harder next time."

You scrunch your eyebrows as he starts walking away.

"Try what next time?" He doesn't answer, opening the front door. "Try what next time?" you yell after him, but he's already gone, taking a right and walking down the street.

You're dumbstruck. Your coworker starts squealing and jogs to you.

"Oh my god, the tension was so thick I could cut it with a knife!" She giggles and bounces. "I can't believe my work bestie is being pursued by a guy like that!"

"He's not pursuing me." She groans, throwing her head back.

"Alright, sure, keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile he'll keep bringing you flowers and then it'll be chocolate and jewelery and–"

You zone out, not paying attention. You glance at the drink he bought for you, wondering.

"He's coming!" your coworker whispers to you, bouncing for a moment before regaining her composure as he walked through the door. He approaches the counter, glancing at her before staring at you. He's carrying a bouquet of roses and a red box wrapped with a white bow.

"You're here for her, right?" she asks, pointing at you. He nods, and she turns, giving you two thumbs up as she walks past you, moving to the other side of the coffee bar. You pause, unsure, but eventually make your way to the register.

"Your usual?" you ask, but he shakes his head.

"Not today." He hands out the flowers and box. "For you."

"I..." You don't know what to say, so you just take the gifts, giving an awkward smile. "Thank you...?"

He nods towards the box.

"Open it."

You try not to show how nervous you are, putting down the roses on the counter. You peel the white ribbon from the box, taking off the red lid.

"Holy fuck?" you whisper, putting down the lid and pulling out a string of pearls. "What is this?"

"They're pearls."

"Yeah, I can see that, but why are you giving them to me?"

"Do you not like them?"

"No, I do like pearls, but–" You put the pearls back in the box, staring up at him. "Why are you giving them to me?"

"So you can wear them."

You roll your eyes.

"What? No, really? I thought I was supposed to eat them."

He smiles.

"You're funny. I like that."

You sigh, putting the lid back on the box, setting it down on the counter.

"Look, you've been really nice, but I don't think this is appropriate."

He glares.

"Why?"

"Well," you start, fiddling with your fingers, "I don't think your girlfriend would like you giving me all these things."

"I don't have a girlfriend." You blink.

"Well, I don't think your boyfriend would—"

He laughs, deep and gruff. It makes your stomach flip in the best way.

"I'm not into men."

"Then... well, why would you—"

"Look," he starts, leaning against the counter. "I want you to wear those pearls. I want you to wear the perfume I got you too. I want you to wear them to dinner with me."

Your cheeks burn. You swallow hard.

"W-Why do you want to have dinner with me?"

"You'll see." He stands up, reaching his hand out. "May I see your phone?"

You hesitate, but reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and handing it to him. He takes it gently—holy fuck his hands are big—and taps at the screen for a little while. He hands the phone back to you, smirking at you. You read the screen, seeing his phone number and contact name: Future Husband 💕.

You sputter, wondering if your face could burn any hotter as you look up at him.

"Send me your address: I'll pick you up on Friday at seven."

Before you can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving the coffee shop. Your coworker squeals behind you.

"Oh my god, girl! I am totally living vicariously through you."

You huff, changing his phone contact to something more sensible.

Buff Guy

visions — abby anderson.

summary: a love letter to trying (or the time when you met your favorite people in the world, an overly stressed med student and her overly adventurous one-year-old, in your apartment's hallway).

notes: constantly suffering from chronic baby fever so this is a present from me to you because i spend way too much time thinking about abby as a mom <3

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

You’re stepping out of the elevator when you suddenly hear it— a series of light thumps on the floor, fast but determined like a tiny little elephant who really has somewhere to be right now. Another step and then you stop clumsily when a flash of golden hair comes rushing past you. You follow the sight with your eyes, tilting your head. A little girl is walking, no, stomping through the hallway. She’s no older than two years old, her thin shining hair in two short braids, blue jean overalls and red socks on her feet. She moves so confidently that you almost don’t think about it, almost have the instinct to look away as if to not accidentally appear nosy, but her tiny stature and wobbly sense of direction keep your attention.

You look around the hallway, expecting surely the sound of the little girl’s parent calling her name (something sweet and pretty and classic, you imagine; it’d suit her). You picture her name being followed by a tired sigh before her patents rush to catch up, maybe rolling their eyes in a way that pretends to be annoyed but unmistakingly holds a million times more affection. A perfect family, a tiny glimpse of a full life somehow existing right in your unimportant building.

The hallway is long and terribly empty. You look back at the little girl who is striding forward in less of a rush now, with no worries, like this is the same route she’s taken for years.

What are you supposed to say to get a kid’s attention when you don’t know their name? What’s something concise, yet nice, yet simple enough to be understood? Babysitting as a teen has prepared you for a lot, just maybe not all of it. It's been a little too long. You linger on it for just a second before spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hi, princess,” It’s a little awkward, but you’re relieved when she immediately stops and spins around, like something about it sounded familiar— could be your sweet tone or the nickname, you’re not sure. The little girl tilts her head to the side, round cheek lightly squished against her shoulder. It's the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and it makes you giggle like a charmed kid. “Where did you come from?” you ask, but before you have the chance to reach her she pouts her lips, as if just now realizing that you’re not who she thought you were. And then she turns her back, like there's no time to waste, to return to her journey with renewed enthusiasm.

In a scarily fast moment, you realize that she’s going for the stairs. It would maybe be a slightly less terrifying idea if that stupid door actually worked— but it doesn't, it broke sometime last May and now it's awfully easy to open, no strength or shove required. Sometimes, if it's windy and quiet enough, you can faintly hear it swing back and forth from your apartment. The little girl reaches a hand out, not intimidated by the tall door more than three times her height. If you weren’t this terrified, you’d find it amazingly admirable. 

You don’t register you’re running until you reach her, don’t register the sound of fast steps behind you or the scream of Rue! or anything else other than the heavy relief on your chest when you lift the baby by her armpits and hold her over your hip against your side. She’s fussing in your arms immediately, upset that she’s being interrupted, especially by a stranger. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” you coo, though trying to be soothing when your heart is beating this fast is admittedly not the easiest task.

“Rue!” Someone repeats, and this time you do hear it. A woman is running down the hallway, hand coming down to mindlessly drop a tote bag bursting with groceries on the floor by the time she’s in front of you. The little girl reaches out her arms immediately, tiny fists opening and closing furiously and you sigh with relief as you carefully pass her over to the arms of the tall stranger. Her hair is blonde but darker than Rue’s, held back in a braid that looks both pretty and messy, like it was once pristine and then slept on. She’s wearing jeans and a half unbuttoned white shirt, a black tank top underneath. Her chest rises and falls and you notice that yours is no different. Adrenaline is a strange bond to share with a stranger, but it does make things less awkward, knowing you’re both here, feeling the same thing. You meet her expertly focused eyes for just a second before she turns to look at the little girl, searching for anything that could be wrong. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re okay, right? You’re okay,” the baby flashes a precious, wobbly smile at the sound of her voice, but she’s quickly distracted by the endlessly fascinating rainbow of groceries that lie on the floor. Her tiny head peeks over her mom’s shoulder to observe and it’s like you both can take a more soothing breath now, knowing she’s okay. “Thank you so much,” Abby says. You blink a couple times before you realize that she’s talking to you. “Sorry, I really don’t know how that happened. We were— we just got home from the store and I hadn't even put down all the bags yet and I thought— I was convinced that I shut the door, but…” her rambling drifts off and the stranger takes another breath, reddish embarrassment crawling up her neck.

You understand, suddenly, that she’s not only struggling with the stress of losing and finding her baby, but also the shame of having to face a stranger who might judge her for it. It feels insane to you, to think that she would be forced to prioritize that right now. “Oh, no, it’s okay!” you rush to respond. “I saw her immediately, and you were here in seconds! She wouldn't have gotten any further than that,” your smile is soft, but you speak with enough confidence to be reassuring (babysitting lessons, perhaps), “It was just a scare— don’t be too hard on yourself, please.”

Abby looks disarmed by your answer, her eyebrows raised in surprise. A short moment passes before she nods and smiles back, a small gesture without any less warmth. It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen her so far and it suits her beautifully, enough to make your face feel warm. Her blushing is much less forgiving though, more physically evident on her skin, spread over her cheekbones and the bridge of her pretty nose.

Rue giggles and it distracts you both, her hand waving excitedly at the colorful bird printed on a box of cereal as soon as she spots him. Abby looks at you for a second too long before she clears her throat, joking, “Sorry, she really loves that guy.”

You hum. “He is pretty cool, to be fair.”

Abby tilts her head, copying your sincere tone. “I don’t know, I always thought he’d be kind of a dick in person. He just looks like the type.”

Your startled laugh makes her smirk but she's frustratingly good at hiding it, free hand covering her mouth casually enough that you don’t notice. You look at the grabbing motion of the baby’s hands and pout with sympathy. “She loves him, though. We should probably get him off the floor.”

“Yeah, I should get that— I guess I just ran out with the bag, huh?” Abby huffs. She looks and sounds, physically, a lot less anxious now, less ashamed and more annoyed at herself.

“Would you like some help?”

“That’s okay, I got it,” she’s not sure that she does but she says it anyway, instinctively. Abby tries to lean down and Rue clutches her shirt, pulling enough to communicate that she is not ready to be put down yet. Abby straightens her back quickly enough to communicate that she is not ready to risk getting her any more upset for today. She meets your eyes for just a second. “Well, maybe some help.”

“Sure, just some,” you chuckle. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”

People say that to Abby a lot— don’t worry about it! She hears it from her colleagues when she inevitably asks for the notes from the last class she ran a little late to, from a few of her kinder professors when she’s a day past some assignment’s deadline, from the guy at the grocery store that picks up the packets of M&M bags from the floor when Rue’s curious hands knock them over, from her dad when she asks if he’d be okay with babysitting for just a tiny bit longer. It always makes her stomach turn with guilt, some cases more intense than others, her lips usually pursed as she turns around and takes a breath. This time when you say it, she finds the guilt passing through her with ease, a short visit that makes her shoulders tense before it gets replaced by something else. She believes you, for some reason. Her brain is quiet except for thinking, for once, that there could really be nothing to worry about.

Your hands move casually as you pick everything up, resting on your knees like it’s not uncomfortable, like they might as well be your groceries. The idea is startling. Abby thinks, suddenly, that if someone were to walk into this scene, they wouldn’t read you as a kind stranger. Your ease would hint to something else, a friend, a lover, a picture of a family. Abby finds herself looking at your hands again, brought back to reality only by the slight tug of her hair. Rue plays with her braid distractedly, mumbling to herself about her froot loops friend— except she hasn’t quite learned to pronounce it yet, so it sounds more like oot oops.

Abby chuckles, brushing some of her loose baby hair behind her ears, mumbling back answers to her gibberish to keep her entertained even if Rue doesn’t seem to need it. She’s always endlessly thrilled to just be outside, perhaps the one trait she got from her grandpa rather than her mom. Other than her light snoring.

“She loves you a lot,” you comment, rising from your knees with the bag hanging on your shoulder. You don’t ask and Abby doesn’t think about it—  you just start walking back to her apartment together. “Don’t you, Ru-Ru?” the baby giggles, her head turning to you, blue eyes sparkling. You laugh, “Oh, you like that name. It suits you, Ru-Ru.”

“That’s what my dad calls her,” Abby explains.

“He sounds like a man with taste,” you say. “What do you call her?”

“Princess.”

Your smile is wide and pleased. “That suits her even more, I fear.”

“I think so, too,” Abby agrees, a proud little glimmer in her eyes. She stops in front of her door, B06 engraved in silver. Is it always such a short walk from the elevator? She’s seriously thinking about it until, after realizing in an embarrassing second that she never introduced herself to the person kind enough to chase after her baby, help pick up her groceries and carry them home, Abby suddenly turns to you with widened blue eyes and pretty, reddened cheeks. You forgive her before she even says anything, and forget your traitorous reason before it gets a chance to warn you about how dangerous that thought is. “God, sorry, I never told you my name. I’m—”

“Abby, right?” you smile softly at her surprised face, chuckling before you explain, “One of our neighbors is an old friend of mine and she kinda threw this welcome party for me when I moved in. I promise we weren’t gossiping, but I think someone mentioned you.”

“Oh,” Abby nods casually, brushing it off as if she won’t be spending all night thinking about what your first impression of her might’ve been like. Rue fusses in her arms, a little grunt as she kicks her legs to be put down. “Sorry— I‘ll be right back,” Abby shares a quick look with you and you wave goodbye, not surprised to be missing Rue as soon as she turns around. You watch them walk inside together, a tiny hand waving back at you and making you smile as she excitedly makes her way to her playpen, shrieking bye-bye! Abby places a kiss on top of Rue’s blonde hair and makes her laugh with some noise that you don’t quite catch. She’s comfortable here, walking amongst colorful toys and biology books. She moves like an expert, pulling down her shirt where it rode up somewhere along the way. You make half an effort not to stare, but it’s half more than the effort Abby makes to not let it get to her head. The most confident she’s felt so far, she asks you, “Did that totally innocent welcome party of yours happen, like, two weeks ago? I think I heard some music.”

“It was extremely innocent,” you insist, eyebrows raised teasingly, “And no, sorry, not sure what that was— I moved here like a year ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You grace her (or yourself) with a second of silence before you laugh at her awkward expression, the way she brushes a hand over her flushed face and huffs. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing. I’m kinda terrible at keeping up with this type of, uh, social stuff.”

“It’s not embarrassing, I promise. It’s a big world,” you reassure her. “Even bigger when you’re doing a million other stuff.”

You tell her your name and Abby, who is young like you but also highly knowledgeable on little specific human interaction cheat-codes that come with being a mom, nods her head and makes her eyes light up with what seems, to the naive eye, like recognition. “Oh, that’s right!”

You stare for a second before squinting your eyes. “Are you lying to me, Abby from B06?”

Abby grins, wondering when was the last time she found being caught this funny. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”

You laugh the loudest you have so far and a daydreamed life flashes in Abby’s head— in that big, dramatic way that it does only when you’ve been watching too many rom-coms every night, or when you’re getting too much dating advice from your friend who’s been married since eighteen, or maybe when you fall in love with a pretty stranger who seems to be able to read your mind. It’s an idealized vision of an idealized world, and Abby finds herself being completely okay to clutch it in her fists to keep, because it’s fucking lovely.

“Well, I forgive you,” you tell her, unaware (maybe?) of the chaos that you’ve induced inside of her. “You’re a busy girl.”

Abby tries to think of a good, smooth way to tell you that she could see herself saying your name everyday, placed adoringly after good morning and I miss you. All she comes up with is, “I got enough time to learn it.”

—

You play with the hem of your shirt, pajamas made of mostly Abby’s clothes every night, a scent on them that’s not yours but it might as well be. It’s yours in all the ways that matter, in the same sense that she is. Abby walks out of the bathroom wearing her usual pajamas— a shirt that fits too loose and boxers that are a little too tight around her thighs. She doesn't seem to mind them, and you don’t seem to wanna complain. She knows by the way you look at her. You’re leaning back on your palms, your head tilted, the same shyness and sparkly adoration in your eyes that you’d get when you didn't know each other all that well. It’s not too often that she sees that nervousness anymore, but she still gets glimpses of it, a blink of something on your face or your tone or your breathing that says I have a crush on you and I’m hoping you can’t tell. She likes that nervousness the best right now, the way it’s timid and then settles into something like cockiness when you remember that she’s looking at you just the same, when you remember how much you like the way she copies the tilt of your head and teases you as if she's not also smiling like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

Abby loves every moment like this, loves getting home and helping prepare dinner and making Rue laugh before kissing her goodnight, loves doing the dishes with you and flirting and talking about the day. Today, she’s especially looking forward to the latter.

“So, how was it?” she asks, the back of her thighs resting against the dresser. She’s trying to play it cool and she's annoyingly good at it, even now.

“Hm?” you hum, leaning further back to rest on your elbows, your back almost fully touching the bed. Abby feels a little bad keeping you up, but she knows she’ll be tossing and turning all night if she has to wait until the morning to ask.

“The school meeting.”

“Oh,” you smile wide enough to look silly and beautiful, sweet enough to rot teeth. She feels like she could sink in it, your smile and the relief it brings to her well hidden nervousness. “I loved it so much, Abs.”

Abby is smooth when she walks closer, soft when she cups your cheek, but there's something anxious in her eyes if you know where to look. “Yeah?” she insists.

You nod your head and kiss the palm of her hand, your lips pressed together in that funny way of trying to hold back an excited giggle. Abby smiles and feels nostalgic for the time, many many months ago, when she’d bring a finger to her lips to shush you and then remind you in an expert whisper that Rue is sleeping in the other room. She doesn't have to teach you much at all anymore, and every moment that proves that to her feels like the most beautiful, unfamiliar peace.

“I’m so happy,” you announce, looking up at her. You’re tired enough that it feels almost like being drunk, which is maybe why a short giggle manages to escape. Abby finds it contagious, your joy moves through her as naturally and importantly as the pumping of her blood. “I’m so excited for all of it.”

It’s the second parents' meeting that you’ve attended at Rue’s school— but you spent that first one sitting quietly by her side, practically hiding behind her, too aware of yourself and of the fact that you don’t really know what you’re doing. “Nobody knows,” Abby confessed on your way home, a hand on the steering wheel and another over your leg, her fingers tapping a comforting rhythm. “Parenting is beautiful, it just comes a lot less naturally than you’d think. That thing about a biological, primal wisdom or whatever— it’s a nice concept. But the best things I know came from me actively trying.”

Her words echoed in your head when you said yes to attending this school meeting alone, when you smiled and made the effort to look as calm as you could, kissed her cheek and said “of course!”. Being Rue’s parent doesn’t always come naturally, but it comes from the most genuine love, every single time. Of course you can go to her meeting when Abby can’t reschedule work, because of course you want to know about how Rue is doing in school. It’s an honor to be there for her, to speak for her when you know she needs you to. This is you actively trying.

“How were the other parents?” Abby asks, lying on her side now, her finger tracing unreadable patterns on your cheek. She craves physical contact more than she’d like to admit— but it works great, because you never ask her to admit it if she doesn't want to. The pads of her fingers say enough.

“They were cool, they were all very sweet to me. Well, Leo’s mom is a little passive aggressive but she’s that way with everyone,” you comment through a yawn, the side of your face comfortably pressed against your pillow. Abby hums, agreeing. “Sophie’s mom was the nicest, she sat next to me and invited me to join her and Jade’s mom for brunch.”

“Which Sophie?”

“The one that gave Rue a Valentine’s gift, that milk chocolate that she loves.”

“Oh, I like that Sophie.”

“Me too. I think I wouldn't mind joining a weekly brunch cult with her mom.”

Abby laughs in the way that she only does when she’s sleepy, where she sounds almost like her teenage self, shy and sweet. By the time it dies down, you’re almost asleep. But then, softly enough that you almost don’t hear it, she asks, “How do you think you would feel if she called you that?”

You make a questioning little sound that sounds like "what?" but not quite.

“If Rue called you mom.”

Your eyes open in a second, though not without effort. You look at Abby’s face, her pretty, relaxed features, and answer honestly. “I would probably cry. And then kiss her cheeks for as long as she let me.”

Abby chuckles. “Like when she fell off the swing and got the tiniest scratch on her knee?”

“Yeah, just— the joyful version of that, I guess. They would be the happiest tears ever spilled,” you explain, so sincere that Abby almost tells you. And you know her enough to read it on her face, the way she barely parted her lips and then pressed them back together quickly. Your head lifts from the pillow. “Wait, why? She told you something? Did she ask about that?”

Abby is great at keeping it cool, but less so once she’s been caught. Her nervous chuckle says it all. “I…”

“Abby, I swear to god, I will not let you sleep until you tell me.”

She more than believes you, but a flash memory of her pinky finger wrapped around Rue’s holds her back from spilling any more details. “Sorry, baby, I’m not allowed to say.”

“Oh my god,” you drop back onto your pillow, this time lying flat on your back. “You think she’s gonna say it?” you ask, and Abby is unsure if you’re asking her or the ceiling or a godly presence way above it. Or yourself, most likely. “It’s okay if she doesn't, maybe she was just curious. Maybe she needs time. I mean, obviously. She probably won’t say it, like, tomorrow, right?” you turn your head and look at her, so wrapped up in your inner monologue that you don’t process the amusement and adoration that’s all over your girlfriend’s face. “What if I react super weird and she doesn't say it again?”

Abby’s lips stretch into the softest smile, so in love that she almost forgets to answer and instead holds her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close to press a kiss against your forehead. Your eyebrows are still furrowed worriedly when she pulls away, and she brushes her thumb over your cheek as she lets out the kindest hum, acknowledging your question. “You’re not gonna react weird, sweetheart.”

Momentarily flustered, you shake your head to remember the point that you’d been thinking about. “But I shouldn't cry, imagine how confusing that would be for her— what if she thinks she made me upset?”

“That won’t happen. She cried happy tears when you moved in, remember? She knows what they are,” she says. It’s one of the best memories you have, the nervous look on Abby’s face when she asked you, rambling, “It would be a big change, but not the worst, right? You’d just be a couple doors down the hall. It would be a lot of the same in a lot of ways, just with us.”

After that came the late nights at your apartment, dates hidden behind the excuse of packing, half empty boxes on the floor and Abby stuck to you like glue, a kiss or ten whenever she got too carried away with excitement. A couple weeks later came your clothes in her closet, your favorite blanket on the couch, and Rue’s eyes glimmering with happy tears as she hid her face on your neck and tried to understand her feelings. Then, after a few minutes of patiently rubbing her back, came her little frown of concentration and the way she attentively listened to you and Abby explain that her reaction was normal, that sometimes happiness feels like too much to hold in just a laugh or a dance. “Oh, okay,” she’d said, in this cute proud tone that she gets whenever she learns something new that makes sense to her. It was the sweetest thing. She’s the sweetest thing— and you can’t believe this is your life, that you get to take care of her and hang out and teach her new things to be proud of.

“You think she wants me to be her mom?”

Abby smiles. “You are her mom, baby.”

Rue doesn't say it the next day. You don’t overthink it— couldn't if you tried. It's a nice feeling to be so happy that you don't feel the need to think. She doesn't call you mom that morning, but she runs to the doorway where you’re putting on your shoes to get to work and wraps her arms so tight around your legs that you have to balance yourself with a hand against the wall. Her hair is messy from sleep, her yellow pajama shirt wrinkled, her eyes blinking lazily as she looks up at you and asks, “Back soon?”

“Soon as I can, princess,” you promise, leaning down to kiss her head. What is there to overthink? What more could you possibly need?

You can do this forever, have mornings like this and feel grateful in a way that you didn't know existed until now. You love the way it comes at random times, the way you’re still you, still grumpy when your coffee tastes watery, still a little bad at getting to the train station on time, still learning not to burn the first batch of pancakes. It’s a big change, but not the worst, right? It’s a lot of the same in a lot of ways, except Abby is there at the kitchen kissing your cheek, and a tiny head of blonde hair is peeking from the back of the couch, gummy smile and freckled cheeks, saying, “I like my pancakes like that, mom!”

I would smother him with hugs and kisses ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Bakugo likes when you trace and touch his scars

For a guy that constantly hates when people touch him ,he sure as hell doesn’t mind when you touch and rub around his marks on his right arm.

He’s not even left handed but he takes the sacrifice and struggles to use his left to text or write whenever you come beside him and poke and rub against his bicep. He’s sensitive on some areas even 8 years later, but he loves the warm comfort you bring when you do so.

Sometimes you don’t even realize you’re doing it, your chubby cheek mashed against his arm, cuddled up by him like a cat and rubbing it up and down as you watch a show, he glances down at you and can’t help but feel his cheeks warm. You give this man cute aggression.

Some days you sneak in a few kisses on his hand. Though it’s scarred it’s never calloused, still soft and warm, it took some time for Bakugo to even get used to your clingyness, and you respected it. In the beginning, Every once in a while you’d ask “May I touch you?” Which, he’d never admit to but he appreciated your asking heavily, not a lot of people respect his boundaries to NOT touching him, but you always did.

Eventually he just told you ,”touch me whereever you want.” In his aggressive way, but you took heed and did so.

After finally getting comfortable you couldn’t stop touching and kissing him.

His skin was soft, he smelled amazing, and he always made you feel so safe. Just like he is now;

The snow is falling, the fire is burning, and it’s his day off, you’re laying beside him on the cozy big couch not even paying attention to the show but his arm and face, giving it little kisses and gentle touches, Bakugo humming every once in a while when you touch a soft spot on him. He doesn’t mind it all, he’s watching you through his phone, recording you lost in your own world of fascination with his skin—-because of course he has a staring problem just like how you have a touching problem.

My man my man (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ(๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

sero hanta, my beloved...

Reblog this if you'd let Kyojuro Rengoku shatter your pelvis.

He is everything ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

It's cold and Aizawa hasn’t offered you his coat. 

You two have been seeing each other for the past three months, you’ve known him longer. There’s little dates when you both have the time, at his place but it’s usually yours. He spends the night, you order take out when you both can’t bare to cook, and you spend your nights reading while he dozes next to you. 

Its quite domestic for such a new relationship.

And it’s not like you wouldn’t call him chivalrous, he’s as chivalrous as you like in a guy, a good in-between. But you wish he would look at you and notice that you’re shivering. 

Now your footsteps are getting heavier with each passing moment, the aggravation becoming more and more apparent on your features as the chill in the air gets colder and colder. You think you might kill him, and you secretly hope he looks your way–

“Are you okay?” Shouta asks, circling his arm around your waist. He pulls you against him and the warmth is good for the moment. 

You’re still mad, or at least you want to stay mad. “Just say you hate me.”

He’s grinning now, its subtle but it’s still a grin. And you’re tempted to push him away and continue sulking in your annoyance. 

“You’ve been shivering for the past 10 minutes, you don't want my jacket?” He’s teasing you, his hand squeezing the flesh above your hip, through your clothes. You can sort of smell his cologne but it’s too faint compared to the smell of earthiness and crisp air. 

You look at him, really look at him, and you can’t help the smile growing on your face. It makes your cheeks hurt in the cold air. 

“I thought you were gonna be a gentleman and keep me warm,” You reply, more sugary than you’d like to come off. 

He’s looking at you with that lazy look in his eyes, the same one he gives you before he’s about to tell you some boring joke in bed. 

He chuckles dryly and pulls away from you, taking his coat off and draping it over your shoulders. And you can’t help but think he looks cute in his fitted henley shirt. 

“Is that warm enough?” He presses a chaste kiss into your temple before wrapping an arm around your waist for a second time. 

You mumble a quick “yeah” and lean into him.

This right here ✨DELICIOUS✨ I need more

MESSAGE DELIVERED ☆ ! | 18+

H.SHINSO | K.DENKI | F! READER

WARNINGS☆ | f! reader, trans ftm kami, sadist! shinso, pet play, oral (f! and m! receiving) collaring, leashing, humiliation, taking photos during sex, names called: mutt, puppy, brat, dog | muzzle (hitoshi’s mask to be exact) used on reader, dog commands given, cum swapping, barking…?

word count : 2.7 k

leaving you with kaminari was like begging for trouble and the blonde was determined to break your good girl streak with shinso. nothing a few pictures wouldn’t help.

☆

your back arched off of the bed in another agonizing orgasm, vibrating through your body unmercifully as kaminari’s slender fingers pistoned in and out of your sopping cunt. his mouth was latched onto one of your breasts, tongue lavishing at the hardened nipple with a wanton hunger that never seemed satiated. with his body slotted between your legs, lewd songs of him suctioned to your chest, there was no hope in clamping your trembling legs closed, no clear out to avoid the onslaught of torture on your already pulsing pussy. how many times had you cum already, you weren’t sure, but the two curling fingers within you were creating a shameful squelching, your juices flooding between the crack of your ass and saturating the sheets below the two of you.

“kami, just- i just need a moment.” you gripe, slamming your palms down on his shoulders for some kind of reprieve, a request that went unminded.

it wasn’t until you laced your fingers through his honey gold locks, tearing his head away from your tit that he came up for air, sucking it into his lungs as if he had forgotten breathing was a necessity. your eyes fluttered, breath hitching at the sight of his debauched face slathered in his own drool, glimmering over his intricate lightning scars that seemed to appear and disappear in different places on his skin. besides his beauty, the pathetic whine that ripped from his throat was enough to make your stomach tighten in threat of another climax, your hole clenching around the man’s fingers. a sick grin split his face, all teeth and mischief, filthy in all aspects of the word.

“you like this, dont’cha cutie? the thought of getting caught?” he purred, sliding his fingers from you and licking them clean with a skilled tongue.

he was referring to shinso, who luckily, was still on his daytime patrol. he didn’t approve of his /pets/ playing without his knowledge, especially not anything that ended in cumming without permission. and again, how many times had you cum? enough to be guilty, and boy were you drowning in guilt. you didn’t do this, push his buttons. you liked being his good girl, his angel, the receiver of all his sweet words and soft touches. but you longed to get the treatment kaminari got most times, redirection, punishment. kami seemed to thrive off of it, search for it, poke every nerve until hitoshi bent him over any nearby surface to remind him of his place. his punishments could be downright cruel, sometimes to the point he asked you if you wanted to sit the scene out, because you weren’t like kami, not completely. the blonde liked pain, he liked to be slapped around from time to time. a lot of the time. but when you did sit those scenes out, you still got included in the sugary sweet aftercare.

the soft kisses, the gentle bathing, the cuddle pile snuggles that felt like home. you wanted to experience that intense headspace at least once, even more to feel the come down in shinso’s arms with that silky voice of his washing every worry away. your thoughts were interrupted by kaminari pulling his phone from one of the pockets of his shorts..

“what are you-“

“sending the big guy some pictures, i’m sure he’d wanna see how pretty you look right now.”

“kami, please!” you go to reach for the phone, frantic to snatch it out of his hands but he was too quick with moving away from you. “don’t show him!”

he giggled, holding it out of your reach, “don’t tell me you’re scared? it’s fun when he’s all riled up…you know he hasn’t had the best day today and god i love when he’s mad.”

the blonde had the nerve to wink at you, going to open the camera app to your dismay. a pout formed on your lips, knowing this was probably denki’s idea this whole entire time. the pretty boy sunk back down between your legs, re-spreading them, pressing kisses to your sweat-damp skin. your clit pulsed out of sensitivity, darting your gaze away from him when he went to close his hot mouth around the bud. your head tossed back, cursing at the feeling of his pillowy lips coating themselves in your wetness, tongue rolling out to slide between the puffy lips of your pussy, humming at the tang, nipping at the skin when he pulled back to smile.

“god- fuck- kami s’too much.”

he didn’t listen to your pleas, his own cunt hot and sticky between his legs as he started to devour you like a man starved. only when you were panting, squirming, begging him to ease up, did he take a few selfies from his spot between your legs. your thighs adorned his ears like muffs, your fingers were damn near ripping out his hair, and when you finally came another time you hadn’t even realized the bratty blonde had taken a pretty little clip of you coming undone. the writing was on the wall, you knew you were fucked when the sounds of the messages sending were ringing through the room. even worse, the thoughts of how the violet haired hero would respond made you ache.

yes, you were fucked.

☆

“havin’ fun over there goody two shoes?.” kami spared you a sideways glance as he was kicked back on the sofa, his ankles crossed over one another on top of the coffee table as he clicked through the different channels on the tv.

a deep exhale rushed from you through your nose, your eyes trained to the floor on the small space between your knees where you knelt directly in front of the front door. you were chewing the inside of your cheek, clenching your fists on top of your cramping thighs as you waited for him, hitoshi, to come home. the guilt had been eating at you since denki pressed send, fluttering your stomach with nerves. you couldn’t wrap your head around how he could be so calm when shinso hadn’t even responded, only read the messages. that was hours ago, and kaminari was completely unphased, which was hard to grasp when he was usually the one who got the brute end of their owner’s frustrations. despite this fact, he was all smiles, excited even, for their impending doom.

“don’t call me that, i just enjoy following his rules- unlike some people.” you muttered the second half under your breath but he heard you all the same, even smirked when you sent him a glare before facing the floor again.

“well you broke several rules, hun. one of them you broke over and over and ov-”

“kami, just fucking shut up.”

“all i’m saying is, the deed is already done, no use sitting there in one of those silly positions when he hasn’t even come home yet-”

the rest of the blonde’s sentence trailed at the sound of keys, then the unlocking of the front door. you swallowed, keeping your eyes low as the man of the hour entered the house, still in complete uniform. you could tell by the dirty boots he was wearing. even after being outside most of the day, the man brought in a waft of cologne with him, a scent that drooped your shoulders immediately with the sense of comfort it provided. you waited patiently for his usual acknowledgment, a pat on the head or the usual praise of how pretty you looked waiting for him. but that never came. he only crouched to rid his feet of his boots, walking around you as if you were an obstacle in the way. he hadn’t even looked at you. suddenly there was a sinking feeling in your gut.

“blondie, where do dogs belong?” shinso sighed, tugging his voice modifier from his face and setting it on the arm of the couch.

“not on the couch, sir.” denki bit back a grin, slipping to the floor with ease and pressing his face onto the man’s knee. you turned your head slightly to watch the scene, your bottom lip wobbling as shinso started to scratch the man’s scalp in greeting.

you wanted to protest that you hadn’t been on the couch, but decided not to. you just had to be patient, this was clearly a test, and you were pretty good at passing his tests.

“where’s your collar, kaminari?”

“i didn’t wear it today, sir.” the blonde said simply, setting his chin on the taller man’s knee, smiling up at him with the dopiest grin.

you rocked impatiently on your knees, wanting to mention how you had worn yours. it sat around your neck perfectly, tag with the initials ‘HS’ resting on your sternum. there was a loud whistle directed at you, one that made you snap your head up hopefully. your eyes landed on his face, his features unreadable and stern.

“right here, mutt.” he jabbed a finger downward, right in front of his other knee.

mutt? that wasn’t what he normally referred to you as, it was puppy or doll. you swallowed the lump in your throat, crawling towards him on your hands and knees, sitting where he requested. you went to put your face against his knee, like denki had done, craving any type of affection from him, but he immediately nudged you away.

“i need denki’s collar, and the two-sided leash. go on, fetch.” he waved you off, didn’t even look at you when he asked, he was too busy tugging off the other man’s shirt.

“but- sir-“ you started to say…well now you weren’t sure with the way his eyebrows started to raise.

“if i have to repeat myself, you’ll regret it.”

that was all it took for you to scramble to your feet, a pep in your step as you went to go find denki’s thin black collar. it took you longer than you would have liked to find the leash he asked for, but when you did you brought both items back to the man, reclaiming your spot. you expected praise, or at least a damn smile, but again…nothing. he was focused on tightening denki’s collar and then he clipped his leash to yours, connecting you to the blonde. that was the most attention you had received since he got home.

“there you go, such a pretty boy aren’t you. so perfect.” shinso pressed a kiss to denki’s lips, the blonde tilting his head in confusion but parting his lips for the tongue that was slipped into his mouth.

“sir…” you tried again, to gain his attention, “may i have a kiss too?”

he let out a deep, annoyed sigh, pulling away from kami to glare at you. it was so intense you wanted to back away.

“you sure are talkative today.”

“you usually give me a kiss when you get home, or a head pat or-“

“and you usually behave.”

you felt yourself deflate, your eyes darting to look at denki then back at shinso, before opening your mouth once more. you wanted to plead your case, point out that it wasn’t your idea. you shouldn't be punished alone, not when kaminari had broken way more rules than you. shinso only raised a hand, silencing you before you even could string your words together.

“no. enough.” shinso picked up his voice modifier, fastening it to your face.

this was new, it almost felt like he was muzzling you, it was humiliating.

“you will not speak until i tell you. got it.”

you nodded, reaching up to touch the mask, confused but enjoying how much it smelled like him.

“let’s see if you actually understand, hm.” he reached forward and fiddled with something on the side of the mask.

“speak, mutt.”

given the greenlight, you went to voice something, an apology maybe, but all that came out was a very distinct barking sound instead. it scared you so bad you jumped, looking up at shinso with wide eyes.

“that’s better, yeah? now you can hear how much of an annoying dog you are.” he leaned forward, slipping his finger into the loop on your collar, yanking you forward, “now sit here, and shut up.”

your eyes started to water, well up with hot tears as shinso once again, went to focus on kaminari. but the blonde was no longer smiling, guilt was showing on his face. he felt bad, for once, for trying to get you in trouble. even more so, denki wasn’t getting what he thought he would. he had expected a punishment, but all he was being given was praise and affection.

“hitoshi, it wasn’t her fault. i was trying to get her in trouble-“

“that’s okay, angel. we both know you are a dumb little puppy who can only think with his cunt. she knows what’s expected of her.”

☆

you watched intently as shinso threw his head back with a deep groan, pushing denki’s mouth further down on his cock. they had been going on like this for over an hour, hitoshi taking his time to thoroughly fuck the blonde’s mouth. every time he was pulled forward, you unfortunately had to go with him since you were chained to him. you wanted to taste too, at least lick at his heavy balls that were right in front of you. he spared you a glance, slowing down denki’s pace, drool dripping down his shaft.

“does the mutt want my cock in her mouth too? want me to fuck that little throat of yours?”

you nodded, trying to ignore the throbbing of your pussy.

“i can’t hear you.”

your hands balled into fists, pushing down the embarrassment to beg. but you couldn’t, the room just filled with those pathetic barking noises, whines too. shinso’s face went smug, the first time he seemed amused this whole time.

“louder. i know you can beg better than that.”

your ears burned as you continued to bark, tears staining your cheeks and wetting his mask.

“should have thought about that before you disobeyed me.” he went back to thrusting his hips, gagging denki with his size. he growled at the feeling, dragging himself back and forth over the man’s tongue.

“just like that blondie, gonna- christ- gonna cum in this pretty mouth of yours.”

and he did, held the blonde by his hair and shot his load onto his tongue. you watched in awe as his cock twitched and throbbed inside of kami’s mouth, making him whine at the taste. he slipped his dick free, tugging on the bright hair, “don’t swallow yet…be good and hold it okay?”

god, his voice was so gentle with him, how it usually is with you, and you hated the amount of jealousy that was coursing through you. shinso reached over to pull the mask from your face, thumbing your tears away. you melted into his touch, hiccuping and two seconds away from climbing into his lap.

“kam’ , share with her. i think she deserves a treat.”

you didn’t even have time to process what he said before kaminari was pulling you in for a deep kiss, swapping his spit and shinso’s warm cum with you. you moaned softly as he pulled you in, tongue exploring your mouth wildly, almost too much teeth, but that’s how it felt to make out with denki. he was always so worked up when it came to kissing. you swallowed your share of cum, breaking the kiss to catch your breath.

“th-thank you, thank you sir.” you looked over to shinso who started to unclip the two of you.

he helped you climb into his lap, letting you nuzzle into his arms. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, chuckling softly, something deep that rumbled straight through you.

“that was mean, huh? but you did so good for me, baby.”

you felt like you could cry again, but he tilted your head up to kiss your lips and you almost purred at this.

“took your punishment so well. the best girl a guy could ask for.” he dipped to your neck, nipping at the skin there, making you flinch in surprise, a shudder rippling your spine.

“please, ‘toshi.”

“don’t worry, i’m gonna take good care of that little pussy of yours.” he whispered this in your ear, his other hand patting the couch so denki could join in on the cuddles.

“i need to see you cry for a different reason now...”

fruit bats: @neon-gothicc @bakubunny @bookcluberror @kunigamisgirl @dizazter-dragoon @jazzafayesworld @cherriluvs35 @dreamcastgirl99 @pastelbakugou @ladybirdk @i-literally-cant-with-this @sluttyshigaraki @darkstarlight82

Why do you write for mainly chubby people?? Skinny people deserve Love too ☹️

Bruh I am a chubby person— of course I’m going to write for chubby people

I’m a chubby person representing chubby people. Most of my works actually aren’t body specific; no specific body types or identifiers. But when I DO write for chubby people— stop complaining because…

Ive had enough of constantly seeing skinny people represented in the media as the ‘ideal’ beauty— fat people deserve love and sex and relationships too. We’re no less deserving just because we’ve got extra skin and fat on our bones. We’re still people, we’re humans with emotions and feelings and constantly seeing skinny people in the media hurts and really pushes you down.

I’m going to write for chubby people because otherwise— who will? Who else other than chubby fanfic writers etc will let people know that we can be sexy too. I’m not going to be able to look at chubby porn without it being fetishised and overly sexualised.

I love being able to subtly write chubby people without it being as obvious as a man grabbing a fat woman’s rolls and saying “mmmm yeah— I love your fat baby” instead I can write how the fat spills between an anime mans fingers as he fucks into her with lust and need NOT because she’s fat, But because she’s a human being with needs and a personality

In no way am I saying that skinny people don’t deserve love— EVERYONE deserves love, they do, everyone is beautiful and deserves to be fucked until they cry but please don’t come onto my blog saying stuff like this

\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/

Commission for @vgilantee

A/N: Thank you so much for commissioning again! And specially for trusting me with an idea to write it as I want, means a lot! <3

Request: fem/afab cat hybrid reader and first time taking werewolf boyfriend’s knot?

Plug you up to shut you up

Werewolf x cat-hybrid fem!reader || dom/sub undertones, phone sex (kinda), edging, orgasm denial, knotting, oral sex

“It won’t fit,” he told you for the thousandth time.

“Yes it will,” you argued, also a for the thousandth time. Your tail moving around in agitation. You weren’t asking much of him, just for his knot. You two had been dating for a few months, you deserved to be stretched and stuffed, didn’t you?

“No it won’t. Stop asking about it, you’ll get hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you.” His worry was adorable and you wanted to hug him about it, but also scratch his face because he was being way too nice about it.

“I won’t get hurt!” You argued again.

“Yes you will, you are tiny and your pussy is just too tight for it to fit.” His voice was exasperated, like he was arguing with a kid, or like he was a dom arguing with his bratty sub… Which was pretty much what was happening right there.

“Pretty please…” You asked, looking up at him, blinking slowly, trying your best innocent look.

“No,” he repeated. But you saw a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. He was going to agree, you just needed to try a bit harder.

“Pleaaaaaaaaase…” you repeated, pouting. You caressed his chest slowly and acted all coy. He loved when you did that.

He sighed. “Ugh. I hate you.”

You jumped, happily and hugged him around his middle. “No you don’t, you love me so much you are going to stuff me with your knot.”

He grabbed your wrist and kissed you until you were out of breath. When you broke apart, he told you: “Okay, but we need to do some prep first.”

“What kind of prep?” You asked, already suspicious of his intentions.

That’s how you found yourself wearing a plug in the middle of the day. He bought some kind of special plugs that were made exactly for your purpose. There were five of them and you were supposed to change them during the day leading to the knotting. He did a lot of research before buying them and was so serious about it that you couldn’t be mad about it. He was adorable, like a puppy.

He woke you up earlier that morning, knowing he had to go to work, just so he could eat you out and plug you with the first size. It was a bit uncomfortable to move around, but you could deal with it. It was fine. You made breakfast and worked for a bit before he video-called you.

“Hey darling, what do you want?” You asked, busy with your latest drawing. You had a deadline soon and wanted to do as much as possible as fast as possible.

“It’s time for you to change the plug,” he reminded you. There was an edge in his voice, the exact same edge as the one he had when he was ready to push his dick inside of you. Fuck, how was the tone of his voice so fucking hot? Being madly in love with a werewolf was fucking with your brain, you now got wet when he talked. Just talked. Insane, you were going completely insane.

“Yeah, right. Will do,” you answered, not paying too much attention to him as you reached to end the call.

He stopped you. “Hey wait! I want to see.”

You looked back at the phone like he grew a second head. “What?”

“I called so I could see as you change it. I want to see.” His voice was pleading, but demanding. The idea of him calling you just to see your pussy was making you all kinds of hot and bothered, and it was annoying. But you agreed, because it was making you all kinds of hot and bothered. Fuck, you wanted to cum so bad.

You positioned your phone so the frontal camera was looking at your pussy, your face extremely red as you parted your legs. You could hear his intake of breath as you parted your lips and he saw the base of the plug still inside. His grunt of pleasure made you whimper as you pulled the plug out. Your pussy gaped as he groaned.

“Fuck, kitten, look at you. It looks so puffy and swollen for me. You are going to look so pretty wrapped around my knot.” You blushed harder, trying to insert the second size without knocking off the phone. You whimpered again when it made contact with your swollen clit. “Fuck, do that again. Touch your pretty pussy for me, kitten.” His growl was so deep it made you groan. You complied, running the plug up and down your slit and getting it all wet. You were so ready to come you wanted to beg. “That’s enough, kitten. You can’t come, remember? I told you that this morning.” You whimpered, but obeyed. You wanted to be a good kitten. You pushed the plug inside, feeling the stretch but still comfortable with it. “Good job, you are doing perfectly. How does that feel?”

“Go- good.” Your voice broke down when you lowered your leg and the plug pressed against your G-spot. Fuck. This one was going to be harder.

“I will call you later for the next size. Love you, bye!” His cheerful nature annoyed you to no end. He called you, got you all hot and bothered and then had the audacity to forbid you from coming and then hang up on you. Fucking werewolves (affectionately).

It went exactly like that three more times. Each size up was harder and harder to adapt to. You felt so stretched and needy you wanted to grind against every single surface, unable to sit down since size three. You had been standing around, trying to clean but failing. Every time you bent down to pick something, it pressed against your G-spot and you saw stars. When the fifth plug was inside of you, you couldn’t hold it anymore and had to call him.

He picked up at the second ring. “Please… Please come home. I- I need…” You whimpered, unable to keep talking.

“I’m on my way, go strip and wait for me on the bed. Face down, ass up. Be a good kitten for me.” He instructed. You followed his instructions without even processing them. “Don’t hang up on me, talk to me, tell me what you did today.” You could hear him walking around, closing the door to the car. The anticipation was killing you.

You tried to tell him, to distract yourself so you wouldn’t grind onto the bed until you came all over yourself. You told him about your new project, about the art supplies you wanted to get, and he listened and asked questions. Without realizing he arrived home.

You heard the door closing as he hung up the phone and ran to the bedroom. You were exactly how he instructed, face down, ass up. Your tail was going crazy from side to side waiting for him. You felt on the edge of the biggest orgasm you’d ever felt, and he was just standing there.

“Please…” Your plea broke him out of his stupor, tearing off his clothes as he approached the bed.

“Good goddess kitten, you look good enough to eat. Are you ready? Do you still want this? You can say no.” He was always so sweet that you wanted to cry, but at that moment it infuriated you.

“Knot me already!” You cried out, more than ready. You always appreciated when he asked stuff and asked for consent beforehand, but in that moment you were beyond any questioning, you wanted to be filled. You wanted to be stuffed with his knot.

He didn’t comment anymore, he lowered his pants and threw them someplace behind him. You could hear something breaking, but you didn’t care. He slowly but surely took the plug out as you cried out his name, grinding back against air as your gaping pussy dripped with fresh juices. You were so turned on you could cry. Maybe you were crying already. You couldn't feel anything apart from his hand on your hip and the tip of his cock at your entrance.

He didn’t ask anymore. He pushed right in and you groaned, coming instantly around him. Your claws tearing through the bed sheets. He grunted behind you, not stopping. He held your hips secure as your arms went limp under you and you face-planted to the bed. He kept fucking into you and telling you how pretty you looked, how good your pussy felt around his shaft. You came at least twice more before you felt the knot forming.

“Do you want it? Tell me you want my knot, kitten.” His voice was soft and demanding, and it made your insides melt. You loved that stupid werewolf so much you could squeeze him until he disappeared. But right now you needed his knot more than anything.

“Yes. YES. Knot me!” He didn’t wait anymore. He pulled your tail up, making you scream as he pushed his fat knot inside your pussy. Your eyes crossed and your brain turned off. The only thing you could feel was the stretch of his knot and the first shot of his cum deep inside.

“Does that feel good, kitten? Do you like to be so full you can’t even talk?” He chuckled at your blissed out face. “Guess it does, you love it, don’t you?” He rolled his hips and you opened your mouth to say something, but you could only drool in pleasure, too fucked out to even control your saliva. Embarrassing. But so fucking good you could die impaled on his cock and you’d die a happy cat. “If I had known all it took for you to shut up was to fill you to the brim I would have done it sooner.” You tried to argue with him but when you opened your mouth the only thing that you could do was moan as your eyes rolled back into your head. It was insane how big he felt inside of you, how stretched you felt. It was like you were going to break apart, but at the same time, his knot was the only thing keeping you together.

By the time the knot went down, he was still grinding inside of you, your pussy raw and abused. It felt like pain and pleasure mixed in the most excruciating sensation you’d ever felt. As soon as his knot deflated, he was there, tongue and fingers and playing with your used hole. He licked and sucked and made out with your pussy until you were coming again. And then another time. Your body couldn’t hold you up anymore, and you gave up trying.

“I like you like this, limp and fucked out. We should do that again.” His voice was cheerful and animated, and you wanted to scratch his face for being so fucking annoying. But good lord if you didn’t want to be fucked like that again. “I take that groan as a yes,” he said with a laugh.

Ugh, fucking werewolves.

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chubby bunny but instead of marshmallows it’s cum