My Man( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽

I love this \(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Boy next door!Eren

Part 3 (Part 1 | Part 2)

warnings: 18+, NSFW⚠️ , perv!Eren, some exhibitionism at the end hehe

note: *inserts “omg! it’s happening!” gif from The Office lol*

Boy next door!Eren who you know is probably watching you right now as you were leaned against your kitchen counter, wearing the pretty pink lingerie he got you earlier this week.

You were drinking your morning coffee and reading your book, which he looked into btw and learned that it’s actually a smutty book. He lets out a guttural whine at the fact that you were doing all these things in the early hours of the morning.

Naughty girl!Y/n 🙈

Boy next door!Eren who knows he shouldn’t be doing this. His roommates could walk into the kitchen any moment!

Yet, he continues to stroke himself to you. His pretty neighbor wearing the lingerie that he anonymously got for you. He wonders if you knew it was from him. You didn’t say anything about it, but you obviously knew because why else would you be torturing him right now? His pretty neighbor that he’s been dying to sink his teeth into for months. His pretty neighbor that he knows for a fact has the softest skin. His pretty neighbor that always smells so fucking good. Fuck, your sweet scent is practically imbedded in his nostrils by now. His pretty neighbor that he jerks himself off to, practically every other night using your instagram photos. They’re just normal photos of you, but that’s more than enough for him.

Boy next door!Eren who grips the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white as he pumps himself faster with his other hand, wanting to let it all out before his roommates wake up or before you decide to torture him more by stepping out of view.

Fuck, you’re so beautiful.

Boy next door!Eren who lets out quiet grunts, and moans your name in a whisper.

“Sh-shiiitttt… Y/n… p-please… look at me baby…” As if you heard him or somehow read his mind, you finally glanced over at him through the window. You expected to see him staring, sure, but you didn’t expect to see desperate!Eren’s orgasm face.

Again, you got more than you bargained for. 🤭

Boy next door!Eren who came in his pajama pants when you finally locked eyes with him. His eyebrows furrowed together, eyelids low, mouth agape, and his bare chest quickly rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

Boy next door!Eren who, once he comes to, suddenly feels embarrassed and quickly leaves the kitchen to clean himself up. He takes a burning hot shower, cringing at himself for being such a goddamn pervert. First he bought you lingerie, and now he jerks off to you… in front of you.

You couldn’t help but feel so flattered… so… satisfied. It makes you want to kick your feet and twirl your hair.

…Dare are we say, sadist!Y/n? 👀

Boy next door!Eren who has flowers sent to you later that day as an apology. He doesn’t know why it’s suddenly eating him up inside when you’ve clearly been okay with it this whole time. I mean, you literally put yourself on display for him this morning…

Sigh, he’s so cute.

Boy next door!Eren who suddenly becomes the shy one, come monday morning.

“Erennnnn~” You whine. “Y-Yeah?” He looks at you for a second, but then quickly looks back at his textbook. Oh how the tables have turned. “Why aren’t you talking to me?” You pout, as if nothing happened. “Huh? Oh, sorry gorgeous… I was… reading something…” Liar. “Look at me.” He does so, hesitantly. You leaned in close and whispered, “Thank you for the set. It fit perfectly, don’t you think? Was it how you envisioned it?” He swallowed hard as your breath fanned against his ear, “…Mhm…” You smiled mischievously, “Maybe you should come over sometime, y’know, so you don’t have to peek through the window anymore. Would you like that?” He fights the urge to shove his tongue down your throat right now, remembering you guys were still in class. He clears his throat, “I-I’d love that…”

Yeah, you knew he would.

Boy next door!Eren who’s writhing, sitting on the corner of your bed, when you stepped out of your closet wearing a dark green lingerie set.

“Ohhh fuuck me…” He says under his breath. “You like? I figured I should get something to match your eyes.” You did a little twirl. You’re trying to kill him, is that it? It’s taking everything in him to hold back from just grabbing you, and taking you right then and there.

But you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? 🙂‍↕️

Boy next door!Eren who says fuck it and grabs you by the hips, pulling you to him. You straddled his lap, hands going straight into his hair, and captured his lips in an overdue kiss.

His hands roamed over your body, gripping and squeezing everything. You tried to pull away for breath, but he wouldn’t let you. He quickly latches onto your lips again, finally getting to shove his tongue down your throat.

He’s not wasting anymore time.

“E-Eren… air…” You whimpered, breathless. He moves his lips to your jaw, “Sorry baby.” He leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses down your neck, nipping your sensitive skin here and there. You tug on his hair when he sucks a bit roughly. That’s gonna leave a mark for sure. He looks up at you with a lazy, blissed out, smile on his face. He’s so gone.

Desperate!Eren can’t get enough of you.

Boy next door!Eren whose dick is so hard for you, it hurts. His pretty pink tip is leaking so much pre, it’s starting to seep through his jeans. Good thing he just installed your new washer and dryer not too long ago.

“You’re such a perv, Eren.” You hissed, almost sounding angry if it weren’t for the hint of sultriness in your tone. You grind your hips against his, moaning at the feeling of his erection poking at your heat. “You like it, though. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here right now.” He leaves a few love bites on your cleavage. “I love it.” You threw your head back as he kneaded your ass cheeks, letting out a yelp when he gave ‘em a nice smack.

Boy next door!Eren who finally fucks the shit out of you. He flips you onto your stomach and pulls your hips up to meet his; continuing his relentless pace. Your room was filled with moans and groans, and the sound of skin slapping against skin. He leans forward to talk pure filth into your ear, pressing his chest against your back.

He licks the shell of your ear, making you clench around him. “Nnngh, don’t do that baby.” He groans. “You’ll make me bust fast, and I wanna make this last.” He thrusts harder, splitting you open with his dick. “Been dreaming about this pussy since I first saw you around campus.” He what? His arm snakes around to your front, a veiny hand coming up to wrap around your throat, “Ohh f-fuck… it was worth the wait.” Your head was spinning. “Eren!” You choked out through broken moans; gripping the sheets, your pillows, whatever you could get your hands on. “You know how.. sh-shiiitt.. how h-happy I was when I found out we had.. m-mutual friends?” His deep chuckle vibrates through your back. “And then the h-house next door to you w-went on the market, hah! I couldn’t help but th-think this was fate!” He sounds delirious. “E-Eren… I-I’m gonna cum!” His hold around your neck tightens slightly, “Yeah?” He picks up his pace, “Cum for me baby.” And you do. Your eyes rolled back as your pussy pulsated around him. Thighs trembling as he doesn’t relent, nails digging into the mattress. “You’re so good for me… my pretty girl.” His thrusts start to get a little sloppy. “I’m gonna fill you up every fucking day.” His hand that was around your neck moves higher, sticking two fingers down your throat. The sound of your gag was the last straw, before he’s shooting ropes after ropes of his seed in you. “Fuckfuckfuck, take it all.”

Boy next door!Eren who’s now boyfriend!Eren, gets to have his way with you whenever and wherever. You ride him on his bike, he fucks you against the lockers in the men’s locker room on campus, you give him head in your car and at the movie theater, he feels you up at restaurants…

You name it.

“Eren…” You quietly scolded him. “What?” He looks around the classroom, “No one is even paying attention. Half of them are either too busy taking notes, or falling asleep. C’mon, just a little swipe up your slit.” He whispers. His hand gently squeezed the inside of your thigh, before inching up under your dress. “I just want a little taste…” “Eren, we literally had sex right before we left for class.” “And? That was over an hour ago.” “I can still feel some of your cum seeping out of me.” You roll your eyes. “Mmph, love when you talk like that baby.” “You’re so ann-“ You bit your bottom lip to conceal your gasp when his fingers slip inside your panties. “Hm? What was that?” He uses two fingers to spread your folds, and then swipes his finger up from your entrance to your clit, rubbing in slow small circles. “Hnngh… b-babe…you said j-just a swipe…” Your nails carved into your textbook. “Shh,” he brings his fingers to his mouth and gives them a quick lick, his eyes rolling back as he tastes you. “Be a good girl and keep it down, alright?” He brings his fingers back to your pussy, “Wouldn’t want to interrupt Professor Ackerman’s lecture…”

Boyfriend!Eren who still likes to go back to your roots once in a while. He’ll buy you new lingerie, and even though he can just come over freely now… he still likes to watch you from next door, as you parade around in your kitchen wearing nothing but the newest set he got for you.

…Fuckin perverts.

Yall my man is just the sweetest ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Kyle Garrick x f!reader

middle ages AU

very very fluffy | non descriptive smut

contains mentions of marital abuse (not kyle)

The castle walls were cold, but not colder than your husband's silence.

Duke Simon Riley was revered across the kingdom—war hero, iron-fisted ruler, silent shadow of a man with a gaze like flint. You were the jewel he’d claimed after the war, a marriage sealed with blood-stained hands and noble signatures. They called you fortunate. A lady. A duchess. A trophy.

But behind the stone facade, you were his maid. His mother. His wife. His burden.

The servants knew better than to look you in the eye when you dragged the tray of food down the hall, your silks dusted with ash from the hearth you stoked yourself. They whispered as you limped from the cellar with buckets of wine, sleeves rolled, dignity unraveling thread by thread. The noblewoman who still scrubbed blood from his armor. Who kept his books and raised his bastard nephew. Who was expected to smile when he returned late, stinking of drink and war.

Simon barely spoke—unless it was to bark an order, or mutter thanks through gritted teeth. The only time his voice softened was when he needed you to serve him: in court, in chambers, in bed.

And you obeyed. Like a good wife. A good duchess.

Until one day, the shame turned to salt in your mouth.

When he dropped his boots at your feet without looking at you. When you poured his wine and watched him laugh with his men, never once thinking to ask you how your day was. When he dared to touch you in bed like you were a body he owned, a vessel, a duty.

Your love had died quietly, a candle snuffed out by indifference.

And one night, under a moon shrouded in mist, you packed nothing but what you could carry. Left a letter sealed with your ring. Walked past the guards who thought you were just one more servant finishing her chores.

The night air bit your cheeks as you crossed the threshold, barefoot and breathless.

No more.

No more bruised hands scrubbing floors you were meant to rule over.

No more gentle smiles for a man who never once said he loved you.

No more breaking your back for a crown that sat too heavy.

You ran into the dark, cloak whipping behind you, heart pounding.

The Duke of Blackmere would wake to an empty bed.

And for once—he could clean up the mess.

The forest swallowed the sound of your breath.

You ran.

The silk of your nightgown, once white, now clung to your legs—mud-slick and torn where the brambles snatched at it like claws. Twigs tangled in your hair, cruel fingers yanking your braids loose, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not even when the rocks bit into the soles of your feet, slicing skin and drawing warm blood that trailed behind you like a second veil.

The moon lit your path in shards—silver light piercing through the canopy, just enough to guide you forward, forward, forward.

Every step burned. Your lungs were raw. Your hands scraped against bark and stone as you stumbled, catching yourself, scrambling on all fours for a moment before rising again like a hunted animal.

Behind you, the castle stood still. Cold. Watching.

But the trees didn’t care who you were. The birds didn’t call you “Duchess.” Out here, you were no one. A woman with nothing but the fire in her chest and the echo of run, run, run in your ears.

Your gown snagged again. You hissed, yanking it free. The fabric gave with a rip, exposing your thigh to the night air. You didn’t care. You pushed on.

Until finally—lights.

Golden, flickering, swaying in the distance. Torches. Lanterns. Smoke curling from chimneys.

A village.

You stumbled over the threshold, barefoot and breathless, tears hot on your cheeks as you collapsed at the edge of a cobbled road. The world tilted. Voices called out, distant and muddled.

But you were safe.

For the first time in years—

You were free.

The first snowfall came early that year.

It blanketed the village in quiet, hush-white peace, and you watched it from the bakery window as the oven hissed softly behind you. The scent of yeast and cinnamon filled the small shop. Your hands, dusted in flour, shaped dough on muscle memory. You didn’t think much about the work anymore—it came easily now, like breath.

Months had passed since the night you’d run barefoot through the woods. No one asked why. No one pried. There was a sort of understanding here, a sacred silence shared between strangers who knew what it meant to begin again.

You were simply Miss, or darlin’, or love when Mrs. Price, the innkeeper’s wife, needed help minding her little ones and pressed hot tea into your hands. You cleaned the rooms at the inn, soothed fussy children to sleep, worked the early hours at the bakery in exchange for a roof and warm meals.

You slept on a straw-stuffed mattress beneath the rafters. It wasn’t a duchess’s bed. It didn’t need to be.

Each day blurred gently into the next. Until he became part of the rhythm.

Kyle Garrick, the farmer from just outside the village. Came into town twice a week with baskets of eggs and jugs of milk, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, hay in his curls, a dusting of dirt on his boots. He always called you Miss, voice warm as cider. Said it like a nickname, like a secret.

“G’mornin’, Miss,” he’d greet you with a little grin, arms full of crates, eyes kind. “Don’t suppose you’d let me carry those sacks for you?”

And you’d protest—always half-heartedly—as he hoisted the flour bags from the cart like they were weightless.

“I can manage,” you’d say.

“I know,” he’d reply, “but where’s the fun in that?”

He never asked where you came from. Not once. Just like the rest of them.

But sometimes you caught him looking at you—when your sleeves were rolled up and your face flushed from the oven’s heat, when you wiped sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist. Not lustfully. Just curious. Gentle. Like he was memorizing your edges.

You shared quiet moments. Small things.

He gave you the first apple from his tree that autumn. You saved the seeds.

One night, during a thunderstorm, he brought extra candles to the inn. Said he figured you hated the dark.

You did.

You hadn’t told him that.

And still—you stayed silent. You didn’t speak of the Duke. Of the silk gowns. Of the cold halls of your marriage. It belonged to another life. A different girl.

You didn’t know what this was. What it might become.

But Kyle’s hands were strong. His heart was kind. And maybe—just maybe—you were finally learning what it meant to be held, not possessed.

Kyle asked the first time in early spring.

“Got a new foal on the way,” he’d said, leaning his weight casually against the bakery doorframe, arms crossed, smiling just a little. “Thought you might want to see the farm sometime.”

You offered a polite smile, shook your head. “That’s kind, but I’ve got work.”

He didn’t push.

The second time, he tried again.

“Built a new coop for the hens. Clean lines, real proud of it. You could come see?”

You dusted flour off your apron, gave a soft laugh. “Sounds lovely, but I really can’t.”

He gave a little shrug. “Maybe another time, Miss.”

There were more offers—gentle ones. Shared like wildflowers laid at your feet. He never asked why you always said no.

Until one day, when the sun was soft and golden through the clouds and you were restocking shelves, Kyle stepped into the bakery looking just a touch more urgent than usual.

“She’s close,” he said without a greeting. “The goat. Her first birth. Thought of you right away—thought maybe you'd want to be there.”

You blinked, confused. “Why me?”

“Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “You just… seemed the type who might want to see something come into the world. Something good.”

And something in you—some fragile, buried thing—stirred.

So you nodded.

The walk to his farm was quiet, just the two of you on the narrow path between wild grass and scattered yellow blossoms. Your skirts brushed the earth, your boots muddied at the edges, but Kyle didn’t seem to mind. He pointed out things as you went—that tree’s been leaning since I was a lad, foxes sometimes nest there, there’s a hawk that lives near the well.

The farmhouse was simple. Warm. The porch sagged a little, and the door creaked when he opened it. The air smelled like hay and woodsmoke and something sweet—jams, maybe.

He didn’t ask you inside. Just took you to the barn.

The goat was already panting by the time you arrived, her sides heaving.

Kyle knelt beside her and showed you how to stroke her neck. How to speak soft. Gentle.

And when the kid finally arrived, slick and squirming and alive, you cried without realizing.

Kyle didn’t speak. Just handed you a clean cloth, his fingers brushing yours.

Later, when the goat and her baby were settled, and the sun had begun to set in streaks of amber and rose, he led you back toward the farmhouse porch.

“I can walk back alone,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“You could,” he said, “but I’d rather walk you.”

And so he did.

That night, you lay awake in your narrow bed, remembering the way his hands moved—sure, patient, reverent. Remembering how he looked at you like you were real and here and not something to be claimed.

You still hadn’t told him who you were.

But maybe… he already knew there was something broken about you. Or maybe it didn’t matter.

Not anymore.

The sky was still tinted with the faint blue of pre-dawn when he arrived.

He always came early on Wednesdays—before the others, before the village stirred awake. Just him and the birdsong and the steam from the fresh loaves you made for him.

The door creaked as he entered. You didn’t look up at first, hands deep in the dough, sleeves rolled to your elbows. Your hair was braided back, wisps escaping to stick to your warm skin. The oven behind her flickered with a quiet fire.

“Morning, Miss,” Kyle said, voice soft, respectful, warm.

“You’re early,” you replied, not unkindly, still kneading.

“I like it here when it’s quiet,” he said, stepping closer but not crowding. “You working on mine?”

You nodded toward a proofing tray. “It’s rising now.”

He sat on the edge of the counter, just watching you for a while. Your hands moved like you were born to it—strong, steady, sure. You’d come to the village like a shadow, but now you glowed in the firelight. Familiar. Trusted. His, in some unspoken way neither of you had dared name.

He watched you in silence until, after a moment, he asked, “You ever been in love before, Miss?”

You paused, only for a second, then dusted your hands and went back to shaping the loaf.

“...Thought I was.”

There was no bitterness in your voice. No romance either. Just something hollowed out and carefully set down.

Kyle didn’t ask more. Didn’t need to.

He leaned back a bit, looking at you with something deeper than curiosity.

“Someone didn’t treat you right,” he said softly, not a question, not even a guess. Just a truth.

You looked up then. Just briefly. Your eyes, still tired from dreams you never spoke aloud, met his.

“No,” you whispered, “he treated me exactly how the world told him he could.”

Kyle blinked, slow. Then nodded. “World’s wrong about a lot of things.”

The air stretched between you like warm honey. The oven crackled. The dough rose. You turned your gaze back to it.

“I think I like making bread,” you said after a long silence. “It doesn’t ask anything of me. Just needs time. Patience. A steady hand.”

“I reckon you deserve the same,” he murmured.

You smiled, small and grateful.

When the loaf finished, you handed it to him wrapped in a linen cloth. His fingers brushed yours again. He didn’t linger, but he didn’t leave right away either.

“I’ll be by tomorrow,” he said. “Bring you something sweet. If you’d like.”

You didn’t nod. Didn’t answer.

But when he stepped outside, he saw your through the window, smiling to yourself with the faintest tilt of your lips.

And that was enough.

The moment the news reached you, you dropped a basket of rolls.

It passed from mouth to mouth like wildfire—a Duke, arriving tomorrow. One from the North. One with a name no one dared say but all seemed to know.

Your breath had hitched. Your hands had trembled. But you didn’t cry. You never did anymore.

By the time the sun began to dip low, painting the sky with shades of warning red, You were walking back from the bakery with your arms full of unsold loaves for the inn.

The air smelled like smoke and earth. Your stomach twisted.

“Miss?”

Kyle’s voice, always warm, always gentle, cut through the thick fog of your thoughts.

You hadn’t even heard him approach. But there he was—boots dusty, sleeves rolled, hands calloused and kind. He walked in step with you without asking.

His hand pressed lightly to the small of your back, and you startled just a little at the warmth of it. Not in fear. Just in surprise. You’d grown so used to holding yourself.

“You alright?” he asked, like he didn’t already see how tense you shoulders were.

You didn’t answer.

“Would you…” he started again, voice lower now, less sure. “Would you like to come by the farm again? Think the goats miss you.”

The question was simple. But it meant everything. A life raft offered in a storm.

You answered before you had time to think. “Yes.”

And it was the first thing that felt like a choice all day.

Kyle nodded once, like he’d expected you to say no, and the quiet joy in his eyes when you didn’t made you feel something you hadn’t let yourself feel in months.

Safe.

Not free yet. But close.

The loaves were still warm when you handed them off at the inn, your hands lingering on the cloth-covered basket like you might take it back and run. But you didn’t. You gave a soft nod to Mrs. and Mr. Price, mumbled something about being out late, and slipped through the door without another word.

Kyle waited just beyond the threshold, leaning on the fence post, eyes watching the fading sky.

Neither of you talked as you made the walk toward the farm. But it wasn’t the kind of silence you’d known before—the cold, stiff kind that always left you feeling like you’d said something wrong just by existing. No, this one was… easy. Like the earth didn’t expect anything from you but your steps on the road.

The goats came into view as the sun dipped further, casting gold over the hills. One of the younger ones bleated at you and stumbled toward the fence, nosing your palm with enthusiasm.

You laughed.

Not a pretty, courtly giggle. A real laugh. One that cracked something open in your chest, something you’d been pressing down so hard it left bruises.

You blinked fast, swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat.

Kyle didn’t say a word. Just crouched near one of the fence posts, adjusting a bit of loose rope like he didn’t notice the way your eyes shined.

But when you looked at him, he was already looking back. He smiled, soft and crooked.

“Stay for supper?” he asked. “I’ve been meanin’ to try that stew recipe you told Mr. Mactavish about. We can make it together.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to. But because it had been so long since anyone had asked you anything that didn’t come with a price.

And gods, it was hard to say no to eyes like that—gentle and open and not expecting anything more than what you’d give.

So you didn’t.

You nodded once, quiet, and when he smiled again, your heart ached in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

It was the first time in months you didn’t feel like running.

The kitchen smelled like thyme and onions, rich and warm as the stew bubbled low in the pot. Your sleeves were rolled, flour on your cheek from shaping the bread you’d offered to bake as a side, and Kyle stood beside you, peeling potatoes far slower than necessary just so he could sneak glances.

You caught him once and nudged him with your elbow. “You’re terrible at that,” you teased, grinning.

He shrugged, helpless and boyish. “Never had to impress anyone with my peeling skills b'fore.”

That made you laugh—really laugh—and you leaned over the cutting board, hiding your smile behind your wrist.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he murmured, voice a little lower than before.

She glanced up.

He was closer than you'd thought. Still holding a half-peeled potato, but now his other hand was on your waist, firm and warm. Your breath caught. You could smell the firewood smoke on his shirt, see the soft scruff on his jaw, and then—

Your foreheads touched.

Like it was nothing. Like it was everything.

Your eyes fluttered shut just as his did, and for a moment, there was only the sound of the stew simmering and the quiet beat of two hearts, nearly in sync.

Then he kissed you.

Soft, patient, and certain.

And you kissed him back, your hands curling into the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in something that felt impossibly real.

A warmth bloomed in your chest, equal parts comfort and fear. Because the moment didn’t feel borrowed.

It felt like home.

You pulled back just a little, your heart racing as you caught your breath. A soft laugh escaped your lips, genuine and a little breathless. “Didn’t know it could... feel like that.”

Kyle’s gaze softened, like he was savoring the moment just as much as you were. He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek as he spoke, his voice low but certain. “It does when it’s right, Miss.”

Your chest tightened at his words. For the first time in what felt like forever, something felt right. You had spent so long running, hiding, trying to outrun your past. But here, in this small kitchen with the scent of cooking filling the air and Kyle’s gentle presence in front of you, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could stay for a while.

He smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your skin. “You’re not alone here,” he murmured, almost as if he was reading your mind. “You don’t have to be.”

Your heart fluttered at that, but the reality of your past tugged at you like a chain, invisible but heavy. You forced a smile, trying to push the unease away, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I’m not... running anymore, Kyle.”

He didn’t need you to explain further. His smile softened, understanding more than you expected. “I know.” His hand slid from your waist to your hand, intertwining your fingers. “And you don’t have to. Not from me.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the kitchen. You could hear the faint rustling of the animals outside, the gentle breeze making its way through the open window, but for once, it all felt like it was in its place.

The weight of the past hadn’t vanished, but it felt lighter here, in this little corner of the world where Kyle’s touch made everything seem a little more possible.

He stepped back slowly, never breaking your connection, his hand still gently clasping yours. “Supper’s almost ready,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that made your stomach flutter.

“Right,” you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. You squeezed his hand, the action grounding you in the present, in the here and now.

“I’ll be right there,” you said, but Kyle didn’t move just yet. Instead, he leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a promise in that gentle touch.

As he stepped away, you exhaled slowly, fingers still tingling from his touch. Tonight felt different. For the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe you could belong somewhere again.

And maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself believe in that feeling.

You sat across from each other at the small wooden table, the flickering light from the lantern casting soft shadows around you both. The air was warm with the scent of roasted vegetables and the rich, earthy aroma of the bread you’d helped bake earlier. The goats had been fed, the kitchen cleared, and the simple supper you had prepared together was now in front of you.

Kyle took a bite, his eyes lighting up as he chewed. He grinned at you, a playful glint in his eye. “This... this is delicious.” He set his fork down, still smiling. “Thank you for making it with me.”

You shook your head, feeling a slight heat creep up your neck. “You did most of it,” you protested, but there was a warmth in your voice. “I just helped with the bread and the herbs.”

He leaned back slightly, considering you for a moment before his lips curled into a grin. “True, but your bits,” he paused, picking up a piece of the roasted vegetable, “are the best.”

Your cheeks burned at the compliment, but you couldn’t help the way your lips quirked up into a smile. “Flattery won’t get you more food,” you teased lightly, but there was a softness to your tone, an ease you hadn’t expected to feel so quickly.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. “I think I’ve already got what I wanted,” he said, his eyes locking with yours for a brief, quiet moment. “You.”

The words hung in the air for a second, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was simple. Honest. The kind of honesty you didn’t know if you were ready for, but something about him made it easier to hear. To believe.

You stirred your food, not quite looking up at him, feeling a knot in your chest tighten slightly. But it wasn’t a bad feeling—it was just... unfamiliar. “Well, I’m glad you think so highly of my cooking,” you said, trying to keep the mood light, though your heart was beating a little faster now.

Kyle took another bite, but his eyes never left you. “I’m serious,” he said softly, his voice steady and warm. “You’re different, Miss. More than you know. You’ve got a way of making everything feel... right.”

Your heart fluttered at that, and you swallowed before meeting his gaze. “And what’s that?” you asked, though you had an inkling of the answer.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers loosely wrapped around his cup of water. “You make the world a little less heavy, just by being in it.”

Your chest tightened at his words. It was so simple, and yet it felt like something you hadn’t allowed yourself to believe in for so long. Maybe you did deserve to have something light in your life again.

You didn’t say anything at first, just took a slow breath and looked back down at your plate. There was a tenderness between you now, unspoken but clear.

The sound of the wind rustling outside was the only interruption as you both finished your meals. There was no rush, no tension. Just the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

“Thank you, Kyle,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper, but it held more weight than you expected. “For all of this. For tonight.”

He smiled again, a soft, contented smile, before leaning back in his chair, settling in. “The pleasure’s all mine, Miss.”

And for once, you let yourself believe it.

The evening had unfolded into a quiet, comfortable rhythm, the soft glow of the lanterns flickering in the corners of the room. The meal had been simple, yet satisfying, and the air between you was easy, filled with gentle laughter and light conversation. But now, as the last of the dishes were cleared away, the weight of what was to come settled in.

You glanced toward the door, the thought of returning to the inn pulling at you. The routine you’d grown so accustomed to, the security of blending in, of being unnoticed. But tonight felt different. Kyle’s presence had been grounding, steady, and his quiet sincerity had created a warmth in your chest that you weren’t sure you wanted to leave behind.

Kyle leaned back against the chair, his hand resting on the table, his gaze soft but determined. “You don’t have to go, y’know.”

You hesitated, caught between the life you had built here and the life you had once run from. Your heart thudded in your chest at the vulnerability in his words, the earnestness in his eyes.

“Kyle…” you started, her voice trailing off. The question you had been avoiding, the fear that gripped you tightly, threatened to spill out. What if I stay?

“I mean it,” Kyle continued, his voice steady but laced with an edge of hope. “Stay with me. You don’t have to go back to the inn. You don’t have to keep running from... wha'ever you’re running from. You can stay here, with me. You’re already part of this place.”

You swallowed, your breath catching in your throat. The pull of his words, the sincerity in them, had your heart racing faster than you expected. It wasn’t just about staying for the night or sharing another meal together. It was about something deeper, something more permanent. A future you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine.

“I—” Your voice faltered. You were afraid of what this could mean. Afraid of what it might feel like to let yourself fully trust someone again. But there was a part of you, buried beneath the walls you’d built, that longed for this. For him.

Kyle’s hand moved across the table, palm up, waiting for your, his expression softening as he watched you struggle.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” he said quietly, his fingers grazing over the table’s edge as if offering you a lifeline, a choice. “But I want you here, Miss. I want you here with me. Wha'ever you need, whenever you’re ready.”

The words hung between you, heavy with possibility. Your eyes flickered from his hand to his face, the conflict clear in your gaze. But then, something shifted inside you. Something told you it was okay to let go, to stop fighting it.

You stood slowly, your legs slightly unsteady from the weight of the moment, and stepped closer to him. Without another word, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his touch spreading through you.

His fingers closed gently around yours, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Stay with me,” he repeated, a promise in his voice this time.

And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, staying could be the right choice.

The night was quiet, save for the steady sound of your breaths mingling in the dim light. The sheets, tangled between you, were warm and comforting. In contrast to the nights you had once known, nights that had been harsh and demanding, this one felt like a revelation. Kyle was slow, patient, guiding you with a tenderness you hadn’t known you needed, but now couldn’t seem to live without.

His movements were deliberate, each touch gentle, coaxing you through every sensation. It wasn’t hurried or desperate—there was no frantic urgency. He savored you, as if every inch of you deserved time and care. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, memorizing the soft tremor of your skin. His lips brushed against your neck, soft whispers of praise against your skin, each word making you feel seen, wanted.

You let out a sharp breath when he finally met your lips again, the kiss slow and tender, his body shifting against yours, each movement carefully planned. He was slow in all the right ways, building you up before bringing you down, making you forget everything but him. It was a stark contrast to everything you had once known—his hands were not harsh, they were reverent. His mouth was not demanding, it was kind.

Your body responded, arching beneath him, his name slipping from your lips with a mixture of awe and longing. The passion built slowly, layer after layer, until it was a pressure you couldn’t contain. Your hands found his shoulders, his back, needing to ground yourself, to feel every inch of him.

His forehead came to rest against yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you heard words you never expected to hear again.

“I love you,” Kyle whispered, his voice rough but filled with sincerity.

Your heart stilled in her chest, your breath catching in your throat. Time seemed to slow. You closed your eyes, running your hands up his chest, needing to touch him, needing to make sure he was real, that this was real. You cupped his face, bringing him closer, your gaze locking with his.

“I love you too,” you said, your voice soft but unwavering. The words felt like a promise, like something that could anchor you in this moment, in this life that you’d never imagined for yourself but somehow found.

Kyle’s smile was gentle, the way he looked at you made you feel seen, cherished. And in that moment, with him above you, with his warmth surrounding you, you knew you had found something worth staying for. Something real. Something true.

It wasn’t just love. It was everything you had been searching for without realizing it—softness, care, and a connection you had once thought was beyond your reach.

The days had passed quietly, a rhythm settling between you and Kyle. The work, the shared meals, the laughter, it all became part of your new life, one you were growing more attached to every day. The tension from the arrival of the Duke had faded into the background, though it never fully left your mind. You had avoided the village center as much as possible, staying in the comfort of Kyle’s farm, but now, on the third night, as the Duke was about to leave, you could feel it all creeping back.

You sat at the small wooden table, picking at the remnants of your supper. Kyle was across from you, his usual easy smile a bit more subdued tonight. He didn’t press you to talk about it, not really, but he had known something was up.

"I was his wife once," you said quietly, almost too quietly. The words felt heavy, like they had been waiting to be spoken, but you hadn't known when to say them.

Kyle didn’t flinch, didn’t look surprised. Instead, he nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair, his gaze soft but steady. "I know, dove," he replied simply. His voice was calm, like it wasn’t the first time he had processed this.

"You knew?" you asked, voice rising in surprise. You didn’t know how she expected him to react—anger, judgment, maybe pity. But Kyle was looking at your like he had known all along, like it wasn’t a revelation, just a fact.

"Whole village knew," Kyle said, his eyes never leaving yours. His tone was matter-of-fact, and it made you realize something you hadn't thought about—your past, your marriage to Simon, hadn't been a secret to anyone. It was common knowledge, and yet, the people in this village had let you be. They hadn’t pried, they hadn’t pushed you to speak of it. They had accepted you without question, without curiosity.

"Oh," you whispered, a wave of surprise and relief flooding through you. It was as if the weight of the past had lifted slightly, knowing that your secrets had never been the subject of gossip, never turned into something for the village to talk about.

Kyle smiled softly, almost as if he had been waiting for your to realize that. "Didn’t mention it, wasn’t our business," he added, his voice warm but firm, like he was assuring you it wasn’t something that needed to be discussed. The Duke was gone now, and whatever had happened between you, whoever you had once been to him, didn’t matter anymore. Not here, not with Kyle.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, as if exhaling a burden you hadn’t known you were still carrying. For all the guilt and confusion you had felt about your past, here, in this quiet farm with Kyle, it didn’t have to be a part of you anymore. You could simply be yourself. You could be the woman you were now—someone who had found a life you never expected to have, but one you were beginning to truly love.

Kyle stood up then, moving around the table to where you sat. He gently cupped your face in his hands, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. "You’re safe here, dove," he said, his voice so full of warmth and care that it made your heart ache. "With me. Always."

The words, simple as they were, meant everything. And you realized, with a quiet certainty, that for the first time in years, you were free. Free from the weight of your past, free from the expectations placed on you, and free to live a life that was entirely your own.

With him.

Months passed, each day blending into the next with a quiet rhythm that had begun to feel like home. The days were simple but comforting—working at the bakery in the morning, kneading dough, shaping loaves, the warm scent of freshly baked bread filling the air. You had always found solace in routine, the predictability of it all, and it gave you a sense of purpose you hadn’t had in years. The steady pace of your work kept you grounded, kept your mind from wandering back to the life you had run from, to the Duke who had once claimed you as his own.

Kyle never pushed you to leave the bakery, even though he offered time and again. He insisted that you could stay home on the farm, help with the chores, and be with him all day. But you knew he understood. He never pried, never made you feel guilty for the hours you spent at the bakery. He simply smiled and kissed your forehead every morning before you left for work and again every evening when you came home.

The small village had become your sanctuary, the faces of the townspeople familiar and kind. The bakery was a place where you felt useful, where the simple act of making bread for others brought you peace. You didn’t feel the need for anything more—at least, not for now.

The mornings with Kyle were often slow and peaceful. He’d wake up early to tend to the animals, always making sure to stop by the bakery to bring you fresh milk or eggs from the farm. He would help with unloading the flour or carrying the heavy sacks, always with that quiet smile of his. You could feel the ease between you, the unspoken bond that had grown stronger over the months.

And in the evenings, after the long days of work, you would sit together at the small table in the farmhouse, a candle flickering between you. And you would talk about the small things—how the animals were doing, the weather, and what you had for dinner—but it was enough. You didn’t need grand gestures or endless promises. Just the warmth of his presence beside you was all you ever needed.

"Why don’t you stay home today?" Kyle would ask sometimes, a playful gleam in his eye. "You could help me with the garden. Or maybe just sit and rest."

You would smile, running a hand through your hair. "I like the routine, Ky," you’d say softly. "I like being there."

He’d never push further. Instead, he’d simply nod, understanding that you needed this. It was the one thing from your old life that you had held on to—the routine, the simple sense of purpose that came with it.

But there were moments, fleeting ones, when Kyle would catch you gazing out at the farm, lost in thought. He’d gently pull you back into the present, reminding you with a soft touch or a quiet word that there was no need to look back anymore. He had given you a new life—one that was free from the pain of your past—and all you had to do was embrace it.

And you were starting to. Slowly, but surely, the shadow of the Duke faded more each day. The nights were yours to cherish, spent in Kyle’s arms, where you felt safe, where you felt loved. It wasn’t a life of grand adventures, but it was yours, and it was enough.

The evening air was thick with the smell of hay and the soft rustling of the barn. The loft was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the setting sun slipping through cracks in the wood. You and Kyle had just made love, your bodies tangled in the soft bedding of straw. His laughter mixed with yours as you tugged at the strands of hay that had caught in your hair. The warmth of the moment lingered, a perfect silence settling between the two of you, broken only by the gentle rhythm of your breathing.

Kyle leaned back against the hay, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes, always soft and full of affection, met yours, but there was something different tonight—a quiet intensity, like he was holding something in. You could feel the weight of it in the air, the anticipation, but you didn’t know what to expect.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn velvet pouch. Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t say anything. He opened it with his fingers, and there, nestled in the fabric, was a simple, delicate ring. His mother’s ring.

He took your hand gently in his, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin as he held it up to the fading light. "I know we don’t need any of this," he said softly, his voice low and sincere. "But I want you to know that I want you with me, always. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine." He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. "Will you marry me?"

You didn’t answer with words. You didn’t need to. Your heart raced, and in that moment, all the pain of the past, all the fear of what came next, melted away. The weight of the world felt light, the uncertainty replaced with a profound sense of belonging. With a breathless smile, you slid your legs over his, straddling him as you bent down to kiss him, slow and lingering. His hands, warm and firm, gripped your waist as you pressed your body against his.

The ring was slipping onto your finger, but it wasn’t the ring that mattered. It was the way he held you, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. You pulled back just slightly, your forehead resting against his, both of you laughing softly.

He kissed you again, and you kissed him back, your heart beating fast, and before either of you could say anything more, you did it all over again. This time, with a different kind of intensity, a deeper connection, as if everything that had led you to this moment had been leading you here.

His mother’s ring gleamed in the dim light, but it was Kyle’s love that sparkled brightest.

You giggled as Kyle carefully cradled you in his arms, bridal-style, his strong arms holding you close. The night air was cool against your skin, but the warmth of his embrace kept you more than comfortable. The crunch of the gravel beneath his boots mixed with your laughter as you playfully scratched at the itching hay that clung to your skin, your dress still speckled with the remnants of the barn loft.

Kyle chuckled softly, his voice low and affectionate as he glanced down at you. “You alright there, Missus?” he teased, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Got enough hay in your hair for the both of us?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. “I swear, Ky, I’m gonna be itchy for days,” you muttered, scratching again at the hay that clung to your arms.

His laugh echoed around you, warm and genuine, as he shifted you higher in his arms, making sure you were secure. “Well, you’ll just have to deal with it, Mrs. Garrick,” he teased again, his lips brushing over your forehead. “That’s what you get for marrying a farm boy.”

You pressed your face into his chest, trying to hide the grin threatening to overtake you. “Mrs. Garrick…” you repeated softly, testing the sound of it, the words feeling both foreign and perfectly right all at once.

He chuckled again, his breath warm against your hair. “Yup, that's you now. Mrs. Garrick. My missus.” His voice softened, turning serious for a moment, though there was still that playful glint in his eyes. “And you always will be, you know?”

Your heart swelled, the quiet reassurance in his words enough to make the moment feel even more perfect. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him a little tighter. “I don’t think I could be happier, Mr. Garrick,” you whispered, finally letting go of the itchiness and just letting yourself be in this moment with him.

He smiled down at you, and the warmth in his eyes was enough to banish any remaining doubts or fears you had. With him, everything felt right. Everything had always felt like it was leading here.

As you neared the house, he gave you one last squeeze, pressing his lips against the top of your head. “And you’re stuck with me now, Mrs. Garrick. Forever.”

The sun was setting low behind the rolling hills, casting a golden hue over the village. The chapel was small, but it felt like the whole world was gathered within its walls. The familiar faces of villagers, the baker, the farmer, the innkeepers, all gathered together to celebrate a love that had blossomed unexpectedly. You felt the weight of their smiles and the warmth of their well-wishes.

Standing next to Kyle, you could feel the fluttering in your chest, the way your heart seemed to race every time you caught sight of his handsome face, that familiar crooked smile. The same smile that had made you fall for him, over and over again, even on days when life was hard. He looked at you like you were the only one in the world, the way he always had since that first time you handed him bread. Maybe he did.

The Bishop's words were a blur in the background, a soft murmur of prayers, but all you could focus on was Kyle’s hand in yours, warm and strong. You couldn’t stop the heat creeping across your cheeks as he spoke his vows—so sickly sweet, so tender. The words tumbled from his lips with such sincerity, his voice thick with emotion.

“I vow to stand beside you, in every storm and every quiet night. I’ll keep you safe, hold you close, and never let you go. You’ve changed my world, my heart. You’ve made me a better man, and I swear, on this day and every day after, I’ll love you more than you could ever know.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, the words sinking deep into your bones, making your breath catch. This wasn’t like the vows you once heard from your former life—no, this was different. This was real.

You squeezed his hand tighter, your eyes watering as you tried to blink away the tears that threatened to fall. How had you ever thought you'd be content without this? Without him?

The Bishop turned to you, a gentle smile on his face. “And you, my dear, what are your vows?”

For a moment, everything felt impossibly still. You looked up into Kyle’s eyes, the love and trust shining back at you, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like the girl who had run away. You didn’t feel like the broken wife.

You stood taller now, the past a shadow behind you. With a soft smile, you spoke, your voice steady, clear. “I vow to cherish you, Kyle Garrick, as you have cherished me. I’ll walk beside you in the sunshine and the rain. I’ll love you with every part of me, for all the days of my life. You are home to me.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Kyle’s hand tightened around yours, and a small tear fell from his eye, the corner of his lip tugging upwards.

The Bishop nodded, satisfied with the vows exchanged, and the ceremony continued with all the joy and love that filled the air.

But you hardly heard a word after that. All that mattered was Kyle, his soft hand in yours, his eyes full of love, and the future that stretched ahead of you both—together, forever.

"You may now kiss your bride."

As the Bishop’s words echoed through the small chapel, the world seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Kyle’s hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek as he leaned in. His eyes locked onto yours for a brief, tender moment, a silent promise passing between you both.

Then, without a word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was everything. The passion of every moment you’d shared, the struggles, the laughter, the quiet comfort of everyday life—it all poured into that single kiss. His lips were soft at first, exploring, tentative. But the moment you kissed him back, something inside him shifted, and so did you. His grip on you tightened, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his lips hot against yours, claiming you in a way that was all his own.

There was no hesitation, no fear, no doubt—just the two of you, together, right here, in this moment.

The chapel seemed to disappear, the cheering from the villagers fading into the background as Kyle kissed you like he was trying to savor every second. His hand slid into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, and you felt yourself melt into him, everything you’d been running from, everything you’d been hiding, falling away.

When he finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead rested gently against yours, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic energy you both shared. His lips were parted in a soft smile, his eyes gleaming with the same love he had sworn to you just moments ago.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, his words vibrating through you like the hum of a quiet promise.

You smiled, still lost in the aftermath of that kiss. “I love you too, Kyle.”

The room erupted into applause, but it felt like nothing compared to the warmth of his lips still lingering on yours. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel like the girl who ran away, or the girl with a past. You were just his, and he was yours.

And as the cheers of the village surrounded you, you knew this was the beginning of a life that would be better than anything you could’ve ever imagined.

Kyle’s grin was playful, his eyes twinkling with that familiar, mischievous glint. He walked with you into the house, closing the door behind you both with a soft click. His hands were already reaching for the delicate fabric of your wedding dress, eager to strip it away, but there was something more to the moment than just the anticipation of what was to come. The joy in his eyes, the way he couldn’t stop smiling as he helped you out of the gown, made you feel like the luckiest woman alive. "Gonna give you a wedding night to remember, love."

You laughed softly, your cheeks flushing at the implications of his words. “I like the love we always make,” you teased, your voice low, a little breathless from the intimacy of the moment.

Kyle’s laugh was low and throaty as he kissed your forehead, his hands gently guiding you toward the bedroom. “Been holding out on you, dove,” he said, his tone teasing. “Had to get a ring on your finger before I could show you what I can do with my mouth.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your breath catching in your throat. You weren’t quite sure what he meant, but the thought of him using his mouth on you had your pulse quickening. You flushed, a shiver of anticipation running through you. “Your mouth?” you repeated, the word leaving your lips more breathlessly than you intended.

“Mhm,” Kyle murmured, his voice low and deep, laced with promise. He took his time, making sure the last few pieces of the dress were carefully removed, letting you step out of it and into the comfort of his arms. “I’ve got plenty of ways to make you remember tonight, Mrs. Garrick.”

You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face as you let him pull you closer, your body pressing into his. His lips trailed down your neck, soft at first, then growing more insistent, sending shivers across your skin.

“I want to make you feel everything,” Kyle whispered, his breath hot against your skin. His hands, now bare, moved over your body, as if memorizing every curve, every inch of you. “And tonight, I’m going to show you all the ways I can.”

You felt your pulse racing, the familiar warmth of his touch igniting something deep inside of you. Tonight would be unlike any other night, and you were more than ready to see just what he had in store for you.

Kyle was a man of many talents, but nothing prepared you for the way he made you feel that night. Every touch, every movement, felt like a carefully orchestrated symphony of passion. He knew exactly where to press, how to move, and when to ease off, leaving you breathless, wanting more. His skill was unmatched, and every time you thought you might finally catch your breath, he’d take you to new heights again.

You must have died and come back five times that night, lost in waves of sensation that you never thought were possible. It wasn’t just the physical connection—though that was undoubtedly divine—it was the intensity of it all, the way his gaze never left yours, the way he seemed to be reading your body like a book, every page turning faster than the last.

And yet, despite all of that, he hadn’t even kissed you yet.

You were so caught up in the feeling of him that the lack of a kiss didn’t even register at first. But then, as his hands gently cupped your face, as he positioned himself just above you, you felt the shift—the tenderness, the deep connection that only he could give. His lips hovered over yours, barely grazing them before finally pressing firmly against you. The kiss was slow, deliberate, full of promise.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” he whispered, his lips brushing over yours before he kissed you again, this time with more urgency, more heat.

And even as you surrendered to his touch once more, you realized that every moment with him had only deepened your feelings. You weren’t just being ravished; you were being adored, in a way that no one had ever done before. It was overwhelming, but in the best way. This wasn’t just about physical connection anymore. This was about being seen, about trust, about love.

And Kyle? He was more than worth it.

UGH MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN , POOKIE @goatgoesmbe

Four eye freak right here love representation 💜

A SLUT WITH GLASSES! — CHOSO KAMO!

SYNOPSIS...a drabble about how choso loves your glasses a little too much…if you know what I mean

INFO...choso x fem!reader, reader wears glasses, p in v, stomach bulge, blowjobs, cumming on face, cum eating, hair pulling, face fucking, spit, slapping

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

as a girly who wears glasses, I had to write this...

Choso loves how cute you look with your glasses, always pushing them up on the bridge of your nose when they slip down, or taking them off to clean and wipe them down. You always look so cute with them and he can’t help it. But what he loves more is when you wear them during sex, his poor baby can’t see without them. He’s fucking you rough, pulling your hair and forcing you to watch the way his cock disappears in your wet cunt, glasses falling off your face, the lenses fogging up as you try to keep them on. “Pay attention sweetheart, look at the bulge,” He snickers, watching the way his cock reached your guts, quite literally.

Don’t get him started on when you give him a blowjob, looking up at him over your glasses, plump lips wrapped around his cock. He has a fistful of hair in his hand, fucking your face, spit drooling everywhere. Tears stream down your cheeks as you choke on his dick, adjusting your glasses for the millionth time when he gives a chance to breathe. “Such a pretty mess you are.” He slaps your face before shoving his cock back down your throat again. Teary eyes stare up at him when he presses your nose against his pelvis. You acted like such a whore for him he loved it.

Next thing you know, he’s cumming on your face, sticky string of cum coating your glasses and tongue. You proudly swallow, smiling up at him. He slaps his dick on your tongue, rubbing it against your face and your glasses of course. “You got it on my glasses, Cho,” you pout, taking them off.

He chuckles, “sorry, princess.” He caresses you head, looking down at you as you lick the cum off of them. Of course a slut like you doesn’t let a drop go to waste. Goddamn, does he love those glasses. If you ever get contacts, he doesn’t know how he’ll manage.

basketball player!ony who takes his career very seriously. he was the star in high school when you met him and he is the star now at his big name d1 college.

basketball player!ony who’s been scouted by many nba teams, but refuses to go into the draft until he gets his degree. you and him have been together since freshman year of high school and he doesn’t plan on changing that no matter how much recognition he gets.

basketball player!ony who is about 6’5, playing as his schools starting point guard. he averages about twenty-six points a game and wears the number 3. sometimes basketball player!ony can get very hard on himself when he doesn’t perform the way he wants to and he always needs you there to help. whether it be getting his rebounds or watching his previous film, basketball player!ony always looked to you first.

basketball player!ony who begged you to go to the same college as him, not thinking he would survive being away from you and you didn’t mind because you felt the exact same way.

basketball player!ony who has to shoot down different girls everyday. constantly throwing away love letters and gifts from the many girls on campus. sometimes splitting the candy he’d get with you.

basketball player!ony who is rarely seen without you unless he is at practice or a game and during those games he always made sure you are seated in the nearest seat to the bench. throwing you a quick wink with a smirk when he’d make a tough shot.

basketball player!ony who’d always bring you up in his interviews after games.

“onyankopon what a great game tonight. you did spectacular ending with thirty-seven points, twelve assists and eleven rebounds. how does it feel to be such a big asset to the team at such a young age?”

“uhhm i just come out here and perform like i normally do. i love this game and it’d be disrespectful of me to not play at my full potential as often as i can. i also wanna give a shout-out to my beautiful girlfriend y/n. there have been nights where it’s just me and her watching film, breaking each game down to make me better. i wouldn’t have made it this far without you mama. i love you”

he’d say, looking straight into the camera as if you were watching him through it. (the interview went viral btw)

basketball player!ony who has you wear his chains for each game since he can’t wear jewelry while playing, not letting you take them off until the two of you got to his dorm room.

“fuck keep ridin’ it just like that baby.” he groaned as you bounced up and down on your boyfriends dick, pretty gold chains dangling from your neck as you slowed your pace. he had just finished a game and needed to get you home immediately after seeing a random from the crowd try to flirt with you, snatching your attention away from him while he was killing his opponents. one of his favorite things about you was that you loved basketball just as much as he did, watching every game without batting an eye.

you gave your boyfriend your full attention and even gave him criticism to show for how much you were paying attention. the fact that some random nigga can snatch that attention from him boiled his blood. his legs were tired and already getting sore from the game as he lay comfortably under you. “daddy m’tireddd” you have been going at it for almost an hour, but basketball player!ony knew you were a good girl and wouldn’t stop until he said to. “ion care. keep that same pace until i nut in you”

basketball player!ony who also let you pick his jersey number.

it was the night after graduation when he had your legs pressed up to your chest on the bed. basketball player!ony fed you deep strokes as he talked to you about your future with him. “how many babies you want daddy t’give you?” he groaned in your ear while pushing himself deeper. you moaned out loud as you felt him kiss your cervix, eyes rolling back as you were slowly going in and out of awareness. “c’mon mama i need an answer it’s important”

you had no idea why he was so eager for an answer but you knew he wasn’t going to let you cum until you told him. he let go of your legs and held both of your hands in his. staring you in the eyes as he slowed his speed and deepened his strokes. you were falling more in love with this man everyday. “i know you like that, but i need you to give me an answer or daddy gon have to stop.” your back arched off the bed as your boyfriend hit a particularly sensitive spot in you. he knew you were close, but he really needed you to answer his question. he stopped completely, staying inside of you as he waited for a reply. you mewled, upset at the lack of friction. “i know mama i know. just tell me how many and i’ll fuck you ‘til you wet this bed up.”

“t-three.” you whispered. it was barely audible, but he heard you, asking again for clarification. “speak up baby” “t-threeee ohh myyy goddd daddy waitttt” you freed one of your hands before pawing at his stomach. he pounded into you at a quick pace, drawing your orgasm out quickly as you spasmed around his dick. “and ima take care of you and them when i go pro i swear. they not gon have to worry about a damn thing and ima wear that number on my back to remind the both of us who we doin this shit for” the two of you came together, holding each other as fatigue got the best of you and ushered the both of you to sleep. your boyfriend never forgot what he swore to do and kept up with it through college.

basketball player!ony never started a game without first kissing his three fingers and pressing them on his jersey. letting you know he always remembered his promise to you.

I was just thinking about him too ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

Obsessed with the idea that Tenya is actually the biggest slut for you :(

He just can’t help it! With your deliciously thick thighs that squeeze his head just right when he eats your chubby pussy, pulling your downright sticky folds apart before running a flat tongue against the length of you. 

He sucks your clit into his mouth and flicks his tongue rhythmically over the bundle of nerves, eyes watching how your cute tummy jiggles and shakes from the intensity of the feeling of his mouth on you. 

He’s whining, moaning at the taste of you as he grinds his clothed cock into the mattress, trying his best not to cum too quick :((

It’s fruitless in the end however, as soon as he reaches a hand up to fondle your breasts and you cry out as you orgasm, he feels his hips stutter as his own orgasm hits him unexpectedly, burying his face further into your cunt.

And when he finally comes up for air, glasses all fogged up and crooked, practically hanging off of his face, you can’t help but pull him into a feverish kiss, groaning as you taste yourself on his tongue.

He’s just… too fucking cute :(((

My man so pretty (≧◡≦)(≧◡≦) ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/

gaz study

That’s my Man y’all forever and always ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

touchstarved!sero who is naturally really flirtatious and friendly so he craves physical touch like a fucking drug

touchstarved!sero who finds every excuse to touch you—pulling out your chair at dinner functions, guiding you through crowds with one hand at the small of your back; fuck, he’ll even pull your palm into his lap and pretend to examine your lifeline just to get his hands on you

touchstarved!sero who does not fuck around as soon as he knows you’re interested

touchstarved!sero who's pressing you up against the door of the storage closet, cupping your pussy through your underwear and smirking against your lips when he feels how wet you are, "damn baby, is someone a little worked up?"

touchstarved!sero who 100 percent uses his quirk to restrain you even as you're begging to touch him, "sorry honey, gotta get my fill of you first" while prying your legs wide open and diving in between your legs

touchstarved!sero who wants you as messy as he can get you, teasing out orgasm after orgasm from his tongue alone. will not stop until you’ve squirted in his mouth, “sweet as fuckin’ candy, pretty girl, always knew you’d have the best fucking pussy”

a/n: i've never written for him before but this had me feeling a type of way. other touchstarved!mha boys here

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...

Here are just a few things about your body that Abby loves. ^.^

This started out with me just writing a little about Abby loving your hips— but then it turned into this XD

I don’t do head-canons(is this considered to be a head-canon?) very often but I wanted to do this because I thought it was cute..this is kind of short and sweet, may not be super great but I like, I think it’s sweet ^.^

Warning(s): NFSW(with a lot of fluff) reader is chubby in this(I can’t help myself, sorry if it messes this up for you. The word fat is used to describe body parts on the reader) reader has stretch marks(Abby obsessive over them), Abby bitting you(playfully), talks about how Abby loves your body(arms, breasts, tummy, hips, thighs. She loves all of you but for this those are the main points.) sexual themes, humping(very brief, more so of you bouncing on her lap acting like your ridding her), talks about how the reader has uneven tits, and I think that’s it?

Enjoy my Honey Bees!

———

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