#*slides a piece of paper underneath*

[quailsprout]

mothvik

[quiets-cradle]

my best friend grunk from the swamp

[disciplesofthelamb]

*traps silas under a giant glass cup.* tiny.

"Wha- hey!! Let me out??"

"Hahaha.. This is the best day of my life."

[cloudzoro]

Kink Discovery | haikyuu ♡

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

individual reaction/headcanon scenarios on kink discovery with haikyuu characters!

reaction/headcanon requests for jjk, one piece, haikyuu, fmab & death note (male & female characters) are OPEN!

jjk vers | op vers | masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: smut (minors dni)

characters included: aran, atsumu, daichi, mattsun, tsukki, ukai, bokuto, tendo

cw: drunk sex (atsumu), public sex, facefucking, deepthroating, dom!tendou, biting, spitting, marking, jealousy, ukai is kind of a meanie, fem!reader

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Aran Ojiro - lingerie

When you wake up on your birthday, Aran has already left for work. There's a small gift bag sitting on the dresser, stuffed with tissue paper. Beneath all the tissue paper sits a cute lacy lingerie set and a note.

Happy birthday, baby. I'm only working a half shift today. Be ready when I get back.

- your loving husband

You spend the rest of the morning getting ready, excited for what the second half of your birthday will bring you. The lingerie set fits perfectly; Aran has been adamant about knowing your size in everything when you first started dating. You feel sexy in it, and knowing that your husband wants to see you in it, you take some mirror selfies. You put effort into finding the sexiest poses and position yourself so your husband can see multiple angles. You sort through your favourites and send them to him with a message asking when he'll be home. He responds immediately, telling you to sit pretty and wait for him to be home soon.

It doesn't take long for Aran to get home. As soon as you hear the door click shut behind him, you exit the bedroom and meet him face-to-face. He takes a second to look you up and down.

“The pictures don't do you justice,” he says, pulling you into a kiss and patting your thigh. You jump at his signal, wrapping your legs around him, and your big, strong husband carries you back to your bedroom. Initially, Aran bought the lingerie because he knows it makes you feel sexy. He always thinks you look beautiful in it, but he never went as crazy over it as he feels now. He drops you down to the mattress and removes his shirt.

“Happy birthday, sweet girl,” he says, leaning down to kiss you again. He kisses around the edge of the lace on your chest and down to the waistband of your panties. He showers you in compliments, letting you know how much of a goddess you are to him and how he worships the ground you walk on. He pulls your panties to the side instead of sliding them down your leg. “I'm not ready to take these off yet”, he says before diving in and flicking his tongue against your clit.

Atsumu Miya - public

Atsumu backs you against the door of the club bathroom, refusing to part from your lips as he reaches for the lock. He told you before you even left the house, there's no way he'd ever be able to behave himself around you in that dress. One of his hands wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, and the other slips underneath the skirt of your dress.

“You look so good”, he growls. He moves his kisses down to your neck. You're so worked up by the combination of alcohol and lust in your system. His hand dips into your underwear and he groans against your skin when he feels how wet you are. He kisses your lips again and walks you over to the sink. He turns you around to face the mirror, and you stumble forward slightly, angled over the sink. Atsumu pushes you further over the sink. “Love seeing you like this.”

He's quick and desperate when he pulls your underwear down your legs. He waits for you to kick them away so he can pick them up and tuck them into his jeans pocket. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls his cock free, lining it up with your pussy. When he pushes into you, Atsumu moans louder than expected; the walls of your pussy always seem to unravel him.

“Quiet tsumu, someone might hear us” Your plea, however, only makes Atsumu louder as he pictures one of his friends walking in on the two of you.

“And what if they did, huh? What if someone walked in to see me fucking this pretty pussy? I'd keep going, let ‘em watch. Would you like that?” You hear him growl under his breath when you nod in response.

You look up at his face in the mirror's reflection and see a grin plastered on his. He lifts one of your legs, using the counter to support it, and pulls the rest of your body upright. You turn your head to look at him properly, and he immediately kisses your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth. His hips pick up speed, and he gets rougher with you, desperate to make you cum. When you start whining that you're close, Atsumu moves his hand that was holding your leg to play with your clit, getting you closer and closer to cumming.

“scream for me, baby, let everyone out there know I'm fucking you good.”

Daichi Sawamura - facefucking

Daichi returns home from work, and within seconds, you're standing in the entryway, waiting to throw yourself into his arms. It's late in the evening, but you don't mind; all you want is to see your husband. After he takes his jacket off and hangs it up, he looks you in the eye and steps towards you. He reaches out, and you waste no time pulling him into a kiss. His arms wrap around you, squeezing you as tight to him as you can get.

“I missed you today. Sorry I'm home so late”, he sighs after pulling away, touching his forehead against yours. You cup his face and push him back slightly to see his face properly. Daichi stares at you with tired eyes, struggling to focus on you.

“I missed you too. How about we get you to bed so we can spend the day together tomorrow?” you say, running a hand through his hair. He shakes his head in protest, leaning back in to kiss you. You smile into the kiss. You drag him into the living room and tell him to sit on the sofa. He groans as you drop to your knees in front of him. He reaches down to unbutton his trousers, and you swat his hands away.

“let me take care of you,” you say, doing it for him.

“You're so good to me, baby”, he groans as you lick up his cock. You take his cock into your mouth, and he loudly moans. He's too tired to keep his composure, so his hips buck up into your mouth. You try to push your mouth as far down as it will go. “don't take all of me if you can't do it, baby; this already feels insane”, he says. You ignore his words and relax your throat. His tip hits the back of your throat, and you gag slightly. The strangled noise Daichi makes is unlike anything you've heard from him before. He pulls you off his cock, panting loudly.

“Is everything OK?” you ask, voice tired and raspy. Your husband smiles at you, nodding his head.

“Perfect baby, I just - let me fuck your face,” he says. “Please”, he adds. You nod, opening your mouth for him. His hand grabs the back of your hair, holding you in place and thrusting his hips up into your mouth. The tight feeling of your throat has him cumming the quickest he ever has. You swallow everything he gives you, and he watches you in awe. He tucks himself back into his trousers and pulls up onto his lap.

“Was that good?” you ask, and he laughs at the ridiculousness of your question.

“I'm barely even functioning right now. You were perfect. Give me a few minutes to recuperate, and we can go to bed.”

Issei Matsukawa - marking

Mattsun wishes he could control his jealousy problem. He knows you would never cheat, but seeing you laughing away with his friends leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows it shouldn't bother him, but when you give Makki a goodbye hug and wish him happy birthday, it makes his skin crawl.

When he finally gets you home, he immediately pulls you to the bedroom, growling under your breath about how he's so much better than stupid Makki. You roll your eyes at his muttering, but you're not going to complain when he's channelling his jealousy into fucking you.

It doesn't take long before you're on your back, legs wrapped around Mattsuns waist as his cock stretches you. You claw at his back as he buries his face in your neck, fucking you slow and deep.

“You're mine. I'm gonna mark you up, maybe then my friends will remember you're taken” Your neck muffles his voice, but the raspy tone of his voice still makes you whimper. He attaches his lips to your neck, teeth grazing the skin and sucks a pretty mark into your neck. When he's finished, he leans back to look at the mark. He's overcome with the urge to add more, so he does. He continues slowly rocking his hips and sectioning his mouth over any patch of skin he can get to.

When he's finally done, your neck and shoulders are covered in very obvious red and purple marks. Feeling satisfied and accomplished, he picks up his pace. His large hands grip the back of your thighs and push your legs up to your chest. He fucks your harder, eyes flickering from your marked up chest to your blissed out face.

“You're so fucking pretty”

Kei Tsukishima - Spitting

The two of you are at a house party. Tsukki stands in the kitchen chatting to Kyotani, and you cling to his side. He looks good, and you can't help teasing him. He tries not to give in because he's in public, but when you wait for Kyotani to get another drink and lean up to whine in his ear, his patience wanes. He grabs your hand and drags you into the nearest bedroom.

“You're so needy,” Says Tsukki, pushing his hands into your panties. “You seriously couldn't wait until we went home?.” His words may sound harsh, but there's a smile on his face as he kisses you. The feeling of his tongue in your mouth has your mind going hazy. You don't even register your words until they leave your mouth.

“spit on me”, you whine, opening your mouth for him. He pauses to think it over, it's the first time you've ever requested him to spit on you. He obliges, spit landing on your tongue, then reconnects your lips. He pushes his fingers inside you as his kisses get messier. He has you pressed against his friend's bedroom wall, fingering you and you cling to him.

“if you're good and cum for me now, I'll take you home and fuck you properly.” he growls moving his kisses to your neck. “I'll be as nasty as you want me to be. I'll spit on that pretty pussy before I eat it. I'll make a real mess of you” He's usually mouthy during sex but he's never dirty talked like this before. You're both desperate and he grinds against your leg as he works you to your orgasm.

You cum almost immediately, legs shaking as he holds you upright. He kisses you, sucking on your tongue as he lets you ride out your orgasm. He sucks his fingers into his mouth and walks out of the party, not even bothering to say goodbye to the host. He has something much more appealing in his mind.

Keishin Ukai - begging

Keishin leans back against the sofa, staring at you with a smug grin on his face as you ride his cock. In the heat of an argument, you had told him you didn't need him to get off, that you could do all the work yourself. After talking through your petty argument, he found the comment lingering in his head so he decided to prove you wrong. He kissed all over your pretty skin, spoke soft words and got you all worked up, only to sit back and tell you that if you want to cum then you have to do it yourself or take back what you said. You, ever the stubborn type, accepted his terms and took the reins for once. His cock feels so good, reaching all the deepest spots inside you.

“feels so good” Your voice comes out as an airy whine, and your boyfriend tries his best to keep his composure as you clench around him. Your hand presses into his bare shoulders to use as leverage to keep your hips moving. After a few minutes, the muscles in your thighs start to burn, and you slow down, choosing to grind down on him instead of bounce. Keishin notices what you're doing and laughs, trying his best not to show you how affected he is.

“I thought you could do it all yourself. What's wrong, baby?” he asks condescendingly. Your thighs shake slightly as you will yourself to keep moving. “If you want me to take over, all you have to do is tell me how much you need me”, He says in a smug sing-song voice. You groan, you don't want to admit defeat, but if your boyfriend doesn't put you on your back and fuck your brains out, then you might combust.

“Please, Keishin”, you beg, “I need you so bad. Want you to pin me down and fuck me” He's never heard you beg before, but the way your voice trembles when like you're so desperate for him you're going to cry flips a switch inside him, and he happily turns you so you're laying with your back against the sofa cushions.

“Don't you worry, baby I got you.”

Kotaro Bokuto - size kink

Your boyfriend's size was always a major turn-on for you, but he never gave your size difference much thought until now. Bokuto has you in his arms, fucking you against the wall.

“You take me so well, pussy was made for me”, He moans in your ear. You hold on to him the best you can as he stretches you out. The way your pussy is clenching around him has him seeing stars.

“You're so big, Kou”, you whine, and he almost cums on the spot. He's used to compliments about the size of his muscles, but the way you cry out about the size of his cock and struggle to take him full ignites a different kind of fire within him.

“You can take me; you always do”, he growls. He's always sensitive, your tight pussy brings him to the edge fast, but he tries to hold off as he makes you cum with him. His grip tightens around you as he puts you on the bed. He leans over you fucking you harder. He dwarfs you in size, which is made clearer by the way you're hidden in his shadow. If someone were to walk in, they might not even see you. His size makes him feel like he can protect you no matter what and fuels his pride. His words are slurred and garbled together as his hips rut wildly into you. You're both close, and it doesn't take long for you to cum. Bokuto follows soon after, unable to withstand the way your pussy pulses around his huge cock, and he fills you up with cum.

“Fuck”, you groan, dragging out the vowel. “Sometimes it scares me how much you stretch me out. You're too big,” you whine, clenching around him again. He hasn't moved from inside you, opting instead to squish you slightly. You don't miss the way his cock twitches when he compliments your size. “round two?” you ask, pulling his head up so he can look you in the eyes.

“I thought you said I was too big?” he asks playfully. He lifts himself back up to his forearms and pulls you into a sweet kiss, rocking his hips into you again.

Satori Tendou - biting

Tendou has always been a bit wild in the bedroom, and he's never afraid to bring things up with you, so when he asks mid-stroke if he can sink his sharp teeth into your skin, you don't hesitate to say yes.

He has you positioned face down, ass up. Your face is squished against the sheets as Tendou holds you down by your hair. He fucks you slow and hard to begin with, building you up to an orgasm, then holding still and tearing it away from you. You can feel his breath on your shoulder blade; he occasionally presses sloppy kisses there or lets his teeth scrape against your skin, but he has yet actually to bite down. You know it's coming, and the anticipation is making you restless that, combined with the frustration of a denied orgasm, almost has you in tears.

“‘Tori” you whine, and he softly shushes you.

“It's ok, angel. I'll make you come soon I promise” he coos, pressing another kiss to your back. His hips speed up and you feel the coil tighten in your stomach. He pays close attention to your reactions and just when you get lost in the feeling of your impending orgasm he leans down and bites the skin of your shoulder blade. The sudden sting makes heat fill your body as you cum. Your legs shake and your boyfriend's skilled hands rub soothe your tired muscles. The feeling of sinking his teeth into you is ingrained in his brain and he admires the mark on your back as you catch your breath.

“That was incredible” you breathe out, cutting yourself off with a moan when Tendou runs his tongue over the teeth marks in your skin.

“You're incredible” He smiles before kissing your shoulder again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)

comments and reblogs are massively appreciated ♡

[kissyrafe]

pogue!fisherman's!daughter!reader meeting rafe for the first time

cw: nothing. also like this is a scrap but enjoy (!reader moldboard here ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎)

north carolina's heat certainly killed you.

your hand swatted back and forth to cool you down as you heard a 'ding' echo through the fish shop's humid air. looking up from your phone, you see two tall guys walking in. "man i'm tellin' ya, that shit was— shit was huge," one of them exclaimed, stretching his arms out to demonstrate the sheer size of whatever he was talking about. you stood up properly, straightening your back as you turned your head to greet the customers. "welcome. if you need help with anything, lemme know." your lips turned into a shy smile, looking at both of them. the guy that had talked before smirked and spoke. "thanks sweetheart, 'think we got this." he gave you a small wink before secretly nudging his arm to his friend as they both looked at you.

you gave them a slightly confused but kind look when they breezed past you, strong cologne filling your nostrils as it masked the shop's aquatic smell. you tapped your nails against the glass of the counter, watching while they walked around each aisle. you could still hear their voices, but couldn't quite understand what they were talking about.

your phone was still open to your friend's text as she invited you to hang out after your shift. your fingers began typing a response, your eyes quickly darting up to see where those two guys were only for one of them to be right in front of you. startled, you let out a small gasp and almost let your phone slip from your hands.

he cleared his throat. "sorry, did i uh, did i scare you?" it wasn't the one that was talking to you before, it was his friend. maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the embarrassment, but your cheeks were brushed with light pink as you tried to speak. "no, nothing like that—sorry." you looked down at the counter to see a small pack of lures and a black lighter. you first grabbed the lure, scanning it as the price popped up on the register's screen, $3.50. then, you typed in the lighter's price, knowing it well as you've worked here since you were a little kid, $7.03.

"$7.03," you look up at the guy again. his features are so sharp and charismatic, even when he has a straight face. you could see the small beads of sweat on the tips of his buzzed hair. he reaches for his wallet, and your eyes follow his sinewy arms. pulling out a ten, his arm extends before he stops abruptly. "how 'bout some bait, what's that gon' cost me?" he looks down to the containers of bait next to you.

you bite your lip, trying to hold back a smile. "on the house." you say, sliding the styrofoam container towards him. he seems to have taken the hint as he gives you a smile that shows his teeth. his eyes narrow, piercing through you.

you grab the bill from him, your fingers feeling a small piece of paper underneath too.

you hear the guy grab his items, not even waiting for you to bag them up. "y'know what, keep the change." his smooth voice runs through your ears when you look at him again. "yo top, let's go." his volume raises as he calls out for his friend, still staring right at you before breaking away from his gaze and walking out with his friend.

you were once again confused by this whole interaction. looking down at the bill, you look down at what was underneath it.

it was his number.

[orionremastered]

could you do a batfam x oblivious reader who’s so close to finding out they’re a vigilante, but she doesn’t even know if that makes sense? like nightwing crawling in through the window when he thought she was asleep, only for her to be awake and go “wrong house?” not realizing it’s her boyfriend.. who thought she was asleep

this made me laugh. very good thinking brains y'all have

Masterlist

Oblivious

Dick Grayson

The sound of your window sliding open prompts you to look up from where you lie your head on the pillow. You can't seem to get to sleep and maybe it's a good thing— you grab for the lamp on the bedside table and raise it high over your head.

Climbing through the window, however, is not a common thief. It's Nightwing.

"What are you doing here?"

The vigilante freezes, slowly looking up to meet your eyes. "I was told there was domestic abuse occurring in this apartment," he says smoothly. "You have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Where is he?"

You look over to Dick's spot on the bed and only just now do you realise it's empty. There's a note written on paper that reads, OUT TO GET FOOD.

"He's grocery shopping."

"Ah, wrong apartment, then. Sorry to bother you." The vigilante then ducks outside.

Jason Todd

A loud crash prompts you to wake up— far earlier than you're used to. The sun isn't even up yet. Glancing to the side of your bed, you forget Jason's out on a business trip, what ever his business is.

You carefully climb out of bed, creeping to the bedroom door and slowly pushing it open. In your living stands Red Hood himself, dismantling an assault rifle.

"What are you doing in my house?"

The vigilante whips his head around, frozen like a deer in headlights. There's a long few minutes of silence where the two of you stare at each other.

"Gun's not working. I'll be out in a minute, just need to fix it. My apologies."

"Oh," you say, shrugging your shoulders. "Stay safe, then."

Red Hood nods, watching you return to your bed with a quiet sigh.

Tim Drake

Waking up at your usual time and kissing Tim gently on the forehead, almost as a reward for sleeping.

After eating breakfast as quickly as you could, you were surprised to see Tim still asleep and give him another gentle kiss, this time on the nose.

You've only got half an hour until you have to go to work, so you rush to the bathroom to get ready.

The Red Robin suit is draped over the shower wall, unmistakeable.

In your bathroom.

"Tim?" You shout, forgetting your boyfriend's need to sleep. "Tim!"

"What?" he replies groggily, slowly getting out of bed.

"The Red Robin suit is in my bathroom."

"Oh, uh, he asked me to clean it for him. We're sort of like, friends. I guess. It's weird."

"You never told me that," you say.

"It's a recent thing. Sorry."

You shrug and get ready for work, ignoring the suit at is it hangs in your bathroom.

Damian Wayne

"Emergency at work," your boyfriend had said. He gets a lot of those, you think. "Be back in the morning. Maybe later."

Now, going to sleep late— towards midnight, where Damian would have already dragged you into bed— you realised you didn't have on of his shirts to sleep in.

When he wasn't with you to sleep, you always sleep in one of his shirts.

You begin scrummaging through his wardrobe— which you never do— only for a shirt. You find one, your favourite black one, and pull it out.

Underneath the shirt, revealed as you yank it from the drawer, is a katanna.

"Oh. Oh."

It's late. You're tired. You've got the shirt.

It's probably just an antique piece anyway. Rich people have all sorts of things.

[therainingkiwi]

tiny details about the PJO tv show that I really appreciated

Sally has a New York accent that comes out when she's arguing

Grover picks at his horns when he's nervous

grover has a mother (or at least a maternal figure)! i really want to learn more about her!

Percy doesn't burn his blue candy at mealtime with the other sacrifices. he burns it at night, alone, in the woods behind the cabin.

the archery counselor casually offering Percy a giant lighter for his arrow, because why use a normal arrow when you could use a FLAMING one

eddie the plumber, who in a single line manages to be nicer to Percy than literally ANY OTHER adult man in his life (the bar is so low you can barely slide a piece of paper underneath it)

gabe playing poker online instead of in person; it makes him feel even more pathetic

literally everything about the set design and production design. wow.

[fireya-x]

heavy, dirty soul

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x Reader ✦ After a long mission, John is exhausted, bruised and distant. You take care of him. ✦ 3.7k words ✦ tags/cw: hurt, comfort, emotional intimacy, intimacy without sex, nsfw but no smut, nudity, injuries, showering together

He looks like hell.

Grimy, worn out, and the kind of tired that settles in a man’s bones and makes him older than he is. His shoulders hunch beneath the weight of his tac vest, stained from whatever hellhole he clawed his way back from. Dirt crusts the hem of his sleeves, and a dark smudge clings stubbornly to his jaw, half-hidden beneath the unkempt mess of his beard. His eyes – those deep, sharp blues – barely flicker when you step through the door.

You set the takeout down and say nothing.

The scent fills the office quickly: warm rice, spiced meat, a trace of soy and citrus curling up from the sauce. Something hearty. Something grounding. The kind of meal you knew he’d need after a mission like that. You’ve seen it before – how he gets afterward. How he forgets to eat, to breathe, to let go of the op and come back to himself.

The room is dimly lit, blinds half-shut to keep the afternoon sun from glaring off the tablet screens scattered across his desk. Papers are messily stacked, half of them likely reports left untouched. The takeout’s aroma gradually overtakes the faint smell of cigar smoke.

He sits across from you, staring at the food like it’s the first real thing he’s seen all day. 

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t even shift in his seat.

You pull the container open for him, the heat unfolding slowly. Your fingers brush against the flimsy plastic cutlery as you fish out the fork, which bends slightly in your grip as you spear a piece of chicken, dripping with sauce.

His gaze follows the motion, but his body stays slack and unmoving.

So you lean forward, holding the fork right to his face.

“Seriously?”

His voice is low and dry, scraped raw from disuse – or maybe too much yelling. There’s a rasp to it, the kind you’re used to hearing when he comes home after long briefings or training days that stretch well past what anyone else would consider reasonable.

His brow twitches, eyes flicking up to meet yours with something close to disbelief, though it’s dulled at the edges.

“Eat, John.”

It’s not a request.

He stares at you for another second, then exhales hard through his nose. A faint smile tugs briefly at the corner of his mouth, but it dies quickly as he leans in and takes the bite.

You hold the fork steady as his lips close around it. He chews slowly, jaw tense, like he doesn’t trust that the first real food he’s tasted in days will stay down. He swallows. Licks the corner of his mouth, where some of the sauce clings.

“Good?” You ask, softer this time.

He nods but doesn’t look up. Instead, he pulls the takeout container closer and starts eating like a starving animal, like his body just remembered it needed food to survive.

Something in the way he moves tells you he hasn’t eaten properly in days. Like feeding himself was too far down the list.

You move around the desk without a word, crouching beside him, hands already going to the buckles of his vest. He doesn’t stop you, just tilts his head slightly to give you better access. 

You slide it off his shoulders, careful not to tug too hard where you know he’s probably sore. It slips free with a bit of resistance, then drops to the floor with a heavy thump.

Underneath, his shirt clings to him like a second skin: sweat-darkened, stretched too wide at the collar, the fabric worn thin in places. There’s a patch of blood on the sleeve – old, maybe his, maybe not. You don’t ask. You never do.

Your hands move to his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle there, working over the tight knots hidden beneath the surface. His body responds slowly, with a slight shift and a barely-there sigh, but his eyes close, and he leans into your touch with the kind of trust that always takes you by surprise – that quiet, unspoken surrender.

And somehow, that’s what nearly breaks your heart.

Not the blood. Not the bruises. Just that – how rarely he lets go, and how much it means when he does.

“That tough?” You ask, even though you already know the answer.

And the silence answers for him.

So do the little things – how his head dips forward slightly under your hands, his fingers curl into fists, and he breathes a little deeper with every slow pass of your palms over his shoulders.

This is routine. Nothing new.

You’ve done this countless times. Brought him food when you heard they were back on base, sat beside him in silence until the weight of it all began to slip off his shoulders, piece by piece. You don’t mind. Not for a second. Because he lets you see him like this. Because he trusts you with the aftermath.

And that means more than anything ever could.

Then his hand comes up slowly and covers yours where it rests on his shoulder. His thumb begins to rub slow, lazy circles into the back of your hand, and the movement is so gentle, so unlike the man you imagine he has to be out there. There’s no pressure, no urgency. Just a quiet ‘thank you’ – a wordless gesture of gratitude.

“You’re filthy,” you murmur, your fingers trailing down the nape of his neck, massaging in slow, steady circles. The skin is warm, a little damp. His hair is ruffled from his hat, sticking up in odd places, flattened in others. You smooth it without thinking.

“Don’t remind me,” he murmurs back, and there’s no bite in it. Just exhaustion.

Your hands skim lower between his shoulder blades, thumbs pressing in, and you feel him unravel slowly, like a spring wound too tight, finally loosening. 

You pause, resting at the hem of his shirt, toying with the edge. “John,” you say softly. “I’m serious. You need to get out of this. All of it. It’s disgusting.”

He hums low in his throat. “You volunteering?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you strip the shirt over his head and drop it to the floor, revealing the full expanse of his back.

You suck in a breath.

His skin is a patchwork of bruises, old and new. Faint yellow blooms along his ribs, a fresh violet welt at his side, a jagged scrape near his shoulder. There’s dried blood near the collarbone, a rough streak of grime trailing down his spine, and the smell of smoke still clings to his hair. You’ve seen him like this before – battered, filthy, freshly returned from god-knows-where – but somehow, each time still cuts a little deeper like a bruise under your own skin that never quite fades.

“I hate seeing you like this.”

He exhales hard, and it almost sounds like a low and shaky laugh. “S’not as bad as it looks.”

“You always say that,” you murmur, your palm brushing lightly over the discolored skin, dusting off some dirt. “You need to get this shit off you.”

“I’ll shower later.”

“No,” you say, firm but not harsh. “You need to shower now . There’s blood on you. You reek. You’re not just gonna sit in it.”

He stares at the takeout box, jaw tight, like he’s weighing whether to push back or let you win this one. You ease closer, fingertips brushing his forearm, voice dropping with it.

“I’ll come with you.”

That makes him glance up. Something loosens, not in surrender, but in trust. That’s what this has always been with him. Not letting go because he’s weak, but letting you in because you’re the only person he lets see past the grit.

He nods, barely more than a breath of movement. But it’s enough.

You don’t say another word as you reach for his hand, and he takes it without hesitation. The trip down the hall is silent, his steps just slightly heavier than yours.

Inside the single-use washroom, he stops just inside the door while you lock it behind you. His shoulders slump in that particular way he only lets happen when no one else is watching, like the last thread holding him upright has finally snapped.

You step toward him, hands going to his belt. You make quick work of it – there’s no seduction here, not meant to be – just the firm, practiced touch of someone who’s done this before, who knows he’s hurting and wants to get him out of his own skin before it closes in on around him.

You open the belt, unfasten the button, and guide the zipper down. The fabric is stiff with dirt and sweat, heavy as it slides from his hips. You crouch to help him step out of the cargo pants and briefs, easing them over his bruised legs, and you try not to wince when you catch the red-scraped line along his thigh.

He says nothing. Just lets you do it.

You undress after, folding your clothes on the bench. His eyes are already on you when you straighten, not with hunger, but with that same wide-eyed exhaustion. Like you’re the only still point left in a spinning world.

You reach for his hand again and step beneath the warm stream of water.

The water flows down between your bodies, hot enough to sting, to chase the ache from your joints. It splashes off his shoulders in thick rivulets, soaking the floor at your feet and catching in the creases of old scars and bruised muscle.

You move slowly, your hands gentle as they glide over his skin.

You start at his collarbone, lathering some soap until it turns slick between your fingers, then work your way down, tracing over muscle, bone, scar. You now know each line of him – the ridge of his sternum, the subtle rise and fall of his ribs, the old scar that curves beneath his pec.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t need to. His eyes are closed, lips parted, breath steady but slow, so deliberate, like he’s trying not to miss a single second of it. Like if he keeps still enough, this moment might last longer.

You ease your hands to his waist and turn his body gently until his back is to you.

And there it is.

The map.

You know it by heart now. The constellation of healed-over bullet wounds, the pale ghosts of shrapnel near his lower ribs, the raised, silvery slash across his left scapula – the one you first traced with trembling fingers months ago, when he finally let you see it in the daylight.

But there are new stars on the map tonight.

A black-purple bruise like a boot print blooms over his lower back, raw around the edges. Two smaller, thumb-sized bruises sit along his left flank – grip marks, maybe. His right shoulder bears a scrape that looks half-healed, dirt still stubborn in the raw skin.

You press your palm lightly to his spine, just between the old scars, grounding him.

He doesn’t flinch.

Your fingers skim over every mark, cataloguing them silently. You don’t ask what happened. You already know. You’ve learned the language of his body, the different hues of pain, the quiet story written in scars and skin.

You dip the soap in your hands again, rich lather clinging to your fingertips, and move down the line of his back. He’s quiet, letting you tend to him like he’s something sacred. Like he knows he can’t hide anything from you here.

You drag the suds across the worst of the bruises, careful not to press too hard. Your hands work lower, over the curve of his hips, the muscle of his thighs. You handle him like someone would a broken thing. Not because he’s fragile, but because he’s been through too much to be treated with anything less than absolute care.

“Turn around for me.”

He does, slowly. Steam curls around the line of his shoulders as he faces you. His eyes open – heavy-lidded and damp – tracking every motion you make, gaze quiet and unreadable.

You take him in like this: bare, open, bruised and battered, and beautiful in the most brutal way. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths. The water sheets off his skin, trailing down the ridges of his ribs, catching in the hollow beneath his throat, darkening the thatch of hair on his chest.

You lift the soap again and step closer.

Your hands move over his chest, gliding through coarse hair and the slick heat of his skin. You know this terrain just as well as his back – that faint scar under his right pec from a close-range shot, the shallow dent near his collarbone where bone once broke clean through. 

You drag the lather lower, across his abdomen, the ridged muscle beneath softening under your touch. 

He just watches you. Jaw slack. Eyes impossibly soft, like he’s still trying to understand how this moment is real.

You lather the soap again and reach between his legs.

Your touch is slow. Careful. Not teasing. Not meant to arouse. This is different – gentler than anything else, more intimate than sex. You wash him the same way you’ve washed every other part of him – thorough, tender, respectful. Like this is just another part of him you want to take care of. Another place where the world left its mark, and you’re here to make it clean again.

His cock rests heavy against your hand, softened by exhaustion and heat, twitching only faintly when your fingers glide down the shaft to his balls. You cup him delicately, run the soap through every crease, every fold. 

His breath catches once – barely a sound – but it’s not from pleasure. 

It’s from the way you hold him like he’s something worth cherishing.

When you rinse him, your fingers guide the water with the same reverence, making certain nothing is left behind. 

No blood, no sweat, no grime. 

Nothing of the outside world. 

Only the clean, worn-down man standing in front of you.

You glance up at him, and the look he gives you guts something inside you.

He’s looking at you like you’re the only person who’s ever touched him like this.

Who has seen him like this.

And loved what you saw.

You reach for the sprayer again, adjust the angle, and wash yourself. He doesn’t look away. His eyes follow every motion, how you drag the soap across your chest, over your hips, down your thighs. You scrub briskly, working through the fatigue now also settling deep in your limbs, but his gaze never strays.

He watches like he’s memorizing you all over again.

With nothing but awe.

Like the steam has made everything holy. Like he’s standing in a church, and you’re the only thing on the altar.

You rinse clean, slick and glistening under the dim light. 

When you step out, you grab the towel and wrap it around yourself, water still trailing down your legs. Another towel is pressed into his hands. He takes it without a word.

The silence between you now is different. It’s heavier. Thicker. 

Full of everything you haven’t said. Full of everything that doesn’t need to be said.

He dries off slowly, watching you the whole time. His hands move a little clumsily, like he’s not entirely sure how to be in his own body anymore – like he’s still trying to catch up to the tenderness he’s just been given.

When he’s done, you cross the small space between you and place your hands on either side of his face. Your thumbs sweep gently beneath his eyes, brushing away the dampness there. It’s not really tears.

But something fragile. Something honest.

You press your forehead to his. For a moment, neither of you move. The world narrows to this: damp skin, quiet breathing, the pulse beneath your fingertips.

Then you kiss him.

A slow, careful press of your lips to his. 

He doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t deepen it. He just lets it happen – like he understands exactly what it is. Like he knows it isn’t meant to spark anything but stillness. A stillness he can’t give himself, but craves all the same.

Without a word, he hands you one of his sweatshirts, and you pull it over your head. It swallows you, the sleeves brushing your fingertips, the scent of him baked into the fabric – clean laundry, cigars, and something warm beneath it all that’s just… him.

It’s comforting. Familiar.

Something that makes you feel closer to him, even when exhaustion has pulled him somewhere distant and quiet inside himself.

You followed him back to his office under the pretense that he forgot something – the tension already rebuilding in his shoulders. Each step is heavy, like he’s pulling against some invisible chain, drawn back into the familiar orbit of responsibility he can’t seem to escape, no matter how many bruises or wounds he carries.

You almost don’t believe what you’re seeing.

Like a machine, he walks back to his desk, as if the shower never happened. As if your hands hadn’t just touched every broken inch of him, hadn’t washed the blood and dirt from his skin with reverence. Like none of it reached him. It was as if the threshold to his office reset him, and all it took was one look at the desk for the weight of the world to settle back on his shoulders.

He sinks into his chair with a sigh, the leather creaking softly beneath his weight, and immediately reaches for the paperwork scattered haphazardly across the desk. 

“John,” you say quietly, gently, but not without an edge of warning.

He glances up, meeting your eyes briefly before he sighs, already anticipating your next words. “Don’t start,” he mutters, turning his gaze back toward the paper. “This won’t take long.”

“Right,” you scoff. “We both know you’re lying. You’ll be here all night. Again.”

He huffs, trying for irritation, but it barely carries any weight. “You’re relentless.”

“Only because you’re stubborn,” you counter. You tilt your head, watching him carefully, aware of every lingering bruise beneath his clothes. Your voice softens, concern seeping through. “Come on, please? Lie down. Get some rest, or I swear to God, I’ll drag you to bed myself.”

That finally makes him look at you properly, a flicker of amusement surfacing behind the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Bet your team would pay good money to see me try,” you add, a grin forming despite your seriousness.

He snorts, shakes his head, a smile tugging briefly at the corners of his mouth. But his shoulders remain stiff, and his voice drops again. “Can’t yet. There’s still work –”

“Bloody hell, John, that can wait,” you interrupt. “You’re barely awake as it is.”

His jaw tightens briefly, that familiar flicker of pride flashing in his eyes before giving way to weary resignation. 

“I’ll stay if you want,” you offer, meaning it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Absolutely not.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes and reaching for his hand across the desk. “John –”

“You never sleep well here,” he says, voice rougher now, protective frustration bleeding through. “Those bunks are shite, and you always wake up sore. It’s not happening.”

You laugh softly, stepping closer. “I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says without hesitation. The fierceness in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“John,” you murmur again, just his name – but it’s enough. A soft plea, steady and warm, tugging him toward you even as he tries to hold his ground. “I’m staying with you tonight. And if you don’t move right now, I will drag your stubborn ass down the corridor.”

He opens his mouth to argue again, but the look in your eyes seems to drain the fight from him, replacing stubbornness with reluctant acceptance. He sighs deeply, head bowing slightly, and finally allows you to tug him gently from his chair. 

You lace your fingers tighter with his, feeling the calloused warmth of his palm pressed against yours, and lead him out of his office into the empty corridor outside.

It’s late enough that nearly everyone has left for the night, and the low buzz of lights overhead is the only sound accompanying you both as you slowly walk toward his quarters. Beside you, each step John takes feels heavier, slower – like the exhaustion is finally catching up to him, dragging at his limbs, weighing him down with every breath he takes.

When you finally reach his quarters, you push the door open and guide him inside, flipping on the single lamp beside the bed. The soft yellow glow spills gently over the sharp edges of his tired face, brightening the deep shadows beneath his eyes.

You lead him silently to the bed, nudging him down until he sits at the edge of the mattress, staring blankly at the floor like he’s not quite sure how he got there.

“Lie down,” you demand, your voice soft as your hand presses gently on his shoulder. He lets you guide him, shoulders easing back until they finally meet the pillow. The mattress dips beneath him, but his body remains rigid, like he’s waiting for something. A call. Another demand, another battle. An alarm that never stops ringing in the back of his mind.

You climb into the bed and shift toward him slowly. You barely fit onto the mattress beside him, so you let your arm slide carefully around his waist. Your chest is pressed against his side, and your head finds that familiar spot tucked perfectly against the curve of his neck. 

His muscles remain locked tight, like part of him doesn’t believe he’s allowed this. You. 

You sigh softly, pressing closer, and lift your chin to kiss the line of his jaw. A familiar gesture, one you’ve done countless times when words weren’t enough to reach him.

It’s a promise: I’m here. You’re safe. You’re with me.

And the moment your lips touch his skin, something in him finally breaks.

He exhales – long, deep, a breath dragged from somewhere buried. The sound carries the weight of the entire day, or maybe, of too many days. His arms come around you slowly, then fully, wrapping you in a firm, unspoken need. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words carrying more than simple gratitude – they’re heavy with trust, with love, with quiet awe at the simple gift of your presence.

You smile softly against his chest, pressing closer still, your fingers drawing slow, soothing circles along his side. 

And only then, with you wrapped safely in his arms, your heartbeat anchoring him, does he finally, quietly, drift into sleep.

[metranart]

hi! it’s me

i wanted to ask you how would the jjk guys react to you getting their lips tatted on you..?(specifically gojo)

like you got them with lipstick and they kiss a paper then the tattoo artist makes it a stencil in red and you put it right under your boob..?

(don’t do this if your uncomfy with it! also take your time your probably busy)

xoxo,em! take care

Hi sweets, sorry for the long wait, I've been awfully busy but here it is, I made it specially smutty to compensate lol hope you like it :) btw... I love your requests ;)

How would the JJK guys react to you getting their lips tattooed on you 💋

Ft. Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Choso, Suguru Geto, Ryomen Sukuna.

SATORU GOJO

Five missed calls and four unseen texts. Gojo sighs, scratching the back of his neck, he hated it when you left him on read. What could you be doing that was so damn important to ignore him.

The sound he had been waiting for since the day started makes his ears ring with excitement and without wasting a second, he opens the text message with your name on it.

Gojo Satoru's eyes widen, and his black glasses slide down the bridge of his nose almost comically thanks to his jaw dropping a little, all at the sight of the picture attached to a cute and adorable message that says:

"Do you like it?"

Gojo growls under his breath, subtly pulling with a shaky finger at the collar of his shirt, suddenly it's too hot there, his cheeks turn an accusatory red and his breathing has grown labored. Even his palms are sweating, for fuck's sake! What's wrong with him?! It's just the shape of his lips on the delicious curve of your under-boob. Shit! He's about to bust a cap inside his pants.

"Satoru-" Nanami's stoic voice breaks his trance and looking around almost as if had forgotten he was in the middle of a briefing, gets up and without any further explanation than: "Emergency!" Leaves the school, leaving behind and unattended, all his duties and mental sanity.

"Did you see the message on his phone, Geto?" a puff of smoke lazily comes out of Shoko’s curious mouth and Geto shrugs. "I saw that it was from (Y/N)." The black-haired snickers and everyone let out a unison, heavy sigh.

Gojo arrives in less time than is humanly possible at your apartment and without warning, not even a ‘hey, babe’, or a: ‘I just teleported myself into your room, hope you don’t mind’. You are dragged by your tall and strong boyfriend, special grade sorcerer and stripped of your top.

"S-Satoru, baby?"

You try to figure out what has him so bristled and with the delicacy of a saint but the curiosity of a child, he yanks your bra up, your delicious breast spills from underneath and his tattooed lips greet him.

"Shit!" is the first word you hear him say and it's almost a painful pant. "Those are my lips, aren't they? This is why you asked me to kiss that paper using the lipstick-...." he sounds accusatory but also incredibly excited.

You nod and let out a sigh that you didn't know were holding. "Phew! When you didn’t answer my text, I thought you didn't like it-"

"Not like it..." he sounds almost offended, and your bra is discarded when he pushes you on your back in the bed. "Not like it?! I love it! I want to eat you whole, (Y/N), I'm only holding back because I need to ask something first."

Being pinned down by his weight and his gentle hands on either side of your jaw, Gojo steals the little space and whispers his question against your ear. "Are you still sensitive from the tattoo, or can I give you a new one with the original source?" 

He kisses your earlobe playfully, and you can’t help but giggle dumbly, as you can't help your voice from shaking with excitement. "I’m not made of sugar-"

You can't even finish the sentence when his lips begin the endless and shameless work of awakening every nerve ending in your skin, the desperation palpable in the white-haired sorcerer as every piece of clothing is torn from your body and his and discarded on the floor as impure.

Purple mockeries of your tattoo in the form of hickeys adorn every patch of your sensitive neck like a new necklace, small bites from the small curve of your shoulder to the sinful curve of your waist, nipples swollen and perked from the greedy skating of his tongue on them. Gojo is not being rough, but he is not being gentle either, he is brutal in his advance but methodical and careful that your moans do not change tone.

"I'm going to tattoo myself on you from the inside out," his warn is muffled against your breast as his mouth devours the plump peak of flesh. Paying special attention to pressing his lips against your tattoo over and over and over again, as if certifying its authenticity and quality. The silhouette was exact, the perfect shape of his greedy lips. It was an almost erotic sight for him.

"Huh?"

"Sure,” he chuckled low before keep going, “white ink specially made for you. You'll see, I’m an awesome artist," having you panting, sweating and squirming isn’t enough for him. Oh no! he needs more, Satoru Gojo claims for something more permanent than a mere tattoo. "...My tattoos last nine months inside, and eighteen years outside, they talk and call you mommy, I’m that talented, sweets" tangled between his muscular limbs, your new resting place, he does whatever the fuck he wants with you. 

You feel the massive shape of his warm cock against your thigh, he’s been pumping himself no end, not letting you touch him not letting you aid him for fear of wasting his first load, that tasty, thick load he's been preparing especially for you. The mere graze of your fingers on him will be his end, he knows it, so he won’t ask nor accept your help, even when he longs to wrap your fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut. Or better yet, wrap your perfect mouth around his cock and suck him off– NO! he now’s not the time for him to be negligent. 

Once loaded, abandons his quest for relief and rests his warm palm on your belly massaging it as if molding it to fit something of his, while the other keeps playing with your cunt, enjoying the way you suck his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. 

“I never thought someone would be able to awaken my paternal instinct-... did my clan hire you, sweets?” he scoffed, playfully. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy moans and whimpers but the way your muscles are tensing and spasming around his digits. The desperate rocking of your hips against his palm, as a firm beg for relief.

“It's just a tattoo....”

“Na ah!” His hand continues playing with your tummy, your navel, the curve of your waist almost obsessively while his tongue makes out with the curve of your neck. “This was your way of telling me that you want me forever..." long finger prod at your gummy walls, searching for that hidden blessed spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

"Let me show you how gifted I am, my sweet girl..." 

He finds it in matter of seconds, and you lose all kind of restriction and complaint and Gojo can’t help but smirk against your neck as you tighten and quiver around his digits. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his thumb pressed over your clit, flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles a deep purple hickey on the skin. Long, thick fingers guiding you through madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, oversensitive body to handle.

"Y-Yes, Satoru, shown me, fill me, mark me-… do whatever the fuck you want-"

You convulse in the spare seconds of glorious pleasure before cumming with a strangled shriek, and Gojo’s groan muffles against your skin when can finally sink in one roll of his hips, feeding you that fat cock he’s been pumping to the edge just for this exact moment, buries deep inside you, kissing your cervix in that one thrust of raw meat. With an animalistic grunt, spills his soul inside your womb, pouring every last drop of cum he's been cooking in those heavy balls until he empties himself, flooding your inside with his gifted seed. A rush of juices gushes from your trembling cunt onto your connected lower halves, and you feel and hear him pant like a dog next to your ear, as both come down from the high. 

"Am I your favorite tattoo artist or what?"

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

NANAMI KENTO

He's stoic and serious, almost unmoving in his unflappable staring as you lift your shirt so he can see your new tattoo. His silent disposition is starting to make you more than a little nervous, since you know that Nanami Kento isn't exactly a crazy animal, but rather, a calm and quiet being who hides a wild side that he only shares with those closest to him. Making you wonder if you fall into that category or not, as his silence as he inspects the tattoo of his lips under your boob is virtually killing you with anxiety.

"Those are your lips, my love." You explain again, even though you've already done it three times, and you receive the same ‘mphm’ sound he made the first three times. 

"Remember? -… remember when I ask you to kiss a paper?"

"I do."

"Well, I gave that to the tattoo artist, and he made it a stencil in red and then I ask him to put it right under my boob...?"

"I see."

Those calm eyes, analyze from every possible angle the tattoo of his lips on your skin, it had never been so difficult for you to read your boyfriend. "Do you like it, do you hate it? Tell me anything, Kento."

Silence and more close observation.

You close your eyes, squeezing your eyelids shut as you take that deep breath of air, you need so much, and you are about to demand an answer when you feel it...

Your eyelids suddenly open looking down and there you find him: Your stoic, boyfriend, the sensible and calm man who is always in control, kneeling in front of you while pressing his lips against your tattoo, the round softness of your boob loses its shape momentarily as the blond pushes his face more firmly against the plump skin. The most unexpected kiss that you have ever shared and for some reason, the most erotic, too.

"K-Ken?"

"Did it hurt?" he asks suddenly from his kneeling position and the threat of you stuttering makes you just shake your head. Nanami steals another kiss against the softness of your breast like he can’t have enough of the sensation. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

You nod, mesmerized by the sudden attention this blond showers you with, his hands caressing your bare back from top to bottom, slow and gentle with the tips of his fingers, it's delicious and it melts away the anxiety you may have been feeling, now, malleable in his hands. You let his face sink further into the curve of the tattoo of his lips and you moan his name as if you want to taste it rolling down your tongue.

"Nanami."

"... Do you still have the lipstick?"

"Huh?" That request brings you out of your reverie a little, and you look at him with some confusion, to which he smiles, that smile that makes you weak in the knees. "Y-Yes, it's in my purse."

"Lend it to me, darling."

With his palm splayed wide open he waits for you to hand over the lipstick. Digging for the cosmetic, he waits patiently until it's resting in his open hand and before you can air your doubts, he stands up, lifting you into his arms to take you with him, those muscular limbs feel like the safest place in the world and you nuzzle your nose into his neck to breathe in his scent combined with his cologne, and it’s intoxicating, so much so that you almost miss his next question.

“I’d like to suggest a few other places where my lips would look just as amazing on your body.”

“Kento!” you startle, it’s adorable to him and closing the distance, he presses his lips to yours, tasting, nibbing and licking as he carries you to his room. “You take suggestions don’t you, sweetie?” 

He chuckles at the flush growing wild on your cheeks, and you feel the softness of the mattress on your back as he sets you down with the care of a saint, before beginning to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. Your body shivers in anticipation and his lips curve up into the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen him make, his large hand reaching out one elegant finger towards you and beckoning you with it. 

You’re on your knees in front of him in seconds, his knuckles running down the length of your jaw in a silky caress that has you purring like a kitten, leaning into his touch. That smile only stretches further, as your eyes flutter shut and you feel the greedy grip on his lips, hunting for another kiss. 

Unfortunately, it ends too soon, and your mouth holds that pouty shape that demands another sweet kiss, but instead of his fleshy lips, you feel the creamy slick of lipstick painting your lips.

“Tell me, (Y/N),” Nanami is delighted with how docile you are to him as he finishes painting your lips red, and it’s the sound of his pants zipper coming down that catapults your eyes open, “what would you think of me tattooing your lips right here?”

His finger points along his defined obliques and your mouth waters, this man was sincerely praised by the gods themselves, every muscle in his abdomen defined, those deep lines going down to his crotch giving that ‘v’ shape to his torso, that sinful path of golden hair that disappears under his trousers. It's too much for you.

"I think I need to see what it looks like first and then I can give you an informed answer, Kento."

His broad chest rises and falls violently, sweat runs down his forehead and his cheeks are an explosion of color. This is your masterpiece. Nanami Kento’s fat cock fits with effort in your mouth, but you certainly do your best to get it to touch the back of your throat with every thrust, you can feel him getting close, his thighs tremble under your hands, his forearm covers his eyes, his cheeks are about to explode… he’s too close, and your tongue curling around the tip doesn’t help him resist, you suck him off for over ten minutes and you’re proud of that pleasurable ache in your jaw when he comes shamelessly hard at the back of your throat and your name rips through his esophagus as it echoes through the walls of his apartment. Eventually, his hand stops keeping your head pressed against his pelvis, and with a wet pop, his still semi-erect cock hangs in front of your face, lubed in your saliva.

“You’re right, I think it would look nice.”

You tell him, admiring the lipstick residue that adorns the shape of his cock and balls, a crimson kiss near the base, another at the shiny, cum-dripping tip, another resting on the roundness of his coarse balls, and you love the whole image. You want a fucking mural in your living room with this image.

“Hell no,” the blonde says breathlessly, barely trying to recover from your masterful blowjob, “…no needle is going to touch me down there,” he threatens playfully but serious enough, “if you like the way it looks, you’re going to have to paint it yourself every time.”

A giggle escapes your mouth, red lipstick smeared on your lips as you grin evilly at him. 

“You have yourself a deal, baby."

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

CHOSO KAMO

Choso can't control where the blood goes since, he met you, his cursed technique is out of control. That damn tattoo of his lips on the curve of your under-boob is driving him crazy, he thinks of it and the blood goes down to his crotch. He thinks of you and the blood makes a tent in his pants.

It's a mess that he's had to control with shameful continuous masturbation sessions. Jerking himself off, over and over, with your name as a mantra and the image of his lips tattooed on your breast as his banner.

"Shit, just go away." 

He murmurs with a tight voice, while his fist milks his fat cock in fast and violent motions, his flesh swollen painfully for more than an hour, he doesn't want you to come home from work and find him touching himself, he doesn't want you to find out that he lost control of his cursed technique. He had to lower himself to watching porn, something he had never done before, but it was of no use. So, he put on cream and although it had relieved him on other occasions, this time wasn't working its charm. Fuck! Pleaaaase-... maybe he needs more cream to slide better? No, no matter how much cream he spreads on it never compares even a little to your tight, little pussy. 

And it is the desperation, that he is running out of time that drives him to this miserable act. He takes, that one photo he treasures so much, out of the frame and places it between his fingers, his excitement growing as he looks at it, it is working. He beats his piece of swollen flesh more eagerly, grunting and growling like a dying animal, Fuck! he's close...his eyes close in concentration and his hand increases speed and pressure as his mouth hangs open… almost there, he can feel his balls tensing and tightening, so close, just a few more pumps, a couple more strokes, a little more pressure, almost there… his guts tighten and his brain enraptures in the moment forgetting to mind his surroundings, to enjoy the divine sensation that grows and grows and grows and FUCK!-

Choso Kamo cums, hard and heavy, rope after rope of creamy cum shoots out of the head of his cock like a mockery of how blood usually does when he uses his cursed technique, the pressurized jet of creamy juice spills out and doesn't finish pouring for about a minute straight. Once his balls are an empty, trembling sack, Choso can breathe again, his sweaty and naked torso rises and falls with violence that calms down the more air he sucks, the sweat begins to dry on his skin and his cheeks feel less hot. This was what he needed, the photo helped him a lot, although he can feel how he bathed it in cum, he can fix it quickly, clean every single trail of his sin before you get home-

"C-Choso?"

His hand, which was riding out the last few strokes of pleasure on his ultra-sensitive cock freezes and his eyes snap open to find you staring at the mess he is, just what he wanted to avoid, damn it! -

"B-Baby, I-" he starts to stutter and stops abruptly when his eyes register what he did.

Your cheeks are painted a deep red but that's to be expected, what's not to be expected are the cum globes that slide down your pretty face, down your cheeks, varnishing your eyelashes and part of your eye, messing up your perfect hairdo, staining your work uniform. Choso enraptured himself so much in his own fantasy that he didn't notice when you walked through the door, or when you approached him.

Now, he has no idea how to begin to apologize, the words are stuck in his dry throat. Are you angry? Are you furious with him? Your beautiful eyes only watch him, better said, ogle him: pants pooling at his ankles, shirt bunched up to his neck, his cock limp but slowly filling with blood again between his trembling fingers, the cockhead shiny and pink and still, spewing cum to further mortify him. 

Choso is paralyzed, unable to move and his mouth barely managing to open to spit out any explanation, snaps shut again from the shame that crushes him.

But that shame turns to bewilderment when his eyes catch the subtle movement of your hand gathering a glob of his cum that slides down your cheek, with all the delicacy and grace that define you, and you play with it for a second between your fingers before opening your mouth and dipping the digits between your tongue. Choso's jaw drops to the floor and his breathing hastens again, his cursed technique going out of control once more, summoning blood to that still throbbing and extra-sensitive part.

Your pretty lips curve into a feline grin that makes him feel like your prey, and he swallows hard, clenching his fists to keep his body from shaking, when his eyes meet yours.

“Is this what you do when I go to work, sweetheart?” you ask, licking your lips to collect the cum resting there, “you jerk off while looking at my graduation picture?” a flirtatious giggle escapes you when you specify, “...same picture where your little brother is, too, how dirty.”

Choso is a bundle of nerves, blood just keeps pooling where it shouldn’t, he’s so hard and swollen that your eyes drop there almost automatically.

“I’ll take care of cleaning everything-” 

You interrupt his apology, raising a finger to get his attention so he can see you, as you lift your pencil skirt up to your thighs and slowly settle yourself comfortably on top of his lap, nestling his cock between your warm stockinged thighs. Choso shivers and carefully as if asking for permission, let his large hands slide down those wide, inviting thighs. 

“…How about you start by cleaning me up first?” Your warm hand tangles around his firm erection and he growls low, “Then you get me dirty again,” you slide those fingers up and down on his stiffness in shameless incitement and smile when notice his eyes roll back his skull, “and we repeat it all until dawn.”

“Yesyesyesyesyes, whatever my girl wants-…” the words rush from his mouth, “…just one request,” an eyebrow rises on your face, and he grins, warm and almost, shyly. “May I see the tattoo of my lips again?”

CLICK HERE TO READ ALL MY JJK SMUT FANFICTION COMMISSIONS

SUGURU GETO

“Do you… Do you really like it, Suguru?” You ask, lolling your head forward and humming when his fingers slowly travel up and unclasp your bra, the last barrier you have left to cover yourself.  Every little breathy sound you make comes ragged and soiled with a mix of uncertainty and excitement.

“Way too much, baby,” his low voice carefully admits from above you.  “I don’t know why you hid it from me in the first place. Don’t—don’t do that. You don’t have to. EVER.”

Your breathing keeps picking up when he keeps trailing his hands around either side of your now naked torso, running the tips of his fingers down your ribs and slowly tracing the curve of your breast, letting the pads of his fingers memorize the shape of his tattooed lips on your skin.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” Suguru whisper, quite suddenly emboldened by his growing need. The gentle caresses pause at the very top of perked nipple, holding there for a second while he seems to think about it. “Please, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Soon his touch lifts away and he appreciates the sound your hands make, as those little limbs make haste in follow his request, the muffled shuffling of fabric being stripped of your skin somewhere close by and the soft noise it makes dropping to the floor, close to erotic to the first-grade sorcerer. And then suddenly—

“Oh, God—” you breathe, nearly melting into the seat of his school office when large, warm palms meet your skin and slowly start to ride the curve of your neck and collarbone downwards. Dammit, why does it feel so good?  Suguru Geto smirks, like the knowing devil that he is. “Do my hands feel amazing, baby? It’s just two palms, ten fingers-”

 “…. But they’re so strong and raspy and big….” Your mouth babbles unrestrainedly, “touch me more, Geto….”

One palm butterfly out across your breast and you moan, lewdly loud. “If Director Yaga hears, I’m going to be so fired, pretty.”

“S-Sorry…” 

Dipping and squeezing the soft, pillowy flesh of your boobs, Suguru Geto stares down at you, drinking every emotion and expression he can rip out of you. “Ho—fuck, like that.” Your approval is everything to him.

“I know,” Suguru murmurs, his voice ocean-deep and scraping across the shell of your eager ear when he leans closer from his privileged height to press one bended knee to the chair, right in between your thighs. He lets one hand drift down into the space he created and rub circles on the moist mound of flesh there, as his other hand comes up to cradle your chin, urging you to stretch your neck up and long for him. “You look so pretty like this— all naked and horny for me.”

“Someone might come in, lock the door…” you breathe in protest, remembering your shy nature, and he ignores you, slowly dragging his palm down your trembling slit.

“You don't get a tattoo as sensual as that, if you don't want everyone to drool after you,” he says, and you’re helpless to stop the embarrassing way your knees suddenly jerk farther apart when his hand moves to press a fat finger on your clit. “… Showing all the monkeys how sexy you are, and then showing them that you belong ONLY to me.”  

And then he squeeeezes your bundle of nerves, and your hips nearly come off the seat with it.

Nothing else exists besides your boyfriend’s pair of hands now gripping the bottom of the chair, to position your body closer to him. You hear yourself take exactly one shaky breath before his arms suddenly slithered under your knees, hauling you forward. Your lower back dips in at the angle, your pelvis now jutted out and propped up by the edge of the seat.  

Suguru Geto licks his lips as if he as if a banquet were being presented to him and the following is him lowering himself to the floor in front of you, running those deliciously strong palms up the length of your thighs. Your new position encourages you to spread your legs wider for him.

“I think my lips, tattooed here,” his long, cascading loose hair caresses the inner skin of your thighs as he leans down to the lower curve of your tummy and places a soft, warm kiss, “would look great, as well.”

“Y-You think?” 

Your quivering lips exhale at the feeling of his hot, plump lips meeting your feverish skin, and hearing the sound of his breath hitch at the visual you give him, goosebumps spread all you’re your body.  

“I know it,” He promises, opening you up wider, subtly moving himself closer into the gap and letting you cradle his torso with your knees.

“Mine to feast on, mine to pamper,” the special grade sorcerer rumbles quietly, his grip on your thighs tightening as he licks his lips, hungrier. “So, mine to… own.”

“….-Own?”

And then you’re abruptly cut off by your own gasp when a soft, dexterous tongue slowly envelopes your clit. His lips slick between your folds as his rogue tongue flicks out like hot velvet to flutter greedily over your clit, humming low in his throat as he eats you with unreserved gluttony.

“Fuck, this is heaven. This is fucking heaven,” he rumbles against your sloppy pussy, “my sweet girl laying with her legs open and letting me eat her after I’m done giving classes—….”  

“Su-Sugu… oh, fuck—” Your words are barely discernible through the pleasure, deformed by the sound of your breaths and gasps. “Do—Do you think someone can h-hear us?”

Suguru smirk is swallow by your folds and his snicker muffled by his need to keep eating you to even let you know that a six eyes user had been spying from the other side of the door since you started. 

“Noones at the school at these hours but us teachers, baby. Don’t worry your pretty head.” 

His fingers curl against your thighs, his tongue swirling gentle circles around your swollen clit as he sinks two of his thick fingers deep inside your cunt. Both of your hands thrust out without thinking and snatch at his loose raven mane, fingers burying themselves into thick waves of hair. “Oh—f-fuck—”

He makes a rough little growl into your warmth every time you tug on his hair, and you tug every time, he pulls his fingers out and then pushes them back in again, until it becomes a vicious circle where both do that steadily, over and over until you’re sweating, hips arching up and doing everything you can to entice him to hurry the fuck up.

Suguru snickers again at your impatience, instead, he’s unbelievably slow, continuing to lick his hot tongue through your folds as his eager finger fuck you, so utterly patient and steadfast, learning the right notes to drive you crazy.

“You are close, aren’t you, dove?” he flicks that wicked tongue applying more pressure to your abused clit, “something’s beginning to burn in your core, I can see the cursed energy spreading threateningly along the muscles in your pelvis.” Suguru narrated what he felt with his own cursed energy, without a doubt the out-looker seeing the same as he was, just in HD. “It rises through your abdomen like unstoppable wave, seeps down into your knees and wraps around them. Your breathing is getting shallower, the base of your lungs suddenly feels too cramped by the oncoming explosion. I know, baby, just let it happen, don’t hold back. You can squirt on my face. I’m eager for you to baptize me on your fountain of love—”  

“Stop it, Suguru… I’m-I’m not…. I will not….” 

Your resistance is nothing but amusing to him, this is your nemesis. You hate how sensitive you are, how easy your boyfriends read you and undoes you with his mere tongue, you hate that squirting jet that makes your toes curl and your eyes blank, but once it’s over, makes you very aware of the mess you made.

Suguru finally speeds up, and that rock steady display of ferocity makes you want to cry.

“—I-I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, everything inside pulling up fierce and tight, your chest heaving and your grip in his hair turning to iron. “—Oh, fuck, I’m g-gonna cum—I-I—”

A quiet mhmmm sound rumbles low in gentle encouragement, and then he takes a second to softly suck on your clit to push you over the edge. His fingers curl, press up hard against something absolutely fucking devastating inside you, Suguru Geto knows you so well is almost unfair, and bite your lip is all you can do to stifle a sob when your body suddenly erupts in searing burning ecstasy.

Your back arches and you cum in his mouth, wailing his name while he groans raggedly and drags you through it. It’s hot and wet, in equal parts chaos and bliss. You’re still trying to calm your breathing when a gentle softness presses against your lips, mindful of rewarding you with as much love as he can profess in one single, chaste kiss. It’s over way too soon though, and by the time you open your eyes again, you blearily blink them at him. He’s already standing, impeccable and not one strand of raven hair out of place. A swift smirk curving his lips while his stare never strays from your destroyed persona, heaving and sweating and naked in a public place. Fuck! He adores you so much.

“Are you hungry?” He eventually asks looking straight ahead instead of you, the low frequency of his natural voice not masked anymore by his arousal.

You blink up at him twice, still slouched over the seat butt-naked, trying to figure out who is he talking to, all your clothes spread around his desk and the floor when you hear some familiar voice answer from the other side of the door.

“Starving.”

CLICK HERE TO READ ALL MY JJK SMUT FANFICTION COMMISSIONS

RYOMEN SUKUNA

The euphoric sway of his hips meeting yours should be an affront to the natural order, your boyfriend, Ryomen Sukuna, had been maintaining the same rhythm, precision and firmness in each thrust for more than forty minutes. 

You are cockdrunk, you don’t remember your own name, only his. Which comes out of your trembling lips in pieces or unfinished syllables. Your mind is a mess, a rabid mess of hormones and pleasure, but your insides are the most affected, making you endure mini-orgasm after mini-orgasm that shake your frame violently, leaving all your muscles exhausted and sweaty. Breathing ragged, face pressed against the sheets of his bed and your wrists swallowed by his large hands against the firm mattress, while he introduced you again and again to your new deity, his thick cock, which seemed just as hard and ready to continue making a mess of you. 

“…I’m sure you’ll think twice about pulling a stunt like that again now, won’t you, princess?”

Although his voice was breathless, it was still firm and solid, not like your pathetic moans.

“I…I thought you’d-…that you’d like it, Kuna-...” That sentence trailed from your half-open lips, between a sigh and a moan as he changed the angle to hit that spot of nerves inside you that made you see stars.

“I know you meant well but it was still unacceptable,” your boyfriend scolds you again, and a delicious shiver runs down your spine as his hands abandons your wrists in order to better hook on either side of your hip. The mere sensation of his thick fingers digging into your soft skin makes you cum again. "Fuck- you squeeze me so good, baby..." he praises, plunging his massive cock deeper into your quivering hole just to draw out more sensations, "-.... shit! If I cum again, are you going to keep it warm for me inside your tummy, princess?"

"Kuna, yes, always..." you moan into the sheets miserably, "don't stay mad at me, please, my love-"

"I loved the tattoo of my lips on your under-boob, don't doubt that" he affirms, firm thrusts clapping his midsection with yours, like giving his stamina a cheer. "But I HATED the fact that some guy had to do it. Don't you know any female tattoo artists, Isn't this the era of women's empowerment?"

You crawl forward and he catches you before you can shift positions. "Kuna, baby... let me ride you, so I can control the speed... I can't cum again-"

"I. Don't. care." He replies, skewering you again on his veiny, thick piece of meat that still feels like stone. "I'll put it in you as fast as I want and as long as I want until you learn your lesson-"

"Which is?"

"You, cocky little thing." He chuckles and emphasizes each word with a thrust. "Nobody. Touches. You. But. ME! Just ME."

“Mine.” Thrust, “Mine~” thrust, thrust, thrust, “MINE.” Thrustthrustthrustthrustthrustthrust—

Sukuna doesn´t hold himself back, even after he comes for the sixth time, he keeps going.

Slipping in and out of you, still rock hard, twisting you uncaringly in all kinds of positions and surfaces that his room provides, just fucking his cum inside you with every unpunished thrust.

You are tired, you are actually exhausted, you are emotional-... and you are drained.

“—I'm yours, just yours... hands off, w-world.... just y-yours~”

His hips stop, finally halting all movement when you give him what he's looking for, he just wants to hear that over and over again from your quivering lips and raspy throat, he just wants you to say it again. Maybe you should tattoo that as well.

Making you come one last glorious and almost painful time. Your naked body is left, used, sweaty and worn but warmly and safely wrapped in his arms. A huge smirk on his lips before he kisses your eyelids, so you open them again and once again you do.

"Now that we got that out of the way, let me see it again..." Sukuna asks, gently squeezing your tattooed boob inside his large palm, letting his eyes scan each patch of skin and how well he marked you with little hints of hickeys and teeth. "...I think we can play twister with every mark I left on your body," he snickers amused, "...but let's start with those lips on your breast."

“Jerk.”

He grins, satisfied. Hugging you harder to plaster your form closer to him, squeezing that sassy grin out of your pretty face.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

[writing-prompt-s]

You wake up and hear your mom downstairs calling, "Honey, breakfast is ready!" As you reach for the door, a piece of paper slides in from underneath it. The paper reads, "DON'T GO DOWN."

[hysteria-things]

can u do like a chris or matt smut based on wet dreamz by j cole?? 🙏🙏

WET DREAMZ

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: virgin!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: matt never takes his eyes off of you in math class. passing notes is normal for you guys, until one note changes everything.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY, swearing

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,108

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i didn’t mean for this to take so long doing the notes part took a toll on me for no reason😭

matt never liked school, especially math class. he was never good at math and flunked it almost every year.

the only thing good in math class is you, his table partner. he fell head over heels the first he laid eyes on you at the beginning of the year.

the way you always looked nice, smelled good, never had a bad day… he thrived off of it.

he would think you guys became friends, being that you’ll always talk and make jokes instead of doing your work; which you guys always got in trouble for. that’s when the notes began.

on this particular day, you were wearing a shirt that had him gawking, and a skirt that hugged your hips and revealed your thighs made him crazy.

as you smiled and laughed at something he said, he couldn’t help but daydream about you and him. the way you’ll look riding him, your tits bouncing in his face. the way you’ll look at him as you suck him off until he can’t take it.

his pants started to tighten, and his eyes grew wide. the teacher was making students come up to the board to show their work on equations, and he was begging to not to be called up.

you tilt your head at the boy whose cheeks are red, biting your lip while you watch him. you rip off a piece of notebook paper, uncap a black pen, and write something down.

he admired how the cap was between your teeth before you slid the paper to him.

he pauses, staring at the note. he glances at you, who’s tilting their head and biting their lip, patiently waiting for an answer.

he opens a blue pen.

what he wrote is a lie, but if he told you the truth he’ll feel humiliated. he hates being an eighteen-year-old virgin. he feels like a loser, despite being one of the most popular kids at this damn school.

you giggle, a sound that he can never get tired of. you write underneath his message, sliding it back to him.

fuck. he thinks.

his palms start to sweat, gripping hard on his pen so hard that his knuckles turn white. his heart pounds in his chest, the tent in his pants continuing to grow.

matt sighs, scribbling on the piece of paper as if he’s not thinking about you naked on your bed right now.

the food he had for lunch churns in his stomach, wanting saturday to never come.

he knew he’d regret writing those, acting all big and bad as if he’d done this before.

taking a deep breath, matt rings the doorbell, the sound echoing throughout your house. he waits patiently for a few seconds before the door opens.

you’re there, dressed in short shorts and a bra, grinning widely at the boy. he looks you up and down, his dick twitching at the beauty in front of him.

“hi!” you beam, grabbing his hand and leading him inside. “let’s go to my room.”

the walk up the stairs seems long, and matt’s nerves get worse the closer you guys get. he watched porn videos like he was studying for a test, trying to figure out how the hell this works. he knew it would be useless since most porns are bogus.

once you guys get to the room, you push him onto the bed. you unbuckle his pants and pull down, palming him through his boxers.

he groans, praying to not cum already when he feels his dick throbbing painfully under your touch. the way your hand feels rubbing all over him doesn’t help either.

then, you flip your bodies to where he’s on top. you don’t break eye contact as you take off your bra, the way your tits recoil once their free makes matt’s mouth agape.

he pulls off his shirt, throwing it to where your bra is. you nibble at the inside of your mouth when he starts to take off your shorts, though he was hesitant at first.

his breath hitches when he realizes you don’t have underwear on. trying to stop his hands shaking, he pulls down his final piece of clothing. you stare in shock, underestimating how big he is.

he unwraps the condom he was holding and puts it on; at least he thinks. he honestly doesn’t remember how it goes.

exhaling, he aligns himself before you flinch and grabs onto it. “wait.” you say, and he stops. you swallow when his eyes meet your face. “i’ve never done this before.”

it’s like a weight got lifted off of matt’s chest, his nerves suddenly going away.

he smiles. “it’s okay. i’ll take care of you.”

you let go of his dick, and he slowly enters into your tight hole.

matt gains some confidence since you still don’t know he’s a virgin, and starts to move his hips softly. you take a few deep breaths as the pain eases, licking your lips at the fact you’re losing your virginity to the kid you’ve been crushing on all this time.

he moves his hips faster, waiting to see if you’ll protest, but you don’t. you moan louder instead, arching your back. his arms wrap under your armpits so he can grip your shoulders and push in deeper. “matt!” you moan in pleasure. “sh-shit.”

he grunts, sighing with relief that he didn’t fuck this up as he gets the hang of it.

“fa— ah!” he knows what you’re asking for so he doesn’t let you finish once he starts to rut his pelvis even faster into your pussy.

your toes curl, whimpering each time he thrusts deep into you.

your noisy, and you being noisy lets him know how good he’s making you feel. his eyes shut, reaching down to rub your clit for an extra sensation.

eventually, he hits just the right spot that has you moaning like a mantra and clenching hard around his cock.

eyes dazed, you roll them back before you squeal out. “matt— i’m cumming! i’m cu— f-fuck.”

he’s balls deep at this point, his sounds leaving his mouth to the feeling of his cock grazing your walls so swimmingly.

tumbling vowels fall from your lips while you squeeze around him one last time before pooling around him.

“oh my god, y/n,” he whines, his thrusts stuttering before spilling into the condom.

he pulls out, your whole body quivering. he disposes of the condom, and then wiping your watery eyes. he lays next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his face in your neck. “thank you so much, matt.”

“no.” he chuckles. “thank you.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @saturncanyon @elliesturniolo1

[kaiyunsim]

study buddy —

pairing : student!jake x student!reader

summary : a solo study session turns into admiring from a far… and maybe more.

warnings : fluff, crack maybe, featuring riki as a partner for a project, jungwon as a roommate

a/n : FIRST FIC BACK !! also i got this idea after seeing a very pretty person across from me.

— wc : 1.7k — not proof read —

the library hums with a quiet that’s almost sacred. soft footsteps echo against the polished floors, books whisper as they’re flipped through, and the occasional muffled cough breaks the stillness. you sit at one of the wooden tables near the tall windows, sunlight streaming in and pooling on the pages of your textbook. the world outside is alive, but in here, time feels like it’s slowed, reduced to the rhythm of studying and the faint click of keyboards.

it’s during one of your periodic glances up, a fleeting escape from the density of your notes, that you notice him. he’s sitting a few tables away, angled slightly toward his friend, who you vaguely recognize as a regular in the library. they’re bent over a laptop, heads close together as they whisper and scribble in a notebook. the boy, the one with the soft, dark brown hair and a laugh that’s quieter than the rustle of paper, catches your attention.

he’s… striking, in that effortless kind of way. the kind of good-looking that makes you do a double take but also makes you feel like you shouldn’t stare for too long. his features are sharp but gentle, his smile easy but not careless. his sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms that rest against the table, and there’s a focus in his expression that makes you think he’s probably the type to finish a group project before anyone else even starts.

you shake your head, refocusing on your notes. there’s a test looming, and the last thing you need is to get distracted by someone you’ll likely never see again. but despite yourself, your eyes drift back to him every so often. it’s not intentional, it’s just… he’s there, and he’s hard not to notice.

it’s during one of these glances that he catches you. your breath hitches as his eyes meet yours, warm and curious. your immediate reaction is to look away, cheeks burning as you pretend to be engrossed in the equation you’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes. you don’t see the small smile that tugs at his lips or the way he nudges his friend, motioning subtly in your direction.

minutes pass, but your focus is shattered. the interaction plays on a loop in your head, and you silently berate yourself for being so obvious. when you finally muster the courage to peek at him again, he’s laughing at something his friend said, the sound so soft you can barely hear it. your chest tightens inexplicably.

as the hours slip by, the two of them begin to pack up. you watch out of the corner of your eye, feeling a pang of disappointment. it’s silly, really, to feel sad about someone leaving when you don’t even know their name. still, the thought of not seeing him again… of this moment fading into the anonymity of library strangers, makes your chest ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

his friend slings a bag over their shoulder, and he follows suit, standing and stretching. you force yourself to look down, pretending to read, though the words blur together. they’re walking away now, their footsteps retreating, and you tell yourself to focus, to let it go.

but then, something slides across the edge of your table. a folded piece of paper, placed there with deliberate care. your eyes snap up, and he’s there, just for a moment, meeting your gaze with a shy but unmistakable smile. “see you around,” he says softly, before turning to join his friend.

you unfold the paper with shaky hands, heart thudding in your chest. scrawled in neat handwriting is a phone number and a simple message: “if you ever want to study together.” underneath, a small doodle of a smiley face.

the rest of your study session passes in a haze. the numbers and formulas on the pages mean little compared to the number on that slip of paper. you’re torn between texting him immediately and overthinking every possible way the interaction could go. by the time you pack up and leave the library, the paper feels like it’s burning a hole in your pocket.

it takes you a day to work up the courage. sitting on your bed, the message typed out and your thumb hovering over the send button, you take a deep breath. then, before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send.

hey, it’s me. from the library. thanks for your note :)

the response is almost immediate.

hey! wasn’t sure if you’d text. glad you did.

and just like that, the conversation begins. it’s easy, surprisingly so. he introduces himself as jake, and you learn that his friend’s name is ni-ki. they’d been working on a project for their engineering class, which jake jokingly admits is mostly ni-ki’s brainchild. you tell him about your test, how you’d been in the library for hours trying to make sense of concepts that seemed to dissolve as soon as you looked away from them.

what subject? he asks.

physics, you reply, adding quickly, a stupid elective i got stuck with.

there’s a pause before his response comes through.

physics isn’t stupid! i love physics.

his enthusiasm catches you off guard. really? you type back.

yeah! it’s one of my favorite subjects. if you ever need help, i’d be happy to explain things.

you hesitate, then reply, actually, that would be amazing. i feel like i’m drowning in concepts that make no sense.

then let’s meet up! he suggests. i promise it’ll feel less overwhelming when you’re not going through it alone.

you hesitate for a moment before replying.

i’d like that.

true to his word, jake invites you to study a few days later. you meet at a different table in the library, this one tucked away in a quieter corner. he’s already there when you arrive, a coffee cup in hand and a soft smile on his face. “hey,” he says, standing as if to greet you properly. “glad you made it.”

“thanks for inviting me,” you say, setting your bag down. “and for being willing to help me with physics. honestly, it’s been such a headache.”

he laughs, shaking his head. “it’s not as bad as it seems, i promise. once you get the hang of it, it’s actually kind of fun.”

the study session turns into two, then three, and soon it becomes a regular occurrence. you start to notice little things about jake—the way he taps his pencil against his notebook when he’s thinking, how his eyes light up when he talks about something he’s passionate about, the way his laughter feels like a warm hug on a cold day. he’s patient, explaining things as many times as you need without a hint of frustration. sometimes, ni-ki joins in, teasing jake about how much effort he’s putting into helping you, but it’s all in good fun.

one evening, jake suggests meeting at his dorm instead of the library. “it’ll be quieter,” he promises, “and we’ll have more space to spread out.”

you find yourself seated on the floor of his shared dorm room, textbooks and notebooks scattered around you. the space is cozy, with a lived-in feel that somehow puts you at ease. jake’s desk is neatly organized, and there’s a faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.

“let me know if jungwon comes in and bothers you,” jake jokes as he sits cross-legged beside you. “he’s harmless but likes to make fun of me.”

“i think i can handle it,” you reply, smiling.

the study session starts like any other, with jake patiently walking you through concepts you’d struggled with. his explanations are clear and enthusiastic, and for the first time, you start to feel like physics might not be entirely impossible.

but as the evening wears on, the weight of the day catches up to you. your eyelids grow heavy, and your notes start to blur together. jake notices almost immediately.

“you okay?” he asks, tilting his head to study you. “you look tired.”

“i’m fine,” you say quickly, though your voice lacks conviction. “just a little sleepy.”

“we can take a break, you know,” he offers gently. “you don’t have to push yourself so hard.”

“i’m good,” you insist, though your head starts to nod even as he continues explaining the next problem.

he’s mid-sentence when it happens. your chin dips to your chest, and before you can catch yourself, you’ve drifted off completely. jake pauses, blinking in surprise before a soft smile spreads across his face.

carefully, he shifts to grab a spare blanket from his bed, draping it over your shoulders. he adjusts the notebook that’s still clutched in your hand, setting it aside so you’re more comfortable. for a moment, he just watches you, his expression fond.

“you’re hopeless,” he murmurs with a chuckle, though there’s no malice in his tone.

it’s then that the door opens, and jungwon steps inside. he stops short at the sight of you sleeping, wrapped in the blanket, with jake sitting nearby like a watchful guardian.

“oh,” jungwon says, his lips curling into a teasing grin. “well, isn’t this cute.”

jake flushes, shooting him a look. “shut up.”

jungwon doesn’t seem fazed. “no, seriously. you two look good together.” he gestures vaguely at the scene before heading toward his side of the room. “just saying.”

jake shakes his head, his cheeks warm, but he doesn’t deny it. instead, he glances back at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “maybe,” he mutters under his breath, so quiet that no one but himself can hear.

when you wake up a little while later, disoriented and sheepish, jake greets you with a reassuring smile. “feel better?” he asks, his tone light.

“yeah,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “sorry about that. i didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“don’t worry about it,” he says, waving it off. “you probably needed the rest.”

jungwon snickers from across the room, but jake ignores him. as you gather your things to leave, jake walks you to the door, his usual smile in place. “same time tomorrow?” he asks, and you nod, grateful for his patience… and maybe something more.

as you walk down the hallway, you can’t help but smile to yourself, the warmth of the evening lingering like a gentle glow. maybe physics wasn’t so bad after all.

[songsofadelaide]

tags and cw: iida x (f) reader, suggestive themes, but this is mostly just cute slice of life.

You could tell that Class 1-A's Iida Tenya had an eye for detail when he was staring at your chest when you confessed to him.

"I-Iida-san? My eyes are up here!"

"I-It's pink!" He exclaimed, evidently flustered. "Y-You shouldn't be wearing colored underwear underneath your uniform! It's improper!"

No one in their right mind believed that the prim and proper class representative of Class 1-A would go out with a troublemaker from Class 1-B. Your classmates found it strange how you were particularly dazzled by Iida's straightforwardness, especially during that time he was thrown against the wall after the media break-in at school. Even Kendo was surprised to see the twinkle in your eyes while you were gazing up at the blue-eyed boy, absolutely bewitched at the "uncool" sight of Iida trying to pacify his fellow students.

On certain days when the two of you weren't busy, you would eat together at Lunch Rush, and Iida would have a hard time maintaining eye contact with you because of the distracting colour of your underwear.

"It's blue," you heard him mumble. He never failed to state what was already obvious to you.

"You sure can't keep your eyes off me, ne, Tenya?" You replied before happily taking a sip from his orange juice.

"Wh— Hey! D-Don't—"

You thought the flushed and aghast expression on his face was rather cute until he raised his hands and started rattling about indirect kisses and passing on germs through mouth to mouth contact. Honestly, his pure-heartedness caused you to sin every day, but you delighted in teasing your uptight boyfriend.

"Tenya, wait a moment!"

During downtime weekends, you and Iida would make time to go out together. Today was that kind of day, and he was held back when you paused to peer inside a lingerie shop.

"Let me just get a few things from here!" You happily pointed into the shop.

Iida abruptly let go of your hand, a tinge of red spreading over his face (and slightly fogging up his glasses). "I-I can wait out here if you won't take long!"

"Oh, but I will take long," you hurriedly grabbed his hand and gently dragged his unwilling self into the shop that had its logo in neon pink light hanging on their glass window. "They have seats here, so don't worry!"

A brunette clerk in a bright pink suit approached you with a warm smile. "Good afternoon! How may we help you?"

"Ah, yes, I'm looking for a few pieces..."

Iida looked terribly uncomfortable, his face still a bit red from the sight of frilly underwear, but when he felt you squeeze his hand reassuringly, he was prompted to turn and meet your sight.

"I was kidding. I won't take long," you smiled at him, your teasing verve gone when you realized just how agonized your boyfriend looked. "Wait for me over there while I try a few things on, all right?"

Iida attentively watched you fill up a shopping basket with a few colorful items and he couldn't help but sigh to himself. You were never going to listen to him. A mannequin wearing a racy set of dark blue underwear caught his attention and for a moment, his thoughts drifted to his girlfriend and how her figure would look—

He placed a hand over his mouth, ears burning red and brows furrowed in annoyance at his own thoughts. Of you.

"Ah, how improper."

It took you about 15 minutes to try on everything you bought, which were all bundled in a hot pink paper bag stuffed with soft pink crepe paper. You waved bye to the brunette clerk who assisted you and made your way out of the store with Iida.

That was the longest 15 minutes of his life, and he couldn't wait to return home and do something about that image of you he accidentally conjured in his head.

"Sorry I took so long," you hummed at him before sliding your smaller hand into his own. "Would you like an orange cream soda? My treat!"

"I..." He started, but he simply sighed in defeat and smiled at you. "All right. And you don't have to treat me, either."

"You know I can't focus if you're looking at me so intently, Tenya."

You raised your eyes from your book and looked back at the figure looking at you from across the table. Monday afternoons meant study dates at the school library for you and Iida. You tilted your head and gave him a coy smile.

"I can't see any color," he replied. "It's white."

"Yeah, I bought a bunch of white underwear when we went out because you keep on getting distracted by the colored ones I wore. Of course, even though it's white, it's still pretty cute!" You answered rather proudly. "Would you like to see?"

Iida flinched in his seat, a small blush spreading across his face. You laughed as he started to raise his hands and scold you for teasing him. "Wh— H-How improper!"

"I was joking!" You replied with a giggle and winked at him. "Though you can always tell me if you want to."

The startled look on his face was absolutely delightful and you were damn sure you were definitely the last on the list of people going to heaven.

"How improper! This isn't how a hero is supposed to act, you know!"

"You really are fun to tease, Tenya," your lips curved into a cheeky smile.

"Maybe you're right," Iida said with a sigh of defeat. He smiled at you before reaching out for your hand. "Maybe I really can't keep my eyes off you."

🌺 Author's note:

This is a rework of a chapter from my old MHA fic collection! I plan on revisiting some of my old work and getting to crosspost them here... eventually! As you can tell, I am a complete sucker for responsible young men like Tenya. I still have big, big love for him even though I've yet to catch up on the anime!

[oatmealwrites]

NSFW Holiday Hoes: [Frat JJK AU] Nanami x F! Reader

Eating Holiday Cookies!

Finance Student! Frat Treasurer! Nanami x F! Reader

Trying to save money in the frat's budget for all the expensive parties Gojo keeps throwing, you offer to help bake cookies for the next function instead of buying them. Though Nanami has something sweeter in mind he'd like to eat…

Tags: porn with plot, friends to lovers, helpless pining?, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, condom, condom breaks, pull out method, hickies, neck kissing, established relationship at end, gojo is a rat, haibara and ieiri are in on it, MDNI, 18+

Holiday Hoes Masterlist

regular masterlist

Word Count: 9.4k

kinda rushed? LMAO

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mariah Carey plays on the television of your shared apartment while you and Ieiri sit on the wooden floorboards humming along. Rolls of various wrapping paper litter the floor along with colorful bows, scissors, pens, and a few holiday snacks while the light smoke from her cigarette drafts in the air. 

“Pass the tape.”

“–Here.”

You seal one side of the box in front of you, tape sticking to each end of your fingertips while Ieiri struggles to tie a golden bow to the strap of a gift bag. Iori had left an additional pile of holiday gifts that needed wrapping beside you on the couch, apologizing while she ran out the door to her part-time job. 

“This is going to take forever…”

You don’t bother looking up from your position with tape covering all five fingers on one of your hands and instead remain focused on folding a loose piece of wrapping paper. “Hmmm? At least finals are done so we have the time.”

Ieiri sighs and finishes the small bow before sliding the gift bag near the love seat and looking at the mountain of boxes that remained stacked beside you both. The song shifts to one off of a Micheal Buble album and you hum along absentmindedly, back hunched over in focus despite the uncomfortable position. 

Despite the 25th passing several days ago, most of your friends have begun to trickle back to campus from their break, creating the perfect opportunity for your belated holiday parties.

“Well,” Ieiri leans over and slides a small shoebox-sized gift closer to her before placing it on a roll of wrapping paper that was laid flat. “Maybe after this we can–”

Ring!

You both pause and look over to Ieiri’s phone lying on the coffee table and now vibrating against the glass with an incoming call. Placing the last few pieces of tape on the side of the box, you flip it over and look around for a spare marker while Ieiri accepts the call and places it on speaker.

“Haibara? You’re on speaker.”

She resumes her task and slides the blade of the scissors up the roll like a hot knife through butter while you continue your search for a Sharpie.

“Hey! Are you busy at the moment?”

“Mmmm just wrapping some gifts. What’s up?”

Like second nature, Ieiri notices you looking under the couch searching to see if it had rolled underneath and silently reaches for a marker at her side and passes it to you.

“Ah, perfect! So not too busy then…”

“Huh? Get to the point.”

Haibara’s voice is light and airy despite him obviously being frantic as the receiver shuffles against something a few times and Kento can be heard in the background yelling at somebody.

“Well it’s the budget again…”

You refrain a snort and pop the cap off the marker while Ieiri rolls her eyes and begins taping sides of the box. “That idiot Satoru again? Seriously, I don't understand why you guys are even surprised at this point.”

“I mean it’s not surprising but it left Kento and I in a tight spot–”

“–What do you mean you needed the rental to have a hot tub? Satoru–”

You bite your lip at the sound, and you and Ieiri finally let out a few laughs when she mutes the call. This isn’t the first time Satoru had gone over Kento’s head for a party budget, despite him being the treasurer, but it always left a mess of issues for Kento and Haibara to clean up. 

“Ok, and why did you think to call me?”

Haibara shuffles a bit on the other end, trying to get Kento out of earshot and avoid any further interruptions. “Satoru is offering to cover the alcohol costs, but that still leaves the function budget empty to cover food and supplies.”

Ieiri hums and flips the gift around to begin taping the other side. “Soooo?”

“So what if you guys helped us? Maybe see if you know anyone with winter lights for the decorations and if you can come by the apartment to plan it?”

“‘Guys’?”

“Hm? I assume you’re with Y/N”

You offer a short ‘hey’ and slide the finished present over to the other pile of completed gifts and stretch the knot forming in your shoulder muscles. 

“Please? Just come by and see what you can do to help us with food and decorations. We’ll be in your debt!!”

Ieiri looks up at you, the mountain of boxes yet to be wrapped, and then back at you once more; Micheal Buble continues singing in the background and a harsh wind has picked up outside. You’re beyond comfortable staying in for the day, but the stupid smirk your roommate shoots you is enough to kick her with your foot. 

It wasn’t a secret between the both of you that you found the blonde, sleep deprived, and stressed out frat treasurer incredibly hot. A top of his class graduate student getting his master’s in finance, there were rumors he had even dabbled in some education courses in his undergrad years. Also the big to JJK’s newest pledge Yuji and personal mentor to other member Ino, Kento was a well rounded man who was liked by nearly everyone. To top off an intelligent, book loving personality, he was beyond ripped. 

Ieiri giggles a bit and you reach to throw a paper bow at her, scoffing when it barely gets a few inches away from your hand before weakly falling to the ground. Kento was adored by nearly everyone, and that also meant there was a limited chance he would actually reciprocate the thoughts you had about him. You had bumped into each other often on campus and grabbed lunch when said events occurred, but besides that and assisting in cleaning up the budget, the man rarely messaged you outside of working hours. 

Maybe you had been on a few coffee and study ‘dates’ but the real meaning of the d-word was yet to be determined. 

“Yea I think we should be able to swing by~” She ducks as you make a swipe for the phone and kicks you back with her foot pressed against your gut,. “–You’re at your apartment right? We’ll be right over.”

The call ends and you give her a light shove before standing up fully and stretching the soreness from your back. Ieiri giggles slightly and whistles at the mountain of gifts yet to be processed while standing up as well. 

“I’ll go–”

“–I already knew you would”

You roll your eyes at her interruption and continue, “if you promise not to do that thing you and Haibara always do when we hang out.”

Ieiri pads over to the kitchen and pours a glass of water while tapping her chin and feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do! You and Haibara always fuck off whenever it’s the four of us and leave Kento and I alone.”

“Maybe we just happened to get busy. Besides, it’s doing you a favor.”

You scoff and walk over to the coat closet and flip through your winter jackets before pulling out a puffer and knit scarf. While yes, you had absolutely 0 game when it came to asking Kento out to things, being “conveniently” stranded with him didn’t exactly produce many moments of casual opportunity for an initiative. 

If he wanted to make a move wouldn’t he make one during those moments as well?

“Whatever, but we can’t be there long– Iori will kill us if we don’t finish wrapping those in time for the Secret Santa.”

Ieiri shrugs and puts out the last of her cigarette on the ceramic ashtray you got her for Christmas last year before slipping on her own coat. 

“Fine, fine… I guess I’m driving too huh?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kento and Haibara’s apartment is in a cozy complex near the university’s business building and nestled between a variety of coffee shops, boutiques, and restaurants. Along with the best bakery Kento has ever shown you. You barely ring the buzzer for their unit number before Haibara quickly ushers you inside through the intercom and the front door buzzes indicating it’s unlocked. 

“Must be serious.”

Ieiri calls the elevator and pushes the button for the 7th floor while you use the mirrored walls to smooth out your hair which the winter wind has pushed in every direction. Checking your casual outfit of jeans, white t-shirt, and holly red cardigan underneath the parka, the elevator dings and you both step out.

“Can you stop that? You look fine.”

“Fine? I look like I’ve been run over by a snowplow.”

“Yea, well that’s how you always look. So just rela–”

You nudge Ieiri in the ribs and stop in front of the unit number 7-3 for only 5 seconds before Haibara swings it open; your hand still raised to knock against the wood slowly falls down in surprise. 

“Thank goodness! Now get in here!”

The man grabs both your and Ieiri’s arms and pulls you through the entryway and into the open kitchen space right by the front door. You barely have time to kick off your winter boots before Kento walks in from his bedroom and gives a pitiful look to all of you. 

Some purple bags hang under his eyes from the exhaustion of finals and a certain white-haired man’s antics, and his cheekbones seem more prominent than ever from lack of proper meals. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to come.”

“We need backup if this is going to work!”

Haibara marches back around the kitchen island and shakes Kento’s shoulders with a slight panic while Ieiri coasts past them to open a window in their living room; she opens a pack of cigarettes and pulls out a lighter.

“Ok,” you say, leaning against the kitchen island and crossing your arms at the two men. “Why don’t you just fill us in first before we strategize what kind of help you even need.”

Kento mirrors your position and rests against the sink counter directly in front of you. “With Satoru covering the alcohol costs, that leaves us trying to figure out food and decorations.”

“Ask Suguru for decorations. I know for a fact he’s got speakers, holiday lights, and a smoke machine.” Ieiri takes a drag of her cigarette from the windowsill. “He might know someone with strobes…”

You notice a slight twitch in Kento’s eyebrow but ignore it when he continues, “Well, that just leaves food.”

Haibara beams at Ieiri while she flicks the ash out of the window and Kento turns to you thinking deeply, “That idiot said he’s going to be buying 14 handles of liquor… I suppose people will be too drunk to really notice what we serve.”

“Cookies?”

Kento snaps from his thoughts and looks at you. “Cookies? I mean I guess that works…”

“And it’s fitting for the holiday spirit!” Haibara smiles while walking back over from the window.

The two men nod once to each other and begin opening their pantry, taking out basic baking ingredients and placing them on the counter.

You walk beside them and assist in searching for flour. “Any particular flavor in mind? I already know Satoru would be heartbroken if we don’t have frosted sugar cookies.”

Kento scoffs and passes you a sack of all-purpose flour, “I’m not surprised… we can make those and another recipe I know.”

Kento stands up and looks at the ingredients, while you admire the apartment and watch Ieiri walk back into the kitchen after flinging the last of her cigarette out the window. The strung up holiday lights are most likely Yuji and Ino’s doing; getting Haibara’s permission while Kento was in class. Some old ceramic animals sit in several corners of the apartment: on the bookshelves in the living room, on the small end table by the front door, and along the kitchen counter touching the backsplash.

“Swedish..?”

“Danish. They were my grandfather’s.”

You silently hum and back away from the small ceramic goose with a red ribbon around its neck  and look back at Kento who holds your gaze with a gentle admiration before turning back to the various foods on his counter. The decoration’s color scheme of red and white now makes more sense; you return to the counter next to the man while Haibara and Ieiri eyeball the ingredients and hover over her cellphone to pull up a recipe for sugar cookies.

“We’ve got enough to make these I think..shall we start?”

Immediately you break into two groups with Haibara and Ieiri making the base of the sugar cookies while you work with Kento to make the dough for the recipe he already knew. You scoffed at your roommate’s wiggling eyebrows when she immediately volunteered to help Haibara, and you now watch Kento intently while he sifts through ingredients deftly without reference.

“Geez honor roll for finance and a master baker? I bet your CV is impressive.”

“Personal hobbies aren’t typically included on resumes.”

You suck in a breath and nod once awkwardly, standing motionless at Kento’s side and silently cursing yourself for lack of better conversation.

“Thanks though,” Kento mumbles quietly, keeping his head down to focus on the mixing bowl beneath him.

Some blonde hair cascades from the swept back look it was currently fixed in and grazes the pink skin of his cheeks. You take a moment to drink in the image of him, dressed in a blue casual wool sweater, the fabric rolled up to his elbows and showing off his veiny forearms, and khaki slacks that stretched around the swell of his thighs.

“Can you pass the cinnamon?”

“Huh?”

“The cinnamon.”

You snap out of your intrusive horny thoughts and look around the counter before passing a small vial of spice to the man. You watch Kento mix together the dry ingredients, not missing the way Ieiri and Haibara chuckle amongst themselves quietly and turn up background holiday music on the bluetooth speaker. 

Shooting a glance at your roommate, your eyes only lift when the oven dings to indicate the pre-heat is complete and ready to bake.

“Ah, we’re just short of sugar…”

Haibara and Ieiri stand over their own mixing bowl and look down at the contents below; everything else has already been added to the bowl. Ieiri makes a move for the now empty sugar sack and shakes the last few granules into the mix.

“It’s probably fine.”

“The ratio will be off.” Kento moves over to the two of them and takes Ieiri’s phone to eyeball the recipe. “You need 7 parts flour to 3 parts sugar… 7:2 won’t be good.”

You look between the three of them and raise an eyebrow when Haibara and Ieiri giggle to themselves. Setting the whisk still in your own mixing bowl, you walk over to their batch of loose powder and immediately notice that it seems more than enough sugar has already been added.

“Then we’ll head to the store!”

“Yes! Wouldn’t want the cookies to be botched.”

Immediately Ieiri moves to pick up her coat from the hooks by the front door with Haibara hot on her heels and digs through a small basket for car keys. You put your hands on your hips and shoot her a glare and she makes no effort to wipe the innocent grin from her face while shuffling on a pair of winter boots.

“We’ll head to the market right now! You guys continue.”

“Yes! We won’t be too long.”

Before you can even flip them off from behind Kento’s shoulder, the two slip out the door and can be heard giggling in the halls as they walk to the elevator. 

“Those two…”

Kento pays no mind but sighs to himself before getting a large pan out and a rolling pin. “We can at least put this batch into the oven while they’re out.”

Spinning on your heels, you walk back over to the kitchen island and help scoop the dough out of the bowl and onto a cutting board. Without even speaking you both shift seamlessly to place the bowl in the sink while Kento begins to roll the dough flat.

“What recipe is this? You didn’t even need to look it up.”

“Hmm? Oh, I used to make them every year when I was younger.. They’re called brunkager.”

You rinse your fingers off and turn back to the man, now admiring the way he flats the dough with enough force to create a small bulge in the noticeable veins of his arms. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard of those.”

He hums and turns to you with a piece of raw dough pinched between his fingers; you silently take it and pop it between your lips while he watches.

“Gingerbread!”

Immediately, a small smile works its way onto his face and he turns back to the flatten dough with a knife, ready to cut shapes.

“Basically. I used to make them with my mother’s side of the family when I was young.”

“Wow.. that’s really sweet.”

A small blush works its way onto his cheeks at your compliment but he ducks his head down to let more blonde hair push further into his face to hide it. He cuts a few more shapes before offering you the knife to create your own.

The entire moment is warm and soft; Last Christmas plays in the background while Kento pushes back the sleeves of your cardigan without asking as you cut a star shape from the dough. 

“Now that I know you’re a good baker, I’ll have to ask you for cooking and finance advice.”

He doesn’t laugh while he places each shape onto the pan covered with parchment. “I’m not a personal consultant you know.”

Oh shit. Ok, maybe the conversation is still salvageable.

“--But I suppose I can help you if you really want to hear it. It’s kinda boring.”

“I don’t think so, and besides, you’re really good at it.” You stay looking down at the last few scraps of dough. “Plus, I’m trying to figure out how to save up for a car, ya know.”

Kento lets out an air of chuckle this time and arranges the last few shapes onto the pan. “Still not a consultant but,” he looks at your eyes and briefly your lips before peeling his eyes back to the cookies, “I’d be more than happy to help.”

The proximity is enough to make your cheeks warm, and Kento lifts his eyes to meet yours once more. So close you can smell the woodsy cologne he wears, you swear he’s leaning even closer with each passing second. 

Instinctively you lean in and when you’re a breath away from meeting his lips there’s a shrill phone alarm against the counter. Immediately you both backup, as if snapping out of a trance, and Kento reaches over to tap ‘accept’ with a knuckle that wasn’t covered in flour and places it on speaker.

“Heyy~ What’s up, my favorite treasurer?”

Satoru’s voice chirps through the receiver and you stifle a giggle while Kento rolls his eyes. Using the remaining dough scraps, you attempt to forge little shapes beside him.

“Making cookies since you left us with no budget to purchase food.”

“Oooo! Are you making my favorites?”

“Yes we’re making sugar cookies the way the recipe intends, no ‘extra sweet’ ones you seem to demand so much.”

A giggle is heard through the speaker and you show your final shape of an attempted gingerbread man to Kento who smiles gently and nods in indication to add it to the pan. Stepping back, you move to open the oven door.

“Anyways~~ I heard from Ieiri that Y/N’s coming to the party. Either make your move now or I’ll tell Suguru he can ask her out instead.”

Despite holding the tray and standing right in front of the oven, Kento nearly trips forward to shove them inside before pivoting to grab his phone off the counter. Not caring if flour or residual dough gets on the screen, he takes it off speaker and awkwardly rushes over to the living to continue the call.

Huh? ….Ask you out? He wanted to ask you out???

You shut the oven door and make a mental note of the time before turning to watch Kento whisper-yell into his phone while pinching the bridge of his nose. His body refuses to turn around and face the kitchen again; you stand awkwardly after washing your hands and having no imminent task to complete.

“No you idiot… Are you aware that you’re not helping whatsoever?..... Ok fine, fine… just, don’t say anything to him.”

It feels wrong to even hear half the conversation despite needing answers as to what the fuck was currently happening. The conversation lasts maybe another 90 seconds before a long sigh can be heard escaping his lips and you quickly attempt to make yourself look busy. As if you weren’t hanging onto every word.

He slides his phone into his back pocket and approaches the kitchen with an awkward look on his face, not quite making eye contact.

“I won’t pretend like you didn’t hear that idiot on the phone…and I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he pauses and looks up at you apologetically. “If you would rather go home… I know Ieiri was your ride. I can order you an Uber…”

…huh?

You pause and watch the man in front of you with cheeks so warm they could fry an egg and eyes open so wide they may pop out of your skull.

“What?”

Kento locks eyes with you and moves to stand against the counter, giving several feet of respectful space, and rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean I knew I should’ve never even told Satoru anything to begin with… I understand if you have feelings for Suguru and find this as awkward as I do right now…”

It takes several moments before thoughts can be translated into a coherent and understandable sentence, though it’s not the most articulate: “You like me?”

Despite being a boiled down version of what was actually happening, Kento just raises his eyebrows at your slight forwardness before nodding curtly. 

“Yea, I do. I just… haven’t figured out how to come forward with it, until now..”

There’s a steady pause as his words sink in; the moment doesn’t even feel like reality as you stand there processing the gravity of everything before it comes crashing down.

“I feel the same,” you say as you take a careful step forward to close the distance slightly. “Ieiri always clowns me for never making any kind of move.”

“Well that makes two of us.. Haibara isn’t exactly subtle at trying to get me alone with you.”

You take another step forward and laugh at the simplicity of everything, shaking your head and not noticing the way Kento moves to close the space. He leans against the same side of the island with you and hovers inches away while he tugs your hand away from your face with a curious smile on his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Waving slightly with your free hand, a few more giggles escape your lips while Kento moves to lean his head down towards yours.

“Are you laughing at me?” he questions playfully.

“Mmm maybe.”

You blink slowly at him once, a smile on your lips when he finally nudges his chin closer to connect your lips. Instinctively you shut your eyes and lean into the motion, a small smile on your face at how simple everything seemed.

With a few more pecks Kento backs up slightly, “it’s gonna be hard to kiss you if you keep smiling like that.”

There’s no pause for your response and he leans his head back down to kiss you once more, though not as gently as the first time. The hand that he had used to hold your hand a moment before now rests respectfully on your hips while his other pushes locks of hair away from your face.

The smile falls from your lips as you lean your head in further to match the force and your hands snake up to wrap around his neck and lazily rest on his broad shoulders. Music in the background isn’t enough to deafen the pounding heartbeat in your ears and Kento pushes further into the kiss, his nose occasionally brushing your cheek from the force. 

In a drunken haze you pull him in closer, as if it were even physically possible, and your legs pivot to push your ass flush against the counter while Kento stands between your legs. Despite the intoxicating flavor of his lips, you can’t help but notice how PG the whole moment was.

Normally this would be fine… normally. But you’ve been thinking about this man for months on end and the fact he’s keeping his hands so painfully respectful at your hips has you craving something more. 

Without disconnecting your lips, your hands snake down his sharp shoulder blades and then forearms before resting on his wrists. Before he can mumble a phrase into your lips, you push his hands down and back to rest against the swell of your ass.

Immediately, he leans back a bit and looks into your eyes. “Are you sure that’s alright?” 

He pants lightly with pupils blown so wide they look black instead of hazel. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

A chill shiver runs down your spine and you instinctively lift your hands off his wrists in slight shock. Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him into something he didn’t want.

“O-Oh! I’m sorry…  I should’ve–”

“–No.” Kento leans forward and interrupts, “I want to do…that. To touch you and more.. But I didn’t want you to think that’s all I’m actually after.”

You pause and look up at his face, with lids half closed as you drink in the way his usual rational and put-together appearance begins to melt. 

“So what are you after?”

Kento sucks in a breath and looks around aimlessly for a moment while shaking his head; this conversation was not something he was expecting to have when Haibara had invited you and Ieiri over. 

“I wish I could do this a bit more properly but-” He looks back down at you and admires your eyes before lingering on your lips. “Something serious. Something real. I’m not really a guy who does anything like this casually.”

“Me neither. I don’t usually kiss and grind against the people I cook holiday cookies with.”

Kento actually laughs at this and leans down to peck your lips chastley, his hands still on your ass, but the pressure never increases.

“Good, the idea of anyone else being able to do this pisses me off a bit.”

“Mmmmm like Suguru?”

This causes a scoff to escape his lips and his fingers to dig slightly into the flesh of your ass, “Don’t.”

A coy smile works its way onto your lips while you return to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his mouth to hover just above yours. His lips purse slightly, in both feigned annoyance and eagerness to reconnect your mouths once more.

“Or what?”

That's all it takes for Kento to push his face forward and meet your lips with passion and sink his fingers into the flesh of your ass. It’s light at first, but when your fingers pull on the strands of his blonde hair, the pressure increases and begins to knead.

Tugging his neck down further, you tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss, parting your lips slightly when his tongue swipes against your own. Kento isn’t sure what he enjoys more in this moment, the taste of the spiced dough on your tongue or the sweet fruity chapstick that lingers on your lips. 

Fingers squeeze and tug at the flesh of your ass and after a moment you snake one hand down to rest on his wrist and drag it up to cup your breast. Immediately the both of you groan into the kiss and Kento raises his other hand to now knead at both of your tits. 

Fingers cup the underside of your breasts while his thumb pads circle and push against your bra where your nipples harden underneath. Squeezing and palming at your tits while his tongue explores your molars is enough to cause your aching cunt to squeeze pathetically around nothing. 

“Fuck,” Kento parts from your lips and pants slightly before delving down to kiss and bite at the flesh on your neck. “Driving me insane right now baby.”

There isn’t time to linger on the pet name before he sinks his canines into your neck and begins sucking the flesh. His hands leave your tits and wrap around to squeeze at your ass while his pelvis finally grinds harder against your hips; his erection begs for some sort of friction.

Kento runs the flat of his tongue over the skin a few more times before kissing it in a weak apology for the bruise and moves on to another section of your neck. He places a few quick kisses to your pulse point right under the jaw before biting once more; his nose tickles the skin just below your ear.

“Ha.. you seem…nnghh.. Excited,” you barely groan out, head tilted back and to the side to allow more room for his ministrations. 

Kento places a few more kisses to the spot before trailing his lips down the side of your neck in search of the next place to leave another purple hickey.

“Of course I am.” His lips stop just above your collarbone as he murmurs into the flesh, “I used to get so fucking worried you would see the boner in my jeans whenever we would get lunch together… didn’t want you to think I was some sick pervert.”

You gasp when his lips suck against your flesh before breaking into a slight giggle and tugging at his hair.

“Mmmm I’m beginning to think exactly that.”

He lifts from your collarbone with a pop! from the suction and scoffs before nuzzling into the other side of your neck. Planting chaste kisses while his hands slide down and his thumbs rub circles on your hip bones. 

“Well if you knew what I was thinking… you wouldn’t be far off the mark.”

You shiver at the words and tug his hair to tilt his head upright and drag his lips to meet yours. Immediately he tilts into it further and chases after your lips every time you part to take a breath. As if addicted, his lips refuse to leave yours for more than a moment at a time, holding your hips still while he pathetically ruts his throbbing cock against the fabric of your jeans.

With one more grind against your hips that leaves your cunt drenching your panties in a desperate heat, you tug his head back. A whimper nearly escapes his lips at the action of being deprived of your lips and the sting of his hair being pulled when you look into his eyes.

You wrap one hand to cup his cheek which he instinctively leans his head into and places a chaste kiss into your palm. His eyes don’t leave yours while you both pant a few times. 

Taking a breath you slide your other hand flat down his chest and take in the softness of his wool sweater and the firmness of his pectorals and abs underneath. You break eye contact and watch your hand trail further down until your fingers trace the hem of his khakis and toy with the belt loops of the fabric.

Before you can even move to the button, his hand leaves your hip and holds your wrist firmly in place. You silently swallow and look back up at him.

Maybe he doesn’t want to go further… maybe he wants to leave it here.

A few more doubts swirl in your mind while you furrow your brows in thought before Kento leans in to kiss your palm against his cheek once more.

“Don’t.” He kisses your hand again. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod once before he tugs you into him and away from the counter. His hands run under your ass to where the flesh meets your thighs and tilts his head up.

“Jump f’me.”

Immediately you respond to the command and jump up while Kento’s arms grab the underside of your jeans and hoist you up to match your pelvis to his. Your feet don’t have time to wrap around his waist before he walks forward again and places you on the kitchen island.

Stepping back he walks to the oven and dutifully shuts off the heat before eyeing you once again like prey.

“Making cookies can wait,” he walks over and splays your thighs to stand between them. “I’d rather eat one right now…”

The way he looks down at you is enough to make your gut do cartwheels with excitement; the calm and rational man in front of you is now replaced with one desperately oozing carnal desire.

He leans down to capture your lips once more before gently pushing your back flat against the counter; he pushes the mixing bowls and dry ingredients to the side to make room. As soon as the cool marble of the counter top flushes against your warm skin, you can feel him play with the button of your jeans.

“This ok, baby?”

You peer down and admire the way he hunches over and pants lightly against your exposed navel from the way your shirt has ridden up slightly. Swallowing, you nod once more, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Kento places a light kiss against your navel and pops the button open and slides the zipper of your jeans down.

“Usually, I’d prefer words, but,” he taps your hips to indicate for you to lift them and he drags the fabric down to your ankles and pulls them to the floor, “we can work on that later.”

Immediately you move to shut your thighs in embarrassment but his hands catch your knees and push them apart again. You whimper slightly as he hunches over a bit more to admire the way your lace panties are stained with a dark patch of arousal.

His breath is hot against your inner thighs when he takes his index finger to run up and down the patch in half amusement and half awe. 

You make a pathetic attempt to shut your thighs again. “It’s embarrassing…”

Kento stops his finger mid swipe and pushes into the fabric to sop up more of the wetness seeping from your aching cunt. You twitch at the sensation and look up at the ceiling in attempt to cool the heat in your cheeks.

“Not embarrassing,” he says as he releases the pressure and leans down to place a quick kiss to the patch before hooking his fingers around the elastic waistband. “It’s all for me… right?”

He pulls your panties down partially and taps your hips once more to indicate for you to briefly lift up again.

“Nngh..y-yea..”

Your voice is weak in your throat but the silence and lack of touch makes you tilt your head up once again to watch them man. Sitting up on your elbows briefly, you don’t miss the way he palms the fabric of your panties into a smaller bundle and slips them into the pocket of his khakis.

“Hey–”

“Mm?” Kento pushes them further into his pocket before resting his hands on your knees to keep them spread. “I didn’t mean to ruin them…”

He leans down and pants lightly against your cunt, “It’s only fair I wash them and later…promptly return them.”

Before you can make a remark that he is indeed perverted, Kento opens his mouth and licks a long stripe up your pussy. Leaning back against the counter once again at the sensation, the man between your thighs doesn’t hesitate to initiate a disgustingly sloppy french kiss against your cunt.

Lips moving against your cunt, his tongue works its way inside and moves to massage the walls of your pussy. Lifting his hands away from your knees and letting your thighs cup his ears like muffs, one hand goes to splay the opening to your cunt wider while the other rubs circles into your clit. 

“Ahhh… fuck!”

Kento’s nose rubs against the flesh where your pussy and inner thigh meet, occasionally tickling you despite the intense pressure of his mouth against you. With one more thrust of his tongue inside, he lifts his face slowly to reattach his lips to your clit.

His chin is covered in a mixture of wetness and saliva but he pays no mind; his index finger slowly inches inside while his tongue ruts against your clit. You throw your head back at the delicious stretch against his finger and twitch your hips at the sensation of his lips suckling on your nerves. 

“Fuck baby… you’re pretty tight.” He leans back and looks up at you from your thighs, eyes half closed in drunken pleasure, “gotta make sure you’re warmed up before you can take me.”

The idea of letting the put together and posed Kento have his way with you makes you clench pathetically around his finger.

He leans back once more. “Just got so much wetter.” He adds a second finger and shamelessly watches your face contort with pleasure. “Gonna be the death of me.”

You whimper at his words and grind against his fingers, the familiar knot in your abdomen getting tighter. Kento doesn’t mind the awkward half-hunched position he’s in as he increases the speed of his tongue and continues finger fucking you in attempt to find that particular spot. 

“K-Ken… nnngh FUCK..”

You can’t even mumble his whole name, too dizzy from the pleasure coursing through your veins. Feeling the knot get tighter you bite your lip and run a hand through his hair and tug at the scalp lightly before gently pushing his head back. 

Immediately, the man stops and looks up at you in worry; your slick and his saliva still coating his chin in a shiny sheen.

“I-Is everything ok?” He stands up fully and searches your face intently. “Did I hurt you?”

The soft and intimate tone of his voice spurs butterflies in your stomach and you sit up fully on the counter to face him. On instinct, Kento steps between your thighs and leans his head down to search your face; his forehead hovers only an inch above yours.

“I’m ok, Kento. Really… I am.”

You tilt your chin upward to peck his lips and he immediately latches his mouth to yours, showing all his worry and attentiveness through the action. When you lean back his lips chase yours for a moment and his eyes search yours; the taste of your own slick now coating your lips.

“I’m ok.”

“Then.. why did you–”

“–I want to come… I want you to make me cum..”

He searches your face in a brief confusion, eyebrows furrowed in a ‘V’ shape before you continue.

“I just…” The admission makes your cheeks burn, but before you can turn your head away he lifts his hand to hold your cheek and face forward. “I just… wanted to cum.. On your cock…”

Despite whispering the words, the man hovering right in front of you hears each one and opens his eyes in a slight shock before grinning.

He leans down and kisses you once again and sighs in relief, “Oh thank goodness… I was worried you were having second thoughts about me, baby.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you again and smile up at him, “Never.”

“Good. To be fair I wasn’t sure I would even be able to stop now that we’ve started.”

The contrast of his behavior to his gentlemanly nature makes you grin and connect your lips once more before he backs up and offers a hand. Slipping your fingers in his, you slide off the counter and admire the way he bends down to collect your jeans before leading you to his bedroom.

You take a moment to admire the room while he moves to lock the door and neatly fold your pants. His bed is tidy and neat but the desk by the window is scattered with a variety of papers, coffee mugs, and trail mix containers. There’s a floor lamp that brings a warm glow to the room in addition to the natural light which makes it extremely cozy.

Despite there being maybe one article of clothing on the floor, Kento immediately moves to awkwardly organize things.

Dusting off the tops of his dresser and fixing the high school photo of him, Haibara, Suguru, and Satoru he turns to you. “Sorry for the mess… I wasn’t expecting company here today.”

You chuckle and move to admire the photo next to him, “Woa, your hair! I didn’t know you had an emo phase.”

Kento rolls his eyes and moves to smooth the pale brown comforter flatter while you drink in the rest of his room. A small record player sits on the top of a small bookshelf in the corner while his walls are neatly decorated with a variety of travel posters of places he’s been and wishes to go.

“Malaysia?” You mumble while moving to step next to him again.

“My dream vacation.”

You smile and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss, only stopping when he backs up to pull off his sweater and undershirt in one movement. The sight of his toned body is enough to make you clench around nothing. Once the fabric is flung to the floor he reaches forward to cup your jaw and slides his tongue back into your mouth as if it was more comfortable in yours than in his.

Your legs hit the back of the bed from the force and you disconnect your lips to peel off your cardigan and sweater. You let him admire the matching lace fabric of your bra for a moment before you undo the metal clasps and drop it to the floor. 

His hands lift to knead your now uncovered tits and you moan into his mouth from the sensation when he takes his fingers to pinch your hardened nipples. Shivers running down your spine, the lack of previous release creates an extra needy whine escaping your lips.

The erection painfully pushing against the fabric of his khakis grinds into the flesh of your pelvis; when your hands move to undo the button and fly, Kento doesn’t stop you this time. Tugging the fabric to his mid thigh, his cock now pushes against the thin fly of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. 

A dark gray patch is stained from the pre cum leaking pathetically from his tip and his hips twitch as soon as your fingers ghost the outline of his cock. Kento’s lips trail your neck while you palm his cock through the underwear; his teeth nibble the flesh behind your ear while light moans escape.

Before you can dip your hands into the waistband, Kento lightly pushes you back onto the bed and captures your lips once more. You scoot back to the pillows at the top of his bed and rest on your elbows when you watch him shimmy the boxer briefs down and free his cock to the air. And he’s definitely well endowed. 

Slightly larger than average, the thickness is enough to make your cunt clench around nothing when you imagine the delicious stretch. A noticeable blonde happy trail starts at his navel and goes down to the base of his cock, though everything is neatly trimmed.

Kento notices your stare and awkwardly smiles before giving himself a few pumps and walking back up to the bed. Before you can sit up right and welcome him back to the space with your lips on his, he backs up.

“Ah, condom.”

He pivots and opens his nightstand to dig around for a spare rubber; he nearly gives up the search until his fingers graze a familiar foil texture. Sighing gently in relief, he shuts the drawer and climbs up onto the mattress to meet you.

You meet his lips and lay down further to accommodate the way his body hovers perfectly above yours like a puzzle piece. He reaches down to rub your clit a few times while sucking gently on your neck before pulling back and sitting on his ankles.

He tugs the edge of the foil open and pulls out the lubricated condom; Kento gives a few more pumps to himself before lining his cock the ring of the rubber. Eyebrows furrowed at the motion, you both watch in a shocked horror when the edge of his thumbnail catches on the latex and rips a noticeable hole in the side.

“Fuck.”

Kento tugs it off and tosses it into his bedroom trash before digging through his nightstand again with a frustrated look.

“I don’t think there are any more… shit.”

You sit up and look at the man and gnaw on your lip. Any other time, you would use reasonable sensibility and just offer reciprocating oral between you both. That’s any other time.

“Pull out?”

Kento whips his head around so fast it nearly breaks and mumbles out, “huh?”

The desire coursing through your veins and sight of his cock makes your mind drunk. “Just pull out? Yea?”

Normally Kento would scoff and say how risky that method was in preventing unwanted pregnancies. Normally. Instead he mirrors your drunken gaze and nods slowly, “Yea… I’ll just pull out.”

He walks to the edge of the bed and pulls your ankles so your hips hover in the air in line with his pelvis. For good measure he taps his flushed pink tip to your swollen clit a few times; pearls of pre cum leaking profusely from the tip.

Locking eyes with you for a moment, he sinks in inch by inch, groaning at the sensation of hitting it raw. You lean your head back and wince slightly at the stretch while Kento’s hands immediately move to intertwine with yours.

Kento was expecting you to leave as soon as that idiot Satoru had accidentally aired his pathetic feelings, not for you to reciprocate those same desires and lay beneath him squirming while his cock splits you open. The sight is one he wants to immortalize in his memory: the way your head is thrown back in pleasure from the sting of the stretch, the little nod you make to indicate it’s ‘ok’ to move, and the beautiful way your tits bounce up and down with each thrust.

“F-fuck… Kento..”

Your legs are positioned straight up on his shoulders while he stands and thrusts into your cunt as you lay partially on his bed. There’s a mix of his eucalyptus detergent on the sheets and the raw scent of sex in the air.

His cock pushes in deeper with each thrust, bullying the opening of your cervix despite the facade of a gentleman on his face. Heavy balls slap against the underside of your ass, giving an audible ‘plap’ ‘plap’ ‘plap’ echoing in the room and sweat begins to drip down his temples. 

Each stroke has him bottoming out and pushing the stubble of his pubes against your puffy clit for the stimulation you’re craving. The sensation of his cock splitting you open and smack of skin against yours has the familiar sensation building in your abdomen. 

Looking up, Kento nearly looks pained from the concentration on his face. You raise an eyebrow but he shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath and places a chaste kiss to your ankle on his shoulder.

“I-I’m… ahhh.. Fine baby… just trying not to cum.. Haaa”

Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, the sensation of your cunt clenching around him leaves Kento trying to imagine Satoru’s face to avoid cumming too early. He’s supposed to be a gentleman, and well… nice guys finish last right?

Swallowing thickly, Kento moves to hold one of your legs steady on his shoulder while the other rubs circles against your clit. The combination of his cock rutting against your g-spot while the pad of his thumb rubs against your nerves causes a long whine to escape your lips.

“K-kento… fuck!.. G-Gonna cum…”

A gush of arousal seeps from your cunt and your walls clench around his cock while your orgasm washes over you. Head back in pleasure while your nails dig indents into his forearms, your hips twitch to ride your orgasm.

As soon as you regain a steady breath, Kento’s hips stutter and he pulls out with a ring of your cum smudged at the base of his cock. Giving a few extra pumps, hot ropes of cum spill out and over your stomach while your name escapes his lips like prayer.

The warm and sticky sensation coats your abdomen while Kento hovers above you panting; your legs fall from his shoulders and are split around his waist. The moment is raw and vulnerable for a few moments before the post-orgasm clarity washes over both of you.

“I’ll grab a washcloth…hate that I made such a mess of you again.”

You sigh and blink wearily while sitting up on your elbows, smiling at the joke he had made. Watching Kento slip on his boxer briefs and slide out of the room to the bathroom, you exhale and lean further into the comforter of his bed in a sleepy haze.

You don’t even notice when he reopens the door with a warm washcloth in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other. “Don’t tell me you’re asleep already.”

A gentle hum leaves your lips as you sit up and watch the way he gently wipes his cum from your skin and offers you the water.

He stands back up and looks down at you sitting contently. “Though the image of you in my bed is something I can definitely get used to.”

Before you can answer, a light ‘ping!’ rings out from the pants pocket of Kento’s khakis. You can exchange a glance and he leans down to retrieve his phone and stare at his screen in shock.

“What’s wro–”

“They said they’ll be back in 5.”

Your words die in your throat and you both immediately make a break for the bathroom to clean up as fast as possible. After briefly fixing his hair, Kento leaves you to pee after you shoo him out with a, ‘no man is worth a UTI’. 

Washing your hands and briefly wiping away any smudged mascara, there’s a short courtesy knock and Kento’s hand pokes out through a crack in the door. 

“Sorry there’s no time for a shower….maybe later if you wanna stay, you can take one.”

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the clothes and changing behind the door as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out. “I’ll be out in a second.”

The door shuts again and you toss the oversized ‘Finance Department’ shirt and JJK sweatpants on while rolling your eyes at the lack of underwear provided. You wander out of the bathroom and stop in the hallway to watch the way Haibara and Ieiri are carrying several bags of groceries into the apartment. 

“I thought you went out for sugar? What’s all this?”

Haibara slips past Kento and begins pulling out various bags of chips and snacks from the bag in front of him. “We should watch a movie while the cookies bake! So that means we needed snacks. Plus Satoru called and asked for a few things.”

Ieiri makes no attempt at an excuse and smirks when she sees the way Kento is no longer in his khakis and sweater and instead is wearing a pair of flannel sleep pants and long sleeve frat t-shirt. 

She shrugs her shoulders at the man and fishes in her pocket for a lighter. “We just needed something to do in order to stall for a bit longer.”

Your cheeks flush and you finally walk out into the kitchen and avoid the shit-eating grin on your roommate’s face. Haibara doesn’t even notice your change of clothing while Kento looks at you with a warm smile on his lips. 

Ieiri lets out a low whistle, “Nice clothes.”

Haibara stops from putting soft drinks in the fridge and now finally notices your attire and raises an eyebrow at it. Both he and Ieiri exchange glances before Kento raises his hand to pause their imminent bombarde of questions. “There’s nothing wrong with my girlfriend wearing my clothes.”

“Girlfriend?!”

“Girlfriend?!”

GIRLFRIEND?

Ieiri and Haibara mirror your internal confusion while Kento idly walks to the oven to resume the heat needed to finish baking the cookies. He holds himself as if he had just reported the weather and moves to slide a hand around your waist and tug you into him.

“Geez! What did we miss?”

“I don’t think we wanna know.”

Haibara winces at Ieiri’s crude words and shakes his head to avoid imagining his roommate and friend banging in the apartment. Kento rolls his eyes while Ieiri moves to finalize the last of the sugar cookie recipe and prepare a pan.

You seamlessly move to help her cut a few shapes and don’t miss the way Haibara breaks from his mortifying realization to shoot a thumbs up to his roommate. The moment is warm and familial, the group now working as a team of 4 instead of two groups of 2. 

By the time you take out the brunkager and put the sugar cookies in the oven, Haibara pads over to the living to flip through a variety of movies. Ieiri follows him to open the window and lean out the edge to light another cigarette and blow the smoke outside. 

You sigh comfortably and reach to grab a cookie and blow gently on it, slightly wincing when the delicious flavor burns your tastebuds from the temperature. 

“Careful…we’re not trying to make your tongue swollen.”

“Oh, is there something else you want my tongue to do?”

Kento stutters slightly and nudges you in the ribs indicating the risky behavior considering the proximity of your friends while rolling his eyes.

“There are a million things I could think of, and if we had more time, I would’ve loved for a few of them to happen.”

You smile and move to rinse your hands off in the sink, enjoying the background ambience of Ieiri and Haibara arguing over whether to watch ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ or ‘Home Alone’. 

Kento remains leaning against the counter while watching you. “I mean it. Both things actually.”

You wipe your hands on the kitchen towel and raise an eyebrow while waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t enjoy quickies or casual flings… I want more time with you,” he puts his arm out to grab you into him, “with you as my girlfriend.”

There’s no response needed when you lift your chin to press a kiss to his lips and giggle when Haibara and Ieiri groan from the couch.

“Ugh! Didn’t you guys already fuck it out of your systems? I’m not ready to be an aunt yet.”

“Not on the kitchen island! What about our deposit if you break it?”

Kento scoffs and moves to walk you to the couch to join your complaining comrades; he sits on the right side against the armrest and pulls you in between his legs to partially lay against his chest.

The moment is cozy and relaxing as the sun begins to dip and brings a warm glow in the apartment while a blistering wind picks up outside. Ieiri reaches for a few chips while Haibara gets comfy on the side love seat and hits ‘play’ on the remote.

“Wait..” he looks up between you and Ieiri. “I already knew Kento grew up making cookies and that’s why he enjoys doing it so much now… but what about you guys?”

Your own roommate shrugs, “I guess I like the parties? Secret Santas are kinda fun once the alcohol is flowing.”

Haibara hums at the answer and turns his attention to you; Kento places a chaste kiss on the back of your neck and traces circles on your hip bones where the waistband of the sweatpants sit.  You turn to Kento and smirk, “Well considering Kento likes eating making cookies…. I’d say I like sleigh rides.”

TY for ur patience for this series! I've been busy but still wanna finish this into the mid-january timeline (also why was writing kento lowkey harder than I thot it was gonna be)

[ Next up -> Oncology student! Frat President! Fwb Satoru x Reader

Holiday season is always referred to as 'cuffing season' though he never really saw the point. Why want a real relationship when your casual affair offers everything he wants... or so he thought. Matching sweaters, gift wrapping, and sipping hot cocoa definitely isn't casual.. but it's all he wants for Christmas this year. ]

my other series are still ongoing i promise!

likes/reblogs/comments all appreicated ☆:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:☆

-oatmeal

[lia-linny]

Can you write more highschool story’s for the boys?

🍪🍪

summary: Anonymous letters about life bring the popular artboy Hyunjin and yn together.

words: 1.9k

genre: fluff, anonymous lovers, highschool au,

The art room was Yn's favorite retreat, especially after a hard day at school. While everyone else went home, she often stayed here, sitting among paints, sketchbooks and half-finished canvases. She occasionally drew herself or simply enjoyed the beauty of the works and how the sun shone through the large windows.

Today was no different. She pulled her jacket tighter around her as she stroled to the dusty table where she always sat. But when she put her bag down, she noticed something unusual: a folded sheet of paper was lying under an old sketchbook that seemed to have been there forever.

Curious, she pulled it out and unfolded it. It was a letter, handwritten in neat, elegant letters decorated the sheat. No salutation, no signature, just a single quote:

"Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth." - Pablo Picasso

Yn frowned and ran her fingers over the words. Who had written that? Was it a forgotten piece of paper or had it been placed here on purpose?She didn't know, but something about it wouldn't let her go.Without further ado, she took her own pen, turned the paper over and wrote a reply underneath:

"If art is a lie, then why does it feel more real than anything else?"She hesitated briefly, then put the page back in its place, sliding the sketchbook lightly over it as if she had never touched it.

Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it meant nothing. Or maybe it was fate.

~☆~

The next day, Yn entered the art room with an unfamiliar tingling in her stomach. She didn't know if she was hoping for too much, but she wished an answer was waiting for her. She let her gaze wander around the room. Everything looked the same as always. But as she approached the table, she spotted it: the sheet of paper was still there, but this time it was folded differently. She opened it with quick fingers. A new note, the same elegant writing as the day before, had responded to her words:

"Maybe because art doesn't hide. People do." Yn's breath caught in her throat. This answer was... profound. Sad. True.

She slumped down in the chair, staring at the words for a moment. Whoever had written it, she felt strangely connected to him or her. She turned the paper back over and wrote her next reply:

"And yet, we are here. Hiding behind words on a page." She put the letter back and slid the sketchbook lightly over it. A secret conversation had begun and it felt right.

The next day, Yn was there earlier than usual. Her heart beat faster as she entered the room. The thought that someone was out there, someone who thought the same way, felt the same way, wouldn't let her go. She pushed the sketchbook aside and there it was: a new note. This time the answer was longer.

"Maybe hiding isn't always a bad thing. Maybe we need a place where we can be real without being seen. Like in a painting, where you only recognize what you want to see." Underneath, in smaller lettering, was a quote:

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."- Oscar Wilde

Yn smiled involuntarily. Whoever this anonymous writer was, she liked him more and more. Deep, melancholy, but with a kind of hopeful poetry. She picked up her pen and wrote her reply underneath:

"But isn't it lonely in a painting no one truly sees?"This time she hesitated before putting the note back. She wanted to know more. Who was he? Why did he write like that? And why did she already feel so connected without even knowing him?

~☆~

With each new letter, the relationship between Yn and her anonymous correspondent became more intense. Their words were no longer just thoughts on paper - they expressed the intense feelings and thoughts they both felt.

Hyunjin wrote about art as an escape, about how colors can express feelings that words cannot. Yn responded with her own perspective, with words about freedom, about the feeling of belonging everywhere and yet nowhere.

They wrote more and more often, almost every day. These conversations brightened their day, sweetened their lives. Sometimes he would enclose little gifts with his messages, which brought a beaming smile to her face.

One day, Yn found a particularly long and profound letter.

"Sometimes I wonder if we are ever really seen. Or if we are just the image that others project in us." These thoughts felt so familiar, as if he had looked straight into her heart. This time she didn't write a long reply. Just a poem she had written herself:

"Lost in the echoes of who they expect me to be, but in these words, I feel seen. A whisper in the silence, a stroke on the canvas,somewhere between dream and reality."

She put the note back, her heart beating faster than usual. Because she was beginning to realize - this stranger understood her in a way that no one had ever done before.

~☆~

"You know that feeling of being surrounded by people and still feeling alone? Maybe because no one really listens - or because you never have the courage to speak up. In these lines here, I am being honest for the first time. And somehow I feel like you can hear me, even if I don't know who you are

~☆~

"It's strange, isn't it? How pain and hope often go hand in hand. Sometimes I think we can only feel so deeply because we know what it's like to lose. Maybe pain is proof that we've really lived."

~☆~

"I don't know your name, I don't know what you look like and yet I feel closer to you than many people I see every day. Isn't that strange? Maybe it's the unknown that gives us the courage to be honest."

~☆~

"I often wonder why we hold on so tightly to things that we know won't last forever. Perhaps because it is precisely this transience that makes the moment valuable. What if we knew that we had infinite time? Would we still love it all then?"

~☆~

On a rainy afternoon, YN sat alone in the art room, a sketchbook on her knees. She scribbled fragments of thoughts and half-finished poems in it while raindrops pattered against the window pane.

The door opened and someone entered. She looked up, it was Hyunjin. Yn had often seen him from a distance, the talented artist who had a natural elegance in every movement. But now he didn't look like the shining star everyone knew. Detached from his popular friends, he looked pensive, almost lost. Hyunjin noticed her and hesitated.

"Oh... I didn't know anyone was here."

"I... am here often," Yn said, closing her sketchbook. He nodded slowly.

"Me too." There was a brief but strangely familiar silence. Neither of them knew they had known each other for so long. Over written words and feelings on old paper.

"I like it when it rains," Hyunjin finally said and sat down at one of the tables.

"Why?" asked Yn. He smiled vaguely.

"Because it feels like the world can breathe for a moment." She frowned. It almost sounded like something from one of the letters. But yn didn't yet come to the truth that they'd had a deep connection long ago without knowing it.

~☆~

A few days after their encounter in the art room, Yn found a new letter in her secret place. But this time it was different, the letter contained a sketch.

It was a portrait of her. Every line, every shadow was carefully placed. She recognized herself in it, but not as she saw herself in the mirror. In this picture she seemed... alive, strong, almost beautiful in a way that she had never recognized herself. The emotions were almost palpable when she looked into her own eyes. Her gaze, her posture, everything was deeper, like a superficial portrait.

Her heart beat faster. Whoever her pen pal was, he had portrayed her with this drawing as if he really saw her. And then she noticed it. At the bottom of the paper was a line, a quote that she had recently written herself in one of her letters.

"Sometimes I wonder what defines us more: the dreams we pursue or the fears that keep us from them. " Yn's breath caught. Only one person could have drawn that. She recognized his style, the raw emotion in his strokes.

Hyunjin had his own way of expressing his emotions. Through art and obviously also through these anonymous messages. A whirlwind of thoughts overcame her, surprise, confusion, nervousness... and hope.

She had to see him. Now! Because she already suspected that the letter writer had slowly wormed his way into her heart.

With the note in her hand, YN ran through the corridors of the school. Her heart was beating faster than ever before. She knew now. She knew who her mysterious friend was. And she had to see him.

But after checking out the usual places where he and his friends often hung out, her path led her back to the art room. It was empty when she pushed open the door, except for one person.

Hyunjin stood in front of a canvas, a brush loosely between his fingers, his gaze lost in thought. But when he saw Yn, he froze. She was holding up the letter.

"That was you, wasn't it?"ahe whispered. Hyunjin's eyes widened briefly, then he lowered his gaze.

"Yes." His voice was quiet, but firm. Silence filled the room. Then Yn took a step towards him.

"Why didn't you ever tell me it was you?" Hyunjin laughed softly, nervously.

"I thought... it would be easier if you didn't know me. That you'd only see me through the words, not through all the expectations everyone has of me."

"But I've seen you." Yn stepped closer. "Every single line, every picture, it was always you." Hyunjin took a deep breath.

"And did you like me?" Her answer didn't come in words. Instead, she gathered all her courage, stepped even closer and gently pulled him to her. Her lips met his, carefully but full of feeling. For a moment, time stood still. When they slowly broke away, Hyunjin looked at her with shining eyes.

"I guess that means yes."

"Yes." yn laughed softly and rested her forehead on his. And this time, they no longer needed letters to know how they felt.

~☆~

"I think love is less of a firework and more of a quiet glow that stays when everything else goes dark. Maybe we are afraid of real feelings because they make us vulnerable. But maybe that very vulnerability is the proof that it's real."

[logicheartsoul]

if you like it, maybe you should put a pin on it

Based on this post where Bucky finds Sam's board that's filled with pictures of Bucky with strings pushed into it when he was trying to find him back in 2014-2016 and Bucky puts post it notes grading him if he was correct or not. People in the tags commented about this spinning off to a proposal and this was born.

This is my first finished fic in years so, I may be rusty. I hope y'all enjoy!

One day, Sam looks over at the board again— amongst all the chaos and dangling string and pinned up pictures and paper…

He tilts his head, squinting, before blinking his eyes.

There, on the map, is a new picture, stuck through with a blue pushpin.

Familiar brick, that doormat given by his nephews, the dark wood door.

Home.

100%, scribbled in black sharpie, across the surface of a bright yellow post it.

But what catches his eye—

“Will you marry me?”

Sam turns his head, footsteps creaking the wood underneath Bucky’s feet. He’s wearing a suit, not uncommon these days, but something different than the typical navy and grey suits he’s pilfered from Sam’s closet along with his ties.

No, there’s a svelte silhouette to his form, as if it’s important the fit is right. He’s in a three piece wearing a pin attached to the lapel.

And in his left hand is a small, velvet box.

The words on the post it note ring in his head as Bucky steps closer toward him.

“You found me,” he says, close enough his heat emanates from his body, seeping deep into Sam's own.

His eyes, those nowadays soft eyes, hold a glimmer of trepidation, but also hope.

“I sure did,” Sam replies, smile smug. “I’m good at what I do.”

Bucky’s other hand is warm when he reaches out, his thumb resting over Sam’s knuckles in a solid grip. There’s a slight tremor that seems to ease and settle when he brushes his thumb over Sam’s skin.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else to try and find me.”

“Well, you said I was 100% right on the last time I found you. No one can top that.”

A smile blooms across Bucky’s face, his eyes glowing.

“You’re right.”

Sam laughs, the joy bubbling through him, light and airy and warm.

“Can I get that in writing? Or better yet, on video?”

With a flick of Bucky's vibranium thumb, the box gently opens.

“Only if you say yes.”

Sam shakes his head, the line of his grin softer but no less strong, his eyes peering down at the ring gleaming in the lights of their home.

“You drive a hard bargain there.”

Bucky releases his hold, the absence creeping in, until he pulls the ring out of the cushion. Sam’s hand is still hovering in the air when the cool metal slides along his finger.

”What, do you want me to beg?”

The box snaps closed; Bucky’s hand slips into his pocket before drawing it out, resting his left hand on Sam’s waist. His other is holding Sam’s, thumb resting on top of the ring.

Their bodies draw closer, not quite a dance, but movements of a beat they’ve done so often, it’s like breathing.

Sam’s lips brush against Bucky’s, not quite a kiss.

“That could be a start.”

Their foreheads are pressed together, touching, gaze so focused all they can see in the reflection of their eyes is each other. Their hands warming the other’s waist.

“Say yes and I’ll do anything,” Bucky declares.

He tries one more time.

“Marry me?”

He strains to hear in the silence but his enhanced senses register Sam’s whisper like a yell.

“Yes.”

The taste of triumph, of victory, of finding peace and home, is on their lips, and steals their breath before they part for air.

They don’t move far away, foreheads still leaning against each other. Sam’s smile is a bit devious now, a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

“Gonna hold you to that, husband,” he says, and Bucky just laughs.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

_

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