#*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 ♡

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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

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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.

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thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)

comments and reblogs are massively appreciated ♡

[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.

[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."

[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.

[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

𝐚𝐮𝐭���𝐨𝐫'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.

[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

[skelliko]

Hi Skelle! ☆ How r you? I hope you have a nice day/night! 🫶🏼 I want to request something.. my request is can you make like a full (not a mandatory) headcanons of how the guys will act if they have a crush on someone? Like how they behaviour will change, how they first meet the reader immediately think “yep, she’s the one”, where, and overall how sappy they can get when they have a crush 🥹 i would like them with baji, kazutora, chifuyu and haitani brothers.

Feel free to ignore this if you feel this is too much cause I don’t wanna stress your cute 🧠💐🎀🩷 brain 🧠💐🎀🩷

Lmao

a/n: hope this is okay, sorry for the wait. i didn't intend to make these all be in a school setting, I had tried to do some in a workplace but It's all I could think off without making it basic 😕

★-Tokyo revengers

๑-context: first interaction + how they act/feel with a crush

๑-featuring: Baji, kazutora, chifuyu, ran, rindou

°- kazutora hanemiya

-- kazutora was forced to stay behind the classroom to finish his work that he hasn't done, the teacher was sat in front of her desk doing whatever a teacher does there while everyone else but him exit out the room. however when you were on your way out you slickly slid a small, folded up piece of paper on the side of kazutora's desk which certainly didn't go unnoticed by him.

-- his eyes went right at you and watched as you walked away almost expecting you to look back at him but you didn't. to then occasionally glance at the teacher to make sure that she doesn't look up as his hand slides towards the note to carefully and quietly open it up. anything could have been written on the note but since he was so focused to not get caught his mind was blank and didn't assume anything right away.

-- the piece of paper held all the answers to the worksheet that he was supposed to complete. to avoid any suspicions from the teacher he immediately placed it flat on the desk underneath his palm to collect himself and not get too ahead of himself, I mean what if the answers are incorrect and your setting him up for longer detention? eventually he risked it and wrote down all the answers that you had given him and handed in his work. and sure enough you become a life saver there, he was able to get out of there quicker than he first anticipated.

-- eventually he came up to you "hey, thanks for the... you know. but why'd you give me 3 incorrect answers? thought you were supposed to be smart" he said it in a almost teasing way, not upset at all about the incorrect answers. but you replied with "because no one would believe you to get them all correct without being forced to do them again" and that right there is the moment that he realised what kind of smart and mischievous person you are, enough that you've captivated his thoughts for the rest of the day and onwards.

• normally he'd get pissed off when forced to stay behind in class, but now, his mind is flooded with you that he's getting stayed back more and more just so that your hand can brush over his desk and give a semi warm piece of paper that you've held safely in your palm on the way to his desk to get him out of a situation that he put himself in, it almost feels like holding your hand. are you aware of what he's doing? probably, but that won't stop him. he also keeps all the pieces of paper even tho they serve no purpose, but knowing that you were the one that gave it to him changes the perspective of those little scraps.

• he has a major urge to be around you, he's craving your presence and voice and he always feels some sort of ache is in body from just thinking about seeing you once the weekend has passed. also the same thing goes for craving your physical touch such as a tight hug or maybe even a scalp massage but he knows that won't happen any time soon but the crave is still there, it's like a maladaptive daydream.

• he also looks at you different compared to others, with you it seems like kazu is looking at an angle with gorgeous white wings and a stunning outfit, whereas with others it seems like their just ants. big difference there.

-- sure you've been in his class for a while but that was the first time you've actually interacted with each other, other than a quick eye contact from looking around the room. there's always that one classmate that you haven't talked to but once you do it changes so much more than you first intended.

• he feels his emotions to a certain extreme level and cause of this he tries to hide it as much as he can otherwise he grows too expressive without realising it. and that can easily make his feelings seem obvious if not tamed correctly. he tries to act casual despite his stomach is turned into a butterfly sanctuary, his palms are grown sweaty, and his breath is held in to get rid of the feeling of jumping about and smiling like a complete idiot. mentally hes turned into a little kid with red cheeks just because his crush smiled at him, someone give the kid an ice pop otherwise he'll overheat. no seriously he's burning up like a fever just being near you.

°- Keisuke baji

-- Baji was getting into some sort of escalating argument after school had ended, him and two guys were getting a little rowdy but because of Baji being in his nerdy disguise at the time he couldn't risk in making a scene

-- but then that's when you butt in and stand by Baji's side. it was certainly a shock to suddenly see you appear beside him and hear you verbalise your opinion and defend him like that against these two delinquents even though he could have easily defended himself despite the circumstances, he could have walked away and led them somewhere else but no, you brought yourself into the bickering before he could act on it

-- Baji was gonna speak up to cut you off and try and get you away from the slight hazardous situation but you certainly had a lot to say and that just caused him to keep quiet. were you not scared? if you weren't for yourself then he was surely scared for you. he wasn't mad at you for getting involved, instead he somewhat gained respect for you and he had to hold back in smiling.

-- though he obviously couldn't let the situation keep going so he had to quickly drop the whole argument by speaking over you and basically drag you away by your sleeve gently. his feelings didn't grow immediately right there and then but they did develop quickly over a short period of time.

• thinking of you? his cheeks are sore and he brings a hand up to his mouth to suppress it and as if to hide it even though there's no one around to hide his smile from. he doesn't know why he does that but he just does.

• if someone were to be told that baji giggles when you message him they wouldn't believe it, that whole image for them is nonexistent when it comes to Baji, wouldn't even consider it. but this man really does, he tries to stifle them and keep a calm exposure however when he's laying down on his bed he has a wide smile plastered stupidly on his face and when he feels an excited, giddy feeling he can't help but feel a small laugh escape. when he tries to hold them back it almost feels like his chest is being tightened. your suffocation him without even being there, imagine a potential news title 'baji Keisuke suffocated due to feeling giddy about a crush'

• not much of an artist, can only actually draw simple outlines of certain objects such as pain flowers or stick men, but that doesn't stop him from picking up a pen or pencil and start to doodle, nor does it stop him to have your features flash in his mind and him draw you as a stick figure or even a wobbly blob. he sometimes zones out in class when doodling and when he catches himself in drawing you he quickly scribbles it out before anyone or you sees.

°- chifuyu matsuno

-- its raining outside on a school day and you don't have an umbrella nor a hood to cover yourself so due to that you chose to stay behind in your empty classroom to wait out the rain just so you don't get soaked. you chose to stay behind and do something captivating that it even caused you to lose track of time, luckily Chifuyu walked past your classroom and saw you there, it's at least a few hours past school hours (don't ask what he's still doing here)

-- he curiously came up to you and mentioned it however even after those few hours the rain hadn't left and it was still pouring the same weight as it had at the start, and due to the sudden passed time you had no choice to head home even if it means getting drenched. but upon chifuyu hearing your reasoning, there was no way he was gonna leave you walking out in the cold rain while he had a perfectly good umbrella, even if he wanted to leave he just couldn't bring himself to.

-- so he did the first thing that came to mind and that was to try and offer his umbrella to you. at first it seemed convenient for you but then the thought of him going out in the rain with nothing bothered you, so obviously you declined. bit of "no it's fine" here and there but after some of those you both came to an agreement to share it.

-- halfway through with you both walking underneath the same umbrella and chatting away to avoid the awkward silence he walked you home without you realising, he had to turn a corner ages ago but willingly chose to stay with you since you both were having an interesting conversation. and sure enough, thump-thump-thump his heart is racing, ever since then you've been on his mind.

• he feels so much about you, butterflies in his stomach and the need to move around because if hes sat still he'd probably snap in half from the excitement that he can't handle when the thought of you appears. he can explode from the overjoy of interacting with you as if it's a rare thing to happen even though it really isn't, you're just that special. he definitely jumps around and about in his room and punches the air silently whilst trying not to cause too much noise. making a whole new cardio work out.

• whenever he's reading his manga and romance comes in he can't help but picture the two characters to be you and chifuyu. he flicks his eyes between the two characters repeatedly even if he's been on the same page for 5mins, he'd still play out the scenario of them being you two. I mean that whole first encounter almost seemed too cliché to not have come straight out of a movie with unrealistic standards. but no, it all really did happened which causes his mind to go in places that you two are almost casted together and made to talk, as if the universe is setting you both up.

• passing your classroom at any chance he gets just to try and get a glimpse at you but while doing so his heart paces like hes just ran a marathon, he hasn't even seen you yet but the anticipation is killing him. and even when it rains on school days again hes not heading straight home but instead he's making his way to your class to see if you're there again waiting for the rain to leave, always hopeful and wishing that you're empty handed without an umbrella or a hood.

°- ran haitani

-- your in an empty room scribbling something in a sketchbook, using both hard and light pencil strokes. doesn't bother ran at all that you're here doing your own little thing but what actually does is that you're sat in his usual seat. normally he wouldn't try to intervene, especially if it's something this petty plus he wasn't all that desperate to stay here for long but even then, he still walked up to you.

-- first instinct that you had when hearing his footsteps was to close your sketchbook shut before looking up, clearly you don't want no one seeing your personal work/drawings. this little thing perked ran's interest, he doesn't know much about art in the form of paper and pencil, but he's still intrigued as to why you chose to hide it that it made him forget about his petty emotion of you sitting in his seat.

-- in short term, he ended up seeing a few of your pages and the reason for it is cause you despise your own work, despite continuing drawing in your own time you seem to always criticise yourself and think harshly on them. but in his eyes he can't help but be in awe of them, he cant understand what's so bad about the drawings. next thing you know he's asking for a drawing of himself, you didn't seem too bothered by the idea as you were about your skill wondering if you could even pull it off but ran managed to convince you.

-- sitting in a chair in front of you as a muse, meeting eye contact as you looked at his features repeatedly to get the right shape of his eyes, nose and lips. him purposely moving a little to see if you'd say something about it and trying to peek over your sketchbook book to see your progress only for you to move it away out of embarrassment. it took a short while but finally seeing himself on a page in dark grey lead made him feel something, not necessarily a major attraction but appreciation even tho he's the one that pressed on the idea.

-- and that's when the butterflies hit, it's a major delayed reaction but the giddy feeling hit after being the muse and grasping the fact that you were able to draw him this well from you analysing his features, something about this made him more seen than he already is. maybe a confidence boost? who knows, even he himself can't figure it out exactly other than feeling warm from the inside out about you.

• no matter how hard he tries to relax around you he always feels blood rushing in his body making him become tense whenever you two have an interaction as small as just saying hi to each other, and once you both pass he sighs out air as if you've caught his breath and didn't let go, though he also ends up smiling after that sigh but it's more or less a mix of a nervous and happy smile, one that makes you to be unsure if you're supposed to be excited or scared.

• i reckon hes a yapper once he gets comfortable enough, anything that comes to mind he can talk and talk about it with you like his life depends on it, but once he's finished speaking he only then realises the things he's said and regrets it all even if the topics he's talked about aren't all that bad but he still gets embarrassed of himself for letting himself get carried away like that to the point where afterwards he speaks in a much shallower tone "...I don't know why I said that, ignore that" it's kinda cute tho.

• you got him twisting and turning, losing focus in certain activities and even his sight of where he's going. at some point he was walking but his eye view was so focused on you that he ended up walking into the metal, water foundation and he had to embarrassingly play it off hoping that no one had seen the doofus walk right into it as his head was turned 80° in your direction.

°- rindou haitani

-- you and him happen to share the same taste in music and favour the same band/Artist, he knew this by overhearing a conversation you had with someone and that made him perk up a little but not enough for him to engage in the conversation. he'd silently listen in to hear what your favourite song is and guess if your a hardcore fan or just a regular

-- despite rindou not being the one to come forward about the mutual interest that you both have, it was you that needed up going up to him after hearing his music escape though his earphones from how loud he set the volume to be. sure he was a little embarrassed after you mentioned it but once you both started talking about the band, something had opened him up as you talked about it with enthusiasm while he was agreeing with everything that you were saying and adding his own little comments, you were both constantly on the same page.

-- hes gained a small interest in you but not enough to catch feelings and be attached, there's plenty of people with the same interest as him and even though he can't find many it doesn't mean that you should be on top of the list. yet.

-- those previous, tamed feelings were immediately thrown out the window after hearing you sing his favourite song when you thought you were alone, he didn't mean to intrude but when he quietly walked in a room to get something he ended up hearing your voice singing along to a favoured song, you immediately became his favourite cover. your tune and enthusiasm had him captivated and stuck. he didn't get the item but instead but he stood outside of the door listening until you stopped.

• when you suddenly appear and make yourself known he gets a little spooked and drops whatever he was holding in his hands (mainly depends on what the item is, as in if it's not fragile and just a pen) its the type of scare that makes his mind go 'oh shit they're here, act cool, act cool' you can just walk into the room and when Rindou looks up to see you its like his whole body does a nervous shut down for a split second. he's normally not like that at all so when that became a common occurrence he swore he was starting to become insane.

• only you're allowed to touch his glasses or gloves or in fact anything that belongs to rindou. sure his brother is an exception but that's to be expected. if anyone else tried to touch his stuff he'd more than just swat their hand away like an annoying pest, but with you? he feels warm and giddy about you picking his glasses up and trying them on yourself, heat rushes up to his face but he always tries to act cool and casual. he just can't shake the thought that you've worn his glasses that he's wearing right now, it almost feels like getting a high five from your favourite celebrity.

• anyone would probably assume Rindou to be a little heartless from him occasionally being nonchalant around others and sure that's true enough but with you? he's flustered, cannot specify enough of it, poor man can't even go a day without his lungs constantly shifting in volume from the way you get him so nervous. he's even grown to stutter a little, not a whole lot but enough for it to be noticed once in a while and each time he looks back on the sentences he's said he always cringes at himself.

 ♡----

[f1tales]

is it that sweet? i guess so - mv1

that's that me espresso || part two

previous part || next part

pairing: max verstappen x ofc!piastri

summary: oscar’s older sister is a singer, who’s taylor swift’s opening act for the eras tour. she goes to a few races on her break. she meets max; who thinks about her every night now. much to oscar’s annoyance.

face claim: sabrina carpenter

"You know people are on to us right?"

Ivy curled herself up to Max's side. She drew shapes on his chest. She looked up to meet Max's eyes. She bit her lip as she thought back to when Lando messaged her on Instagram just after the Australian Grand Prix.

She had been extrememly giddy when she entered the club for the Australian GP after party that Lando had invited her to. He had messaged her earlier about how Max wanted her number.

They had met briefly, but oh my god, Ivy was mesmerized by his deep blue eyes and adorable smile. Her hands were trembling as she made her way through the club to join Lando and his friends.

Max had been there.

And he had bought her drink, as Ivy had suggested he'd do before he went off to scold Lando for sliding in Ivy's DM's for him.

Ivy and Max ended up talking the entire night in the far corner of the VIP section of the fancy club. She decided she liked to hear him talk; she liked his accent. He had escorted her out of the club with a firm hand on the small of her back at two in the morning. He ordered a taxi for them to share and held her hand as they drove through the streets of Melbourne.

Max told the taxi driver to wait outside her building so he could walk her to the door. And okay, Ivy admits, the bar was set pretty low by her shitty exes, but it was one of the nicest things someone had done for her.

They had stood in silence for a while.

"I-," they laughed when they both spoke at the same time.

"Will you let me take you out tomorrow?" Max had asked as he held her hand.

Ivy had smiled at him, "I would. But I'm off to Perth to work on my next album." She squeezed his hand. She dropped his hand to fish a piece of paper out of her purse. She had shivered slightly; her sheer dress did nothing to keep her warm.

She had slipped the piece of paper in the pocket of his jacket. She then went to stand on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his cheek.

"Good night, Max."

Max had then shown up in Perth just a couple of days after Ivy had arrived. Supposedly to go visit Daniel on his farm, but in reality he just couldn't stop thinking about the blonde singer.

And well, the rest is pretty much history.

Max had taken her to Daniel's farm for a couple of days before having to go to Japan to meet his friends. They had a ski trip planned, Max had wanted to cancel his plans. Ivy told him to go, that he was being ridiculous.

He went, but on the condition she would join him in Japan to watch the race in Suzuka.

And here they were. In Max's hotel room. The morning light was softly filtering through the room as Ivy continued to draw shapes on his chest.

"I didn't think we were being that obvious."

Ivy looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. Max had been anything but subtle about the whole thing. Liking her Instagram posts, commenting underneath them. And then talking about how much he liked her songs on his streams.

Max pulled her on top of him. "They're gonna be even more suspiscous when you watch the race from the Red Bull garage." He pulled her down so his lips could meet hers in a kiss. "I can't wait to see Oscar having an aneurysm when he sees you in the paddock."

The singer gasped, "Max!" She playfully hit him on the shoulder. "That's my brother." She sternly looked at him.

Max simply looked at her with raised eyebrows. He placed his arms behind his head as Ivy's face cracked and a smile crept on her face.

"God, it'll be so fun to see him lose his mind."

"We don't have to walk in together," Max looked at Ivy. She was chewing on her lip, something Max noticed she did when she was nervous or stressed. He grabbed her shaking hand and intertwined their fingers.

Ivy let out a relieved sigh, "I really do want to go public at some point. I just, my last relationship was so public and I,"

"Hey, hey, you don't have to justify it or apologise for it. I would also like to keep things between us for now."

He squeezed her hand three times just before the car came to a halt. Ivy leaned up to kiss his cheek, "I'll come see you before quali."

"Counting on it!"

Max winked before he got out of the car with his backpack strapped around his shoulders. Ivy waited a respectable five minutes before entering the paddock herself; a shiny Red Bull paddock pass hanging from her neck.

part 3 coming soon.

taglist: @mastermindbaby @charlesgirl16

[after-witch]

How a Minute Spends Now [Yandere Platonic L Lawliet x Sibling Reader]

Title: How a Minute Spends Now [Yandere Platonic L x Sibling Reader]

Synopsis: Your brother is dead. What pieces are there left to pick up?

Word count: 3800ish

notes: yandere, abusive sibling dynamic, grief and death mentions

Your brother is dead.

And oh, it’s clear now: whoever said death was an inevitable cold hard fact was a liar. Or stupid. Or both. Because this fact is not cold or hard; it’s warm, oozing, feeling like so much black sludge running between your fingers. 

You’ll never get it off--the death, yes, and the awful, sinking realization--

Your brother is dead and their first priority was not to tell you. 

They don’t bring you into a quiet room and ask you to sit down, before explaining in sympathetic, gentle tones that something bad has happened. That the brother who carried you through hell as a child, who kept you safe (and locked away) well into your thoroughly stunted adulthood, will never be coming back again. That you’ll never hear his voice or see his face or feel his touch. 

No. They don’t bother with you, first.

Their first priority is to gather together two of those damned groomed successors--Near and Mello, of course--and take them into a quiet room and explain, softly but succinctly, that L was dead.

That’s how you hear the news. You’d followed along, hackles raised when they were gathered up, and padded silently into the next room with a sourness in your stomach. And that’s how you hear it. With your ear pressed against the wall of the room next door, gleaning snatches of the conversation afterward through a horrible ringing in your ears.

(And aren’t you an awful thing? That you didn’t know until that moment? That you weren’t struck numb the moment he died thousands of miles away, that some guttural psychic primal instinct inside you didn’t say: Something is wrong and my brother is dead. Aren’t you a shitty person, that you didn’t somehow know without the muffled words through the wall?)

Mello is loudest. He cuts through that awful, disbelieving buzz that courses through you. 

“Who did he pick--”  And you don’t have to hear the rest to know what he’s asking. Did L pick him--or Near--as a replacement? As if he could be replaced. As if someone could simply step into his shadow and wear his skin.

“He didn’t have time,” answers Roger, and you puke a little bit of breakfast back into your mouth. 

What a thought--that L had been snuffed out without warning. Without time to think about it. Without time to regret, to come to terms--to call you. 

What was he thinking about, as he died? Was he thinking at all? Was there even the quickest of thoughts about you or your parents (distant, foggy beings that they were) or something else, something you would never know because your brother always kept some parts of him out of reach?

The wallpaper scratches underneath your fingernails, and a dim part of you wonders if they can hear it beyond the wall. Maybe you want them to hear you, hear the way your fingers dig into the paper and drag down as you slide onto the floor.

Your brother is dead, and you’re alone, and what the fuck was any of it for, if he was just going to get himself killed?

--

They do get you, eventually. Or rather, they find you, quiet and curled up in the corner of the room next door, a room you ought never to have been in. 

You don’t respond to the quiet calls of your name. You don’t respond when they step inside and Roger crouches down beside you, asking if--and he doesn’t finish the question, because he knows that asking someone “Are you all right?” when they are in a tight fetal position after clearly hearing news of their brother’s death through an orphanage wall is a stupid fucking question.

So all Roger does is put a hand on your shoulder and squeeze. It means nothing, and you get no comfort from it. No one here could comfort you. No one alive. 

“L left a letter for you,” Roger says, and it’s only now that you turn your head to look up at him. “Before he left for the Kira case.”

Kira. If only everyone who uttered that name had their tongue turned to ashes. 

“Give it to me,” you whisper.

--

It is his handwriting. Not a typed letter, which could be a forgery. No, this was written by his hand, his distinct scrawl. But what sealed the authenticity was that it was written in invisible ink, revealed through a solution only you had access to; L made it himself. Because he was smart--and a pompous asshole. 

But that’s how you know in the end that it’s not a fake, but a real letter. The last letter you’ll ever get from him. 

You bring the paper to your nose and sniff; it doesn’t smell like him. Maybe it did, at first, before whatever filing cabinet they’d stowed it in leached away the scent. Or maybe it smelled like him before you poured the solution on, and your anticipation to read what he said destroyed your last chance at remembering what he smelled like. 

It doesn’t matter.

The letter is simple and your hand trembles and the first words on the page hurt--tears drip down stupidly and turn blue when they hit the chemical solution on the paper. 

He’d make fun of you for crying, before wiping your tears with his shirt, so you’d call him gross and smile and feel a bit better. He would do that, if he were alive. But he can’t, because, as the letter says--

If you are reading this, I am dead. Kira has killed me. 

I was aware that this was a possibility--

Oh, fuck him. Fuck. Him. 

There is the urge to crumple the paper now. To find a fireplace and make someone light it and watch the paper burn, chemicals sparking, with satisfaction. How dare he. How dare he chase after this case, knowing it was a possibility, knowing that you might end up staring at this letter. Knowing that you’d be so utterly fucking alone. 

Breath coming in shallow pants, you keep going. 

I was aware that this was a possibility and I’ve prepared for it, as such. You don’t need to worry about money. It’s taken care of. You don’t need to worry about a place to live. It’s taken care of. 

You realize, dimly, that one of your hands has begun to pound against the wall. Who-cares-who-cares-who-cares. You don’t want to know that there’s money and a place to stay. 

What you want is your brother. 

You want him here so you can grab his shirt and tug him close and tell him he’s a massive asshole and you love him. You want him to tentatively wrap his arm around you, to give you a pat, to murmur something about being too clingy. 

You want him to suddenly pull your hair so you can stomp on his foot. You want to curl up in bed, like you used to, and wait for him to stroke your back to sleep while you asked him questions about anything and everything. His voice would be soft and dull, walking that fine line between patience and annoyance. You’d fall asleep while he told you something especially important, and he’d debate flicking your head to wake you up, a 50/50 chance that he’d do it.

But he can’t do any of these things. Not now. Not ever again. He has no voice to speak with, no body to touch. He has no more life in him at all. 

You couldn’t even visit his grave, assuming he had one. 

The tears are hot against your eyes as they drip-drop and stain the page now. It’s not fair, none of this. The death and the letter and the gray future ahead of you.

But you have to keep reading. Every word is precious, the last ones you’ll read from his hand. And maybe--this is awful, isn’t it--maybe this letter is where he finally has to admit that he’s been selfish. To keep you locked away, to put his need for control over your need to live a real life, to stay away as much as he does--as much as he did.

Maybe this letter is where he admits his faults as a brother, so you can cry over something other than the feeling of a gutted cave inside your chest. 

Maybe this is when he admits he’s kept you wrapped in a useless bubble, and that was wrong, and now you’ll get to--

I have given instructions that my successor will care for you like a brother.

The pounding on the wall stops. Thoughts come quick, snapping, punctuated by a red hot stings of electric hate. The bastard--how could he--why would he--the words don’t even seem to make sense, so you read them over and over and over, trying to understand. 

I have given instructions that my successor will care for you like a brother. I have given instructions that my successor will care for you like a brother. I have given instructions that my successor will care for you like a brother. I have given instructions that my successor will care for you like a brother.

But no matter how many times you read them, the words don’t register as anything but a jumble of phrases put together. He couldn’t have written that. But he did. Yet the very thought that someone else would care for you like a brother--

No. Your brother is dead, and no one can replace him. Not as the best detective in the world, not as your brother, not as anything. How could he, why would he, there’s no answer that comes so you let the questions singe the air instead. 

There’s a woozy, hazy fuzz that descends on your head like a net, and you lean against the wall. Red-hot anger simmers, bubbled with a hazy grief, as you force yourself to continue. 

I have left them detailed instructions on how to care for you. 

The words drop into your stomach hard, with no reprieve. He left instructions for your care, like you were a pet being looked after on a vacation. Fucker. You try to determine if it was a joke, or an intentional slight meant to irritate you, or not something he put any spite into at all. Was he being sincere? 

Because--well.

Is it entirely wrong? You and the figurative pampered dog both leapt to attention whenever your owners--whenever your brother--deigned to come home from vacation. From solving crimes. Both whined when he left. Both circled and moped, staring out the window, hoping for their return.

Not that there would be any return for L.

You will be safe and protected, as you were under me.

A hand goes to your mouth, covering a smile that no one else is here to see. Safe and protected, sure. Like a princess in a fairy tale, like some maiden kept under lock and key in a dragon-guarded keep. Only the dragon never breathed fire--only familiar platitudes and a comforting sameness that chained you down as well as the actual locks on the doors, the security cameras, the strict instructions for the security guard at the gate.

But you were safe, and you were protected. And here you are, now, wet tears on your cheeks, anger in your stomach and a smile on your face, because your brother apparently put you in his will like some sort of inheritance for whoever takes up his mantle. 

Please don’t do anything foolish now that I’m gone. Not that it stopped you, before.

A flash in your mind, the image of your brother’s smirk, curling up at the ends. A thumb in his mouth to soften it. 

It aches and it doesn’t, this image, the clear sense of L in these words. Why can’t he be here? Why this pain, this gouged sense of reality that makes you feel like screaming until there’s no more air in your lungs? 

Your hand finds the wall again, scratching at the paper with as much force as you can, rippled scratches following in their wake. 

Better the paper than your skin--your skin will heal. They’ll have to replace the wallpaper if they want to fix the jagged scratches. Let them replace it. Let them replace it like they want to replace your brother, and see where it gets them. You’ll be there in either case. 

There’s nothing more on the paper. You’re not sure if you expected there to be; you can’t imagine him writing soft, sweet words of comfort. He never said them, not exactly, so why write them now? No “I love you,” no “You’ll be fine without me.”

But, ah. There’s more to that, isn’t there? L would never write “You’ll be fine without me,” because he didn’t like to lie. 

And who is the successor that will receive these so-called instructions? He hasn’t chosen anyone. Roger, you’d heard, suggested Mello and Near work together. Fat chance. Like they would--like they could. 

They couldn’t, and they can’t, and they don’t. It isn’t long before Mello leaves and there’s one less orphan in the building, and Near steps in.

To be trained, to be raised, to study the Kira case--to take care of you, so says your dead brother in his last letter. 

But Near isn’t L. 

And you’re alone.

--

It is not terribly long after you become brotherless--and rudderless--that you walk into your room to find Near sitting on the floor, stacking rows of gray, pattern blocks that resemble a cityscape in the center of your private little space.

The sight of him is wrong. He looks--not like L, not in that way. But the posture. The outfit. If you squint--and you do--you can blur him into something like a younger version of your brother. Different hair, of course, but didn’t he sometimes sit like that when he played? When he refused to share his blocks, and made you watch him play, and occasionally deigned to let you place a piece or two as long as you put it exactly where he told you?

And you always did, little fingers trembling, because you wanted him to think you were good enough to listen. Good enough to do what he says, because he was older, and smarter, and you should listen to him. 

There’s a lump in your throat before you realize it.

”Why are you here?” Your own voice is a croak, rusted from ill-use. Crying. Shouting. Not talking for hours until you had to.

It’s not like you had too many people to talk to, anyway; but if you get him to talk, then this blurry vision will vanish. Near might look a bit like your brother, might have the same penchant for picking things apart, but he wasn’t L. Never would be, not really.

He doesn’t look up when you speak. Thank God for small mercies. Instead, he takes one finger and pushes it in the center of a block tower, creating a window. 

“Roger said you were upset.”

The temptation to blur vanishes with the sound of his young and decidedly not-L voice, and it’s easier to cross your arms, to put up the defenses. 

“Obviously.” A little less dry now. A little more sarcastic. And a little more alive than you’ve sounded in weeks, or months, or however long it’s been since your brother ceased existing and your life at Wammy’s became all the more bleak. “My brother died.” 

Near’s eyes finally flick up to you before they dart back down to the blocks. He carefully slips a block figure--a bland smiling thing--into the window. 

He speaks softly, with little intonation. You hate how familiar it is. 

“That is, upset about me.” 

The sound of your stupid little intake breath in the quiet room is a little too much to bear, and you try to focus on the sound of the blocks instead. The small shift of the pieces as he slides them here and there, the clacking sound as they stack together. 

Click. Clack. 

What does Roger know, anyway? 

“Not about you… in particular,” you admit. It’s the most you’ve admitted to Near in--well. Ever. It’s not like you were eager to talk to many of the children at Wammy’s, especially when you outgrew them. Yet unlike the orphaned faces that faded from memory in time, you weren’t adopted, weren’t eased into some other life outside these walls; instead, L kept you here, guarded, safe, and completely stuck. 

And you are stuck. You’re an adult. You could’ve stormed out the doors the minute L died, you’re sure, legally speaking (before that--even--before that you could’ve left); started walking and taken up a job at some shitty diner and rented a room in a seedy motel until you were on your feet. 

It’s something that you’d threatened in L’s face from time to time, and he didn’t even deign to take you seriously, and it’s only now that he’s dead that you understand why.

He knew you wouldn’t leave. Couldn’t leave? Maybe it’s the same thing. Because he was right. There’s no life for you out there; no life for you in here, except for what L left you, which includes--somehow--this boy in front of you, stacking blocks, who is supposed to take up the position of older brother. In capturing Kira and everything else.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he says, all matter-of-fact. “L left instructions.” 

Your chest squeezes. Those fucking instructions. You had asked--stormed up in a huff, demanded, in a tantrum--Roger to read them, and he refused. Said L indicated the letter was for his successor’s eyes only. 

So all you had was your imagination; did L write down a list of things you liked, things you didn’t like? Did he rattle off your favorite foods, what time you were supposed to go to bed, what to do if you had a meltdown and began to cry over your social isolation? Or did he--the thought was tempting, however improbable it was--write something more sentimental? 

Logic and bitterness win out, and you imagine Near reading the details of the letter meticulously, probably looking for the words-within-the-words, all while flying an airplane with his other hand. 

“I’m not a dog.” Your eyes dart over the blocks, over the memory of all the toys you’ve seen Near playing with; there’s something painful in that image, for too many reasons. “Or a toy.”

“Yes, I know.”

Near doesn’t look up again. Instead, he flicks his hand, and knocks over the tower with the window, with the smiling person inside, who topples to your carpeted floor. Something about it makes you want to laugh; makes you want to get on the floor and ask if you can push over the next one. Tears prick at the edge of your eyes. 

Instead of swooping onto the floor, you weave around the circular city he’s created in your room without permission, and climb onto your bed. The book you were reading this morning is still there, ragged bookmark jutting out of it. Your bed is unmade, otherwise. Sheets rumpled and unwashed. You haven’t bothered with the bed since L died. Haven’t bothered with a lot of things, besides. 

It was an older book. A philosophical treatise from the 1930s, when Europe was on the cusp of war; translated into English and shuffled around the hands of starving artists and avant garde thinkers until, decades later, it landed, battered, onto the shelves of the orphanage for gifted children. Gifted children and you, L’s leftover baggage.

Well. If Near is going to barge into your room without permission, you won’t let it impact your day. Roger said if you didn’t start eating again, you couldn’t borrow books; that’s where you’d been, before you came back. Grabbing something to eat under his watchful eye and eating it with deliberately pointed chewing motions, as if it bothered him.  

So you’ve eaten. Now you can read. 

“What are you reading?” He asks, like he didn’t already see the title of the book. He probably saw it on your bed whenever he first came into your room. Probably knows exactly where it rests in the Wammy library when it’s not checked out, and who else has read it besides you.

But he’s asking anyway and something empty in you clings to that question, as you curl up on your side--body and soul aching for the physical curled-up nest of your brother that doesn’t exist anymore.

You hold up the cover and shrug, hiding the need, pushing down the urge to bury your face in your pillow and have an imaginary conversation with your dead brother.  It wouldn’t be the first one you’ve had this week.

Near’s eyes flick to the book, before he works on creating another tower. 

“Do you like it?”

Your heart clenches. You’re reading into it, the way it reminds you of L. The way the question is open and you can’t tell if it’s asked because he thinks the book is pointless trash and will find you silly if you like it, or because he genuinely wants to know. 

It’s not a book you’d read again, that’s certain. Not because you think it’s awful, but because none of it really makes sense to you. You’d grabbed it because the thought of reading a novel you’d been eager to read while your brother’s corpse was buried thousands of miles away made you want to vomit. So a random philosophy book was the better option. 

You don’t want to tell Near all of this; because of his age, because he’s little more than someone you know, and because like your brother, you want to keep some things secret. 

“I don’t understand most of it,” you admit, finally, the words sticking to your mouth a little. A bit of truth would be okay, in the end. “I just wanted to occupy my time, I guess.” Reading words from someone who furiously pushed them out on his typewriter almost a hundred years ago was better than thinking about who wasn’t in the room. 

Near smiles, a little, not looking away from the blocks. 

“Do you want to help?”

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, picking up each piece carefully and stacking it just-so. He leaves the toppled tower, figure and all, where it is. 

You’re not sure how long you wait before deciding.  All you know is that in your isolated room at Wammy’s, with only a window to the outside world you’ve barely known to give you any inkling of the passing of days, you slide onto the floor and tentatively pick up one of the toppled blocks.

Near doesn’t tell you to leave those where they are, and that’s okay.

He doesn’t tell you where to put it, either, as L would have certainly done--and somehow, that’s okay, too. 

[viceroywrites]

liquor on your lips (1/2)

you met stan pines on your first day working at the dead end motel.

in just a week, you were addicted to him.

mullet stan x gn!reader

part two here

inspired by you can be the boss by lana del rey - contributing to the mullet stan obsession - second part will include smut 👀

.

It was your first day on the job when you met Stan Pines.

The owner of the motel, Tony, walked you through your daily duties at the Dead End Motel. 

Checking guests in and out, answering the phones, collecting money from anyone staying for more than one night at the motel.

It was a fairly simple job it seemed like.

“If anyone gives you a hard time when I’m not here, call me - I live just a block away and can swing by to straighten them out. There’s also a bat underneath the counter - I’m giving you full permission to slug anyone. We’ll just erase it from the camera footage if we need to.” Tony explains, pulling the bat out.

Well, maybe not.   

You blink, digesting the thought that you might actually have to use it but nod in understanding.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the back doing some paperwork, holler if you need me.” Tony disappears into his back office, leaving you at the front desk.

The next few hours are pretty uneventful. You check-out some people and have one check-in. Right at 5, Tony dips out for the day, reminding you to give him a call if anything happens and to clock-out before you head out when the night shift person takes your place.

You spend the next few hours leaning back in the office chair and doodling, hoping to past the time and reminding yourself to bring a book or crosswords to work on during these slower hours.

The jingle of the bell signaled the arrival of someone as the front door swung open. You quickly put the piece of paper down, straightening your posture as you had your feet propped up on the counter.

In walked a man in his 30s, the messy mop of brown atop his head grown out into a mullet, the stubble across his square jawline apparent. He wore a white t-shirt, a pair of pants that had a few stains littered across the material and a red hoodie that looked like it had seen better days.

The scent of tobacco and a woodsy, cheap cologne hit you immediately as he approached the desk, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey.. uh.. I need a room for the night.” His deep, gruff voice echoed through the small, empty lobby. Your feet push against the tile floor, wheeling over to the opposite end of the counter and glancing over at the list of the available rooms.

“Room for one or two?” You ask, eyebrow raised as you look back over to him. 

Stan looks around the empty lobby before replying in response, “Well, there’s no one else here but me, toots.”

Your cheeks can’t help but flush in embarrassment. You get up from your seat before muttering out an explanation, “Figured I’d just ask. This place is a hot spot for late night hook-ups so I didn’t know if you had a date waiting for you in the car.”

Stan lets out a husky chuckle, leaning against the counter, “Not sure if I should be offended or flattered that you think I would be coming here for a hook-up.” His eyes follow your figure as you face away from him, searching for a particular room key. 

He had to admit after all the seedy motels he’s stayed at, he wasn’t expecting to see someone as stunning as you. You stood out in the tiny motel lobby, a fresh face in a dreary environment, somehow looking radiant underneath the yellow, fluorescent lights that hang above.

You grab a key off the hooks on the wall, the keychain with the number 12 dangling from it. “The rate for one night will be $20.” You slide the key onto the counter.

Stan fishes into his deep hoodie pocket, pulling out a beat-up leather wallet. Rifling through the crumpled up business cards of all his short-lived business ventures and his numerous fake IDs, he finally fishes out a few dollar bills. Thumbing through them, he curses underneath his breath.

He’s short by only 3 bucks.

His brown eyes glance up at you with a sense of unease, clearing his throat, “Mind if I go back to my car and scrounge up some change?”

It slowly dawns on you the predicament that he’s in, nodding in understanding. You watch as he disappears back outside and you can’t help but follow behind him. Through the glass door, you watch as he unlocks his car, tossing miscellaneous objects aside while he digs in the back seat for spare change he might have dropped.

Sympathy washes over you as you see his crest-fallen expression when he comes out from the car with only a dollar and a few cents of change in the palm of his hand. You scurry back behind the desk before he makes his way back, ready to tell you that he’ll have to find another place to stay for the night.

“Hey, toots, turns out I don’t have enough. Sorry to waste your time.” Stan says, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares at the ground in shame. He’s about to reach for the bills that he threw on the counter, ready to take his leave. 

“It’s on me.” You quickly say, fishing out the remaining three dollars needed and grabbing the stack of bills on the counter to put in the cash box underneath the desk. 

As you come back up, you see Stan staring back at you in astonishment.

In all the years that Stan had been running from state to state, no one had shown him the kindness that you showed him today. No one had extended out a hand, offering support… at least not without a price. 

“Why are you helping me?” Stan asks in his state of shock.

You pause at his question. You’re not sure what compelled you to help this total stranger out but you knew if you were struggling, you would want someone to lend you a helping hand. 

“Why not?” You answer back simply, “It doesn’t cost me anything to be kind.” 

“Well, it did cost you a couple bucks.” Stan can’t help but point out.

“Eh, I’ll make those couple bucks back in no time at my first job.” You shrug with a smile, “I work as a bartender at the bar across town, this is just my second job to make a couple extra bucks.” 

“So you’re a bit of a workhorse, huh? I can respect that, sweetheart.” Stan says with a grin, finally taking the keys off the counter.

“Toots, sweetheart? You sure are laying it on thick, you don’t have to flatter me just because I helped you out.” You can’t help but chuckle, trying to downplay how those pet names were starting to cause butterflies in your stomach and a flush to spread across your cheeks.

Stan stammers, flustered by you calling him out on his playboy schtick and you giggle, “Hey, I didn’t say that I didn’t like it.” You admit with a playful grin.

It’s his turn for his cheeks to glow and Stan can’t help the huge smile that spreads across his features, “Well, just so you know, I’m not just calling you those because you helped me out. I mean look at ya, you’re like a painting in a museum, begging to be admired.”

He can’t remember the last time he cracked a genuine smile.

“Well, I would like to at least know the name of the person showering me with all these compliments.” You chuckle, introducing yourself.

Stan hesitates as he is used to utilizing one of his many aliases, but somehow his real name rolls off his tongue for the first time in decades, “Stanley Pines.”

Just after his introduction, your co-worker comes to take over for the night shift.

“Well, Stanley, my shift is almost over. Smoking is allowed but please use the ashtray in the room. The ice machine is near the staircase to the second floor.” You say, slipping on your own jacket before making your way around the counter with your bag over your shoulder.

Stan had to admit it felt nice to finally be called by his actual name in years, a warm sensation filling his chest. 

Comfort.

He follows you out the door, room key in his hand, “Mind if I walk you to your car? It’s the least I could do for you helping me out.”

You smile and nod, “I would like that a lot.”

Bad to the bone, sick as a dog.

You know that I like, like you a lot.

Don’t let it stop.

Stan and you fell into a routine after your first meeting.

Like clockwork, Stan would visit you, keeping you company at the end of your shift after Tony had left for the day. 

Sometimes he would run a new sales pitch by you, workshopping it with you as you gave him honest but supportive feedback.

Sometimes he would just listen, leaning against the counter as you vent about a customer that was giving you a hard time at your other job.

Belly aching laughter would echo through the motel lobby, Stan’s quick wit matching yours. 

A dangerous dance of banter and flirtation grew bolder and bolder with each evening.

Somehow, the chemistry you had with this man that you still knew little about was more electric than anything you had ever experienced.

At the end of each night, Stan would walk out with you, opening your car door as you slid into the driver’s seat, leaving you with a good night and a wish for you to get home safely.

Tonight was the first time you fell out of the carefree routine.

Your fingers drummed against the counter, your palm cradling your chin as you stared at the clock with a pit in your stomach. An hour had rolled by since Tony had left for the day and yet there was no sign of Stan.

What if he had checked out last night after you had left your shift?

What if he was onto the next town without even saying goodbye?

What if something happened to him?

Your leg bounced up and down, trying to distract yourself with the book you had brought but to no avail.

One hour turned to two.

Two turned to three.

Losing hope at hour four, your eyes begin to flutter, resting your arms on the counter and deciding it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap. The bell up front would wake you up anyways.

Instead, you were woken to a warm hand shaking your shoulder. Your eyes shoot open and are greeted to the sight of a pair of battered, bloody knuckles on your shoulder.

Instinct kicks in, your hands grabbing the bat that rested against your left leg underneath the desk and standing up with it raised over your shoulder. 

“Whoa, whoa, toots! Put the bat down, it’s just me!” Stan explained, putting his hands up as he took a cautious step back.

You blink, seeing Stanley standing in front of you, his knuckles looking roughed up and a pretty gnarly cut near his eyebrow. He looks disheveled, wearing just a thin white t-shirt that has splotches of dried blood dotted across it and a pair of dark jeans.

You put the bat down immediately, your worst fears confirmed as you quickly step around the counter, “Stanley, what the hell happened to you?” You say, voice full of concern. Your hand reaches out to cup his jaw to assess the damage, and he almost melts against your warm touch.

God, is this what an angel looks like? He wonders, admiring your features up close despite the furrow in your eyebrow.

“Got in a bit of trouble but I got myself out of it. I’m okay, sweetheart.” Stan attempts to reassure you, trying to play it cool though he had to admit this last run-in with Rico and his goons was a bit too close for comfort.

“Stanley, you’re hurt… take a seat, I’m gonna go grab a first aid kit.” You sigh, your lips in a tight line. Stan doesn’t argue, taking a seat in the leather chair. His thumbs twidle together, feeling like he was a kid again, waiting in the principal’s office to get lectured.

You come back with a tiny first aid kid and take a seat on the table in front of him, cracking it open. You start first on the swollen cut near Stan’s eyebrow, tearing the packaging off the alcohol wipe and leaning forward. “It’s gonna sting…” You warn him.

“Oh please, I just took a beating, I’m sure a little wipe isn’t gonna - Ow! Motherfucker!” Stan curses loudly, wincing as the pad hits his fresh wound. You pull back, your eyebrow raised in amusement, “You were saying?”

“Alright, fine… just be quick with it.” Stan mutters, his arms crossed over his chest in defeat. He winces as you carefully dab across the wound, making sure to clean up the dried blood on the edges that had clung to his eyebrow. While you were cleaning up his wound, your eyes couldn’t help but drift down to his toned forearms that were littered with hair up to his biceps that were accentuated by the tight fabric of his tee.

Your eyes meet Stan’s, an amused grin across his face despite the pain. “Enjoying the view, toots?” You huff in annoyance, trying to ignore how your cheeks burn in embarrassment as you press the alcohol wipe more firmly against his wound as payback.

“Ow!”

The harsh lecture he was anticipating never comes. 

Instead, as you finish bandaging up his knuckles, you gaze up at him with a sad look in your eyes, “I’m just glad you’re okay… please be more careful.” 

Stan nods, “Sorry to worry you, toots.”

He had a cigarette with his number on it,

He gave it over to me, “Do you want it?”

I knew it was wrong but I palmed it.

After your shift is over, you step outside, wishing your co-worker a good night and rolling your eyes in good-nature as they give you a knowing grin when commenting that Stan was outside waiting for you.

The cool evening air hits your face the moment you step out the door and the scent of cigarettes catches your attention. You turn to see Stan leaning against the wall, a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers as he takes a drag from it.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you should be resting.” You say, approaching him.

Stan turns his head in the other direction, blowing a plume of smoke out from his chapped lips before turning back to face you, “I can rest all day tomorrow. Gotta walk you to your car, don’t know what kinda sleazebags are lurking around at this time.” 

“Aren’t you cold?” You pointed out, noting that Stan was still wearing his white t-shirt despite you sending him out to get a hoodie or sweater from his hotel room.

Not that you were complaining about the eye-candy.

Stan gives a casual shrug, “Not really, the cold out here is nothing compared to winters in Jersey.”

“New Jersey, huh? Didn’t realize you came all the way from the other coast.” You chuckle, leaning against the wall yourself as you watch Stan take another drag.

He almost chokes on the smoke as he inhales, realizing he shared another piece of himself that he had never shared with anyone in his years on the run.

Living life as a drifter, he tried to keep his interactions surface-level, knowing that he may have to pick up and run the next morning.

Yet somehow, you were breaking the walls he had crafted for years down.

Stan exhales the smoke before glancing over at you, “You know I still owe you for covering my room this past week? Is there any way I can make it up to you, sweetheart? Heck, I’ll even do chores around your apartment while you’re at work.”

You pause, mulling over the offer. You had never expected Stan to pay you back, wanting to help him while he was still trying to get back on his feet. 

“Honestly, Stan, you don’t have to pay me back. It’s fine.” You insisted but Stan’s stubbornness began to show through.

“At least let me take you out to dinner or buy you a drink. I’ll give you tonight to mull it over and l expect an answer tomorrow.” Stan says with a sense of finality.

You can’t help but chuckle at his stubbornness, “Alright, alright… but you know I won’t be here tomorrow. I’m covering a day shift for one of the other bartenders.”

Stan pauses before reaching into his pocket to fish out his pack of cigarettes. Your eyebrow raises in confusion and he looks up at you, “You got a pen?”

You open your bag, digging through its contents before retrieving a pen and handing it over to him. He messily scrawls something on the tiny stick before passing it and the pen back to you, his fingertips lingering as they brush against yours.

You look down at the cigarette, seeing a clumsy string of numbers written on it.

“That’s the direct dial to my room.” Stan explains, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Give it a call when you get off tomorrow and let me know.”

You slip the cigarette into your purse, “I will.”