#How does it feel being on your knees for once

[noorpersona]

Confessions: Iwaizumi

The overhead lights buzz faintly, casting a dim yellow glow over empty desks and scattered papers. Practice ended hours ago, but you’re still here—half because you’re sorting through lineup sheets for Coach, and half because Iwaizumi never knows how to leave when Oikawa’s still in the gym pretending he’s immortal.

It’s just the two of you now. Oikawa finally gave up ten minutes ago, muttering something about stretching at home, and the silence that follows his absence is a rare kind of peace. You can hear Iwaizumi breathing again. That quiet, controlled rhythm he always slips back into once he isn’t yelling, chasing, fixing. The gym’s been quiet, too, like it’s exhaling after hours of pounding sneakers and shouting voices.

He’s sitting across from you now, chair turned backward, arms crossed over the backrest. Watching you. Probably not even trying to. He just does that—studies you like you’re part of the game plan, like your existence needs analyzing in case it ever falls out of line.

“You should go home,” you mutter without looking up, thumbing through one of the stat sheets. “You’re gonna pass out before you make it up the hill.”

“I could say the same to you,” he fires back, voice low, tired but still that familiar gravel that’s embedded itself into the fabric of your after-practice routine.

You shoot him a look, but it doesn’t have much heat. “Yeah, but I’m not the one who’s been diving face-first into the court all evening.”

He smirks. Leans his chin onto his forearm and shrugs, like the ache in his shoulder isn’t something he’s been carrying for weeks now. You wonder if he even notices the way he favors it. Probably. He just ignores it.

“You never quit,” you murmur, half to yourself.

“Neither do you.”

You don’t say anything to that. Mostly because it’s true. He sees right through you. Always has.

The silence stretches. It’s comfortable, warm in the way only Iwaizumi can make it feel. There’s no pressure to fill it. No need to perform. He’s always been like that—solid, grounded, the kind of person you could fall into without worrying if they’d catch you. And he would. Every time.

You’re not sure when you started noticing it. The way his hands lingered when he handed you a towel. The way he remembered how you liked your drinks cold, not iced. The way he always checked your clipboard before practice started, just in case you forgot something. He never made a show of it. He just… did. Like breathing.

You look up at him, and he’s already watching you.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs again. “Nothing.”

“Creepy.”

His smirk deepens. “You’re the one talking to yourself.”

“I was talking to you.”

“Sure.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and you hate that it’s so easy with him. So natural. Like your heart hasn’t been clenching in your chest for months now, like every little moment with him doesn’t echo louder than it should. It’s loud right now. Deafening.

You look back at the papers. “Seriously, though. You should rest. You’ve got a game this weekend, and if you overdo it now—”

“I know.”

Of course he knows. He always does. That’s part of the problem.

You press your thumb into your temple, eyes scanning over messy handwriting. Your back aches. Your stomach’s been growling since the second set ended. You know you should pack it up and go home, but there’s something sticky in the air tonight. Something that hasn’t settled.

“Here,” Iwaizumi says suddenly, and before you can react, he’s pushing something across the table.

A protein bar. Slightly squished, but still sealed.

Your brow furrows. “You brought this for me?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “You always forget to eat after practice. Thought I’d try being useful.”

You stare at him. “You’re already useful. Like, medically essential. You’re the only reason Oikawa still has knees.”

He snorts. “I mean to you.”

The air shifts.

It’s subtle. Barely a tremor. But it leaves everything a little quieter, a little sharper.

You don’t answer. Just take the protein bar and turn it over in your hand. You trace the crinkled edges of the wrapper with your thumb like it’s a puzzle.

“Thanks,” you say finally, soft. “That’s… thoughtful.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. But his eyes are still on you. Warmer now. He looks like he wants to say something else but doesn’t know if he should.

You try to focus on the sheets again, but your fingers don’t move. The pen in your hand feels suddenly pointless.

“You ever get tired of it?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “Doing everything for everyone else?”

He hums, leaning back. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

Another pause. His voice, when it comes, is soft. Almost too soft.

“Because I care.”

You glance up at him.

His eyes don’t waver. “It matters to me. That people are okay. That you’re okay.”

Your breath catches.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but the words knot up in your throat. They don’t come.

And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says it.

“I love you.”

Just like that. No lead-up. No dramatics. Just the truth, falling out of his mouth like it’s been there the whole time. Like he’s been saying it in a hundred other ways already.

You freeze.

He freezes.

It’s only a heartbeat of silence, but it stretches. Stretches until it feels like the air might snap.

He blinks. Swallows hard. “I—shit. I didn’t mean to—I mean, I did, but I wasn’t gonna—fuck.”

You just stare at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of calm unraveling. “Forget I said that.”

“Hajime—”

“No, seriously. I didn’t want to make this weird. I just—shit, I don’t know. You were just… sitting there, and I—”

“Stop talking.”

He does. Immediately.

You reach for him without hesitation—close the space between you, one hand curling into the collar of his sweatshirt as you pull him down and press your lips to his.

It’s soft at first, like you’re testing the waters. But he responds almost instantly, his hands rising to your back, grounding you like always. Like he’s been waiting. Like he’s been holding his breath.

The kiss is short, almost clumsy, but it burns. You can feel every second of restraint he’s practiced up until this point unraveling between you.

When you finally pull away, breath shallow, he’s staring at you like he’s still trying to catch up. Like he’s not sure it really happened.

And then you smile, smug but breathless.

"Took you long enough," you whisper, your voice barely grazing the space between you before you're kissing him again—firmer this time, with all the words neither of you said until now pressed into the space where your mouths meet.

He smiles against your lips.

This time, he kisses you back like he means it.

[concretenoah]

NOAH LOVES TAKING POLAROIDS EXCUSE ME?? You can't just attack me like this

god i am a firm believer that noah loves physical media. and i think he would love taking photos of you. sure he could just use his phone and he does usually, but every once and awhile he'd whip out the polaroid camera to take lil keep sake photos of you. ones that he could keep in his wallet or put on his desk in the home studio. he puts them wherever he knows will give him a lil pick me up. he even brings a bunch of them whenever he's on tour just so he could feel closer to you.

sometimes it's just you being cute, lil smiles on dates with you or when you're in your pjs on the couch with bed head. there's silly ones of you guys together, ones of you and your cat/dog, there's even a couple of you all cuddled up while wearing his hoodie. he couldn't help but snap a photo of you when you look so soft and sweet. these are the moments he loves to look back on whenever he's missing you or feeling down. they instantly bring a smile to his face.

nsfw 18+ below the cut

but noah also has other needs when he's away. he had gotten off to your nudes before and that's when he got the idea to start taking polaroids of you during sex (consensual ofc). he would pack them in a secret spot in his suitcase so nobody else could see them. they were for his eyes only. he learned pretty quick that nothing gets him off more while he's away than looking back on all of the ways you make him feel good. he had some of his fingers playing in your mouth, or teasing your nipples. some of his hand wrapped around your throat. he had some of you laid out for him with your legs spread, aching to be filled by him. he couldn't help it, he has to be able to see your pretty pussy while he's away. it helps him think about the way you taste, or the way you feel wrapped around his cock. he even took some of you while fucking you from behind with his fingers digging into your hip. his favorites though are the ones of you on your knees looking up at him while sucking him off. those pretty eyes, and that perfect mouth of yours. it instantly brought him right back to that moment and how good you made him feel. sure they're just pictures and his hand is nothing like the real thing, but they bring him back to you, all of you.

(don't get me started on the audios you would send him while touching yourself. the sweet sounds of your wet pussy in his headphones mixed with the pictures of you? yeah. he can't help but fuck himself and send you audios right back. AND don't think he wouldn't let you take polaroids of him too. he knows you're just as needy as he is hehehehe)

[daisyvisions]

Not Like the Rest - (j.cm)

➺ Pairing - fuckboy!Changmin x fem!reader

➺ Summary - For you, friends with benefits should never drag out this long. Use each other til one of you wants to call it quits. So why was Changmin still hanging around?

➺ Word Count - 1.2K

➺ Warnings - Smut (18+, minors DNI), friends with benefits, mixed feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, overstimulation (?), aftercare, riding, slight angst (ish? idk), fluff, mentions of bad past relationships, hookups, etc., pet name (babe), let me know if I missed anything!

➺ Author’s note - yippie another one (even if I wanted this to be longer huhu 🥲) but it's been in the drafts long enough, finally letting this one out in the wild. this is my very late bday gift for Changmin's bday, story was originally an ask I had for a different fandom but decided why not write it myself? Proofread once, enjoy!

➺ Taglist: @deoboyznet @winterchimez @snowflakewhispers

Thinking about fuckboy!Changmin, who you’ve been hooking up with for the past couple of months.

To be honest, this was probably one of the longest and most steady friends with benefits agreement you’ve ever had in your life. Usually the others would drop you after the first month or so and ghost you. But not Changmin.

At first you thought he would be like the rest. Just a one time fuck or whatever the hell these guys go for, especially given his track record and all (or so you've heard through the grapevine). You’re used to it by know you think and maybe you should stop this vicious cycle.

But old habits die hard, especially when you’ve had a string of bad relationships that it made you too afraid of commitment. Too afraid of getting your heart broken time and time again.

That’s why you resorted into flings. At least if ever it ends, you’re not so attached right? Well that’s what you try to tell yourself so it hurts a little less.

But that’s why with Changmin, for some reason being with him leaves you with all these mixed feelings. Oh god especially when he does things that make your heart beat fast and the butterflies raging in your stomach?

Or how he makes that rope within your abdomen tighten each time? Like how he is right now as he grips your hips, helping you bounce on his length as you try to reach your high.

It almost seemed too good to be true, that’s why by the third month that past of whatever you wanna call this continued, you did your best to please him almost all the time both in and outside of the bedroom. You wanted to hold onto this one as long as you can, even if there have been moments where it made you tired, especially physically as you continue to bounce on him.

Riding wasn’t really your forte when it comes to sex positions. Though you enjoyed it a lot, it’s just that your knees and leg muscles would eventually give in. But of course you wouldn’t tell Changmin even if it made you drained out. You were worried you might turn him off because in past relationships you would get criticized for it (because they expected you to do all the work).

So as you try your best to ignore the growing ache in your knees and the burn in your thighs, Changmin could tell something was off. It wasn’t your movements slowing down or when you would try to pause in between but with the way you knitted your eyebrows together (and not the kind that’s done because of pleasure).

“Babe, you okay?” He huffs out as his hands continue to guide your hips up and down his throbbing member.

“I-it’s nothing.” You breathe out, trying not to feel the pain in your muscles. You suddenly yelp both out of surprise and pleasure as Changmin suddenly pushes your hips down and halts your movements, his entire cock sheathed inside you as the tip kisses that sweet spot deep within.

“Why’d you stop me?” You whine.

“We need to talk about something-” Changmin says with a serious tone. Was he finally going to break things off with you?

“About what?” You try to keep your composure, not letting your emotions get the best of you.

“You have this face every time you’re on top.” Changmin gets straight to the point. “What’s wrong?”

Oh… so your discomfort does show.

Out of embarrassment, you lean forward and quickly hide your face at the crook of his neck.

“Hey- you can tell me it’s alright.” The warmth of his hand caresses the back of your head.

“Please don’t make fun-” Your voice starts to quiver ever so slightly. “It’s not that I don’t like being on on top it’s more of…” You life your head to face him, you cheeks growing warm from feeling flustered.

“I get very tired from it easily. My legs are- they’re kind of weak. I’m- I’m sorry…”

At first, there’s an awkward silence that fills the room. Changmin’s eyes trying to search something within yours before his chuckle breaks the tension.

God, is he seriously laughing? He’s the first guy to ever laugh at you for this. You should've just kept your mouth shut. Now he thinks you’re a-

“Well why didn’t you say so babe? Hold on.”

“Huh? Oh!” You squeal as his arms wrap around your waist, plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts himself into you like a jack rabbit. As the sounds of skin slapping against one another progresses, you can’t help but let out a string of erotic moans as you bury your face into his neck once more (God how he wishes he could play your sounds on loop forever).

The pleasure was starting to overwhelm you that your vision starts to blur from the tears forming in your eyes. You’ve never been fucked like this before. You practically feel him everywhere. You don’t even realize you’ve already reached your high and now you’re squirting all over him, your cunt gripping his length like there’s no tomorrow.

You reach your second wave of high much faster than you anticipated, igniting something very primal within Changmin to just keep on thrusting up into you. His arms tighten around you suddenly as his release suddenly bursts within your walls, coating them in his hot load.

You suddenly have no energy to move after all that, so Changmin helps you lift your hips, releasing a pool of your mixed essences as lay on his chest for a moment.

For some reason after being honest with Changmin about how you were feeling, it was like you were seeing a totally new side of him. He was usually the type to give aftercare but something seemed different tonight, you just couldn't place your finger on it.

He made sure to prepare a warm bath, help you lather your hair, and made sure you were settled in before holding you in his arms, leaving you a warm goodnight kiss before he went to sleep.

You stayed up for a moment, replaying everything that has happened between you and Changmin from the moment you met. This was very different from your usual hookups, and it made you feel a lot of mixed emotions.

While he made you feel all these exciting things, you couldn’t help but feel scared about how this will turn out in the end. Maybe these are the early signs of him ending things? Will this be one of the final moments you'll ever have with him before you become strangers again?

You mentally shook the thoughts out of your head and decided to focus on what was right here in this moment, snuggling closer into his chest as you slowly drift into sleep.

But little did you know that Changmin’s feelings for you were already reciprocated, ever since you two met. It was only a matter of time til he took you out on a proper date and finally asked you to be his girlfriend.

[babyjinsu]

mean boyfriend sungchan thoughts...

⟡ cautions sungchan locks you up, bondange, restraints, possessive, he treats you like a child, claustrophobia, sungchan's an asshole

thinking of mean boyfriend sungchan who loves nothing more than locking you up. it can be anywhere in the house too—any room that has a lock from the outside (which is every room in the house)... 

he introduces this concept of ‘timeout’ except this one is a more twisted version because he doesn’t even tell you what you did wrong—sungchan just simply takes and pulls you by your forearm, and locks you anywhere he finds convenient and near.

if you act up in the living room—he caught you texting another dude, or a friend he asked you to cut off some time ago—he’ll lock you up in the storage room. getting ready to go out without telling him and wearing the skimpiest, sluttiest fit (it’s just a skirt)—have fun spending hours locked in the bathroom, doing nothing (and obviously not going out).

that’s not everything too. if timeout isn’t bad enough, your handphone privilege is revoked. now you’re not just physically trapped, but completely cut off and helpless. there’s no way to call for help, no way to distract yourself, no way to let time pass by. just stuck in whatever space he’s decided is your punishment for the day. 

i’d like to think he does this to discipline you. but not in a lesson-teaching manner. it’s about reminding you of the control he has over you. and so does every room, every space—it all belongs to him, and so are you. 

in the beginning, you’re obviously confused—you thrashed, frailed, tried kicking the door down, shoved your shoulder into the wood, hammer your first until they ached and numb. nothing works. crying, sobbing, wailing, begging, pleading, threatening—they all don’t work on him. you will still be there once he unlocks the door. you’re brave, but not brave enough to knock down a door or scream for the neighbours. that you’ll just eventually wear out and after hours of crying, he’ll find you passed out on the cold tiles. 

and he never reacts the way you want him to. he listens, you know that for sure. sungchan even leans against the door with a mockery sigh, but all he ever asks if; if you’re done with your little tantrums. if he’s feeling kind, he tells you how long you’ll be stuck in here—shortest is an hour and a half, and the longest you’ve ever been locked up was almost three days. 

if you decide to be a bitch and a brat, he’ll bring the ropes and zip ties in. locking you up isn’t enough—he’ll make sure you really can’t move either. 

sungchan wastes no time with arguments—he tightens the restraints around your wrist, and attaches it to anywhere he can—around the leg of your vanity table, around the towel bar—you name it. if he’s feeling particularly cruel and annoyed by your screams and wailings, there’s always the gag and the duct tape. 

sungchan’s not angry. he just sees this as another step in making you behave. if you want to act like a bitch, he’ll treat you like one.

i like the concept and idea of him not only locking you in rooms—space where it’s big enough for you to stand, walk around, lay down—but also space where you’re physically restricted to move (without the restraints) like kitchen cupboards or cabinets, wardrobes, trash can. where you’re forced into a tight crouch, knees pressing against your chest, and your back aching against the wooden panel. the kitchen cupboard where it’s pitch black and it smells like wood and dust. shelves digging into your sides with the sound of nothing except your own breathing and the muffled noises of sungchan moving around outside like everything is normal. 

the good thing about being locked up into places meant for storage boxes is that you won’t be locked for too long. sure, you deserve it—the punishment—but not death out of suffocation. he’s cruel, but he’s not stupid. he knows the human body has limits—he’ll keep you in there just long enough that you start to feel like the walls are pressing in. sungchan knows exactly when to open the door—when he hears that your breathings are slowing down, knocking from the inside a lot softer, weaker, when you’re mumbling things incoherently. 

and when you crawl out, weak and trembling and hyperventilating, he expects a thank you for letting you go earlier than he intended—is it better to be confined in a space too small to stretch your legs for a few hours, or locked in the bathroom for two days? 

sungchan will only let you go once he thinks and decides you’ve had enough. there’s no set time, no countdown, no bargaining your way out of this. maybe he opens the door just a crack, peering like a parent checking on a bratty child, or an owner checking on a misbehaving pet. he’ll ask if you’ve reflected on your mistake—and if you still haven't realised what you did wrong—say goodbye to another day. 

you can take your time, sungchan’s not rushing, and you’re not going anywhere anyway.

and if you’re not claustrophobic before, you definitely are now.

💭 i hate sungchan and lv bags this is all his fault

[nymph0maniaccc]

Misery Loves Company

Part 3

1 2

837 words

Jax Teller x Fem!reader

Background: You and Jax need to get out of the hell hole motel you’ve called home for the past few days but at what cost?

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of drug use, criminal past, cheating themes, eventual smut MDNI, show spoilers.

a/n: I’m so sorry for the delay guys I’ve been so busy but thank you for being patient with me here’s a little filler part to get me writing.This will be a 4-5 partish series will a few blurbs in between cos if you have any request you can send them<3, this is also written with a black female reader in mind but anyone can read as long as you aren't being weird. Also thank you to my baby @starfxkrinc for proofreading mwah I love you so much<3, last but not least enjoy! Also thank you so much for the love on part one and two! Enjoy my babies<3

Three Days Later

The motel room hasn’t gotten any better. The walls still reek of cigarette smoke and desperation, the buzzing neon sign outside still flickers against the cracked windowpane. But after three days, you and Jax have settled into it like it’s some kind of twisted safe haven.

The days are filled with nothing but passionate sex and late night conversations about life after all of this cools down.

Jax hasn’t said much about what happened in the halfway house. He doesn’t ask if you regret it. And you don’t offer. Maybe because there’s nothing to regret. Maybe because, deep down, you both know there’s no coming back from this anyway.

But Jax knows one thing: this limbo can’t last. They’ll come looking for you both soon. If they aren’t already.

So, he makes the call.

The burner phone is cheap, one of those prepaid ones he picked up from a gas station down the road. He sits on the edge of the stained motel bed, rubbing a hand over his face before dialing the number he knows by heart.

It rings once. Twice. Then,

“Yeah?”

Chibs’ voice is gruff, tired. Jax exhales, a tight, exhausted breath, before speaking.

“It’s me.”

There’s silence on the other end. Then, a sharp inhale.

“The fuck? Jax?”

“Yeah”

“How the hell” Chibs cuts himself off. His voice lowers. “Jesus Christ, Jackie. Where are you?”

Jax glances at you. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, legs tucked under you, watching him carefully. Your gaze is unreadable, but you don’t look away.

“Some shithole motel outside Stockton,” Jax mutters. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen, man. I need help.”

“Help?” Another beat of silence. “Alright, start from the beginning.”

And so he does.

He tells Chibs everything. The halfway house. The months of feeling trapped. The nights spent with you, where the weight of his old life didn’t crush him. The way things spiraled with Brittany. How it ended in blood. How he ran. How you both ran.

By the time he’s done, there’s a long silence. Then, another voice filters through the line.

“The fuck, Jax.”

Opie.

Jax closes his eyes. He should’ve known Chibs wouldn’t be the only one listening.

“Yeah,” Jax mutters. “I know.”

There’s a pause. Then Opie’s voice comes again, slower this time.

“So let me get this straight. You’re on the run. With a chick you met in a halfway house. While Tara and your boys are back in Charming?”

Jax flinches. “Yeah.”

Chibs exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ.”

Neither of them say what he already knows. That this is reckless. That it’s dangerous. That it’s insane.

But they don’t tell him he’s wrong, either.

Because they know Jax Teller. They know when his mind is made up.

“You got a plan?” Opie finally asks.

Jax shakes his head, even though they can’t see him. “Not yet.”

“Well,” Chibs mutters, “I guess it’s a good thing we do.”

Back to Charming

It takes another day for the plan to come together. Another night spent in the motel, listening to the sound of semi-trucks roaring down the highway, waiting for the knock at the door.

When it comes, it’s 3 A.M.

Jax peers through the window, then exhales. “It’s them.”

You stand, grabbing the duffel bag you packed the night before. Jax takes it from you, his touch brief but firm, before opening the door.

Chibs and Opie are standing there, both looking as worn and wary as ever.

“The hell did you get yourself into, Jackie?” Chibs mutters.

Jax smirks, but it’s hollow. “Same shit, different day.”

Opie eyes you for a long moment. His expression is unreadable, but there’s no outright hostility in it. Just quiet assessment. Then, finally

“You coming or what?”

And just like that, you’re gone.

The ride back to Charming is quiet. The tension in the van is thick, pressing against your ribs, but no one says a word. You don’t know these men, not really. But they’re Jax’s family, and that means they’re the closest thing to safety you’ve got.

But safety is short-lived.

Because when you finally roll up to the clubhouse, just as the sun begins to rise, there’s already someone waiting.

Tara.

She stands in front of the building, arms crossed, still in her scrubs, hair pulled back in that tight, no-nonsense way. Her face is pale, eyes sharp with something that looks a hell of a lot like betrayal.

She takes a step forward.

Then stops.

Because Jax isn’t alone.

And when her gaze shifts to you, something flickers in her eyes. Not just anger.

Hurt.

The air is thick with silence. Chibs and Opie exchange glances but don’t intervene.

A low, amused hum.

Gemma.

She stands off to the side, arms crossed, a slow smirk curling her lips as she watches the scene unfold.

“Well, well,” she murmurs. “Ain’t this somethin’.”

Tara’s jaw tightens.

Jax exhales, stepping forward.

“Jax.”

Tara’s voice is quiet. Sharp.

“What the hell have you done?”

Tags<3: @smokahontas-113 @secretlysamcro @fallout-girl219

[lady-arcane]

—The Weight of Protection—

Love is a tricky thing.

It’s supposed to be soft, gentle. It’s supposed to be the warmth of a hand on your cheek, the quiet assurance that someone is watching over you. But sometimes, love is a cage. Sometimes, it is hands gripping too tightly, pulling you back from the ledge before you’ve even had a chance to decide if you want to jump.

Suguru Geto loves like that. Like a force of nature. Like inevitability.

He has always been protective—of Satoru, of his classmates, of you. Maybe too much. Maybe in ways that feel suffocating, but never quite enough to make you pull away. Because how could you? How could you resent someone who looks at you like you are the last pure thing in a world that is constantly trying to ruin itself?

He doesn’t just want to keep you safe. He wants to keep you untouched.

And that is where things begin to crack.

-----

“You don’t need to come,” you tell him once, tugging at the sleeve of his uniform as he moves toward the door.

Suguru doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m coming.”

You sigh, because of course he is.

The mission isn’t even that dangerous—just a low-grade curse outside of town, something you could handle on your own. But Suguru doesn’t care about classifications. Doesn’t care that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.

He has already made his decision.

So you walk together, side by side, his presence a quiet thing that presses against your ribs, a reminder that he is always watching. Always keeping you within arm’s reach.

And you wonder if he even notices. If he even realizes how often he places himself between you and the world, how often he moves first, reacts first, takes the blow before you even realize there’s danger.

It is not nQ&Aormal, this level of devotion. It is not sustainable.

But he does it anyway.

And you let him.

-----

The first time you argue about it, it’s not even about you. It’s about Satoru. About their shared burden, about the weight of being strong in a world that expects them to bear the impossible.

“You can’t save everyone,” you tell him.

Suguru’s expression is unreadable. He is good at that—keeping his emotions folded neatly inside himself, like pressed sheets that will only unravel when no one is looking.

“You say that like I don’t already know.”

“Do you?” You step closer, searching his face. “Because it doesn’t seem like it. It seems like you’re still trying to hold everything together by yourself."

He looks at you then, really looks at you.

“You don’t understand,” he says quietly. “I have to.”

And you realize, with a sudden, awful clarity, that this is not just about protecting you.

That this is not just about keeping you safe.

This is about him. About the guilt curdling inside his chest, the way he still hears the voices of the people he couldn’t save.

He is trying to make up for something.

And you don’t know if he ever will.

-----

Suguru doesn’t sleep much.

You notice it in the way he carries himself, in the way his hands shake when he thinks no one is looking. He still smiles, still jokes, still acts like the same boy you’ve always known. But something is different.

Something is breaking.

“I can take care of myself,” you tell him one night, voice barely above a whisper.

He is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded between his knees, eyes trained on the floor.

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I need to.”

It is not an answer. Not really. But it is all he gives you.

And you think: This is not protection. This is fear disguised as love.

You don’t know how to fix it.

So you let him stay.

-----

It happens gradually, then all at once.

The world tilts, the ground shifts, and Suguru is no longer the boy who laughed with you under the stars, who stole bites of your food when you weren’t looking, who stood too close but never close enough.

He is something else now.

Something colder.

You see it in his eyes, in the way his fingers tighten around the edge of his sleeve, in the way he looks at the world as if it has already disappointed him.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper one day, after everything. After Riko, after the silence, after the distance that has grown between you like a chasm too wide to cross.

Suguru exhales slowly, tilts his head, considers you. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“Then stop giving me a reason to be.”

And for the first time, he hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to wonder if there is still a part of him left that wants to stay.

But then he says, “I can’t.”

And that is the end of it.

-----

There is a version of this story where Suguru does not leave. Where he stays, where he listens, where he does not let the weight of the world crush him beyond recognition.

But that is not this version.

This version ends with his back turned, with your fingers curling into your palms as you watch him walk away,

with the realization that no matter how much he loved you, no matter how fiercely he tried to keep you safe—

Some things cannot be saved.

Not even by him.

Not even by love.

And the cruelest part?

You understand.

You understand why.

And it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

-----

[everfallenwings]

.ೃ࿐ kamisama + kaiser ! -> female reader

michael kaiser had never once felt this low in his life.

he was a cold-blooded killer, a force to be reckoned with, an emperor. reigning from the foreign shackles of misfortune, the moment micheal kaiser picked up a sword, every spirit and human knew he would burn the world if it meant to change his fate—to call his success his.

and it was his; blood was shed, and destiny shifted. michael kaiser was an emperor amongst the spirit-world, and the mere mention of his name would make your blood run cold. in fact, even his eyes tell the same story—demon-like, azure crescents among his angel-like face. the concoction of pure and evil, beautiful and ugly, and to harm and heal made kaiser who he was; the closest thing to a god.

so, if that were true, why was the yokai on his knees, bowing down to a human?

bowing down to you.

when rumours of a young human girl becoming land god of a well-known shrine circulated in the spirit world, kaiser had to check it out himself. his full intention was to laugh at your piteous whining of not being able to take the duties of a real god, not knowing his habit of bullying the weak would bite him in the ass hard.

so there the yokai sat atop a tree branch, watching your poor fingers clawing into another branch as you hung. “the shrine spirits said you’d help, kaiser!— oh, will you? she’s going to kill me!” you huffed, an ivory palm sitting underneath his cheek as he smirked, blue eyes squinting in amusement. “oh, did they?” the blonde coos, peering at the starving yokai quickly climbing the tree, “beg for your life and perhaps i will.” he slowly adjusts his black and red yukata with a huge grin plastered on his face.

you narrow your eyes, choosing silence against the spirit. “really, i keep my promises, human. just say ‘please kaiser, save me and my foolish life!’ and i’ll help you.” kaiser laughs, the azure tips of his hair twinkling in the moonlight. “and why would i do that?! you’re just a spirit, not a god.” you counter, furrowing your brows as his gaze grew annoyed. “i am a god, girl. and if i’m ‘just a spirit’, why do you need my help so bad?” he questions, tilting his head.

a sacred word binding grants the host the ability to order their familiar to any and every request, only sealed with a kiss.

you could feel your blood boiling; a god? there was no way this was the jerk controlling the underworld at the tips of his pristine, lithe fingers. the shrine spirits told you all about it—the tales, revenge, and true torture he put every spirit through. you grab kaiser's ankle as the yokai finally reaches the top of the tree, pulling him down with you.

his face contorts into surprise, then disgust. "you foolish human—all you had to do was say a few words, and now your pride is going to cost your life." he reprimands, yukata flowing along the winds, along with his silky, blue-tipped hair. "tell me this, kaiser." you spat, an uncharacteristic smile planted on your face as the two of you tumbled down severe winds. "how does it feel like being a land-god's new familiar?"

deep azure eyes widen like never before, revealing the prominent streaks of red adorning the crease of his eyes. "you—"

and all it took for a deadly emperor, incapable of change or obedience to be completely at your mercy, was a sweet kiss on the lips. dainty hands cupping ivory cheeks, along with soft lips crashing onto his own. michael kaiser had never felt this low in his entire life, he feels as if the air had been sucked dry from his lungs.

"okay, then. save me, mihya." you pull away, whispering against his cheek.

as the former god of the underworld slashes the yokai after you to bits without a word, his arms pull you into him, providing a safe landing from all the turbulence.

and he's never felt sicker in his life.

[melondecarabia]

˙⟡ 36h observation period (2/3)

leo kurosagi x fem reader 

smut, drama, some angst 

mdni! 

authors note: he's crazy in this one. also sad and angry. every person mentioned by him is catching strays lmao real hater behavior 

tw: leo's villain arc, leo jorking it, leo being unhinged, is he a yandere or just a jealous freak? also mentions of babytrapping 

summary: Leo's time in the 36 hours after escaping the consequences of his own actions. Part two to 24h sugar pill.

9:15 am 

Holy shit shit shit shit shit. 

The view of pine trees and bushes blur as he sprints at full force, Vagastrom as target. 

Leo cannot believe that happened. Hooooooly fuck. 

That fucking homewrecker! Leo can't even eat breakfast without someone fucking ruining it! Damnit! When he gets his hands on that- haaaahhhhh… He slows down, forced by the burning in his lungs and muscles. The cathedral isn't even visible in the horizon anymore, blocked by a dense forest and the distance. For once in his life, Leo is thankful that Alan forces him to go through endurance training at least twice a week. Thanks, himbo. I will hold back one insult today. 

Damn… it feels like he's drinking molten lava with every breath. Leo has to place his shaking hands on his even shakier knees to not collapse as he swallows. No one's around to see him sweat rivers, at least. He might crashout if that happened, especially after… ugh. Whatever. He'll just walk back to his dorm, and pray you don't show up. 

˙⟡

The dorm room Leo lives in is meticulously decorated, so that even with the hard to paint concrete walls and ugly fluorescent lights that he's not allowed to replace, it looks beautiful. There are pristinely arranged books on the glass table that he's never read (and doesn't intend to), and the random pipes in the corner are covered by a closet. Ultimately aesthetic, but boring and cold even with the plush carpet, so Leo is forced to wear both socks and slippers every day to not freeze. Hah. Even your run down, chaotic dorm is better, with it's warm and worn down wooden floors, and cozy atmosphere. Oof, he finally falls down to the mattress. The sound of thumping is still present, even if his breathing has returned to normal already. 

…it was placebo. He knew what the anomaly does beforehand, got hit by it, and just continued to act like a lovesick dork because he thought there would be a clear sign of when it's effects wore off. Honestly, you're an enabler, because- But he made the Pinterest boards months ago, no matter how many bullshit excuses he could come up with right now. One for every room in a house, from entrance to bathroom to kitchen to bedrooms. No no, he started them because he was bored, not because of a crush. But, gradually, with every piece of information about your preferences, the median look became a blend of his and your styles. Ugh! He takes a decorative pillow and strangles it like a maniac. Stupid anomaly, stupid pollen, stupid emo nerd- Knock knock! 

Leo's heart drops down to his ass for a good moment. Is it you? Is it that guy? "Haxs." The sound of low grumbling is a relief. Sho! He doesn't know about all that bullshit! He's oblivious to the fumbling of a century that occurred not even an hour ago! If that information makes it out of that cathedral he'll burn it down himself for fuck's sake. Or get Sho to do it with a dare? Boy's night, like the good old times. 

"Yeah yeah, don't bust down my door, Sho." The mentioned man is wearing the academy uniform, not the Vagastrom one. Low whistle. "Wow, model student Haizono! You wanna become valedictorian or what, dressed up so properly?" Leo already feels better seeing the unimpressed look on Sho's face. He knows it's not judging, or even serious, just… reacting to his banter, as usual. "Yeah, I'll win that Laurel Crown singlehandedly." Chortle, "Mido said we gotta go to undercoverology class, unless we wanna get into trouble." Leo raises an eyebrow at that. Since when has this blondie worried about trouble? "Gotta attend at least once in a while or the teachers get pissy. Less trouble going now than getting bitched at every day." Yeah, uh huh. He'll pass. 

But wait. You know he doesn't go to class. If you looked for him to talk about- ugh, you'd search in Vagastrom, not the campus! "Okay! I'll just change real quick!" Sho looks confused. "Wait, really? The fuck?" And he slams the door to avoid having to explain himself. Leo's luck is turning back! Even if you go to class instead of being dragged around to help others, you have herbology, which is on the other side of the campus. It'll be easy peasy lemon squeezy to avoid you! 

˙⟡

Is Sho hallucinating or was that your hoodie? It's pretty recognizable- also, those clothes were not something Leo wears like, ever? What the hell happened yesterday? He knows you and Leo went to some mall for a mission, but Leo didn't come back to the dorm in the evening. Maybe he showed up late? But- you know what, he'll be better off not caring. He stretches to shake off boredom, and hopes it won't become his problem. 

10:45 am 

So fucking boooooooriiiiiing. He takes back the idea of it being easy to avoid you. It's actually difficult difficult lemon difficult, but it's preferable torture to being forced to talk about that. It's was just too easy to play house, especially when there's a specific kind of torture he wants from you. Snort. A glance to the side reveals Sho is just about to fall asleep, eyes blinking one at a time. Leo's eyes fall on the still cold water bottle, and if anyone would've seen the look on his face, they would've made a swift exit to avoid getting involved. He takes the bottle, and uses it to slowly move aside the hair covering the about-to-be-victim's neck. 

All of the class whips around to look at Sho flailing like a ragdoll, after hearing the man make a sound not unlike a dying seagull. 

"WHAT THE FUCK???" As soon as he came back to his senses, Sho shot a glare that definitely cursed at least 20 of Leo's ancestors. "Haizono, Kurosagi, what-" And the bell rings, interrupting the geezer before he could say anything further. Leo shoves his phone in the pocket of your stolen hoodie, which is worn under the uniform blazer as quiet laughter still shakes his chest. "Keep sharp, Haizono!" He uses the mocking tone of the teacher to make a jab at Sho, who grabs the water bottle in vengeance. "Oh you're not running, stupid bi-" 

˙⟡

He didn't get his revenge. The blond is still smoldering in petty indignation as Leo arranges his ashen hair back to perfect dishevelment, after the thrilling chase. "Still mad? Sucks to suck, Sho." It's so funny to see him seethe. "Uh huh. Sucks that you'll have sand in your bed by evening, dickhead." It's an attempt to sound mad, but there's a clear amusement lacing the words. Whether or not he'll actually go through with the threat? Hell no. He's pretty sure he still sees Sho shimmer on sunny days after dumping glitter in his pillow case four months ago. "Hah. We should go to the beach though, I heard of this spot-" 

And the comfort of distraction is ripped away along with the rest of that sentence. "Huh? What-" A hand shuts his best friend up, as someone passes by the bathrooms. "As I was saying-" He can tell you're talking to Ishibashi from the formal language. You don't usually use that tone, but his best guess is that you only use it with freaks like that. Tri-vision, discount mad scientist, Lucci, and probably Ice Queen, but that's only speculation because of the guy's 'sophisticated' cave dweller tendencies. Scoff, sophisticated his ass. Dude doesn't leave his room, and keeps shooting you booty calls under the guise of seeing you as a servant. Leo bets that albino rat has a tailored maid costume hidden there, specifically made for you. Freak. 

"Haxs." You're already at the end of the hallway, talking about schedules or whatever boring stuff that includes having to account for being on time to meetings. Lick. He snatches his hand back from the smirking traitor's mouth. "Ew, what the fuck?" He wipes the spit on the offender's blazer. "What's up with you and her?" Ugh, the crossed arms show that the himbo's attitude has already infected him. "Nothing. Unless you want glitter in your bed again, shut up." The threat works, but a look of slight disappointment stings Leo. "If you did something stupid, I won't help you. Anyway, I gotta go prepare for lunch hour. Have fun with whatever you're up to." 

11:02 am 

Dickhead. Food truck that, food truck this. And jumping to conclusions like that? He should jump off a- nah. He's better than that. At least with Sho, that is. Anyone else? Fuck 'em. 

It's not lunch time yet… Should he go to the campus store, or the cafeteria? Nah, the hall is always crowded and noisy. And since he's avoiding you, he'd sit alone anyway as Sho's always busy. The only other person he'd even entertain the idea of sitting with would be Lucci, but he doesn't even look the cafeteria's way. So, campus store it is. You always go to the food truck when you're not busy with missions or whatever, and then eat it with either dumb and dumber in the cafeteria or with that green tea bitch and dogboy on the balcony, with Leo often invading the spot next to you. He should also pick up something for this acid reflux that keeps coming back. Leo feels bad for your braincells, they've experienced great and tragic loss in your time spent with those idiots. Deep breath. The scent of your shampoo still lingers on the fabric of the hood. He can feel his muscles relaxing. 

˙⟡

Strawberry? Nah, tastes too artificial. 

Sho's nice, reliable, and goes along with his moods. But he doesn't know shit about Leo. 

Sour apple? Nah, not even close to sour. 

Never takes anything Leo says seriously. Doesn't even really get mad when he does something stupid, pissed? Yeah, but not mad. It won't get brought up later. Forgotten, and automatically forgiven. 

Mango? Maybe, if there are no other options. 

But when nothing's taken seriously, things start to get uncomfortable. Feelings start stagnating like an abandoned pool. Old insults fester like a putrified wound. New arguments feel better than that. 

Cherry? He's only tried it a few times, but it's already his favorite. 

Leo keeps pissing you off on purpose. He makes a backhanded comment? You return it. Extra chili snuck into your food? Salt in his lunch. Equal annoyance is given and received. Conflict is resolved right then and there, even if you have to pull his teeth for it. Arguments are settled in their own difficult way, but that's more carthartic than never talking about it. Maybe some things get joked about later, but not with resentment. 

Yeah, cherry soda and chili tuna onigiri sounds good. He grabs the bottle, balancing it with the food container and acid reflux tablets. Oh, that guy. The first year from Jabberwock, the one you visit the diner for? He's pretty tall… do you like that? Leo's pretty short, after all- but it's adorable, right? Tall guys are just inconvenient, can't fit in showers, or even a bathtub, or an airplane, or- yap yap yap, doesn't fucking matter. 

He fucked up. Leo did kinda know the pollen wore off, before even an hour passed. But it was just so easy to stay in that groove of doting and clinging! Yes, you didn't entertain certain things, but you didn't make him go back to Vagastrom either. You could've called Sho or Mido, but didn't! That means something. You let him stay! You have a high tolerance for whining, so therefore, Leo's not making this shit up. You like him at least a bit, just enough for him to sink his claws into and not let go. 

Oh yeah. He can salvage this situation. Not all hope is lost for sappy date nights and steamy makeouts, or that already fully planned wedding, with a month long honeymoon to Italy. 

˙⟡

Ren is so over this. Why the fuck is that influencer guy smiling like that? He could literally feel the death stare drilling into his skull just seconds ago?? What the fuck why is he giggling like a fucking haunted doll??? Hurry up cashier man, he's gotta escape NOW. PLEASE. 

11:33 am 

The onigiri wasn't quite as hot as he had hoped it would be, but became edible enough with the help of his trusty spice bottle. The remaining cherry soda washes away the last grains of rice stuck in his teeth. It's a sweet flavor, but sour enough to not get sick of it anytime soon. Or ever, it's really good. Maybe he could get a sponsorship from the company? Worth a try, at least. 

'Thank you for your order! Purchase confirmation will be sent to your e-mail.' Mhm, first step, check. Some Mortkranken students pass by, and one of them flinches at the sight of Leo like a timid deer hearing a twig snap. Leo sends the most saccharine smile he's got, and the NPC pales at the gesture. Hoho, he'll send that request this evening. Dude didn't think he'd get away with that shit, did he? Dumbass. 

˙⟡

Pretty much only shy people sit alone at lunch in this portion Darkwick. Leo's not shy by any stretch, and neither are you, really. You were for a while, when he first met you. It's a part of getting cursed and thrown in the middle of a 50/50 deadly or just bitchy battle royale in under 24 hours, though. Starting out without a spine like a worm, but eventually turning into a beetle, instead of a fragile butterfly. Sure, pretty damn easy to kill as far as anomalies are involved, but not completely defenseless against fellow humans or insults. 

On your first meeting, you barely looked Leo in the eye. Nothing really remarkable, even easy to target for entertainment, if it weren't for you already gaining the favor of both the Frostheim ghouls and himbo in a few weeks time. Pretty impressive, honestly, and even more impressive that you didn't just give up and die after getting almost dropped to your death by that tulpa. 

You could've died back there. That could've been your final day, and it would've been Leo's fault. In that timeline, where you died, Leo wouldn't even feel bad for it, would he? Maybe it would've been an inconvenience, a severe scolding from Cap and some detention from Darkwick staff, but no real remorse for it, huh? Maybe he'd even rag on Sho for having a useless stigma, or something, but already forgetting your name after a month. Would his friendship with Sho have stayed strong, or get eroded by time and new circumstances, like now? 

But that timeline isn't this one. You didn't die, you survived, and grew even stronger. You started making direct eye contact, then standing up for your friends with conviction of steel, and by now, started going on duo missions with Leo, with only minimal complaining out of habit. Leo hates change, but that personality flip was more than welcomed. Finally, a real friend that calls out his bullshit, and doesn't talk behind his back! Everyone knows him as a popular influencer, and a smaller group knows he's a toxic cunt, but only you consistently defend him. Not when people justifiably complain about getting blackmailed or insulted, but when someone thinks he's just an airheaded baby bitch who can't fight. Yeah, Sho defends him too, but noticeably less. When he does, he's either looking for a fight, or just plain doesn't like that person. And sure, Leo can handle it, but fuck does it feel better when someone stands up for him. After all, there's only two people in his life he can talk to without worrying about getting backstabbed or ignored. It's the reason he's sitting alone right now, as well. 

This plan has to work. He chews on a well manicured nail, and tastes the bitterness of clear polish. It has to, or he'll go off the rails like sharktooth Chucky from Sinostra. He'll eat Bonnie first, out of spite. 

1:42 pm 

"Hmmm… that sounds delicious as well, so it's quite difficult to choose. What do you recommend?" Mr Beans On Toast and Mr Beans For Brains are standing right in the hallway where his class is. Fuck. The chances of you showing up just just shot up like 800%. Why the hell are they here anyway? You and the two professional dickriders have artifact studies next, not enigmatology! "Uhh, well, I usually go for the shoyu chicken. You should ask her too, since I don't eat in ramen restaurants that much." They're talking about you now. Leo knows, because no other person that has a pussy talks to Fuji, or gets within a 10 meter radius of the dude out of anything but obligation or accident. He sends a final look around the corner. You're going out with them today? Have you already told them about yesterday and this morning? Shitfuck, he can't risk being seen by them, they'll definitely snitch on the spot if you ask. Fuck it. Leo's been a teacher's pet enough for the day, he can go back to his dorm already. 

"Kaito." That tone sends a shiver down his spine, even if it's not his own name you're saying. Wait, you're here? He has to haul ass, now. "Remedial class? Again? I told you to study more." Fuck, that should be him! Fuji clearly doesn't appreciate the privilege of getting scolded by you, if the whiny excuses are anything to go off of. If he was the one getting told off, he'd piss you off even more. So much so, that you'd have no choice but to bend him over and spank him for every minute of class missed… these pants feel uncomfortable. At least your hoodie covers it up. 

˙⟡

Leo's already outside, leisurely strolling towards Vagastrom, when his phone buzzes. 

Sho: yo leo 

Sho: (y/n) asked if ur alright 

Sho: i said yea 

Leo: ok 

Sho: u need to tell me what happened bro 

Leo: no im not telling shit its nothing 

Leo: and stay out of it. i have 5 bags of glitter on hand. dont even try. 

Sho: ok damn 

Yeah, don't even try. Leo can't have anyone intervening on this delicate situation right now, especially not him or Cap. No one else either, or he'll break the record of a 3 day streak of not doxxing anyone as retaliation. He shoves the phone back in the hoodie's pocket, and hustles even faster as an ominous, but a bit too familiar cackle of a certain redheaded gambler rings out. Not today, Satan. 

7:58 pm 

Aaand posted! His muscles relax in relief as the screen of the sticker-covered laptop turns black, freeing Leo from the filming and editing process of a new video. A slight moan escapes, as he stretches out on the queensize bed like a cat. Damn, I'm a hard worker. He takes a moment to shut his eyes, to find some relief from the slight burning caused by being continuously flashbanged by bluelight. At least that's over, and now he can doomscroll as a treat! Let's see… Ugh, his algorithm is fucked up. Seeing all the wedding and family influencers right now isn't salt in his wounds, but the whole fucking spice cabinet. Ooh, a bouquet like that though? He saves it, before switching to another burner account. You know, the one where he follows everything your friends post about you? Yeah, that one! Nothing's really been posted though… Hotarubi's vice captain had an iced matcha latte, yada yada, oh. Fuji's post. Now, Leo is painfully aware that the romantic relationship with you that he posts on social media is fake. Leo himself specifically told you to not think anything of it, even if he changed his mind by now. Every picture of you two holding hands, or going on cutesy cafe dates was for content. But come on. This definitely feels like cheating! He glares poison daggers at the digital picture of you and the two idiots, sitting side by side, holding overstuffed ice cream cones. And he recognizes the logo imprinted on the waffles. Because it's from a popular date spot. Where he wants to take you. 

Does that mushroom-headed little bitch think Leo is a cuck? That he'll stand by as these dickheads make moves on you? Fuck no. Time needs to move a whole lot faster right now, he thinks, as the burning feeling of jealousy itches under his skin, like the marching of a million fire ants. Anticipation of getting to fulfill his plan starts to physically hurt, and it's as though he's possessed, with every position taken feeling uncomfortable, when the thought of you with anyone else takes over. Ragged breaths shake his ribs, as he swallows and focuses on the faint cracks of the ceiling. 

A shuddering breath calms him down slightly. Soon. As soon as you're his real girlfriend, life will be perfect, and this suffering will be worthy of that. He can cling onto you like a boa, and not let go, ever. He can put trackers on you. No onewill take you away, and he'll get his happy ending no matter what. Each day starts in bed next to you, and ends the same way. Taking baths together, shopping for groceries, going out for dates. No second will be spent apart, he daydreams, as his thighs start to rub together. Mhm, you'd come home from work on weekdays, and get greeted by Leo and two children. Your children, because he'll knock you up as soon as possible. Even before the wedding, as his hand ghosts over the front of his pajama pants, you'd be tied down even without a ring. A satisfied sigh is conjured when his hips are no longer covered by fabric. A moan, when his hand finally wraps itself around the flushed shaft. Each year, you'd have two vacations, as the first stroke rips out a gasp. One with the whole family, and the other? Just you two, a squeeze to the weeping tip. A whole two weeks, consisting of eating good food, taking photos, and sensual fucking in whatever destination you'd landed in. He doesn't even need lube right now, with the amount of precum his fantasies provoke. Each snippet of delusion is accompanied by a slapping sound, and the fire of jealousy is replaced by an intense heat in his lower stomach. 

A white light and ringing noise fills his senses, as a burst of cum shoots out to stain his shirt with a long, high-pitched moan. Or rather, your shirt that he was wearing before running off. Ugh, it's all over him, from hips, to stomach, to his hand. Sigh. He needs to calm down at least a bit. You're not really interested in anyone, he grits his teeth, which unfortunately includes himself. 

You probably wouldn't like it if he babytrapped you. In fact, you might hate him for even attempting, and leave him. Which, clearly, wouldn't be ideal. He'll just propose after a year, and then marry you right after graduation. Wedding night though? A devious grin breaks his afterglow serenity. It's free real estate. 

10:03 pm 

Leo: have it ready by tomorrow, before 1 pm. any later? those posts will guarantee getting blacklisted from every school and workplace imaginable. do you understand? 

Mortkranken Creep: Understood 

Man, this blackmail shit is easy. Leo can practically hear the guy shaking in his cheap sneakers, even over text. He spits out a wad of minty froth in the sink, and grins at the mirror to see his teeth shine. Perfect! The lights of the bathroom are off with a click, and he practically skips over to his bed. His meticulous skincare routine is done, and he even used a special face mask in preparation for tomorrow. All that's left to do is sleep well, fetch his extra fast delivery packet in the morning, and visit that gooner schmuck in the noon. Then? His plan is as good as accomplished, and he'll be wearing a cute apron and tight leggings in four years time. For now, Leo cozies up in the Egyptian cotton-covered duvets, and breathes in the scent of your shampoo that still lingers in the hoodie he's wearing. He can't wait for tomorrow. 

9:16 am 

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Where the fuck is that packet? Leo is currently shaking like a cocaine-addicted chihuahua, pacing near the mail building. If the definition of insanity is repeating an action, expecting the end result to change, Leo needs to be locked up in a mental ward. For other reasons as well, but whatever. The kimchi in his sandwich crunches with an unnecessarily aggressive bite. You sent a text this morning, asking if he's alright. Leo had to chew on his pillow to not giggle like a maniac, though Alan still looked at him weird when they crossed paths in the common area. But that doesn't matter in any capacity, as the notification of 'Your packet has arrived! Please pick it up as soon as possible!' appears with another refresh. The piece of sandwich still in his mouth almost chokes him, as Leo almost lets out a villainous laugh. 

Just before rounding the corner, he freezes. Fuck fuck fucking fuck, you and carrot top are right in front of the mail building! Another cautious peek. Whatever that guy said cannot be that funny. Obnoxious fucker, leave already! This is so unfair. 

˙⟡

Leo starts manifesting a painful death on Haru, who just wanted to tell (y/n) about the new hats he bought for Peekaboo. "Come visit soon, and you'll see how cool they are! One's a bucket hat, and the other is an orange crocheted wig! We'll really look like father and son, right? Gyahahah!" And he waves the honor student goodbye, gleefully wishing luck on her exam next week, before entering the mail building. 

While waiting for his packet to be found in the back, the usually stuffy and honestly quite hot temperature inside drops to a spine-chilling freeze. Haru turns to sneak a subtle look at the person who just entered. Kurosagi seems pretty harmless, but currently? He gulps, and prays the Vagastrom first year would blink. A thick layer of sweat appears, and Haru prays for the mail cats to work faster. That stare has him scared for his life. 

12:59 pm 

Target located. The Mortkranken student, who had the unfortunate luck of gaining attention from Leo, is shuffling nervously on a park bench. Getting closer… "Boo!" The dude doesn't even scream, but jumps up like a prisoner in an electric chair at the feeling of two hands slapping down on his shoulders. Leo can't help but snicker at the sight of the student gasping for air. "Wha- what." Trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, the student turns to Leo. "K-K-Kurosagi, you-" "Oh, quit the stuttering. D-d-do you have what I need or not? I'm not here to talk about the weather." He's a busy man, can't you see? Probably not, with those overgrown, greasy bangs. Tch. This loser's a certified creep. He used the anonymous confessions board to post a degenerate fantasy about stealing your clothes and marrying you, as if he had any chance. Pathetic.

"Yeah. Here. It's, uh, supposed to last for 4 hours, with one-" Leo snatches up the small pouch, causing the guy to flinch back. "Uh huh. If it doesn't work, or causes any weird side effects, everyone on campus will know you jack off to the honor student daily. Have a nice life!" The ashen haired man skips off with a saccharine mockery of a goodbye, and starts to head on over to the cathedral. It's Friday, and it'll be a very long weekend. 

[coconut530]

LEARN WHEN TO QUIT MAN

(the last pic of Pluto was me watching him try to keep this going)

[chastiefoul]

nanami kento is known to have a habit of crossing his legs when he sits. when he's reading, or just idly thinking. it's just something he does unconsciously, often time he doesn't even realize it himself.

yet this quickly changes after he got together with you.

now, everytime you come into the same room as him, the man quickly shifted his legs back to a regular position; you know, just in case you want to sit on lap.

fine, he wants you to sit atop of it.

this is all because he had the mistake─one he'll gladly do over and over, of experiencing it once.

the feeling of your body pressed so close against him while you ramble on about absolutely nothing, which he listens to intently with a smile on his face; his hand running along your hair ever so softly while he hums once or twice as response to your animated chatter.

and then you rested your head on his shoulder after getting a bit tired, your strands tickling his neck in the best way possible. his hands moved smoothly to your sides, rubbing up and down. all soothed and relaxed, nanami loves the sight of you being so comfortable near him.

you probably couldn't get closer to him more than this could you? he thought, as he held you tighter nonetheless. he felt content, whole.

so yeah, in short, nanami wants you to sit on his laps.

and with how fast he does it too there's no way you don't notice the subtle change of how he sits lately. yet you don't have the heart to point how obvious he was being, so most of the times you just indulged him, no questions asked. although it's not like it wasn't enjoyable for you, it was the opposite.

not to mention the smile he wears everytime you do it... it's enough to make your knees go weak. a smile you'd go to war for, a smile that's worth doing anything he's asking for.

it seems like nanami isn't the only one who has a new habit, then.

[screampied]

𝜗𝜚 CHECKED THE RACK ?!

☆ sum. bóob obsessed jjk men who just can keep their hands off of you, their sweet sweet wife. toji, choso, gojo, geto, nanami.

warnings 𝜗𝜚 . fem! reader, wife reader, feral handsy men, bóob fondling, unprotected, cowgirl, dry humping, praise, dirty talk, lactátion fantasizes, brief face-fucking, bréeding mentions, implied multiple rounds, overstim, petnames.

☆ SATORU GOJO.

“god, really missed my girls,” satoru huffs, sucking in a single sharp breath as he buries his face right between your breasts.

you gasp, feeling him lick a single long stripe down the sloping valley of your chest before he roves his tongue to teasingly lap near your perked nipple. he takes a single whiff, and he’s enticed. satoru was always a clingy man. you had his cock stilled inside of your cunt the entire time you laid back against the cushioned mattress. despite it being so early in the morning, he couldn’t help but want more, want you.

pristine white tresses of hair rub up against your chest as he nuzzles further into you. “mhm, seems like they missed me too, mwah,” he kisses your left breast, feeling you cutely writhe. satoru’s still reclined back against the king-sized bed before he shoots you a sleazy grin. “tell me somethin’,” he whispers, and his hands suddenly grab onto your unsteady hips. you moan—feeling him start to leisurely rock you quicker into him. the bulbous curve of his shaft makes your legs merely collapse inward. “you touched yourself today, sweets? while i was work, hm?”

“n- no,” a soft whisper sprints out of your lips as you watch his hands tenderly guide your hips back and forth. you’re drenching his cock with your sweet syrupy sap, clamping down mercilessly within each sloppy thrust. so good, you bit down at the bottom of your lip before your tits start to bounce again. satoru glances straight toward them and he almost moans himself. the way they slap back against your chest. pap pap pap, he feels himself get harder the more he stares at your loud tits hitting against you, his cock sporadically and shamelessly twitching inside of you.

“no?” he repeats, and he noticed how your eyes dart away for a split second as you speak in a hushed voice. as his fat shaft continues to deeply barrel inside of your puffed cunt, he hums, cupping one of your springy soft breasts. “ ‘course ya did, you sent me those soapy pics of you in the bath on my break,” shit. you completely forgot, and you now start to whine as you’re just bouncing on his cock. your head fills up with nothing but clouded empty thoughts—not a single thought in your mind but the longing anticipation of satoru pumping you full of yet another thick load.

ruthlessly, the skin of your own starts to smack back onto your chest over and over as you thoroughly dig the centers of your knees into his thighs. “silly girl,” the white haired man playfully taps against your forehead, giving it a soft dumbing knock. ‘m making that my wallpaper by the way. fuckin’ sexy.”

as you’re whimpering the same repeated cacophonies of his name, you gasp, feeling his palm softly swat against your tits. “fuck, satoru!” you clench down on your jaw and your hips continue to sway. it was a tender delicate spank against your breasts, but he grunts once he feels your pussy squeeze against him the second he does it. you liked it. your body, he knew it—he knew every part of it, and he found it cute how you always responded to his lewd antics. “hngh, ‘m not gonna last, ‘s still sensitive, ‘toru.”

“you’re a kinky ‘lil thing, huh,” he lips curve into sly simper once he hears your cute hiss. you’re growing dumber and dumber the more your ass pounds against him and the brief sting makes him groan. his fat thick base sits right underneath you and you feel how full it is, so swollen. your mouth starts to salivate at the realization of just how deep he’s inside—merrily massaging your gummy clingy walls. satoru loved more than anything to give you a good filling after a long day of work. it was his treat to you, and he couldn’t resist when you were just so sweet. “ooh. like that?” he purrs, and you moan once he then gives your nipples a squeeze with two stubby fingers. fuck, your legs were shaking and he felt it—your body was a ticking time bomb. “yeah, yeah you do. pussy’s a sloppy dead giveaway, angel.”

“sato—ugh,” you moan, and he goes back to sucking on your tits. even whilst buried between your chest, he’s so pretty. satoru’s got the biggest cheekiest grin plastered on his lips as he’s got nothing but your boobs in his mouth. you’re still riding him but once his tongue slurps against your sensitive nipple - it’s over. your brain short circuits and your hands grab onto his hair hard. he’s drooling all down your chest and yet he doesn’t care about being messy. his tongue traces everywhere down your skin until he’s just tenderly sucking at any spot his lips can reach. “fuck, fuck, m- more please.”

“my wife’s got such a pretty body,” he groans, his lips ‘popping’ loudly once he removes your boob from his lips. glossy strands tear away from the slim cracks of his mouth before he rubs a thumb over your throbbing nipple. “y’know what though,” and his voice lowers. you gulp, still having his dick idle inside of your sopping cunt before he leans up close to your ear, pressing a hand down on your tummy. “you’d be an even prettier mommy. think ‘m ready ‘ta see that tummy round ‘n plump again, sweets.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURUO

“ah, ah babygirl. hold still, need ‘ta give the twins some extra lovin’ too,” a raspy voice whispers against the back of your ear.

you moan, slumping back against your husband’s chest. he still had his work clothes on and he’s just came back from home. it’s late evening, dusk preparing to set and yet—the first thing he made sure to do was to touch his pretty wife everywhere.

his bare scarred hands softly grab against both of your breasts, making them playfully bounce in his palms. “no bra too? such a good girl.”

“t- toji,” you whimper, almost forgetting that his cock was still buried deep inside of you. hes not even moving, you’re not even moving and yet you feel his thick heavy cock plummet through your goopy insides. he’s always been a clingy man, you knew that, and if it wasn’t your ass toji fushiguro was utterly obsessed with, it was your tits.

you were wearing nothing but a silky ivory colored nightgown. he peeped at how your perky nipples would rub and poke out against the showy soft fabric and he hums in sly amusement.

your hips were slow, painfully slow.

you were barely moving, but his cock was very much keeping your gummy insides occupied. his touch was fiery hot and you collapse back against his chest before feeling his lips kiss down your neck. “fuck, i still have to m- make dinner.”

“no need, hon,” he huskily snickers, and you let off another moan once he gives both of your breasts a firm squeeze. he’s obsessed, the rotund prints of his thumbs couldn’t resist to swipe and swerve all across your sensitive nipples just to feel you squirm and writhe on his cock.

oh, you could never stay still and it was his favorite thing about you. you cutely shiver from his touch, leaning into his grasp before hearing your own cunt squelch.

it’s screaming out a pretty sloshing ‘pop’ sound that echoes through the thin peeling dry walls and a wry smile compresses against toji’s lips. “already got my dinner right fuckin’ here,” and you moan once one of his hands creep down toward the curvature of your ass, giving it a soft spank. “ah, never said you could stop ridin’ me, pretty mama. work those hips more f’me. chop chop.”

“ngh, toji i’m gonna cu— oh!” you shriek, and as your jerking hips start to pick up again, slamming meaner and quicker against his lap, you gush right out. you end up cumming far earlier than you anticipated, all thanks to his rude blushing tip repeatedly kissing and mashing up against your most sweetest spots. you’ve never felt more dumb. you’re at a lost for words, stupidly dumbfounded. you’re moaning out inaudible whimpers as you hear your slick mess slosh down right between your pried open thighs. toji grunts, feeling your honeyed mess spray and cream all down his twitching lengthy shaft. his cock’s still plugged into your greedy pussy as your legs now grow limp. toji’s got his hands glued back on your tits and he playfully gives them a few bounces. “f- fuck.”

“did ya just cum from me playin’ with yer tits, baby?” he coos, a wolffish grin spreading against his lips.

so hot, your legs continue to spasm before squeezing shut, keeping his dick inside. you could barely even swallow without moaning out little whimpers of his name as your tongue’s just casually lolled out of your mouth.

“aw,” he tsks, giving your nipples that poke through your blouse a kittenish pinch. you’re weakly grinding against his lap whilst he’s whispering sweet nothings to you from behind. you’ve never felt more sensitive—and ripples surge all through your body as you ride out your orgasm, hearing toji’s breath get more rasp against the shell of your ear. “there there babygirl, ‘s okay. relax,” he whispers in a gruff tone as one of his hands slide down your body. you twitch from his callused fingers slithering down your chest. “such a messy cutie, should play with y’er tits more often if ya get like this, heh.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO.

“thought about you today at work,” nanami purrs, a husky baritone smoothing underneath his tone. your drooling wet pussy was so so closed to milking him yet again, and he’s just in awe at how you ride him good—bouncing on his fat cock with droopy half-open eyes. he’s exhausted, he’s been up and about his feet all day everyday, same old same old nine to five job but he was missing you. and now that he had you, he was clingy. nanami kento was clingy, so clingy to the point where you had to pry his hands off. he’s got you riding him in his creaking wooden rocking chair whilst he’s got a flustered grin curling against his slick glossed lips. “thought about you ‘n these pretty girls too.”

right as he said that though, he’s got two big hands squeezing against your tits, cupping them each in such a delicate manner. you gasp, continuing to rock back and forth against his halfway pulled down silk slacks before you moan. “fuck, ‘ken,” and his touch was so tender. his fingertips trace everywhere—every crevice and corner of your body. you still had your bra clasped on and he can’t help but openly gawk.

your wobbly hips continue to swivel all around him as your ass rigorously throws itself on his lap, smack smack smacking away. it feels sharp, your unpredictable movements that were once in sync with his grew more and more unsteady and it makes the aging rocking chair behave more and more rickety. it’s pathetically crying from the pounds of hefty weight crushing against it. “mhm,” you mewl through gritted teeth and your hands softly grab onto his wide wrists. a thumb of yours ghosts against the band of his rolex and he shoots you a needy grin. “kento, you never answered my question.”

“hm? oh,” there’s a playful glint in his eye, and you moan again once his head goes right between your springy tits. he’s showering every exposed area with a multitude of wet chaste kisses, making sure your skin knows who’s making it feel good - him. “oh, my day was fine sweetheart,” and a drawing hot breath gets stuck in the back of your throat, feeling his sly tongue slowly and playfully lap down the valley of your breasts. “mhm, so fine,” and his voice drops lower and lower. your hips start to slow down with seconds and he’s just toying with you. nanami’s hands now slither further down to toward your quavery hips. “my day’s even better now that i’m spendin’ it with my pretty wifey.”

and you let off a sweetened three second moan once he starts to latch his glistening lips against your swollen neglected nipples. shaggy blond strands of hair tickle against the upper part of your chest as he starts to suck, closing his eyes and allowing his mind to roam. “ah, i remember when milk used to come from here, my love,” he grunts, shifting between each tit — he’s tender, making sure to take his time whilst his hardened cock’s still hidden inside of your puffy cunt. nanami’s cupping each hand over your breasts before his gentle fawn eyes meet yours. the tip of his tongue swirls around your achy nipple before he groans right into your chest. “thinkin’ about that makes me wanna put another baby in you, sweetheart. f- fuck, all swollen ‘n plump. you’d like that?”

“y- yes,” you moan, and your hips start to frantically pick up again. the angered plump crownhead of nanami’s cock extends through each pivotal thrust and you feel it. the curving hook of his cock repeatedly thrashes up inside of you and you’ve never felt more full. he’s just so deep, you bite back a moan or two before your breathing starts to catch up with you. he’s tapping against a spongy texture and it makes your thighs squeeze together in sudden rapture. “want another baby, please. give me another..another baby,” your words start to chop as your hips become sloppy. your pussy’s got his entire cock slobbering down from the veiny sides with your sap and he grunts at the sloshing slickness.

“give you?” nanami softly rasps, and he raises a blond eyebrow at your needy demand. “oh, baby. that’s not how we ask. c’mon, be a big girl ‘n ask me the right way, sweet thing,” and he grazes a thumb over your pouting lip, kissing it gingerly. “talk to me nice, my love.”

as his cock roughly punctuates inside of you within each exaggerated thrust, you toss your arms over him, whimpering loudly. “please, please can i have another baby, ‘ken. breed me, make me full. want it so bad, want you.” and he leans in to kiss you. it’s passionate, his lips dance against yours whilst his tongue slides into your mouth, demanding access. you moan, feeling his solid weight continue to anchor into yours. slamming, he’s got your hips working to the bone and it makes him groan. nanami’s hand go back toward your tits and he gives them a nice good feel, smiling against your lips once he feels the full doughy mounds bounce and jolt in his hand.

“better be a g-good girl ‘n take it then,” he huffs, stammering over his own words. nanami leans in, going back to sucking against your tits. they slap and move move all against his face due to your rocky hips and a faint grin tugs on both sides of his lips. your hips grind further into him at full speed—full throttle and you moan once one of his hands gives your ass a squeeze which turns into a quick spank. “mhm, that’s it. ride me, honey. milk me, got so much ‘ta give you,” and your skin melts into him the faster you move. skin against skin and it smacks rough, ricocheting against both pounds of flesh and you whimper at the brief twinges of pleasure. each smack against flesh makes your ears ring and it’s only seconds before he’s cumming.

it’s a lot, a thick load of velvety ropes that deeply pours into your aching cunt. it’s so much to where it’s unapologetically dribbling down your thighs in creamy stringy clumps. it can’t fit inside of your cunt—he groans at the realization, cupping your right tit before going back to sucking against it whilst staring you straight in the eyes. “fuck, i- i need a minute,” and he’s gradually feeling his body succumb to defeat as his burly muscles tense underneath his business attire. with your tit still popped in his mouth, nanami shoots you a wry pussy drunk smile before lathering his tongue around your tender nipple. after a few seconds, he takes it out of his mouth before falling back. his and clench underneath his business shirt and he playfully smacks your ass, another hand dramatically fanning himself. “whew.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO.

“a- are you sure?” choso mumbles with a pout, and he’s panting heavily at the sight that’s right before him. you’re on your knees for him whilst your two hands cup under both of your tits. doing so—you show off your pretty nails he paid for about a week ago. you make direct eye contact with his leaking cock. his tip was a pearly pink, swollen with tears of pre-cum spewing from the sides. he’s got a hand wrapped around his length before he exhales. “i just—put it in between..?”

“mhm,” you softly coo, occasionally glancing at the black curly specks of hair that glue near his base. his happy trail, you stare at it for a while, watching his chiseled abs achingly flex before you puff out your bottom lip. “c’mon, baby. nice ‘n slow. ‘s okay. just pretend you’re fuckin’ me.”

an elongated breath gets caught in his throat at your lewd words. just pretend he’s fucking you. choso’s sable dark pupils dilate as he gives his throbbing cock a few single pumps. he’s slow, a thumb of his swipes against a pulsating vein that’s prodding on his skin before he slowly positions his dick between your plump tits. “f- fuck,” he murmurs, watching as two of your hands squeeze your breasts together. so soft, he watches you with cute widened eyes as his achy cock rests in between both of your mounds. choso’s so hard too, it’s almost painful at how much he’s throbbing but it feels too good to shy away. “baby, can you use your mouth too?”

“yeah, ‘cho,” you hum sweetly, and he hears the tease in your tone. it was probably a dumb question and he already felt a hot wave of embarrassment spray over his body. his breath continues to hitch as he sees you—gradually starting to bounce your breasts up and down with his twitching shaft caught between the slick valley. your dewy glossed eyes never leave his, and every few seconds you’d grab his shaft, using a hand to pull it up to your lips for a quick suck. choso whimpers, desperately craving for more. he’s never did such an activity like this before. a boob job, apparently humans call it that. he’s not a stranger when it comes to intimacy but this, he could get used to having his cock between your pretty tender tits. “mhm,” you purse your lips, briefly wrapping them around his sweltering hot tip. he’s close, you could tell he wasn’t gonna last long and the bouncing of his thigh gave it away.

“ugh, w- when you use your tongue, i—” he cuts off, a keen gasp ripping out from his vocal chords. you drag his leaky pulsating tip to smear around your nipples before popping it right back into your mouth. choso takes a mental image of this entire scenario, storing it in the back of his mind. but he just couldn’t take it anymore. “fuck it.”

you let off a sheepish giggle before it’s your turn to gasp once choso’s hand suddenly grabs the back of your head. you look up at him and he moans, pushing your head all the way down until his tip greets against the roof of your mouth. the edges of your nails pierce into his thighs as you’re now being face fucked, ruthlessly.

your head bobbles up and down continuously as your tits bounce in sync and you’re slobbering all down his cock. lustrous cobwebs of saliva start to string away from your lips and it’s so pretty. he’s trying to luxuriate in the feeling of your warm mouth keeping his cock warm.

so so good, he’s rolling his eyes in pleasure but that’s when you then feel his dick twitch inside your mouth and on your flat tongue once he spots you starting to drool. oh, and that was all it took for him to grow weak. glimmering sheeny strands of saliva cascade past your lips and further down the crack of your chest. it brings a brighter shine to your breasts and he’s never felt more turned on. “fuck, y- you’re so fuckin’ hot, baby,” he babbles, black arched brows contorting together in awe. choso’s tugging at your roots - pulling hard. you’re getting his entire dick wet with the help of your mouth—slurping inch after inch until his mushroom tip’s continuously kissing against the back of your throat. “ohfuckohfuckohfuck.”

as he’s blabbering out the same repeated cries, your eyes briefly widen once he’s shooting gooey ribbons of cum right into your mouth. the bittersweet taste never fails to make you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. choso’s dick resumes to weakly pump down your throat as his milky hot cum sprays on the center of your pink tongue. twirling your tongue around his tip whilst your hands still play with your pretty breasts, you meet his gaze once he’s shaking—releasing his rough grip against the back of your head. “shit, was i too mean? ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry baby-”

and his voice slowly trails off once you pull his cock out of your mouth, hearing the loud ‘pop’ sound from your lips before you lick the side of your mouth. “i’m okay, ‘cho,” you coo, feeling yourself throb a bit at choso being rough for a change—it was just the image of him shoving you down his cock, watching you play with your tits, gripping hard on your strands all while whining. “you liked that, baby?”

“a lot, actually,” he grows sheepish. but even after the fact, choso can’t help but smear his achy tip against your swollen lips, before softly smacking it against it against your rolled out tongue. you looked a mess - his mess. strands of saliva land on his tip once he brings it toward your lips, watching you give it s quick kiss. but as he glances at your twitching cum-glossed lips, he desperately to kiss you and snatch a taste for himself but he knew he had to wait. choso starts to pant, wrapping all five fingers around his veiny length before stuffing it back between your tits. “one more,” and he lets off a soft moan once you spit on his cock, slimy transclucent drool glissading down the valley of your chest and onto his rosy tip. “you’re so n- nasty, heh. do that again, princess.”

☆ SUGURU GETO

“stay still,” he whispers, and you glance down at geto who’s resting his chin right between your breasts.

they’re all bare and exposed, his favorite view. he’s missed you all day and he couldn’t wait to pounce on his pretty wife. “my, look at these. jus’ waiting for me,” and he cups both of them, giving them bother tender kisses. fat silky covers go over the both of you and just seconds ago, geto was pounding into you raw until your pussy was literally overflowing with velvety ropes of cum. “untouched, i presume?”

“y- yes, sugu,” you breathe, feeling a bit tender from his delicate touch. he grunts, shifting a bit under the plump covers. his cock rests flat against the dull grey sheets before he starts to rut against your leg. a hand of yours finds its way to run through his strands, digging near his tender scalp. “didn’t touch myself all day. waited for you.”

a small hum leaves from him before he brings his crooked lips up toward your right breast. groaning, geto leand in to suck against it—he’s feral, sloppy rutting hips slowly grind against your thigh that’s propped up underneath him as his tongue flicks up and around your nipple. “ah, sugu,” your eyes squeeze shut for a moment as your fingers intertwine with his thin raven locks. his eyes were closed and he was so into it, his tongue circles around your nipple before he slurps—popping sounds shrieking out from his slim reddened lips. “fuck, don’t stop. . please,” and your words only made him grunt more. he didn’t even realize he was humping all up against your leg but he didn’t care.

this place—buried right between your tits, absolute heaven to him. .

he’s so sloppy too, he’s got strands of slippery saliva dripping past his perfect parted lips as he’s snaking his head down the crack of your chest. “oops,” he whispers, dark hooded eyes observing the mess he’s creating. your breasts were all swollen, the centers of your mounds were so shiny all because of his saliva. your nipples were poorly tender and glistening with drool. “sorry, sweetie. couldn’t help myself. had ‘ta get a taste of my favorite girls,” and his words get a bit muffled once he stuffs his face back in between your tits. you giggle but it quickly turns into a sultry long moan once he starts to greedily suck against the other neglected breast. “mhm,” and he groans loudly, the tip of his cock brushing up against your thigh. geto’s wearing sweats but even still, you could feel it. his dick rubbing off against the grey fabric, ticking all against your leg. he’s brick hard and with your tits stuffed in his mouth, it only made him ten times worse.

“fuh— fuck,” he snarls, and his half on boxers continue to snag against your skin. geto’s brows come together before he ends up cumming - it’s so abrupt, his eyes roll back and you can almost hear a whimper leave from his throat. “goddamn,” he huffs, and as his chest heaves in and out, he stares up at you with the most feral expression. his mouth’s open and no words come out anymore for a while—just breathy hot pants and faint whimpers. geto couldn’t have felt anymore embarrassed. damp grey splotches soak and create a patch near the center of his boxers as his hips grow substantially weak. geto’s shuddering, and you pull him close as his head’s buried between your tits. “you drive me c- crazy, y’know,” he moans, and he’s still feeling the sharp after effects. his cock was now soft and flaccid, bulging inside of his cerulean blue boxers that hide underneath his sweats before he pouts on your chest. “got me h- humpin’ your leg ‘n moaning for you, fuck.”

“it’s okay, suguru,” you whisper, silvery fingers still kneading through his hair. his face softens at your reassurance. his eyes meet toward your lips before you give his forehead a kiss. “good boy.”

“s- shut up,” he scoffs, both sides of his cheeks angrily flushing the second those two horrid words slither out of your lips. the audacity, geto’s still laid on top of you as if he’s practically glued against your body. he’s so hot against your skin that both pounds of flesh practically melt against each other. but, geto can’t help but pout more against your chest as he looks up at you, his pride’s nowhere to be found as he’s now happily nuzzling his face into your tits. “say it again, sweetheart,” and he sounds annoyed but he’s actually pleading for more—not only did you make him insanely sensitive but you also made suguru geto whimper. “tch. call me that again. see what happens. f- fuck.”

[eraserbread]

Obsessed with your Nanamin ♡ Also obsessed with the idea of our boy being a virgin before he meets his wife so she's his one and only. Wow I wish he was real.

hi anon <3 here's virgin nanami to help soothe the soul. i, too, wish he was real. love u.

➽────────────────────────❥

four weeks into dating, and kento's barely even grazed your hand. it's not that he doesn't like you, because he does a little too much. you're all he thinks about -- all he pines and stews over when he's alone.

you two met in the odd space between high school and the thought of university where nanami was finally feeling the toll sorcery was taking on him, only going out once a week to drink his guilt away. it’s there, at dinner with co-workers that he meets you — a mutual friend of his desk mate who had a little too much to drink one night.

now, nineteen-year-old nanami was not the nicest. he drank and spent his sleepless nights staring at walls, begging for a reason, or just purpose.

he has terrible insomnia because he sees the ones he lost to curses every time he closes his eyes. it’s why he left sorcery in the first place. he’s not strong. he’s barely capable of keeping his own head up. call it teenage angst, but nanami will call it his burdensome state.

eighteen year old you was full-spirited and beautiful. you always had friends begging to go out drinking and partying. that year was a whirlwind of nasty hookups, terrible hangovers and love-lust. safe to say, you and kento were complete opposites.

all that to say — opposites do attract, and nanami's been obsessed with you ever since that fateful drunken night.

it was one particular morning date over two cups of strong coffee that you finally poke a little further than the stupid childhood stories and plans for the future. you want him to touch you.

"i won't lie, i've been waiting for you to touch me this whole time." it feels embarrassing to finally say out loud, but you didn't know how many more hints you had to give him.

he stills over his sip of coffee, vibrant hazel eyes going stagnant. you can tell you finally got him -- you sparked a reaction.

that day, as soon as he gets you home, he's pushing you on the bed. nanami's all heavy breaths as he crawls over you in the afternoon light, biting over his bottom lip as he meets your gaze.

"i'll try and be gentle..." he whispers before sliding down and tucking his head under your loose t-shirt. kento fits so perfectly there, purring against your warmth as he kisses up your stomach, lips finding their home against your lower sternum.

you're blushed down to your toes, rocking your knees together under kento's lanky frame. he's got you on lock, left hand finding your wrist against his sheets to hold you there.

you've never been this intimate. he's closer to your heart than you are.

"can you breathe down there?" you whisper, breathing harder when you feel him drag to your left nipple.

"mhm." he responds, vibrating the entirety of your body. he gives your nipple a little experimental lick, stopping to gauge your whining reaction. "breathin' you."

"fuck, kento."

he's blushing so fucking hard when he comes out from under your shirt, golden hair ruffled with static. it gives you something adjacent to cuteness aggression, you just want to kiss him already.

it's missionary that first time -- he hovers over you like a angel, pretty eyes screwed shut as the tip of his cock drags slowly through your slit. it's driving you crazy, all this build-up, but nanami can't stop. he fucking loves the way touching you like this felt, this was enough.

"you won't... it's not gonna hurt me, just do it. put it in." it's your final, desperate plea for more, but he's too caught in his head. he shakes it.

"i can't... i can't cause i'm gonna - I'll finish." he's tucking his cheek into his shoulder, whining low as he guides his tip across your entrance. it dips so perfectly there like it's meant to fit, but he just doesn't do it.

it's actually starting to get annoying.

deep down you have an inkling he doesn't really know what he's doing. but, it's okay because neither do you. you know that his lips on your sternum felt good, but the thought of his body inside of yours felt even better.

you just wanted him to take you. you've never wanted something more.

you whine. "nanami, what are you so afraid of?" you try, snaking hand up his naked back to the base of his neck. he shivers hard at your touch but he loves it.

"don't wanna... oh, baby..." he murmurs when your fingers find the tension knot just at the base, using strong fingers to massage over it. "just don't wanna hurt you."

"the only thing that'll hurt me is if you leave. just don't leave me," you pull him close, hugging both arms around the back of his neck.

"so, just put it in... please, please please."

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI!

Tw - STEPCEST, cheating, age-gap(early 20s n early 40s), anal play, daddy/dad kink, oral, some really inappropriate and gross stuff. Stepcest isn’t blood related. Not proofread.

A/n - “Toji wouldn’t do th-“ I don’t give a shit, goodnight.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who secretly rubs your little pussy through your thin cotton panties from underneath the blanket while you're having a movie night with your family in the living room.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who tells your clueless mother that he’s taking you on a daddy-and-daughter bonding trip for a few days so the two of you can spend more time together and get to know each other more which only ends up with his hefty cock being stuffed deep into your innocent pussy— filling you up to the brim in some random hotel not too far from your house.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who instantly gets rock hard whenever you'd call him “dad” or “daddy”. He just can’t help when a sweet young thing like you is innocently batting your eyelashes up at him and asking him for his assistance. God, you’re so helpless, you can’t do anything without the help from your dad, not even cumming. :(

Which is why he has to sneak into your bedroom dead at night and skillfully poke his stepdaughter’s g-spot with his fat tip till you can finally cum and make a big mess on his cock.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who's obsessed with you sitting on his face, your warm dripping pussy nestled in his mouth while his eager tongue skillfully laps at the essence of your arousal from your glistening entrance. His nose presses into your rim purposefully, causing your adorable hole to wink against his nose in playful response to his inhales and breathing. He needs you on his face at least once a day :(

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who you coincidentally encounter in the bathroom, late at night while he’s pissing so that quickly escalated with his girthy cock now being shoved down your throat and he's thrusting it rhythmically in and out your mouth. Your eyes begin to well up with tears which only fuels him even more to use your mouth to his favor as he deviously grins down at you when he notices how you're helplessly playing with your drenched pussy with your fingers.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who gets off from being risky, especially when your mom is dozing off on the couch and he has you forcefully bent over the cold marble kitchen counter with one of his muscular hands pressed firmly against your lower back so you won't escape from his hold. His fat thumb is clogging your ass and his veiny cock is stretching your little pussy apart around his shaft while his angry tip is exploring the depths of your cunt.

He'd be such a mean man and force his thumb deeper and deeper into your asshole just so he can get a cute reaction from you and hear you whine while you desperately claw at his beefy forearm for him to stop :( He only chuckles and laughs at how scared you are as if you don't love it as much as he does.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who loves referring to himself as Daddy while he's balls deep into your slippery hole. Your trembling knees are knocking against your soft, bouncing tits and you're desperately gasping for air while your nails are sinking into his strong hand that's encircling your neck. "Shh shh c'mon be a good little step-kid f'daddy and take my cock". He whispers, trailing a thumb up to your glossy lips before inserting it into your mouth for you to suck on.

His cock is crammed into your tight pussy, and the way you keep sucking him in deeper and deeper every hazy second makes him not want to pull out anytime soon. He just can't get enough of your pussy. "That's it, that's baby, yer making daddy feel sooo good".

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who has developed a habit of sniffing your cunt and ass, he just can't help it :( he just loves your natural scent and can't get enough of you when he's bending down behind your small figure while you're engrossed in cooking dinner for the family and pulls your shorts down to bury his pointy nose in your moist pussy.

A plague of worries clouds your head when you feel his nose prodding into your tight entrance in the open. "T-toji! n-not here, she'll see!", you pleaded as you attempted to push his head away from your rear only for him to clasp both of your hands into his larger ones with just a chuckle rumbling against your cunny. soft whimpers escape your lips when you hear his loud whiffs of your pussy.

GRIMY STEP-DAD TOJI! who loves nothing more than licking his step-daughter’s little pussy at any given chance he gets :(

It's so prohibited and “taboo” and the older man is very much aware of that but he just can't help it when he's quietly slipping into your bedroom late at night to run his salivating tongue over the sapping mound— He’s been practically thinking about it the entire day.

His clothed cock immediately starts twitching uncontrollably every time his grimy thoughts clouded his vivid imagination, all he could do at work was discreetly palm his hardened bulge and give it a hard squeeze for friction and temporary relief.

He barely could wait till everyone was asleep to taste your delicious pussy again.

A deep involuntary groan leaves his lips from the taste of your creamy pussy melting on his tastebuds. The sensation of the sticky slick clinging onto his tongue stirred a desperate throbbing in his cock, yearning for more. God, every fiber of his being ached to plunge his hard cockhead into your warm, virgin pussy and ravish you until you painted his shaft with your cream but he won't... at least not yet.

Luckily for him, you were sleeping on your stomach and the tranquility of your slumber allowed him to cautiously lower your adorable panties down, gently resting it at your lower thighs, and parted your plush cheeks using his thumbs to peek at your delicate pussy. The glossy sheen veiling your folds glistened in the dim light, making his fat cock throb with urgency.

“Fuck, so pretty” he whispered breathlessly, sticking his tongue out to lap at your messy folds, his tongue flickers back and forth, licking up at your wetness and replacing it with his spit and intertwining saliva. Unfortunately for him, you weren’t a heavy sleeper so the sensation of his soft, wet tongue wiggling against your most intimate place was enough to stir you awake.

Your eyelids flutter open weakly, giving way to the heavy fog of slumber that still clung to your countenance. Sleep is evident in your features as your tummy tingles from the continuous sensation of the stimulation. Your vision was clouded with fuzziness but you could still make out the muscular silhouette of your step-father.

He was huge and muscular, he wasn’t built like some ordinary man so there was no mistake that it was him.

“Daddy?”You mumbled innocently, rubbing your eyes in hopes of having a clearer view after.

“W-hat are you doing?”

“Shh shh, go back to sleep doll. Dad’s gonna take care of ya” he lightly chuckled before caressing your ass and placing a few wet kisses on your soft cheeks.

[incognit0slut]

Champagne Kisses

A night involving champagne gives you the perfect excuse to end up naked after weeks of harmless flirting. Spencer thinks one night isn’t enough.

category: smut, fluff word count: around 8k content: softdom!spencer, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (but no creampie he’s testing his pull-out game), alcohol consumption, food play (more like drink play), and i wanna say spit kink but they’re using champagne instead so does that count? a/n: merry 2025 please tell me you remember me or else i might actually cry

You’re doing it again.

You’ve been clawing at his face for the past hour, stealing fleeting glances and looking away just as quickly, because every time you do, you find the same thing.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, marbled in hazel with tiny golden speckles. Pinning you in place. Dismantling you layer by layer. And somewhere in the quiet heat behind them, in the barely-there twitch of his jaw, you’re pretty sure he’s already mapping out the fastest way to get you out of your clothes.

It’s nerve-racking. Smart Spencer you can handle, awkward Spencer you can charm. But flirtatious Spencer? Flirtatious Spencer is dangerous.

Even more so when you’re squashed between Penelope and Luke at the overcrowded booth of O'Keefe's, who are mid-argument over something you can’t even muster the energy to care. Not when long legs stretch in front of you, and strips of neon lights slice across the table in a glow that crosses his form, curving around handsome features that make him look far too inviting.

Because that’s what your mind keeps drifting to. Taking him back to your place, where the only thing glowing would be the dim light of your bedroom.

Or maybe the pale light from the hallway.

Perhaps the soft flicker of the lamp in your living room.

Either way, your mind is already drawing images of him doing whatever it is he’s picturing in his own head. The location doesn’t matter.

“Don’t you agree?”

Your gaze fall over him once more before you force yourself to look away, catching Penelope staring at you expectantly. “Agree to what?”

“That margaritas are objectively the most fun drink and clearly better than boring beer.”

This is the argument they’ve been debating for the last five minutes?

Luke scoffs from your left. He doesn’t look angry though, his expression is more amused than irritated, lips formed in a cheeky smirk. “I can tolerate margaritas if we’re on a beach. But beers are solid all year round, pop a cap and you're good to go."

“You’re such a guy."

“I'm telling you, you don't need fancy ingredients or a blender. No little umbrellas."

“Literally proving my point. Beer has no personality.”

“Are you saying I have no personality?”

Bright pink-framed glasses shift as Penelope tips her head. “If the shoe fits.”

You’re at the point where you’re no longer surprised by their arguments. Loud and pointless, is how you'd describe them. You suspect Luke does it to get a reaction, and normally you’d add fuel to the fire, because Penelope is a pretty fire-cracker when her nostrils flare in absolute indignation. But your attention is elsewhere tonight.

Knees brushing yours under the table. A small smile curled at the corner of his lips. Deep set of eyes dragging over your face, your neck, the spot between your collarbone and shoulder where the pulse of your heartbeat seems to echo louder each second.

You slide with your back against the chair, thighs clamping shut. 

You feel him imprinted on you, heated gaze traveling beneath your skin. You wonder if he realizes what he’s doing, if he’s even aware of the effect all the time his eyes fall on you. Since the moment he walked in the room, since he took that seat directly across from you, and if you’re being completely honest, that glint in his eyes has been there probably for weeks now. The when of it all is a bit fuzzy.

Tonight feels adamantly different though, and you feel like you might just need a little extra something to quiet the nervous hum beneath your ribs.

But you’re not entirely sure whether it’s nerves or something far more indulgent that has your mind secretly leading you to a very unholy place. A place where you wonder if the rough, scruffy drag of his jaw feels the same below his navel.

You’re a hundred percent certain that it does.

“You know what’s a better drink?” your voice cracks, desperately needing that extra little something. “Champagne.”

Penelope’s head whips toward you. “Champagne? Here?”

You glance around the bar and raise a hand, trying to flag down the bartender.

The wood-paneled walls are covered with vintage beer advertisements, and the sticky floor is dotted with peanut shells from the complimentary bowls on every table. It’s the kind of place where the closest thing to champagne is probably prosecco poured into a plastic flute for a wedding after-party.

“What’s wrong with champagne? It’s a classic drink, great for celebration.” You order a bottle and four tall glasses before fixing her with a look. “It’s the New Year.”

She snorts. “We’re already halfway through January.”

“Penelope, we had to work on Christmas and New Year’s. We finally have this night to breathe, let me have this.”

There’s a beat of silence before she sighs dramatically. “Fine. But it still feels weird drinking champagne in a bar where the most sophisticated cocktail is a rum and coke.”

“Which is exactly why we’re elevating the night,” you reply, watching as the bartender sets the bottle down with (thank god) proper crystal flutes. You pour the first glass, the golden bubbles racing upward like tiny fireworks as you pass it to her.

Luke accepts the next glass without the same hesitation, but when you offer one to Spencer, the curly-haired man shakes his head.

“Right. I forgot you don’t really drink alcohol.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, just not in large amounts.” His gaze shifts to the bottle on the table. “I also happen not to like champagne.”

Penelope looks mildly offended. “Why not?”

“Because the carbonation overpowers the flavor. It’s hard to enjoy a drink when it’s constantly popping on your tongue.” You stifle a laugh before you can stop yourself. He looks at you. “What?”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” you reply with a grin. “Here, maybe this will change your mind.”

You pour him a glass and nudge it toward him. He simply looks from the glass to you.

“Come on,” you coax. “We’re celebrating the New Year.”

“Seventeen days late."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"Do not ruin the fun. We’re still celebrating, and you can’t toast with water. That’s practically begging for bad luck.”

He exhales sharply, lips twitching in what might be defeat or mild amusement, before reaching across the table. Everyone raises their glasses. The instant the bubbles hit his tongue, his nose scrunches in subtle distaste, and the sound of your laughter flies through the small space.

“It’s not that bad,” you insist.

“I still don’t understand the appeal.”

Champagne isn’t exactly your first choice either. You’ve always been more of a wine person. A good wine. A rich Burgundy that makes you close your eyes on the first sip to taste the faint of autumn in a glass. But champagne feels right for the occasion.

This taste blooms on your tongue, crisp and bright with hints of green apple and citrus and that faint yeasty richness at back of your throat. They dance across your palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through your veins that doesn’t soothe your nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into your bloodstream.

It makes you very bold.

Bold enough to hold his gaze without flinching. Bold enough to let your tongue flick across your lips. Bold enough to let your foot glide slowly up the length of his long, long leg.

You’ll have him taste his own medicine.

You, too, can play with fire.

“Maybe you’re drinking it wrong,” you hum, feeling him tense for the briefest, tiniest moment before he relaxes. “There’s another way to make champagne better.”

He grips the stem of his glass. “Something tells me you have a suggestion.”

“I do.”

He tilts his head. The din of conversation around you slowly fades into a muffled hum, the clinking of glasses and Penelope’s laughter barely registering as you notice the curve of his smile, the question lingering in his eyes.

Will you show me?

And that’s how you find yourself naked between his thighs two hours later.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s the lie you fed yourself when you watched Penelope and Luke stumble their way to the dance floor, giggling as they poured yet another round of sparkling wine. But the champagne didn’t keep your attention for long. A few more stolen glances later, you found your hand wrapping around his arm, the other clutching a half-full bottle of champagne like some reckless lifeline.

It is reckless. Even you can’t deny that. You’ve always been cautious when it comes to bringing a man home. But this isn’t just anyone. This is Spencer. Someone who already knows too many pieces of you, someone who doesn’t need to be deciphered or explained.

And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging him out of the bar.

The ride in the stuffy cab felt like an eternity and a blink at the same time that the moment your apartment door clicked shut behind you, his mouth was already on yours. You barely had time to process how surprisingly good he tasted before your clothes started to disappear.

It’s a dizzying rush of hands and heat, and you’re now standing over him, knees brushing his as he sinks into your couch.

Yes, your couch. The soft, slate-blue one you’ve spent countless evenings curled up on, legs tucked under a blanket, flipping through books or half-watching shows you never finish. But now it cradles a completely different weight—the heavy heat of him radiating with tension-laced curiosity and a barely contained lust that seems to bleed right into the fabric.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you,” he mutters dazedly, trailing his lips along your jaw with a hand resting on your naked back.

“I can’t believe you can unhook my bra that fast.”

He catches the sheer black fabric now hanging haphazardly over your lamp where he’d tossed it aside moments ago. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Should I be concerned about how much practice you’ve had?”

“Not really. I’m a fast learner.”

That, you believe. But you’re not entirely sure if it’s his innate skill or the way your body seems to respond to him so effortlessly that leaves your lungs feeling like they’ve forgotten how to work. Breathing is no longer instinctive now. It’s a function you have to remind yourself to do as his tongue dances along the curve of your breast, and by the time he takes the achingly hard tip into his mouth, your chest tightens.

You suck in a desperate need of oxygen while he sucks the last thread of composure from you.

“Sweet.”

“Huh?”

“You—” He pulls back just enough to let his teeth graze the delicate skin before soothing it with a slow drag of his tongue, “taste sweet.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck with a sigh. “You’re exaggerating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bodies don’t taste like anything, it’s skin.”

Spencer shakes his head as he cups the weight of your other breast with the same care you’ve come to expect from him. Taut nipple rolls under his thumb. “How do you explain this then?”

You don’t respond. Not with words, anyway. Your body speaks first as you arch into his touch, chasing the warmth of his hands before you can form any thoughts.

“How do you explain,” he continues, his lips trailing down the slope of your stomach, “why I can’t get enough of how sweet you taste?”

Your mind finally catches up, and the words settle over you like honey itself.

“You think so?”

“It’s not a thought, it’s a fact.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin just below your navel. “I don’t know how you can taste better than this.”

Your laugh is breathless, barely steady enough to be called one. “You’re laying it on thick now.”

“I’m just being honest.”

It’s cute how he says it with such conviction, like it’s the simplest truth in the world and not a line that’s turning your legs to liquid. Your knees threaten to buckle as you step away, reaching for the half-empty champagne bottle perched on the coffee table. The glass feels cool against your overheated skin as you twist the cork free.

“What are you doing?”

“Considering your words.” You hold up the bottle, the champagne fizzing invitingly at its neck. “What do you say we make this even sweeter?”

His eyes light up with interest. “Is this where you show me the right way to drink champagne?”

You nod and sink back between his thighs. “I know you’re not big on sharing food, but I think you’re gonna like this.”

“You do realize I’ll share anything with you.”

Your lips curl into a soft smile. You’ve already learned that kissing Spencer feels deliciously messy. It’s sloppy in the way passion tends to be when control is the last thing on either of your minds, with tongues and teeth colliding in an unpolished rhythm that’s as raw as it is consuming. Adding champagne to the equation doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

You step forward at the same time his hands fall to your hips. “There’s a trick to drinking champagne.”

“I’m listening.”

The bottle’s rim grazes your lips as you take in his appearance. His shirt is wrinkled, hanging just a little more loosely around his chest with two buttons undone. He’s the very definition of disheveled that’s entirely your doing. He looks absolutely irresistible.

“You need to linger on the taste,” you start, your voice dipping into something softer as your eyes meet his again. “Be patient. Let it sit and overwhelm your senses before you swallow.”

“You mean marinate it in my mouth?”

A giggle burst out of you. “Exactly. The longer you let it linger, the more it softens, and the sweeter it gets.”

You tilt the bottle to your lips. The sweetness starts to bloom on your tongue, subtle at first, but then richer, fuller against the roof of your mouth. There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes when you pull him closer by the nape of his neck, the exact moment he realizes what you’re about to do.

Your lips meld seamlessly with his as the Champagne slips from your mouth.

His lashes flutter briefly. There’s a soft flush spreading across his pale cheeks, and you feel the faint hum of pleasure, vibrating against the delicate curve of his skin as a liquid thread drips down your chin.

And then you’re kissing him. Or he’s kissing you. It’s hard to tell who moved first, but it doesn’t matter. His lips part further, and you swear you can taste every nuance of the champagne in a way you've never experienced before. Sharp citrus, a whisper of honeyed sweetness, and beneath it all, something clean and cool that reminds you of first snowfalls.

His lips are swollen and wet and perfectly shiny when you finally pull back.

“What do you think?”

“I think we should drink champagne every day.”

Your hand drifts to the side of his neck with a smile, thumb brushing lightly against his pulse. “Even when we’re working?”

“Especially when we’re working,” he counters, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, tasting what’s left of you. His gaze flickers to the bottle in your hand. “Can I try it?”

You pass it to him, your eyes fixed on the way he tilts it to his mouth. You’re sure the bubbles in your system aren’t the reason your pulse races as he sets the bottle aside and rises to his feet. You’re also sure that no amount of champagne is responsible for the way your lips part eagerly when his hands cradle your cheeks.

There it is again—that sweetness. It hits you the moment his mouth captures yours, but it fully overwhelms you when he tilts his head and gently coaxes the champagne from his lips to yours.

You’re not surprised at how quickly he picks this up. It’s common knowledge that he’s a very diligent person, but it’s still a bit astonishing how he’s taken to playing with a drink he supposedly doesn’t even like. This is nothing like solving cases or flexing his impossibly sharp brain, nor the crosswords you’re used to seeing him hunched over at his desk at lunch.

This requires a different kind of finesse that involves his lips and tongue rather than a pen and paper.

It also seems like he might be enjoying this even more. He leans back just enough to let his tongue sweep across the seam of your lips, collecting the last trace of sweetness clinging to you.

A thumb swipes over the wet trail under chin. “I could get used to this.”

“Champagne or me?”

“Both.”

Satisfied with his answer, your fingers trail down to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. “Do you wanna try something else?”

He quirks an eyebrow as you push down the fabric down his shoulders. You don’t say anything all the while you start to unbuckle his belt, peeling every layer of his clothing until you’ve stripped him completely bare—and would you look at that? The faint trail of hair down his belly matches the scruff shadowing his jaw.

There’s a brief pause as your eyes travel down his body, lingering on his surprisingly impressive size, and a comment sits at the edge of your tongue. You decide to let your actions speak for you.

Your delicate fingers wrap around his delicious thickness. You swipe the first signs of precum glistening over his tip with your thumb, and a low sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

He sounds like he’s in pain, and you shake your head with a playful smile curling at your lips. “Sit back on the couch.”

Spencer sinks into the cushion.

“This might get a little messy.”

His brow furrows slightly, and for a moment, he looks genuinely intrigued. What he doesn’t expect is the way you slowly pour the remaining liquid down your chest. His mouth parts in surprise, and then his gaze follows every single drop like it’s gravity itself pulling him in.

You’re mesmerizing. Always have been, actually. There is no doubt in Spencer’s mind that you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met in his life. Your mind is brilliant. Your heart is kind. But watching the champagne mix with the sheen of sweat on your skin, you’re something else entirely. You look lethal. A different kind of captivating.

He’s already pulling you by the waist, and you’re a mass of giggles as you twist out of his grip to set the bottle safely aside. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?”

Honestly, you can’t. If the roles were reversed, you’d probably look at him the same way.

When his hands finally find your hips again, there’s no point in pretending you don’t want to be caught. You bend your knees and shift on the couch. He helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap.

Desperate is a good enough word to depict for him because as soon as you're close enough, he’s tasting you all over again. His tongue drags slow over the curve of your shoulder, across the hollow of your throat, and down to the soft swell of your breasts. Goosebumps ripple across your skin with every pass, every flick of his tongue, his touch leaving a trail of heat that you swear you can feel seeping into your bones.

You don’t even realize when you start to move until you feel the slow, unintentional rock of your hips into him. His cock fits snugly between your folds that you start grinding as the words fall from your lips without much thought, “What do you think of sex without a condom?”

His pupils dilated, lips parting, but no sound comes out right away.

"Spence?"

His gaze flickers to where your wet bodies are pressed together. Damp moisture from his tip smeared erotically between puffy lips, clear liquid coating his hard length.

“I think… it’s very intimate."

“Too intimate?”

"No." His fingers trail along your skin before his thumb settles just under your breast, in the delicate curve where your rib meets, and finally looks at you. "Is that what you want?"

You're bobbing your head up and down.

“Then I'd really, really like that.”

You shift your weight on your knees. “So you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

“I trust you too,” you say, your voice dipping low as your fingers wrap around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. “Can I request something, though?"

"Anything."

You pause just long enough for your words to land. “I don’t want you to come inside me.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “That can be arranged.”

His answer makes your lips twitch, but as you start to sink down, your body seems to have other ideas. There’s a resistance you didn’t expect, a sudden tautness that refuses to give.

Your eyes widen in surprise.

Oh my.

“What’s wrong?”

When you first wrapped your hand around him and took in the full reality of his size, you’d been impressed. Now you wonder if maybe you underestimated just how much he has to offer.

You bite the insides of your cheeks and try again.

“It’s been a while,” you confess quietly. You can’t even recall the last time you were this intimate with someone that the hesitation feels foreign, like a hiccup in a moment you’ve been eagerly anticipating.

And you are eager. Maybe a little too much. It feels almost ironic, considering how much you’ve thought about this, how your imagination has filled in the blanks a hundred times over. Now that it’s real, your body seems to be having second thoughts your mind absolutely isn’t entertaining.

You shift your hips, determination flaring as you take a slow breath. Left, right, up, down. But then a sharp sting shoots through you. Your face quickly twists into a grimace.

"Hey,” he calls gently, thumbs brushing gentle circles against your hip. “We can stop. You don’t have to push yourself.”

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You want him to push past whatever invisible barrier your body is putting up. The idea of stopping now feels more unbearable than the sting itself.

Your lips press into a stubborn frown. “No,” you say firmly. “We are not stopping.”

"Are you sure?"

"Mhm. I think my body's just being weird. I'm sorry."

His brows knits together almost immediately. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Frustration suddenly wells up in your chest, and this time your teeth sinks into your lip, unsure whether it’s the tension in the muscles between your legs or the ache of wanting him that feels stronger.

And you want him. So fucking bad.

“You need to relax,” he soothes, running his hands up your waist, past your ribs, across your back.

“I am relaxed,” you huff.

“I don’t think you’re relaxed enough.”

Before you can respond, he carefully lifts you from his lap and settles you back onto the couch. The cushions dips under your weight, and you barely have time to process the change before he gracefully drops to the floor.

“Should we move to your bed?”

He grips one of your ankles, his thumb brushing along the soft curve of your bone before he leans down, pressing warm lips to the skin above it.

“After this,” you reply, glancing at the sticky champagne trail still glistening faintly on your skin. “Don’t want my sheets getting sticky.”

There’s a flicker of amusement on his handsome face. “After this?”

“Did you think we’d be stopping after one round?”

His laughter vibrates against your calf. “How many times are we talking then?”

“Until I can’t feel my legs.”

The smile he gives you is slow and warm. It curves one corner of his mouth first, almost shy, before spreading fully, lighting up his face in a way that steals the breath right from your lungs.

“You’d let me have my way with you all night?”

“I’d probably let you have me anytime you want.”

His grin is almost blinding that you can’t help but give him a pleased smile of your own.

“Let’s focus on tonight first.” He moves to your other the leg. Delicate bone and tendon brushes against his lips. “I need to get you ready for me. Would you let me do that?"

Words fail you as his mouth moves closer, and the heat of his breath against your skin makes your entire body tense in anticipation. He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You're still tense."

Kiss. Kiss.

“Really need you to relax.”

You try, but then again, it's impossible when his lips are so close, yet still not where you need them the most.

His name slips in a desperate whisper.

"Hm?"

"Stop teasing."

His lips quirk in response, but he doesn't argue.

He dips his head and finally— finally! —drags his tongue along your achingly wet folds. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head.

"Better?"

The question is entirely rhetorical.

You don’t bother answering. Words seem sparse when his actions are spelling out everything you need to know in bold, underlined strokes. His touch is distinctly different from the playful, champagne-dampened kisses he had gifted your skin.

Now he’s utterly focused. He’s researching, and it appears his diligence isn’t confined to his academic when the same focus he applies to his studies is translated so flawlessly into reading your body like a favorite book. One he’s intent on memorizing every line of, delighting in every pause and whisper between the chapters of your sighs.

It’s this thought that tickles the back of your mind when he slips a finger in. He’s always been about comprehensive understanding, and well, you’re all about empirical evidence. Right now is proof of a hypothesis you’re too pleased to confirm that Spencer Reid might just be a genius in more ways than one.

Especially in how his steady thrust of his finger syncs perfectly with the hot, wet pull of his mouth, scratching such a carnal itch that it resonates deep in your brain. You sigh in pleasure when he adds another finger, and he lifts his head then, lips shiny and pink from his ministration.

"Do you think you can take a third?"

Your heart gives a few extra thuds in your chest cavity. “Please, please.”

Look at you, reducing yourself into begging, but really, how could you resist? Who could withstand the intensity of his gaze, the way his voice dips low like velvet wrapping around your senses?

Your head tips back against the couch, a soft whimper lashing out as he adds that third finger. The stretch is almost overwhelming but oh so good.

"Does it hurt?"

You let out a loud exhale. "No."

"Tell me if it hurts."

"Feels good." Your legs fall apart even further. "Don't stop."

He smiles, and then he's doing things to your body that have you questioning how you're even still breathing. The wet, sticky slosh of your arousal fills the room, a sound so explicit it should mortify you. But then three knuckles press deeper, stroking against that rougher patch of nerves and all rational thought dissolves.

A sound you didn't even know you could make escapes your throat. You're gasping, moaning, a little bit squealing as his free hand slides up your plush thigh before finding your puffy clit. And dear god, you’re choking on the breath that lodges in your throat. You're so close it's almost unbearable. A hand shoots out, and you’re gripping his forearm with a desperation you can't even pretend to hide.

You need him inside you.

“I'm ready," you gasp harshly, your lips parting in quick, desperate puffs. "I'm ready. I’m ready.”

He has the audacity to shake his head.

"I'll decide when you're ready."

Your breath stutters even more.

Why does that sound so hot? Why does that simple, infuriatingly calm statement make your thighs clench, your pulse race, and a fresh wave of heat roll through your body?

Before you know it, he’s coaxing your orgasm from you with just the right pressure, and every movement feels like it’s designed to bring you right to the edge. You’re not surprised by how wet you are, you’ve been dripping for what feels like hours. But what does surprise you is just how much your body can take. The intensity that doesn’t wane, that keeps pushing you higher, drawing out gasp after gasp until hot syrup gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his fingers, down to the couch.

It’s endless, relentless, and you can’t even tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins. Your hand claw at his wrist.

“Spencer,” you whine, your voice breaking on the syllables. “Sensitive.”

He stops immediately, his fingers still inside you, his other hand slipping from your clit to rest on your thigh. “Too much?”

“A little,” you smile breathlessly. “C’mere.”

He crawls towards you as you lay on your back, relaxing your thighs.

His eyes trail over you, scanning your sweat-slicked skin, lingering on your perky breasts, moving down to where your legs are fallen apart, waiting for him. The sight is so overwhelmingly enticing that he finds himself wrapping a hand around his cock, muttering a low praise under his breath, “I don’t think I’ve told you how beautiful you are.”

Your eyes flick downward, and a spark of confidence—or maybe pure desperation—pushes your reply out without hesitation.

“Tell me again while you fuck me.”

You’re so blunt and shameless that a part of you might have blushed if you weren’t so far gone. Spencer doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, his eyes flash with a knowing sparkle that only deepens as he presses his bulbous head right at the shy of your entrance.

“I think I’m going to enjoy telling you,” he muses.

And Spencer is one to keep his promises.

He thinks you’re devastatingly pretty when he’s sinking into you. There’s a dazed look in your glossy eyes, and the sweetest sound coming from your lips as he stretches you in a way that leaves no part of you untouched.

He sings praises under his breath when the heavy weight of him finally settles deep inside your body. He patiently waits as your walls flutter around him, all the while his lips brushes the delicate curve of your collarbone, between low, broken whispers of how perfect you are.

Although perfection might not even capture the essence of what he sees in you at this moment. You’re a breathtaking array of contradictions. Powerful and vulnerable, fierce yet tender. You’re nothing short of divine as he gives another smooth, long thrust that pulls a sound from your lips that he knows will echo in his mind long after.

The heat of you surrounds him completely, and he swears he feels every pulse of your body welcoming him deeper. You’re slathering his entire cock with your slippery slick, and the dampness imprinting against his pelvis only seems to spur him on. He moves in steady, languid strokes, and your toes curl at the sensation burning in your belly.

He’s hitting you so good your ankles find themselves running down his back.

“Spence,” your voice is raspy and wet. “Fuck me harder.”

His quiet groan harmonizes with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t—”

You stop, and he looks through the mist of bliss you've shrouded him in. Your face twists, eyes going wide, lips parted to take in sharp breaths. He panics for a moment.

“You’re in pain,” he decides, reading the way your brows knit together, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It seems the most logical conclusion—until he realizes how wrong he is.

Because you’re writhing under his weight when he pushes in deeper, and your mouth trembles, not with discomfort, but with something devastatingly good.

“Oh,” he exhales. His smile is uncharacteristically smug. “It’s not pain, is it?”

You shake your head.

“You want it rough.”

It’s more of a statement than it is a question, but you’re nodding vigorously.

His restraint snaps like a frayed thread.

The next thrust is sharper, it pounds into you with enough force to shift your body slightly back against the cushions. Your lips mouth around another shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

Still. Not. Enough.

“Harder,” you slur against his tongue.

What’s a hot-blooded man to do when asked so sweetly? He answers in the only way he can.

A hand curls around the back of your knee to pull you open just enough for him to drive deeper. The angle makes you feel impossibly full, how the folds of your vulva hugs around his shaft greedily, letting him claim all the space you didn’t even know existed. You can even feel the wet drag of his cock against your swollen clit with each hard thrust, a sensation so piercing it rips a gasp from your throat and a plethora of groans wailing from the couch.

“Like this?”

The relentless thwack-thwack-thwack of skins colliding is making you delirious.

“Yes,” you cry out. “Fuck—Yes. Yes.”

Your vision blurs as you blink, and—god, you think you might actually cry. And honestly, with how full you feel, with how every nerve is sparking to life under his loud rhythm, it wouldn’t even surprise you.

Your lashes feel wet as you squeeze your eyes shut, but you force them back open, unwilling to miss the way he looks above you. Jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists.

Nothing probably does, not when he moves with a rhythm that feels both gentle and crude, like he’s savoring every second so sweetly while simultaneously chasing the most carnal kind of pleasure known to mankind.

Pleasure that has you melting, pleasure that has your body fully acclimating to his size. And now you’re teetering on the edge of another intense orgasm that begins its ascent from the tips of your toes and fingertips, spiraling a tingling rush up through your legs and arms, gathering force at the pit of your stomach, and exploding into the point where you’re intimately connected.

It happens all at once.

You’re trembling.

You’re shattering.

You’re pathetically whining.

Euphoria floods every inch of your body until you’re drowning in it. A liquid fire in your veins. Your cunt clenches around him, so tight you swear you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as keeps pressing you into the couch. Again and again and again, until you’re nothing but an incoherent mess, your words blabbered in a breathless rush of pleasure-induced nonsense.

One heartbeat stretches into two, then the muscles in his arms flexes as his pace falters. He’s shaking now, his pelvis moving in hurried, shallow thrusts as though he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach before the heat of him presses into you one last time.

He abruptly pulls out, his cock visibly pulsing in his hand and strokes himself with a stuttering groan as thick, pearly ropes splutters across your stomach. His fingers dig deeper into the back of your thigh while he continues to paint your skin in messy streaks, and you watch in fascination the moment his head tilts back in pure, unfiltered pleasure.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him quite this beautiful.

His brows pinches in concentration for a few more seconds before his gaze slowly meets yours again, and a faint, blissful pink colors his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, looking a little out of breath. Devastatingly handsome and sweaty. Flustered in the best way.

You brush the damp hair sticking to his skin with a small, satisfied smile. “Are you kidding? That was extremely hot.”

His laughter fills every corner in the room. Then his hand drift down a comforting path down your thigh as he leans to capture the giggle tumbling from your lips with his own. It’s then you realize that kissing Spencer isn’t just enjoyable, it’s downright addictive.

You’re beginning to think he’s just as addicted to you too, because when he pulls away, it’s reluctant, his lips leaving yours with a faint, wet sound that lingers as sweetly as the kiss itself.

“Will you really let me have my way with you all night?” he asks gently, and you can’t help but wonder why he even feels the need to ask.

“Was I not obvious enough?”

You feel his smile before you see it. “Bedroom now?”

To tangle your naked limbs with his again sounds pretty close to heaven. Absolute, indulgent heaven, except for the distinct stickiness of champagne, sweat, and a cocktail of other body fluids clinging to your skin. The thought of sinking into cool clean sheets in this state makes your nose scrunch.

“We need to make a stop to the bathroom first,” you say, running a hand up his arm to squeeze his bicep. “Have you ever tried shower sex?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he admits truthfully.

You make a sound of disapproval.

“We definitely need to change that.”

-

Spencer realizes a lot of things can change in one night.

He also discovers how much he’s capable of learning in such a short period of time. Granted, he’s always been a quick study, but this is different. The hours between midnight and sunrise completely upend his understanding of things he’d only ever read about—sex, intimacy, the intricacies of how touch can feel as much like a language as words.

But beyond the newfound knowledge (and let’s face it, an entirely new appreciation for his muscles), there’s something else. Something that surprises him even more.

He likes waking up with another warm body beside him. More than likes it. There’s a strange kind of peace in the way your leg drapes over his, your hair a tousled mess against the pillow. Peace that makes him wonder if this, too, is something he could get used to.

Even if you’re hogging the blanket. He can feel the cool air on his back while you’re wrapped in most of the covers, leaving him to soak up whatever body heat he can steal by staying pressed against you. Not that he’s complaining. He’d happily stay like this for hours, but the sun is already creeping higher through your window, and your phone has been vibrating nonstop ever since he opened his eyes.

The sheets rustle as he shifts closer, mouth puffing warmly on your cheek with a breath of your name folding into your skin. You blink through heavy eyelids, and Spencer thinks you look adorable all wrapped up like a cocoon in the tangled linens.

“Hey," you croak, then clear your throat. “Morning.”

The soft rasp of your voice is even as endearing as the sight of you.

“I think we’ve already passed morning,” he says, slipping a hand under the covers, finding the goosebumps prickling on your upper arm.

“We slept in?”

“My guess is it’s almost noon.” There’s another buzz vibrating from the bedside table that stops him from pressing you against his chest. “Someone keeps calling you.”

He wonders if you can sense the slight annoyance in his voice. He wonders if he even has the right to be annoyed. It's Saturday. You clearly have plans—or at least someone thinks you do based on how persistent they've been.

If you catch the flicker of irritation in his voice, you don’t acknowledge it. You stretch lazily for your phone instead, and his attention is momentarily snagged by the way the sheet slips down your shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles and moles he’s spent the entire night memorizing with his lips.

"Nobody’s calling.” Your thumb scrolls through the notifications. "Penelope just doesn't understand the concept of personal space when she texts."

Spencer feels the tightness in his shoulders ease, though he doesn't miss the way your eyes narrow into sleepy slits at the screen.

"Oh."

That one syllable is enough to set his mind buzzing.

"What?"

"Um."

It’s the subtle crack in your voice that hooks him. He’s never been good at sitting with unanswered questions, especially not when your expression shifts just enough to make him wonder what could possibly warrant that little noise.

He finally curls an arm around your waist, and the faint trace of your scent fills his lungs as he gently draws you back against his chest. A relentless stream of messages glares up at him over your shoulder.

Penelope [Sent 23:37]: Where are you?? Penelope [Sent 23:45]: Is reid with you? Penelope [Sent 00:05]: Did you leave? WITH HIM?? Penelope [Sent 00:17]: You did, didn't you? Penelope [Sent 00:33]: You can’t just vanish like this, you know I have questions!!!

Spencer barely registers the way his hand drifts down to rest against your stomach. He pulls you in unconsciously as his eyes scan over the flood of texts that started piling up this morning.

Penelope [Sent 09:19]: Good morning. Penelope [Sent 09:25]: Answer me. Penelope [Sent 10:24]: Seriously, are you alive? Penelope [Sent 10:39]: YOU OWE ME DETAILS. Penelope [Sent 10:48]: Last chance. Calling you in ten.

"I think she's onto us."

It’s not so much a matter of thought as it is a fact. Your words are less a theory and more a confirmation of reality, as undeniable as the relentless stream of texts lighting up your phone.

"What should I tell her?"

Spencer leans in closer. The soft scent of your shampoo drifts up, clean and faintly sweet, wrapping itself around him in a way that makes his chest ache, though he’s not sure why. He’s inhaling everything—your warmth, the curve of your shoulder brushing his chest, the way your voice carries an edge of hesitation that feels so out of place for someone like you.

And that’s what truly catches him off guard. Not the fact that Penelope is practically banging on a metaphorical door with her texts, but that you’re hesitating. You, who rarely second-guess yourself, now unsure about sharing the details of last night with one of closest people in your life.

Or maybe the surprise lies closer to home. How easily the words form in his own mind, bypassing the overthinking that usually rules him.

He has ten minutes to think before Penelope supposedly calls, but he doesn’t need ten minutes, or even ten seconds, because the answer is already there, so obvious it practically tumbles out of him.

"The truth," he hums against the crown of your hair. "You should tell her the truth."

You’re quiet for a while.

“Are you sure?"

For someone who invited him into your home, who let him press you into the couch cushions, spread you out on the cool tiles of the bathroom, and pull every sound he wanted from you on the soft give of your mattress—on your back, your front, even sideways—you seem awfully uncertain now. Very out of character.

So what’s changed this morning? Is it the stale morning breath he’s sure he hasn’t fixed yet? The mess of his curls sticking up in every direction from a night spent pressed into your pillows?

Or is it something much deeper that he hasn’t quite put his finger on?

The thought clings to him as his thumb brushes your stomach. "I’m sure," he says. "Are you?"

You hesitate for a beat too long, and that tiny pause lands heavy on his chest.

"This is going to change everything," you finally say, sounding somewhat like a warning.

He frowns. "Didn’t you want it to?"

"I did. I do." You pull in a breath that shakes on the way out. "Maybe we should discuss this before we say anything to anyone."

Your phone slips quietly onto the bed as you twist in his arms. Face to face.

"Do you like me?"

What kind of question is that?

"Did I seem not to like you last night?"

"No, Spencer, I need to hear it. Do you like me?"

He studies the delicate fold between your brows. He watches the quiver on your parted lips. And your eyes—watery and glossy and wide. Soft lashes framing the quiet expanse of irises that shimmer like glass.

He knows what you need. Spencer has spent most of his entire life reading people, pulling truths out of their silences and decoding what they can’t (or won’t) say. And even though he hates applying that skill to you, he knows this isn’t just about reassurance. You’re not only questioning what happened between you last night. You’re questioning what comes next.

The time glares from your phone over your shoulder: six minutes. That’s all he has to convince you that his feelings go far beyond fleeting lust or the heady haze of alcohol. Six minutes before Penelope inevitably interrupts.

But he’s not the greatest with words, is he?

Sure, he’s read more books than most people will touch in a lifetime. He can recite Edgar Allan Poe by heart and dissect layers of meaning in Dostoevsky’s prose like it’s second nature. But his own feelings don’t come wrapped in poetic declarations. That’s not who he is.

What he can do, though, is tell you the truth.

“You know how you told me I could have you anytime I want?”

A strand of hair brushes against your cheek as you nod.

“You’ve already had me from the very beginning.”

Your gaze softens, then you sigh sweetly, and he knows without a doubt that the truth is exactly what you need. “Before all the sex?”

“Before we even kissed.”

The distance between you slowly becomes nonexistent. You slot your knee between his thighs, a lick of smile curling at the corner of your lips.

“So… when I ran my foot up your leg?”

His lopsided smile is no different from yours. “No.”

“Last week when I wore your cardigan because the AC got too cold?”

“You looked really pretty in it, but no.”

“Last month?”

“Even before that.”

You click your tongue. “Give me a clue. A hint.”

But you don’t need clues. Clues are for puzzles, for cases that demand solving. This has never been a mystery. He’s known it for longer than he cares to admit, and he wonders if you’re asking because you genuinely don’t see it or because you just want to hear him say it.

Either way, he’ll happily say the truth as plainly as it exists in his mind.

“From the moment you joined the team.” You pause for just a heartbeat, and he reaches out to brush away the stray of hair slipping down into your eyes. “You probably didn't notice, but I couldn't stop staring at you.”

“You’re lying,” you accuse softly.

“I’m a terrible liar.”

He watches as you mull over his words. He knows you’re trying to decide whether to believe him, though he doesn’t think it’s really a question of if. You already know he’s telling the truth.

Your voice is awfully quiet that he has to perk his ears for it.

“What took you so long then?”

Because while he’s a terrible liar, he’s always been painfully good at keeping his heart to himself. Years of compartmentalizing, of burying emotions under layers of logic and detachment, have made it almost second nature. And maybe that’s why it took him so long.

That, and bad timing.

Countless abductions.

A never-ending chase after unsubs.

Death of a team mate.

And prison.

God, prison.

He wonders if these are valid reasons or just excuses. Had there ever been a perfect moment? Or had he let his fears and the chaotic nature of his job push his personal happiness to the sidelines too often?

The words knot in his throat, and in the end, all he can muster is an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

For waiting so long.

For not saying this sooner.

For only finding the courage to make a move under the guise of flirtation and champagne.

He’s selfish. He is. Because he's reaching for you based on his time, his terms, waiting until he was ready to fit you neatly into his schedule. But you simply shake your head. Because that's what you are, isn't it?

You’re selfless, and so profoundly lovely that you offered yourself to him last night without reservation. And now you’re even more radiant, wrapped in the soft light of vulnerability, tinged with doubt, yet always so giving. Pulling him closer to your chest with a hand on his back. Fingers splay across his skin, nails dragging idly along his spine.

“Don’t be,” you reply, feeling his body expand and deflate under your palm when he breathes. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

See? Selfless. The least he can do now is give you back the words you need to hear, the assurance you deserve to hear. Your foreheads press together, and he reverently lays his hand on your cheek, spreading lean fingers into your hair.

“If you must know, I do like you.”

But the word feels so inadequate for what he’s finally trying to tell you. Like doesn't even scratch the surface of how much space you take up in his mind.

"I more than like you,” he decides to add.

It doesn’t take long before you kiss him. Soft petals bloom warmly against his mouth, puffing humid breath he tastes on his tongue. A blissful moan he swallows greedily, lets it settle deep in his chest, his bones, his veins, filling every corner of him with the sweetest weight of you.

A flutter of lashes skims against his cheekbone when you tilt your head, pulling back by the barest inch. “You’ve made a huge mistake, by the way.”

The pad of his fingers presses gently on your scalp. “Why?”

“You’re never getting rid of me now.”

His thumb moves against your hairline as he takes in your words. For a moment, all he can do is absorb them, replay them, savor them. Then his eyes soften, the corners crinkling with genuine delight, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter that melts right into the narrow space between you.

He scoots impossibly closer, hoping your skin will somehow mold with his. Because after all the surprisingly creative positions he discovered with you last night, it’s the only conclusion he can come to: you fit into him. Perfectly. Soft curves finding their place against the lines of his frame, every piece of you adhering like glue to his skin.

Chest to chest, nose to nose, and lips so maddeningly close to yours that he can still taste the warmth of your breath, sweet and intoxicating in its nearness. It’s enough to drive him a little insane, though he’d argue he’s always been slightly off-center where you’re concerned.

His fingers twitch, ready to close that infinitesimal gap when the sharp buzz of your phone suddenly slices through the moment.

Six minutes.

That’s all the time the universe has granted him, and it’s woefully too short.

"Might need to block her number," you mutter under your breath as you shift slightly to reach for your phone. He watches the way your fingers fly over the screen rapidly before placing the device back on the side table.

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth." Then you drop on him like a dead weight, limbs tangling in the most inconvenient ways until your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. "Also sent her an eggplant and water emoji.”

A crease forms between his brows. “What does that mean?”

You fail to keep in your laughter. “You don’t want to know.”

He’s fairly certain he does want to know. In fact, he’s starting to realize he wants to know everything about you now that you’ve given him the chance. Beyond the pull of bodies and the way they slot together so seamlessly, beyond the electricity of skin against skin.

Though he can’t deny his curiosity at one precise moment, the way you’d slightly gasped when his fingers accidentally brush around the base of your throat. He wouldn’t mind knowing what that meant for you, and, surprisingly, what that even implied for himself.

But as intriguing as that is, it’s not what lingers the most. It’s the subtleties he wants to unravel, the pieces of you he hadn’t even realized he’d been aching to explore.

Your wit, your thoughts, your mind—that lovely, intricate thing he’s admired for so long. Full of nuances and depths he hadn’t even realized he’d only been skimming the surface of. He’s sure there’s something far greater than even his endless mind could have imagined that ties to the beautiful shape of you.

And you’re so beautiful. He’s known that for years, but mere hours ago, he learned it in an entirely new language. Even when he understands seven different ways the world chooses to communicate and speaks four fluently, yours is his favorite.

Yours doesn’t need words or perfect pronunciation. It’s instinctive and warm, written in every sigh, every glance, every unspoken verse that linger in the subtle shift of your body. In every nuance of your taste.

God, your taste.

He knows you’re right, skin can’t be sweet. The dichotomy isn’t lost in him. Yet it doesn’t matter, because not even the crisp, effervescent bite of champagne compares to the warmth of you. Not even sugar, and he basically lives on sugar. In chocolate-sprinkled donuts that he grabs on the way to work, in the endless cups of coffee that fuel his day.

You’re something else entirely, beyond comprehension.

And if one night was enough to saccharine his senses with you, he can only imagine what forever could do.

[leyiorr]

you and satoru decide pretty quickly that you want your daughter’s ears pierced.

she’s a gorgeous baby; bright blue eyes and soft white hair just like her father. her nose and lips are your genetic touch, and satoru insists that it’s your features that make her look so adorable.

you’d asked your husband what he thought about getting her ears pierced so young, and obviously he thought it was a great idea - his two favourite girls should match earrings.

and so, once she’s old enough, the two of you bring her to a store to get her ears done.

satoru has her sat on his lap, entertaining her as you spoke with the piercer about the placing and colour of the earrings. he talks to her like he can understand her baby babble; no one understands his daughter better than he does.

eventually, the time comes, and the piercer lines up the piercing gun with your daughter’s ear after marking the spot with temporary ink. she’s giggling gleefully, trying to grab hold of the piercer’s hair.

satou’s anxiety is on high, he doesn’t want his daughter to flinch and cause an injury that no one wants. the peircer seems nice enough though, and her friendly smile coupled with your hand on his shoulder and his baby’s laughter settles his nerves marginally.

but he speaks too soon.

the minute the metal pierces her skin, your daughter instantly breaks into tears, twisting her small body toward her daddy as she lets out dramatic screeches of pain. satoru’s heart sinks immediately, large hands gently trying to soothe his daughter - her tiny ones fist his shirt like a lifeline.

she cries and cries like she’s dying, and satoru feels his soul bleed.

“daddy’s sorry, baby,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “it’ll go away soon. i wish i could help you, sweets.”

but she’s having none of it, crying harder when he tries to put her back into position. he feels his own eyes sting; his heart aches from being unable to take away his precious daughter’s pain.

his eyes snap up to your face, hoping you’ll have some insight on how to help her. you’re smiling fondly, softly pinching her cheeks in effort to distract her from the pain.

“don’t be dramatic,” you scold sweetly, dropping into a crouch to press sloppy kisses to her chubby cheeks.

she hiccups, letting her father’s shirt go in favour of trying to grab your nose instead. her cries turn into wet giggles within a few seconds and satoru feels relief fill his veins.

you look up at him with a raised eyebrow, “i mean you, mister.”

it takes him a full second to realize that there are tears rolling down his face, and he quickly wipes his eyes in embarrassment. he hears the piercer giggle; may the ground open up and swallow him whole.

“you’re such a baby,” you say, but your heart felt so full - your husband just cried at his daughter getting her ears pierced? you were never going to let him live that down.

satoru doesn’t say anything, obediently allowing you to tilt his head back to meet you in a kiss. through the salty taste of his tears and your fingers holding his throat he doesn’t even notice when the piercer approaches again, quietly lining up with the other dot.

she looks to you for consent, and you give a subtle nod as you continue to distract your husband with kisses. he breaks it in surprise when he feels your daughter flinch, though this time there’s no wails.

he looks down. her face is scrunched up in effort not to cry, cheeks puffed up as she looks up at her father proudly as if to say: look, daddy, i didn’t cry that time!

he feels his eyes fill up again. his head drops to rest on his daughter, kissing her all over her face and eliciting a series of giggles.

“that’s my girl,” he boasts proudly, grinning wide while bouncing her on his knee, “i knew you could do it!”

he hears you laugh from the counter, “you cried the most, satoru.”

he scoffs, picking the baby up and nuzzling his face against hers, “i don’t know how you didn’t! her cries broke my heart!”

[bi-writes]

thinking about being the new addition to tf141. you are an asset given to laswell by the CIA, a timid little thing but your aim is always on target, and you are quiet, tech savvy, and you do as you're told. (18+, dark)

just how lieutenant riley prefers. he dwarfs you. the first time you meet, your eyes nearly come out of your head from how wide they go. he's so large, and you feel so tiny compared to him, and even though he does nothing but a disinterested once over, it is obvious to the rest of the team that you might just be his favorite.

it's most obvious in the subtle touches. when you're getting ready to jump, ghost comes up from behind and tugs on your parachute, nearly topping you over making sure it's secure. when you're getting ready in the back of the humvee, he reaches over and buckles your thigh holster for you when he notices the strap is coming loose. you nearly choke when you feel his big hand between your thighs, and you stare up at him with wide eyes when his pinkie moves up the seam of your zipper when he tugs his hand away.

and then the way he's on your six is unlike anything else. like glue, chest pressed to your back, his gloved hand squeezing your waist as he moves you every which way he pleases because you're so small to him, so easy, and he growls under his breath when he touches the curve of your hips or the fat of your ass.

maybe you might enjoy it if he wasn't so fucking awkward about it. if he didn't stare at you without blinking. if he didn't adjust his cock in his jeans right in front of you. if he didn't grip you by the back of your head, tugging you any way he wanted as if scolding a kitten using the scruff of their neck.

you think the team would notice by now--that they would step in, tell ghost to back off, but they turn a blind eye. they tolerate this behavior, and you don't know if it's because ghost is so good at his job, they don't want to, or that they are so afraid of him, they refuse to say anything.

or maybe they approve. maybe it keeps ghost at bay. maybe it keeps a lion in his den. a spider in its nest. maybe indulging ghost in his fucked form of flirting and socialization is what keeps the foundations of this team right where it needs to be--and you realize, slowly, that maybe that is why you're here.

because ghost likes them soft, and they need to put a muzzle on their dog.

so when you feel him in the dark, slipping a gloved hand under the blanket that keeps you warm at night, he is pleasantly surprised to find you awake. and even more surprised to feel your hand slipping the soft lace of your panties right into his fucking pocket.

"they teach y'that 'n basic training? how ta give y'r knickers to y'r lieutenant, eh?"

"no," you whisper, and when you meet his eyes in the dark, he looks so hungry. he's untamed, no training, he's used to getting what he wants with no resistance. you turn over in bed, and you don't get to see the way he sucks on his teeth when you let your knees fall, revealing the pretty place between your thighs, soft and puffy and wet, just waiting for a good mutt to eat her up. "but i learned other things."

"tha' right?"

"yeah," you say softly, and you turn over onto your stomach, pushing back onto your knees right in front of him. he bends, leaning over until he's pushing his masked face right into the seam of your cunt, and you grip the sheets tight when he inhales deeply, a rumble following as both of his hands grip either side of your ass and spread you open for him. you're drooling, wetting the nylon fabric, and you gasp when you feel the wet, warm muscle of his tongue suck on your folds through the mask. it's lewd, and you're wetting the material so much it sticks to the strong lines of his face, but he continues, tilting his head to the side as he laps at the pretty slick that dampens your thighs.

"what'd y'learn then, swee'eart?"

not how to fuck your lieutenant. but...you did learn to keep them happy.

"h-how to be a good girl."

and you think you feel him smile.