#Light’s drawing of himself makes me laugh

[aesthetically-dying101]

Letters to the past

A/N: in which they find a love letter that you wrote to them years ago. (im tempted to write a version of this of pure angst, where reader is dead and they find the letter later, but for now im being nice), inspired by real world events!

warnings: light angst (with a happy ending), suggestive, crack, shits n gigs

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

Nanami was quietly tidying up the shared office, something he did on his very rare off days, he was organizing a particular stack of papers on his side of the desk when his hand brushed against something unfamiliar—something soft, wrapped in a ribbon. Curiosity piqued, he pulled it out—an envelope with his name scrawled in your handwriting. The paper was a little yellowed with age, the ink slightly faded, but the love was still so palpable.

He carefully opened it, unsure of what he was about to read. What he found inside was... a letter. A love letter. From you.

He chuckled softly, his heart squeezing in his chest. The date at the top: “One Year Together”.

The paper was dotted with sketches—little doodles of him—and he couldn’t help but smile, his heart swelling in his chest.

A light chuckle escaped his lips.

“I can’t believe this… you drew me like that? I was such a dork…”

Nanami's chest tightened.

Seven years. It had been seven years since you two had been together, and four years of marriage. Time had flown, but reading the words from that first year? From when everything had felt so new and exciting? It was... overwhelming. And there were even little doodles of him scattered throughout the pages, goofy sketches of his serious face, his messy hair, and him in his work clothes.

It was... perfect.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself, eyes scanning over the words. “I can’t believe you wrote this…”

You had always been dramatic when it came to love, but that had been one of the things he adored most about you. Your passion, your sincerity, and how every little detail felt like it had meaning.

Just as he was wiping a happy tear from his eye, he heard the door open.

“Hey, Kento!” you called out, your voice bright and bubbly from a long day of teaching. But when you walked in and saw him standing there, holding the letter, your face immediately fell.

“Wha—” you began to sputter, running over and snatching it out of his hand. “No! Oh my god, why do you have that?!” You were practically in full dramatic panic mode, hands shaking slightly as you tried to hide the letter behind your back.

Nanami couldn’t help but laugh, amused at how flustered you were. “I just found this,” he said, his voice full of affection. “I didn’t realize you were such a poet. And these drawings—” he gestured to the little doodles of him— “they’re... adorable.”

“Oh, please,” you groaned, your face flushing. “Stop it! Don’t even read it out loud. It’s so embarrassing! I was like—what—21? It was a year in! I was still figuring out how to not be awkward!”

Nanami grinned, leaning in slightly, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I think it’s perfect. You were so honest, so sweet. And the drawings—” his voice softened, “they're so cute.”

You crossed your arms, pouting. “Kento, nooooo, don’t you dare! I can’t believe you found that. You’re gonna be all ‘oh, look, look at my cute, romantic wife’ for the next week, huh? God, stop being so dramatic about it.”

“Is that really a problem?” he teased, giving you an amused glance. “I think it’s adorable. And I’m the lucky guy who gets to read it now.”

You dramatically slumped against the desk, covering your face in mock embarrassment. “I can’t with you. You’re making me so red. You can’t show anyone this, Kento. Not a single person.”

“Why?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, amused at your antics. “We’ve been together for seven years, married for four. You really think it’s embarrassing now?”

You peeked over your hands, your voice soft but still teasing. “Yes. Because it’s cheesy and gushy, and I’m just... ugh. So much poetry.”

“I happen to think that poetry is one of your many talents,” he said, voice gentle as he moved closer to you. “And you’ve always been perfectly you. I love you even more for it.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to hide your smile behind your hands. “Stop it, Kento. Stop looking at me like that. You’re gonna make me cry with how sweet you're being.”

Nanami chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m sorry. But seriously. I’m glad I found this. You’ve always been so good to me.”

You melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his words settle into your heart. "You're so ridiculous," you whispered, pressing your face into his chest. "But I love you."

He kissed the top of your head, chuckling softly. “I love you, too. Always.”

And as the two of you stood there in the cozy office, holding each other close, Nanami couldn’t help but feel so incredibly lucky to have found you—his partner, his wife.

Toji was knee-deep in moving boxes, his muscles flexing as he grabbed yet another heavy one- he was glad you weren't home, or else you would've made a comment. The sound of cardboard scraping against the floor filled the room as he shifted it into place. It was one of those days where every corner of their house was chaotic, half-packed, and filled with the usual mess that came with moving.

But then something fell.

A soft sound, followed by paper crinkling, caught his attention. He raised an eyebrow and crouched down, picking up a stray piece of paper from the floor. The corners were worn, the edges curling slightly with age. He blinked when he realized what it was.

A letter.

Her handwriting.

Curiosity piqued, Toji slid off his old man glasses from the top of his head with an exaggerated flair, rolling them into place before he cracked open the letter.

And that’s when he saw it.

A love letter—one from you.

From the early days of your relationship, when things were still fresh and you were... completely infatuated with him (not that he ever let it go to his head or anything). Toji’s lips quirked into a devilish grin as he leaned back against the box, settling in for the show.

He read through the entire thing, each line making him chuckle louder and louder. The dramatic declarations, the overly poetic descriptions of his “dangerous” eyes, the flowery words about how he “was the center of her universe”… Oh, this was gold.

“Well well well,” Toji muttered, barely able to keep himself from busting into laughter. “Look at you, all sentimental, huh? Just how cute…”

He kicked his feet up, reclining on the nearest piece of furniture, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Gotta admit, babe. You were delusional back then."

You had just come home from a walk in the park with Megumi, trying to get some fresh air after the chaos of packing. Megumi was by your side, his small hand holding onto your sleeve, talking about something he saw at the park. You were listening, but the moment you stepped inside, you noticed Toji—sitting with that mischievous grin plastered on his face.

He was holding something in his hand. The letter.

No.

"Toji..." you groaned in embarrassment, already knowing what was coming. "What did you find?"

“Oh, just this little thing…” Toji drawled, waving the letter in the air, his grin practically splitting his face. “Look at this, sweetheart—look what I got.”

Your eyes widened, and you immediately lunged forward, making a grab for it.

“Toji! Give me that!”

But he was already one step ahead, holding it high above his head as he leaned back, savoring your reaction. “What’s the rush? I’m just having a little fun, doll. Let me enjoy it for a second.”

You groaned, your face turning an embarrassing shade of crimson. “No, please! That was years ago! It’s… so embarrassing!” You jumped up, trying to wrestle it out of his hands, but he was too strong.

“‘Toji, I adore you, you are the light of my life, my heart beats only for you…’” He read aloud dramatically, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he quoted your words. “‘Your smile is like the sun, and I am forever basking in your warmth.’ Oh, I’m dying here, baby. This is priceless.”

“I was naive back then!” you shouted, flipping him over your shoulder in a fit of frustration. “I was delusional! It was a different time!!”

“Delusional? Baby, you were love-struck,” Toji teased, completely unfazed by your attempts to wrestle the letter away. "I’m just surprised you actually thought I’d believe that sappy stuff back then.”

You both tumbled onto the couch in a mess of tangled limbs, but you didn’t stop. You were determined to get that letter back, even if it meant flipping Toji over—again. Your fingers scrambled for the piece of paper, but Toji’s laughter made everything feel lighthearted.

“You knew what you were saying,” he laughed, pinning your wrists down, still holding the letter just out of reach. “I didn’t even know I was such a heartthrob back then.”

“I swear to god, Toji…” You wriggled beneath him, doing your best to twist and turn, but it only resulted in you getting a little closer to him than you intended.

Toji’s face softened for a moment as he looked at you, his playful grin slowly fading into something far more intimate.

"You were adorable back then," he whispered, voice low. "I liked it. You’re lucky I never threw that letter away."

“You better not have,” you muttered, eyes meeting his. He was so close now, your breath mixing in the air between you.

His hand shifted from the letter, instead cupping your cheek, his lips pressing against yours in a deep, slow kiss. You melted into him, your hands wandering, sliding beneath his shirt as you tugged him closer.

You were so lost in the kiss, the heat building between you, that you barely noticed Megumi stepping through the door.

“Dad?” Megumi’s voice interrupted from the doorway, his little face peeking around the corner.

You both froze, wide-eyed, your hands still dangerously close to Toji’s waistband. Megumi blinked at you, looking oddly embarrassed for someone his age.

“I forgot my plushy at the park,” he said, face turning pink.

Toji groaned in exasperation, pulling away from you just enough to shoot you a look. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “This isn’t over, Toji.”

“Yeah, yeah. Later,” he smirked, rolling off you and giving Megumi a playful pat on the head. "Let’s get your plushy then."

As you all prepared to head back to the park, you swore—next time, you’d get your revenge.

Gojo Satoru was hunched over your shared office desk, papers scattered in every direction as he sifted through stacks of documents. He was searching for a specific file on a curse, but knowing Gojo, he’d probably get distracted and misplace half of them before finding what he was actually looking for. Not that he’d admit it.

His fingers brushed against something odd tucked between two thick folders—an envelope. His eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued. It was a very familiar envelope, one with your handwriting all over it.

Wait… What the hell?

He blinked, disbelief settling over him. The letter was from you—a love letter. From when you were still dating, after just one year. You two had been together for eight years now, but this letter… it felt like a lifetime ago. He could feel his chest tighten as he carefully opened the envelope, the old, yellowed paper inside immediately making him grin like an idiot.

It was poetic. Deeply poetic. And so you. He could almost hear your voice reading it out loud, the words seeping into his bones. And the drawings—of him.

“Oh my god,” Gojo whispered under his breath, blinking rapidly as he read more. “This... this is way too much. Is this really what I was like back then?”

His hand shook a little, a laugh escaping him as his mind tried to wrap around the overwhelming wave of emotion that suddenly flooded him. He couldn’t help it.

The Strongest Sorcerer was about to cry over a letter.

When you walked into the office, the first thing you noticed was the unnatural stillness of the room. Gojo was sitting there—completely silent, holding the letter. His usual carefree demeanor was absent, replaced by something entirely different, something soft and vulnerable.

You froze in the doorway, your eyes widening in panic.

“Wait... is someone dead?” you asked, voice rising in pitch as you rushed toward him. You immediately looked around for any sign of trouble. “Is it Shoko? Is it Suguru??”

Gojo blinked slowly, slowly looking up at you. His expression was a mixture of awe and—wait, was that a tear?

“No. It’s just... this letter,” he said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft, the letter still clutched in his hand. He looked up at you, his eyes wide. “I had no idea you felt this way back then. You really loved me this much?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you immediately realized what was happening. The letter you’d written to him years ago—the one you’d completely forgotten about—was now in his hands, and he was reading it like a treasure.

You let out an exaggerated, pained groan. “Oh my god, noooooo.”

Gojo laughed softly, clearly taken aback. “What, you’re not proud of what you wrote?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I mean, I was a pretty perfect boyfriend, right?”

“Nooooo, stop,” you whined, dramatically covering your face with your hands. “Why do you always have to find my most embarrassing moments? Why are you like this?”

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, I’m definitely reading you some lines. You need to hear how much you loved me, sweetheart.”

“Noooo,” you protested again, lunging toward him to snatch the letter. “Kento—I swear, if you read a single line out loud, I’ll—“

But he was already reading aloud, his voice dropping into that playful tone he always used when teasing you.

“‘Satoru, my heart beats for you,’” he started, dramatically pausing for effect. “‘You are the sunshine in my life, and I will always cherish the way your smile makes me feel as if the world is whole again.’”

Your eyes went wide, and you leaped forward to grab the letter. “Satoru! STOP!”

“‘I love you more than words can express,’” he read, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “‘And I cannot wait for the day I call you mine forever.’”

“OH. MY. GOD,” you shouted, now fully flustered. Your skin felt on fire as you tried to wrestle the letter from his hands. “Stop, I was so dramatic back then! You have no idea—”

But Gojo just sat back, enjoying the chaos he’d caused. He raised an eyebrow. “Was you? It’s still pretty cute now. Look, this one’s my favorite—‘When I’m with you, time stands still. I am yours, and you are mine—forever.’”

You gasped, flailing helplessly. “I WILL END YOU, GOJO SATORU.”

Gojo just laughed, that deep, comforting sound filling the room as he shook his head. “You’re so cute when you’re all flustered.”

“SHUT UP!” you whined. “This is an absolute nightmare! I will literally kill the strongest sorcerer if I have to.”

“Oh?” Gojo’s grin turned devilish as he leaned forward, the mischievous glint in his eye more intense than ever. “Maybe I should let you make me suffer a little—since I’m so lucky to have you, right?”

You gave him a playful shove, and without thinking, your hand dipped down to his pants, feeling the subtle tension in his body at your touch.

“W-Wait—what are you—?”

“I said shut up,” you whispered, a teasing smirk spreading across your face as you leaned forward to kiss him, your hand sliding dangerously lower. Gojo’s breath hitched, his voice trembling as he muttered,

“UuUuUu... lemme repay you for your words...”

Geto Suguru leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of his desk as his cult member, a young woman, hesitantly approached with a piece of paper.

"Master Geto," she began, her voice laced with uncertainty. "We found something... in the library. Between the books. It seems to be an old letter."

Geto arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "A letter? What kind of letter?"

The woman hesitated, but handed it over to him, and he noticed the familiar handwriting immediately. It was yours.

His heart skipped a beat as he unfolded the letter. The words on the page were undeniably yours, but what struck him was how genuine it felt—this love letter was full of sincerity, overflowing with affection that made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.

He chuckled softly to himself, his fingers gently tracing over the elegant script. The letter was written eight years ago, just after he and you had started dating. He could almost hear your voice, dramatic and poetic, as if he was reading it straight from your lips.

"Well, well, well," he muttered under his breath, a sly smile forming on his face. "Seems like my wife was really into me back then."

His cult member gave him a confused look but said nothing as he smirked and folded the letter neatly, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

When you arrived home, having finished your errands for the day, you immediately noticed Geto lounging on the couch, a strange glint in his eyes. He was holding something behind his back, clearly up to no good.

"What’s that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you dropped your bag onto the nearby chair.

“Oh, nothing,” Geto said, his smile far too innocent. "Just something I found that I thought you might enjoy."

You crossed your arms, eyeing him suspiciously. "Is it a new cult ritual that involves me?"

He leaned forward, looking way too pleased with himself. “Better. It’s a blast from the past.”

Before you could react, he produced the letter from behind his back and waved it in front of your face. "Guess what I found in the library today?"

You froze. The moment you saw the familiar handwriting, your stomach dropped. No.

"Geto... no," you whispered, taking a step back as if the letter itself could bite. "Don't you dare."

“Oh, I dare,” he teased, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “It’s from you.”

You slowly turned your head to the side, trying to make a break for it. “Nope, I’m not doing this today. Not today, not ever.”

“You’re not going to want to miss this,” Geto said, clearly enjoying your discomfort. He unfolded the letter with all the drama of someone preparing to perform Shakespeare.

The words he read aloud were beautiful, so full of love and passion it almost made you cringe. You remembered writing it so vividly, a flood of emotions that you hadn’t even realized you still carried. And now, Geto was reading it out loud for all to hear.

"‘Suguru, my heart longs for you, and my soul finds peace in your presence,’” he began dramatically, putting on a voice as if he were a great actor. “‘Every moment with you is a blessing, every glance is an eternity...’”

“Geto, no!” You turned away, hands over your ears. "Please, don’t—"

He only chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “‘I’m yours, Suguru, and you are my everything…’” He paused, a smug grin spreading across his face. “‘I will love you always, now and forever.’”

You stopped in your tracks, your face burning with embarrassment. “Oh my god. Oh my god. You didn’t just—”

“I did,” he said, savoring every moment. “And to think, you thought I’d forgotten.” He waved the letter in the air like it was some kind of victory flag.

You exhaled dramatically, throwing your hands up in the air as you began to walk away. “I refuse to listen to this. I’m not doing this. This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on,” Geto called after you, trying to suppress his laughter. "You were so in love with me back then, and you still are, huh?”

You spun around, narrowing your eyes at him. “Geto, if you keep teasing me, I’m not making you dinner tonight.”

He tilted his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You wouldn’t deny me that. You love me too much.”

You glared at him dramatically. "You’re lucky I’m even married to you, sir."

“Lucky?” he raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s the other way around.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to look offended. "I don’t know... I might reconsider after this little stunt."

He took a few steps forward, finally dropping the letter back in his pocket. His expression softened. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just... didn’t realize how sweet you were back then. You still are.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but secretly feeling your heart warm. “You know, I still don’t think you’re allowed to read my letters from eight years ago like that.”

“Why not?” he grinned. “It’s proof of how much you love me.”

You huffed, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “Ugh, you really are impossible.”

“Admit it,” he said, stepping closer to you. “You still love me that much.”

“Fine,” you muttered, trying not to smile. “Maybe I do...”

“Maybe?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in close with that familiar cocky grin.

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, you couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “Okay, fine. I definitely do.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” He smirked, closing the distance and pulling you into his arms. “Now, let’s get you out of that mood. Dinner still stands, right?”

You groaned. “I swear, you’re impossible.”

“You love it,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And I love you, too. Even more than this letter says.”

And despite your earlier protests, you couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelled with warmth and affection for the man who never failed to make you laugh, even when he was embarrassing you with old love letters.

Sukuna Ryomen, the fearsome King of Curses, sat in his grand chambers, his body draped across his throne, looking as if he could conquer empires with a single glance. His regal expression was unfazed as Uraume sorted through the countless scrolls piled around them. But then, a soft "Ah!" sounded from Uraume, and Sukuna’s sharp eyes flickered toward them.

“What?” Sukuna asked, his voice a low growl, barely masking his curiosity.

Uraume stood up straight, holding a scroll in their hands with an intrigued expression. “My Lord, I believe I’ve found something... interesting.” They unrolled the scroll, revealing the elegant, flowing handwriting.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Uraume cleared their throat and began reading aloud. “My dearest Sukuna, the one with the four arms, the eyes of a god...”

The words stopped Sukuna dead in his tracks. His eyes narrowed, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “This... is from her, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Uraume said, unable to hide the amusement in their voice. “It seems to be a love letter.”

Sukuna smirked. “Is it? Let me see.”

Uraume handed him the scroll, and Sukuna read on, his usually cold demeanor cracking ever so slightly as he made his way through the poetic declarations. His heart actually skipped a beat when he saw the lines about his "handsome four arms" and "piercing, yet captivating eyes."

"...When I look into your eyes, it's as though I see the entire universe. Your strength is unrivaled, your beauty unmatched."

Sukuna blinked, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. Was he... blushing? What kind of nonsense was this? He shook his head as if to rid himself of the absurdity.

But there was something in those words—something tender—that tugged at him. He looked over the letter again, a rare feeling bubbling in his chest.

"She really... thinks that of me?" Sukuna muttered under his breath.

"Indeed, my Lord," Uraume confirmed, their voice soft with a trace of teasing. "It seems she finds you quite... attractive."

Sukuna snorted, rolling his eyes, but there was a faint, pleased smile curling on his lips. He couldn't help it; there was something about how his sweet little human wife saw him—really saw him—that made his heart do strange things.

With a low, almost possessive cackle, Sukuna pushed himself off his throne. "I need to see her. Now."

You were strolling through the gardens, lost in thought, enjoying the quiet of the day. Your delicate fingers brushed the petals of the flowers as you walked, when suddenly, you felt a presence behind you.

Before you could turn around, the voice you knew so well boomed from behind you. “Well, well, little wife. I've made quite the discovery, haven’t I?”

You stiffened, your heart dropping. Oh no...

“W-What do you mean?” You turned around, trying to play it cool, but your wide eyes betrayed you.

Sukuna smirked as he approached you, holding the scroll in his hands. “A love letter? To me? You must really be under my spell, huh?”

“Nooooooo...” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Why—why are you like this?”

“Oh, but I must know,” Sukuna continued, his voice dripping with amusement. “Do you find my four arms attractive? Or maybe it’s my eyes? Hmm? The ‘piercing, captivating eyes’?”

You were about to burst into flames from embarrassment. “Stop it! I was young! I—I—I was just—just... poetic! And dramatic! And—!”

Sukuna chuckled deeply, that deep, rumbling sound that made your heart flutter despite the embarrassment. “Poetic, huh? Well, little wife, I must admit, your words have an effect on me. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

You could feel your face turning as red as a tomato as you half-heartedly tried to grab the scroll from his hands. “Please, just burn it! I’ll never recover from this. Ever!”

Sukuna took a step back, watching you struggle to keep it together. The sight was too adorable, too human, and for a moment, the terrifying King of Curses just couldn’t help but soften his expression, his gaze lingering on you with something like affection.

You continued your frantic flailing, but your eyes met his and—damn it, your heart was racing again.

“You really think I’m that attractive, huh?” Sukuna said, stepping closer, his voice teasing but somehow gentler than usual. “Tell me, do you still feel the same way, little wife?”

You flailed a little more dramatically. “I...! You’re ruining me!”

“You did write this, didn’t you?” he said, lowering the scroll and staring at you with that all-too-confident glint in his eyes. “So, tell me, do you still think I’m ‘unmatched in beauty’?”

The words you wrote—so carefully chosen, full of love—now seemed to weigh on you like a thousand pounds. You groaned in frustration. “I was being dramatic! A little poetic flair here and there... okay, maybe a lot of flair, but I was... young, okay?!”

Sukuna’s smile softened, and he placed the scroll in your hands. “You’re still the same, aren’t you?”

“Stop,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. You wanted to vanish into the earth. You'd never survive this embarrassment. Never.

But Sukuna, in all his terrifying glory, knelt down to your level and gently cupped your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender.

“Don’t hide from me, little wife. You wrote this out of love. And for that... I’ll never make fun of you for it. Besides...” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “I like how much you love me. Even if it means I get to tease you for it.”

You closed your eyes, melting under his touch, all the while, your heart racing. “You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“I know,” he purred, grinning from ear to ear. “But that’s why you married me.”

You could only groan, giving in to the impossible man who had somehow wrapped you around his finger—and you’d never be happier about it.

Choso was sitting at the kitchen table, a tear-streaked face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking slightly as he stared down at the letter in his lap. His heart ached, not from pain, but from something else. Something softer. Something—embarrassing.

You had just come in from the garden, humming to yourself, when you caught sight of him. And you froze.

"Choso?" you asked cautiously, tilting your head. "What’s going on? Are you—are you okay?"

His voice, thick with emotion, broke through his trembling hands. "I... I found it... I found your letter."

You blinked, brows furrowing. "My letter? Which one?"

“The one you wrote to me… back when we were dating.”

Now that hit you like a ton of bricks. You swallowed hard, trying not to panic. Oh god. You had written a lot of things back then, too many of them cringey and so full of teenage drama. You could already feel the cringe creeping up your spine.

Your lips pulled into a nervous smile. "Choso, sweetheart, you’ve... you’ve gotta be kidding. You’ve been holding onto that thing for years?"

He looked up at you with those wide, pitiful eyes, his lower lip trembling. "It’s so... it’s so beautiful... but also so embarrassing..." He could barely finish his sentence before he put his hands back over his face, shoulders shaking again.

You blinked rapidly. "Wait, wait, hold on. You’re crying over a letter?"

His voice was muffled behind his hands. "It was... everything I needed to hear from you. I didn’t know back then... how much it meant..."

Your heart melted for him, but you had no idea how to react. Choso was dramatic, sure, but this?

“Choso, honey, please. It can’t be that bad.” You walked over, sitting down beside him, reaching out to gently pull his hands away from his face. “Show me. What did I even say? I’m sure it wasn’t that—”

He thrust the letter into your hands like it was a delicate artifact, almost afraid to let it out of his sight.

"Here..." His voice wavered. "Read it... you’ll understand."

You glanced down at the letter and immediately felt your face burn. The handwriting was unmistakably yours—so full of emotions, so full of youth. You skimmed the first few lines, wincing a little.

"Okay, okay... uhh... Choso, I—" You made it a few sentences in before you felt the need to physically cringe. "Oh, no."

You cleared your throat. "Let’s see here... ‘My dearest Choso, your presence fills my heart with a warmth so pure, a fire so gentle. Your love is the light that guides me in the darkest of times. I am forever enchanted by your tenderness...’"

You froze, the back of your neck prickling with embarrassment. “Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself. “What... what was I even saying here?”

Choso, still looking like he was on the verge of another round of tears, nodded seriously. "Yeah, exactly. It’s... it’s beautiful, right? Your words… your love..."

You gave him a wide-eyed look. "Beautiful?! Choso, baby, this is... so cringey! This is—you—this is... I... nooooooo." You threw the letter down onto the table in sheer dramatic agony. “I literally cannot believe I wrote this to you. Why would I—why would I say that?!” You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you dramatically flopped forward. “I’m a monster. I should never be allowed to write anything ever again. That is so... so embarrassing.”

Choso was still staring at you, eyes wide, clearly not understanding your level of discomfort. “But... I loved it. I love it. I loved the way you saw me then... you really felt that way about me?”

You groaned, covering your face in your hands, your voice muffled. “Yes, but god, I was so dramatic! So cheesy! Like, ugh! Look, ‘your presence fills my heart with warmth’?” You could feel yourself melting from the inside out. “Who even talks like that? It’s like I was writing for a novel.”

“But I... I liked it,” Choso said quietly, his voice filled with a sweetness that nearly undid you. “I liked how much you loved me. I didn’t even know it at the time, but... it meant everything to me.”

You blinked, glancing at him through your fingers. He looked so sincere—and that only made the cringe worse.

You sighed dramatically, still half-buried in your hands. “Choso, I swear, I’m literally going to die of secondhand embarrassment.”

He tilted his head, that same soft, patient look in his eyes as he reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think you get it. I’m so happy that you loved me like that. It’s... perfect. It’s you, and it’s real. And even if it’s cheesy... it makes me feel like the luckiest man alive.”

You finally peeked out from your hands, looking at him with a mix of fondness and absolute horror. “You’re too sweet. I’m dying. You’re gonna make me melt into a puddle of shame.”

“I don’t mind if you melt... as long as I get to hold the pieces of you after.” Choso grinned, his soft, sad little smile turning into something mischievous.

“Okay, okay, stop! You can’t just say stuff like that after I’ve shown you my deep, emotional self-doubt!” You sat up, pushing at his chest playfully. “I’ll die if you keep making me feel things after the disaster of a letter I wrote!”

Choso chuckled softly, but you could see the tenderness in his gaze. “I don’t care if it’s dramatic. I love it. I love you, even more than I loved that letter.”

You slumped back in your chair, finally letting out a breath, though your heart was still pounding a little too fast. “You’re going to be the end of me, I swear.”

Choso’s grin softened into something more sincere, and he reached out to gently pull you close, his hands holding you tight, as if to shield you from any more cringe.

“Maybe it’s dramatic, but I’d rather you be dramatic than not love me at all.” His voice was quiet, full of something vulnerable. “And I’d never stop loving you, no matter how cheesy you get.”

You buried your face in his chest, trying not to think about the letter—or your poor, poor, dramatic younger self.

"You're impossible," you muttered, but there was no bite in it. You couldn’t stay mad at him—not when he was holding you like this, his warmth wrapping around you.

Choso just chuckled softly. "I’m not the one who wrote that letter, sweetheart. You were the impossible one."

Shiu Kong was going through some files in the home office, the flicker of a late afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the scattered paperwork.

He was getting a little frustrated, squinting at the documents, trying to locate the one he needed for a client’s case. His fingers flipped through stacks, his mind focused, until—whoops—he accidentally knocked over a pile of papers, and something unexpected fell out from the top.

It was an envelope. A familiar, old envelope with your handwriting on it.

His heart skipped a beat. "Wait... is this—?"

He gently picked it up, almost afraid to open it, yet unable to resist. He recognized the handwriting immediately—it was from a long time ago. Way before the two of you had gotten married. His mind raced as he slowly tore open the seal.

He started reading, and had to stop himself from audibly cackling.

The words were so you—so full of love and warmth, but also... a little bit of that cringey youthful romanticism that made him smile despite himself. You'd written it when you were still dating, back when he was just “Shiu” and not husband. And yet, every line, every word, made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

You had written about him like he was some sort of prince, some otherworldly figure—a knight in shining armor. "The way you make me feel... like no one else could ever compare... your strength and your heart both captivate me in ways I never thought possible..."

The more he read, the more he felt like he was floating. Was this really how you had felt back then? Was this really how you still felt now?

"Oh my god...," he muttered under his breath, practically glowing with pride.

Meanwhile, you were coming back from the kitchen, wiping your hands on a dish towel when you saw Shiu standing in the office doorway, a smirk on his face, that sparkle in his eye that meant trouble.

He looked at you, holding the letter out between his fingers like some kind of treasure.

“Shiu, what are you doing with that?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your face was already red from the pure horror of it all.

He held the letter out toward you. “Well, well, little wife, seems you’ve written me a letter... a very romantic letter, if I may say so.”

Your stomach dropped. No. No no no nooooooo.

“Shiu,” you groaned, dramatically clutching your chest like you were about to faint. “Please... for the love of everything, don’t.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with mock innocence. “What? You don’t want me to read it aloud? Because I was about to tell you how much you loved me in your own words.” He dramatically cleared his throat. “‘The way you make me feel… like no one else could ever compare. Your strength and your heart captivate me in ways I never thought possible.’"

You froze, your face burning. “Shiu, stop it! God, I should never have written that!” You covered your face with both hands. “Now you’re gonna have this massive ego boost, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

His grin was practically glowing. “Oh, I don’t know... I think I could get used to being praised like that.”

“No,” you said with a dramatic sigh, turning away from him, though you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed and amused. “This is terrible. Why would I even say something like that? I was so young and so—ugh—dramatic.”

He stepped closer, putting a hand on your shoulder to turn you around. “Don’t you dare act like you weren’t swooning over me,” he teased, his voice soft and full of affection. “I mean, look at this—‘your strength and your heart.’ You thought I was some kind of god, huh?”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands again. “I didn’t think you were a god! Okay, maybe I did a little, but... please, just let it go!” You shook your head, your voice muffled through your fingers. “I was literally just trying to write something cute for you and... now you’re gonna be insufferable.”

He gave a playful chuckle and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “Insufferable? I think I’m quite tolerable when it comes to my adoring wife.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re so full of it, Shiu.”

His grin softened, and he kissed your forehead. “But you still love me, right? Even though I know just how much you adored me.”

You dramatically sighed again, but there was no real bite behind it. “Fine, fine. But don’t get too cocky, okay?”

Shiu's arms tightened around you, and he laughed softly. “You have no idea how much I love you, sweetheart. This letter just reminded me how lucky I am to have you.”

Your heart swelled, despite the embarrassment still gnawing at you. “I can’t believe you’re making me relive my past awkwardness, though. Honestly, I might just... pass out from secondhand embarrassment. Please, Shiu. Please just... pretend you didn’t read it.”

He leaned back, gazing at you with a teasing smile, clearly enjoying the torment. “Never. Now, every time I look at you, I’ll just think about how much you adored me... and I’ll never let you forget it.”

You buried your face in his chest, half-laughing and half-groaning in pure exasperation. “You’re such a brat, you know that?”

He kissed the top of your head, the fondness in his gaze turning soft. “And you love it, don’t lie.”

You sighed again, but this time, it was full of fond affection. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

And despite your earlier regret, you couldn’t help but feel warm inside. The letter may have been cheesy, and Shiu’s ego may have just gained a massive boost, but in the end, all that really mattered was that you were both here, together, laughing at something so silly.

That was love. And maybe... just maybe... you wouldn't mind writing a few more dramatic letters in the future.

It had been a long day.

Hiromi was hunched over his desk, the soft click of his pen as he filled out legal papers filling the quiet apartment. His mind was far from the case at hand, though- it was lost in thoughts of his beautiful wife, who was cooking dinner in the next room.

His thoughts were interrupted by the rustling of paper. He frowned as his hand brushed against something odd—a few pieces of folded paper that had somehow slipped between the case files. Curious, he unfolded one of the papers, thinking it might be something related to the case. What he found, though, made his breath catch in his throat.

It was a letter.

Not just any letter — a love letter. His wife’s handwriting.

The paper was old, the edges slightly curled from time, but it was unmistakably the words of someone who had poured their heart out. And as his eyes skimmed over the words, his stomach dropped.

The letter was filled with descriptions of him.

“I love how your smile reaches your eyes…” “How are you always so handsome? I could never get over how perfect you look even after a long day…"

The more he read, the tighter his chest felt. He couldn’t help but chuckle at how you had described him — like the knight in shining armor, but in such an innocent, endearing way that it made his heart ache.

And then there was a drawing at the back. Of his profile. A very detailed, very beautiful drawing of his face, his features so carefully captured that it almost felt like a gift all on its own.

“God, you were so sweet back then,” he murmured, running a hand over his face.

He could hear you humming in the kitchen, unaware of the storm you had just caused in his mind. He couldn’t just leave it there. No. He was going to show you how much he loved you. After all, you thought he was handsome even then. Surely, you deserved a reminder that he thought the same about you — and that he had been crazy about you for years.

He stood up, the letter clutched tightly in his hand, and made his way into the kitchen, his heart racing. You looked up, your expression warm and inviting, a little confused when you saw him holding the letter.

“Hiromi?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step toward you, and then another, until he was close enough to feel the warmth of your body. Without saying a word, he kissed you. Slow at first, as though savoring the moment. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved over yours with more urgency.

You blinked, surprised at the intensity of the kiss. Your hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, pressing into the solid muscle beneath his shirt. When he pulled away, his lips were still a breath away from yours, eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hiromi?” you asked again, slightly breathless now. “What’s going on? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he held up the letter. “I found this,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “And I have to say… I’m feeling a little… inspired.”

You froze. Your eyes darted to the paper in his hand, your stomach doing a flip. You recognized the handwriting immediately.

“Oh God,” you muttered, cheeks flushing. “I was so dramatic back then…”

Hiromi smirked.

“I don’t know about ‘dramatic,’ but I’d say ‘adorable’ fits better.” His thumb ran over the edges of the letter, his gaze flickering between your face and the paper. “I think I need to show you how much I love you too. Since, you know, you think I’m handsome.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, his lips were on yours again, this time with an intensity that made your heart beat erratically in your chest. His hands slid down your sides, pulling you closer until there was no space between you two.

“Hiromi,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the collar of his shirt, but he wasn’t hearing you. He was too busy kissing you like it was the only thing that mattered.

“Is that what you thought back then?” His voice was low, almost a growl, as his lips trailed down your neck, making you shiver. “You think I’m handsome, huh?”

Your face was burning, your chest rising and falling in time with the heavy breaths escaping your lips.

“I—I mean, yeah… I did—do.”

He smiled against your skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to pull you even closer, the heat of his body making everything inside you melt.

“Then I guess I’ll have to thank you.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips were on yours again, this time, even more demanding.

You knew what was coming next, and frankly, you were already done resisting. You had already called him handsome so many times in that damn letter—seven years ago—and now he was going to show you exactly what he thought about that.

He pressed you back against the counter, the intensity of his kiss never wavering as his hands moved with practiced ease.

“You never stop flattering me, do you?” he teased, his lips brushing against your ear. “I will take that as a challenge.”

Your breath hitched as his hands worked their magic, making you forget about everything except him. You had written it years ago, but tonight, in this moment, you were about to feel every word you had written — and more.

And as his lips found yours again, the room seemed to shrink.

A/N: idk, i think this was funny, maybe it was a little ooc for some of em... alSO LOOK I WROTE FOR CHOSO!!! anyways... yeah! (also someone sent me a hilarious ask abt how the jjk men would react to reader throwing themselves out of a moving car during an argument and thats fucking hilarious im writing it rn)

Masterlist.

:)

[littlelamy]

𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓵𝔂!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓼𝓴𝓼 𝓳𝓳 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓸𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓮𝓻

credits to @parfaitsinsatiable for the photos 🥰 and @rafesplaymate for inspo 🤭💗

The night wrapped the world in its fervent, pulsating energy that buzzed against the skin. JJ lounged like sin itself, the golden tips of his tousled blond hair gleaming under the last blush of the setting sun. His battered lawn chair creaked beneath him, a half-empty beer dangling lazily from his fingers. When you approached, his eyes flicked upward, a slow smirk tugging at his lips—hungry, cocky, and just shy of dangerous.

“Got a minute?” you murmured, halting within arm’s reach. Your sundress swayed around your thighs, teasing glimpses of soft skin with each shift of the breeze. His eyes swept lower, a flicker of heat sparking in his gaze before it returned to your face.

“Depends,” he drawled, voice heavy with mischief. “What’s the catch?”

You arched a brow, stepping closer, your perfume wafting between you like a promise. “You trust me, don’t you?” The words slipped from your lips honey-sweet, but with a razor-sharp edge that made him sit up a little straighter.

“Not even a little,” he shot back, though his grin widened, his tongue brushing the corner of his mouth. “What’s this about?”

Leaning down, you let your lips hover near his ear, the heat of your breath ghosting over his skin. “I need your help,” you whispered, low and silken, the kind of tone meant to tangle thoughts and dissolve resistance. “With something only you can do.”

His cocky demeanor faltered, intrigue darkening the blue of his eyes. “What kind of something?”

You let a small, calculated pause hang between you, biting your lower lip just enough to draw his gaze. “I want you to take pictures of me,” you said, your voice dropping into a whisper that left no room for misunderstanding.

“Pictures?” He blinked, straightening in his chair. “What, like for your Instagram?”

“Not quite.” You let the words linger, watching his brows knit as realization crept in. Then, with deliberate slowness, you ran your hands down your hips, drawing attention to the way the fabric clung to your curves. “Something raw. Something... sensual.”

His jaw dropped, and for a moment, he just stared, torn between disbelief and the unmistakable pull of desire. “You’re fucking with me,” he finally muttered, though the words lacked conviction.

You laughed—a soft, teasing sound that had him shifting in his seat. “Dead serious,” you said, stepping forward until the space between you was a whisper. The neckline of your dress dipped as you folded your arms, pressing your chest forward ever so slightly. His eyes flickered downward before snapping back up, the tips of his ears turning a satisfying shade of red.

“It’s for a magazine,” you continued, your voice steady, dripping with daring. “An amateur feature. I need someone who can make me look... unforgettable.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as if trying to ground himself. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re scared,” you taunted, letting the corner of your mouth curl into a wicked grin. “Come on, JJ. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Don’t tell me you’re not dying to see what’s underneath.”

He groaned, the sound low and guttural, raking a hand over his face. “Fuck, princess. Fine. But if this gets me killed—”

“It’ll be worth it,” you cut in, already turning to walk away. The sway of your hips, the whisper of your dress brushing against your thighs—it was an invitation he couldn’t refuse.

The air in the bedroom was molten, heavy with the charged tension between you and JJ. His camera hung from his neck, momentarily forgotten as his eyes roamed your body, drinking in the sight of you sprawled across the bed. The sheets beneath you clung to your curves, the faint sheen of sweat on your skin catching the soft light you’d set up just right.

You arched your back, letting your legs fall open slightly, enough to tempt but not enough to reveal everything. The barest glimmer of slickness was visible between your thighs, and you caught the way JJ’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the camera in his hands trembling just enough to betray him.

“Focus, JJ,” you teased, your voice low, throaty, the kind of tone that crawled under the skin and settled in the gut. “You’re supposed to be the professional here.”

He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as if to clear it, lifting the camera to his face. But the viewfinder didn’t hide the way his hands shook, the way his breaths came faster, harsher.

You adjusted your pose, running a hand over your stomach, up to your breast, fingers brushing your nipple until it hardened visibly. “Come on,” you whispered, your voice dropping to a sultry purr. “You can’t capture this kind of heat just by watching.”

“Y/N,” he growled, his voice strained. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Am I?” You bit your lip, shifting your hips slightly, letting your thighs part further. The faint scent of your arousal reached him, and his breath hitched audibly. “I thought you were supposed to direct me. Tell me what to do.”

His grip on the camera tightened. “I... Fuck. Fine. Arch your back more. Turn your head—yeah, like that.”

You obeyed, but the look in your eyes as you glanced back at him wasn’t submission. It was challenge, fire, daring him to go further. You trailed your fingers down your body again, letting them slip between your thighs this time, brushing over your clit with the lightest touch that had you shivering.

“JJ,” you murmured, your gaze locking on his. “Come here.”

He hesitated, his jaw tight, the camera nearly slipping from his fingers. “This isn’t—”

“Do you trust me?” you interrupted, throwing his own words back at him. When he didn’t move, you pushed yourself up slightly, propped on one elbow, your fingers still teasing slow, lazy circles over your swollen clit. “Come on. I know you want to. Don’t make me beg.”

Something in him snapped. He set the camera down, his movements jerky, almost frantic as he crossed the small distance to the bed. His hands hovered uncertainly over your thighs, his eyes darting to your face for permission, for some sign he wasn’t stepping over a line.

You tilted your hips up slightly, pressing your hand against his, guiding him. “Here,” you whispered, breath catching as his fingers brushed against your slick folds. “Rub me, JJ. Right here.”

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, his fingers finding your clit, tentative at first, then firmer as he watched your reaction. Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as he circled the sensitive nub, his touch unsure but oh so eager.

“That’s it,” you breathed, your hand gripping his wrist, urging him to keep going. “Don’t stop. Just like that.”

His free hand gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white as he worked you with an intensity that left no doubt how badly he wanted you. His breaths were ragged, his eyes glued to the way your hips bucked against his hand, your arousal coating his fingers.

“Jesus, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough and reverent. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You let out a low, throaty laugh, your eyes half-lidded as you met his gaze. “This is what you do to me, JJ. Now keep going. Don’t you dare stop until I’m shaking.”

JJ’s fingers moved with growing confidence, the pads of them slick and gliding over your clit with an addictive rhythm that sent sparks shooting through your core. Your breaths grew heavier, more ragged, a soft gasp escaping every time he hit just the right spot. He watched you intently, his face flushed, lips parted as though he could feel every tremor coursing through your body.

"Faster," you whimpered, your hips arching off the bed, chasing the pressure that built steadily inside you. "Don't hold back, JJ. Give it to me."

His jaw clenched, a curse slipping past his lips as he obeyed, his thumb pressing against your clit now, working it in small, precise circles. He slid his other hand up your thigh, gripping the soft flesh as though to anchor himself. The room filled with the slick, obscene sounds of his fingers against you and your increasingly desperate moans.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this," he muttered, his voice rough, almost hoarse. "Completely spread out, soaking wet for me. Christ, pretty girl, you're gonna kill me."

Your body tightened, the coil inside you winding so tightly it was almost unbearable. You reached out, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him closer until his face was just inches from yours. His breath mingled with yours, hot and heavy, and the raw hunger in his eyes was almost enough to tip you over the edge.

"Then die happy," you murmured, your voice trembling but still commanding, your nails digging into his arm as his fingers worked you harder, faster, dragging you to the brink. "Make me cum, JJ. Make me scream your fucking name."

And he did.

Your orgasm tore through you, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that left you crying out, your back arching violently off the bed. "Fuck, JJ! Oh my god!" Your thighs clenched around his hand, trapping him there as your body shook, wave after wave crashing over you. You were vaguely aware of his low groan, his fingers still moving, drawing out every last tremor until you were a trembling, breathless mess beneath him.

When the intensity finally subsided, you slumped back against the bed, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your skin flushed and glowing. JJ sat back on his heels, staring down at his slick fingers like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. His gaze shifted to you, his expression torn between awe and pure, unfiltered desire.

You reached out, catching his wrist and bringing his hand to your lips. Without breaking eye contact, you licked his fingers clean, tasting yourself on him, watching as his pupils blew wide with lust.

"Your turn," you whispered, your voice still shaky but dripping with mischief. "I think it's only fair I get to make you scream next."

part 2

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah

[ylangelegy]

a birthday drabble for @totomoshi 🤎🥨☕ sara, my love, i wish for you everything good and sweet! xo

five-star (seungcheol x reader) ┆ word count: 686.

Your go-to coffee order is on the edge of your usual table. 

Wryly, you pick up the paper cup to inspect it. There’s nothing to indicate who the drink might be from.

A part of you wants to not look a gift horse in the mouth. A free drink is a free drink, after all. You’ve frequented this café enough to qualify as a regular, so any of the other frequent patrons are prime suspects. 

When you turn to the barista to ask, he’s already shaking his head. 

“No clue,” he says. 

“You make the drinks,” you respond accusingly. 

He flashes you a dimpled smile but offers nothing more. “I can at least assure you there’s no poison in it,” he says, drawing a light huff from you. 

“I’d give you a one-star rating if it did.”

“Oh, how ever will I live.” 

The bell over the entrance dings. Your good-natured bickering is cut short. When you take a sip, it’s just as he said. No poison, and exactly how you like it. 

This becomes a thing. At least twice a week, your drink is already waiting for you. Sometimes, it comes with a croissant. A chocolate chip cookie. A slice of cake, even. 

You let this drag on for about three months before deciding enough is enough. 

“I know it’s you, you know.” 

He looks up at you, one eyebrow arched upward. 

“Me?” he asks innocently. 

There’s no one else around. You had timed this, waited for the last of the customers to filter out before striking. 

“I know it’s you,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely. 

He gives a noncommittal hum in response. He’s already wrapping up for the day, folding his apron and packing away his name tag. 

Seungcheol, it says. 

“And yet you only decided to bring it up now?” he teases. 

You raise your shoulders in a shrug. There’s a small smile tugging at your face— the confirmation of his identity, sweeter than any of the pastries you’ve been gifted so far. 

“I liked getting free stuff,” you answer cheekily. 

Seungcheol’s eyes turn into crescents as he laughs. He’s obviously amused at your feigned ignorance. Perhaps even endeared by it. You can tell in the way he leans across the counter, trying to get a little closer to you; the way the corners of his lips tilt upward as he speaks. 

“And I like you,” he finally, finally confesses. “In case that hasn’t been made clear yet.” 

Something akin to a snort of laughter slides past your lips. “Could’ve told me earlier.” 

“I thought you liked the free stuff.” 

“Yeah, well, I would’ve liked a date much more.” 

And, oh, the way his smile breaks, then. It lights up his whole face. 

“Are you only saying that because I make good coffee?” he asks as he packs away his things, seemingly readying to leave with you. 

You realize that you wouldn’t mind.

“The coffee could be better—” you’re saying, but Seungcheol’s smile drops into a pout. 

“Yah!”

“Let me finish!” You clear your throat. “But the barista’s kind of cute.” 

Seungcheol’s lip is still jut out, though it twitches ever so slightly. When the two of you step out of his café, he hurriedly locks up before glancing down at you. 

“What’s it going to take to get a five-star rating from you?” His tone is half-joking, but you have some idea that he’s not referring only to his café. 

The two of you fall into step. Seungcheol’s shoulder brushes against yours, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out to hold your hand.

“Let’s start with that date,” you say, trying to maintain some semblance of coolness as Seungcheol seems to lead you to your destination for the night. “And then we can talk about your rating.” 

You’re playing it coy, playing it safe, but it’s hard to act nonchalant when Seungcheol is practically vibrating with excitement at your side. 

He grins down at you, all bright and warm and fond, and to hell with it. You smile back at him.

(He swears it’s better than any five-star rating in the world.) 

[hjvi]

𝘾𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙔𝙤𝙪

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Intimacy, intimacy, intimacy.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Kissing, touching, fingering. Inexperienced and slightly innocent reader. Loss of virginity.

You’re sitting on the worn, overstuffed couch in Christopher’s basement, the dim light of a single lamp casting a golden glow over the room. The faint hum of his laptop sits in the background, but your focus is entirely on him. Christopher—your Christopher—is pacing, talking a mile a minute, hands flying in every direction as he tells you about some ridiculous idea for a YouTube video. To anyone else, he’d be this loud, fast-talking ball of energy, hard to follow and even harder to keep up with. But to you, he’s everything.

Ever since you were kids, you’ve known a side of Chris that no one else sees. To everyone else, he was the annoying kid who couldn’t sit still, who blurted out answers in class without raising his hand, and who was always two steps ahead of himself. But you—you saw the quiet moments. The times when he’d focus so intently on a drawing or a thought, his blue eyes narrowing in concentration, the world fading around him. You saw the way he’d bite his lip when he was nervous or how his hands fidgeted when he was trying to keep his energy under control. To you, he wasn’t just loud or impatient—he was a puzzle, intricate and endlessly fascinating. And for some reason, you were the only person who seemed to want to figure him out.

The two of you grew up in the same neighborhood, your houses just a few blocks apart. Your earliest memory of Chris is of him at a birthday party when you were six. He’d been the kid running around with cake smeared on his face, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. But later that same day, you’d found him sitting under the dining table, quietly drawing pictures of dinosaurs on the napkins. He’d looked up when you crawled under to join him and smiled, wide and genuine. “You like dinosaurs too?” he’d asked, his tone curious, his smile so warm it felt like sunshine. From that moment, it was like you’d known each other forever.

As the years passed, your friendship deepened. Chris was the only friend you ever needed. He was loud, sure, but he always made space for you. No matter how chaotic his energy was, he’d stop everything to listen when you needed to talk. It amazed you how someone so full of life could also be so present, so deeply invested in you. He’d lean back in his chair, hands still for once, his blue eyes locked on yours. “You’re seriously the only person who gets me,” he’d say, and you’d believe him.

When you were ten, the two of you made a promise. It was one of those silly, half-serious pacts kids make late at night when the world feels a little too big. You were sitting on his bed, the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling casting faint shadows. “If we don’t have anyone else by the time we’re, like, old—I dunno, twenty-five or something—we’ll just get married, okay?” he’d said, his tone light but his eyes sincere. You’d laughed and agreed, pinky-promising under the covers.

You never told anyone about that promise, but it stayed with you. Maybe because deep down, you’d always known there was something different about the way you felt about Chris. You’d always loved him, in one way or another. But it wasn’t until recently that you realized he loved you too—not just as a friend, but as something more.

It happened one night a few weeks ago. The two of you were sitting on the hood of his car, parked at the edge of an empty lot. The sky was clear, stars scattered across the black canvas above you. Chris was quieter than usual, his leg bouncing as he stared out into the night.

“Hey,” he’d said suddenly, turning to look at you. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you’d replied, your voice soft.

He’d hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. Then he’d smiled, small and shy. “I think I’ve been in love with you since, like, forever. You’re the best part of my life, you know that?”

Your heart had stopped, then started again, pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. You’d felt your cheeks heat up, and for a moment, all you could do was nod.

Since then, everything had shifted. You and Chris were still you, still the same two kids who had grown up together, but now there was something more. You’d found yourself leaning into it, letting yourself be vulnerable in a way you never had before.

But there were still parts of you that held back. Chris had always been so sure of himself, so full of life, while you had always been a little more reserved. You loved the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world, but sometimes you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. You’d always been thin, your body a mix of sharp angles and soft curves, and while Chris never seemed to notice the things you picked apart about yourself, the insecurity lingered.

The evening in Christopher’s basement feels like every other moment you’ve spent with him, but there’s a new charge in the air, one you can’t ignore. The two of you are on the worn couch again, the soft hum of the paused movie barely audible in the background. His arm rests along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the ends of your hair. It’s a small touch, one that sends warmth rushing through you.

Chris leans closer, and his voice is softer than usual. “You okay?” he asks, those piercing blue eyes of his locking on yours.

You nod, smiling at the way his concern seems to melt into relief almost instantly. He tilts his head, his messy hair falling into his face just a bit. “Good,” he says, his lips twitching into that familiar, crooked smile that’s always made your heart stutter.

His hand brushes your hair from your face, and for a moment, it feels like the world has slowed. He moves in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours. The tension is palpable, hanging between you two, thick like a storm that’s about to break. The quiet pulse of your heartbeat fills your ears

You don’t remember who moved first, but suddenly his lips are on yours. It’s gentle at first, an exploration, a shared breath as if testing the waters. But as his lips press against yours again, firmer this time, something shifts. His hands slip behind your neck, pulling you in closer, tilting your head as his mouth moves against yours with more urgency. You respond in kind, your fingers finding the soft curls at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer still. His lips part slightly, and you follow suit, the kiss deepening as your breath quickens.

You kiss him back, feeling the heat of him spread through you. The world fades, and it’s just the two of you, the taste of him on your lips, the soft slide of his mouth against yours. You lean in, deepening the kiss.

His hand slips from your neck, trailing slowly down your body, fingertips brushing the edge of your shirt, and then—deliberate—he slides his hand beneath the fabric. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, his fingers warm against the bare skin of your waist. You feel him hesitate for just a split second, his touch lingering there, waiting for permission.

He pulls back for a moment, his breath hot against your lips. His eyes are locked on yours, searching for something, maybe reassurance, maybe a signal to continue. You can see the longing in his gaze, but there’s something else there too—a tenderness that cuts through the heat of the moment.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, his voice low and raspy, as if he’s afraid of pushing you too far, too fast.

You nod, your throat tight, but even in the dim light, you feel exposed—vulnerable in a way you’ve never been before. “Yeah… just… just slow down a little,” you say, the words coming out in a breathy whisper. You reach up, your fingers trailing down his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt.

He nods, his fingers trailing down your arm before they find your shirt. With a sudden surge of confidence, he starts unbuttoning it, his fingers careful but sure. You can feel every movement, every inch of fabric that loosens, as if the small space between you and him is collapsing with each passing second.

As the fabric falls open, his fingers trace the curve of your collarbone, the heat of his touch spreading through you like wildfire. You shiver beneath his hand, but instead of moving away, he closes the distance again, kissing you harder, deeper, as though he can’t stop himself, as though the world outside the two of you has ceased to exist.

His lips leave yours, trailing down to your neck, and you gasp, feeling the soft press of his mouth against your skin. His hands move, carefully but insistently, exploring, learning the shape of you. You feel exposed, vulnerable—but with Chris, it’s different. It’s safe. He’s not rushing, not forcing anything; he’s savoring every inch of you.

You pull him back up to kiss him again, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him into you with a hunger that surprises you. He groans softly, pressing his body against yours, the heat of him intoxicating. Your hearts beat in sync now, and everything else—the noise, the world outside, the insecurities—fades into the background.

His lips move to your neck, kissing the soft skin just below your ear, and you shiver, your breath catching in your throat. He pauses again, his lips lingering there as if savoring the taste of your skin. His hands are now at the hem of your shirt, sliding it upwards, slowly exposing more of your bare skin.

You don’t stop him immediately. Instead, you close your eyes, letting yourself drown in the sensation. But when his fingers move lower, his touch now bold and unhesitant, you freeze. His fingers find the clasp of your bra, the small piece of fabric that is the last barrier between you and the vulnerability you’re feeling in this moment.

It’s not that you don’t want him, not that you don’t trust him. But something inside you shifts, a rush of uncertainty flooding you all at once. You swallow hard, the intensity of the situation pulling you back to earth. You place your hand gently on his chest, stopping him just as his fingers brush the clasp.

“Chris… wait,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

He pulls back immediately, his eyes wide with concern, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His brow furrows in concern, and his voice is low and steady when he speaks. “I’m sorry… I—I didn’t mean to—”

You shake your head, your fingers pressing lightly against his chest, grounding yourself. “No, it’s not that… it’s just—” You pause, looking into his eyes, seeing the question there. “I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”

His shoulders relax, but his gaze doesn’t waver. He nods slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he processes your words. “Okay,” he says, his voice soft but certain. “That’s all you ever have to say, you know? I’m not here to push you into anything.”

You drop your hand from his wrist, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, his hand lingers on your side, the touch no longer exploring but reassuring. “It’s not just that,” you continue, your voice shaky. “I—I don’t feel… good about myself. I know I’m too thin, and I just don’t—”

“Stop,” he interrupts gently, his tone firm but full of warmth. “Don’t do that to yourself, okay? You’re not ‘too’ anything. You’re you, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you glance away, feeling vulnerable under his steady gaze. But Chris isn’t having it. He shifts so that he’s kneeling on the couch in front of you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “Look at me,” he says, his thumbs brushing the corners of your eyes where the tears threaten to spill. “You’re beautiful, m’kay? Not because of what you think you should look like or whatever you’re comparing yourself to. You’re beautiful because you’re you. And I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life reminding you of that if I have to.”

The sincerity in his voice leaves you breathless. You blink up at him, and when he sees the tears falling, he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m serious,” he murmurs against your skin. “You never have to explain yourself to me. I’ll always wait for you, no matter how long it takes. Because it’s not about me, or even this. It’s about us.”

You nod, your hands finding their way to his as they rest against your cheeks. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “You don’t have to thank me. I love you, that’s all.”

The two of you stay like that for a long time, the weight of the conversation settling into a comforting quiet. Eventually, Chris pulls you into his arms, shifting so that you’re both lying back on the couch. His hand runs gently up and down your arm, his touch soothing.

He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of your own emotions settle in the safety of his words. He’s not in a hurry. He’s not pushing you. And somehow, that makes everything feel better, more right. The tension that had been building between you two dissolves into something quieter, softer. You still feel the heat of him beside you, the pull of his presence—but now, it feels like something you’re ready to embrace, when the time comes.

And as the night stretches on, you both stay there, wrapped up in each other, waiting for whatever comes next. The promise of more—a promise that can’t be broken.

But as the hours tick by and the night grows colder, you can feel it: things are about to change. The future, unknown and full of possibilities, awaits just beyond the horizon.

And whatever it holds, you know one thing for sure: you’ll face it together.

Months have passed since that night, and the walls you’d so carefully built between the two of you are beginning to feel fragile—like old bricks slowly crumbling, piece by piece. With every moment you’ve spent with Chris since, the weight of the space between you has only grown heavier, more unbearable. There’s something in the air now, a shift that feels as inevitable as the tide. You can feel it in the way he looks at you, in the way his voice deepens when he speaks your name, in the way his hands linger on your body just a little longer than before.

The tension between you both has escalated, winding itself around every glance, every touch, every whispered conversation. What started as tentative steps into new territory—those quiet, soft moments—has gradually transformed into something more intense, more urgent. You’ve grown so close that it’s almost suffocating in the best possible way, each of you navigating the space between comfort and longing, between safety and desire.

You’ve taken things much further now. Your lips no longer linger at the edge of hesitation; they meet his with fervor, with want, with a fire that feels like it could burn through everything in its path. The warmth of his touch sends waves of electricity through you, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You’ve learned every contour of his body, every curve of his smile, the exact way his lips feel against yours.

But none of it is enough.

You’ve built something with Chris, something you know is real, something you can’t imagine living without. But every time his hands trace the line of your back, his fingers brushing against the bare skin under your shirt, every time his lips leave a trail of soft kisses down your neck, it only leaves you wanting more. Not just his touch—not just the feeling of him beside you—but the intensity of everything he makes you feel, the wild, untamed yearning that has settled in your chest, burning brighter with each passing day.

It’s hard to put into words, the way it’s grown. The longing, the craving—it’s like a hunger you can’t ignore, can’t sate, no matter how many times your lips meet, how many times his hands gently pull you closer. You need more. You need him like you’ve never needed anything before. Your body aches for him in a way you hadn’t fully realized until now—until every moment you’ve spent with him has built to this crescendo, this pressure that you can’t push down anymore. It’s there when he smiles at you, his eyes full of mischief and sincerity all at once. It’s there when he touches you, his fingertips grazing your skin like a spark that could light the fuse of something you’ve been holding back for too long.

Tonight, the air feels thick with it. You’re sitting next to him on his couch, the soft hum of his laptop still present in the background, but it’s drowned out by the sound of your breathing, your heart pounding in your chest. The way his hand rests just inches from yours—your fingers brushing, the slightest touch—sets your pulse racing. Every movement he makes is like a promise, every glance, every small laugh, an invitation.

He shifts closer, his thigh pressed against yours, the warmth of his body radiating through your clothes. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side, and for a moment, you just lean into him, taking in the feeling of his proximity. But the moment doesn’t last long. You can’t ignore the way his lips linger near your ear, the way his breath fans over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, teasing, “I’ve been thinking about this... about us... a lot lately.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes are darker now, filled with a mixture of warmth and desire that makes your heart skip a beat. He’s not talking about just the past few months of your friendship, not talking about the casual touches or the quiet moments where your hearts would connect in a way you never thought possible. He’s talking about something more, something that neither of you has fully embraced yet.

“I want you, m’kay?” he says, his voice rough around the edges, his hand sliding down to your waist. His fingers press into your side gently, but you can feel the strength in his touch. It’s almost as if he’s trying to hold back, trying to be respectful of the space you’ve both created over the months, but the desire is too strong now.

You breathe out, feeling your chest tighten as he leans in, his lips barely brushing against yours. The kiss is slow, deliberate, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that makes everything else fall away. His hand moves up to cup your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, and you feel it—everything you’ve been craving—crash over you in waves.

You’ve always known how much you wanted him, but this? This is different. This feels like a tipping point, a line you’re both about to cross. And as his kiss deepens, as his hand slides down to your back, pulling you closer, you know it’s no longer about holding back. It’s about surrendering to what’s between you, letting it consume you in the way you’ve longed for.

His lips trail down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You tilt your head back slightly, giving him better access, the pulse in your throat beating in time with the wild thrum of your heart. His hands move with purpose now, slipping under your shirt, his fingers grazing the skin of your stomach, sending a wave of heat rushing through you.

And then his fingers find the clasp of your bra. There’s no hesitation now. His touch is confident, sure. You can feel the pressure of his hand against your skin as he works at it, slowly and deliberately. But just as the clasp starts to loosen, you freeze. It’s not that you don’t want him—it’s that you feel yourself on the edge of something, something that makes you nervous but excited all at once.

You place your hand gently on his chest, stopping him. It’s not a rejection; it’s just… a moment of clarity. You pull back slightly, your breath ragged, and meet his eyes. His expression softens, and his lips curl into a small, reassuring smile.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice gentle, full of concern. “I don’t want to rush you.”

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “I want this, Chris. I really do."

On one particular Saturday night in the midst of autumn, you found yourself propped up against Chris’s side on one of the couches in the triplets party, legs bent up at your chest as you fiddled with frayed denim at the end of your pant leg. Chris was in a debate with a random man, someone he seemed to know well enough to bullshit with, talking about how the two had snagged something good off a rich man’s car not too long ago.

If it hadn’t been for the incessant rap music Nick played when it rounded two in the morning you’d likely have fallen asleep against Chris, but the occasional jump of a new song kept you jerking awake, a tired pout situating itself on your features as you rested your cheek against Chris’s shoulder.

“Looks like your miss is real tired.” The man stated, taking a long puff from his cigar before gesturing toward you with the end of it, a snicker following his words as he propped himself up against the end of his pool cue. Chris quirked a brow, looking down at you where you were tucked into his side with a hidden smile.

“Guess she is.” He murmured, not saying anything more beyond that before moving to prop himself up straighter, hand smoothing down your back as he looked down at you. “Tired?”

You weren’t tired, tired. More so bored, the constant scent of smoke and alcohol wasn’t helping the boredom or the budding headache in the back of your skull. But knowing if you said anything other than ‘yes’ at that moment would result in another hour downstairs, you nodded, feigning a yawn as you let your eyes flutter deceptively.

Chris caught on, but he didn’t say anything. Instead choosing to click his tongue against his teeth as he played along, shrugging as he moved to stand. “I’ll see you later, man.” He stated, causing the older man to shrug himself before dispersing off into the crowd. Chris turned to you, helping you to your feet before leading you up the stairs.

“Lyin’ is a sin, y’know that right?” He chuckled out, quiet enough for only you to hear as he nudged open his bedroom door with the toe of his shoe, causing you to laugh yourself and avert your gaze from his as you moved into the familiar room.

“Didn’t lie.” You mumbled out, another pout crossing your lips as you kicked off your shoes, making your way to his bed. “Real tired, Chrissy.”

“Sure, doll.” He snickered from the corner of the room as you made yourself comfortable on the bed, the familiar metallic clang of his belt hitting the wooden floor echoing throughout the room soon after.

He moved beside you then, letting out a sigh as he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling your back flush with his chest. The sound of rap music and clattering pool balls still echoed from downstairs, but the only thing you could bring yourself to focus on was the feeling of Chris’s knee between your legs.

It was an innocent move, both of you slept with your legs intertwined, it felt comfortable given how small his bed was. As he shifted to get more comfortable his knee pressed harder against your clothed cunt, causing your cheeks to flush red as you choked back a whine. Chris stiffened, breath catching in his throat as he took a moment to gauge your reaction before moving his knee again.

“Chri-“ You whined, hand moving down in between your legs as you buried your face into the pillow you two shared, his scent lingering heavily on the fabric doing nothing to quell the growing ache between your legs.

“What, doll? Feel good?” He whispered, words ghosting across the nape of your neck, causing your back to arch involuntarily as you slowly nodded. His hand smoothed down your front, bumping over the fabric of your shirt and jeans as he slowly moved to cup your sex, ever so gently applying pressure as he rocked himself against you.

You felt yourself soaking your underwear with arousal the longer he rutted against you, his fingers pressing against your cunt through your jeans as he did. A familiar sensation bloomed in your lower stomach, one that left you clenching your thighs around his palm as you tried to quell the growing ache.

“Gotta tell me what you want.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, trailing a litany of open-mouthed kisses along the curvature of your throat, pressure from his fingers increasing against your cunt. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck, Christopher, just fuck me.” You whined, embarrassment over the prospect of voicing your needs soon being overweighed by the sheer need you felt for him, your hand moved to grasp at his forearm as you begged. “Please, Chris.”

That seemed to be all he needed as he moved to sit up on his knees, pressing another kiss to your jaw before pulling his shirt up and over his head. You laid there, lips parted as you watched him undress, feeling your blush spread from your cheeks to the top of your chest. You wanted to touch him, feel him, kiss him - so you did. You moved to sit up, folding your legs underneath yourself as you moved to press a kiss to his lips, hands moving to cup his jaw, only pulling away when you felt that familiar pull to touch him elsewhere.

You’d seen him without a shirt, but you’d never truly been able to admire him until now. Your hands wavered over his body, fingertips dipping in between the rivets of his toned skin, along healed scars, a faint bruise that still lingered under the left side of his ribcage. Above it all you found yourself fascinated with the way his chest rose with each breath and the small freckles that lined his skin. They reminded you of the ones he’d gotten from his time in the sun that plastered themselves against his cheekbones and upper shoulders.

Chris let you look, eyes fluttering whenever your hands would drift farther south than before. You could hear him taking in shuddering breaths, chest catching every few minutes as though he were teetering on the edge of self-control. He raised his hands then, looking to you for approval before he lifted your shirt up and over your head, bundling the soft fabric in his hands before letting it fall to the floor.

You reached your hands behind yourself, unclasping your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders until your bra collapsed into your lap, exposing your breasts to him. He felt his throat dry, blue eyes flickering between your chest and your eyes before he moved to gently lay you back against his bed, situating himself over top of you.

“You want this?” His words were hushed as his hand drifted down over your bare stomach, slowly unbuttoning your jeans as he kept his gaze locked on your face, watching for any sign of discomfort or worry. When you responded with a nod and a quiet, “I want this.” He smiled, a soft laugh leaving him as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

You’d envisioned losing your virginity hundreds of times, a perfect encapsulation of what sex had to be painted in your mind, vivid and blaring. But this was so different, the way Chris was so gentle, not afraid to laugh if something awkward happened, both of you sharing the pure moment of intimacy with smiles on your face. Nothing could’ve ever prepared you for it and that somehow made it all so much better.

As he slid your jeans off your legs he smiled up at you, a soft look on his face as he tossed the denim to the floor, moving back up to place another languid kiss to your lips. His hand moved between your thighs, fingers splaying against your cunt through your underwear, a groan passing his lips when he felt just how wet you’d become.

“Chris, please-“ You begged, thighs trembling as he continued to tease you through your underwear. He relented, placing a gentle kiss to your jaw before moving to sit back up, slowly sliding your underwear down and off your body before discarding them to the floor as well.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, eyes wandering over your form laid in front of him, hands smoothing up and down your sides as he took it all in. “So fuckin’ beautiful, doll.”

You watched with bated breath as he slipped his jeans off, kicking his boxers off along with them. His length was bigger than you’d anticipated, only having felt the shape of it when you’d ground down against him during your frequent make-out sessions. As if sensing your apprehension he moved back over you, hand moving to cup your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“It won’t hurt, alright? We’ll take it slow, real slow.” He whispered, voice soothing as he helped you to wrap your legs around his hips, your heels subtly digging into the flesh of his lower back. He smiled down at you, eyes voicing a silent question if you were alright to which you quickly nodded back, a smile upon your face as well.

He braced himself on his arm, face close to yours as he slid a hand down between you, helping to guide himself inside before sliding his fingers up to slowly circle your clit. A moan left you at the feeling, leaving you clenching around his tip, the feeling causing him to bite back a grunt as he slowly began pushing in.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned out, brows screwing together as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of your welcoming cunt, pausing in his movements to give you a chance to grow used to the feeling. “Doin’ so good, baby, so good.”

You’d heard horror stories from your friends, tales of how their first time had been painful and rushed, but this felt the complete opposite. While it took you a moment to grow used to the feeling of him inside of you, A sharp groan slips from your lips, the sound escaping before you can stop it. The sharp sting still lingers, a fiery sensation that makes every breath feel a little too heavy. You try to steady yourself, but the pain pulses with each movement, teasing you with its intensity.

You close your eyes, waiting for the sharpness to subside, the heat gradually fading into a dull throb. The tension in your body tightens, but you force yourself to relax, to let the stinging tone down. It’s a slow burn, a lingering reminder of just how real everything feels right now it was an incredibly welcome feeling. You could feel yourself clenching down around him, his fingers circling your clit only adding to the feeling building in your stomach.

“Chris- Chris, move.” You whispered out, voice hoarse as you grasped at his shoulders, desperate for him to move. He snickered at your pleading tone, slowly pulling himself out before pushing back in, slowly and deeply fucking you as he whispered words of praise into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses against your damp skin whenever he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of your warmth surrounding him.

You could hear your wetness coating his cock with each thrust of his hips, his fingers slick against your clit. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, broken-off moans, and whispered words. Your thighs tightened against him as he adjusted himself, lifting himself a bit, unknowingly brushing against a spot within you that you’d never known existed - one that pulled a drawn-out moan from your chest.

Your mind goes momentarily blank, a fog settling over your thoughts as his hand flattens against your stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock. warm and grounding. The touch sends a ripple of heat through your body, and for a second, it feels as though time slows. Every nerve in your body seems to focus on the gentle pressure of his palm against your skin, pulling your attention to the way it feels—so intimate, so right. Your pulse quickens, your breath hitching as you struggle to gather your thoughts, but the weight of his hand keeps you rooted.

“Do you feel that, sweet girl?” His voice is low, the words curling around your senses, sending a shiver down your spine. It’s not just the question—it’s the way he says it, with that mixture of tenderness and something far deeper, far more possessive. His touch lingers, as if savoring the moment, and your body reacts before you can think. The fog in your mind grows thicker, swept away by the overwhelming sensation of him so close, so present.

“Yeah?” He asked through a smirk, hand moving down to cup your hip as he pushed back into you, hitting that very same spot. You could hardly think, let alone breathe as he fucked himself into you, fingers working at your clit as he angled himself to hit that spot over, and over. “Taking me so good, doll.” He grunted out, grip tightening on your hip as he picked up his pace.

Your hand shot down to his wrist as he continued toying with your clit, eyes fluttering shut as you felt your orgasm building to its peak in your lower stomach, the feeling causing you to rock your hips in tandem with his thrusts. The look on your face was enough to make him groan, his hand moving from your hip to your jaw as he tilted your face to look at him.

“Look at me when you cum on my cock, baby.” He murmured, voice soft yet authoritative as he slammed into you. As soon as you opened your eyes he moved his hand, pressing it against your lower stomach as he continued fucking himself into you. It felt as though he were pushing you down onto him, that spot that nearly blinded you with pleasure constantly being rutted against by his cock.

All you could muster was a weak, “F-fuck,” as you came undone, back arching off the bed as you whined out his name. He didn’t stop, stifling a groan at the way you writhed beneath him as he felt his orgasm building. Once you started swatting at his fingers that still circled your clit he moved his hand, choosing to grab the other side of your hip, effectively propping you up against him as he fucked you.

The pace was near brutal, moans forced from your body as your breasts bounced with each thrust. You couldn’t focus, still reeling from your last orgasm as he continued fucking you into oversensitivity-fueled bliss. You could feel his thumbs pressing into your hipbones, short curses slipping past his lips.

“Gonna cum, baby.” He grunted, pulling out of you a second later, spilling his cum across your lower stomach. His chest heaved, cheeks flushed red as he pumped himself through his orgasm. You could only watch in a haze of your own, still catching your breath as he looked up at you, that familiar crooked smile taking over his features as he moved on top of you once more.

“Did so good, doll. Real good.” He murmured against your cheek, pressing a kiss to your skin between each sentence. “You feel alright? Need me to get you something?” He asked after a moment, a hint of concern evident in his tone that made you smile as you shook your head.

“It felt perfect, Chris. I’m alright.” You whispered back, turning over onto your side to face him, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek, leaning up after to press a kiss to his waiting lips. “Perfect.”

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

A/N: Thank you for reading if you made it this far, or even if you just skimmed it over - either way I appreciate the interactions! I tried to make this accurate or at least how I envision virginity loss for Chris but feel free to correct me! I am very open to constructive criticism. I'm flopping very bad so I don't expect much interactions:))

taglist: @swagalicious260@watercolorskyy@coquettechris@lovesturni0l0s@christmastreecake@ellbowmacaroni@blog-luvdance@sophand4n4@meg4-matt44

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¡Feliz Día de los Reyes Magos! A Mexican Tradition:

Hello, friends. I am once again back with my Mexican SnowBaz.

During December, I noticed I could draw and I realized I could make Mexican prompts, so that’s what I’m doing.

Today is January 6th, and here in Mexico, we celebrate something that's kind of the equivalent of Christmas morning for some people, but it depends on the region of the country. For example, most of us don’t believe in Santa Claus (only the north does, like Monterrey which is in the border with US, next to Texas; I don’t know about the rest), but we do believe in “the Three Kings” or “the Magi”, which are entirely from Catholic/Christian lore. Jesus was born during Christmas, so after 12 days, the Three Kings come to give him gifts, so we Mexicans get those gifts today. You’re allowed to ask for 3 gifts (one per king) and we give the letter through a ballon we throw into the sky on the night of January 5th. Kids (and myself as well) are receiving their presents today.

Alongside that tradition, we have something called “la rosca de reyes”, or king’s bread or king’s wreath. It’s an oval orange bread with ate (quince jelly), fig, cherry and sugary bread. We cut this bread with our family and, inside the bread there are a few figurines of baby Jesus (nowadays, people put more things into the rosca, like the Kings or tamales), so if you cut your piece and you get the “niño” (child, baby, kid, whatever), on February 2nd, el día de la Calendaria, you’re in charge of making the tamales. Allegedly. And yesterday I learned why there are babies Jesus in the rosca: it’s a reference of how they had to hide Jesus so he wouldn’t get killed by Herodes. Insane.

This is one of my favorite festivities because it entails so many little traditions and because it’s very Mexican. And I wanted SnowBaz to have this memory because it’s something sweet. I wanted them to enjoy my culture, and I like sharing it.

I wrote something for the art I’ve made, and you can find it here down here:

BAZ

There is nothing that could make being awakened by yelling and the bed jumping a good thing. My eyes are heavy as I try to get them to open, but thankfully there is no light outside.

It’s not even morning yet.

I turn to Simon and hide myself on his neck, searching for his warmth, and shaking him awake.

“Your son is up,” I mumble, closing my eyes, relishing in Simon’s soft body.

“My son?”

“Wake up!” Ángel yells, too loudly for any kind of ears.

“Those early-riser-genes aren’t mine,” I groan.

Ángel lays down on top of both of us, his arms around our heads, and we decide to get up. Much against our wishes.

Simon sits down, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and Ángel grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him awake.

“The Kings came!” he yells, his smile as bright as his dad’s.

I smile as I get off the bed, putting on my dark blue slippers. I grab the closest robe, and as I wrap it around me, I notice it’s Simon’s. I turn back to find him putting my football Watford hoodie over his head, his wings guarded into it.

“I’m going down alone if you don’t hurry!” Ángel yells again, and he grabs Simon’s tail. “Dad!”

“We’re up, we’re up,” Simon says, standing up, letting Ángel pull him out of our bedroom.

As soon as Ángel’s out the door, he rushes to the stairs but doesn’t go downstairs. He smiles at us, jumping in his place.

“Hurry!”

Simon and I walk faster, climbing down the stairs, full of 3 gigantic framed pictures of our wedding, and a smaller one of Ángel’s newborn face with six different expressions in it. I like the one where he’s looking to the side; Simon and I were being silly to make him laugh for the photos.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Ángel yells.

“Look, papá, it’s a sword! Like dad’s!” he screams, throwing himself to the floor.

He grabs the long, thin box with a plastic toy with the figure of a sword.

I turn to Simon, fake-smiling.

“The Magi brought our seven-year-old a sword,” I say through gritted teeth.

Simon smiles without taking his eyes off our kid, desacrating the box of the toy.

“Ángel asked for it,” he mumbles.

“Maybe Melchor should have asked Gaspar and Baltazar about it beforehand.”

Ángel jumps up and starts looking for scissors to get the sword off its container.

“Balthazar couldn’t have brought it to him,” Simon says. “He was too far away in the East.”

“Balthazar brought another gift. The kid has four.”

Simon looks at me then, eyes wide open in fear.

“What?”

It’s at that moment that Ángel notices it as well.

“The Magi brought me four gifts! That’s so cool!”

I force a smile as our kid looks up from his sitting position on the floor, a sword large enough to resemble Simon’s.

“Does this mean I’m getting four gifts every year?” he asks, eyes lit up with excitement.

Simon and I sit down slowly on the floor, next to Ángel.

“Maybe this year you behaved extra well,” Simon says. “We’ll see what they think next year, okay?”

“I’ll be super, extra, mega good!”

Simon kisses Ángel’s forehead.

“I’m sure you will.”

Maybe a kid with a plastic toy can make this day better.

SIMON

While Ángel’s showing Baz everything the Magi gave him this morning (I can hear everything from the kitchen since he's loud), I pull out the lid of the rosca for us three to be able to eat some for breakfast.

I’ll make some coffee for Baz and then I’ll give Ángel milk, and we’ll see who gets the baby. It’s not a rule for us to prepare tamales, but we do have some on February 2nd.

“Alright,” I call out. “¿Quién quiere rosca?”

[valkyrieromanoff]

SLIM PICKINS: LEO CAMPOLI X YOU

synopsis: you didn’t expect to fall for Leo Campoli’s cheeky and relentless flirting, but one thing’s for sure, hormones and a devilishly handsome pizza chef are a combination too hard to resist.

words: 1.7k

warnings: MDNI, +18, porn without a plot, unprotected sex, drinking.

a/n: hello there, I rewatched Little Italy this afternoon, and I couldn’t resist writing something about Leo. He’s got that irresistible flirtatious charm, but let’s be real—deep down, he’s just a hopeless romantic. 🥰

I hope you enjoy it! As always, comments, reblogs, and likes mean the world to me. 💕 My inbox is wide open for requests, so don’t be shy!

Jesus, what's a girl to do? This boy doesn't even know the difference between there, their, and they are Yet he's naked in my room

You hadn’t planned on ending up in bed with the most notorious flirt in Little Italy. Leo Campoli was exactly the kind of guy your friends warned you about—too cocky for his own good, with that smug grin and a knack for cheesy pick-up lines. 

He was always draping himself around women at the pool table, his hands resting a little too low on their waists, his chest pressed firmly against their backs as he “taught” them how to shoot. His smooth, easy laughter filled the room, drawing attention like a magnet.  

You told yourself you were better than that. You weren’t about to fall for his charm, no matter how persistent he was or how annoyingly attractive he looked under the dim bar lights. But damn it, you’d been horny ever since you got off the plane, and no amount of cocktails or beers had dulled the fire simmering inside you.  

So when Leo swaggered up to you, his dark blue eyes full of mischief and his grin downright sinful, you didn’t resist. He flirted shamelessly, his words dripping with confidence, and his hands strayed just enough to make your heart race. 

All those warnings and self-promises melted away with every heated kiss and teasing laugh. Leo Campoli might have been trouble, but for now, you didn’t care.  

Leo flashed that infamous grin as he stepped closer, one hand coming to rest on the small of your back to pull your hips flush against his own. "What you say we get out of here and have our own little party, huh?" he purred, dark blue eyes glinting with lust and promise under the dim lights of the bar.

His other hand tipped your chin up, thumb brushing across your plump bottom lip as he leaned in, breath hot against your ear. "I promise I'll make it a night you won't forget, bellissima," Leo murmured, voice low and smooth like honey. "Whaddya say?"

Leo's eyes fluttered closed as your soft lips met his, a low groan rumbling in his chest. His hand slid from your back to tangle in your silky curls, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The other hand your hip, pulling your body tighter against him as he claimed your mouth with renewed hunger.

He nipped at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, tasting the whiskey and desire on your breath. Leo's tongue delved past your parted lips to stroke along yours, coaxing you to dance with him, to give in to the fire building between you two.

"Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined," Leo murmured against your mouth, voice husky with want. His hands roamed your lush curves greedily, relishing the feel of your breasts pressed against him, the flare of your hips, the firm globes of your ass. "Let's get out of here, bellissima. My place is just upstairs..."

"Yes, please." You nodded, letting him guide you.

Leo's grin widened, triumph and lust burning in his eyes as he took your hand, leading you swiftly towards the back staircase. His palm was warm and slightly calloused, enveloping yours smaller one completely. The bulge in his jeans pressed against your hip as you climbed the stairs, promising pleasures to come.

Reaching the top, he fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the door to his apartment. Leo ushered you inside, the door clicking shut behind them. The space was dimly lit, the air thick with tension and the scent of alcoholic drinks and desire. 

A couch sat against one wall, a coffee table strewn with empty beer bottles and takeout containers. A door led to what you assumed was the bedroom, and beyond it, the city lights twinkled through a large window.

But Leo didn't give you much time to take in your surroundings before he was on you again, strong hands gripping your waist and spinning you to face him. He captured your mouth in a passionate kiss, the heat of his body enveloping you, his hardness evident through the fabric of his jeans.

"Fuck, I want you," Leo groaned against your lips, hands sliding down to squeeze the firm globes of your ass. He rocked his hips into yours, letting you feel exactly what you did to him. "Want to touch every inch of this pretty body"

"So stop wasting time talking and do it." You teased him, a smile playing on your lips.

A wicked grin split Leo's face at your bold words, eyes glinting with unchecked desire. "As you wish, bellezza," he purred, hands already working at the buttons of your top.

Buttons popped open one by one until the material fell away, revealing the creamy swell of your breasts, clad in a lacy bra that did little to hide your hardened nipples.

Leo's breath caught, eyes hungry as they roamed your newly exposed flesh. "Dio mio, you're stunning," he breathed, before ducking his head to press open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your breast. 

His hands found the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with ease before tossing it aside. Cool air kissed your heated skin a moment before his mouth closed around one straining peak, tongue swirling and suckling greedily.

One hand slid down to the hem of your skirt, pushing it up around your thighs as he caressed the smooth skin there. His fingertips danced along the edge of your panties, teasing, before slipping beneath the fabric to cup your cunt. He groaned around your nipple as he felt your slick folds, fingers stroking through your wetness.

"Already so wet for me, huh bellissima? Can't wait to sink my cock deep in this tight little cunt," Leo murmured, voice muffled against your breast. Two fingers pushed inside you, pumping slowly, as his thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles around the sensitive nub.

"Too much talk and not enough action." You replied breathlessly, trying to maintain a semblance of composure even as your legs began to wobble for him.

"Mmm, you want action, bellezza? I'll give you action," Leo growled, a wicked glint in his eye. In one swift motion, he swept the remaining clothes off the couch and laid you down on the worn leather, his hard body covering yours a second later.

His hands made quick work of your skirt and panties, nearly tearing them in his haste to get you naked. Then he was settling between your spread thighs, the thick length of his cock nudging against your slick entrance. 

Leo's eyes locked with your, dark and intense blue orbs, as he gripped your hips and thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt inside your tight heat with one powerful stroke.

A guttural moan tore from his throat at the wonderful feel of you, your walls clenching like a chiffon around his throbbing flesh. "Fuck, bellezza, you feel incredible," Leo rasped, hips starting to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a hard, driving rhythm.

The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he took you with deep, forceful thrusts, each one hitting that magical spot deep inside you that made fireworks fly behind your eyelids. 

One hand slid beneath your ass, tilting your hips to take him even deeper as the other snaked between your sweat-slicked bodies to find your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"fuck" You moaned, your head hitting the arm of the couch with Leo's thrusts, your arm around his shoulder. "faster"

"Fuck, you like that, bellezza? You want it faster?" Leo snarled, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his brow as he doubled his efforts. 

His hips slammed into yours with brutal force, the couch creaked and groaned beneath you, threatening to give way under the intensity of his thrusts.

His fingers flew over your clit, rubbing mercilessly, pushing you towards that peak you so desperately craved. The thick head of his cock kissed your cervix with each powerful lunge, stoking the fire burning low in your belly. Leo's muscles rippled beneath your touch, his skin slick with endeavour as he rutted into you wildly.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on as he split you open on his thick shaft. Your untouched breasts bounced with each thrust, hardened nipples grazing his chest. The sensation of his hard length driving into you, his fingers on your clit, pushed you closer and closer to the cliff.

"Come on, bellezza, come on my cock. I want to feel this sweet cunt squeezing me tight when you let go," Leo demanded, his voice a low, lustful growl. He could feel his own release fast approaching, balls drawing up tight as he chased your shared end.

"Dio mio, yes, fuck!" Leo roared, eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked erratically. 

With a last powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you spasming depths, hot seed erupting from his throbbing cock in thick spurts. His body shuddered and twitched as he emptied himself inside you, filling you with his essence. 

Panting harshly, Leo collapsed against you, careful not to crush you with his weight. He peppered your face and neck with soft kisses as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed. 

"Mmm, that was... incredible, bellezza," he murmured against your skin, still buried deep inside your warmth. Leo made no move to pull out, enjoying the feel of your fluttering walls around his spent cock. 

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "You okay, sweetheart? I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked softly, pushing himself up to look at you.

You smiled lazily, the post-orgasmic glow shining on your sweaty skin. “No, I enjoyed every moment.”

Leo flashed a satisfied grin at your words, still nestled snugly inside your warm, silky walls. "Good, because that was just the beginning, bellissima," he purred, one hand reaching up to caress your cheek tenderly. "Wait until you see what I have planned next."

He rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were spooning on the couch, his softening cock still buried deep in your heat. Leo's hand drifted down to your hip, thumb stroking the curve gently as he nuzzled into your neck with a contented sigh. 

"You know, I have to confess, I didn't expect tonight to go quite like this," Leo murmured, lips brushing your skin. "But I'm sure as hell glad it did." 

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade, arms tightening around your waist. "Stay the night with me, bellezza?’

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

tl;dr smoking a bowl outside with stoner!suguru getou

(hood!toji gets everyb caught up) [prev]

“Suguru, I swear I’m not mad… just curious how a romantic picnic date turns into a group affair.”

You lean into the phone camera, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Suguru’s sheepish expression. He avoids your gaze, moving his phone away as though shielding himself might lessen your scrutiny. You hear him inhale sharply.

“Hold on,” he says, voice low. “Let me go to my room.”

The screen shifts as Suguru walks through his apartment. The lighting dims, and soon his room comes into view. He sits back against the headboard, deftly tying up his hair before meeting your gaze again.

“Well…” he starts, dragging out the word. “I had all the food laid out in the kitchen to prepare—when Gojo bust in.”

You can already tell where this is going, but you let him continue.

“He got all excited, assuming we were all going on a picnic. Said it would make his week since his car’s in the shop and he’s had two migraines in a row. I… didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.”

Suguru gives you a knowing look, as if this explanation alone should suffice.

“Then,” he adds, rubbing his temples, “in true Gojo fashion, he invited Shoko and Nanami because, apparently, we haven’t all hung out in a while.”

You groan, setting your phone down to focus on your hair. “But we’re literally going today.”

“I know, baby. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” His voice softens. “Hey, if it helps: Nanami’s driving, Shoko’s bringing the weed, and Gojo made all the food. We’ll pick you up last, so be ready by 1, okay?”

Your arms cross as you narrow your eyes at the screen.

“Please and thank you?” Suguru adds, flashing you a guilty smile.

By the time Nanami’s flashy Lamborghini pulls up outside, you’ve decided to focus on the bright side: a picnic is still a picnic, and riding in a sports car doesn’t hurt. As you step out the door, the car horn blares obnoxiously. You spot Gojo leaning over the console, earning a sharp scolding from Nanami.

The passenger window rolls down, revealing Gojo’s grinning face. His white hair gleams in the sunlight, and he’s decked out in a crisp Burberry shirt with bold blue lettering.

“Hop in, twin!” he calls, waving enthusiastically.

The butterfly door lifts open, and you climb in, greeted by the lively chatter inside. Suguru, sitting beside you, pulls you into a quick side hug, while Shoko smiles lazily from the other side.

“Ready for some chill vibes?” you ask, settling in.

Shoko sighs dreamily, brushing stray hair from her face. “God, yes. Work’s been a nightmare, and Utahime’s visiting her family, so I’ve been suffering alone.” She holds up a clear backpack, revealing sparkly glass pipes and a mylar bag. “I brought some goodies—figured they’d fit the picnic aesthetic.”

Nanami grunts from the driver’s seat as the car pulls away. “Picnic aesthetic, huh?” he mutters, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “No wonder you’re so good at marketing.”

Shoko swats at him, laughing. “Damn right.”

Suguru drapes his arm over your shoulders, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing against your skin. You peek at the GPS over the seat. “Gojo, you have the address to the nature reserve, right? I’ve been dying to see the pond. I think we’ll see swans!”

Gojo turns, flashing his signature grin. “Of course, sweetheart! You’re the best at picking scenic spots. And get this—Nanami’s trying a pipe for the first time. I’m thrilled.”

Nanami yawns, merging into the fast lane. “Just hope Gojo packed enough food for people other than himself.”

“Are you calling me big-backed, Nanamin?!” Gojo gasps dramatically, drawing a chorus of laughter, and the lack of response speaks for itself.

The trees are a deep, verdant green when you arrive. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting golden streaks over the moss-covered ground. In the distance, you spot the pond, its still waters reflecting the sky.

Nanami parks carefully, muttering about the dirt ruining his tires. As everyone piles out, Gojo begins chattering about wild plants versus botanical gardens. You stretch your legs, joining Suguru at the trunk as he retrieves the picnic basket.

He grins, setting the basket aside before scooping you into his arms. “Let’s make this memorable,” he teases, lifting you effortlessly.

You squeak, clutching his neck as he carries you bridal-style. “Suguru!” Making good use of this vantage you squeeze at the flex of his biceps beneath your touch.

The group finds a sunny clearing near the pond, where Gojo unfurls a faded anime blanket.

“Is this… a Digimon blanket?” you ask, incredulous.

“Don’t shame me,” Gojo replies, flopping onto it like a starfish.

Shoko’s voice rings out. “Guys, there are mallards and swans! This spot is perfect.”

Suguru sets you down gently, his hands lingering at your waist. The group settles on the blanket, and Shoko begins unpacking the “tools.”

“Someone better have a lighter,” she says, pulling out a sparkly pink pipe.

Gojo raises a hand. “Torch incoming!”

Gojo grabs the pipe with a grin, packing it densely then handing it off to Nanami like a secret treasure. Nanami takes it with a steady hand, pressing his thumb over the carb and raising it to his lips. Gojo leans in, torch in hand, his elbow brushing your knee as he strikes it to life. The torch flares, a fiery orange that crackles sharply as it meets the bowl. Nanami inhales, his sharp cheekbones hollowing even more under the effort.

Leaning back onto his hands, he exhales a thick cloud, the smoke curling lazily upward before blending into the earthy aroma of moss and wood around you. It’s a strangely serene contrast—the cool, natural air swirling with the unmistakable musk of the smoke.

When Nanami cracks his eyes open, his usually stern face is softer, his posture visibly unwinding. He chuckles quietly, a rare, lazy smile creeping across his lips as his blond hair falls slightly over his forehead.

Shoko doesn’t wait long to snatch the torch from Gojo, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Watch this,” she teases, expertly lighting the bowl and taking a long drag. She exhales smoothly, her lips reddened from the pressure as perfect rings of smoke float into the air.

“Damn, Shoko, you’re too cool,” you murmur, enchanted as you wave your hand through one of the ghostly rings. It feels delicate against your skin before vanishing entirely.

“Shoko’s not the only one who can pull off tricks,” Suguru interjects, his cocky tone drawing everyone’s attention. He grabs the pipe, refilling it with deliberate care. With a smirk, he meets Shoko’s eyes. “I see your rings and raise you one.”

Suguru takes his hit, dragging deeply. When he exhales, his rings are massive, thick, and perfectly stacked, floating higher and wider than Shoko’s. The group collectively hums in impressed acknowledgment.

“Show-off,” Gojo mutters, his mock annoyance earning quiet laughter from everyone, including you.

When it’s your turn, you and Gojo, ever the chaotic duo, completely botch your hits. The smoke erupts in sharp, uncontrolled bursts as you both cough, doubling over in fits of laughter.

Suguru rubs your back in mock sympathy, unable to resist a sly jab. “You’d think you’d have learned something by now.”

It backfires quickly. A few rounds in, even the pros are struggling. Coughs ripple through the group as scorched lungs and parched throats demand mercy. The earlier finesse gives way to everyone wheezing and giggling uncontrollably.

The world around you starts to feel softer. The golden sunlight filtering through the trees feels warmer, the greens of the forest deeper. You breathe in the mingling scents of smoke, damp earth, and pine, savoring the strange but comforting mix.

Suguru’s fingers brush lightly over your forearm, sending a shiver across your skin. His soft hum is followed by a warm kiss pressed to your temple. You lean into him, feeling the weight of his presence grounding you.

“Guys! Guys!” Gojo’s hoarse voice interrupts the calm. He’s pointing wildly toward the pond, barely containing his excitement.

Squinting, you follow his gesture. Across the shimmering water, a pair of swans has landed. Their long necks intertwine gracefully as they glide across the surface, the image so peaceful it feels unreal.

The sight captures everyone’s attention, pulling a hush over the group as you all watch. The gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a bird fill the space.

Amidst the calm, Gojo’s shuffling breaks the silence. He’s hunched over the picnic basket, digging through its contents with increasing urgency.

“’M already hungry,” he grumbles, drawing groans from the group as the spell of the moment breaks.

Gojo pulls out a charcuterie board, followed by a tray of croissant sandwiches, a vibrant fruit platter, and bundles of baby’s breath flowers. The spread is as picturesque as a painting, sunlight glinting off the delicate petals and golden pastries. Suguru, suddenly interested, reaches over to pick up one of the flower bundles, plucks a single bloom, and carefully tucks it behind your ear.

“These are for you,” he says softly, his smile warm and radiant, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his dark hair gleams under the sun’s rays.

Shoko fake gags, waving a hand dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You two are hopelessly in love or whatever. Meanwhile, some of us have been abandoned by our partners.”

You chuckle and reach out to cradle Suguru’s cheek, pulling him into a kiss. His skin is warm and soft, and you resist the urge to linger longer.

Meanwhile, Gojo has wasted no time digging into the food. Bread crumbs dot his chin, and he shoves a forkful of fruit into his mouth with little grace, chewing loudly and making exaggerated moans. Normally, his antics would irritate you, but today they only make you hungrier.

You gesture to him, and he passes you a croissant sandwich. Flaky crumbs drift onto the blanket as you take a bite, the buttery crust giving way to a symphony of flavors. A dab of sauce trickles down your lip, and you swipe it away with your tongue before holding the sandwich out to Suguru. He leans in to take a bite, his lips brushing against your fingers.

If there’s one thing Gojo excels at, it’s setting the perfect mood with food. Suguru hand-feeds you sweet, tangy strawberries as you recline on the blanket, the pond glimmering in the distance and sunlight casting golden shadows over the lush greenery.

A speckled mallard waddles closer, eyeing the crumbs on the blanket with hopeful intent. Gojo notices and begins crumbling a croissant in his palm.

“Nuh-uh! Oh, hell no,” Shoko says, lunging to swat at his hand. “Feeding ducks is terrible for them—it causes malnutrition!”

Gojo dodges her attempt, smirking. “Yeah, yeah. One crumb can’t hurt. Besides, it’s already been subjected to secondhand smoke thanks to you, Sho’.”

Shoko winces, clearly torn between her environmental convictions and the undeniable truth of your earlier indulgence. Nanami, surprisingly, places a hand on her shoulder.

“Relax,” he says calmly.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Nanami, the usual voice of tension, diffusing a situation? Gojo notices too. He saunters over, dramatically wrapping his long arms around Nanami’s shoulders and burying his face in the blonde’s neck.

“Save me, Nanamin~” he drawls.

Nanami stifles a chuckle—his first real crack in composure—and it’s clear the weed is doing its work.

“Open up,” Suguru says, drawing your attention back to him.

He dangles a plump grape above your mouth, teasing you with a grin. You open obediently, humming with pleasure as the juicy sweetness bursts on your tongue. Suguru’s fingers are stained crimson from the berries, and he holds up a bright green slice of kiwi next.

As you savor it, the tangy flavor lingers on your tongue, and a random question pops into your head. “Mmm, juicy. Hey, Sugu, is kiwi a fruit or a veggie? I mean, it’s green, and most green foods are vegetables.”

He blinks at you, clearly caught off guard, his stained fingers hovering in the air. You reach out, grabbing his wrist, and pull his hand to your mouth. Slowly, you lick at his fingers, swirling your tongue around his forefinger before sucking it gently. The faint fruity tang sends a pleasant hum through you, and Suguru’s eyes darken with quiet amusement.

“Sweetheart… kiwi is definitely a fruit,” he says, cheeks tinged with pink as he carefully slips his fingers from your mouth. “It has seeds. That’s basic knowledge, y’know. Let’s blame this… lapse on the bud.”

“Mean,” you pout, batting your lashes playfully.

His smile softens as he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “At least you know I’d never lie to you.”

You smirk mischievously. “Wish you’d lie to me sometimes, Sugu.”

Gojo cuts in, pointing an accusatory finger at the group. “That goes for all of you, rude as fuck! Now come on—make it up to me by feeding the duckies!”

The high must’ve softened everyone’s resolve because, against your better judgment, you all comply with Gojo’s whim, trudging to the pond’s edge with croissants in hand. The sunlight filters through the trees, warming your skin as the dirt path crunches softly beneath your shoes. A pair of swans, their feathers pristine and white, glide toward the shore, their movement as graceful as a brushstroke.

“Here they come!” Gojo exclaims, his voice cutting through the tranquility like a slap.

The swans jolt, flapping their wings in alarm before settling again.

“And you’re so obnoxious,” Nanami mutters, casting a sharp look at Gojo. “You’re going to scare them off.”

Undeterred, Gojo grins while Nanami kneels by the water’s edge, cooing softly at the swans and sprinkling a few crumbs in front of his feet.

Shoko inhales deeply, a serene smile spreading across her face as she takes in the lush scenery. 

“This is… nice,” she says, her voice dreamy. “Fresh air, earthy smells. Feels good to be surrounded by actual greenery for once. Usually, the only plants I see are the ones we smoke.” She shakes her head, the ends of her golden-brown hair brushing over her shoulders. “It’s kind of sad.”

You squat down, carefully grounding yourself with one hand wrapped around Suguru’s ankle. Your free hand skims the pond’s surface, the coolness of the water sending a shiver up your spine.

“They say, ‘go outside and touch grass,’ like it’s a joke,” you murmur, glancing up at Suguru, “but maybe they’re onto something.”

He chuckles softly, the vibrations traveling down to where your hand rests on his leg.

A thought tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Hey, guys… is water wet?”

Suguru freezes, letting out a sharp cough as though choking on air. To your right, Gojo snorts so loudly it startles the swans again.

“You lost me.”

“Guys, this is a judgment-free zone,” you insist, shooting Gojo a pointed look. “I expect sincere answers.”

Nanami groans, clearly over the conversation, but continues feeding the swans in stoic silence.

Gojo hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Okay, okay, I laughed, but now I’m genuinely stumped. I mean, water isn’t technically wet, right? It’s just… water. It only makes things wet. On its own, it just is.”

You perk up. “That’s what I’m saying! Water can make you wet, but that’s just the sensation. Objectively, you’re the one who’s wet.”

Suguru, exasperated, pulls his ankle free from your grip and hauls you upright, gripping your shoulders firmly. “You’re all ridiculous,” he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Of course water is wet. It’s a liquid. It has moisture. This isn’t up for debate; it’s basic science.”

“Smartass,” you huff, shrugging out of his grip.

Nanami clears his throat, his tone surprisingly contemplative. “Actually, Getou, I think they have a point. Wetness is about contact. Water itself isn’t wet—it’s what makes things wet. It’s all about perspective.”

Shoko throws her hands up. “What the fuck?! You guys are gonna give me a headache and ruin my high. Debate over. Full stop.”

You flick Suguru’s chest playfully. “Face it, we presented the better argument.”

Gojo sticks his tongue out in agreement, the obnoxious red muscle wagging in Suguru’s direction.

Suguru smirks, his grin teasing and wicked. “Funny because my argument came from someone intimately familiar with wetness. You might say I’m an expert in the field, after all.”

“Suguru!” Your face flames as you slap his arm, and Shoko groans in disgust.

Nanami doesn’t miss a beat, pointing toward the trail. “Getou, you’re done. Time out. Ten minutes. Go take a hike.”

Suguru raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I was going to check out the trail anyway.” He turns to you, dark eyes glinting. “Coming?”

You sigh but follow, the breeze by the water starting to chill you.

As you start walking, you catch Gojo giving Suguru a sly dap and a slap on the back. Thick as thieves, those two.

Suguru quickens his pace to match yours, and when you swat at his arm in retaliation for his earlier comment, he catches your hand effortlessly. Linking his arm through yours, he pulls you close as the trail winds through wiry trees.

You stop at a wooden post where the dirt path climbs steeply over an incline of jagged rocks. You eye the trail warily.

“You’re kidding,” you mutter, already regretting following him.

Suguru presses a finger to your lips, his grin widening. “No complaints. You wanted to smoke outside, so we’re fully immersing ourselves in nature.”

Grumbling, you follow his lead, climbing carefully over smaller stones before tackling the larger ones. Your footing slips near the top, but Suguru’s hand steadies you, his grip firm.

“Careful there~” he teases, his voice tinged with amusement.

You shoot him a glare as you regain your balance, brushing dust and dirt off your clothes. He nudges your shoulder gently. “Look around.”

You do—and the sight takes your breath away. Behind you, the slope drops sharply, the rocks giving way to a sprawling field dotted with vibrant magenta and lemon-yellow flowers. Patches of lush green grass ripple in the breeze, framed by towering trees that crest the hilltop above. The golden afternoon light bathes the scene, and for a moment, it feels like a dream.

The soft click of a camera pulls you from your reverie. Suguru grins at you from behind his phone, his cheeks high, eyes crinkled with genuine joy.

“… Beautiful,” he murmurs, though you’re not sure if he’s talking about you or the view.

You raise a lazy peace sign, eyeing his hoodie, now dusty and frayed, with leaves clinging to the sleeves. “And you look cute, all dirty like this.”

He arches a brow and steps closer, looping your arms around his neck. “Well, that’s not fair,” he says, his voice low and teasing as his nose brushes your neck. “I’ll just have to get you dirty too.”

Suguru leans in close, his warm breath fanning over your lips, carrying the potent scent of weed, with traces of sweetness from the fruit. His loose bun barely holds back the strands of his hair that the wind has claimed, giving him an effortlessly ethereal look. You tilt forward, rising onto your toes to meet him, only for him to pull back with that signature, teasing grin, making you chase after him.

“Such a tease, Sugi,” you murmur, your thumb brushing along the short strands at the nape of his neck, the spot that always makes him shiver.

You trail soft kisses along his jawline, letting your lips explore, your tongue tracing the sensitive underside of his jaw. He hums, low and resonant, the sound vibrating through you. When your eyes meet his again, they’re darker now—his pupils blown wide with want.

Determined, you pout, pushing out your lower lip in a way you know will undo him. It works. Suguru closes the distance, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s hot and insistent. His lips move against yours with a rhythm that’s utterly addictive, their warmth a striking contrast to the chill breeze that raises goosebumps on your skin.

His hands slide beneath your shirt, rough fingertips brushing your bare sides. The contact sends shivers through you, and you instinctively arch into his touch. When a moan escapes you—soft, needy, and unintentional—it catches you off guard, but Suguru seems more amused than surprised.

“You’re more eager than usual,” he teases, the husky rasp in his voice making your head spin.

“I’m always eager for you,” you reply breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair. You tug just enough to make him groan, the sound like fuel to the fire building between you. “You drive me crazy—can’t think straight.”

His answering laugh is low, reverberating against your chest as his hands tighten on your waist. But the humor fades when you press closer, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sugi, I need you. Right now.”

You pull at his hoodie biting down on his collarbone, rough enough to draw a hiss from him, your tongue darting out to soothe the reddened mark. Your fingers thread deeper into his hair, tugging hard until his gaze locks with yours. The look on his face sends a shiver down your spine—his cheeks are flushed, his lips parted, and his eyes dark with hunger. He looks wild, feral, as if the thin thread of control he’s clinging to might snap at any moment.

You slide your hand down to interlock your fingers with his, tugging him toward a stocky tree just a few feet away. When you stop, mere inches from the cracked bark, you guide his hands to your waist. He doesn’t need more prompting, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his body. His breath is hot against your neck, punctuated by kisses that trail down your nape, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

You press back into him, the loose material of his pants doing nothing to mask how hard he is. He grinds against you, and the friction sends a delicious ache pooling low in your stomach. His mouth works at your neck, nipping and sucking as if trying to mark every inch of you. You mewl as his teeth catch your pulse point, the sensation sharp and thrilling.

The pressure of his hips against the swell of your ass has you jolting forward, your hands flying to the rough bark of the tree to steady yourself. The sticky texture of the wood barely registers; all you can focus on is the heat building between your thighs. It’s overwhelming, almost unbearable. You’re already so close, and he hasn’t even—

“C’mon, Sugi,” you whine, sliding a hand under your shirt to tease your nipple. His large hand quickly replaces yours, tugging at the jewelry adorning it. His thumb brushes the cold metal, sending a shiver through you as he presses his erection harder against you.

Desperation takes over as your arch deepens, grinding against him with more urgency. His hand slides over the small of your back, and you glance over your shoulder, batting your lashes with a pout. “Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Need you.”

Suguru groans, the sound low and primal, as if your words snapped whatever restraint he had left. His hand grips your chin, tilting your face toward him. His dark eyes search yours, and when you nod, he exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling.

A minute later, you’re breathless as he yanks down your pants along with your panties in one swift motion, just enough to expose you. He frees himself, his cock bobbing up against his navel, thick and glistening with pre-cum.

He spreads your thighs with one hand, forcing you to press yourself further into the tree for support. The other hand returns to your nipple, his touch slick and wet, and then you feel him—his thick tip gliding along your folds, teasing. Your slickness mixes with his precum coating him easily, his head catching at your entrance before slipping up to brush your clit.

“Please,” you whimper, your voice cracking as you push back against him. But your words tumble out incoherently, your mind too hazy to form a proper sentence.

Suguru chuckles, his voice rough. “What was that, baby? Say it again. Clearer this time.”

You whine, frustration spilling over as you curse under your breath.

“Sugi, pu—ah!”

Suguru suddenly pushes into you in one smooth, fluid motion, your slick sucking him so deep you hear the soft slap of his hips against your ass. His cock stretches you, fills you completely, and you cry out, the sound echoing. Your head knocks against the tree as his chest presses against your back, his breathing heavy and ragged.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice thick with arousal. “You’re so perfect, bent over for me.”

The sharp smack of his hand against your ass draws a yelp from you, the sting blooming into pleasure that makes you tremble. He pulls out slowly, the drag of his cock against your walls sending sparks down your spine. You push back against him, desperate for more, matching his rhythm as he thrusts deep, then slow, making you feel every inch.

“Feels so good,” you moan, your words slurring as you lose yourself in the sensation. “S-Sugi, you feel so good.”

His movements grow rougher, his hips snapping against yours with an urgency that drives you closer to the edge. The lewd sounds of your bodies meeting—wet, rhythmic, and desperate—fill the air, drowning out everything else.

“You’re so wet,” he pants, his lips brushing your ear. “So tight. Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so good.”

His hand finds your lips, and you instinctively suck on his fingers, coating them with saliva. When he moves them lower to rub tight circles on your clit, you gasp, your body jolting at the added stimulation. The dual sensations of his cock inside you and his fingers against your clit are too much, and you feel yourself spiraling.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice strained. “Fuck, I can feel it. So tight f’me.”

Your body shudders as his thrusts quicken, and his words push you over the edge. “Yours,” you manage to gasp, your voice breaking. “All yours—ah, Sugi!”

Your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him as your vision goes white. Suguru’s grip tightens on your hips as he drives into you, his breath hot and erratic against your neck. He murmurs praises in a husky tone, each word sending a shiver down your spine as he fucks you through your climax.

You remain clenched, your orgasm washing over you in waves, and you can feel his rhythm falter. Your mind is hazy, consumed by the need for more—an ache that only he can fill. Without thinking, the desperate words spill from your lips.

“Sugu… so deep, s’good—ah, come inside. Inside.”

As if compelled, his fingers dig into your flesh, leaving crescent-shaped imprints on your skin as he buries himself fully, shuddering. A guttural moan tears from his throat as he releases deep inside you, his warmth spreading, leaving you both trembling.

The sensation is intoxicating, his thick heat pooling within you as you instinctively push back, savoring every pulse and drop. His voice, raw and broken, murmurs your name like a prayer, and the way he groans against your ear is utterly intoxicating.

The chill of the air suddenly cuts through the heat radiating off your bodies, and you shiver, the reality of your surroundings creeping back. Suguru, noticing your tremble, seems to regain his senses. With a gentle, lingering touch, he eases out of you, carefully tucking himself back into his pants, his gaze soft as he steadies you.

The breeze is brisk, but the warmth of Suguru’s hands on your waist lingers, grounding you even as your legs feel weak and unsteady. You turn to face him, burying your face in his chest.

“Leed fan cee labe,” you mumble into his shirt, the words muffled and nonsensical.

“What was that?” he asks, his brows raising in confusion.

You lift your head, meeting his amused gaze with a sheepish smile. “Need a Plan B, babe.”

Realization dawns on his face, and his expression shifts. “Shit, you’re right.” His hands slide down to adjust your rumpled clothing, tugging your bottoms back into place. “Let’s head out now—we can stop so I can grab you one on the way.”

You nod, though the sticky discomfort between your thighs is impossible to ignore. A flush creeps up your neck, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the changing sky instead. The molten orange of the setting sun blends into hues of deep pink and violet, painting the horizon like a masterpiece. It’s breathtaking.

Suguru’s hair has completely fallen from its loose bun, the dark strands framing his face and catching the soft glow of the fading sunlight. He looks utterly spent, his lips curving into a lazy, content grin. You can’t help but smile back.

“Ready to head back?” he asks, his voice warm.

“Yeah,” you reply, even though your mind buzzes with the impending awkwardness of facing your friends. There’s no graceful way to rejoin them after what just happened, not when the evidence still clings to your skin. It feels like your secret is scrawled all over your face in bold letters.

The forest around you grows darker as the sun dips lower, the tall trees casting elongated shadows across the ground. When you reach the edge of the clearing, you spot the rest of your group by the pond. Gojo, Shoko, and Nanami are slapping at each other’s shoulders, giggling like some badass kids up to no good.

Suguru clears his throat, and Gojo spins around, his eyes narrowing playfully as he looks between the two of you. Suguru hooks his pinky around yours, the small gesture comforting.

“You two have been gone sus-pic-iously long,” Gojo sing-songs, dragging out the words for effect.

Your nose twitches at the strong, smoky scent of weed lingering in the air, and you spot the faint haze around them.

“And your eyes are suspiciously red,” you fire back, raising an eyebrow.

Nanami straightens, crossing his arms as if to feign sternness, but Shoko waves her hands dismissively, ushering the subject away.

“Fair enough,” she says, smirking. “Let’s call it even.”

Without further comment, the group begins gathering the picnic supplies—folding the blanket, collecting containers, and making lazy conversation about the sunset. The walk back to the car is peaceful, a comfortable silence. You feel spent, wrapped in the afterglow of your raunchy rendezvous with Suguru and the tranquil camaraderie of your friends.

But as you approach where Nanami’s sleek car should be parked, your steps falter. Instead of the vehicle, you’re met with two tire tracks imprinted in the dirt and an empty space where it once stood.

Nanami freezes, his jaw slack as he stares at the vacant spot. His face drains of color, and for a moment, no one says anything. It’s Gojo who finally breaks the silence.

“It can’t be… Did they tow it?” His voice carries a mix of disbelief and amusement like he’s caught between laughing and whining.

The realization settles over the group like a heavy cloud. You’re too tired to muster any real outrage, and your friends—still riding their high—seem similarly incapable of processing the situation.

Nanami buries his face in his hands, looking utterly defeated. Suguru, ever the calm one, pulls out his phone, typing rapidly.

“We just need to get back to the apartment,” he says, his tone steady. “My car’s there. I’m texting Toji to pick us up—he’s mobile anyways.”

You nod along with the others, eager to leave the wooded area before night fully descends. Suguru’s phone clicks shut, and he confirms Toji’s ETA. Relief washes over you at the thought of Toji’s reckless but dependable driving.

As you lean into Suguru’s chest for warmth, Gojo starts humming, then breaks into a loud, off-key rendition of Rihanna’s SOS. He’s halfway through the third chorus when the distinct roar of Toji’s car cuts through the air.

The Honda skids to a stop a few feet away, its engine revving loudly, headlights piercing the darkness. 

“Hurry, get in!” Toji’s gruff voice calls, leaning out of the driver’s seat, a smirk on his face that somehow screams both “here to save the day” and “brace for the worst.”

The five of you scramble into the car in a chaotic rush. Gojo claims the passenger seat after a brief, comical tussle, leaving Shoko, Nanami, and Suguru to squeeze into the back. You climb onto Suguru’s lap, shutting the door as the car lurches forward.

Perched awkwardly, you grip the back of Toji’s seat to steady yourself as the sedan jolts over uneven terrain. Toji glances back briefly, patting your hand beside his head. “Duck down if we pass any cops, would ya? Can’t risk another ticket.”

The sky outside deepens to a starless black, made even darker by the car’s heavy tint. Toji’s erratic driving tosses you against Suguru’s chest, each bump jarring you further. You focus on your breathing, willing away the queasiness creeping into your stomach.

Gojo hums some nonsensical tune, punctuated by bursts of loud TikTok videos from his phone. Shoko, meanwhile, has gone limp, her head lolling from Suguru’s shoulder to Nanami’s. Her soft snores are oddly soothing amidst the chaos.

Nanami, ever the skeptic, watches Toji’s movements with a wary eye, his body stiff. “Something wrong, Toji?” he asks, his tone heavy with suspicion.

Toji’s brows furrow as he spares a glance at the rearview mirror. His hands tighten on the wheel, and the car speeds up to cut off a vehicle in the next lane. “Nothing major,” he says, though his voice carries a hint of unease.

“Nothing major?” Nanami repeats, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’ll take you at your word—for now.”

Toji clicks his tongue, as if debating how much to share. “Fine. Just a little hiccup,” he admits. “I double-back on a wealthy guy I scammed—transferred a chunk of cash to my second account earlier today. Forgot to use a VPN, though, so my withdrawal’s traceable. But don’t worry. I’ve got it all handled.”

The car goes quiet as his words sink in. You sit up straighter, your breath catching. Nanami chokes on whatever he was about to say. “You… what? Are we safe?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Toji says dismissively. “Relax. The IP’s all messed up anyway. I use public Wi-Fi—it’s not like they can trace it straight to me.”

Suguru groans, exasperated. “We’ve heard enough Toji, don’t incriminate my friends. Just get us home.”

You close your eyes, resting your forehead against the back of Toji’s seat. The constant dinging of notifications coming from his phone hoisted on the windshield mount is grating, and apparently, Gojo agrees—he snatches the device and powers it off. Toji glares but says nothing, his focus returning to the road.

“I’m getting carsick,” you mutter, pressing the button to roll down your window. Cool evening air rushes in, washing over your face and filling your lungs. Relief floods through you as familiar streets and buildings come into view, signaling the end of this turbulent ride.

Toji maneuvers into a tight spot between a Jeep and a Benz at the end of Gojo and Suguru’s street. The car creaks to a stop, and Suguru’s arms, which had been wrapped around your waist, shift to your thighs, smoothing over your legs.

You spot a sleek car with its hazards on, inching down the road. Squinting, you lean forward. “Check it out, Sugu! It’s a Bugatti.”

Suguru leans with you, intrigued. The car’s deliberate, almost sluggish pace feels odd, and you jab his chest lightly. “Scoping out the scenery, huh?”

Your teasing dies in your throat when the car suddenly surges forward, erratic and fast. The window facing you rolls down, and your heart sinks as the unmistakable silhouette of a gun muzzle emerges from the shadows within.

“Shit,” Toji growls, his voice tight with panic. His hand shakes as he fumbles to restart the ignition, the lanyard holding his keys slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor. Suguru yanks at your shoulders, trying to pull you down.

“What the hell’s going o—” Gojo’s voice cuts off as a thunderous crack tears through the night, the car shuddering violently as a bullet slams into its side. The second shot comes too quickly, sharp and jarring, the sound ricocheting inside the confined space. Chaos ignites in an instant.

Instant pain blooms in your left shoulder, hot and unforgiving, like fire spreading under your skin. It steals the air from your lungs, and a scream bursts from your throat—raw, guttural, almost unrecognizable as your own. Your eyes drop to your arm, now streaked with crimson, blood dripping steadily down to your fingertips.

Gunshots. I’ve been hit. A bullet grazed me. What the fuck? If Toji isn’t dead, I’m gonna kill him myself.

The thoughts slam into you, disjointed and surreal, the world spinning as your mind struggles to grasp the gravity of the moment.

“Suguru, they—” The words barely make it past your lips before his hands are on you, firm but trembling as he grips your shoulders. His voice is frantic, his usually steady tone cracked with panic. “Get down—stay low!”

Toji’s curses cut through the chaos, sharp and biting. His fist slams against the dashboard as the engine sputters to life. “Hold on!” he barks, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The car jerks forward, tires screeching against the asphalt, but the motion only worsens the dizziness clawing at you.

Your vision begins to blur, black spots creeping into the edges, stars flickering like dying embers. The muffled voices around you—Suguru’s urgent commands, Toji’s muttered expletives—start to fade, swallowed by the throbbing pain and the encroaching darkness.

Slipping under, the last thing you hear is Suguru shouting your name before unconsciousness claims you.

[taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @saltyhansen @m0rgui @walq-chan @creative1writings @mentallyillcore @yourname-exee xoxo]

10/10 fanart by @murawya on pinterest

[immortalbumblebee]

Under The Table

This idea was given to me by the always-lovely @conretewings! Check our their stuff, they're the one who inspired me to write Vander fics in the first place.

Not to mention the Lord of the Rings reference, lol.

Masterlist

The Last Drop was alive tonight, the usual haze of pipe smoke and lantern-light casting warm, flickering shadows on the weathered walls. The hum of chatter filled the room, punctuated by the clink of glasses and bursts of raucous laughter from the regulars huddled around mismatched tables. Vander stood behind the bar, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the shelves of well-worn bottles, pouring a round for a trio of dockhands boasting about their latest haul.

At your usual corner table, a small crowd had gathered, hanging on to your every word. You’d just finished recounting an exaggerated tale of a drinking escapade—one that ended with you walking out unscathed while your opponent was passed out cold. Your grin widened as the group erupted in cheers and skeptical jeers, challenging your story.

"Come now," you teased, leaning back in your chair and raising your drink. "You think I’m bluffing? I’ve got more tolerance than anyone in this place."

Vander’s deep laugh cut through the noise, drawing your attention. He set down an empty tankard with a thunk and crossed his arms, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Anyone, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a bold claim, love.”

The crowd stilled for a brief, charged moment, the weight of Vander’s challenge hanging in the air. Then, like a spark igniting dry kindling, the room erupted into a cacophony of excited whispers and scattered cheers. Vander was rarely one to involve himself in the bar’s games—his presence was usually that of a steady hand and a watchful eye—but when he did, it was something that drew everyone’s attention.

You leaned casually against the bar, your arm resting on the worn surface, a sly smile playing at your lips. Tilting your jaw up just enough to meet his steady gaze, you let your eyes linger on him a beat longer than necessary. The faint flicker of amusement in his expression told you he noticed.

“Careful, Vander,” you teased, your voice light but laced with challenge. “I’d hate to see the great protector of the Lanes lose face in his own bar.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd, some already placing bets, others simply eager to watch the spectacle unfold. Vander stepped closer, his imposing frame casting a shadow over the bar as he leaned in, his smirk widening.

“Lose face?” he rumbled, his voice warm and steady, though there was a glint of playful defiance in his eyes. “You talk a big game for someone who might not make it past the third round.”

The crowd roared their approval, and you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his boldness. You straightened, stepping away from the bar with an exaggerated flourish and a grin that you hoped looked more confident than it felt.

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” you said, your voice carrying above the noise as the crowd surged to clear a table for the contest.

Maybe, you thought, as excitement buzzed in your veins, this was more than just a game. If you played your cards right, tonight might turn into something far more interesting.

The crowd erupted into cheers and hollers as an impromptu table was cleared, tankards rapidly filled, and bets thrown down with reckless enthusiasm. You couldn’t help but laugh, the buzz of excitement in the room infectiously lifting your spirits. It wasn’t just the thrill of the contest, though; it was the way Vander’s full attention was on you, his warm, steady gaze locking onto yours.

Your not-so-hidden crush on the burly bartender had been the worst-kept secret in the Lanes for ages, but having him focus on you like this—like you were the only person in the room—was enough to send butterflies swarming in your chest. And to think, you hadn’t even touched a drop of alcohol yet.

Vander stepped out from behind the bar, the crowd parting instinctively to let him through. He moved with an easy confidence, rolling his sleeves further up his forearms as he approached the table. With a nod to Benzo, who grinned like a cat about to watch a mouse get caught, he motioned for two fresh tankards to be filled.

“Don’t tell me you’re already getting cold feet,” he teased, settling into the seat across from you with a smirk that sent a thrill straight to your core.

You scoffed, playing it cool as you slid into your chair. “Not a chance,” you replied, though your heart was pounding loud enough that you were sure he could hear it.

The rounds started, each tankard emptied in a clatter of glass and thunderous cheers. You held your own at first, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your chest and easing your nerves. But as the drinks stacked up, the edges of the room began to blur ever so slightly.

By the time the final tankard hit the table with a decisive thud, your vision was swimming just enough to make you blink hard, willing the room to steady itself. You were fine, you reassured yourself, though the growing smirk on Vander’s face said he might not agree.

“Still standing?” he asked, leaning forward on his elbows, his voice low and teasing. His gaze swept over you, equal parts playful and impressed.

You straightened in your chair, forcing a grin even as the butterflies in your stomach threatened to rebel. “Barely breaking a sweat,” you shot back, though your slightly unsteady hand betrayed you as you reached for the table to steady yourself.

Vander chuckled, the rich sound filling the space between you. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

It was about seven more beers in when the world began to tilt, just slightly, and everything became inexplicably funnier. You found yourself giggling uncontrollably at nothing in particular, your cheeks warm from both the drinks and the absurdity of the situation. Long ago, the crowd had begun to disperse, with only a few curious (and admittedly concerned) looky-loos poking their head over to you ever once in a while. Across the table, Vander glanced down at his hands, a faint look of concentration creasing his brow as he flexed his fingers in slow, clumsy motions.

You tried not to stare, but the way the low lantern-light caught the lines of his face, the way his lips curved into a subtle smile—it was impossible not to. Damn him for looking so good, even with a faint flush creeping up his neck from the alcohol.

“I think,” he rumbled, his voice warm and gravelly in a way that made your chest flutter, “I’m starting to feel it.” He flexed his fingers clumsily, the movement oddly mesmerizing. “There’s a... slight tingling.”

You blinked, your gaze tearing away from the way his hands moved to his face, where he was watching you with a glint of amusement. Your mouth moved before your brain caught up.

“Big, strong Vander,” you slurred with mock solemnity, lifting a shaky finger to point at him, “brought down by a few pints. I always knew you were human!”

The laugh that rumbled out of him made your stomach flip, and for a moment, you forgot to be embarrassed by your boldness.

“Is that so?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as he gave you that infuriatingly attractive smirk. “You seem pretty human yourself, love. The hiccups kind of give it away.”

You hiccupped immediately, as if on cue, and the heat in your cheeks spread down your neck. “That’s—hic—just strategy,” you said, waving a hand as though brushing off his words. “Keeps you off guard.”

Vander chuckled again, the sound low and rich, and it sent a shiver down your spine despite the warmth flooding your body. He leaned back once more, tilting his tankard to his lips and draining the rest of his beer effortlessly, the muscles in his throat shifting in a way you had no business noticing but absolutely did.

“Impressive strategy,” he drawled, setting the tankard down with a solid thunk. “Let me know how it works out when you’re trying not to fall over.”

You narrowed your eyes, your lips twitching into a grin despite yourself. “I’m not the one looking like they forgot how fingers work,” you countered, pointing at his hands with a dramatic flourish. Your words floundered slightly as your eyes became trapped on the digits in question, “nice hands…”

His laughter was louder this time, full and unrestrained, and it sent another wave of warmth crashing through you. He was utterly magnetic like this, his usual calm composure softened by the drinks and the laughter you had somehow managed to coax out of him.

“You like my hands, do you?” Vander hummed, his voice dropping a note lower as he leaned slightly closer to you. His elbows rested on the table, the light from the lantern above casting shadows that made his smirk all the more dangerous.

Your brain short-circuited. You blinked hard at him, utterly incapable of forming a coherent thought as your mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Umm,” you finally managed, the sound weak and embarrassingly stupid.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening at your obvious fluster. His fingers drummed idly against the table, drawing your reluctant gaze to them before your eyes darted back to his face. “What’s the matter, love?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing. “I thought you had plenty to say a moment ago.”

The heat in your cheeks surged, your thoughts spiraling as you tried desperately to pull yourself together. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t say I liked your hands!” you blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“Didn’t you?” Vander leaned back, his broad shoulders settling comfortably as if he had all the time in the world to tease you. “Could’ve sworn I caught you staring. Not that I blame you,” he added with a low chuckle, his voice rich enough to make your stomach flip. “These hands can do a lot more than pour drinks, you know.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your face go molten. The implications of his words hit you like a freight train, your mind running wild with thoughts you definitely shouldn’t be entertaining right now.

“I—I wasn’t staring,” you stammered, though the way your voice cracked on the words probably didn’t make you very convincing.

His smirk deepened, his gaze unwavering and entirely too knowing. “No? Then what’s got you so flustered?”

You sputtered, unable to come up with a retort as the crowd around you roared with laughter and excitement, still caught up in the drinking contest. Meanwhile, Vander’s eyes stayed locked on yours, a flicker of something unspoken lingering between you—a challenge, a tease, or maybe, just maybe, something more. 

[lovie2mist]

Because I said so: Gyeong-seok x Hyun-ju PT. 1

because i can, so i will write for this ship because they are just too cute.

Timid shy guy x Timid Badass girl

This takes place some time after the game, Gyeong-seok doesn't really know what happened but he can't seem to stop thinking about Hyun-ju.

Years had gone by, memories faded, but the warmth of her lips remains on his. He never thought he would see her again, until he took Na-yeon on a trip to America, and thank god he did.

Genre: fluff, kissing

Warning: internalized transphobia, insecure thoughts, suicidal thoughts.

It was a whirlwind of a game. People died, and friends betrayed. There was so, so many reasons why this was inappropriate, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from looking at her. At her flushed face, at her weak smile, at the way she took a deep breath.

Seriously, they had just gotten back to the dormitory, and he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "God, I could draw you forever," Gyeong-seok says moments ago. Now, eyes wide and mouth agape, he couldn't help but stare at her. Sitting down on the steel stairs was probably not a good idea.

"I—Um— OH GOD I'M SORRY I—" he stuttered out, now forcing himself to look away as he started to become a blabbering mess in front of the most beautiful girl he has ever seen.

Player 120, or Hyun-ju as he now knows, let out a chuckle, that quickly turned into a laugh, making him look at her in both shame and admiration.

God, he just can't help it, huh?

No matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to stop his heart from beating so loudly when it comes to her.

A moment passes by, and Hyun-ju finally stops laughing—whether it was at him or because of him, he didn't care; he was just glad that he made her laugh.

"You know...," Hyun-ju starts, eyes slowly meeting his, as if to enamour him further than he already was, "if I didn't know better, I would've thought that you liked me, Mr. 246," she tucks a hair behind her ear, a small smile on her face as she slowly looks away, "though, knowing from experience, guys like you wouldn't dare see me in that way, huh?"

A gloomy air started to form around them, as their eyes were still staring at each other; he could see the pain and rejection that Hyun-ju was starting to feel. A tense silence filled the once light-hearted moment.

Gyeong-seok starts to panic, 'think, Gyeong-seok, think,' he racks his brain to say something, anything, just so he can remove the heartbroken expression from Hyun-ju's beautiful face.

As she started to look away, Gyeong-seok suddenly held her hand, making Hyun-ju look at their intertwined hands. "YOU KNOW...!" Embarrassed, he lets out a fake cough to distract everyone from his sudden outburst. "You know...," he says in a much lower, much more appropriate volume, "if a guy like me wouldn't see a woman as brave, as wonderful, as beautiful as you in that way, then that guy is a fool. And...," he trails off; he looks at Hyun-ju; he sees the way her face reddens, her eyes still staring at their hands, "I wouldn't want to be that guy."

Hyun-ju could feel her face heat up at what player 246, or Gyeong-seok, had said. By god, she was going to have a heart attack. She looks up from their hands to see his face; she was afraid, afraid that this was just some shitty-ass joke from a sweet-looking guy. However, when she sees his face, she can only see the sincerity in his eyes, staring right back at her.

They stare at each other for god knows how long; he couldn't help himself. That was it! He just couldn't help himself when it came to her. She makes him weak in all the ways that she could, and he would let her make him weak. Especially now, he just could not help it. Hyun-ju's face softened in a way that could only make him weak in the knees if he wasn't already sitting down.

Slowly, he starts to lean closer. He knows how pitiful he looks at the moment, giving a girl he just met—on a death game relay, no less—huge, big, puppy dog eyes, begging her to come closer, to make him weaker than he already was. And Hyun-ju is kind, as she leans closer, her heartstrings being pulled with the way he looks at her, and she wasn't about to hurt this pitiful man, so she leans in and kisses him.

Gyeong-seok kissed back hungrily. Hungry in a way a starving man would be after not eating for a whole year. A whine escapes from his mouth as Hyun-ju brings her free hand to his hair, his hand on her waist as he pulls her closer.

Their kiss deepens as Hyun-ju removes her hand from his hold to wrap her arm around his neck. Gyeong-seok used his now free hand to roam her body.

They pull away from the kiss, catching their breath. They stare at each other once again.

"Gyeong-seok, I...," Hyun-ju trails off. "Hyun-ju...," he follows. Suddenly, the alarms go off, alerting everyone. Gyeong-seok looks around to see what's going on. He looks back at Hyun-ju, only to see her fading away from him.

"Huh? What? Hyun-ju... Hyun-ju! HYUN-JU!"

He brings his arms up to grab her, frantic as she tries to grab onto him as well.

"HYUN-JU! WAIT! DON'T GO...!"

OOF!

"PAPA! PAPA! WAKE-UP!"

He feels pain, a near-combustible pain in his stomach as he processes what's going on.

"Ouch! Na-yeon! Stop! I'm awake, I'm awake!" Gyeong-seok groggily says as he puts his daughter next to him. He rubs his eyes, letting out a long yawn as the sun shines brightly behind the curtain.

"But, Papa! You said we'd go to the aquarium today!" Na-yeon whines as she pulls on her father's arm. "Hmm, I said that? I can't quite remember," Gyeong-seok rubs his chin, teasing the little girl as she repeatedly tells him that he did quite tell her that!

Gyeong-seok lets out a chuckle, "Okay okay, I did. Now go and get dressed while I make us breakfast, is that alright?" The little girl shouts out a YES! before running off to her room. He smiles at her until she's gone from his line of sight. He lets out a sigh as he slowly puts his feet out off the bed and onto the floor.

"What a dream, huh?" He whispers to himself; he breathes out again, the cold air from the air conditioner in their Airbnb hits his skin, making the man shiver a bit. Gyeong-seok stretches out his body before finally walking out of his room.

After the money he got from the government after they, the survivors of the game, exposed the masterminds, he got a huge compensation and funding for his daughter's medical bills and procedures, allowing him to carefully save up for their future as Na-yeon's health improved. After being cancer-free and being let out from the hospital, Na-yeon had expressed her wish to start studying. Now, a few years later, they're staying in America for her summer break.

Gyeong-seok makes his way to the kitchen; a view of the morning sky from the window on the balcony catches his eye. He takes a deep breath as a smile crawls up his face.

"What a good way to start the day..."

[letmebeyourcrrsh]

۶ৎ 100 Things that I love about I.N ₊ ⊹

His beautiful dark fox eyes ₊ ⊹

How his eyes shape into a crescent moon when he smiles ₊ ⊹

His smile that fills everyone around him with happiness ₊ ⊹

The cute cute dimples ₊ ⊹

I am weird for that but his eyebrows are just perfect ₊ ⊹

The form of his lips is just so beautiful ₊ ⊹

His nose being so adorable ₊ ⊹

Every single hairstyle and color he had.. He ate them all ₊ ⊹

As a person who loves hands.. His big hands! ₊ ⊹

His legs ₊ ⊹

How he decorates his hands with different rings ₊ ⊹

Him being a literal fashion icon. His style is so UGH ₊ ⊹

How he said that he doesn’t buy extremely expensive clothes on purpose, so stay could match with him ₊ ⊹

Even his funny taste in shoes… It just makes him so unique ₊ ⊹

The times when he had braces ₊ ⊹

The fact that he removed his braces on January 17th… my birthday.. ₊ ⊹

His voice being so soft and light. A music to my ears ₊ ⊹

His vocals in general. He is so amazing in singing! ₊ ⊹

When he laughs like HEUGH HEUGH ₊ ⊹

His duality.. How he can go from baby bread to daddy toast is insane ₊ ⊹

How clumsy he is ₊ ⊹

How bad but cute he was in dancing in debut times.. now look at those body rolls! ₊ ⊹

Talking about dancing.. I love hallucination… ₊ ⊹

The vibe in the maknae on top music video! He showed em all who is the boss ₊ ⊹

How this man loves kids ₊ ⊹

His height ₊ ⊹

I really love his Instagram username i.2.n.8 ₊ ⊹

Just as I absolutely go crazy over the aesthetic of each post of him! ₊ ⊹

His English name being bob… I seriously laugh at that. Don’t get me wrong tho I literally LOVE BOB. It does suit him in some way ₊ ⊹

Foxi.ny ₊ ⊹

Each and everytime I hear him singing trot ₊ ⊹

That one time he made a “mistake” in kingdom. When he got so disappointed he cried about it all by himself.. I wish I could have given him a hug ₊ ⊹

His 7 if not more step skincare routine ₊ ⊹

I heard his hair smells the best out of all members… I want his shampoo ₊ ⊹

His baby pictures giving extremem baby fever ₊ ⊹

His story of when he ran away as a little boy… because he asked his parents where he came from. And his father said he found him under a bridge. So little innie ran off on his adventure to find his “ real “ parents ₊ ⊹

His livestreams are my comfort zone ₊ ⊹

When he talks in English. Its so mimimi ₊ ⊹

His face expressions in performances ₊ ⊹

How evil he can be towards his members ( when they try to touch him and he pushes em away or gives them disturbed faces. Its so funny but so real ) ₊ ⊹

How he often bites on his lip when he zones out ₊ ⊹

His habit of touching his earlobe ₊ ⊹

His vlogs feel like home ₊ ⊹

How his sign looks like a fox and not his name or something ₊ ⊹

Him skipping school is so me ₊ ⊹

How shy he can sometimes be ₊ ⊹

How I trust him as if I know him personally.. I need to touch grass ₊ ⊹

When he pouts I want to give him the whole world ₊ ⊹

His memeable face pictures ₊ ⊹

That he loves animals especially puppies ₊ ⊹

How he locks his negative feelings in him and then often randomly explodes. Randomly cries it out for example literally just when eating ( said in one of the two kids rooms I think ) why I love that? I don’t. because its actually not really a great thing. It hurts. But I just relate to that very much. I am JUST like that. ₊ ⊹

His phone cases ₊ ⊹

That one time he looked like Harley Quinn₊ ⊹

That one time he stared at Hyunjin jaw dropped. Blessed by Hyunjins beauty. That is exactly how I stare at I.N ₊ ⊹

Not as an insult, because to some people its an insult. But he is so drawable! I LOVE drawing him ₊ ⊹

His grandma behavior sometimes. The inner grandma in him is FUNNY af. He slayed grandma ayen in skzcode ₊ ⊹

SKZ Family where he was the gen z girl. Bro was such a hot girl he ATE ₊ ⊹

How hardworking he is! ₊ ⊹

His “ Anti Romantic “ personality. When he goes “ IdOlS dOn’t DatE MiMimI “ or makes judgy faces when stays flirt. That’s so wholesome fr. But we all real stays wouldn’t mind him actually dating. His happiness is what matters ₊ ⊹

His talent of tying his shoes in 0.0001 seconds ₊ ⊹

The fact that he knows how to skateboard ₊ ⊹

His ability to play on the piano. I want to hear more of that ₊ ⊹

HE LOOKS SO UGH when he drives. Drive me to work everyday please ₊ ⊹

If you know that then you are real. When he says “ oh honeeeey! Mwwwwwah “ ₊ ⊹

Him being friends with Beomgyu and Heeseung makes me happy as an multistan ₊ ⊹

Each and every solo song of him. And I cant live without untitled by I.N and hyunjin ₊ ⊹

DOLPHIN SCREAM! ₊ ⊹

Random but also his face when he does NOT smile and looks pretty serious. Whoever said he looks scary when he doesn’t smile. I am after you ₊ ⊹

That one video where he gets slapped by two girls when he was still in school and before SOPA. And instead of acting as if it hurts or something. He just was grinning like some maniac. Dude enjoyed the fake slapping ₊ ⊹

His lines in N/S where he sings about loving his parents ₊ ⊹

How did they even convince him to “ moan “ for N/S in the background?! But that too ₊ ⊹

I am fox ₊ ⊹

When he laughs his soul out. There is difference between normal laughing. And laughing SOOOOO loud. Well I love it when he laughs SO LOUD I automatically giggle too ₊ ⊹

How random he sometimes is ₊ ⊹

Any trend he does and any reel they post with him in it ₊ ⊹

The fact that he has siblings. Its just great to me because life with siblings is cool ₊ ⊹

How he drinks water from a bottle. So hot ₊ ⊹

His mooscles and abs… ₊ ⊹

How he himself said in an interview that he wants a HOT album ₊ ⊹

When he wears glasses and pokes his eyes ₊ ⊹

When he does a heart out of his hair ₊ ⊹

That one time he literally followed a stranger home to pray together and almost joined a cult just because of how naïve he was… Idiot but I love how it turned out good ₊ ⊹

His little voice cracks sometimes ₊ ⊹

Even his mistakes. He gets so hurt about it but we all are humans ₊ ⊹

Even his Birthday date looks beautiful to me. I am sorry I need grass again ₊ ⊹

How he sucks at cooking. I relate ₊ ⊹

How hes so clumsy that members tend to help him before he breaks or ruins something ₊ ⊹

The way I feel when I see him. Comfortable and relaxed ₊ ⊹

The happiness I have when I pull him in an album ( I rarely get him!! ) ₊ ⊹

That one time he judged the lyrics of I Like It because he finds it toxic ₊ ⊹

Him liking Pokemon ₊ ⊹

When I find lots of pictures where he is holding an eevee plushie. My favorite Pokemon ₊ ⊹

His doodles of each member ₊ ⊹

Him liking winter ₊ ⊹

When he gets mad in skz codes. He looks so sweet ₊ ⊹

His relationship with Hyunjin. I love their friendship ₊ ⊹

Him in a SKZOO costume. Id want him as a plushie like that ₊ ⊹

His fox like sneezes agh.. ₊ ⊹

His big heart ₊ ⊹

Literally just him whole!! Hes perfect even if he isn’t perfect!  ۶ৎ

I know I.N will never see this.. but i hope one day he will know that letmebeyourcrush/eve loves him a lot and is proud of everything I.N ever did!

[god-of-this-new-blog]

Death note characters draw themselves — inspired by @ponury-grajek and the extra bit in the manga about Misa drawing!

[ratwithhands]

Read Right to Left (Manga Format)

I have returned to watching demon slayer after a year and it came up while I was having a serious late night talk with my big sister. I was talking about the relationship between Michikatsu/Kokushibo and Yoriichi and it turns out we both see each other in Yoriichi's shoes and ourselves in Michikatsu's place. Definitely surprising, but really relieving to know that we both worry too much and we are not so far apart in skill as we believe.

This is technically the first piece of fanart I've ever made for the characters in Demon Slayer, I have made OCs before but I never drew an actual character from the story. For context this is mostly just a fun "what if" scenario with them meeting in the afterlife. I like to think Yoriichi's love would reawaken Michikatsu's humanity.

[mephisto-reporting]

Husband?

About: How does he react when you accidentally call him your 'husband'? Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. My inbox is open for prompts and requests :)

RAFAYEL

The evening was going smoother than expected, considering Rafayel had dragged you along to one of his many gallery showings. He had made a big deal about how you should be the one showing off his work to the public, claiming he didn’t want to deal with the “art-snobs." Yet, the second you both arrived, he quickly preoccupied himself on his phone, leaving you to handle most of the small talk.

One of the visitors, a curious older woman, was admiring a painting of his, a chaotic burst of color with soft hints of golden light. You were discussing Rafayel’s "creative process" (whatever that was—he hadn't told you much before retreating to his phone), when she asked how long you’d been working with him.

“Oh, it’s been a while now. It’s honestly amazing seeing him grow like this—my husb—” You froze mid-sentence, realizing the slip just as it left your mouth.

"Husband?"

The word hung in the air for barely a second before you felt Rafayel’s presence shift. His head shot up like a bolt of lightning, his playful, cunning eyes locking onto yours. You could practically feel his grin before you even dared to glance over. You didn’t even need to turn around to feel his gaze burning into you, practically shouting, Oh? Husband, you say?

“Husband, huh?” Rafayel drawled, pocketing his phone and sauntering toward you with that signature smirk of his. “I didn’t realize we were making things official tonight. If I’d known, I’d have worn something even more dazzling.”

You flushed, attempting to stammer out a correction, but he was far too pleased to let you off the hook that easily. He leaned casually against the gallery wall, one arm crossing his chest as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart.

He gently took your hand in his, his dramatic flair dialed up to maximum as he pressed an exaggerated kiss to your knuckles, clearly relishing the moment. "I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised. Who wouldn’t want to marry someone as charming as me?"

The visitor chuckled awkwardly, clearly not sure whether to stay or go, but Rafayel was already having way too much fun. “Of course, as your loving husband,” he continued, drawing out the word in a singsong voice, “it’s only fitting that I’m showered with even more attention now, isn’t it? I expect lots of praise, darling. I mean, just look at me." He struck a faux thought-provoking pose, tilting his head and flipping a lock of his perfectly tousled hair.

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but at the same time, his antics made you laugh. “I didn’t mean to—"

"Oh no, no,” he interrupted, wagging his finger playfully. “You can’t take it back now. The word’s out, Miss Bodyguard. You’ve called me your husband. That means you’re stuck with me. Forever.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Does this mean I get to cheat at board games forever too?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you playfully swatted at his shoulder. “As if you needed a reason to cheat more!”

Rafayel laughed, that familiar bratty grin plastered across his face. “Well, if I’m your husband now, I think it’s only fair I get first dibs on everything. Cards, claw machines—oh, and don’t forget, I demand the comfiest seat when we binge-watch our shows.”

Despite his teasing, the warmth in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. You could see the genuine delight he took in your slip-up, how pleased he was at the thought, even if he’d never admit it outright.

“Fine, fine,” you sighed dramatically, playing along. “But don’t expect me to let you win at everything, ‘husband.’”

Rafayel beamed, and for a moment, that bratty, carefree mask of his slipped, just a little. He tugged you closer, his voice softening as he murmured, “Deal.” Then, just as quickly, he switched back to his usual, cheeky self. “Now, let’s go, wife. You’re required to be by my side while I survive this boring night. ”

Shaking your head, you laughed, unable to hide the smile creeping onto your lips. “You’re impossible.”

The woman, watching the scene unfold with a warm smile, laughed. “You two make quite the pair.”

“Oh, we do, don’t we?” Rafayel quipped before lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear, leaning in ever so slightly. “You’ve really outdone yourself, calling me that in front of witnesses. Now they’ll all expect a wedding invitation.”

Your face burned as you tried to shush him, but he was loving every second of it. He tilted his head, his hair catching the light as his smile softened into something more genuine, the bratty exterior fading just a bit. “Still… I can’t say I hate the sound of it,” he murmured, brushing a finger lightly under your chin before pulling back with a playful wink. “I might just get used to hearing it.”

You could only manage a huff of exasperation, but deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter at the way his teasing had just a hint of sincerity behind it.

Rafayel, always dramatic, and yet somehow, just when you least expected it, a little bit sweet.

ZAYNE

You and Zayne were in the middle of your usual weekly grocery run, efficiently dividing and conquering your list to save time. He’d taken off towards the produce section while you headed for the rice aisle. As you browsed the different varieties, a middle-aged man beside you struggled with lifting a heavy bag of rice.

"Need a hand?" you asked, stepping in to help. The man smiled gratefully as you hoisted the bag into his cart with ease.

"Thank you, young lady," he said, rubbing his wrist. "My arthritis is flaring up today. Getting old’s no fun."

You offered him a sympathetic smile. “No problem at all. My husband’s a doctor, actually. I’m sure he’d tell you to take it easy on that wrist."

The man nodded in agreement, offering you one last thanks before heading off. You turned back to your cart, completely unaware of the word you had just let slip—husband—or the fact that Zayne had returned in time to hear it.

You felt him step up behind you, his presence calm yet undeniably magnetic. When you finally glanced over, he was standing there, hands in his pockets, a small, amused smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Husband, hmm?" he said softly, his tone more curious than teasing. "That's... new."

You froze for a second, eyes widening as you realized what you’d said.  You opened your mouth, the words tripping over each other in a rush. “I didn’t— I mean, it just—slipped out. We’re not actually—I mean, obviously, we’re not—” You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and no amount of backpedaling was helping.

Zayne didn’t seem in a rush to let you off the hook. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining with an ease that made your heart stutter. “You know,” he said, voice as calm as ever, “if this is your way of bringing it up, there are smoother ways to do it.” His teasing was subtle, barely perceptible if you didn’t know him well, but it was there in the gentle tug of his smile.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Zayne, I didn’t mean to—”

But Zayne, ever level-headed, merely took your hand in his, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckles. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “It’s not like I mind the idea.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you looked up at him in surprise. There was a softness in his usually stoic gaze, the kind that made your stomach flip. He continued, his voice measured but affectionate, “Seems like the next logical step, doesn’t it? My parents have been asking me when I’m going to take that step with you for a while now.”

His calm tone made the statement feel both casual and monumental at the same time. “Wait, your parents…?” you started, blinking as your brain processed this new information.

“Mhm,” Zayne replied, still holding your hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “They’ve been pretty vocal about it, actually. But I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

The right moment. Those words hung in the air, and you could feel the weight of what he was saying. He was serious—calm and casual, as always, but serious. Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade into the background. It was just you and Zayne in that grocery aisle, hands linked, talking about a future you hadn’t even realized you both wanted.

“Only if you wanted to, of course,” he added, his thumb still tracing soft circles on your hand. “I wouldn’t do anything unless we both agreed.”

You stared at him, a smile slowly spreading across your face despite the initial shock. “You’re really suggesting this now? In the middle of a grocery store?”

Zayne smirked, his usual pragmatic self. “Well, we’re already talking about it. Might as well make use of the time.” He glanced down at your joined hands, his tone softening again. “Besides, I think it’s worth discussing what our future looks like, don’t you?”

Your heart swelled at his words, and the warmth of his hand in yours was enough to make you feel grounded, no matter how your emotions were spinning. “Yeah,” you said, smiling as you squeezed his hand gently. “I think it’s definitely worth talking about.”

Zayne leaned in closer, his lips brushing your temple in a rare public display of affection. “Good,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet kind of affection that made your chest tighten. “We’ll talk more later.”

He pulled away just as smoothly, picking up the cart with a practiced ease, as though he hadn’t just suggested the two of you start planning your future together. His eyes twinkled, a subtle tease hiding behind that usual calm exterior of his.

“And for the record,” he added, as the two of you moved on to the next aisle, “I wouldn’t mind hearing you call me ‘husband’ again.”

Your cheeks heated again, but this time, you didn’t bother trying to hide your smile. “Guess you’ll have to earn it first, doctor.”

Zayne chuckled softly, that familiar, grounded confidence in his voice. “I’ll be sure to work on that.”

SYLUS

The desert sun was relentless, and you could feel its heat pressing down on you as you stood beside Sylus, waiting to be seated inside the restaurant. He had dragged you out of Linkon on one of his mysterious ventures—no explanation, no warning, just the two of you thrust into the desert with little more than his cryptic directions. And while Sylus might have thrived in the N109 Zone's shadowy world, he was decidedly out of place here in the glaring sunlight,already starting to show hints of discomfort.

You glanced over at him, squinting slightly under the bright light. His expression was carefully controlled as always, but you noticed how his hand twitched subtly as if annoyed by the heat. The two of you had been waiting to be seated inside for a while now, and you decided it was time to speed things up.

Catching the attention of a passing waitress, you waved her over, putting on your best expression of concern. “Excuse me, my husband and I were hoping to be seated inside. I’m feeling a little faint under the harsh sun,” you said smoothly, the lie of you feeling faint rolling off your tongue with ease.

The word husband had slipped out so naturally, you didn’t even realize your mistake until the waitress nodded sympathetically and promised to get you a table indoors right away. As she walked off, you felt a cold gaze slide over you, and you turned to see Sylus staring down at you, one brow raised, a slow, dangerous smile creeping across his face.

“Husband?” His voice was smooth, but there was a teasing lilt beneath it. “Did I miss a wedding, wife?”

Your breath caught in your throat. "Wait—no, I didn't mean—" You started to stammer, heat rising to your cheeks, but before you could backtrack any further, Sylus’ arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. His grip was firm, possessive, and you could feel the smug amusement radiating off of him.

“I like the sound of that,” he murmured, leaning in just close enough for you to catch the scent of the desert air still clinging to his clothes. His lips ghosted near your ear, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Maybe this is a sign I should make it official.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing as you tried to keep your composure. “Official?” you echoed, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “What—what are you talking about?”

Sylus’ smirk widened, his amber eyes gleaming in the sun. “Oh? Cat got your tongue, Sweetie?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement as he let his fingers trace a light circle on your hip. “You seemed so sure a moment ago, wife. But now? Speechless.”

You blinked, trying to gather your wits, but the sheer cockiness in his tone was making it hard to think straight. “I…I was just…helping us get a table,” you protested weakly, trying to pull away from his grip, but his hold only tightened.

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” he drawled, clearly reveling in your flustered state. “But now that you’ve set the bar so high, don’t tell me you’re going to back out on me. After all, you made quite the declaration back there.”

“I wasn’t—” You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him as you regained a sliver of your usual confidence. “You know it was a slip-up, Sylus. Don’t start getting ideas.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Ideas? Sweetie, I live for ideas.” His grip loosened just enough to let you step back, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t about to let you wriggle out of this one easily. “But let’s be honest, you didn’t hate it. Calling me your husband.”

Your face flushed again, but this time, you managed to meet his gaze without faltering. “I didn’t hate it,” you admitted, folding your arms, “but don’t go thinking you’ve won. I’m not about to sign any papers just because you liked hearing it.”

Sylus tilted his head, the playful smile never leaving his lips. “We’ll see about that, kitten” he said, the threat—or promise—hanging in the air between you as the waitress returned to guide you inside.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Please, Sylus. You couldn’t handle being married to me.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in with that infuriating smirk. “Oh, I think I could handle you just fine, sweetheart. You’re the one who might need to keep up.”

You shot back, “Keep up? I’d be carrying you the whole way.”

“Careful, Sweetie. That sounds an awful lot like a challenge.” He chuckled, his hand brushing against yours again. “Now that’s a tempting thought.”

“Tempting? Try exhausting,” you quipped.

As you walked beside him, you felt his arm brush against yours, and the sensation lingered far longer than it should have. Sylus, of course, said nothing, though the smug expression never quite left his face.

This was clearly far from over. And judging by the glint in his eye, Sylus was going to make sure you never forgot your little slip-up.

XAVIER

The café was quiet, filled with the soft murmur of patrons and the comforting smell of fresh pastries. You and Xavier had settled in for a peaceful afternoon, your table already adorned with a delightful array of treats. He had requested a simple drink—no whipped cream. The barista returned, placing his drink in front of him with an impressive mountain of whipped cream on top. Xavier, as calm and indifferent as ever, simply blinked at it, showing no signs of complaint. He wasn’t going to say a word about it, but that didn’t mean you were going to let it slide.

Excusing yourself, you raised a hand and called over a passing staff member. “Excuse me,” you began, with a polite smile. “My husband asked for no whipped cream on his drink, but it looks like there’s some here by mistake. Would it be alright for us to get it changed?”

The words tumbled out so smoothly that you didn’t even realize your slip-up until the staff member nodded apologetically and hurried back to fix the order. It was only when you turned back around that you saw Xavier sitting there, looking unusually... stunned.

He was blinking slowly at you, his expression softened by a hint of confusion and—was that amusement? “Husband?” he repeated, his soft voice barely more than a murmur.

Your face flushed as you fumbled for an explanation. “Oh, no, wait—! I didn’t mean—” You stammered, desperately trying to backtrack. “That just slipped out! I meant to say…uh my boyfriend? Partner? Date? Not—well, not husband, obviously…”

Xavier continued to blink, his face now showing just a little more expression than usual. The faintest curl of a smile played on his lips, and he tilted his head, considering your words. “I must’ve missed that chapter in the 'Guide to a Healthy Relationship,'” he said in that calm, unruffled way of his. “I didn’t know we’d moved on to the husband-and-wife stage.”

You groaned inwardly, burying your face in your hands. “I swear, it was an accident. Just ignore what I said.”

But Xavier was clearly in no mood to let it go. “So, dear wife,” he continued, completely unfazed by your protests, “do you think we’ll have matching mugs in our future? Maybe get a nice house, with a small garden and a picket fence?”

You shot him a playful glare, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to stay annoyed. “Very funny,” you muttered, though your lips were twitching at the corners, betraying your amusement.

“I think it has a nice ring to it,” Xavier said, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying this far more than you expected. “I wonder how long it would take for people in the association to start sending us wedding gifts. Or perhaps they'd just send weapons... you know, as a gesture of goodwill.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think wedding gifts are really their style, Xavier.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right,” he said thoughtfully, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But you did call me your husband in public. Shouldn’t we at least play the part now?”

Your cheeks were burning, but you couldn’t resist playing along with his ridiculousness. “Fine,” you said, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. “But just so you know, dear husband, you’ll be the one doing the dishes.”

Xavier chuckled softly, the sound rare and surprisingly warm. “As long as you take care of meals. A fair trade.”

You were about to retort when the waitress returned with Xavier’s newly corrected drink—this time, free of whipped cream. She set it down with a smile, glancing between the two of you as if she’d picked up on the playful atmosphere. “Here you go,” she said. “No whipped cream this time, sir.”

Xavier’s eyes glinted as he thanked her with a nod, and after she left, he looked back at you with a satisfied expression. “See? Husband perks,” he teased, taking a sip of his drink.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he said, the teasing lilt in his voice gentler now. He took your hand under the table, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But... thank you,” he added after a beat, his voice softer and more sincere. “For speaking up for me.”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by the gratitude in his tone. “Of course,” you said, squeezing his hand in return. “That’s what wives do, right?”

Xavier let out a soft laugh. “I suppose so,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a rare, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

In that moment, with his hand in yours and the gentle teasing in the air, it was easy to forget the world outside the café. Just the two of you, playing pretend—but maybe, just maybe, something more.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[suksatoru]

𝝑𝑒 katsuki finds out what you've been drawing in your sketchbook all the time...and to say he's surprised is an understatement.

"y/n."

"hmm?"

your boyfriend lets out a sharp growl, his hands practically itching to reach out and snatch the sketchbook out of your hands

"let me see."

you don't respond, brows pinched together in concentration as you alternate between looking at the charcoal in your hands to katsuki's adorable pout

"you need to wait a little longer...not my fault you're so pretty."

he lets out an embarrassed groan, dragging his calloused palm down his face as he flops face first onto your bed. you let out a whine in protest, slapping his arm

"ow!" you huff, silently scolding yourself for hitting the hard, packed muscle beneath his shirt. he smirks a little bit at your reaction, rolling onto his back and making a show of flexing his muscles as he stretches his arms with a loud yawn

"ya took forever. now, show me what you made." he demands, sitting up expectedly with narrowed eyes

katsuki had been dragged from the common room all the way up to your dorm in a matter of minutes. he'd gladly be dragged by you to the ends of the earth, but he was beyond confused when you ordered him to sit down on your bed and stay still. all until you pulled out your sketchbook.

the light bulb in his mind switched on, and with a quiet "ah", he complied, listening to you quietly chat about anything and everything that came to your mind as you scribbled away in your sketchbook

katsuki has seen you carrying it around a lot. you always kept it tucked under your arm even as you travelled from class to class—never apart. it had, simply put, become an extension to your body at this point

of course he's wanted to take a peak in there. and about a dozen times katsuki tried to—but each time ended with him getting beat with your pillows and plushies as you shoved him out of your dorm, slamming the door on him as he laid in the hall, rubbing his head and silently cursing himself for getting caught once again.

he had kept still and quiet for you while you drew because this was....out of the ordinary. you never really did open your sketchbook in front of him—but here you were now, fingers smudging the paper as you smile sheepishly

"promise you won't laugh?"

he rolls his eyes, trying to keep his usual facade up so you don't detect even a hint of the nervousness he felt

"course i won't. now, either you show me—or i'm taking that damned book from your hands and—"

he's cut off when you suddenly raise it from your lap. pages rustle together as you flip it towards him, hands gripping the edges of your most prized possession as you squeeze your eyes shut and await his reaction

katsuki, was for once, stunned into silence. his eyes trailed over the strokes and marks on the paper, your finger imprints pressed all over the paper from the charcoal—

but what you've drawn is undeniably him.

it's not what he'd expected at all. it's him but...it's not from katsuki's view. it's not the mean face he saw in the mirror everyday. the usual scowl that seemed to be a permanent resident on his face was replaced with a soft smile in your drawing

his eyes were lighter, softer. his cheeks were round and full of boyish youth as he smiled. it was beautiful. he was. he feels his heart stutter in his chest as he slowly takes the sketchbook from your hands, eyes glued to page

"hold on suki—"

he begins flipping. flipping and flipping and flipping and it's all him. katsuki sleeping, katsuki yelling and a frightened little izuku scribbled into the corner of the page—katsuki cooking, katsuki in his hero suit, katsuki—

you suddenly tackle him, and with a yelp—both of you tumble off of your bed and onto the floor. unfortunately, his grip on the book loosens for a mere instant, and you're able to snatch it out of his grip and throw it onto your bed from where the two of you laid on the floor

his lips are parted, but not a sound comes out. his eyes are like the drawing you had just made—soft and gentle and round as he stares up at you.

you're so embarrassed you can barely stand to look him in the eye, resorting to tucking your face into the space between his neck and shoulder with an embarrassed groan

"asshole...you weren't supposed to flip..." you murmur, and katsuki thinks you look pretty with your cheeks flushed and tinted like this. his chest falls and rises slowly, and he made no move to get up off the floor as you caged him there—refusing to let him get up.

"i....gah say something you jerk! you can't humiliate me like that and then get all quiet!" you whine, your voice embarrassed and pitched and katsuki can't even stop himself from grabbing hold of the back of your neck and crashing his lips into yours

he pulls your entire body against him, wrapping a single arm around your waist before he rolls the two of you over and flipping your positions—he hovers over you, pulling away from the kiss just to press another one onto your forehead

"you fucking dumbass...why'd you go and waste so many pages on me..." he mumbles, grabbing your charcoal covered hands as he presses a soft kiss onto your finger tips. you smile bashfully at the smeared streaks of color on his face

"you're my muse." you state simply

his eyes are lined with tears, and his grin is wide and toothy—you want to capture this moment in your pages, the shine in his eyes and the way his lips curled, all of it.

you decide you'll have to draw this particular katsuki later, because he's suddenly launching an attack on you—a flurry of kisses being pressed all over your face and neck and just about any bit of skin he could find as he laughs at the sound of your sweet squeals—music to his ears.

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[lyrefromthesea]

Male pillars x Reader - sitting on their lap

author's note: I'm strictly against any kind of sexual interactions with minors. That's why I will either exclude Muichiro from such fics of or portray a wholesome interaction instead.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Muichiro x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: suggestive words and actions

Tengen:

"excuse me? I'm married!" he dramatically exclaimed, looking down at you. the man was already trying to refrain from smiling, watching you turn your head towards him.

"i'm sure Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma will forgive me." you answered, showing him your hand. he smirked at the all too familiar ring. he was glad he had married you.

"just playin', i could never disappoint the flamboyant person i married!" he laughed, clearly proud of himself. when you cocked your eyebrow at him, he let out a dramatic gasp, pulling you closer.

"are you trying to say i'm not the most perfect husband you could imagine?" he asked, displaying a huge amount of shock. you knew he was just making fun, especially when he pressed your back against his chest, bringing his lips to your ear.

"you were saying entirely different things yesterday." he said, watching you shudder at his words. you slapped his knee, scolding him for saying such things outside.

"come on, you know you love it!"

Obanai:

he freezes, his brain nearly malfunctioning. it's not like you've never sat on his lap before, but you usually gave him a warning first - asked for his approval.

"[name]? what's-" he asked, surprised when your arms wrapped around his neck, barely giving Kaburamaru time to slither away. words got stuck in his throat, feeling your lips against his mask - right above his own.

"nothing. i was just feeling affectionate." you answered, shifting to wrap your arms around his torso. he looked down at you, letting out a quiet yelp when your hips moved a bit too much on his lap.

"oh..?" you looked at him, a smile slowly forming on your lips. a blush made his way towards his cheeks, luckily covered by his mask. at least he felt lucky, you would've liked to see him blush.

"it looks like you're feeling affectionate too, Obanai." you chuckled, purposely drawing light circles with your hips. of course you had noticed the growing bulge in his pants, his hands now holding yours.

"don't tease me, [name].."

Rengoku:

"little flame! how was your day?" he enthusiastically asked, his arms wrapping around your torso. he pulled you closer, placing his chin on your shoulder.

"it was okay, i missed you." you answered, leaning against his chest. he smiled at you, enjoying the way your bodies were pressed together so gently.

"we can't have that, little flame! how about we go eat later?" he asked, holding you a bit closer. you chuckled at his words, he really loved taking you to new places - especially restaurants.

"i'd like that. let's go eat something later."

Sanemi:

"and what the hell are you doing?" Sanemi asked, feeling you make yourself comfortable on his lap.

he had cleaned his sword moments prior, hearing the door open - it was you. you moved towards him without warning, getting between him and his sword.

"getting your attention." you answered, moving even closer. don't think he didn't notice the way you purposely squished your chest against his own.

"yeah? didn't I give ya enough attention, sweetheart?" he teased, watching you pout in response. you had been alone for far too long, you finally wanted to spend time with him.

"you've been working on your sword for two hours now.." you complained. he placed it down, knowing that you were right. he just felt like the proper care could safe his ass one day, though a shiny sword probably wasn't that important.

"fine, ya win. this was getting uncomfortable anyways." he answered, almost making you question what he meant until he pressed his hips against yours more. oh, now you could feel it too.

"does that mean you want my attention as well-" you asked playfully, getting cut off by his lips pressing against yours before you could finished talking.

Giyuu:

"is everything alright?" his voice broke the silence, you've been sitting on his lap for almost 5 minutes now, not saying a single word. he was confused, not sure if you were fine or needed help.

"Giyuu, attention?" you asked, feeling him relax under you. he had been tense, thinking you could've been hurt somewhere. your words instantly calmed him down, his lips pressing against yours gently.

he didn't expect you to turn his soft kiss into something more passionate. his hands slowly came to hold your hips, tongues swishing against each other.

you broke the kiss, panting against his lips. he pressed his forehead against yours, pulling you a bit closer, only to have your hips start grinding slightly.

"l- love.. t- that's not.." he muttered, his cheeks visibly growing more red. hands squeezing your hips more, trying to create more friction. he could only moan when you finally started grinding against him properly.

"i.. i need to go on a mission later.." he panted against your lips, but he didn't object when you kissed him again, your hand wandering to his belt.

Muichiro:

"Muichiro! i finally caught up to you.." you heaved, letting yourself fall onto his lap. you had been running for nearly twenty minutes now, watching the boy leave his estate without food. being the good friend you were, you ran after him.

"[name]? what are you doing here..?" he asked, letting you lean against him. your cheeks were flushed from running. it would've been different if you also were a hashira, but you still had much to learn.

"you.. you forget your food, Mui.." you panted, reaching into your pocket. he looked rather surprised when he saw the small box of food he usually brought with him.

"thank you..! i've completely forgotten." he laughed, eventually coaxing a smile out of you. you gave him the box, seeing his eyes lit up at the promise of food.

he wanted to dive right in before he had a quiet growl come from your stomach, making your cheeks flush. "do you want some?" he asked, watching you shake your head.

"i brought my own!" you countered, grabbing into your back once more. silence filled the room when you noticed you had only brought his food.

his arm wrapped around your torso, forcing you to stay on his lap a while longer. "let's share." he said, offering you some of his food. you knew he wouldn't let you go until you have had a healthy portion.

Gyomei:

"welcome back." the giant said, feeling you plop onto his lap, nuzzling against his chest. you let out a tired hum, feeling a large hand soothingly rub over your arm.

"is there something wrong? you're more quiet than usual." he asked, gently bringing your head closer with his hand - allowing you to be closer to him. you could hear the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

your day had been stressful, but he somehow always managed to calm you down. his warmth. his voice. his actions. they put your mind at ease.

"i know it's ridiculous, but i've felt really stressed out lately. i just want a break.." you muttered, closing your eyes. you were trying to focus on his heartbeat and ignore everything else around you.

"it's not ridiculous, you deserve a break. perhaps a visit to the hot spring would help calm you down?" he offered, feeling you nod against his chest. you felt warm hands rub over your thighs, his head now closer to yours.

"and i could pamper you a bit more after that.." he muttered against your ear, your eyes opening again. the warmth pooling in your gut could probably rival the hot spring's temperature