#and he was knocking me around when i was like i need to be steady or im gonna get bodied again

[chosok-amo]

SAY HIII! TO THE CAMERA s. geto

☆ sum. stay quiet and keep him warm and hard, while he is playing video games, that’s the order. but it seems like too much hardness making you lose control of your body.

warning. non-sorcerer au, roommate geto, spank, cōck-drunk reader, petnames, dirty talk, overstim, praises, fem! reader, sugu gets annoyed when you can’t stay still, he’s annoyed because you make him lose, lol, tats-spank, háir-pulling, choking, bit exhibitionism.

there’s something deeply comforting about having geto suguru as your roommate, a kind of unspoken reassurance that no matter how life twists and turns, you have someone in your corner. he’s not just kind; he’s the kind of person who’s genuinely considerate, remembering the little things that most people overlook. his gentle humor fills even the quietest moments with warmth, and his manners, always so natural, make you feel valued and understood. he’s the type of person who holds open doors, who waits for you when you linger on your way home, and who genuinely listens when you speak, as if your words are the only ones that matter.

living together, you’ve come to depend on him in a way that feels both new and familiar. in the late hours of the night, when silence settles over the apartment, there are moments of connection that you’ve never found with anyone else. he's seen you in every state — the vulnerable, raw moments when you’re barely holding it together, the giddy highs when you’re spilling over with excitement, and even the quiet days when all you need is to be near someone without saying a word. every joy and every sorrow, he’s there, a constant presence, filling the empty spaces of your life.

over time, though, there’s another unspoken need that starts to creep in. it’s there in the lingering glances, the way your touches linger just a moment too long, the awareness that builds between you both, each brushing touch leaving a faint trace of longing. you’ve found yourself drawn to him, in a way that goes beyond friendship, a desire simmering under the surface that you don’t dare voice. it’s been a while since you’ve had anyone to share that kind of closeness with, and every time he’s near, you can feel that need building, that craving that he seems to sense. and that ‘desire’ you crave so much, geto is there with an open arms and. . . open legs.

it was one of those days a mix of emotions swirling, a growing desire that had been building in the space between you two, bubbling to the surface. without overthinking it, you found yourself outside geto’s room, feeling a thrill as you opened the door without knocking. you were wearing only your skirt and a simple bra, skin tingling under the weight of anticipation.

geto was at his computer, focused on whatever he had been doing, but as soon as he heard the door creak open, he turned, spinning his chair around slowly. his gaze swept over you, eyes darkening with a spark of something unmistakable as he took you in. he let out a low whistle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the view. “well,” he drawled, his voice a touch rougher, “looks like someone’s feeling bold today.”

his own appearance was casual but undeniably alluring. he wore only a pair of loose grey sweatpants, his toned chest bare, catching the soft light from the room. his long, dark hair fell loosely around his shoulders, framing his sharp features and giving him an almost untamed look that made your heart race faster. he watched you with a steady, appreciative gaze, that familiar, playful glint in his eyes turning to something deeper as his eyes traced over your form.

“you here for something, or just planning to drive me crazy?” he teased, his voice low, dripping with that lazy confidence he always wore so effortlessly. you felt your cheeks warm as you stepped into his room, but you didn’t waver, letting your gaze flicker over his chest, taking in the way his muscles shifted.

“i think you know exactly why i’m here,” you replied, keeping your voice light but letting the meaning behind your words settle between you. his smirk widened, and he straightened, reaching a hand out to you, his touch gentle but insistent as he pulled you closer.

his hand brushing your waist, guiding you to stand between his legs. his other hand came up to rest on your hip, fingers tracing small, lazy circles along your bare skin as he looked up at you.

god, the way he looked at you, with that sultry gaze sweeping over every inch of your body, made it nearly impossible to keep your composure. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare skin, each touch almost enough to send a shiver down your spine. the air between you two felt thick, electric, as if it held every unspoken thought, every lingering glance and desire that had built up over time. you could hear the faint hitch in his breath as you stepped closer, closing what little distance remained between you.

“is that right?” he murmured, voice low and rough, his tone thick with barely concealed amusement. “and what did i do to earn this little visit? not that i i’m complaining.” his fingers toyed with the edge of your skirt, tracing a slow line up your thigh that sent waves of warmth through you, each touch building a sweet tension that had you leaning in, craving more.

you couldn’t help but hum in response, letting your fingers glide over his bare shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid strength beneath your touch. your other hand found its way to his hair, threading through the long, dark locks that framed his face so perfectly handsome, your fingers lingering as you gently pulled him closer.

“it’s not what you did,” you replied, your voice a low, teasing murmur, your lips close enough to brush against his ear. “it’s what you can do.” the words hung between you, dripping with anticipation, each syllable filled with a promise you knew he could hear.

geto chuckled, a warm, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. he leaned into your touch, his hand sliding up under your skirt, fingers splaying against your skin, and you could feel the heat of his palm, the barely suppressed tension in the way he touched you.

“oh?” he drawled, tilting his head so his face was dangerously close to your bellybutton. his lips grazed the shell of your skin, his breath hot against your skin. “and what exactly is it that you need me to do, pretty girl?”

before you could answer, his hands found your waist, gently but insistently pulling you down to sit on his lap. his arm wrapped securely around your bare waist, the other hand still warm and steady on your thigh. you felt yourself sink into him, the heat of his skin against yours, the way he held you close with that effortless confidence.

you leaned in, lips close to his ear as you whispered, voice teasing but edged with a hint of urgency. “you know exactly what i want, suguru,” you murmured, your fingers tracing along his collarbone, feeling his breath hitch as you spoke. “stop pretending to be stupid.”

a lazy smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze darkening with satisfaction as he tightened his hold on you, his hand slipping higher on your thigh, tracing lazy circles that sent a spark of anticipation through you. “oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with restrained desire, “i’d never be that stupid.”

geto shifted his hips, the heat of your bodies pressed together, his hand sliding slowly to the curve of your hip. there was a raw, unabashed hunger in his eyes, his gaze traveling over every inch of your exposed skin, taking in every subtle shudder, every quickening breath.

he pulled you even closer, desperate, and you could feel the tension building between the bitten of you as his other hand slid further up your skirt, his knuckles brushing over your inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. his hand squeezed your thigh, fingers digging into your skin, an unspoken promise that sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

“if you want something,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper, “all you have to do is ask.” then he leaned in, his lips trailing a warm path from your collarbone up to your shoulder, and you could feel the low rumble of his voice against your sensitive skin. he nipped at your ear, his voice a dark, lustful murmur. “beg me for it, sweetheart.”

his lips traveled back down to your neck, teeth scraping against your skin, and a small gasp escaped your lips as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. his lips curled into a satisfied smile against your flesh, and his hand slid even higher up your thigh, the heat of his touch searing through you.

“beg me,” he repeated, his voice low and gravelly. “beg me to give it to you… and i’ll give you everything you need.”

and he lies.

you sit on his lap as he games, his cock buried deep inside you, you trying to stifle moans as occasionally he thrusts up into you, barely— either too distracted by his stupid games or he just being his usual self, a fucking jerk and a tease. “such a gooood girl, baby,” he growls lowly into your ear, muting his microphone. after all, he didn’t want his teammates hearing what a good little toy you were being, taking his cock like you were.

how had things turned out like this, you wonder? you were the one that was supposed to be teasing him, not the other way around. now you were the one, stifling whimpers and moans, and almost begging him to fuck you.

“s-suguru, p-please..” you whimper.

he ignores you completely as he goes back to his game, turning his microphone back on, saying, “son of a bitch, you fuckers can’t do anything right, can you?” you wiggle your hips on top of him, trying to get him to pay attention to you more, and his hand comes to rest briefly on your thigh, squeezing it tightly. a warning to knock it off. but you continue doing it. you had to take things back under your control, and what better way than by wiggling your hips, feeling him brush up against your sensitive spot, and letting out a quiet whimper.

he mutes his microphone again, letting out a warning growl, and lowly says, “y/n.. stop moving and be a good girl for me, hm?” his voice is dangerous, a sign to dare you to move even just a beat. but youuu, you tilt your head back, peering back into his face, and smile innocently. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about, suguruuu. . .”

your back was facing him as you sat on his lap, elbows resting hard on his computer desk. only you cute pink skirt wrap loosely around your waist with no underwear. your bare nipples pressed against the hard surface. geto’s fingers dig into your thigh, holding you still as he continues playing his game, ignoring your attempts at seduction. his breathing grows heavier, the scent of his arousal filling the air between you. he’s clearly struggling to focus on the match with you writhing atop him like this.

“y/n... i swear if you keep this up, i’m going to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless,” he warns through gritted teeth, voice menacing. despite the threat, there’s an unmistakable note of desire lacing his words.

“now be a good girl and sit still,” he warned, his hand reaches up to grab your hip, pulling you down harder onto his throbbing erection and continue to cockwarming him while he’s playing games with his friends— stupid gojo satoru. a choked gasp escapes your lips as he grinds up into you, stretching you deliciously around his girth.

his grip tightens on your hip, guiding your movements to grind yourself against him even more. he doesn’t care who hears anymore, his mind consumed with thoughts of claiming you right here and now. his game character takes a hit from an enemy player the moment you do a harsh slammed on his cock, causing him to curse loudly into his mic.

“fuck! ’m distracted,” he admits before cutting himself off mid-sentence, realizing just how loud he’d been. he quickly mutes his mic once more, though he makes no move to stop grinding you against him. “that’s what you wanted, isn’t it, y/n? for me to lose focus so i could finally give you what you've been craving.”

his hand slides up your spine from your hip, gripping your neck firmly enough to let you know he means business. “i’m not going to repeat myself y/n, stop fucking moving.” his other hand comes up to slap lightly against your ass after retreating from the keyboard, leaving a warm imprint on your skin before he pushes your chest further to his desk and continues to play his game. gasp!

geto’s dominant grip on your hips and neck sends shivers down your spine, your body responding instinctively to his commanding touch. the sharp slap on your ass makes you gasp and gasp, the sting mixing with the pleasure of having your bare bottom exposed to him.

despite his warnings, you can’t help but subtly rock your hips, seeking friction against his thick length still buried deep within you. your upper teeth sinking lowered on your lower lips, a subtle way to hide the desperate moaning. your breath hitches as he pushes you harder against the desk, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body beneath you.

as geto focuses back on his game, you find yourself leaning forward more— your nipples touching the cold surface making you shiver, bracing your hands on the edge of the desk under you. this position allows you to sink deeper onto his cock, your inner walls clenching reflexively around him.

with each subtle roll of your hips, geto lets out a low groan, his focus waverting from his game momentarily. he pulls you closer, forcing his cock deeper inside you until you feel every inch of him pressing against your most sensitive spots.

“fucking hell, y/n...” he curses under his breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control. but it’s clear that he’s losing the battle against both his own desires and yours, even against his own stupid games. he smacks your ass again, this time harder, leaving a bright red mark on your flesh.

“be still!” he demands, his voice laced with both frustration and lust. his fingers dig into your neck, applying pressure just shy of pain. the smack on your ass sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your body arching back against him instinctively. the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you panting, your pussy clamping down on his cock as if begging for more.

despite his command, you can’t seem to obey. instead, you press your breasts further into the desk, enjoying the sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against the cool surface. each movement sends ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the ache building between your legs.

“suguru... please,” you whisper, your voice barely above a whimper. the desperation in your tone is undeniably begging. geto’s grip on your neck tightens, his thumb brushing over your pulse point rhythmically as he fights against the urge to simply throw caution to the wind and claim you right then and there. instead, he focuses back on his game, cursing loudly when his character takes another hit.

“shit... y/n, shut up before i really lose my shit,” he growls, punctuating each word with a deep thrust of his hips. his cock surges deeper inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids. his other hand losing the touch of his keyboard for a beat to sending a slaps down on your ass again, this time in slow deliberate strokes meant to draw out your pleasure. he’s punishing you for making him lose focus, but also rewarding you for being such a tease.

geto’s punishing thrusts send waves of ecstasy crashing over you, your nails digging into the desktop as you struggle to hold back cries of pleasure. the slow, deliberate slaps on your ass echo through the room, each impact sending tingles racing up your spine.

“ahh!” you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths, your pleas growing more desperate as the coil of tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. the combination of his thick cock stretching you open and the relentless stimulation to your sensitive ass has you teetering on the brink of climax. you can feel the telltale fluttering in your core, signaling your impending release.

geto’s jaw clenches as he battles to keep his composure, refusing to let go and indulge in the sweet release that beckons him. his fingers waltz down from your neck to the curve of your hip, tightening on the soft flesh, his grip bordering on bruising as he holds you in place, denying you the friction you crave.

“not yet, y/n... you don’t get to come until i say so,” he rasps, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. his hips buck upward sharply, burying himself to the hilt inside you for the countless times and grinding against your clit with a forceful thrust.

he repeats this motion several times, using your body for his own pleasure, before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in with brutal intensity. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled moans and his guttural groans.

the rough treatment only fuels your desire, pushing you closer to the edge with each powerful thrust. your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him for more as you ride the wave of pleasure he’s forcing upon you. the way you roll your hips like you are either desperately looking for the climax you’ve been craving for the past hours, trying to get revenge for keeping you waiting, or just simply trying to suck his soul— geto are fine either way.

“pleaseee. . . sugu’—’m gonna cum,” you stutter out, the words trailing off into a series of whimpers. your inner walls clench and flutter around his cock, pulsing with the intensity wanting of your release, “please, ’m sorry,” you cry. your body convulses, each tremor rippling through you as you cling desperately to the desk.

geto grunts, feeling your walls clamp around him, urging him towards his own climax. but he refuses to give in just yet, determined to make you pay for distracting him with your teasing. “not good enough... beg properly,” he commands, his voice a low growl. he slams into you again, driving his cock even deeper than before, stretching your inner walls to their limit— kissing your cervix each time. his hand moves from your hip to your dripping cunt, his fingers delving into your wetness, stroking at your swollen clit.

he keeps up this merciless pace, alternating between hard thrusts and swift withdrawals, driving you to the brink of madness. your pleas become more frantic, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensations. “please— let me cum, i need to...” you gasp out, your voice hitching on each word as you fight to maintain coherence.

each stroke of his fingers against your clit sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, amplifying the ache in your core. the combination of his thick cock pounding into you and his skilled fingers working your clit has you teetering on the precipice of obliviation.

“i’m sorry, i’m sooo sorry— pleasee...” you sob, your plea turning into a keening wail as you about to reach your pea only for geto to lift you up off his cock before slamming back into your pussy— playing with your climax and just generically being an asshole.

geto leans over you, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispers darkly, “not yet... not till you learn your lesson.” with each thrust, he aims to prove his dominance, showing no mercy as he punishes you for your disobedience. his fingers never relent from their torment of your clit, adding fuel to the fire that’s consuming you from within.

he reaches around to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. the sharp pinch sends an unexpected surge of pleasure coursing through you, making your back arch off the desk and the game long forgotten.

“beg better...” he taunts, knowing full well that he’s playing with fire. without saying a word to his friends, geto left his game to open his computer camera. he grab a fistful of your hair to pull your face away from the desk. a soft light illuminating your face. geto smile to his camera as he saw your fucked-face, ruined by your tears and your mascara.

he pulls you closer until your back touches his sweaty chest before snake his arm under your thighs and opens your legs wider to his camera. “say hi, to the camera y/n,” he whisper in your ear as he rest his chin on shoulder. your breath comes in short gasps, each thrust of his cock sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. the split pinch on your nipple only adds to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

you whimper, your voice choked with unshed tears. the sight of his hand gripping your hair tightly sends a shiver down your spine, reminding you who’s in control. with the way he pressing your back against his chest, knees straight glue to your chest, you can’t help but squirm on top of him. his heavy breathing in your ear, the warmth of his body against yours—it’s all too much.

“hi. . .” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible. the words are directed towards the camera, but they’re laced with desperation and pleading.

geto chuckles, dark and mocking, at your feeble attempt to address the camera, his amusement evident in the way he tightens his grip on your hair. he increases the tempo of his thrusts, his cock pistoning in and out of your drenched cunt with ruthless efficiency— visible to the camera of his computer.

“that’s iiiit... look pretty while you’re getting fucked,” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends chills down your spine. he watches you through the screen, purple eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as he observes your reactions. his free hand trails down your body, exploring every curve and crevice with possessive intent. he cups your breast, giving it a firm squeeze before smacking it hard enough to leave a red print on your skin.

“still think you can distract me?” he asks, his tone laced with challenge.

your body quivers under the onslaught of sensations, each thrust of his cock sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his thrusts. “n-no—can’t, i won’t,” you stammer out, your voice choked with emotion. the sting of his slap on your breast makes you flinch, but it also intensifies the heat coiling in your lower belly. despite the pain and humiliation, you find yourself pushed closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of orgasmic bliss.

geto smirks at your admission, pleased with the submission in your voice. he drives into you harder, relentlessly in his pursuit of your pleasure—and your punishment. “mmm, good girl... now cum for me,” he orders, his voice a seductive mix of command and promise. he lets go of your hair to grasp your throat, applying just enough pressure to ensure your attention remains focused on him and nothing else.

the hand that had been smacking your breasts now finds its way between your bodies, rubbing circles onto your clit while still keeping a firm hold on your throat. he watches intently, observing how your face contorts in pleasure, enjoying the sight of you succumbing to his will.

“let me hear it... let me hear how good it feels when i fuck you senseless,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “come on baby, i know you are dirty girl.” your entire being focuses on the sensation of his cock plunging into you, each thrust hitting spots inside you that send waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the pressure on your throat and the stimulation of your clit combine to push you closer to the edge.

a strangled moan escapes your lips, your voice breaking as you try to comply with his demand. “it- it feels so good— so fucking good...” you pant, your words punctuated by gasps and whimpers. your pussy clenches around his cock, desperate for release as you cling to the last threads of sanity.

geto grins at your words, satisfaction washing over him as he feels your pussy tightening around his throbbing member. he tightens his grip on your throat slightly, forcing a choked cry from your lips.

“that’s it... that’s my good girl,” he praises, his voice a deep rumble of approval. he quickens his pace, each thrust becoming more powerful and deliberate. the sound of your moans and the sight of your flushed face spur him on further. he wants to see you unravel, to witness the moment when pleasure overtakes reason. “cum for me... show me what a fucking mess i’ve made of you,” he grunts, his fingers rubbing furiously against your clit, eager to draw out your climax.

your body trembles on the brink of release, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. the feeling of his fingers circling your sensitive clit sends you spiraling into oblivion. you throw your head back to his shoulder, closing your eyes as you feel your toes curling and your legs shaking in the air. stars running around behind your eyelids and burst into fireworks.

a loud cry rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt clenching tightly around his cock as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body. your limbs feel weak, your mind foggy as you ride out the intensity of your climax.

“oh god, oh godddd...” you whimper, your body wracked with sobs as you struggle to regain control as geto watches you through his screen. geto relishes the feeling of your cum spasming around his cock, begging to milk him dry and sucking his cum out, and paint your velvet walls white. he lets out a low groan, his own climax building rapidly.

he continues to rub your clit mercilessly, determined to prolong your pleasure even as he approaches his own peak. his grip on your throat loosens slightly, allowing you to breathe raggedly. “look at you... crying and coming like a fucking whore,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. he gives one final, deep thrust, burying himself completely inside you as he releases his seed deep within your womb.

your body continues to convulse with aftershocks of pleasure, your cunt still clamping sporadically around his cock. the sensation of his hot cum filling you up pushes you over the edge once more, another wave of ecstasy washing over you. through tear-filled eyes, you gaze up at the screen, meeting geto’s intense purple stare. your mouth hangs open just a wee, panting heavily as you struggle to process the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“fuck, suguru,” you whimper, your voice hoarse from crying out during your orgasms. your arms fall limply to your sides, unable to support your weight any longer. you’re utterly spent, drained of all energy and willpower, finally. all you can do is sit there on his lap, impaled on his cock, as he fills you with his essence.

geto watches you intently, drinking in the sight of your ravaged expression and trembling form. he keeps his cock buried deep inside you, relishing the feeling of his cum slowly leaking out of your used hole.

he finally releases your throat, his hands moving to cup your breasts instead, squeezing them gently as if testing their weight. he strokes your nipples with his thumbs, teasing them back to hardness. “such a beautiful mess,” he whispers, his tone filled with pride and satisfaction. he reaches up to gently wipe away some of the tears trailing down your cheeks, his touch surprisingly tender given the rough sex you just endured.

once he’s satisfied with your appearance, he leans back in his chair, pulling you against his chest as he cradles you in his strong arms. he strokes your hair soothingly, humming a soft melody that seems to vibrate through his body and into yours.

“so beautiful,” he coos, his voice a warm caress against your ear, eyes meeting yours in the land of his screen. “shame we’re only roommate,” he smiling softly before kissing your forehead. your body molds against his, seeking comfort and reassurance after the intense session. struggling the way your body trembling, with the energy left you move to face him, nuzzle into his neck and curl up on his lap, breathing in his scent as you slowly come down from the high of your multiple orgasms.

you let out a soft sigh, your breath tickling his skin. despite the tenderness of the moment, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness at his words. as much as you crave his touch and desire him intensely, you know that this is all it can ever be—a secret tryst between roommates.

“yeah, what a shame,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. you trail off, not daring to finish the thought aloud. you know it would be futile to hope for more, to dream of a future where suguru could be yours openly and without shame. geto holds you close, his arms encircling your waist possessively. he tilts your chin up with one finger, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“don’t look so sad, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “we have this, don’t we? these moments, just you and me...” he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. his tongue delves into your mouth, exploring and claiming every inch of you. when he finally pulls away, you’re both left panting softly.

“i know it’s not ideal,” he admits, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it? at least we can have this... this connection.” he smiles ruefully, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “and who knows?”

you nod slowly, trying to convince yourself that yes, this is enough. it’s not ideal, but it’s something—something real and raw and incredibly satisfying. you capture his hand and press it against your cheek, holding it there as you gaze into his eyes. “yeah, whatever,” you agree softly.

you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm before releasing his hand. you snuggle back into his embrace, feeling contented and oddly fulfilled. maybe this was all you needed after all—to share these stolen moments with geto, to experience the depth of emotion and physical intimacy that he alone could provide.

geto’s smile widens at your acceptance, relief washing over him with hummed followed along after. he wraps his arms tighter around you, pulling you flush against his muscular frame. “whatever indeed,” he chuckles, the vibrations of his laughter resonating through your body. he nuzzles your hair affectionately, inhaling your scent deeply.

“i’m glad we understand each other, kitten,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “now, how about we take a nap? i think we’ve earned it after that intense session.” he settles back in his chair, cradling you in his lap as he reclines comfortably. his cock, still semi-hard, presses against your ass, a constant reminder of your recent activities.

“just rest here with me,” he whispers, stroking your back soothingly. “let’s recharge our batteries for the next time.” geto grins, a devilish glint in his purple eyes. “what a sweet shit-talker,” you mutter, too tired or maybe too much of a coward to say it out loud.

the soft insult making the raven-haired man snort, “well, aren’t you a cynic?” his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch gentle yet firm. “but hey, even the biggest cynics need a little sweetness now and then, right?” he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “and besides, i’m just looking out for my favorite roommate.” he winks, his smirk playful yet dangerous.

you roll your eyes, attempting to put up a facade of indifference, but you can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “oh, so i’m your favorite, huh?” you retort weakly, leaning into his touch. “i must be so honored.”

he lets out another of those low laughs, the sound sending a shiver through you. “oh, you should be,” he says, his voice lilting with playful arrogance. “i don’t just let anyone sit on my lap, you know. you should count yourself lucky, sweetheart.”

you let yourself relax in his embrace, the warmth of his body surrounding you like a comforting blanket. his hands continue their soothing motions, roaming over your back and hair, lulling you into a state of blissful contentment. despite your exhaustion, a cheeky thought crosses your mind as you snuggle closer to him.

“favorite roommate, huh?” you tease, your voice low and sultry. “i thought i was your only roommate.”

geto chuckles once again, his chest rumbling against yours. “ah, semantics,” he replies, his voice a mix of amusement and feigned nonchalance. “details, details. my favorite… my only… same difference, really.” he pulls you even closer, his arms encircling you like a warm, muscular embrace. “besides,” he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck. “you're the only roommate i need.”

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his chest rumbling with his quiet chuckle, his voice laced with that familiar mix of amusement and teasing. his arms tightened around you, drawing you closer until there was hardly any space between you, his embrace both comforting and exhilarating.

as his lips found that sensitive spot on your neck, a soft sigh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, letting your fingers trail gently along his shoulder. the way he held you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, everything felt like second nature, the kind of closeness that only he could bring.

snuggling closer, you let out a quiet laugh, your eyes half-closed as you nestled against him. “cheeky bastard,” you murmured, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you relaxed into his arms. his warmth enveloped you, and you closed your eyes, letting the moment wrap around you like a gentle haze.

his lips curved into a smirk against your skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back. “damn right i am,” he replied, his voice low and amused. he shifted in his chair, his muscular arms flexing as he pulled you even closer. you were practically pressed flush against him now, the heat of his body seeping through your skin, a comforting and exciting presence.

geto hums, a pleased sound that vibrates through his chest. his fingers continue their gentle, soothing motions, tracing invisible patterns on your skin, as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of your body. “but i prefer the term ‘charming, irresistible bastard,’ thank you very much,” he replies jokingly. “and besides, you like it when i’m cheeky.”

a laugh escapes you as his words sink in, a warm, playful sound that melts into the air around you. “i don’t know where you got that idea,” you reply, your voice light with mock indignation. “i never said i liked it when you’re cheeky.”

but even as you deny it, your arms find their way around his bare waist, pulling yourself closer, and you can feel his warmth seeping into you, steady and grounding. the rhythmic beat of his heart thumps under your ear, a soothing lull that makes the rest of the world feel like it’s melting away.

with a soft, relieved sigh, you let yourself relax into him, the tension slowly leaving your body as you settle in his embrace. it’s moments like this—his warmth, his quiet hum, the way his fingers trace gentle patterns on your back—that remind you of how safe and at home you feel with him.

geto's lips curve into a satisfied smirk as he feels you relax against him, as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. his arms wrap even tighter around you, enveloping you in a comforting embrace.

“mmm,” he murmurs, the sound of a low vibration in his chest. “deny it all you want, sweetheart. but we both know you secretly find my cheeky behavior adorable,” he punctuates his words with a light nip at your neck, a teasing gesture that sends a shiver through you.

[daisymbin]

48. "you taught me what love is, and no one else has come close." With Vernon and female

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second chance prompt #48: "you taught me what love is, no one else has come close."

hansol stood on your porch, cradling the cat carrier in his hands, his nerves twisting into knots. the faint meow from inside didn’t ease his worry; if anything, it made it worse. he’d spent the entire night googling symptoms, wondering if he’d done something wrong, and now he was here. back where everything started and ended.

he knocked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

when you opened the door, his breath hitched. you looked the same but different—soft and familiar, like a dream he hadn’t let himself think about in a long time.

“sollie?” his nickname slipping from your lips was laced with surprise and affection he hadn't been expecting. “what are you doing here?”

he held up the carrier, feeling small under your gaze. “he’s not eating much, and he’s been acting… off. i didn’t know who else to call.”

you blinked at him, then stepped aside. “come in.”

hansol followed you into the warmth of your home, the scent of it hitting him like a wave of nostalgia. it was the same, down to the throw blanket on the couch. everything about this place felt like you—safe, steady, and a little too easy to fall into.

he set the carrier down carefully, watching as you unzipped it and coaxed the cat out. your hands were gentle as you examined him, murmuring soothing words. hansol watches as a pang of something bittersweet in his chest. you were always like this—calm, kind, and impossibly good at making everyone around you feel safe.

“hey, buddy,” you murmured, inspecting him closely. the soft tone in your voice made hansol’s chest ache. it wasn’t just for the cat—it was the same way you used to talk to him when he was tired or overwhelmed, the same kindness he never realized he’d miss this much.

you looked up after a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. “he’s fine, hansol. just a little stressed.”

“stressed?” he repeated, relief and confusion mixing in his voice.

“yeah.” you sat back, letting the cat curl up on your lap. “all the back-and-forth between our places is probably confusing for him. cats don’t like changes, you know. he probably just needs some consistency.”

“oh.” hansol’s shoulders slumped slightly. he felt a little dumb for panicking, but mostly he felt… something else. something warm.

your teasing smile pulled him out of his thoughts. “you’ve changed.”

his brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

you gave him a teasing smile. “you used to complain when he stole all my attention. now here you are, worried sick and showing him all this love and care.”

hansol looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “yeah, well… people change, I guess.”

you tilted your head, studying him for a moment. the silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken words.

his face flushed. “i mean… he’s important,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. he wonders if you realise that this cat is the only thing that gives him some type of connection to you.

you laughed softly, the sound lighting up a corner of his heart he didn’t realize was still dark.

“you’ve really changed,” you said again, more softly this time.

hansol looked at you then, really looked at you, and something in him broke open. he thought he was over this. over you. but here you were, reminding him of all the things he loved about you, all the ways you made him feel like he was home.

“you taught me, you know,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

your brows knitted together, "taught you what?"

he hesitated, his hands gripping his knees. but then he thought about how much you deserved to know—how much he wanted you to know.

“what love is,” he said finally, his words trembling but certain. “you taught me what it means to care about someone. to put their happiness first. no one else… no one else has ever come close.”

the words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. you opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss.

“I didn’t realize it back then,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “I didn’t appreciate what I had, and I’m sorry for that."

you stared at him, eyes wide, your teasing smile replaced by something softer, “hansol…”

“i’m not saying this to make things weird,” he added quickly, his voice tripping over itself. “i just… i realised i never told you how much you meant to me. and i should’ve. you deserved to hear it, to know."

you looked down at the cat in your lap, your fingers running absently through his fur. “we both made mistakes,” you said quietly.

“maybe,” he said. “but i should’ve done better. i should’ve fought for us.”

the room felt heavier, the air thick with unspoken words. hansol thought he might have gone too far, that maybe he should’ve kept those thoughts to himself. but then you looked at him again, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“you know,” you said, your tone light but your eyes warm, “if you keep saying things like that, i might start to think you want a second chance.”

his heart stuttered. “would that be so bad?”

your smile grew, your fingers brushing against his as the cat stretched between you. “that depends,” you said, your voice teasing but your gaze steady. “are you ready to share my attention with the cat this time?”

hansol laughed, the sound surprising even himself. it wasn’t just relief; it was hope.

“yeah,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “i think i can manage that.”

you smiled at him, your hand lingering against his for a moment longer. the cat purred contentedly, nestled between you both, as if sensing that maybe, this time, things could be different.

[sweetlyvibe]

» 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦, 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗜𝗦, 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗕𝗘 «

PAIRING : Atsumu Miya / Suna Rintarou x Fem!Reader

GENRE : hurt / comfort

WORD COUNT : 4.8k

SUMMARY : Unspoken feelings break the bond between you and Atsumu. As you try to heal, Rintarou steps into your life in ways you never expected. But with lingering regrets and new emotions, what happens when the past tries to catch up?

CONTENT / WARNINGS : Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, unrequited feelings, heartbreak, romantic tension, use of [Y/N], mentions of past relationships, slow burn, and light references to jealousy.

You and Atsumu Miya had been inseparable for years. From the very first day you met, something clicked between you two. You knew each other’s quirks, your favorite foods, the stupid inside jokes that no one else would ever understand. Everyone around you always teased you both, constantly dropping hints that it was obvious to anyone that you liked each other. But you two? You pretended to ignore it.

Atsumu never said anything, and neither did you. There were moments, small gestures, like the way his eyes softened when you laughed, or the way you could tell he was thinking of you just from a quick glance. But every time the tension became too palpable, one of you would retreat. It was always safer to stay in the realm of friendship. But everyone could see it. And deep down, you could feel it too.

Then, everything changed. It wasn’t sudden—more like a gradual shift that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It started when Atsumu began pulling away from you, and at first, you chalked it up to him just being busy with volleyball. But days turned into weeks, and the distance between you two grew too noticeable to ignore. He was still the same Atsumu—playful, loud, and always there for the people he cared about. But he wasn’t there for you. Not like before.

You’d come to expect him to show up at your favorite café, or to make his usual sarcastic remarks when you were hanging out with friends, but he stopped. You’d leave him text messages, but the replies were shorter, less frequent. He’d cancel plans, and when you saw him at school or during volleyball practice, there was a clear gap between you two—an invisible wall that you could never quite break.

It hurt.

You couldn’t understand why he was distancing himself. Every time you saw him, you fought the urge to confront him, to demand answers. But you knew him too well. Atsumu wasn’t the type to share his feelings easily, especially when it came to something like this.

It was a quiet afternoon when it all hit you. You had been sitting in the back corner of the café, sketching aimlessly in your notebook, trying not to notice how the seat across from you was empty.

Then Atsumu walked in. For a moment, your heart skipped a beat. His usual grin was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t even glance in your direction as he walked past you and sat with someone else—another teammate, someone you didn’t even know.

Your stomach twisted into knots, but you kept your cool. You told yourself it was nothing. But the longer he stayed, the more you felt the weight of the situation. He was avoiding you.

You were left with only your thoughts. Had you done something wrong? Did he find someone else? Was it possible that Atsumu had grown tired of your friendship?

—

A few days later, you found yourself standing in front of his house, your heart pounding against your chest. You hadn’t seen him in days, and you couldn’t take the silence any longer. You had to know why.

You knocked on the door, and when Atsumu answered, you were met with his usual teasing smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, well, look who decided to show up. What’s up?”

His voice was too casual, too distant. Something in his expression made you feel like a stranger, like he was seeing you through a veil.

“I need to talk to you,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

He blinked at you, clearly caught off guard by the question, but the smile stayed. “Avoiding you? C’mon, you’re overthinking it.”

But you weren’t. You could feel it. The distance, the silence, the coldness. It wasn’t like before.

“Atsumu, stop.” You stepped forward, your voice trembling. “You’ve been pulling away for weeks now, and I need to know why. What happened?”

For a moment, it seemed like he might actually say something. You saw the conflict flash in his eyes, but just as quickly as it came, it disappeared. He took a deep breath and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s nothing, alright?” His tone was defensive, but there was something in his voice that made you pause. “I just need some space, okay? You… you won’t understand.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. You had no idea what was happening, but the feeling of rejection stung deeper than you’d ever imagined. You could tell this wasn’t a simple issue. But instead of pressing him further, you took a step back, feeling like the words you wanted to say were stuck in your throat.

“I’ll give you your space then,” you whispered. “But I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me what’s going on.”

Atsumu didn’t respond. He just watched you walk away, the door clicking shut behind you.

Days turned into weeks, and you fought every urge to reach out to him again. You tried, really tried, to keep yourself busy. You spent more time with friends, buried yourself in schoolwork, but everything reminded you of him. The silence between you two was unbearable.

—

It had been weeks since you last saw Atsumu properly��really saw him, like how it used to be. You were tired of the confusion, tired of overthinking, and most of all, tired of missing someone who was right there but felt a thousand miles away.

So when you caught him alone after practice one evening, you didn’t hesitate. He was leaning against the wall of the gym, scrolling on his phone, and when he noticed you approaching, his expression froze.

“We need to talk,” you said, your voice firm but not angry. You weren’t sure what you were feeling anymore—too many emotions swirling in your chest.

Atsumu sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Alright. Let’s talk.”

You searched his face, looking for the boy you used to know, the one who made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. But all you saw now was a mask of discomfort, like he was bracing himself for a storm.

“Why?” you asked simply. “Why have you been avoiding me? What did I do wrong?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from you. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why?” Your voice cracked, but you pressed on. “Why did you push me away? Why did you leave me out of your life like this?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer. Then he took a deep breath. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You felt the air leave your lungs, your heart dropping into your stomach. “You… what?”

“I’m dating someone,” he said again, his tone quieter this time. “That’s why I’ve been distant.”

You stared at him, trying to process the words. It wasn’t just that he had moved on—it was that he had chosen to leave you behind without a word, as if you were disposable.

“So that’s it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving me—your best friend—for someone you’ve known for what, a few weeks?”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, but you could hear the guilt in his voice. “She’s… She’s uncomfortable with me having a girl best friend, okay? I didn’t have a choice.”

Your heart cracked further at the excuse, the way he tried to justify abandoning you. “You didn’t have a choice?” you repeated, bitterness creeping into your tone. “So instead of talking to me, you just decided to disappear? To act like I don’t matter anymore?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. “I just— I thought it’d be easier for both of us.”

“For both of us? Or just for you?”

Atsumu looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time, you saw the truth in his eyes. It wasn’t about the girl he was dating. It was about something deeper, something he wasn’t saying.

But you were too tired to push any further.

“Fine,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “If that’s what you want. If you really think it’s easier to just… cut me out of your life, then fine. I’ll do the same.”

“(Y/N)—”

“No, Atsumu,” you interrupted, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to leave and then act like you’re the one hurting. You made your choice. I hope it’s worth it.”

His face fell, but he didn’t stop you as you turned and walked away. You didn’t look back, even as your vision blurred with tears.

And Atsumu, standing alone outside the gym, let you go. Because even though every part of him wanted to stop you, he convinced himself that this was for the best.

Rintarou Suna wasn’t usually one to get involved in other people’s business. He observed things from a distance, took mental notes, and let the world unfold without interfering too much. But watching you these past few weeks made something in him stir.

You were a shadow of yourself—walking through the halls like you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. The bright, cheerful person who used to light up every room was gone, replaced by someone quieter, someone hurting.

It was impossible not to notice.

And as much as he tried to convince himself it wasn’t his place to step in, he couldn’t ignore the pang in his chest every time he saw you. He knew what had happened with Atsumu. It was impossible not to know. Atsumu might’ve been his closest friend, but even he couldn’t understand why the setter had let you go like that.

So, one evening, Suna found himself staring at your name in his messages. He didn’t overthink it—just sent a simple text.

True to his word, Rintarou showed up at six the next evening. You weren’t sure what to expect—it wasn’t like the two of you had ever hung out one-on-one before. You were always part of a group, usually with the Miya twins.

He took you to a casual ramen shop, the kind of place you wouldn’t have picked yourself but immediately loved. It was quiet, tucked away from the busier streets, and the food was amazing.

You were nervous at first, unsure of how to act around him. But Rintarou had a way of making things feel easy. He wasn’t overly chatty, but he had this calm, steady presence that put you at ease.

After eating, the two of you wandered to a nearby park. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

“I didn’t know you liked ramen so much,” you said as you both sat on a bench overlooking a small pond.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Rintarou replied, smirking slightly.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like the fact that I’m ridiculously good at claw machines.”

You laughed, the sound surprising even yourself. It was the first time you’d genuinely laughed in weeks, and Rintarou noticed.

“See? Told you I was good for something,” he said, leaning back against the bench.

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about everything and nothing—your favorite shows, the places you wanted to travel, the things that made you happy. For the first time in weeks, you felt like yourself again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you glanced at Rintarou and realized how much you appreciated his company. He wasn’t trying to fix you or force you to talk about what happened with Atsumu. He was just… there. And that was enough.

—

A month passed, and your hangouts with Rintarou became more frequent. What started as casual conversations turned into late-night texts, impromptu coffee runs, and long walks through the park. You hadn’t felt this close to someone in a long time, and it scared you a little.

One evening, you were sitting on the swings at the same park, the stars shining brightly overhead. Rintarou had been quieter than usual, and you could tell something was on his mind.

“What’s up?” you asked, nudging him with your foot.

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I like you,” he said, the words blunt but sincere.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“I like you,” he repeated, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “And I know you’re still trying to move on from… everything. I’m not trying to rush you or make things harder for you. I just wanted you to know.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. You didn’t know what to say, and he seemed to notice your hesitation.

“I’ll wait,” he added quickly. “As long as it takes. I just… I think you deserve to be with someone who actually sees you. Someone who doesn’t walk away when things get hard.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. You thought about all the times he’d been there for you over the past month, the way he made you feel seen and understood.

You didn’t know if you were ready for something new, but one thing was clear: Rintarou wasn’t like anyone else.

“Rin,” you started, your voice soft. “I don’t know if I can—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “And that’s okay. I’m not asking you for anything right now. Just… think about it, alright?”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. For the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of hope.

The relationship with the girl Atsumu had chosen over you didn’t last long. At first, it felt like a distraction—a way to silence the feelings he was too scared to confront. But the more time he spent with her, the clearer it became: she wasn’t you.

Every laugh, every conversation, every small moment felt hollow. He’d catch himself comparing her to you—the way she didn’t understand his jokes the way you did, or how her presence didn’t bring him the same comfort.

By the time the relationship ended, Atsumu was left with an emptiness he couldn’t ignore. He had thought pushing you away would make things easier, but all it had done was make him realize how much he needed you.

And now, as he sat alone in his room, scrolling through old photos on his phone, the ache in his chest felt unbearable. One picture caught his attention—it was from last year, the two of you grinning at the camera with Osamu and Rintarou behind you, all mid-laugh.

He stared at the image for a long time before closing his eyes, his fists clenching. He couldn’t keep running from his feelings. He needed to tell you.

It had taken Atsumu days to work up the courage to confess. He had rehearsed what he would say over and over in his head, imagining every possible scenario. Would you forgive him? Would you hate him? Did you still care at all?

But before he could act, something stopped him in his tracks.

It was a Friday night, and he was scrolling aimlessly through Instagram when he saw it: your story.

The first slide was a picture of food—burgers and fries from one of the places Atsumu knew you loved. He almost swiped past it, but the next slide made his heart drop.

It was you, sitting across from someone at a dimly lit table. The photo was candid, your smile so wide and genuine it almost hurt to look at.

Then came the next slide: Rintarou, leaning back in his chair with a small smirk, his eyes focused on you like there was no one else in the world.

Atsumu’s chest tightened, his breathing shallow.

No.

His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind racing. He stared at the story until it looped back to the beginning, unable to process what he was seeing.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

He put his phone down, his hands trembling. All the confidence he’d built up, all the plans he’d made to confess—it shattered in an instant.

Because it was too late.

He spent the rest of the night lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were a whirlwind, alternating between disbelief, regret, and a sharp, unrelenting pain.

Rintarou. Of all people, it had to be Rintarou.

They had been friends for years, practically brothers. Atsumu couldn’t even be angry at him—he knew Rintarou wasn’t the type to swoop in unless he was serious.

But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

The memories flooded back: the way you used to laugh at his dumb jokes, the way you’d tease him when he got too full of himself, the way you always seemed to know when he needed someone to lean on.

He had taken it all for granted.

And now, someone else had stepped in to fill the void he had left.

The next time Atsumu saw Rintarou at practice, he couldn’t meet his eyes. The usual banter between them was gone, replaced by an awkward tension that neither of them addressed.

He wanted to say something, to confront him, to ask if it was true—but what right did he have? He had been the one to push you away. He had been the one to hurt you.

Later, when Osamu asked him what was wrong, Atsumu just shook his head. “Nothin’,” he mumbled, forcing a smile.

But Osamu wasn’t fooled.

“Yer terrible at hidin’ things, y’know,” Osamu said, crossing his arms. “This about her?”

Atsumu froze, his eyes widening. “What?”

Osamu sighed. “(Y/N). I ain’t stupid, Tsumu. I know how ya feel about her. And I know ya messed up.”

Atsumu looked away, shame creeping up his neck. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he muttered. “She’s with Rin now.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow. “And yer just gonna give up?”

“What else can I do?” Atsumu snapped, his voice cracking. “I already lost her.”

Osamu didn’t say anything for a long moment, just staring at his twin. Then he clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm.

“Then don’t screw up yer next chance.”

Atsumu didn’t respond, but Osamu’s words lingered long after he walked away.

Atsumu hadn’t planned to do this. He wasn’t sure why he thought talking to you would help, but the knot in his chest had grown unbearable. It wasn’t fair—not to you, not to Rintarou, and certainly not to himself. He needed to say something, to let it out, even if it meant facing the harsh reality that you were no longer his to have.

The opportunity came one quiet evening after practice. He saw you sitting on the bleachers, scrolling through your phone while waiting for Rintarou to finish up. You looked peaceful, content even, and it made his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice hesitant.

You looked up, surprised. “Atsumu? What’s up?”

He hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside you, leaving a noticeable gap between you. The silence stretched as he searched for the right words.

“Can we… talk?” he finally asked, his tone softer than you were used to.

You frowned slightly, concerned by his unusually serious demeanor. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Atsumu exhaled shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinkin’ a lot lately… about us.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but you stayed quiet, giving him space to continue.

“I know I screwed up,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Pushin’ ya away, makin’ ya think I didn’t care… That was on me. I thought it’d be easier, y’know? If I just… buried how I felt.”

Your heart sank as his words sank in. “Atsumu…”

He finally looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But it wasn’t easier. It just made everythin’ worse. And now… now I’m here, watchin’ ya with Rin, and I can’t stop thinkin’ about how it could’ve been me.”

You bit your lip, your chest tightening. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I need ya to know,” he said, his voice trembling. “I need ya to know that I loved ya—still do. But I know it’s too late. I can see it in how ya look at him. And I don’t wanna mess that up for ya.”

The weight of his confession hung heavily between you, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“Atsumu,” you began carefully, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I’m not going to lie. When you pushed me away, it hurt. I didn’t understand why, and I hated that you wouldn’t tell me. I spent so long trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

He flinched at your words, guilt washing over him.

“But now I get it,” you continued, your tone softening. “And I appreciate you telling me this. I really do. But… things are different now.”

Atsumu nodded slowly, his throat tightening. “Ya really care about him, don’t ya?”

You smiled faintly, a warmth spreading across your face at the thought of Rintarou. “I do. He’s been there for me in ways I didn’t expect. And I don’t want to hurt him, Atsumu. He deserves better than that.”

He swallowed hard, forcing a small, bittersweet smile. “Yeah… he does.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken feelings finally settling. It wasn’t the ending either of you had envisioned, but it was the one you both needed.

“I guess this is it, huh?” Atsumu said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to him, your eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. “It doesn’t have to be. You’re still important to me, Atsumu. Maybe not in the way you want, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

He gave a small nod, though the ache in his chest didn’t lessen. “I’ll always care about ya too.”

As you stood to leave, Rintarou approached, his gaze flickering between you and Atsumu. He didn’t say anything, but his presence alone made Atsumu realize it was time to step back.

“Take care of her,” Atsumu said quietly, meeting Rintarou’s eyes.

Rintarou nodded, understanding the weight behind the words. “I will.”

That night, Atsumu walked home alone, the cool breeze biting against his skin. For the first time in months, the knot in his chest felt looser, the weight on his shoulders lighter.

He knew the pain wouldn’t go away overnight, but he also knew that holding onto something that was no longer his would only hurt him more.

You were happy, and that was all that mattered.

As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a single tear slipped down his cheek. He let it fall, letting himself feel the loss one last time before closing his eyes.

Tomorrow would be a new day, and Atsumu Miya would find a way to move forward.

Rintarou had never been one to act impulsively, but watching you over the past few months had tested his patience. He had seen you laugh, cry, and slowly stitch yourself back together after Atsumu broke your heart. He’d been there for the late-night texts, the casual hangouts that became something more, and the quiet moments when you thought no one noticed how much you were still hurting.

He noticed everything.

From the beginning, his feelings had been something he shoved to the side. You were Atsumu’s best friend, practically untouchable in his eyes. But now? Now, you weren’t just someone he admired from a distance. You were the person he wanted to see happy, even if it meant waiting until you were ready.

Rintarou was deliberate about everything. If he was going to confess, it had to be perfect—not flashy or overwhelming, but something that felt like you. Something thoughtful.

He remembered a conversation you’d had weeks ago about how you missed doing creative things, like drawing and painting. The way your face lit up when you talked about it stuck with him. That’s when he got the idea.

He spent the next week preparing: buying canvases, paint, brushes, and even scouting the perfect spot in the park where you’d have privacy. The confession itself was the tricky part. How could he say everything he felt in a way that wouldn’t scare you off?

That’s when he decided to let the moment speak for itself.

—

The day of the confession was perfect. The late afternoon sunlight bathed the park in warm hues, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Rintarou arrived early, setting up the picnic blanket under a tree with the canvases and paints neatly arranged to one side.

When you arrived, he felt his heart skip a beat. You looked happy, carefree even, and it made his nerves settle just a little.

“This is so sweet, Rin,” you said, sitting down beside him. “I didn’t know you liked picnics.”

“I don’t,” he teased, smirking. “But you do, so here we are.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly. “You’re not as lazy as you pretend to be, huh?”

He shrugged, pulling out the canvases. “I thought we could try somethin’ different. You said you missed drawing, so…”

Your eyes widened, a soft smile spreading across your face. “You remembered?”

“‘Course I did,” he said, avoiding your gaze as his ears turned pink.

The two of you spent the next hour painting and chatting, the conversation flowing effortlessly. You decided to draw each other, and while you tried your best to capture Rintarou’s sharp features, he seemed oddly focused on his own canvas.

“Are you even trying?” you teased, leaning over to peek at his work.

He quickly pulled the canvas away, his smirk widening. “Patience, (Y/N). You’ll see when it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes but went back to your own work, tongue poking out in concentration as you added the finishing touches. When you were finally done, you turned your canvas to him.

“Okay, don’t laugh,” you warned.

Rintarou’s eyes softened as he took in your painting. It wasn’t perfect, but it was undeniably him—the way you saw him, not just as a friend but as someone important.

“It’s great,” he said sincerely, his voice quieter than usual.

You blushed under his gaze. “Thanks. Now let me see yours.”

He hesitated for a moment, then handed you his canvas without a word.

Your breath caught as you looked at his painting—or rather, what wasn’t a painting at all. Instead of a portrait, Rintarou had written words in bold, neat letters across the blank canvas:

Will you be my girlfriend?

You stared at the canvas, your heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you looked up to meet his gaze.

“Rin…”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I know this might be bad timing, and I know you’re still—well, I just… I like ya, (Y/N). I’ve liked ya for a long time. And I get it if you’re not ready, but I just wanted ya to know how I feel.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You thought back to all the little moments with Rintarou—the way he had been there for you when you felt at your lowest, the quiet understanding he offered without expecting anything in return, the subtle warmth that had started to grow between you.

Tears pricked your eyes as you smiled. “You’re not bad at this romantic stuff, huh?”

He let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over him. “So… is that a yes?”

You nodded, setting the canvas down and leaning forward to wrap your arms around him. “It’s a yes.”

Rintarou froze for a moment before hugging you back, his usual smirk replaced with a genuine, almost shy smile.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice soft. “‘Cause I wasn’t gonna give up that easy.”

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, the two of you stayed close, the world around you fading into the background.

Rintarou couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, waiting had been worth it after all.

The next time Atsumu saw you, it was at school. You were sitting with Rintarou, your heads bent close together as you shared a laugh. He watched from a distance, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t quite name.

It hurt, but it also gave him clarity. You were happy, and Rintarou was the reason why.

For once, Atsumu didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to make a joke to ease the tension or fight for your attention. He turned and walked away, knowing that this was the choice he had to make—not for you, but for himself.

He’d hold onto the memories of you, of what you’d been to him, but it was time to let go.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the first step toward his own new beginning.

[dayabelle]

Fragments of Us

Pairings: Mha! Shota Aizawa x Fem! Reader

---

It was a late evening, the city lights outside casting long shadows through the small kitchen. Shota sat at the table, head resting on his palm as he watched her bustle around, moving through the small space like she owned it, as if she had always belonged there. Her laugh, light and carefree, echoed as she scolded him for something trivial—he’d knocked over a glass, spilling water everywhere.

"You’re such a mess, Shota!" she said, her voice teasing but warm, bending to pick up the pieces.

He chuckled softly, but as she straightened up, his gaze softened, his heart doing a strange fluttering thing he couldn’t name. The moment held a quiet intimacy—just them, in this shared space, as if everything else in the world faded.

"Hey," he called, his voice suddenly serious.

She paused, looking up with a raised eyebrow, her hair falling messily around her face. "What?"

He hesitated, the words almost foreign to his mouth. "I... I think I might be falling in love with you."

Her eyes widened for a moment, her mouth opening to say something, but instead, she just laughed—a little awkwardly at first, then it broke free into something deeper, more genuine. She crossed the room toward him, leaning against the table, eyes gleaming with that teasing light he had come to adore.

"You think?" she grinned, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "You don’t sound very sure, Shota."

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sure enough." His voice lowered, almost as if to confess something deeper, something more vulnerable. "I’m... sure enough to want you to be in my life, for a long time. If you'll have me."

For a moment, there was only the sound of her breathing, steady and calm, before she broke the silence, her voice softer than he’d expected.

"I want that too, Shota. I want you too."

It was one of those rare, beautiful moments when time seemed to slow—when the world outside felt insignificant and everything about them felt right. They didn't need to say more; the simple truth was understood.

--

Their fights were always the same. Intense at first, the words sharp and the emotions raw, but they always ended with laughter, the absurdity of it all cutting through the tension.

One evening, they were sitting on the couch, neither of them particularly angry, but their frustrations had built up over the past few days. He was tired, she was on edge, and the little things became monumental.

"I told you," she said, frowning slightly, "I don’t need you to fix everything. Just listen."

Shota clenched his jaw, a bit frustrated. "I am listening. But you’re not even letting me help—"

"I don’t want fixing, Shota," she snapped, a little louder than she intended, standing up and pacing across the living room. "I just want to be—without you trying to solve my problems all the time!"

He stood too, the frustration turning to something that felt a lot like guilt. "I can’t help it. I just—I hate seeing you like this. I just want to make it better."

She turned to him, her eyes flashing. "I am the one who has to live with it, okay? Not you! You can’t always—"

But before she could finish her sentence, her foot caught on the rug, sending her tumbling forward in a graceless stumble. Instinctively, Shota reached out to catch her, but in the process, they both crashed to the floor with a soft thud, tangled in each other’s limbs.

There was a beat of stunned silence, and then—both of them burst into laughter.

She couldn’t stop laughing, her eyes watering as she tried to push him off her, still giggling. Shota, his chest heaving from laughter, finally caught his breath enough to speak.

"Well," he said, his voice ragged from amusement, "I guess you are right. You don’t need me to fix everything."

She shook her head, grinning at him through her laughter. "You do realize you are the one who made everything worse, right?"

He smiled, brushing his hand through his messy hair, giving her that sheepish smile she loved. "Yeah, yeah. But hey, at least we can’t stay mad at each other when you fall on your face."

And just like that, the tension was gone. The argument, no matter how heated, dissolved in the air between them, leaving only warmth. Only laughter.

--

There were nights, rare and quiet, where neither of them said a word. They didn’t need to. Those were the moments that solidified everything between them.

They sat outside on the balcony of their apartment, the world around them quiet and still. The city stretched out beneath them, lights twinkling like distant stars. He leaned against the railing, his arms crossed, while she sat next to him, legs folded beneath her. She didn’t say anything, just breathed, content in the silence.

Shota looked over at her, his gaze soft. She wasn’t looking at him, her attention fixed on the skyline, but he felt that familiar warmth spread through him. There were no grand gestures, no words, but everything about this moment felt perfect.

He reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering. She looked at him then, just for a moment, a gentle smile curving her lips.

"I’m glad you’re here," he said, his voice quiet but full of meaning.

Her eyes softened, her lips forming a small smile. "Me too."

It wasn’t a declaration of love, not in the traditional sense, but it didn’t need to be. In that moment, in that simple exchange, they both knew. They knew without needing to speak. Everything felt right in the world.

--

A few weeks before the incident that would change everything, they stood outside a building in the dead of night, a soft drizzle of rain falling around them. Shota’s hand was tucked into hers, and she looked up at him with something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

"Shota," she said, her voice serious, almost hesitant. "Promise me... promise me you won’t ever leave me."

The question hit him like a stone, and he paused, glancing at her with a furrowed brow. "What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere."

She looked down at their hands, as if she were trying to convince herself of the same thing. "Just promise me. I don’t think I can handle losing you."

His heart twisted, a strange foreboding sense creeping over him. He wasn’t sure why she’d asked, why she seemed so afraid, but he answered, without hesitation.

"I promise," he said softly, squeezing her hand, his words sure. "I’m not going anywhere."

She smiled, but there was a quiet sadness in her eyes. "I know."

And it was the last promise they’d ever make.

--

The Last Day Before Everything Changed

The day everything changed, before the war and the pain, they had spent together like any other day. It had been a simple morning—laughing over coffee, sharing quiet words that meant the world to them. He kissed her forehead as she got ready to leave for an assignment, whispering something playful about seeing her later.

"I’ll be waiting for you," he had said, as he always did.

And she had smiled that smile he adored, the one that always made his heart race, before walking out of the door.

They never knew it would be the last time they would be like that. The last time they’d hold each other so naturally, so without hesitation.

It was the last time they shared the world the way they always had—together.

---

Aizawa’s pov:

This was the first time I had ever seen this woman. And yet, she seemed so... familiar?

An instant flash—a woman laughing under a yellow streetlight—lit up his mind before vanishing just as quickly. The warmth of her laughter, the way her silhouette danced in the faint glow, tugged at something deep inside him. It wasn’t just déjà vu. It felt... real. As if a fragment of another life had slipped through the cracks of his memory.

But he had never seen her before. He was sure of that. No matter how hard he tried to summon a memory, there was nothing—no prior meeting, no passing glance, not even a faint recollection of her face. And yet, it was as if he knew her intimately, as if some unseen thread connected them, pulling her closer to him in ways he couldn't explain.

She felt familiar, not in the way strangers sometimes do, but in a way that made his chest ache. It was as though she had always been there, woven into the fabric of his life, even though they had just met today.

His heart ached the longer he looked at her, a deep, inexplicable pain that made his chest tighten. It wasn’t the kind of hurt that came from longing or sadness—it was something far more profound, as though he were remembering a loss he couldn’t quite place.

The way she tilted her head, the softness in her eyes, even the curve of her smile—it all felt so hauntingly familiar, yet completely foreign. The harder he tried to make sense of it, the deeper the ache grew, as if his heart recognized something his mind refused to acknowledge.

He stared at her, his gaze unwavering, but his mind was a storm of questions. Why was she affecting him like this? Why did his heart ache just looking at her? He couldn’t find an answer, and the turmoil was too much to bear.

Without a word, he turned and walked away. The bustling noise of the conference room, filled with pro heroes discussing critical matters, faded into the background. The head chief called after him, demanding he stay, but he ignored the protests. He didn’t offer an explanation, didn’t spare anyone a glance—not even her.

As he stepped out of the room, his heart was still pounding, and the ache lingered. He didn’t know what had just happened, but he knew one thing for sure: staying in that room, in her presence, wasn’t something he could handle right now.

He knew her. He had to, right? There was no other way to explain it—the ache in his chest, the weight of her presence, the inexplicable pull toward her. He had never felt this way for anyone, let alone a stranger. But was she really a stranger? His heart screamed otherwise, even as his mind came up blank.

He racked his brain, trying to place her name, her face, or anything about her. Every pro hero in that room was someone he could recognize instantly—he’d spent years memorizing names and reputations. Yet somehow, she was a complete mystery. And what unsettled him even more was that everyone else seemed to know exactly who she was.

How was that possible? How could she feel so familiar to him, so impossibly close, yet remain an enigma? It was like trying to think of a new color—his mind simply couldn’t grasp it, no matter how hard he tried.

He didn’t want to deal with this—not now. His mind was already a mess, and the events of the day had left him drained. Teaching at U.A. had been exhausting enough, and now this inexplicable encounter had thrown him completely off balance. He needed to clear his head, to shake off the unsettling emotions that clung to him like a shadow.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his phone and called up Hitoshi Shinso. The student responded quickly, eager as always for a chance to train. Within minutes, they were in the gym, facing off.

For nearly an hour, they sparred, and he went harder than usual. Every strike, every block, every move was sharper, faster, as if he could fight away the confusion gnawing at his mind. Sweat dripped down his face, his muscles burned, and his lungs heaved for air, but he didn’t let up. Shinso struggled to keep up, but he pushed himself, determined to meet his teacher's intensity.

Still, no matter how hard he fought, the ache in his chest lingered, and the memory of her face wouldn’t leave him.

Hitoshi finally threw his hands up, panting and wiping the sweat from his brow. "That's it. I'm done for the day," he said, his voice laced with exhaustion. He slumped against the wall, glaring lightly at his teacher. "You’re not just training me—you’re working something out, and I’m not your punching bag, Aizawa-sensei."

Shota froze mid-step, his chest still rising and falling heavily from the spar. He opened his mouth to protest, to say it wasn’t like that, but he couldn’t. Hitoshi was right. The intensity, the unrelenting pace—it hadn’t been for the student’s benefit. He’d been venting his frustration, his confusion, his... whatever the hell was going on with him.

Hitoshi grabbed his water bottle and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but maybe talk to someone about it instead of trying to knock me into next week," he said, giving a tired wave as he walked toward the exit.

Shota watched him leave in silence, the words cutting deeper than they should have. Alone now, the gym felt too big, too quiet, and that familiar ache clawed its way back into his chest. No amount of sparring was going to fix whatever this was.

What a nuisance. His schedule was off, his mood was off, and now he felt completely out of place. Normally, he had a knack for pushing aside anything irrational, anything that didn’t fit neatly into his logical view of the world. He could expel distractions as easily as he could expel a failing student. But this—her—it was impossible to ignore.

It frustrated him to no end. He had tried, over and over, to push her out of his mind, to forget the way she made him feel, to dismiss the ache in his chest as nothing more than a fleeting anomaly. But no matter how hard he tried, she remained. Her face, her presence, that inexplicable sense of familiarity—they clung to him, lingering in the back of his mind like an unresolved equation.

The more he fought it, the stronger it seemed to hold. It was infuriating, maddening even, to feel so powerless over something so intangible. Shota Aizawa was a man of discipline, a man of control. And yet, when it came to this woman, he had none.

-

Hizashi and Nemuri's Pov:

The soft murmur of conversation filled the small corner of the cafe where Hizashi Yamada and Nemuri Kayama sat, the warmth of their cups of coffee contrasting the chill that had settled in their hearts. They watched from across the room, the familiar scene unfolding before them like a page from a book they hadn’t read in years. It was strange—how something so simple could feel so surreal.

From their seats, they could see Shota and her walking past each other, as strangers do, each lost in their own world, unaware of the life they once shared.

Hizashi was the first to speak, his voice unusually quiet, the ever-present brightness of his usual demeanor dimming with the weight of the moment. "You ever thought we’d see this day?" He gestured with a flick of his hand toward the two figures walking by. His tone was soft, almost disbelieving.

Nemuri, her gaze focused on the pair, didn’t immediately answer. Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup, the steam rising between them, as though it could somehow erase the heaviness in the air. "I don’t know what to think anymore." Her voice was distant, a thin layer of frustration laced with sadness. "I mean… look at them. They don’t even see each other."

Hizashi sighed, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. "I know," he muttered, eyes following Shota first and then flicking toward the woman who had been so much a part of their lives, so intertwined in the rhythm of everything they did. "It’s just... it's like they’re ghosts. They’ve been erased."

Nemuri’s lips pressed into a tight line. She had always been good at hiding what she felt, but she couldn’t hide the ache in her chest as she watched them walk by, both moving forward in life, but completely unaware of the tie that once bound them so deeply. "We all saw it, didn’t we? That connection they had. Like they were part of the same soul. It was... impossible to miss."

Hizashi chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "Yeah, it was obvious. Even when they fought, it was like they were always gonna come back to each other. You never saw them as individuals. It was always ‘her and Shota,’ ‘them two.’ But now... now it’s like nothing ever happened."

Nemuri’s eyes followed the two of them, watching as they moved through the meeting room, their gazes never locking, their conversations never overlapping. It hurt. "I don’t even think they know what they lost," she murmured, her words quiet but sharp, as though speaking the truth made it more real. "You remember when she’d laugh and his whole face would light up? Or the way he’d lean in when she spoke, like he was hanging onto every word? That was real. You can’t fake that."

Hizashi nodded slowly, his blue eyes flickering with a sadness he rarely showed. "Yeah, I remember. But whatever they had, whatever was between them, it’s gone now. Just gone." He met Nemuri’s gaze, his voice low, tinged with regret. "It’s like they don’t even recognize it anymore, you know? They walk past each other, barely glancing. Like they’re nothing more than strangers."

"Did they even have a choice?" Nemuri asked, her voice a little raw, a little bitter. She knew the answer, but the question was as much for herself as it was for Hizashi. "Could they have really stayed the same after everything that happened? After... everything they had to go through?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"Maybe not," Hizashi replied, his voice soft, more somber than usual. "But it doesn’t make it any easier to watch. They were everything to each other. And now? Now they’re just two people in the same room, passing like ships in the night."

They watched for a moment longer, their gazes fixed on the two of them. Shota, so distant, his face unreadable, moving as if there were no history behind those eyes. And her, the woman who had once been a bright spark in their world, now just a quiet figure who blended into the crowd.

Nemuri clenched her fist around her cup, her gaze never wavering. "It’s so hard to accept. Watching them like this... it’s like we’re losing them all over again."

"I know," Hizashi muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we can’t force it. We can’t make them remember." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he watched Shota and her go their separate ways. "But I’ll tell you one thing, Nemuri. We can’t just forget what they meant to us, either. We can’t let that fade."

Nemuri let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "No. We can’t."

---

The two of them fell silent, sitting side by side as they watched their old friends, now strangers, go about their day. It was as if the world had moved on, leaving behind a pair of souls that no one could quite reach anymore. And in that silence, the grief of the past, the uncertainty of the present, and the sadness for the future settled over them like a weight they couldn’t shake.

Their friends were gone. They were still there, physically, but the people they had once been—those people were gone. And there was no getting them back.

Not anymore.

-

Aizawa's pov

'

The kitchen was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the late afternoon sun streaming in through the small window above the sink. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, illuminated by the light as if frozen in time. The tiled floor was a mess, covered in a fine layer of white flour that had spread farther than either of them had expected. The overturned bag lay crumpled to one side, its contents spilled out in an unceremonious heap that had them both on the floor, trying to salvage what they could.

She sat cross-legged on the ground, her hands cupped to scoop the flour back into the bag as best as possible. Her long hair, a cascade of soft waves, was pulled back into a loose ponytail, though a few rebellious strands framed her face. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from laughter or exertion, he couldn't tell, but the faint pink hue made her look even more radiant. A smudge of flour dusted her nose, giving her an almost childlike charm.

Her laughter was infectious, a light, musical sound that filled the small space and made the situation feel more amusing than frustrating. It came straight from her chest, unrestrained and genuine, causing her eyes to crinkle at the corners and glimmer with joy. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but her occasional giggles made her efforts slightly clumsy.

He was kneeling beside her, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched her, unable to take his eyes away. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved—so intent, so unbothered by the mess they’d made. Her fingers worked quickly but softly, scooping up little mounds of flour and pressing them into the bag with care. Her determination was endearing, and he found himself smiling without realizing it.

The sunlight caught the strands of her hair, creating a halo-like effect that made her look ethereal. His heart skipped a beat as he soaked in the moment: her carefree demeanor, her unfiltered joy, and the way her laugh seemed to echo in his mind long after it stopped.

Then she looked up, catching him staring. Her eyes, sparkling with mirth, locked onto his. “Haha, what are you staring at?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her smile wide and teasing. Her tone was playful, but the way she looked at him made his pulse quicken.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, his voice soft but unconvincing. His lips twitched upward in a faint smile, but his gaze lingered on her a moment too long. It wasn’t nothing—not to him.

This moment, with the chaos of spilled flour, her unrestrained laughter, and the golden light casting her in hues of warmth, felt like something straight out of a dream. The sound of her laugh, the way her nose crinkled slightly when she smiled, and the gentle determination in her hands as she tried to fix their mess—it all burned itself into his memory, searing so deeply he knew he could never forget it.

He turned his focus back to the mess on the floor, his hands clumsily scooping up handfuls of flour. His heart was still racing, the image of her radiant smile replaying over and over in his mind. How could he explain that this seemingly trivial, imperfect moment was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever experienced? So he didn’t try. He let her teasing laugh ring in his ears, silently hoping that she couldn’t see the way his cheeks burned or how his heart had all but leapt out of his chest.

Because to him, this wasn’t just a mess on the kitchen floor. It was a memory—one he wanted to hold onto forever.

Caught off guard, he scrambled for an answer, feeling warmth creep up his neck. But all he could think about was how this ordinary, chaotic moment had turned into something extraordinary—something he never wanted to forget.

'

What the hell? He suddenly had a flashback of something he didn't even remember happening. He couldn't remember the face of the woman in the daydream.

The memory lingered like a soft, unshakable echo in his mind. It was the sound of her laughter, clear and melodic, filling his thoughts until it drowned out everything else. It was a sweet sound, mesmerizing in its simplicity, like the kind of laugh that could make the world feel lighter. He couldn’t remember exactly when it happened or why it felt so vivid. All he knew was that it had burned itself into his memory—her laugh, her carefree smile, the way she had looked at him in that moment.

But when he tried to recall her face, it slipped through his fingers like sand. He could see her in the kitchen, kneeling beside him, laughing as the flour spilled everywhere, but her face remained a blur. Her features refused to come into focus, like a puzzle with a piece missing, no matter how hard he tried to piece it all together. The laughter was there, the warmth of the room, the sunlight bathing her in golden hues—but the face, the very thing that should have anchored the memory, remained elusive.

He rubbed his temple, trying to clear the fog, but the harder he focused, the more it felt like he was chasing a ghost. This had to be a memory, right? Something real. But why couldn’t he place her? Why did her name remain a whisper he couldn’t catch?

The uncertainty gnawed at him, the dissonance between the memory of her laughter and the blankness where her face should have been unsettling. Was he losing his mind? Had it all been a dream or some fleeting, half-formed memory that never fully took shape?

His mind swirled with confusion, and an unsettling thought crept in. What if this wasn’t a memory at all? What if he had never even met her?

He shook his head, trying to dispel the dizziness that was growing within him. No, that couldn’t be right. But the more he thought about it, the more doubt seeped in. How could he feel so sure about something that seemed to slip through his grasp, like a dream he couldn’t wake up from?

His heart tightened, and he felt a strange ache in his chest, a longing for something he couldn’t explain. The sound of her laughter kept playing over and over in his mind, and with it, the unsettling sense that he was missing something crucial. Something important.

But what was it?

It was like a sudden rush of clarity, only for it to crumble away just as quickly. The moment he thought he had almost touched the memory—when he tried to picture her, really see her—he felt it. A crack, like the wall of his mind was breaking down, opening something he hadn't realized was locked away. It was as if the very act of remembering her should have felt natural, but instead, it was like trying to rebuild something that had already fallen apart.

Her face remained elusive, just out of reach, and the more he tried to grasp it, the more fragile everything felt. The laughter, once so clear, began to distort, stretching and warping like a fading echo. The sense of her, the warmth she had brought to the room, all of it slipped away with every effort to hold onto it.

He hated it—hated how his mind couldn’t keep up with the flood of emotions that surged within him. There was a pull, a deep, almost aching sense of familiarity that gnawed at his insides. But it was coupled with the frustration of not knowing why. The feeling of knowing her should have been enough to ground him, but instead, it left him spinning. His heart was a wreck, torn between a longing he couldn't place and a fear of losing something that was already slipping through his fingers.

Every time he reached for a memory of her, it felt like trying to fix a broken piece of glass with his bare hands—gathering the shards only to watch them scatter once more. He wanted to scream in frustration, to pound his fists against the wall of his own mind and force the answers to appear. But they didn’t.

The new feelings—the confusion, the ache, the deep, unsettling sense that there was something missing—were unbearable. And the more he tried to remember, the more everything became a blur. The longer he was left in this void, the more it felt like he was losing himself too, piece by piece.

And that laugh, so sweet and hypnotic, echoed in his mind, reminding him of something he was desperate to grasp, yet terrified to fully uncover. Because every time he tried, it felt like the wall around his mind was cracking even further—falling apart, only to rebuild itself before he could fully understand.

He tried to let it go, tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. After all, how could something as fleeting as an elusive laugh, a memory he couldn’t even place, really be important? It felt silly to dwell on it. He didn’t know her, and she certainly didn’t know him—not in the way those fragments of his mind made him wish. He dismissed it, burying the feeling deep inside where it couldn’t interfere with his routine.

So, he moved on. He went about his days, immersing himself in his work, his distractions, the mundane rhythms of life that felt so much safer than confronting the unknown. He told himself it was just his mind playing tricks—nothing more, nothing less. The more he told himself that, the easier it became to forget.

But then, the next time he saw her, it all came rushing back.

It was in the middle of a meeting, the room filled with the usual hum of conversation. Papers shuffled, pens clicked, and the air was thick with the weight of deadlines and agendas. He sat there, half-listening, jotting down notes, when he heard her voice. It was like a jolt, a spark that set something inside him alight. The moment she spoke, his mind flashed back to that laugh—the sound of it still so vivid, like it had been imprinted on him forever.

She was standing there, as poised and focused as she always was, her hair neatly pulled back, a hint of a smile on her lips as she contributed to the discussion. But the instant their eyes met, something shifted. The familiar pull, that sense of connection he couldn’t explain, washed over him once more, stronger than before.

He felt his chest tighten, his heart picking up pace, and for a brief moment, it was as if everything around him went quiet. It was the same sensation he had experienced the first time he saw her, that inexplicable recognition. But he quickly shoved it down—brushed it off as nothing. It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself. You're just imagining things.

The meeting continued, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, like a knot had been tied in his chest. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He didn’t let his gaze linger on her too long. He focused on the task at hand, forced himself to engage in the conversation, but the connection—however intangible it was—lingered in the back of his mind, quietly gnawing at him.

He went on with his day, just as he had before, but the question was there now, sitting at the edge of his thoughts. The one he’d tried so hard to forget. Why did it feel like he knew her? And more troubling still, why did it feel like she knew him too?

-

Twelve years ago, Shota and her—no one had ever seen one without the other. Their bond was undeniable, a quiet force of nature that made them inseparable. From the moment they met, their friendship was effortless, a connection that seemed to transcend time. They’d been through so much together—life-altering experiences, each moment filled with depth and meaning. At first, they were friends, an odd pair that seemed to click in a way no one understood, not even them. There was something unspoken between them, a sense of mutual understanding that went beyond words.

The first time they fought—really fought—was an oddity. It was about something trivial, as most fights between close friends tend to be. A misunderstanding, a difference in opinion, the kind of thing that could easily have driven them apart. But even then, their bond was strong. In the heat of the argument, emotions ran high, but it never reached the point of real anger. They had always known how to talk through their differences. She would pout, and he’d smile in that stubborn way of his, and before long, one of them would say something so ridiculous that the tension would break. They would laugh, and just like that, the fight would dissolve, leaving only a quiet understanding.

They were there for each other through the darkest times. When Shota lost people he cared about, she was the one who stood by his side, offering a steady hand when the world seemed to be crumbling. When she had her own moments of doubt, when the weight of her responsibilities as a hero felt overwhelming, Shota was her anchor. He knew her better than anyone. Her laugh, her small gestures, the way her eyes softened when she talked about her dreams—it was all so familiar, so deeply ingrained in him. And she, in turn, knew him—the quiet way he carried the weight of the world, the way he hid his emotions, even from himself.

Their love had grown from that friendship. It was slow, like a seed taking root and blossoming when they least expected it. But when it did, it was undeniable. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was real. They understood each other in a way no one else did. Their connection was a constant, and even in the face of the chaos of their lives as heroes, it remained a source of comfort.

Their bond was the kind that made everyone else take notice. It wasn’t just "Shota" or "her," it was always "them two." Wherever one was, the other was sure to follow. They had so many shared memories, countless adventures, moments of quiet joy that felt like they could last forever. Their laughter, their shared glances, their whispered words in the dead of night—these were the things that made them who they were. A couple built on trust, on shared experiences, on a love that felt like it could withstand anything.

---

The war changed everything. The world was thrown into chaos, and they both fought valiantly, side by side, with all the strength they had. It was a brutal battle. Her quirk, a powerful ability that she had honed over the years, backfired during a fight with a villain whose quirk turned things in the opposite direction. It was a freak accident—a perfect storm of chaos—and it shattered the balance of her mind and body.

Her quirk’s backlash altered her chemistry, messing with the way her memories and emotions interacted. It started subtly, at first. Small gaps in her memory, moments where she would forget something that just happened. But it quickly spiraled out of control. The more she remembered him, the more it tore at her, eroding her mind in ways that no one understood. The doctors and quirk scientists were desperate, trying to find a solution, but there was none.

Shota sat in that hospital room, surrounded by cold, sterile faces. The weight of the decision before him pressed down on him, suffocating him with every passing second. Her eyes were closed, her body fragile and broken from the fight, but her mind was the real battlefield now. The doctors had explained it to him in the most clinical of terms. "Her memories of you, Shota, they’re eating away at her. If you stay together, if she remembers you, she will lose herself. Her mind will break down. It’s the only way to save her—to make her forget everything."

The room was a blur of conversation, voices echoing around him as he fought to keep himself together. How could they ask this of him? How could he make this choice?

"I’m sorry," one of the scientists had said, "but it’s the only solution."

The words were like a weight, crushing him. He glanced at her, her face so familiar, yet the pain he saw in her eyes broke him in ways he never thought possible. She would become a stranger to him, and he to her. Their love—everything they had shared—would be erased. The thought of it was unbearable.

But in the end, it wasn’t about him. It was about her.

He looked at her one last time, his hand trembling as he reached out to hold hers. She had to live. She had to survive this, even if it meant forgetting him. He couldn’t bear to watch her become a shell of the woman he had loved for so long. His love for her was greater than his own pain.

With tears in his eyes, he whispered, "I’ll forget too. I can’t… I can’t be the reason you lose yourself."

The doctors began their work, and the last thing Shota remembered was her hand in his, the warmth of her skin a fleeting memory. Then, everything went blank.

---

The procedure was done, and everything was different.

They walked separate paths now. She left, moved far away, to start a new life, a life without him in it. The memories of their time together—his memories—were wiped clean. It was as if they had never existed.

Shota returned to his old routine. He continued as a hero, as a mentor, just as he had before. But it felt wrong. There was something missing, an emptiness in his chest that he couldn’t explain. He went through the motions, interacting with the same people, doing the same work, but there was no joy in it. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been lost.

And then, one day, she walked into a meeting room, as if from nowhere.

Shota looked up, not expecting to see her there. For a brief moment, his heart skipped a beat. The connection, the strange familiarity, surged through him in a way he couldn’t understand. But she didn’t look at him like she knew him. She was cold, distant, a stranger.

Her name was called, and she responded, her voice flat and professional. She walked to a seat, never once acknowledging him.

Shota watched her, a strange knot forming in his stomach. It was like seeing a ghost, a reflection of a life that no longer existed. The room buzzed with conversation, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the pulse of his heart. There was a connection between them—he could feel it—but it was a flicker in the dark, something just out of reach.

He wanted to approach her, to speak to her, but he knew better. They were strangers now, both of them lost to their own pasts. And so, he sat there, watching as she spoke to others.

He couldn’t remember.

The others spoke to her with a familiarity that seemed so natural, but to Shota, it felt like they were all speaking a language he didn’t understand. They knew her—knew things he didn’t—and yet she remained a ghost in his mind.

Days passed, and Shota found himself continuously haunted by an odd sense of emptiness, an aching void that seemed to be centered around the woman he had seen in the meeting room. He didn’t know why, but he felt unsettled when he saw her—like he should know her, like something about her was his. But that something couldn’t be touched, could never be reached.

The truth was, he had no recollection of the woman—her—at all. He couldn’t recall the warmth of her laugh, the way they had once shared a life. He didn’t remember the fights that never truly lasted, the small touches, the quiet moments they spent together. The world they had built—woven with love, loyalty, and history—was now just a fog in the back of his mind, dissipating with every passing second.

The decision he had made—to forget—was one he couldn’t recall clearly anymore. It had been a blur of doctors, quiet words of explanation, and the weight of something he knew was vital, but he couldn’t grasp.

Even his own pain, the anguish of erasing her from his life, was now a distant memory.

What had I lost?

The question lingered, but there were no answers.

Some piece of himself that had been removed. But he couldn’t name it. The feeling of loss clung to him like a shadow, but it wasn’t a shadow he could identify. He didn’t know what he was mourning. He didn’t remember her.

The others spoke of her often—her, the woman from the meeting room. They spoke as if she were someone important. She was now part of the team, her presence here to stay. They would nod when he asked about her, giving him only vague responses, as if they could sense his confusion, but they didn’t press it. They didn’t know he didn’t remember her.

Shota’s interactions with her were brief and professional. There were no sparks of recognition when they crossed paths, no flicker of old familiarity that once had been so vivid. She was just another colleague, another face in the sea of people he interacted with every day.

-

He made that decision knowing deep down that he could never really get to know her again.

He had chosen to protect her. And in doing so, he had lost her. He hadn't even said goodbye, she didn't even know she would have to have said goodbye.

And it would stay this way forever, that's what he knew needed to be done.

A beautiful relationship formed so deep, drowning in the depth of their connection. Their life together life died that day. Both of them gone just like that, and they were never coming back.

[hwamphwamp]

i don’t // oh seungmin

genre: established relationship, hurt/comfort, teeny bit of fluff as the comfort kicks in

warning(s): swearing, spiraling but nothing bad comes out of it

word count: 1,052

“God, I’m a fucking mess.”

The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, each syllable thick with frustration. Another sob tore through you as you braced yourself against the bathroom counter, your reflection in the mirror almost unrecognizable. Aside from the tear-streaked cheeks, you looked fine—normal, even—but your eyes told a different story. They were hollow, empty of the joy you thought they’d hold the night before your wedding.

Happiness. Excitement. Giddy nerves. That’s what you should have felt. Instead, all you saw staring back at you was exhaustion and doubt. Months of anxiety and overthinking had piled up, and now it felt like it was too late to do anything but crumble.

“Do you want me to get Seungmin?” your maid of honor’s voice came softly from the other side of the locked door, breaking through your thoughts.

“Isn’t that bad luck?” one of your bridesmaids whispered.

“They’re getting married tomorrow. That’s insane,” another added.

“She needs him,” your maid of honor said firmly, cutting off the debate. “Fuck bad luck. She needs him.”

You didn’t even protest when she made the call. Deep down, you knew she was right. Minutes passed as your bridesmaids shuffled out of the suite, leaving only your maid of honor to keep you silent company. The faint murmur of voices outside the bathroom door announced Seungmin’s arrival. Then came the softest knock you’d ever heard, followed by his voice, steady and calm.

“I’m not going to make you open the door,” he said gently. “But I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

Seungmin’s patience was infinite, but you knew he wouldn’t leave until you let him in. You took a shaky breath and unlocked the door, the sight of him immediately overwhelming you. His hair was tousled, his shirt half unbuttoned, and a faint pink flush lingered on his neck, evidence he’d been dragged away from his groomsmen’s outing. But his eyes—clear, sharp, and full of concern—told you everything you needed to know. He wasn’t leaving without understanding what was wrong.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer as his hands instinctively reached for you. “I got here as soon as I could. What’s wrong, baby?”

That was all it took. The walls you’d built crumbled as you broke down in front of him, the tears coming harder and faster than before.

“I… I ruined it,” you managed to choke out between sobs. “You were out having fun, and I ruined it.”

Seungmin’s hands settled on your shoulders, his grip warm and steady. “We weren’t doing anything important,” he said softly. “Just drinking a little and messing around at the beach. But what happened? You can tell me.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admitted, your voice breaking under the weight of everything you’d been holding in. “It’s just… everything. The wedding. Us. All of it.”

He didn’t rush you. He simply waited as you struggled to gather your thoughts. Finally, the words came pouring out.

“I don’t know if I can marry you tomorrow. Not because I don’t love you—I love you so much it hurts—but I don’t think I deserve all of this. I don’t think I deserve you. I’ve been a mess for months, and I can’t even walk down the aisle without feeling like I’m going to fall apart. And what if we do get married and everything’s fine, but then… I ruin it? Ruin us?”

“Hey,” Seungmin interrupted, his voice steady. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the endless stream of tears. “We don’t have to do this. We can cancel everything.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Cancel everything? What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ll call the wedding planner right now and cancel the wedding.”

“But…” You shook your head, overwhelmed. “You don’t want to marry me anymore?”

Seungmin let out a soft laugh, his lips quirking up in a small, reassuring smile. “Of course I do. I’ll want to marry you for the rest of my life. But not like this. Not when it’s tearing you apart.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I should’ve told you all of this sooner. I shouldn’t have said yes when you proposed if I wasn’t ready—”

“Stop,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips lingered, grounding you. “Don’t apologize for loving me. Don’t apologize for being honest. I love you, and that’s all that matters.”

He kissed your temple next, his lips brushing softly against your skin. Then your cheeks, wiping away the lingering tears with gentle care. Finally, he kissed your lips, slow and deliberate, his hands steadying your trembling frame. The world stilled, your chaotic thoughts momentarily silenced by the weight of his love.

When he pulled back, his hands remained on your face, his eyes searching yours. “Let’s leave,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“Let’s leave,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “We’ll pack our bags, send an email to the planner, and get out of here. Just the two of us.”

“But the wedding—our families—”

“They’ll get over it,” Seungmin interrupted. “This is our life. I don’t care if we get married tomorrow, next year, or never. I just want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they weren’t from sadness. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his expression softening. “Let’s do this our way. No pressure. No expectations. Just us.”

You nodded slowly, a sense of peace settling over you for the first time in months. Together, you and Seungmin began to pack, leaving behind the dress, the venue, and the weight of everyone else’s expectations. As dawn approached, you walked hand in hand out of the resort, the only witness to your peaceful exit being the young woman working at the front desk, who waved politely as you both left. The cool morning air filled your lungs with a sense of freedom you hadn’t felt in years.

The wedding didn’t matter. The expectations didn’t matter. What mattered was the love you shared and the life you were ready to build—on your terms, in your time.

And for the first time in forever, everything felt right. With Seungmin, everything would always be right.

a/n: meant for this to be the fluffiest fluff from beginning to end and ended up with this, my brain was doing a LOT last night. The word count also may or may not be a few words off 😬

next up: kwak jiseok // summer lovin’

[lilgynt]

had another gay experience at emo night as per usual but had a first straight experience 🤨

[shotmrmiller]

it turned to smut in seconds, i cannot control my own hands, ok. 18+ (implication of breeding kink or something and simon's a jealous boy)

ex-husband simon who signed the divorce papers without a fight. it'd stung, you're not gonna lie, but it needed to be done and the fact that he didn't make a big fuss about it made things easier for you physically. (emotionally you were in shambles because did he not even want to try and fight for you?)

he comes over only on the weekends when he's on leave.

he's a good father to his boys. he takes them to their softball games when he can, buys them the ice cream and takes them toy shopping.

and then there's a sharp knock at your door on a wednesday afternoon.

"simon?"

he walks in like he owns the place, which technically he does- even pays the mortgage because there's no way you would be able to afford living here with your own measly income.

"what's this the boys are tellin' me 'bout a man bein' in here?" his voice is calm, steady. but you know simon better than you know yourself, and he's furious.

"i- i'm not sure-" he swipes his hand in the air and your mouth clicks shut.

"don't lie t'me, poppet, or i'll be findin' him myself an' you really don't want tha'."

what man? there hasn't been any since the divorce! you're digging through your memories, scrambling to find what the hell he's talking about when-

"oh! it's the plumber!" you take steadying breath. "i called a plumber on sunday. i needed the kitchen sink fixed."

his dark eyes are piercing, so sharp they could cut. simon's always been a walking lie detector, and it's unnerving to be on the opposite end of that analyzing stare.

he nods imperceptibly, then flicks his gaze to behind you, over your head. "show me."

you scoff indignantly. "show you what? the bloody sink?"

simon wordlessly heads to the kitchen and his knees pop as he kneels-

he's actually checking the fucking sink.

with a grunt, he leans his head into the cabinet and twist awkwardly which is no doubt causing a familiar pain to flare up in his lower back. you can't help but wince in sympathy.

lo and behold, there's a shiny, white elbow in the middle of the rest of the dirty, scratched pipe.

he hums, and rises to his feet, closing the cabinet with his leg.

simon approaches you slowly, fingertips touching the kitchen island as he rounds it. "palms flat on the counter, sweetheart."

oh. oh you know exactly what that means, and your pussy throbs almost in reflex. months without his touch and your body still responds the same.

your protest already at the tip of your tongue, almost involuntarily because principles, but he sees right through you, as he's always done.

"jus' a reward for all o' your hard work. takin' care o' the boys is a stressful job all on its own." his worn hand cups the underside of your jaw tenderly. "aren't i always good t'ya?"

your exhales are weak, just like your resolve. "okay."

simon's eyes glint with satisfaction as he lifts his hand, index pointing upwards and twirls it in a slow, deliberate motion.

your palms are flat on the counter when he curls his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and knickers, tugging them downward.

they're flat on the counter when he lowers himself to his knees and taps the inside of your foot, indicating you to widen your stance.

they're curled into fists when his breath puffs against your slick cunt and his warm tongue slides through your folds, drawing lazy circles around your bud. a tingle of arousal shoots up your spine, his mouth sparking a fire right under your navel.

they're reaching for simon, nails sinking into the delicate skin of his wrist as your back bows when you come on his tongue, vision spotted with black, blurry dots and white hot ecstasy coursing through your veins.

your hands are now crossed at the base of your spine, your cheek pressing into the cool kitchen counter as he bends you over it.

"15 minutes before the boys are home from school. tha's plenty o'time, yeah?"

a rhetorical, if you've ever heard one.

your knuckles stain white as you clench your fists at the heavy, hot weight of his manhood stretching your walls to take him in, a sweet burn that you've always loved. he's gentle but sure, bottoming out in one smooth stroke that pushes the air out of your lungs. the sibilant hiss simon lets out is never fails to elicit a whimper out of you.

"fuck," he groans. "i could stay inside this pretty pussy forever."

and the dirty talk. how much you've missed it.

"would you like tha', pet? be inside of ya til you don't know where i end and you begin?"

a garbled mhm slips past your lips. your head already empty at just the sensation of being so unbearably full that it feels like you're tearing at the seams.

"another time, then, since the kids'll be home soon."

he begins to move, shallow but firm thrusts that drag his cock along your nerves deliciously- a sure fire way of getting you to climax around him in minutes.

your walls begin to squeeze down as the knot in your stomach tightens, and he lets go of your wrists, looping an arm around your waist and straightens you- his broad chest to your much smaller back.

his clever fingers wind downwards, and rub precise, little circles on your slippery clit, and it's all too much, you're hurtling toward the precipice at neck break speed- "god, simon, please-"

his pace never falters, not his hips nor his fingers as your moans begin to rise in pitch. "i'll get ya there, love."

he does, he gets you to your highest peak- blindingly intense- one that chokes the very breath out of you and slackens your knees. "i've got ya."

there's no strength left in you to brace for the spine-jarring thrusts he gives after, the only thing keeping you from sprawling forward is the arm that's looped around you as he pulls you to him.

"on anything?" he rumbles.

your ears ring at that because he can't possibly- your head shakes unbidden.

"good."

the last four thrusts are heavy, backed by his weight, and he smothers a loud groan into the junction of your shoulder as he finishes inside of you- thick, viscous cum filling you until it begins to drip and fall to the floor with an audible plop.

he presses tender little kisses to your sweaty shoulder and nips the side of your neck. "just in time."

the clock on the stove says 5 minutes before the bus gets there.

he helps you redress, chuckling under his breath when you won't look him in the eye. "i'll get the kids, go get cleaned up."

the knot in your chest loosens when you hear the boys' laughter at seeing their father on the driveway. it loosens when simon picks both of them up, one in each arm, and glances up at you as you look down at them from the window.

heat licks up your cheeks when he gives you a smarmy little grin.

idiot.

[littlechivalry]

Robin had gotten a lot of things from becoming platonic soulmates with Steve Harrington. Rides to school, hair care tips, unrelenting trauma, slightly bitchy dating advice that to her eternal chagrin actually worked, and entree into a weird little family that she couldn't imagine living without.

But also... Robin had to listen to sex talk.

It wasn't bad at first, she had actually gleaned a lot of advice from his stories that stood her in good stead with a few select girls. But then on the Family Video bathroom floor Steve had asked if Robin would be okay with him talking about sex with guys.

She said yes one time and now it was her life.

Steve had spent most of their shift moving tapes around the store, shuffling them into different genres based on what he thought they might be about. It was his standard 'I have something to talk about but I don't know if I can say it' behavior.

"Look," she said flatly. "I'm stopping this now. You have five minutes to sum up the problem and then I don't want to hear it anymore."

Steve put the last tape, a copy of St Elmo's Fire, into the Action-Disaster section before coming back to the counter, sharing his head. "I appreciate the thought Robbie but I don't think you're ready for this."

Robin gasped, ready to take full and dramatic umbrage when a Tasmanian Devil made of leather jacket and cheap sterling silver jewelry banged into the store.

"Babe, did you ask her," Eddie asked, grinning madly.

"Not yet," Steve whined and before Robin could gather her thought she felt two sets of eyes settle on her, one steady and concerned and the other sparkling with glee.

Robin stepped back from the counter and held her hands out in front of her. "I don't know what's going on here but no, I will not carry a baby for you two. Get Steve knocked up the old fashioned way if you want kids."

Steve brightened for a moment before pouting, "You wouldn't want to bring a little Buckley-Harrington-Munson into the world? Wow, Robs."

Eddie lunged forward, pushing past Steve to plant his hands on the counter. "We'll come back to that Buckley, but we have a different issue. We need you to be a completely impartial party."

"We really don't," Steve said. "This is not a big deal."

"I disagree," Eddie said. "I happen to think this is a very big deal."

"Well, and--," Steve said. "Isn't 'big' the problem?"

"It's not a problem for me," Eddie said, leering at Steve.

Robin stepped forward and waved her hands between the two guys, interrupting their creepy eye contact. "Okay, fine, tell me what's going on but make it snappy."

Steve hummed but didn't say anything. Eddie grinned and looked from Robin to his boyfriend and back again. He opened his mouth but before he could say anything Steve's hand was pressed half over his face.

"Eddie wants me to try sitting on his face but I'm afraid I'll, like, suffocate him to death." Steve grimaced and pulled his hand away from Eddie before rubbing it roughly on his jeans. "Gross, Eds."

Robin shook her head while they started squabbling. Steve was her best friend and Eddie was a close second. Part of being a best friend was apparently arbitrating their weird sex arguments.

The squabbling had evolved into a slap fight so Robin took the opportunity to examine them. They were the same height but Steve probably had a few pounds on Eddie. Then again Robin knew Eddie was stronger than he looked. Given the way Eddie hadn't stooped smiling since he walked in he definitely didn't seem intimidated by the idea.

Okay.

"Okay," Robin said sharply. "Knock it off. I decided."

The two boys stopped, Steve's arm locked around Eddie's neck while it looked like Eddie was trying to either give Steve a wedgie or just straight up shove his arm down Steve's acid-washed jeans.

It took a few moments for them to separate and put themselves back to rights before they were finally standing in front of her waiting for a verdict.

Robin looked from Steve to Eddie, then back again. She nodded towards Eddie before winking at her best friend. "If he dies, he dies."

"Thank you, Buckley," Eddie crowed, before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

"Where are you going," Steve called out.

Eddie turned back. "I gotta do some stretches, baby," Eddie said, rolling his neck. "I have plans." Eddie blew Steve a kiss before rubbing his hands together and walking out the door.

Robin looked at Steve, his hand still clenched in front of him where he had 'caught' the kiss, a bright red flush on his cheeks.

"I'm gonna marry that man," Steve murmured.

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! Could you please write something for Spencer where r is used to men being like really loud and rough and all that (maybe bc of her father or smth) and just her getting used to how gentle Spencer is and almost thinking it’s too good to be true?

Thank you for requesting angel <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 905 words

It happens when you’re still half asleep. You fumble for your phone on Spencer’s nightstand, your alarm chiming, and knock a picture frame off instead. You’re fully awake by the time you hear the sound of glass shattering against the floor. 

You mumble a curse. Spencer hums questioningly into his pillow. 

You get down from the bed, managing to step over the glass, but you’re not thinking clearly enough. When you sink onto your knees, little shards prick the skin. You pick the frame up carefully. It’s a picture of Spencer and his mom. An old one, of her chasing a three or four-year-old Spencer around someone’s yard. They’re both laughing, her arms outstretched towards him and his face turning to look over his shoulder. It’s obviously a sentimental photo. 

Your cursing intensifies, though you keep it internal now. You feel awful. 

Spencer’s head appears over the edge of the bed as you’re scraping the glass into a pile. His eyes are half-open, expression still weighted with drowsiness. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

There’s no accusation in his tone, but you feel suddenly teary. You haven’t fought with Spencer yet, and you weren’t expecting to be yelled at first thing this morning. You suppose you’ve earned it, though. 

“Spence, I’m so sorry.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I—I knocked over your picture. The frame broke. I feel awful, I’ll get you a new one o—or I can replace the glass if the frame is important to you.” 

“What?” Spencer blinks, brows furrowed as though he’s having trouble grasping this. “No, it’s—stop. Don’t do that.” 

You still, looking up at him hesitantly with your hands cupped around the glass pile. “What do you want me to do?” 

“You can’t clean glass up with your hands.” He shuffles his way out from under the covers, taking a big step over the class to stand behind you. His hands wrap around your elbows. “Get away from there.” 

His tone conveys some upset, but not nearly as much as you were prepared for. And his grip on your arms is gentle. You can’t make sense of it. 

You let him guide you into the bathroom, sitting up on the counter when he prompts you. Spencer takes your hands in his, looking them over and brushing his fingers lightly across your palms before determining there’s no glass in them. His eyes skim you over. When they land on your knees, his expression pinches. 

“Why did you do this?” You expect him to grasp your knee roughly, but his fingers wrap around it with care, thumb rubbing over the soft underside as though to soothe you. 

“I wasn’t thinking,” you say softly. “I feel so bad about the picture with your mom, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Spencer sounds surprised. His eyes flit up to yours, soft brown, curious. “I can get a new frame. You didn’t need to hurt yourself.” 

“Well, I didn’t do it on purpose.” Your voice drops to a murmur as Spencer bends down, opening a drawer to take out first aid supplies. 

He pulls each tiny piece of glass from your knees with heart-aching care. One hand stays on the back of whichever knee he’s working on, to steady him and to comfort you, and it’s a slow, attentive, tender process. Gradually, a realization seeps into you. 

Spencer isn’t going to blow up at you. Maybe someday, but not about this, not over just anything. You’re not sure how you could have been so expectant of someone who’s been nothing but kind and gentle with you turning harsh and forceful at the first upset. 

You don’t even wince as Spencer cleans up your knees. He’s careful to give you no reason to, every touch considerate and sweet. He straightens after smoothing bandages over the cuts, still holding your lower thighs in his hands. 

“That wasn’t a very nice way to wake up,” he says. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, but you hold your arms out for a hug anyway. 

Spencer’s happy to oblige you, his hips fitting between your legs and palms sliding across your back. He smells like sleep. You hook your chin over his shoulder, contentment filling your belly like warm honey. 

“You seemed upset,” he murmurs, a question if you choose to answer it. 

“I was nervous,” you admit. “I thought you’d be mad.” 

“For knocking the frame over?”

“Mhm. I still feel really bad.” 

Spencer draws a line between your shoulders. “Don’t feel bad. You didn’t do it on purpose.” 

You hum. “You’re a lot less loud than most guys, do you know that?” 

He pauses. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” You pull away from him, cradling his face in your hand. “I’m just not used to it, is all. I keep expecting you to yell at me, but that doesn’t seem like it’s really your thing.” 

“I guess I don’t think of it as my thing,” Spencer agrees, mouth curving as he repeats your words. “My mom says I was always a quiet kid. I guess I just never thought yelling would get me anywhere.” 

“Don’t start.” You grin, and his cheek dimples under your palm. “I like you like this.” 

“Okay, I’ll try not to.” He tilts his face into your touch. His hands drop back to your knees, skimming down the unharmed sides next to the bandages. “And you shouldn’t get angry at yourself on my behalf anymore, either.”

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

with a hand on the back of your head and another holding your throat, nanami curses under his breath, the sight of you gagging around his cock so filthy that the usually composed man has his knees threatening to buckle from underneath him. 

sweat trickles from the side of his face and there’s a deep shade of blush spread across his nose and cheeks, hiding the freckles you love so much. even the tips of his ears burn, the pleasure blooming everywhere under his skin as he rocks his hips against your face. the first buttons of his dress shirt are undone, a few hickeys already starting to darken on his skin from you nipping at him before dropping to your knees. he’s been working so very hard, and you just want him to let off a little steam – he just needs a bit of a push sometimes. 

so with you sat on his lap, sucking on his earlobe while pleading for him to take a break, it was impossible for him to say no. how could he when he’s got an angel in his arms, playing with his hair and kissing his neck ever so sweetly – he’s a weaker man than he thinks. 

when you slithered down between his thighs and stared up at him with big, hungry eyes, he found himself loosening his tie, his mind already beginning to cloud with the nastiest thoughts. 

ghosting your fingers over the growing bulge in his slacks, you rested your head against his thigh with a mischievous smile etched onto your lips. “c’mon, ken… i want to make you feel good.”

your words come out as a purr, as a siren’s call – you always have been a little tease, always the one to make him break and crumble. 

so here he finds himself now – slacks pooling around his ankles and the hem of his shirt caught between his teeth, trying his utmost best not to fill your mouth with cum after the first ten minutes like some damn teenager. his hair is a fucking mess, dusty blonde strands falling over his forehead no matter how many times he tries to push them back. he’s given up on it now, realizing that there are better things to be doing with his hands – the one on the back of your head, protects you from knocking against the wooden cupboard while the other rests on your neck, marveling the way his cock slides up and down your throat. 

it’s mesmerizing, the feeling of the bulge under the palm of his shaky hand. he’s in there, filling you up like nothing else and it’s the hottest fucking thing in the world. 

his pace is slow and steady, every roll of his hips has your nose nuzzling into his pubes, your chin pressing against his heavy balls. drool trickles from the corners of your mouth and it’s a sight to behold – it dribbles all the way down onto your thighs and from there on onto the floor and nanami can’t help but feel the coil in his stomach tighten faster than ever. you’re the only one that makes him feel like this, who manages to mold him to your own liking all while being down on your knees. 

the tip of your tongue tickles his balls and the growl he lets out makes you clench your thighs together. his shirt falls from between his teeth and he rushes to undo the rest of the buttons, desperate to get the material off of him, so he can give you his full attention once more. it’s exciting to see him this needy. 

you try to look up at him with him still down your throat and as a reward, he moves to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “you’re– you’re doing so good for me, darling.” 

his voice is raspier than ever and the praise that tumbles from his bitten lips has you moaning around his cock. his vision goes blurry for a moment as the pleasure overwhelms his senses. you’re something else. 

you’re fucking perfect. 

the ache in your knees fades in your mind as you get to watch him unravel above you. his strokes become more languid; he pulls out only a little before pushing back in, his tip reaching deeper and deeper with every thrust he makes. he wants to stay inside you, he wants to stay there forever. 

squirming below him, you screw your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing – but as he stays slotted deep down your throat, it’s getting harder and harder and you can’t hold back the few tears that have been brimming at your lashline.

“f–fuck, i’m sorry, sweetheart… i– “

he feels you struggling, but doesn’t pull out even an inch, only grinding his hips into your face as if he was fucking your tight little hole instead. you claw at the backs of his thighs, your nails marking up his sensitive skin as you gag around him. but nanami’s mindful not to go too far, to make sure that he wouldn’t miss the moment your scratching should turn into tapping instead. as much as he’s enjoying himself, he’d rather die than to hurt you.

he waits for your signal but when it doesn’t come, he presses himself even further down your throat, moaning loudly when you gag around him. his blonde pubes stick to your skin, your spit acting as glue between you. 

your mouth is so fucking warm and tight and, fuck– the obscene sounds that fill his ears are making him lose his mind. you feel divine and it has him wondering what ever did he do to deserve a lover like you. 

all it takes is two pats against his thighs and he’s pulling away, his eyes locked onto your face as you gasp for air. crystalline droplets brim in the corners of your eyes and run over the apples of your cheeks, leaving behind salty remainders of your hard work. your lips are swollen and covered in a mixture of his precum and your own spit. trying to catch your breath, you take a moment before looking back up at him. 

the way his lips part in a silent groan the second you make eye-contact, his chest rising and falling as he strokes his fat cock right in front of your face. there’s still a strand of spit connecting the two of you, from your lips to his tip, and nanami wants to hate how big of an effect such a small thing can have on him. it’s romantic. 

you look ruined. 

he thinks you look absolutely fucking beautiful.

leaning down, he presses a fiery kiss to your lips as a thank you, as another form of praise. he loves the way you taste and they way you feel against him. 

you breathe into his mouth. “more…” 

nanami squeezes his fist around his base, another groan falling from him as he pulls away from you. the grin on your face, the hearts in your eyes and the love pooling on your tongue are more than enough to have him taking in a sharp intake of air – you reach out to him, gentle fingers wrapping around his way bigger ones as you guide him back to your mouth. your heavenly lips. 

as embarrassing as it is, it only takes another few minutes for him to cum down your throat with a loud, deep groan. he holds your neck just as before, feeling the way his own cock twitches inside of you as he gives you his all. 

there’s so much of it that despite you swallowing around him a couple of times, it still pours out from the corners of your mouth, turning you into an even bigger mess than before. but it’s not like you mind – this is exactly what you wanted in the first place. he’s panting like a dog above you, face red as a tomato as he bucks his hips into your mouth one last time. 

the sound that leaves his lips as he finally pulls out resembles a whimper and he lets out a sheepish chuckle, a bit flustered that you managed to pull that out of him. but then again…

it is you. 

his beloved, his love – the one who knows him the best, the one who knows what he needs without ever having to ask. you read him like an open book and he couldn't be more grateful. you're more than he could've asked for. hoped for.

and he loves you.

[kurooh]

MIGHT LET YOU MAKE ME JUNO ! — HAIKYUU

⊹₊˚. featuring timeskip! miya atsumu, miya osamu, kuroo tetsurō, iwaizumi hajime, & suna rintarou tryin’ to knock up their pretty wife !

warnings ★ 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, breeding, cuddlefucking, doggy, talk of kids & pregnancy, fluff, creampies, shower sex, minor cockwarming, squirting, full nelson, mirror sex, mention of lactation, mating press, cum in panties (offscreen), not proofread.

xoxo, juno ★ my namesake?! hehe, cheers to the surviving haikyuu fuckers on my blog <33 ty for your patience!! as always, send in some asks/reblog if you enjoyed, i love reading comments/tags

— MIYA ATSUMU

“go ahead ‘n slut yerself out all over my cock, baby.. fuuuck, jus’ like that.”

atsumu’s lips part around a needy moan, jaw hanging slackly in some kind of disbelief. after such a lengthy, tiring day, he found himself trudging into your shared bathroom to greet you.

he’d gotten hard in seconds, seeing your tits pressed against the glass door as well as your face, lidded eyes and cute pout enticing him to come join you. when he got onto his knees to get you ready, you’d bent over and tossed him a knowing smirk over your shoulder.

“lemme see that ass move again.. shit, ‘s perfect. yer perfect.” you giggle, throwing your ass back onto his cock, eyes rolling back when his tip kisses your cervix just right, sending sparks of pleasure right through your veins.

“tsumu, this isn’t all that fun,” you huff, the wild need for him to truly ruin you growing by the second. “wan’ you to fuck me, and make me yours.”

“baby, yer already mine,” atsumu lands a slap on your wet asscheek, startling you enough for your legs to spread further. “good girl,” he praises, hushed and under his breath. he reaches upwards and pulls the shower head down, pushes it into your hand and changes the setting.

“use this on yer clit, ‘kay? when yer feelin’ like ya wanna cum, don’t. hold it ‘n we’ll cum at the same time, yeah baby?”

you nod, and he smacks your ass hard, leaning backwards. atsumu pushes a hand through soaked gold strands, chuckling lowly although his voice has a serious edge to it. “‘s not how we say yes, is it?”

“y-yes, tsumu. at the same time.”

he draws his hips back, then finds himself advancing forward brutally. he doesn’t think about anything beside you — you, you, you. with the scent of your body wash tangling in the hot air, the beautiful curves and slopes of your body, the noises you make for him only.

your chest heaves when the steady spray of the shower head soon reaches your clit, immediately proving to be overwhelming and intense paired with him fucking you.

“so god damn tight,” atsumu hisses, nails digging crescent moons into the plush skin of your hips as his own collide with your ass. the bathroom is full of steam and the rhythmic clap of skin against skin — it’s hard to keep from trembling with how good everything feels, all over.

frantic panting cuts through the sound of your whimpers as atsumu feels himself nearing his peak. it’s nasty, downright filthy, the way your nails drag down the wall tiles as you desperately hump your ass back into him.

gasps of your name and affectionate nicknames fall from his lips like a sacred prayer, blending into a whiny harmony as atsumu’s thrusts grow rougher.

“baby,” he chokes, voice tight. “ya better be close, can barely last.”

“tsumu, cum inside me,” you beg, skin burning and pussy squeezing uncontrollably, squelching growing louder. “p-please, i can’t— i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” your body tenses, and the shower head falls to the floor with a clunk that neither of you register.

luckily atsumu looks down at the right moment, sees you squirt, pussy gushing onto his pelvis. as if your back arching and your clenching pussy wasn’t enough, he ends up cumming too hard, ribbons of white gushing deep into your awaiting pussy.

���fuckkk,” he groans, overstimulation setting in way too quickly and causing him to pull halfway out of your fluttering cunt.

“no, tsumu,” is all you can heave out, pushing back hard enough to send him into the wall behind him, muscled back hitting the tiles as he lets out a startled oomph. “wanna keep it inside, feels so good.”

— MIYA OSAMU

“samu,” you mumble into his lips, tossing a leg over his hip. he grunts, nose nudging your cheek as he pulls back. “yeah? what’s on yer mind, angel?”

“had a dream about a baby,” the words are spoken softly, and osamu’s fingers lightly graze your chin as he makes you look up at him. “i know it’s kinda stupid, but it was so..” your voice trails off sheepishly and there’s a pause before you admit, “you were such a good dad, samu, ‘n so sexy too.”

your bare bodies are bathed in the morning sunlight, warm and comforting as it peeks in through the curtains. this is the perfect moment with him, skin to skin, his cock still inside you as you kiss and talk about dreams of the future.

in his chest, feelings stir and ideas come to life in his head; osamu presses his hips forward with a hushed moan.

“well, i’ll give ya a baby, angel,” large hands smooth over your hips as he helps you turn away from him; then they pull you close, grabbing at your tits and tugging your nipples between his fingers.

“samu,” you sigh, words fading into a content moan as you feel his hips draw back, then advance forward, against your ass. “i want you to fill me up, give me everything.”

“only if ya take it all,” osamu huffs, tucking his face into your shoulder and closing his eyes as he starts to fuck his cock into you deeply. the thick tip kisses your sweet spot over and over, and if that wasn’t already overwhelming enough, your hand wanders towards your swollen clit.

somehow, osamu’s faster than you, releasing one of your tits and swatting away your hand before he’s finding your clit with his index finger and rubbing it in messy circles.

“s-samu, fuck— jus’ like that, don’t stop!”

your back arches against him, hips twisting as a heat spreads through your veins, fiery and intense in the best ways possible. the movement of your body and then the frantic clenching of your pussy is too intense for him; sharp whines escape his throat, muffled as osamu bites into your shoulder desperately.

“i-i— shit, ‘m gonna fill you up,” is all you can make out from his rushed mumbling, and you turn your head quickly, desperate for his lips.

“kiss me, samu. kiss me as you cum inside, please.”

it’s as though the words break him — his face twists as he kisses you, whole body tensing. he presses his cock deep, thickening and throbbing before he’s gushing cum and can’t seem to stop.

“ah, fuck,” he tosses his head back, fingers scrabbling at your nipples as his chest heaves against your back, heart pounding steadily.

you cum with a whine, grinding down on his cock in an effort to get him impossibly deeper. as you ride out your highs together, trembling deliciously, he can’t help but dissolve into giggles of pure happiness.

“angel, ya got that baby for sure, jus’ like ya wanted, hm? ah, i can’t wait for a mini-me or a mini-ya. yer gonna be the prettiest mom, swear.”

— KUROO TETSURŌ

“fuck, babe. you’ve got no idea about what i saw today,” tetsurō huffs, warm breath fanning over your tits as they bounce, controlled by your bra.

spices clatter as tetsurō sweeps his arm across the kitchen counter behind you, clearing the space so you can lean back a little easier. his grip on your thighs doesn’t waver, nor does the ruthless tempo of his hips.

“tetsu, what’d you see?” you gasp, tears threatening to pour over your waterline.

“well, i saw this family,” he grunts, thrusting into you particularly hard now that he’s recalling the memory. “the dad had their kid on his shoulders, and the mom was pregnant. they looked so happy, and it made me think of you.”

“is that so?” you ask, spreading your legs impossibly wider as an invitation. you bite your lower lip, rolling your hips against his in an effort to get his cock deeper.

“tetsu,” he raises his eyes from the mess between your legs to your face, earnest and flushed. “kiss me, baby.”

tetsurō obliges, lets you tug him forward by the chin, mesh his lips with yours. it’s warm and sweet, the aftertaste of the dessert you’d been making as his surprise for when he’d come home. your tongue slips between plush, parted lips and moves with his gently, quite a contrast from the rough way he’s fucking you.

“ah, shit,” he moans, struggling to kiss you back when he feels your sticky walls clenching down on his too sensitive cock.

tetsurō leans forward and buries his flushed face in your shoulder, kissing the tender skin a few times before nipping it and then finally biting down into your shoulder.

he practically loses it when you wrap your legs around his back, heels digging into muscle as you push him forward. in a hushed tone and into his ear, you say sweetly, “tetsu, fuck a baby into me.”

“oh, i fucking will, princess.”

although, despite his rough words, he’s wheezing and whining every now and then into your shoulder, hoping it muffles his sounds.

your hand slides up his neck and tangles into dark tufts of hair, pulling tight as your own orgasm approaches. your pleasure mixes with his own, and just before the knot in your belly snaps, you feel a strong pulsing deep within your pussy.

he groans loudly, burying his cock deep just as it starts to gush, painting your walls white. your nails dig hard into his scalp and the sting of pain only seems to make him get a little more vocal.

tetsurō pants into your neck, trying to find his bearings now that his limbs feel like jelly.

“hold me?”

— IWAIZUMI HAJIME

“h-haji, this was a good call..”

“oh yeah?” hajime’s voice rumbles in his chest, strong and steady against your back as he keeps your legs wide open. “have we ever tried this one?”

“i don’t think so, but we definitely will in the future.”

“feels that good, princess?” hajime chuckles, eyeing your reflections in the mirror mounted across the bed. for a moment, he considers the two of you puzzle pieces — he sees that his cock fits snugly inside you, and the thought that you may be made for each other briefly crosses his mind.

“of course it does,” a sheen of sweat glimmers on your face, skin glowing beautifully in the mirror. “god, hajime, y-you’re so deep..”

he notices your eyes falling shut, head tipping back, and he raises his hand to lightly smack your cheek. “mm, princess, gotta keep watching. i want you to see yourself cum, alright?”

“fine,” you huff, feet dangling in the air and bouncing every which way as he fucks into you, heavy balls smacking your pussy with each stroke.

“what made you wanna try this?” you ask, knowing you should save the question for later, but you’re too curious not to ask. why would your husband come home someday and randomly want to try a new position you’d never heard of?

“well, you know..” in the mirror, you catch the flush on his tanned cheeks. “we’ve both caught the fever recently, and this is a solid position for makin’ babies.”

you gasp sharply when hajime turns his hips ever so slightly, and the resulting sensation causes pressure to build in your pelvis. “shit— right there, haji, just like that..”

he grunts, body stiffening as he tightly holds you in place and fucks into you like it’s the last time you’ll ever be like this together.

“wanna get you pregnant,” hajime groans, abs flexing with the effort of maintaining his merciless pace, “i wanna—shit—wanna breed you.”

“you want it that bad?” you breathe, just barely keeping your eyes open and focusing on your bouncing reflection. “fuck me full, then, haji.”

hajime doesn’t question it, thinks of you with a swollen belly and milky tits all for him to hold and take care of. you, with your glowing skin and beautiful body from all the pregnancy hormones.

the idea of it all is too much to bear, not to mention cumming deep inside your cunt, this time with the intent to breed.

he can’t even muster the words to warn you that he’s cumming as hard as he is; after a choked, tight groan, he falls silent and rocks his hips into you.

“fuck it deep, haji,” you whisper, on the edge yourself. obedient and too far gone in his fantasy, he does exactly what you ask, whining very quietly from the sensitivity.

shaking on top of him and watching the reflections in the mirror, you cum hard, dissolving into unmatched pleasure. and you’re thankful you keep your eyes open, moaning at the very sight— hajime doesn’t even pull out, he’s still pushing his cock in and out of you, but cum races from your cunt in thick white rivulets.

“i’m trying,” he huffs, sensitive when he glances up and notices how intently you’re watching the mirror. his cheeks flush lightly when you both notice that most of his cum ends up dripping down his balls and out of you.

“don’t worry, princess. i’ll cum however many times it takes, sound good?”

— SUNA RINTAROU

“you want a few brats? oh, i just felt your pussy squeeze up. ‘s what you want, huh?” rintarou bites, harshness of his thrusts drawing whimper after whimper from your kiss-swollen lips.

“i want it, rin,” you feel one of his palms smoothing over the plushness of your lower stomach, just above your pelvis. “w-what’re you doing?”

he laughs at your stutter, keeps your legs steady over his shoulders. rintarou draws his hips back, leaving just his tip inside your quivering pussy. then, he presses down on your lower stomach and slides in, adding more pressure with each inch.

“rintarou!” you wheeze, jerking your hips to the side in a pathetic attempt to run away from the overwhelming pleasure he gives you with every movement, big or small.

“nuh uh, pretty girl,” his free hand grabs ahold of you tightly, tugs you towards him and then settles to rest on your neck. rintarou’s fingers are loose on each side of your throat, hand placed there in a demonstration of control. but what’s the point of that, when he’s already made it clear by hoisting your legs over his shoulders and folding you in half?

“you’ll take it, all of it.”

“but ‘m sensitive, i’ve cum too many times,” you can’t even recall a number or remember how long he’s been fucking you like this.

you’re both sticky with sweat, your thighs stained white with dried cum from previous rounds and marked with love bites he’d given you in his excitement to get a taste of your pussy.

it’s so fucking messy because rintarou’s the one who can’t stop asking to eat you out and push the cum back inside; you always say yes, then cum until you’re dizzy and can’t see straight.

you taste yourself from earlier on the corners of his lips when he bends forward and gives you a chaste kiss. “l-last time, okay? i’ll give you your brats, pretty girl.”

the sweet pout on your lips that’s quickly replaced with something else and wail of his name that leaves you when he starts jackhammering your pussy turns him on to the max.

incoherent babbling of what he’ll give you and how good you feel blend together, and before you can fully register it, rintarou’s folding forward with a deep groan. “shit, i’m gonna cum so fucking hard, i—”

he shuts up and gives you a few more thrusts before he’s pushing deep and cumming — he’s not done when he pulls out and covers your pussy in cum.

“r-rin, keep it inside,” you whine sadly, watching as he collects it on his tip and then plunges it back inside.

“jus’ needed some extra lube,” he says coolly, but he really just wants to cum all over you. “how’s it feel inside, pretty baby?”

“like i need some more.”

rintarou laughs at the way you turn away, cheeks hot in embarrassment because you were the one who wanted a break. “we are going out later, hm?”

your nod makes him smile, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “how about i cum in your panties and you walk around with ‘em?”

[cassidyandonlycassidy]

breaking point

tyler owens (twisters) x reader

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, female receiving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mentions of past hookups, love declarations (bc i have to make all my fics at least a little fluffy)

the legendary tornado wrangler won't get on his knees for just anybody. it's a position of vulnerability, especially as his head tips forward, exposing his throat.

but you're not a predator in this moment, not with your thighs spread apart and he's smiling up at you with that shit eating grin you know all to well.

“whatever, you win.” you sigh. “just eat me out.”

“that wasn't what the bet was.” tyler says with a chuckle. “whoever breaks first doesn't get to cum.”

it was a dumb and pointless bet, but one that was needed to remind both of you that you didn't in fact completely lack control and could handle being around each other without finding somewhere to hole up and fuck, leaving rest of the crew waiting for you to finish up.

“come on, ty.” you pout, putting on your best pleading face. “i know you wanna taste me too.”

“you got me there.” you watch as tylers pink tongue darts out to lick his lips. “of course i could always eat you out without letting you cum.”

“we somehow managed three whole days of teasing each other without getting an orgasm. you're really gonna deny me of that?” you pout.

“we'll see.” tyler hums, his eyes dropping to your pussy, spread open and put on display as you're sat perched on the edge of the bed.

you're about to open your mouth to give another snarky response, or beg and plead if you have to, whatever you need to get tylers mouth on you when he suddenly surges forward, hands pressing your thighs even further apart.

his tongue swipes through your folds, over and over in quick succession, tasting every inch of you that he can while dutifully ignoring your clit, not giving you that pleasure just yet. you hope that's his only punishment for giving in.

“god, ty.” you moan, head tipping back as one of your hands comes to the back of his head, pushing his face even further against your pussy.

“so fucking delicious.” tyler moans, his words vibrating against your wet skin.

tyler can only tease for so long, soon his mouth moves to find your clit, circling around the sensitive bud before sucking it between his lips as you shout out.

he gives you no time to adjust to the sudden pressure, knowing you've been without it for longer than he'd like, but he's still not ready to just let you get away with losing your bet.

“god, baby.” you let yourself fall backwards onto the bed, giving up looking tyler in the eye as you continuously moan so loud you wouldn't be surprised if the people in the motel room next to you came knocking on your door to complain.

tyler grabs your thighs, keeping them pulled apart as he eats you out, greedily slurping your juices, the wet sounds filling the room.

“keep going.” you plead, hips raising up and down, grinding yourself against his face.

tyler gives up holding your thighs open with both hands, moving his finger to your entrance, pressing against it as he wets his digit until he's able to push into you as you let out a gasp.

his fingertip is rough against your walls as he keeps his finger pushed inside, continuing to pay attention to your clit while you adjust.

“more, ty, please.” you whine, squeezing your pussy around his digit, knowing how much that usually entices him and gets him moving along, but not today, not when you have a punishment to receive.

tylers mouth softens, making you let out an excruciating high as your previously building high slows back down, breath coming hot and fast as he begins to pump his finger in and out of you, a slow steady motion that has your hips wiggling.

“stay still or you definitely won't come.” tyler commands, squeezing at your thigh, giving you a light warning.

“fine.” you huff, deciding to try and focus on the feeling of his finger pushing out of you. it's not hard or fast enough to really send you over the edge, until suddenly a second finger is pushed inside of you.

“tyler, i can't.” you beg, resorting to using his full name.

he completely ignores you, used to your whines and begs and pleads that he always eventually gives into. you'll just finish up helping out a town hit by a tornado only to try and convince him to ditch the motel room you rented for the night and just hit up the first place he can fuck you in.

neither of you really saw it as a problem until you accidentally traumatized boone when he went to grab something out of the truck only to find you two in the backseat, thankfully still mostly clothed.

your hips rise up, unable to control them but tyler knows exactly what it signifies, able to read your body as good as his own as his mouth rips away from you, knowing that his fingers inside of you isn't enough to make you cum without some sort of attention to your clit.

“stop! please keep going!” you scream out, not caring that your begging doesn't make sense as your pussy pulsates around his fingers, desperate for an orgasm.

“you'll get to cum tonight.” tyler says, watching you let out a breath of relief as you were starting to worry he would stick to the beg wouldn't let you at all. “but itll be with me inside of you. and im not done playing with you yet.”

you can't even argue as his mouth pecks at your clit, licking his lips every time he kisses your skin.

his fingers move in a fury, surely imagining it was his cock buried inside of you considering he's been without it for too long. you can hardly wait to feel him properly inside of you, having been relentlessly teased, knowing he tugged his jeans a bit lower on his hips often just to give you a view of the muscular lines leading underneath his belt.

“ty…” you sigh out, back arching off the bed, wondering briefly how many hotel rooms you've fucked in, if you've reached every county in oklahoma and arkansas. 

“yeah, i know. i need you too baby.” tyler gives your clit one last hearty suck before he stands. already shirtless from when he sensually stripped to successfully get you to break first.

you sit up quickly, hands pushing his out of the way to undo his belt buckle and push his jeans down along with his underwear all in one go.

his cock springs up, having been hard and pushing against his zipper since entering the hotel room with you, knowing he'd either break or get you to break.

“lay back.” tyler says, his eyes lowering and darkening seeing your hands so close to his cock.

you move up the bed but instead of laying on your back, you flip onto your stomach and spread your legs.

“oh, like that?” you can hear the amusement in tylers voice as the bed dips as he crawls on top of it, draping himself over your body.

you think he's going to give you a minute, maybe kiss your shoulder blades and rub his cock through your folds, but his head presses against your entrance, and his length is entering you so suddenly you can't help but scream out.

“shit.” tyler cusses, pushing the rest of the way into you. he wastes no time picking up speed, deciding he's teased you long enough.

“god, ty!” you squeal, hands gripping into the sheets as you keep your thighs spread despite the force being applied, his hips slamming forward without control, needing to wreck you, needing to take you and stake his claim on your body again.

“you're so fucking-” tyler lets out a growl, dropping his head as he puts more weight on you. “you're so fucking warm and wet, baby. can't wait to fill you up.”

you haven't used condoms in forever. you began hooking up with tyler and quickly got on birth control so he could cum inside you like you so desired. the first time having you raw, he didn't even last five minutes. 

“fuck me- fuck me harder.” you squeal. “come on, give it to me, ty.”

you can feel the switch in his body. when his powerful muscles stop holding back, slamming full force into you, knowing you can take it, the one girl he's been able to find that can handle anything he throws at.

“i love you.” tyler whispers so quietly your ears barely pick up his words.

you flip over quickly, his cock only away from you for a moment before hes fucking you again, now looking into your eyes.

“i love you too, ty.” you haven't said it before. maybe it's just in the heat of the moment, but you don't think you'll regret it later.

tyler kisses you deeply, glad you both share the feelings beyond just hooking up, knowing things will change but feeling nothing but excitement for what waking up tomorrow will look like as tyler thrusts into you.

his cock swells inside of you, the tell tale sign that hes going to cum. you quickly move a hand down your torso to rub your clit, and all it takes is tylers lips against yours and his cum releasing inside of you for you to suddenly cum as well.

you moan into each other's mouths, a mix of curses and each other's names as tyler fucks you through your highs, feeling your body shake underneath his as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug him into you, feeling your sensitive nipples rub against his chest.

“god, that was good.” you giggle, breathing deeply in time with tyler as he keeps his softening cock inside of you, not ready to separate yet when your bodies are so perfectly aligned.

“we are never going that long without making love again.” tyler says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but it doesn't distract from the wording he chose as you smile up at him.

“never.” you vow.

[drgnflyteabox]

mdni - the 141 find a cozy place to stay during an op (that's definitely all that happens). implied fat!reader

(dubcon, poly, gangbang, anal, price is in charge of everyone<3)

So blizzards can happen in the blink of an eye on high, isolated mountains, right?

And the 141 have done missions in rural places, snowy places, mountainous places, right?

And there are tons of tiny little isolated towns, all over the world, built around these mountains for one reason or another - coal mining, logging, etc.

Now imagine the 141 on a mission, somewhere cold, somewhere isolated, a place that feels like the edge of the world. Desolate.

Now imagine the 141 seeing, in the near distance, a winking pale orange light. It's a good enough place as any to approach - it isn't safe to be caught in this blizzard, anyhow. Even with their gear, the safehouse is still an hour away and the snowfall seems historic...

Now imagine you're sitting in your family home, all alone, going a little crazy with cabin fever. Your woodstove is burning hot, but you're still cuddled up in knits and a thermal underneath. You're making stew for dinner with root vegetables from the basement cellar, it's bubbling and softening for you while you crochet, trying to keep your mind off the monumental shoveling task you'll have to deal with tomorrow

Until there's a knock on the door.

"Hello ma'am, I'm just wondering if me and my friends here could rest until it's safe to continue our hike?" (I love the way gaz says ma'am)

Hike? Nobody hikes up here - you've only ever seen a couple tourists in your life, thrill seeking ice climbers who came and went.

And they certainly weren't dressed in snow camo, hiding guns behind their backs.

But you were raised right, and the man at the door has kind eyes - he's handsome, too, but you'd never say it out loud. Gaz pushes the door further in when you tentatively open it, and in comes barreling three more massive men, their boots stomping and leaving a mess.

Soap smells the stew on the stove and beelines for it, lifting his helmet to inhale deeply.

Ghost sweeps the room like it might be hiding an enemy somewhere- even though it's one room total, the stove in the middle, separating the kitchen and your bed.

Price approaches you all apologetic, apologizing for "these ruffians", holding his camo helmet to his gut like it's formalwear. "Apologies, sweetheart, we weren't expecting the weather to turn on us."

You aren't quite sure how you end up sitting on prices lap, naked except for your socks, while he squeezes your stomach and grunts in your ear not to be shy when putting your weight on him. His other hand is cupped over your pussy, murming thank yous for feeding his men.

They're eating your stew, stripped out of gear, cocks tented in their white cargos.

"We're a gaggle of lucky boys, eh?" Soap says. "Nice, cozy, soft girl. Warm cabin. A man could get used to this."

You wind up pressed down on your mattress, hands held behind you by one man while another fucks you hard, spurred on by price behind them. At first, it's johnny, whining high in his throat while price guides his hips and gaz holds your arms by your head. "Need to thank her proper, boy." The obvious authority in prices voice makes your pussy clench around him, and he shakes over you, trying hard not to come too early.

Gaz reaches down from where he's holding your arms, pinching your clit until you buck against Johnny and squirt around him.

Then it's gaz, who lifts your legs and squeezes your big thighs, locking eyes with ghost. He's steady, only breaking composure when Simon praises him. "Thats a lad. Good, just like that, Kyle." He's the first to ever make you come from penetration alone, hips moving in a way that makes your abdomen tighten and tighten and tighten until you reach the longest orgasm of your life, nearly crying with how intense it feels.

Price ends up flipping you over - nudging you up on your hands and knees, the bed creaking with the combined weight of he and his lieutenant taking their places in front and behind you.

Simon slips his cock in your mouth, staring down at you through the balaclava. You can barely make out a thick scar, one that looks like it might go through his whole face. You lose focus when price pushes his fingers in your ass, though, and you squeal.

There's no where to run except further down simons cock, though, where you gag, spit running all down your chest onto the bed.

"Shh, sh," Price rubs your flank like you're a spooked animal. He squeezes the ample flesh of your asscheek appreciatively. "Jus wanna give your poor pussy a break, aye? I reckon she's tired,"

He pushes into you impatiently and it burns a little, but he soothes it with a palm over your soft, sore cunt. Rubs a thumb over your clit slowly, jostling you back and forth over simons cock.

You come once more before the night is over, tears finally running down your cheeks, mixing with your saliva, with simons come. It's a painful orgasm, wrenched from you - but that makes it all the sweeter.

They wipe you down and spoon feed you more stew, after, to recover your energy :') price has the boys tidy their boot tracks and put away leftovers while he and Simon hold you from both sides. They can barely fit with you on your bed, but tucked in like this - on top of your furs, naked as the day you were born, praised for your soft body and "What a good girl you are, babydoll."

Sigh

I'm sure this idea has probably been written but I was listening to this and couldn't stop imagining it lmfao

[uzurakis]

can u do how jjk boys (include megumi PLEASE) would react to you getting all pretty and dolled up to go out (and u just look soooooooooo good)

TOO PRETTY TO BE TRUE!

featuring: fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru. geto suguru. nanami kento. itadori yuuji.

n. your wish is my command nonnie, and ya don’t need to say megs cause i’ll ALWAYS include him in every shit that i write (he comes in one package okay) and.. I WENT OVERBOARD WRITING THIS HELPLEP i usually limit to 4 charas every post but yours made my creative space going and I HAD TO DO 5.. so thank you for that. i looooveee the idea mwah mwah i hope the writing makes justice for your cute hc <3

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. you were running late; a girl's usual problem before a date. your hands fumbled with the clasp of your earrings, and shit, you cursed softly under your breath. outside, you knew your boyfriend was waiting patiently, or so you hoped. the idea of keeping him waiting made you anxious, but you wanted everything to be perfect.

just as you finished adjusting your hair, you heard the front door creak open. fushiguro’s soft footsteps echoed through the hallway, and you felt a twinge of panic. he never liked to intrude, but his curiosity had gotten the best of him. "hey, what’s taking so long?" you heard him mutter.

you turned around just as he reached the doorway to your room. his eyes widened, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. fushiguro's usual stoic expression melted into one of pure surprise. his cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink, and his mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

"is everything okay?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden flutter in your chest.

megumi blinked, finally finding his voice. "a-ah, yeah, everything’s fine," his eyes remained locked on the ground while he stammered. how in the hell did this place get so hot? he thought to himself as he fiddled with his shirt collar.

"you look… um, really pretty."

"no, i mean, don't get me wrong though! you're al-"

you blushed at his earnestness, but you also smiled. "you too, gumi."

the guy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly but managed a small smile in return. "sorry i kinda barged in,” gently, he reached his hand to you and said, “next time, take all the time you need. i’ll wait.”

GOJO SATORU. "well, well, look at you," someone called out, sauntering over with an exaggerated attitude. "you really went all out for our little date, huh?"

you couldn't help but smile as you rolled your eyes. "aand you didn't even bother to dress up," you teased back, gesturing to his usual attire. “so lame for the gojo satoru, boo-hoo.”

"why would i need to dress up when i have the most gorgeous person in the world right here?" the guy stepped closer, taking your hand and spinning you around playfully. "you look soo good, i kind of want to take you home right now. can’t have everyone else stealing glances at my date."

a giggle managed to escape your lips, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "you're ridiculous, toru," shaking your head at him.

then he leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, one that could captivate a soul. "but seriously, you look amazing. i'm the luckiest guy here."

you swatted at his arm playfully, but your heart swelled from his words. "alright, mr. smooth talker, where are we going?"

gojo straightened up, still holding your hand. "anywhere you want, as long as i get to show you off. but maybe we’ll head home a bit early, just in case," and of course, he didn’t forget to wink.

ITADORI YUUJI. a knock on your door sent a jolt of excitement through you. you had taken extra time to get ready for your date with itadori tonight in the hopes of surprising him. he was standing there with an enormous smile on his face as you opened the door.

“bless me!” his pink eyes widened with admiration. “you look beautiful as always, baby.”

your cheeks heated beneath his surprising compliment. "nah, baby, that’s too much."

his enthusiasm contagious, he practically bounced on his toes. “i’m serious! you’re soo pretty that i might die from your prettiness—is that an actual word—but look at me, i'm serious!”

as you stepped outside, itadori kept showering you with compliments. "that outfit is perfect on you. and your hair! you’re always cute, but.. you really shine tonight."

“you’re too sweet, yuu,”

"i mean it! you deserve to hear it every day baby!”

NANAMI KENTO. you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you heard a firm knock at the door. taking a deep breath, you walked over and opened it to find nanami standing there, his usual composed demeanor softened by a warm smile.

his eyes swept over you, taking in every detail. "you look beautiful, sweetheart." he said simply, sincere and direct. the compliment made your heart skip a beat.

"thank you, kento," goddamn, a gentleman is always a gentleman.

he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "i appreciate the effort you put into this. it means a lot to me." his smile widened just a fraction, but the warmth in his eyes spoke more than his words could.

you smiled back, touched by his straightforwardness. "it’s because i’m excited to spend time with you."

nanami nodded, offering his hand. "shall we go?"

you sensed serenity and joy as soon as you held his hand. "i’m glad you liked it," you said softly as you both made your way down the street.

GETO SUGURU. “fucking hell, you look so pretty,” he swore under his breath, emerald orbs wide as he took in your appearance. “too pretty to be true.”

“hmm, you think so, suguru?” a little teasing might not hurt, right? his usually calm and composed expression shifting to one of pure astonishment the moment he saw you. and there it is again, his usual up-to-no-good grin.

he stepped closer, his gaze intense and cocky with that smile of his. “oh, you’re mine,” he declared, voice firm yet filled with a protective tenderness. “definitely mine.”

your heart skipped a beat at his sudden possessiveness, yet you couldn't help but feel a rush of delight at his words. “i’m yours,” you confirmed softly, tippy toeing to peck his cheeks.

he pulled your waist gently into his hook, grip both protective and warm. “i just… i don’t want anyone else looking at you like this,” the words were murmured, his lips brushing against your hair. “you’re too beautiful.”

you leaned into him, feeling safe and cherished in his embrace. “i only want you to look at me like this, suguru.”

he smiled, a rare and genuine expression that lit up his face. “good. because i’m not letting you go.” he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. “let’s go, princess."

@uzurakis

[adragonprinceswhore]

Teaching the Unteachable

Aegon Targaryen x Wife

Summary: When all else fails, Aegon's wife employs drastic measures to teach the unteachable.

Warnings: 18+, banter, (slight) dom/sub, temperature play, wax play, dry humping, dirty talk, Aegon being horny and in love

A/N: So, apparently this smutty drabble I wrote in December turned out to be canon? Anyway, have some more 'Aegon being bad at High Valyrian', but with a fun, sexy twist ✨

Word Count: 1200

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　

“No, you need to roll your R’s. Like this: zaldrīzes” 

Aegon rolls his eyes before mockingly impersonating you, “zaldrīzes”. 

“No no, place the tip of your tongue by the roof of your mouth”, you explain, demonstratively opening your mouth to show your husband how he should place his tongue to achieve the sound he hadn’t yet mastered. 

Aegon’s eyes light up in mischief as he regards you. “I’m afraid I do not quite understand, my love. Perhaps if you place your tongue in my mouth, you can demonstrate it for me?” 

Now it is your turn to give him an unimpressed look. 

“If you want the realm to view you as a true Targaryen, you need to know how to speak like one”, you chide him, eyes sternly locking with his. 

“I do not give a shit about how the realm views me”, Aegon replies, tone sincere yet playful, “All that is of matter to me is how tempting my wife appears when she speaks of proper tongue placement”. 

You’re sitting next to each other by the table placed a few paces from the hearth burning in your shared chambers, Aegon’s hand continuously playing with your fingers. 

“You come to me sulking over the fact that your High Valyrian is no better than it was back when we were mere babes”, you sigh, “begging me to teach you”

Aegon hums as he bends your ring finger in his palm.

“Yet you do not listen to a word I say”, you scold him, pulling your hand away from his grip. 

“My love, I have come to a regretful realisation”, he replies with feigned gravity weighing heavy in his voice, “I’m afraid I’ll need another tutor” 

You answer his declaration by raising an impassive brow. A grin breaks out on his face. 

“One that doesn’t make my cock hard as soon as she opens her mouth”. 

Your eyes go wide at his crude remark, hand coming up to lightly smack him on the chest for his lewdness. 

“Aegon-“

He winks before moving closer to you, restless hands coming up to squeeze your thighs over your skirts, “Call me husband”

It is hard to stay mad at him in playful times like these, when he uses every charismatic trick he knows. Yet you have to remain strong, if only on the outside. 

“Why should I waste my days teaching the unteachable?”

“I am your husband. Your valzȳrys”, Aegon triumphs, hands moving up to pinch the flesh of your hips over the satin fabric you’re donning.  

One of the candles adorning the wooden table by you draws its last breath, hot wax running down its side. Your finger comes up to collect some, a pleasant chill running through your body at the sudden sting of warmth. 

“You can’t even say that right”, you tell him, a petty ridicule you know he won’t take to heart. Your eyes stay fixed on the wax slowly hardening on your fingertip. 

“Then teach me” 

His hands grab onto your sides tighter, pulling you off your chair and towards him. Instead of giving in too quickly, you resist his demand momentarily, feet steady on the floor to hinder him from pulling you onto his lap.

“Valzȳrys, I think you’re in due need of a punishment. For being such a disobedient pupil, and for talking about your tutor in such lewd ways”, you say, voice serious but eyes shining with mischief. 

Aegon looks up to meet your gaze, the grin on his face growing wider as he nods. 

You climb onto his lap, straddling him. Your noses almost knock together from the close proximity. He brings his hands to rest around your waist, but you grab them both and gently place them on the armrests of the chair. 

“No touching”, you instruct and he nods obediently. 

You’re sure you can sense the rigid proof of growing arousal where your centres meet, and your strict demeanour almost falters at the realisation. You haven’t even begun, yet your husband is desperate for you. 

You fight off a victorious smile as you pick up one candle, flame still burning, and look into Aegon's lilac eyes. The hand not holding the candle moves to untie the strings at the top of the undershirt he’s wearing. 

“If you fail to properly recite the words I ask you to say”, you start, the grin you’d tried to fight off causing the corners of your mouth to twitch upwards, “I get to pour wax on your chest”

Your husband’s eyes light up in intrigue, “And if I say the words correctly?”

“You’ll be awarded the satisfaction of knowing you are coherent in your native tongue”, you respond sternly. Aegon watches you expectantly. 

“Wife”, you begin your unwonted examination, swirling the lit candle between your fingers.

“Ābrazyrys”, Aegon confidently replies, raising his face in pride. 

You tilt the candle to the side, allowing the hot wax to pour down onto his slightly exposed chest. He gasps in surprise and you tut at his reaction.

“Atrocious pronunciation”, you chastise your husband, eyes shining with amusement. He inhales deeply, hands gripping the sides of the chair tightly. 

“Again”, you demand. 

“Ābrazyrys”, he breathes out, a whimper escaping his lips as you pour more wax on his chest. You are now certain that the hardness against your centre is evidence of how much he’s enjoying your teaching method, so you languidly roll your hips against his.

“Ābrazyrys”, you correct him as he grunts at the feeling of your core pressing against his. The wax on his chest had congealed, resembling pearls resting on his flustered skin. 

The alluring sight causes you to momentarily lose your senses, pressing a kiss against his lips; the flustered pink tint of his cheeks too appealing. When you pull away, he follows your mouth for more, but you give him a pointed look and continue, 

“Thank you, wife”

“Kirimvose, ābrazyrys”, Aegon all but moans as you pour more wax down his chest in the middle of his utterance. Having him at your mercy, torturing him with stinging pleasure, has rendered you wanton as well, causing you to roll your hips against his more forcefully to dull the ache blooming there; waiting to be attended to. 

You lean forward, swiping your tongue over your husband's soft lips. He pays no heed to your instructions any longer, hands leaving the armrest to circle your body, pressing you closer to him as he devours your mouth. He pushes your body in a silent plea for you to continue rocking against him, and you comply, eager to soothe your neglected core. 

The passion between you almost causes you to forget the still burning candle in your hand, but you manage to detach from his lips long enough to blow it out, fingertips once again pressing into the melted wax on the top. Before it solidifies over your skin, you grab the sides of Aegon’s chin, messily pressing the wax into his flesh as you steer his face towards yours, kissing him deeply as he hisses in stinging bliss. 

Perhaps he truly needs another tutor? 

One that doesn’t get her cunt wet as soon as he opens his mouth.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[togament]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐘. ume, sakura, suo, kaji, togame.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: mentions of alcohol, drinking it, Ume’s cuteness and extreme softness, mega warning for Ume’s I kinda got ahead of myself again (it’s longer than the others ;;), AFAB!reader, NSFW FOR TOGAME AND HIS FILTHY MOUTH, small argument in Kaji's (but he makes up for it, I swear.)

𝐔𝐦𝐞.

- responsible, of course. He doesn’t drink and would most likely be the one cleaning up after everyone when they’re wasted, handing out cold bottles of electrolytes and glasses of water. Possibly the one passing around properly proportioned drinks so he could keep an eye on everyone, handing out snacks too. The absolute best Mama Hen (Papa Rooster?) you could ask for in a house party. But if you’re the only ones awake? He sneaks in a drink or two with you. An emotional drunk. Prepare to sniffle with him as he practically thanks you for being around, for being the absolute best, for being his best friend, for making him fall in love with yo—

“You’re the best, y’know that?” He sips his drink, nursing a bottle of electrolytes in his other hand. He says it so suddenly, so abruptly, you think you misheard it. You scoot closer to your best friend, arms pressed against each other as you both lean against the wall, facing your knocked out friends. With your cheek pressed onto his shoulder, you shake your head. “Should be telling you that, Ume. The party was a success because of you. Hiragi’s parent’s antiques live to see another day.” With that, he nudges you gently with a chuckle. “C’mon let me shower you with praise, alright? Listen.” Sounding a bit serious now, he has your full attention.

He threads his fingers through yours and he squeezes once. You squeeze back. Seeing his reddened knuckles from recent scuffles, you raise your intertwined fingers to your lips to press kisses onto each knuckle as he speaks. A dusting of pink ever present on his cheeks. You swear you could hear his heart beating at the same rhythm as yours is.

“I…” He pauses, tearing his eyes away from you for a moment before he looks into yours once more. Determined. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. “I think I love you—“, another pause, he shakes his head. You squeeze his hand in return to steady him and he gives you a smile you’ve never seen him give you before. Your heart’s beating double time now. “I—I know I love you. I do. More than just a friend, a companion. I know you might not feel the same way, maybe you see me as family and that’s fine but I just—“ “I love you too, idiot.” You interrupt his overthinking before continuing, “Always have. More than a friend, actually.”

If your friends weren’t a few feet from you both he’d scoop you up and twirl you around. Hell, if he had a tail he’d be wagging it nonstop by now. Your hands, now sweaty, are still intertwined. He’s practically beaming with sunlight, ready to burst. While you’re basking in it. Your sun. Your sun.

You both kissed each other that night with the taste of cheap whiskey and electrolytes on your lips.

𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮��𝐚.

- Asian glow, meet Sakura. Sakura puts the Asian glow to shame, my guy. He’s got a tomato for a head when he drinks. You’re not even touching or kissing him, he’s just… RED. Doesn’t like getting plastered but when he does get a couple of drinks in? He’s screaming for you every second, looking for you, needing you around him. (Nirei’s sprinting to look for you, Suo’s making Sakura drink enough water, Ume’s preparing a cold bottle of pocari sweat for him.) What normally would make Sakura run away screaming would now make him actually, fully accept it. You can feel him melt into you, pressing his cheek to yours. He’s a very clingy drunk. The others don’t point it out as much. They don’t want to poke the (extremely, extremely clingy) bear.

“Where is she???” He literally screams into the crowd, getting on his tippy toes and hopping over heads just to get a glance of you hopefully walking towards him. Nirei’s already lost in the group of people, weaving through them to get to you. Thankfully, you’re just at the kitchen whipping up a couple more drinks when Nirei finally found you. “He’s at it again, huh?” You say as you take a swig from your drink, looking at a messy haired Nirei. He looks like he went through hell and back. “Y-yeah. I think you should go. He’s been groaning for you nonstop-“ Nirei then guides you through the crowd, hand on your wrist so you wouldn’t get lost.

He pulls you towards Sakura whose now lounging on the couch. You both were hoping for a relieved Sakura but instead are met with your bicolor haired lover staring daggers into Nirei and his steady grip on your wrist. Nirei immediately lets go and as he does, Sakura pulls you into his lap causing your drink to spill a little, dribbling down your cheek and your neck. “What the hell Saku—“ you’re interrupted by him licking a strip up your neck, lapping at the spilled drink. His hands grow more possessive as they hold you closer to him, kneading your flesh through your clothes.

“Missed ya,” he mutters into your neck, nuzzling his nose into it like a kitten would. “Where’d ya run off to? Been looking everywhere for you, baby.” he’s a completely different person when he’s tipsy, clingy and touchy, not really caring if your friends see him practically claiming his spot as YOUR lover. “Went to make some drinks. Don’t tell me you need me with you all the time.” You tease him. While he’d normally blush and stammer at that, he’s now pressing kisses into your cheek, smiling into each one.

“Mhm. Need ya all the damn time, angel. Don’t leave.”

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓.

𝐒𝐮𝐨.

- doesn’t drink (he doesn’t eat either so—) He really just doesn’t like drinking alcohol. He gets the appeal, sure. He could go for a couple of glasses, sure. He could maybe finish 2 bottles of whiskey by himself and not feel a thing, SURE. But he doesn’t like drinking it. He’s more of like a casual enjoyer, maybe having a finger or two of whiskey on the rocks with friends. Always the one cleaning up after them (Nirei) too. But when it’s just the both of you though, it’s a different story. Sure you can’t tell if he’s plastered or not from the get go but there’s a tell. He’s more… open with his emotions.

“You look gorgeous in that dress, my dove,” you turn slowly to your lover who’s eyeing you down from beside you. You’re both at one of the booths of the speakeasy you frequent, away from curious eyes. By the way he’s looking at you, you feel like he’s undressing you with his eyes almost. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows dryly. Is he blushing? You can’t tell under the dim lighting, “Absolutely—gorgeous,” he ghosts his fingers along your curves, his gaze following the invisible path he’s drawn out. Making sure to go extra, extra slow around your derrière before he pulls his hand away to take a swig of his drink.

“What’s gotten into you tonight? Drunk already?” You say while you reach over to straighten his suit out, trying your damndest not to let your growing arousal show. You swear you can feel the booth heating up. “Drunk off the alcohol? Oh, dearest no. Off of you, however? Well…” He’s staring at you from over his rocks glass. The ice clinks as he puts it down on the table.

“How could I not? I could drink you in all fucking night.” There’s that tell. There’s the swearing. You pause, meeting his heavily lidded gaze. You swallow. “Care to give me a taste, dove?”

You feel his fingers creep up your leg and you part them so willingly. Nobody’ll peek into your booth. Not with your lover around.

𝐊𝐚𝐣𝐢.

- Lightweight to Average drinker. He’s a sleepy drunk but he doesn’t want anyone seeing him in such a vulnerable state so he often opts to bail or not drink at all. Most of the time he bails though. Not about that social drinking life. Only you could manage to convince him to come with though. You’re always met with the tiniest amount of resistance but you can manage, right? (He’s got a soft spot for you. Of course he’d go. You don’t have to ask twice. He just likes seeing you pout when he says no the first time. It’s cute.) Still, don’t get him drunk please don’t—oh no he’s got a bottle in his hand. He’s guzzling it. Oh no. Ohhh no.

You’re in Hiragi’s bed, hidden under the covers with your lover’s arms wrapped around your waist and his face resting on your shoulder now fast asleep. How’d you both find yourselves here? Well, first, Kaji ended up breaking a couple of glasses (he swears it was an accident), then almost started a couple of fights (you know how he is with his mouth), then tried napping on the couch with you while everybody’s drinking (he was complaining about the noise but… it’s a party, Kaji.) Hiragi, thankfully, allowed you both to hole up in his room for a little while to sober up. Locked inside with a couple of bottles of pocari sweat (care of Umemiya!), you’re intertwined now.

You sigh, flicking your boyfriend’s forehead gently, “idiot,” he winces, tightening his grip around your waist to pull you closer. Thank god he’s mellower now. “Ow—shit! What’d you do that for?” He rubs his forehead on your cheek, HIS cheeks slightly blushing from the alcohol. “You shouldn’t have drunk too much-“ “Well you brought me here what was I supposed to d-“ “Oh I don’t know, not drink an entire bottle in one sit—“ You feel his lips against yours, the tiny argument now forgotten. You can taste the alcohol and some sweetness from his lollipop from earlier. Then you hear something you never thought you’d hear fall from his mouth willingly.

“…sorry.” Huh. You angle away to take a proper look at him. He only grumbles and hides deeper into your neck, using the covers as a shield against from you. He’s acting so needy and soft. If he wasn’t so tipsy you would have pounced on him to pepper kisses along his cheeks. You attempt to pull the blanket down but he’s holding it so tightly. “Say that again, baby? You’re what?” You can’t hide the smile from your lips but then he pinches your side causing you to yelp. “Y’heard me the first time.” Rolling your eyes, you nuzzle into his touch. “C’mon just a tiny one? The tiniest little sowwy? Fow me?” You whisper and you’re only met with three kisses on your forehead.

“I love you. Sorry.” You smile, bringing up Hiragi’s comfortable blanket over your sleepy bodies.

“Love you too, idiot.”

𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞.

Is an absolute lightweight so he ends up being a sleepy drunk or doesn’t drink at all. But with you around and he’s had maybe a drink and a half in his system? He’s absolutely feral. So touchy, SO so SOOOOO horny when he’s got even the slightest amount of alcohol in his system to get him tipsy. He’s touching you, caressing your face, your arms, your ass (if you’d allow him to. The man understands boundaries.) While he’s normally so soft spoken around you, teasing you in his own silly, dorky way, he’s a different man when he's tipsy. His vocabulary is a different beast. Sloppy and direct. His 6’2” frame and entire weight practically leaning onto you for support on Hiragi’s family couch — to some he looks as though he’s dozing off. It’s anything BUT that. He’s whispering the dirtiest, raunchiest things into your ear, teasing you with that deep voice of his. He knows what he’s doing. You like it, of course.

“I’m so fucking hard right now, doll—god it’s throbbing.” He whines softly into your neck, breathing so heavily you swear his body’s quivering. That voice does things to you and he KNOWS it. “Wanna fuck yet throat. Have my cum spillin’ down yer mouth, yer chest….fuck—y’put a spell on me, didn’t ya? Makin’ me wanna fuck all the damn time.” He ends it with a chuckle, peppering slow, loving kisses along your neck, clearly doesn’t care if anybody sees you both now. “Y’know, when yer not around, I fuck my fist to the thought of ya, of yer ass bouncing on me, of yer pussy dripping into my fingers. God I wanna fuck ya so badly right now—“ You can’t help it. You cross your legs to have some relief and you shift your weight slightly, feeling your throbbing clit pressed in between.

“Crossing your legs like that—yer getting off of this aren’t you? Wanna fuck me too huh?” He whispers, drawing it out slowly with a slight purr.

You nod and you can feel him perk up a little. He eases up as he stands slowly, pulling you up with him. He’s leading you down the hallway, away from the prying eyes of your peers. They’re all too busy to care where the both of you are headed.

“There’s a vacant room ‘round back. Hiragi wouldn’t mind, wouldn’t he?”

a/n: huuurrrr pulled this out of my bum I hope you like it omg I literally wrote Togame's half asleep asjdk also feeling very bad for Hiragi and his house. kaji part dedicated to @kajibunny and our late morning rambles btw ohoho i mahal na mahal u come get your man!!!!