#and look at him. grinning like a fool.

[edgymegatronus]

I can’t believe this is how they met.

Look how happy this loser is.

[heichoucangetit]

No because this whole moment was that gayest shit ever a whole second in

They make me violently ill

[tonycries]

A Million Dollar Baby! - N.K.

Synopsis. Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, landlord! Nanami (kinda), oraI (male + fem), cúmplay, reader’s a tease, unprotected, creampíe, down bad FERAL Nanami, spítting, bréeding, messing up his glasses, pantý-stealing, he’s sweet but fúcks so MEAN, mentions of Higuruma, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.8k (wild)

A/N. Decided it was high time I feed my Nanami girlies hehe.

“Just get the money and go.” Nanami deadpans, like a mantra. Giving a rapt knock on your apartment door, “I swear m’making him buy me lunch for this.”

Now, it wasn’t that Nanami was exactly upset about taking over Higuruma’s landlord duties for the day - no, in fact, he was the first one at his friend’s door with a bag of prescription medicine for the other man’s fever and the suggestion to take the day off.

But it was the thought of finally coming face-to-face with you - that mysterious new tenant that’d just moved into his building. The one that had Nanami wondering whether you were really as “sugary sweet n’ irresistible” as Higuruma raved you were. 

Though, he can’t imagine you’d be particularly happy about being woken up at 10am on a Sunday for overdue rent - he certainly wasn’t.

Seriously, he had no idea how Higuruma managed to do this every-

Click!

“Higu- you’re not Higuruma.”

Oh, and suddenly, Nanami gets it.

If he got to see this view, too, then he might just become the landlord himself.

It’s as if you knew you’d be playing with his sanity as soon as you opened that door, dressed in a fitted t-shirt that did absolutely everything to show off every bit of skin he shouldn’t be looking at. Your lips curving into a sinful little smirk when you notice his eyes dancing off that excuse of fabric you call “shorts”.

“Um…” you hum, after a few moments of silence. Leaning against your wooden door frame to give the tall man an appreciative one-over, “Nanami, right? You’re Higuruma’s friend?”

It’s as if the sound of his own name jolts Nanami right back into his senses, clearing his throat as he readjusts his glasses. “Y-yes. Nanami Kento.” And he winces, fuck he’s never stuttered like this. Never, even in the toughest of board meetings. Yet, here he was - making a fool out of himself. 

Knowing he’s completely fucked when your delicious grin only widens, he bows politely, “Apologies for barging in like this, ma’am. But Higuruma’s sick n’ m’here to collect the rent in his place.”

You wave off his formality, introducing yourself. “Ah, of course. I’ve seen you around, always been too nervous to come up and say hello, though.”

And, suddenly, Nanami’s glad you never came up to him to talk out of your own volition, he thinks he’s rather put off embarrassing himself for later. Coughing softly, “I apologize, s’my fault. It was rude of me to not introduce myself first.”

“Well, better late than never, right?” you continue in your smooth tone. Before your eyes catch down his broad shoulders, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clipboard held between his long, long fingers. “Right- the overdue rent. I swear, Higuruma’s always such a sweetheart, he doesn’t bother to remind me.” Opening your door wider to give Nanami a good look inside your cozy apartment - something forbidden. “Come in come in, I seem to have lost my wallet somewhere in here though, maybe you can help me find it.”

Oh? 

And Nanami knows this is dangerous. He knows this is much more than his simple plan earlier of just “get the money and go”. He knows that little glint in your eye certainly does not bode well for him as soon as he steps through that door. 

Yet, he answers anyway, “Of course, lead the way.”

Every bit of small talk in your sultry voice has Nanami gulping, loosening his favorite yellow tie while he follows you inside. Averting his eyes from the curve of your shorts, he takes in the neat state of your apartment. 

That is, until-

“Here we are.” you lead him to a towering pile of clothes piled unceremoniously on your tv room couch. Gesturing airily at the mess, “I’m sure I left my wallet in one of my pants, so you can just sit here until I-”

“I’ll do it.” Nanami’s quick answer stuns the both of you momentarily. But before you can resist, he’s shrugging off his jacket, ignoring the heat of your gaze when he bunches up his sleeves to reveal strong, veined forearms. “It’s only fair, since m’bothering you so early.”

You chuckle, “Oh? What a gentleman, we can do it together then, handsome.”

So here he was - sat on your cramped couch, your thighs flush against his, tackling your laundry. This was definitely a far cry from getting the rent and leaving - but, alas, Nanami can’t find it in himself to complain when he neatly folds up your clothes. 

Whereas you were hastily throwing them god-knows-where, hissing, “Where- is it-” 

“Patience.” he’s humming, placing another t-shirt on your coffee table. “Higuruma’s in no hurry, he can barely get out of bed right now.”

You click your tongue in frustration, “But you, Nanami-”

“-are perfectly fine helping you out.” Nanami cuts in, flashing you a gentle smile. Your eyes widen at the sight of a soft dimple at the corner of it. Which makes him tear his gaze from that pretty pout on your lips to turn back to his dwindling half of the pile, “Besides, it would be a shame if such a nice apartment was messed up by- by-”

Fuck. 

Was that what he thought it was?

His fingers tremble, looking so fucking big wrapped around that those tiny strings of hot pink. Sinful. Obscene. Shit, if he tried he could just rip it to pieces with his bare hands right now - even if you’d been wearing it.

“Hm?” you’re gasping at the sight of the man before you, body stiff, ears a guilty red, gaze hardening at where he was holding onto one of your panties. Oh, shit. You pluck the offending piece of material from his hands, “Oh- whoops. Um- that can’t really be folded.” Throwing a wink at the flustered man - and the lingerie right back at him. “Evidently.”

It was all too much for Nanami, and he’s bringing a hand up to cover his blush - before ripping it off like it burned when he realized it was the same hand he held your panties with. 

Somehow, he manages to choke out, “Maybe- maybe we should try looking somewhere else.”

And it was true - the few messy clothes now leftover (and…Nanami couldn’t forget, your underwear) didn’t show any signs of hiding your wallet. 

“If you say so~” you muse, getting up from your seat - only to get down on your knees. Right in front of Nanami’s manspread legs. 

“Wh-what are you-”

“Under the couch.” you interrupt, enjoying this way too fucking much for the poor man’s sanity as you flash him a cheeky grin. And he smacks himself mentally for letting his imagination be toyed by your teasing whims. “I might’ve dropped it under the couch, so won’t you be a dear and help lift it while I look?”

He couldn’t get up fast enough, almost stumbling over his long legs to crouch down beside you - just anywhere away from this scandalous position. “Ready?” Nanami rasps, biceps bulging tight against his button-up when he easily tilts over your couch. 

“More than.” you take a second longer to admire him before going back to your mission.

Which - whatever’s left of the rational part of Nanami’s brain really thinks might just be to drive him insane instead finding that fucking- what was it- wallet? 

“Hmmm seems it’s not here either, right, Ken?” He doesn’t know what he’s reeling at more - the fact that you used his first fucking name or the way you were arched so teasingly like that. On your knees, spine curving into a delicious little bend that has the crotch of his pants growing just a bit tighter. And- shit he was wrong. So, so wrong. Because those weren’t a sinful pair of shorts like he’d initially thought after all, instead, they were more like underwear. Flimsy and thin, bunching up perfectly at the crease of your hips. 

You were captivating. 

At his heavy silence, you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Oh? Was it the name? Sorry, Nanami, you’ve just helped me so much that it ah- slipped out. I won’t do it again.”

“No.” he grits out, the both of you surprised by the ragged hitch in his answer. Already so disgustingly missing the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue. “I’d like it if you called me that- ‘Ken’ that is, if you want.”

“Well then, Ken.” you brush up unnecessarily against his sculpted body as you move to get up and dust yourself down. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my wallet’s not down there.”

Shit, he thinks, looking down at the empty spot of carpeted floor for the first time. You little tease, you knew what you were doing. 

Grinning unabashedly as you tug on his arm, “Come on! There’s one more place to look.”

As you pulled him along to the kitchen, Nanami had held out the hope that maybe - just maybe - this would be an actual attempt at finally paying off your overdue rent. Maybe he could walk out of this unscathed and holding onto whatever’s left of his dignity (and lacking the raging boner that was threatening against his slacks right now).

But every feeble hope of that was thrown out the window the moment you instructed him to hold the rickety, certainly unsafe chair propped up in front of your counter steady. 

“I swear I must’ve left it somewhere up there.” you grumble. Not wasting a moment before climbing onto it and rifling on top of your high cabinets. “No harm in trying, right?”

He gulps, palms getting sweaty on the wooden back of the chair with the effort to keep it still. “Are you sure you left it on top of there?”

“Huh? Yes yes, of course.” you answer absentmindedly. Your shirt snagging on your arms as you raise them even higher, “Think you can see something from down there?”

If Nanami could see the top of your shelves, then he didn’t want to find out - not when one glance upwards blessed him with a forbidden glimpse right up your t-shirt. All it took was a flash of skin before he was hit with the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“Ken~”

“Fuck!” he breathes, when he looks up involuntarily at the sound of his name. Face burning when you raise a brow, “U-um, m’not sure.” 

Yeah, he sure could see something - hell, he wanted to see more. 

He urgently swipes at the sweat slowly beading at his forehead, immediately regretting his actions when the chair tips ever-so-slightly. “Shit, I apologize, n’ I also apologize for what I’m about to do-” He gasps over your soft yelp, before wrapping two warm hands around the small of your waist. Searing. Soft. Planting you softly on the firm floor like some lil’ ragdoll, “-but I can’t let you put yourself in danger this way.”

Before you know it, you’re back in the safety of the ground. Stood right in front of a determined Nanami as he cranes his head up in your stuffy kitchen, backed up against the counter as he takes over looking for your wallet. 

“Let me, instead.” he grunts. 

But oh even with how genius he thought it was to look instead - even with how he stopped himself from looking at that sinful little slice of heaven - Nanami Kento had another problem. 

A problem that presented itself in the way that your body was pressed flush against his muscled chest, two of your thighs straddling his thick ones. Caged perfectly against him, exactly in the way he shouldn’t have been imagining - but did, anyway. And shit if he angled his body just right he could feel the heat of your core - the way your eager front was drawing in closer. 

“Ah-” he grunts when your soft palm glides lightly across his pecs. Jaw clenching while he tries to blink his hazy eyes back into the glaringly empty top of your cabinets, “My apologies, seems uh- your wallet isn’t- here-” 

Each word is wrenching out of his pretty, worry-bitten lips, a ragged gasp with every accidental brush of the pads of your fingers at the hem of his tight pants. 

“It isn’t there, hm?” you purr, a low honeyed tone that has all the blood in Nanami’s body rushing to his fat cock. “Well what do you suppose we do about that, Ken? Since I can’t pay the rent?”

Nanami doesn’t know whether you’re talking about the rent or that massive tent in his pants he really couldn’t explain away. Instead, he spits, “You knew what you were hah- doing, didn’t you, you lil’ minx? You don’t have your fuckin’ wallet here.”

And the air is so thick, so heady that he can only bring himself to pull away mere millimeters from where he was hovering near your face. 

But even that was too much - and in a split-second, you have your deft fingers wrapped tightly around his speckled tie. “And if I did?” Pulling close enough to ghost your lips against his, “You’re smart, Ken. So m’asking once again, what do you suppose we do about that?”

As if to draw out the answer from him, you’re giving a long, hard drag of your hot cunt along the outline of his swollen cock. You could almost feel every throb and nudge of his veins along the side, and it made you salivate.

“I suppose…” he answers, guttural, like some dark, primal part of himself is peaking its head out with each hot breath fanning your face. A large hand coming up to squish your cheeks into a pretty pout, pursing your lips perfectly for him. “That you hit me if you don’t like this, darling.”

And fuck for all how much of a gentleman Nanami acted - he kissed the exact opposite. All but ruining your lips in such a messy clash of teeth and tongue and him. Devouring you. 

“Fuck- shoulda known.” he’s letting out a humorless laugh, swiping his tongue across your glossy lower lips. “Should’ve known when you invited me in. Such a tease.” Drinking in your breathless moans, sucking on your tongue, “Such a- ngh- horny lil’ thing. This what you wanted all along?”

You hum into the kiss so drunk, “Maybe.” Dancing your hands all across where his toned muscles were fighting against the restraints of his shirt, “But you really can’t blame me.”

And maybe it was true - maybe this was inevitable. Either way, Nanami didn’t know, nor did he really care - not when you were letting out such sweet gasps when he bites down on your bottom lip - just a little punishment. Kissing his way down your heated skin, giving a languid lick at where he suspected that secret sensitive spot on your neck would be. 

“Oh! Ken.” you moan. Bingo. 

He’s unbuttoned his shirt now - or maybe it was you. Fuck, either way you couldn’t tear your eyes off of his pretty washboard abs. Curving and dipping like he was sculpted meticulously. 

And that’s all it takes for your already-dripping cunt to grow impossibly wetter, and he could feel it leaking through those flimsy cotton shorts of yours. Forming a messy sheen right at that damp spot of precum on his pants.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, my love.” Nanami murmurs, swiping a thumb down that sopping wet slit of yours through your shorts. Just marveling at the way that simple touch makes another wave of your sweet sweet juices bead through the fabric. “Hah, absolutely dripping. This all f’me?”

At your half-delirious nod, he flashes you a smile so handsome that it only makes you squirm more impatiently. “How sweet.” Giving your nose a chaste peck, “So good to me. So needy.”

“You’re the same, though.” you accuse, hotly.

And it’s true - Nanami couldn’t deny the aching need of his cock, the way he all but moans in response, “Then tell me- hngh tell me what you want. I’ll give you- anything-” Managing to get out through hot, sloppy kisses planted right on your wobbly lips, “-anything.”

But, ah, you always did manage to surprise him. And instead of an answer, you’re getting right down on your knees in front of him like you did not too long ago - though, this time, you’re reaching up to fumble with his belt. 

“Wan’ taste you.” you huff when his expensive notches prove too stubborn. “Wan’ feel you in my mouth so bad, Ken.” 

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles darkly, easily loosening his belt and his pants along with it. Rock-hard cock sensitive and just smearing a pool of precum where his fat head springs up to hit your lips. Such a pretty shade of gloss. Nanami laces his hand on your scalp to guide you forwards, slowly, “Then take it. Take it f’me, pretty.”

He was so pretty that you possibly couldn’t not - a delicate blushing red at his very tip, glistening and absolutely soaked in precum down the long path to his creamy base, his heavy balls. So girthy that it made your cunt clench in anticipation.

And then there’s no more talking. Hell, you barely get enough time to admire Nanami’s massive cock before he’s bullying it between your lips. Wetting his thick, angry tip with your saliva, just enough to eye down at the way your lips bulge so prettily around him. 

“Gonna hafta open w-wider if you wanna take me, pretty. Open hah- yeah jus’ like that.” He’s reeling your head back, all the way till you were just kissing at his thick, angry tip. “Now spit on it, my love.”

Despite being the one to say it, Nanami’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief when you’re readily decorating his swollen length with a steady stream of spit. Your soft palms smearing the saliva along his length. 

You’re slurring, “After all, I still haven’t found my wallet, right?”

And oh he doesn’t even have to ask for what comes next - doesn’t even have to make a noise. 

Immediately, you take him in inch by fucking inch. The deliciously salty twang taking over your senses, and he’s so hot and heavy over your tongue. Veins pulsing in a dizzyingly throb! throb! throb! against the roof of your mouth.

“Are you- are you sure you can-” You shut up his doubts by rubbing your hot tongue along every sensitive ridge you could reach. Bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless little pace to milk his pretty cock for all he’s worth. 

Nanami’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Was this what heaven felt like? 

“F-fuuuck, oh you-” his words are catching in his throat with each flick of the tip of your tongue against his sensitive slit. Just the way he liked it. “-ngh guess that sharp mouth of yours wasn’t just hah- good for teasing, huh?”

He’s running his mouth a mile a minute - the complete opposite of the reserved man that’d come knocking on your door. Hips grinding up into your warm tongue mindlessly, slow. Languid - like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Oh you feel so heavenly- so fuckin’ good it should be illegal.”

You can’t help but bat your teary eyes up at him in response, blinking away the lustful haze to drink in that utterly obscene sight above you. Nanami’s neat, blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, stray strands sticking to his furrowed brow. Only deepening with each wrecked sigh that leaves his plump lips every time his abs flex with the movement of his fat head hitting the gummy back of your throat. 

He looks so pretty it makes you moan. 

Those electric vibrations going all the way down that wet divot on the tip of Nanami’s painfully hard cock to his heavy balls. 

“Oh shit- shit shit shit feels too good.” his words are slurring together, drunk off the way you gag around him. “Don’t do that don’t-” This only makes you drag your sloppy mouth down him deeper, syrupy moans sticking to

him all the while. 

“Fuck!” Nanami shudders. And he’s pulling you down - hard - barely letting you get a feverish little breath out until your nose is hitting the neat patch of blond at his base. Rubbing up against his toned pelvis. 

Still moving in deep, relentless thrusts inside your gummy cavern. “S’real fuckin’ hard to treat you as nice as I want when you act like that, my love.”

And, of course, the only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles as you take him in faster. Cheeks hollowing to massaging his every sweet spot. Your jaw grinding against his twitching balls with each smack of his hypnotized hips against your mouth, fucking into you the way he wished he could do with your cunt. Frenzied. Sloppy. 

Yeah, this was heaven alright - but you were the fuckin’ devil. 

Of course, you wanted him to treat you like such a slut - so he does. 

Just dragging your stubborn mouth off of his twitching cock, Nanami only reaches down to place an accomplished peck on the pout of your mouth before hoisting you onto the counter. “What? You think I’d really ngh- cum before my darling girl?”

He’s groaning into your mouth, licking at the seam of your candied lips as two strong arms of his spread your legs so far apart it burned. “F-fuck, Ken-”

“Aw look. You’ve got another slutty pair, huh?” he gestures down at the drenched scrap of fabric you so proudly called “panties.” Sliding a thumb underneath to glide it underneath your puffy pussy lips. He’s echoing your sentiment from before, “Said you can’t find your hah- wallet, right?” Well, ya better start makin’ up for that now.”

In all of two seconds, Nanami’s hooking two fingers over your underwear - pulling - ripping. He was right -  Nanami takes a moment to admire your dripping cunt, glistening and needy for him - he could rip those panties right off of you. 

With just one hand pinning you to the cool marble of your counter, the other thumbing open your puffy folds, he’s giving all of your pussy a hot, open-mouthed kiss. 

“Mmm fuck-” he spits into your sloppy hole. Once. Twice. Letting it form a saturated little pool of your juices, before surging back nose-deep with a pained grunt. Again. And again. And again and again- “Jus’ as sweet- as sugary sweet ngh-”

Nanami didn’t think Higuruma knew about this little treasure trove when describing you - though, if he did, then he was well and fully intent on tongue-fucking every little thought out of him right now. 

“Hngh! Shit-” you’re keening when his greedy tongue laps up every bit of your syrupy sweet slick. Alternating - methodically, indecisively - between rolling over your throbbing clit and just dipping into your awaiting entrance. “It feels so- so good, Ken.”

“Yeah that’s right.” he gasps, wrapping those pretty pink lips of his to suck on your clit. Harsh. “Say my name- no, louder. Louder.” 

It’s all you can do to not just scream out his name without your neighbors filing a noise complaint. Dragging your sopping pussy all over his mouth - glistening and obscene right down the bottom half of his face all the way up to smear against his clear glasses. 

Such obscene squelches ring through your kitchen as Nanami keeps making out so messily with your sensitive nub. Ringing in your fucked-out brain, so obscene, so addictive that you barely even register the thick fingers dipping their way around your hole. 

You jolt when the cool metal of his glasses kiss your skin, “O-oh Ken what-” 

“Shhh shhh, darling.” he soothes. The tip of his manicured index circling around your elastic muscle. Hypnotic. “M’gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good-” With this, he’s bullying his fingers inside, “-care of you.”

Tears crinkle at the corners of your eyes at the sheer stimulation. Because for how sweet Nanami was talking you through this, he was absolutely ruthless on your cunt. Not half the man he was this morning - animalistic. Feral, even.

His sharp jaw grinding against your skin, fingers almost a blur with how depraved they were pumping in and out of you. Massaging every hidden corner of your plushy walls, yet you get the feeling that they were calculated. Nanami’s darkened eyes drinking in every whimper and twitch of your body over the glasses inching dangerously downwards. Searching, waiting for that one-

“Ngh!” You worry you’d have fallen off the counter if it wasn’t for Nanami holding you down. Body jolting at sudden electricity running through your veins, “Oh- fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god Ken, there. Right there–”

But before the sentence has even left your heavy lips, he’s hitting your g-spot once more. Easily finding the bullseye that has you bucking and arching into his mouth like such a slut. 

And this time - Nanami lets you use his mouth all you want. The fingers splayed out to pin you down moves to toy with your puffy clit. Rolling between his fingers while he hisses out syrupy sweet praises, “Shit, never liked m’name that much- ngh- but it sounds so pretty on your lips. So sweet. So- oh-” 

The sight of your cunt just beading with need has him kissing it once more. All over your sensitive nub, your ravaged hole, hell, even down to the mess of slick dripping down at your thighs. Faster. Sloppier. No rhythm or rhyme anymore. 

“M’so close.” you whine, weaving your fingers through his blond hair to help ride his face easier. Jolting with each purposeful flick of his tongue. “Gonna cum, Ken.”

“Cum then.” he answers, simply, grinning a guiltily glossy grin, “You’ve got a lot to make up for, right?”

And then you do - stars behind your eyes and that little nickname you’d made Nanami in your mouth. Over and over while he tonguefucks you through your high. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck–” you whine, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks eat time he swiped at your sensitive spots, dragging it out longer. Until your soft whimpers were drowning out the squelches from below. Until you were blinking your spotty vision back. Until you were squirming your hips higher up the counter to pull away from Nanami’s unforgiving tactics. “M’too sensitive- Nana-”

He tuts, interrupting your orgasm-drunk babbles, “Tha’s not what you call me.” Pulling away just enough to hum, “All I did was eat this pretty cunt out, darling n’ you already forgot my name?”

You shiver - both at his mean little tone and the absolutely sinful sight between your shaky thighs. Nanami’s lips plump and irritated, eyes foggy - glasses even more so with all the sloppy dredges of spit and your slick.

Shit, you think he’s never looked prettier. 

“Is that so?”

It’s all you hear before you’re hit with his glasses being gently placed onto your nose bridge - followed shortly by the realization that oh, you said that out loud. But Nanami basks in your sudden shyness, giving your lips a chaste, lingering peck. “You dirtied my glasses, y’know. Now you have to make up for that on top of the rent.”

And by the feeling of his thick tip kissing at your pussy lips, you had a very good idea about how you’d be making up for it. Making a mess. Sliding the curve of his head up and down. Up and down up and down up and-

“B-but don’t forget.” you manage to grit out by the time he’s nudging his divot against your clit. “You have to make- hah- make up for-” 

In a fluid motion, you’re reaching your fingers to dig into the irresistible tan skin at his hips, all hard muscle and the thick fabric of where he’d pulled his pants down just enough. You press down on his bulging back pocket, smirk growing at the familiar flash of hot pink you could spy, “-my panties.”

The moment the obscene little accusation leaves your lips, you give a soft tug forwards. Nanami’s towering body being pulled easily to push his weeping tip past your puffy folds. 

“F-fuck.” he’s throwing his head back at the feeling. “You hngh- saw, huh?”

Oh, if he hadn’t been imagining this the moment he’d stepped inside your apartment then Nanami thinks he might’ve just passed out right then and there. 

Because you were so warm, so addictive wrapped around his cock - even when he’s barely even in. That he just has to keep going - after all, it’s for the rent, right?

It’s what he likes to think.

It’s what he whispers - over and over into your open mouth as he bullies his thick cock past your gummy entrance. Letting your plush walls suck the ever-loving soul out of him with each lazy, lingering grind just to fit himself inside. 

“O-oh! Shit-” your nails leave jagged red marks down Nanami’s broad shoulders when he stuffs you full. Desperate. “Y-you’re so big, Ken–” 

At this, you feel Nanami’s girth grow even wider, stretching your walls until it felt like he was molding your poor pussy to the shape. Just reaching into your lungs. You squeal, “Wait- you got bigger- what-”

“I know I know, You got it, my love.” he’s soothing your cries with sugary kisses at the corners of your mouth. Drawing slow, methodical circles on your clit in time with his experimental thrusts. “You got it. You can take it. Shhh shh-” He’s drinking in your cute mewls, cupping your pretty face with his free hand, “You’ll take it right? All of it, like my good girl? You’ve gotta make up for it, right?” At your delirious nod, “Words, pretty.”

“Yes, please.” You buck your hips in a sultry tandem matching his, the cool frame of his glasses still kissing at your skin. “M’gonna take it all like your good girl, Ken.”

Shit, he can feel himself growing even bigger just halfway into you, “Then-” Angling your teary face down to watch the mess down below. The way your greedy cunt was trying to milk each and every inch of him like it was delicious. “-look.”

You can’t tear your eyes away as he delves into you so filthy. 

Not waiting for your pathetic whines about him being “too big” - no, Nanami’s only pulling you back from escaping like some sextoy - his favorite one. Still toying sweetly with your clit while he pushes against that feeble ring of resistance. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

“Ken!” you’re yelping out when he finally bottoms out. Your swollen folds meeting his drenched hilt, blond tufts of hair brushing up against your pelvis. Sighing, ”Finally.”

“Finally?” he’s dragging out his words with an already-crooked, pussydrunk grin. Eyes wild - bewildered almost at how well you were taking him. “S-seriously? Did you say ngh- ‘finally’, my girl?” Each word has him tapping more strength behind those thrusts, faster. Harder. Spitting out so contendly, “Finally- hah. Such a slut f’me, hm?”

He’s plunging into you like such an animal right now, so harsh that it was almost difficult to pull back. To dare subject himself to not be buried inside your dripping cunt for even a split-second. 

In response, you lick a long stripe up the sensitive area of his neck, splaying out a hand to squeeze Nanami’s pec - and the rapid heartbeat you felt beneath it. “You’re not- ngh- any better.”

“I know.” Nanami leers, unabashedly kneading at your sore tits now. Fucking you harder and harder into the counter. Connecting his sweaty forehead with yours to look you right in the eyes as he gruffs, “I’ve been thinking about fucking this pretty cunt as soon as you opened that door, y’know.”

You feel his cock twitch wildly at the confession, dragging against your gummy walls with his tip. Hitting - oh-so-expertly - that one sensitive honeypot of nerves. Which makes Nanami’s mouth fall slack with what a treasure you were. 

“Y-you’re such a-” you’re moans are syrupy and slurring together now. Holding onto the larger man for dear life, “such a pervert, Ken.”

Shit, you were squeezing around him so hard that it was almost impossible to pull out. Abs straining to keep up the loud staccato of skin-against-skin, and Nanami’s long, jagged rams inside your wet heaven.

Nanami’s nosing down your pulse, letting his hot tongue loll out to catch the salty drops of your tears, “Mhm, only for hngh- you. Because you’re my girl now, aren’t ya?”

So easy for him to trawl out those addictive moans with each drag of the upwards curve of his fat cock. Thick tip hitting your g-spot, your cervix - as if he was branding his name into your pretty pussy from the inside. Sloppy. 

Leaving a bruising little Kento. With his erratic fingers pinching and rolling your clit at the same feverish tempo of his cock bullying inside your cunt - Kento. With his heavy balls smacking against your ass, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure all the way up to his sensitive slit, rubbing up against your succubus walls - Kento. With the way your heels were now digging into those dimples at the bottom of his spine, sure to leave marks with the way you were pulling him impossibly closer. So needy - Kento.

Only getting sloppier. The only thing in your mind right now - Kento Kento Kento-

So, really, it makes sense when that’s the only thing you’re capable of getting out once you cum. It sneaks up on you at first, and then all at once - and before you know it, you’re cumming so desperately all over Nanami’s relentless cock. 

Over and over.

Your thighs spasming, such a slutty ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth with each wave of pleasure he’s forcing out of you by targeting your ravaged g-spot. Only a few more of those sloppy, mean thrusts left in the man himself before Nanami’s spilling into your greedy cunt. 

Painting your gummy walls white with each painful squeeze of his balls, he’s still thrusting - as if on instinct. Shoving his seed deeper and deeper down your cum-filled hole until he’s sure it’s overfilled. 

By god were you a vision, he’s thinking deliriously. Tears pooling at your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, throat to shoot to do anything but whimper when he keeps going in and out in and out in and-

And if he angled his head just right, he could see the hot globs of cum that take to trickling out from your puffy folds, pooling at a mouthwateringly creamy base around his hilt.

“Ah,” Nanami wastes no time squeezing his index into your already-bulging entrance, pumping the cum slobbering out back in. “Better- hah- better not waste any-” He could barely speak right now, cumming harder than he has in his whole life - in fact, his overworked cock was still shooting out wispy spurts of his seed. Like he couldn’t stop. “-after all, y’haven’t made up for all the overdue rent yet, my love.”

A/N. Concept inspired by this NSFW audio by IchigekiVA that my friend sent me <3

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[screampied]

❝ IF I WAS A RICH GIRL . . ! ❞

ᡴꪫ sum. not only do you get your panties back but you get a handsome, suave sugar daddy as a gift. gojo takes you out on a date but the lavish, exquisite food isn’t what he’s exactly hungry for. hint: it’s between your legs. oh, and you.

wc. 6.6k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), semi public themes, toy usage, gojo is a nasty menace, cunnilıngus, implied multiple ōrgasms, praise kink, mentions of brēeding, impact play, size kink, degradation, edging, manhandling.

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

“s- ssssatoru,” you hiss. clenching onto your fork, you squeeze your thighs together underneath a velvet red table. it was as if every area of your nerves could barely hold themselves together as they’re continuously being interrupted. interrupted by the sheer vibrations juddering your legs apart. he’s sitting beside you, humming to himself as his eyes skim through the pricey menu. acting as if he doesn’t hear your sweet faint whines, he heard them alright. loud and clear. it’s been a while—ever since that day, you’d have been a fool to not call him from the business card he gave you. accepting his precious offer to be a sugar baby. his sugar baby. and now, you were on a date with him. not just any date though, a date where he brings along a cute new bluetooth vibrator he bought for you. it’s happy new home was located right between your pretty thighs. the setting was powered on level four and you were so so close.

this was bad . . this was really really bad, the immense pressure steadily continues to arise. the bzzzing of the toy rings through your ears to where it gets stuck in your head. everything felt slow, real real slow. the entire five-star restaurant alone was quite loud. blaring with a multitude of conversations from talkative fellow guests. the vibrator makes you whine out a tiny, shrilling squeak, and you squeeze onto his pants leg. “you’re smiling. i know you can hear m- me.”

“huhhh, oh no sweet thing. ‘s just my natural face,” and he’s got a coy grin. he was definitely smiling. “let’s try one more level,” and your legs were just about to give out the moment the buzzing intensifies. so embarrassing, you keep trying to look around, in utter hopes that no one was looking your way. it felt so good, orgasmic even. you’re on your last final hinges of pleasure before he tugs against your ripped fishnets. “hold it, girl,” he directs, planting a kiss against your neck. “don’t finish, at least wait until our food comes. let’s try usin' those manners tonight, yeahh?”

“satoru jus’ let me cum,” you whine, grabbing his wrist. you feel against his g-shock. the cold, metal material making your cute fingertips shiver a bit.

out of amusement— he hums, watching as you try to drag his hand down between your heated thighs.

seeing how desperate you were for more of his beloved touch was adorable. your expanding heat only grows and that’s when you then slouch back against the fat padded restaurant booth. the fabric of your panties felt sticky—almost adhesive like with how it sticks against your mess between your lacey undergarments. just voluntarily glued against your plushed thighs. the toy’s been wavering against your pretty clit for about a good ten minutes. the waiter took you and gojo’s order quite a while ago since then—and those long ten minutes since then felt like long ten hours. “fuck, ‘toru. can’t hold it, pleasepleaseplease.”

“hmmmm,” gojo kneads a thumb against your wrist. his touch alone made you throb more. his touch, you just wanted more of it each time. it was addictive, like a drug, like candy even.

you’re so close to your release that it’s right there. at the very tip of your tongue, you could almost taste it. saliva pours into your mouth as the the inevitable pressure gradually emerges.

as people in the restaurant continue to walk by, you have to try to not be so obvious. you were failing miserably though—anyone could peer a look at you and spot the lewd expressions stretched across your face.

by now, you weren’t really trying to hide it. you were about to make a mess at a public restaurant, and maybe the simple thought of that alone made you pulse with no shame. “aw, y’r squeezin’ my wrist so tight, baby. really wanna make a mess, do ya?” and he leans right up against your neck, giving you a soft kiss. hot breath collides against your collarbone as he gives you a kiss, one simple kiss and you’re just so feral. not a single thought embedded into your mind except you were about to make the biggest nest imaginable. right underneath this table— all thanks to the stupid toy, and stupid satoru gojo, your beloved new sugar daddy. you’re nodding, tiny babbles of whimpers spewing out from your lips before he strums his fingertips against the rotating vibrator. gojo feels against the outer part of it sticking out of you, and he just wants to pull it out, making you cum himself with his tongue. he’s dirty but at least he has some kind of decorum. kind of. “so fuckin’ hot. gettin’ off at a five star restaurant like this, was supposed to be a special night but you just had to be a messy girl today, huh.”

“y- yes, ‘toru, please,” and your breathing hitches the second his frigid cold lips make contact against your skin yet again. if it was anything that could make you so weak, it was gojo’s obscene, sloppy kisses. you craved them like you craved air. “hafta cum, let me finish please. wan’ it so bad.”

with a little teasing sigh he murmurs, “okay fine,” and once he gives you the go ahead, you finally let go. the deafening music reverberating throughout the diner harmonizes over your orgasm— it was a tiny squeal but still. it silenced your own release, but you were still quite loud. you’re slump backward, feeling him turn off the toy from his phone with a simple button and he chuckles. “baby you’re so fuckin’ dramatic,” and he drags a thumb against your now soaked entrance. you’re panting, tummy heaving and heaving as your quaking legs were all sprawled open underneath the table. pried open just for him. “such a wet girl. kinda just wanna get a little taste. my own appetizer before the mea—”

“chilled alaskan king crab legs, two complementary cups of ice and herb roasted chicken—?” a waiter cuts off gojo as he’s flirting with you. with a whip of a head turn, he glances up, a bit annoyed at being interrupted. the waiter with the ordered food in hand stares at the two of you, a short petite male with a eye twitching expression. he gulped, seeing the gojo satoru and decided not to question just why his hand was literally between your thighs. “um, sorry for the delay. here you go.”

“thank you,” gojo cheeses a fake smile—yet as he watches intently as the waiter hands you both the steaming hot plates of lavish cuisine. he pops the same finger that was toying with you right into his mouth. you gaze at gojo, so filthy..

again, no shame at all—a shameless man at best. briefly, he sucks against his finger, savoring the after honeyed taste before smirking. it was as if he preferred your taste rather than the food sitting right in front of him. curling his tongue against his finger, he gives the server a coy nod. “keep the change, man.”

the waiter was stunned to see gojo reaching in his suit, grabbing out a whopping tip amount of four hundred dollars in cash—he stammers, accepting it with a grateful sheepish smile. “ah, t- thank you. please do come again.”

as the server leaves, you’re left with your own body still panting from your most recent teeth shattering release. the food was sizzling, piping hot. with hooded, partly open eyes, you dig your nails into his slacks. “you’re s- so nasty, ‘toru,” and picturing the image of him licking his finger like that . . just a few seconds ago as if it was nothing, you’d lie a bit if you said it didn’t turn you on. at least a little bit anyway. he snickers, planting a kiss against your jawline as you struggle to catch your incoming irregular breaths. “my panties are all soaked now.”

“and. let’s be real—when are you not wet, princess,” he teases, grabbing a napkin to wipe the remnants of drool seeping from the outer corners of your mouth.

gojo’s eyes were so pretty, the more you stare into his elegant, ethereal pupils— the more you wanted him. wanted more of him. swallowing, he grabs the front of your hand before kissing it. the moment his lips press against your hand, you feel your tummy swarm up with butterflies. “and don’t pout. ‘m gonna take them right off ya anyways, c’mon. let’s finish eating. got a surprise for ya back at home.”

at gojo’s mansion, secluded from other buildings to disturb his peace—his surprise for you was nothing more than his tongue.

“i need you so bad, you don’t fuckin’ understand,” he groans, and he’s making sure to take his time with you. his sweet precious time,

you’re in the master bedroom— his bedroom where it was known for having your sweet moans reverberating and bouncing off the walls. as you’re laid on your back, you let off a soft whine once he’s trailing his tongue everywhere down your body. he starts slow, making his way back up to kiss you. strands of delicate snowy strands tickle against your forehead as his lips harshly crash onto yours. you moan, sliding your tongue against his and tasting the leftover taste of what tasted like sweet, sweet tequila. he was still in his suit and tie and you wanted nothing more than to have it off. your hands roam to yank on his tie and he gradually grinds his body against you. “yeah, that’s right. ouch my body, girl. all yours.”

he’s speaking between lewd wet kisses. his voice was deep—his rhythm against your body was so passionate that it was almost carnal. you taste a bit of mint on his tongue also, separate tongues continue to dance and fight against each other all the while he’s left you speechless.

breathless even,

every few seconds he’d have to come up for air, nibbling against your bottom lip coltishly. “don’t be shy,” he whispers, watching as you hesitate to feel against his body. he finds that characteristic about you cute, how you were still shy yet slowly warming up to him. “touch me,” he repeats, his voice a bit more raspy— a bit more needy. so you do, raising your hand and you slip it underneath his dress shirt. as the cottony piece of clothing glides against your skin, he’s still compressing his lips against yours before your fingers start to roam further . . .

as they wander down the older man’s body, you feel his exact build. he was absolutely ripped, even in his early thirties—he could have easily been mistaken as a frat boy. it was no surprise, gojo practically spent his life in the gym. his personal gym anyway. you couldn’t help but take a peak at his buff biceps—only imagining what’d it be like for him to put you in a teasing chokehold.

those arms, that jacked build . .

the more you ponder about him manhandling you, the more you’re so close to making yourself more drenched. as everything progresses, you moan again. his sensual grinding against you gets more quicker and quicker over time. his hardened bulging boner rubs off on you and an arm of yours slings around his broad neck. “mhm,” he groans, feeling the soft centers of your fingertips stroke its way down toward his forbidden happy trail.

it trails and trails,

so pretty, just a beloved white trail of curled hair running down just above the horizontal border of the rest of his pubic hair. it starts near his navel and slides its way further down. a vertical strip of hair that you could never get your hands off of. as you’re still kissing him deeply, teeth gnashing amongst each other before gojo ultimately ulls away.

“fuck, ‘m gonna cum jus’ from kissing you,” he lets off a throaty laugh, trying to hide his flustered state. you had him so weak. so weak but he’d never admit that. gojo brings his swollen, dripping lips towards your neck, then your collarbone, all until he goes just a bit lower. “look at this body,” he coos, pausing to take in your beauty right underneath him. “yeah, ‘m gonna take such good care of you, sweets. jus’ lie back ‘n let me love you.”

his words were as smooth as silk— the deep, resonating pitch in it bellows all around the thin walls of his bedroom. the seductively sly baritone of his voice alone makes you pulse. if it was anything gojo had, he had a way with his fucking words. gojo purses his lips, coating your tummy with a plethora of kisses. you struggle to stay still, your expensive dress he bought you a few days ago for this exact occasion now all wrinkled and creases.

but truthfully,

he didn’t care—besides, he’d always buy you another one. his favorite motto. 

as you’re lounged back, he makes you spread your legs. “mwah,” he purrs against your skin, lolling out his tongue just a bit to create a slime wet trail. it goes all the way down until he reaches near your cute navel . . then up to your half ripped panties. they weren’t ripped before the date, but they certainly were now. “you’re so sensitive today. barely did anythin' ‘n you’re squirmin’ from my touch.”

“s- satoru, please,” you whine out a pathetic breath. a hand then grips onto his tangled strands like velcro. tightly, you didn’t let go— at least not yet anyway. his hair was were messy, and that simple detail alone made him ten times more attractive. gojo’s hair as usual was a bit slicked back but still unkempt, especially now due to your gluing grip. fingers of yours massage its way through his scalp and he almost moans. with a pouty expression, you continue to speak. “you’ve been edging me all day. ‘s no fair.”

“thaaaat’s kind of rude,” he chaffs with his white brows contorting into a furrow. “was the toy not enough?” and with a shushed tone, he whistles against your clit— giving it a soft kiss, a thumb peeling down the center. “oh, right.. probably wasn’t, forgot how greedy this pussy is. ‘s my bad.”

your back arches, and you moan once he prods two long fingers inside of you—your warmth envelops around his digits easily before he pulls it out to give it a good three second whiff. “sweet,” gojo slyly says, licking against his fingers. “would have rather ate this instead,” and you moan, watching how his mouth was practically watering from your alluring taste. such a nasty man, the nastiest. gojo leans up to you, tapping against your chin. “ah ah, open that mouth baby, before i eat. don’t wanna hog, wanna make sure ya get a taste too.”

whimpering, you part your lips— sticking out your tongue before his lengthy slender fingers tug its way into your mouth.

immediately, you suck around them, lashes of yours fluttering from your blissful arousal. “m-mhm,” you slip out an inaudible gasp, feeling his free hand grab against your twitching cunt. gojo’s staring at you with the most smug expression before he pulls his digits out, sneaking a wet kiss right on your mouth. as you taste yourself, a messy cobweb string of spit departs from each mouth before he lies you back down. “fuck, hurry ‘toru.”

“now . . baby, don’t rush me,” he teases, and with your back laid against the squishy cushioned mattress, he finally digs in. your knees poke and extend outward and a sweet whine rips out rawly out of your throat. it’s almost guttural, he’s yanking out noises from you that you didn’t even know you could even produce.

once gojo starts— it’s never ending. 

he could eat you out for hours, despite how his jaw would tense and tighten. you’re moaning at the way he starts off with sloppy kisses before just straight up digging in. nose deep within seconds. it swipes against your folds in various circular motions. the rotation of his tongue was brutal— you’re whimpering, maintaining a rough grip against his hair and he chuckles. sucking deeply against your puffy slit. you throb in his mouth, and you’re already squelching. gojo groans, reaching a hand inside of his executive pants to stroke himself off.

your pleasure was his pleasure after all. he wanted to always make that clear.

gojo wasn’t lying about pointing out how hard you made him. a thumb of his runs down the vein that remains on his dick. with his eyes closed, he allows his tongue to wander through every part of your pussy. he knew just where to go. he knew the exact spots to make you scream and whine out for more.

with ease, he locates every orifice— he doesn’t miss anywhere, more so because he can’t afford to. 

gojo loves more than anything to make out with your cunt. his most favorite thing to do was to french kiss against it.

after each obscene mwah after mwah, he even allows his own saliva to help him out— despite how you were already a practical dripping faucet. careless, saturated kisses of his had you throbbing time and time again in his mouth. his head vigorously shakes back and forth, side to side as you’re practically shoving him forward. “eh—easy on the hair, pretty,” he jibes, concisely parting his lips away. gojo stares at his thumb that’s trying to insert its way in. he grows quiet, watching the scene in front of him. within long extended seconds, your pussy’s swallowing the single digit whole and you swear under your breath at how lengthy his fingers were . . even a simple thumb. gojo’s thumb stretched you out so good that you couldn’t even comprehend the feeling in words. not like you could comprehend anything anyway, you were already stupid. all from his tongue, his touch, everything. “god, such a wet girl. the nerve to be walkin’ around this soaked, ‘n she’s quite the talker today too..”

as he’s rambling with a thumb entering in and out of your cunt, he takes a moment to spit on it. it’s shimmery, he blows against it before letting off a flirty whistle. “yeah she fuckin’ is,” he praises your folds. “oooh, bet she’s gonna give me a nice squirt or two later,” and you moan once he brings his chatty lips back towards it. your pool of heat continues to grow before he lays his tongue flat. he was always a man to make a bit of a mess. your heartbeat starts to get so rapid that you heard it’s pulse right through your ears. the firm grip you have on his hair was tight. tangled crumped up fingers combing right through his hair— it makes him a bit hard. the feeling of you dragging him back and forth against his face. you could barely keep your legs open but you didn’t want him to stop. he’s practically slobbering over your pussy before he breaks away, giving you a smug grin. “like when i make out with her more than you?”

“f-fuck, ‘toru,” was all you could mutter out in shaky lips. as he’s relishing his meal between your thighs, gojo spanks your cunt twice. you’re so soaked that a few sloshing droplets hit against his skin. “ngh, you’re teasin’ me. ‘m gonna cum if you k-keep doin’ that.”

sucking passionately against your clit, his tongue flicks against the sensitive nub. that spots has you short circuiting. “nuh uh, good girls cum when they deserve it,” and the tempo of his suckling gets quicker by the mile. you’re about to break, unceremoniously grinding your hips against his mouth so much to where he chortles. as he laughs, hot breath of his fans against your pussy and it only makes you throb ten times more. 

straight convulsions, 

you’re feeling so many sensations languidly twitch against your body all at once that you could barely keep up. everything’s fuzzy so you felt like you were on cloud eight. cloud nine or whatever people call it— honestly, your mind was far too fried to even figure it out. gojo grunts, snapping you back to reality with a soft swat against your folds. “be honest with me, sweets,” gojo slicks his tongue out of your clingy walls, peppering a playful kiss against your soddened, moist folds. “do ya deserve to cum? do ya deserve to be my messy baby? tell me the truth.”

with a cute, exasperated sigh, you sob out a needy cry. “y- yesss, i’ve been good, ‘toru. been good all day,” and his sucking against your clit grows within speed. the very cartilage of his nose against his nose prods against your entrance and you feel like you’re floating. the tip of his nose was all soaked, all because of your cunt continuously scooting up against it. as he’s propped right up between your legs, a hand of his squeezes down on your right thigh before giving it a little bite. your legs, one of his favorite things to gently press his teeth into. as well as your neck, but your legs—they were just a force to be reckoned with. you were a force to be reckoned with. “satoruuuu.”

“sweetheaaaaart,” he mocks your cute dragging of your words, slurping every lewd amount of your primal arousal. you’re so cute, barely bring able to stay still so much to where he’s got to hold you in place. “but you were bein’ a bit of a brat earlier,” he hoarsely utters, rubbing his hard on against the edge of the bed. “teasin’ me, even tried ‘ta stroke me off while we were in the diner,” and with coy eyes, he gives you a cunning smirk. as you pout, he simpers. “aww yeahhh, remember that dontcha?”

continuing to rut your sloppy cunt against his face, he playfully nibbles against your clit — you whine, biting down on your lip before spreading a plump thumb against your folds like jelly.

“dunno if she should be messy just yet,” and he’s such a tease. as he speaks, his eyes avert towards your pussy, clearly wanting you to understand he was talking to her and not you. at least not right now. you could hear the playfulness underneath his tone. your heart’s racing— it’s so intense, your legs were quavering within his hold. struggling to maintain decent breaths, you end up finishing anyway. it hits you so abruptly that it’s rude, all kinds of nerves surge through you and your mouth pries itself open. the only thing escaping out of your sweet dry throat was a desperate, wailing whimper. gojo pauses, bringing a final kiss against your pussy before smearing a thumb against his lips. “the fuck.”

“s- sorry,” you pant, but truth be told—you weren’t. in fact, if he squinted just enough, he could see the little smile trying to stretch itself against your guilty, sheeny lips. you’d only last a few minutes with his tongue, featuring his long fingers, but still. 

first and foremost, your powerful orgasm had you feral, a cooling air suddenly sets down against your skin as your legs tremble before your pussy gets slapped with a mean smack. one turns into two, then three, then four . . 

“f- fuuuck, ‘toru,” you gasp, hearing the wet swats against your cunt. you’re still sensitive, your swollen folds all dampened with nothing but your slick, soaking arousal. so wet, so sloppily wet and only wet just for him.

“we talked ‘bout this, sweets,” gojo grumbles, giving your folds an almost disappointed kiss. “but ‘s like ya never listen, guess y’r pussy needs more training,” and as you’re trying to collect as much gasps of air as you can through your full lungs, he squeezes your cunt with his entire wrist. unzipping his slacks, he leans into you before pulling you into a kiss. the entire spacey room was dim lit, velvety shaded rose petals scattered everywhere onto the crinkled sheets. gojo knew how to set the mood. as he shoves a tongue down your throat, still getting a good grip of your cunt with his palm, he then makes you flop right onto your back. “mch,” he hastily pulls away, a tongue savoring your sweetened lip gloss that smothers itself against your twitching mouth. “can’t look at ya right now. face that way, yeah. face down ‘n ass up. jus’ like i taught ya, pretty.”

with unsteady hands sinking into the bed, you do as he says. a soft whine ferociously snatches out of you once a big hand of his caresses your left ass cheek. his touch, you were always so weak for it. ever since you first met the man, your first encounter which was about approximately almost two weeks ago. you started to get deeply attached, well, at least your body was . . 

as you arch forward, you feel a soft scratchy material plop against your back. gojo doesn’t waste time, tugging down his own brand of boxers with his last name stripped in bold letters near the stretchy hem. grunting, he springs his aroused dick out, aligning himself against your achy, drooling entrance. the feeling of material was just gojo throwing a few wads of cash near your back. “bratty but gorgeous,” he scoffs, feeling you wriggle your ass against him. oh, you were gonna be the death of him. the fifty dollar bills trail and slide down your spine— the view of it was so sexy, he wanted to savor this moment. you’re his favorite girl, he already knew it. a hand of his grips near your hip. “needy ‘lil thing. just gotta move that ass against me,” and as he’s speaking, he gifts your ass with another impolite spank. “ugh, pussy’s to die for.”

“s- satoru, fuck me,” your plea came out of your mouth in such a small tone. it was cute, your knees that dug into the mattress remain to grow shaky and wobbly before nearly giving out. the size difference amused him.

the delicious size of his fat cock was pure bliss. you don’t think you could ever get used to it. every time with him always felt like the first. with two clingy big hands glued to your waist, he’s easing his way in slowly. his fat tip ploddingly opens up the outer sloppy walls of your entrance and you’re so slick for him that you’re already coating gojo from the very base down. growing a bit frustrated that it seems like he’s taking forever, you creep a hand down between your thighs to touch yourself but he only spanks your wrist away.

“girl—please, let’s not touch my pussy today,” he warns slyly, catching your hand with quick reflexes.

you moan, feeling his girth expand throughout your walls. he’s just so fucking big, your mouth stretches itself open and a tiny squeak escapes. “so wet, mhm, listen to how sloppy you get for me,” and you end up falling face forward into the bed. with your ass still up in the air, he’s easily emitting such filthy moans from your throat. your pussy doesn’t take long to constrict around his hefty length. gojo always fits nice and snug inside, you wholeheartedly take him inside, drooling from how your cunt grips around him in such a secure way. just one thrust, a single thrust from gojo and you were already limp. “thereee we go, take it, pretty.”

“i-i’m gonna cum,” you whine, speaking in an almost breathy way. fat callused fingertips of his run down your spine, sending you various shivers before he spanks your bass again. the dollar bills that lay against your back start to fall right off of you from the quick paced movements. “s- sirrrr,” and with another smack, he corrects your sweet tone so you can rephrase and address him the right way. “i— i mean satoru, fuck you’re s’big. ‘m gonna cum again.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic sweetheart,” he purrs in a rich tone, feeling you already start to gape around him. your pussy flutters from his thick entrance, and once he starts up a pace you’re frantic for more. a hand of his wraps around the back of your throat like a necklace before the ruthless drilling eventually starts. the sticking cacophonous pap pap paps against each jerking limb paps was so loud. skin against skin, body against body, you felt your jaw tighten. he’s so precise and rigorous with his sharp hips that it gives you whiplash. you’re never prepared—even if you try to be. gojo knows how to hit every part of your cunt in such a way to make you squeal out in pleasure, in ecstasy. he’s got an upward curve that wanders all inside of your caved love areas. just a few thrusts and you were already salivating. “mhm,” he huffs, hearing the stickiness your cunt sings against his base. already, it’s a wet trail coating around his dick with each time he pulls out before back in. “don’t get lazy on me, pretty. i need to see a better arch. even i can do better than that.”

with a pout at his maddening cockiness, he spanks you again. you arch your back forward a bit more and he coos, “good fuckin’ girl,” and he grabs a nice chunk of your ass. burying your head into the crook of your elbow, it takes him barely any time at all to locate your forbidden g-spot.

once he hits it exactly, the sound that escapes from your lips was adorable—it was a little shriek, it sounded so beatific and harmonious it was as if he was listening to a song. a song he never wanted to end, your sweet voice. “goddamn,” he groans, feeling your ass thwack its way back against him in salacious rapture. oh, but despite that all, he knows you’re nothing but a tease. especially with your movements against him, happily moving your hips in sync with his. you’re fucking back against him and it makes him kiss his teeth. “maybe this ‘s what ya needed all along, wanted ‘ta spoil you today but all you wanted was dick, ‘s that right, sweet thing?”

“n- no,” you lie through your teeth, your own voice muffled with how you’re speaking inside of your elbow. your voice was shaky, trembling on every dragging syllable before the bed starts to get rickety. it creates sound with you both— making its own types of lewd harmonies. gojo’s weight pressing against you makes you throb, you were feeling all kinds of pleasure at once. whimpering once more at how he’s stuffing you full of thickset inches, you try to reach down to touch yourself. 

“don’t play with me,” he catches your wrist again, an almost snicker departing from his lips.

damn, so close.

holding onto your wrist, he notices you squeeze his hand, rubbing a thumb against his fingers. “aw, does the baby wanna hold my hand?” and as you struggle to nod, he gently pins your arm back.“you’re somethin’ e-else.”

his words start to cut off a bit as he’s keeping up a decent tempo—the frame of the king sized bed starts to get jittery. all from the weight and his sloppy hips rigorously pounding into you. the bed’s creaking, it’s almost deafening with how it screeches aloud from the massing pounds of hefty pressure crushing against it. “d-don’t stop, please,” and he’s just fucking you into his pillow. even the satiny rich sheets of his pillows smell like him. his signature musky scent of his gojo satoru cologne.

. . speaking of,

his pillows even have his last name bedazzled on them. literal cursive letters of ‘gojo’ written in blue. if you weren’t so fucked out, you’d roll your eyes. he’s so deep, a hand of his explores the entire curvature of your hips. your curves were one of his favorite parts of your body, he could touch you all day long if he really wanted. the loving warmth that body provided him had him wanting more—yearning for more, more of you. gojo always relishes in how you respond to just a few of his fingers of his dancing against your skin. you were so sensitive and it was a real sight to witness. one of his favorite sights. “fuck, ‘toru. right there, riiight there, fuck.”

as his hips become more sharper, he hits against that same spot that causes a short circuit in your brain. you’re gasping—holding your breath before whining, he’s so thorough. hands of yours slide underneath your barely unclamped bra, fondling against your jerking tits. “good girl, play with y’r nipples for me like that,” and he swats another discourteous spank against your ass. this time it’s harder, it stings for a second and you whimper out from the sudden contact. after he spanks it, he always caresses it, rubbing the soft palm of his hand to make the sudden sting subside. “y’r so fuckin’ hot, pussy’s gonna make me fall for y—”

and he stops his words right at that last bit. your heart flutters— or maybe that was just your pussy, but you were no idiot. you knew what he was gonna say. or maybe you were delusional and misheard what he was saying. 

gojo satoru was a filthy man, he steals out orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s nothing. he was a little older, which meant that he was a bit more experienced.

quite a lot more than you by a long shot, he made you feel ways in where other men never could. couldn’t even come close. maybe that’s why you were so attracted, why you wanted more . . 

a well known businessman, but downright nasty in the sheets. he couldn’t help it, nor did he even really care. gojo had you wrapped around his rich finger, just like how you had him wrapped around yours. 

with him,

the passionate intimacy lasts for many many hours. timeless, numerous until your legs were sore, until you’re just being a cum dump for him. you’re pumped full until it’s leaking out of your cunt. so stuffed, with your panties still lazily pulled to the size, some remnants of his cum coats against it. he’s lost count of how many rounds it was— maybe four, five, or was it eight. 

all you knew was that your legs had been gave out. you were now flat on your back and he’s fucking you in missionary.

beloved, iconic missionary,

the perfect position to stare you right into your eyes. he grows a liking to grab your chin right when you’re about to cum, peeling your bottom lip down, only to then shove a tongue down your throat. speaking between breathy sentences, he groans—rocking his fit body against yours. “kiss me, baby, suck my tongue,” and as he’s swaying back and forth, washboard abs poking through his shirt, your legs lock around his slim waist. a hand of yours slides its way through his dress shirt and tux, feeling against his faint chest hair and washboard abs before you part your lips. you only then start to gradually suck against the tip of his tongue. his heart beats speedily, synchronizing with yours entirely. he’s dizzy, the static that your body produces against him makes his head throw back as he pulls away. glancing up at the ceiling, still presenting your cunt deep solid strokes—he knew you were gonna be a problem. 

his prettiest problem,

perhaps he wasn’t starting to think of you as just his sugar baby, maybe even something more . . but he buried that thought into the very back of his mind. all he really cared about was your pleasure. 

pulling away for a moment, still buried into your sopping wet cunt, he grips your chin. whispering in a weary tone, smiling at you, he sighs. “. . tell me,” and he gifts your wet lips a chaste kiss. “you wanna finish with me, pretty?”

“p- please,” you moan, your legs tightly locking around his waist, never letting go. everything was a mess— the entire room had a balmy aroma of love and passion. the both of you were sweating, beads of sweat coating each body. more so gojo, this was a mere work out for him. although, he was actually used to using his body on a daily, so physical activity never bothered him in the slightest. your stomach continues to seize from his fat length and he inches his mouth toward your neck again. his lips were so soft, gently sucking against your tender skin throughout each intimate moment.

viscous amounts of cum race down your thighs as if it’s some kind of lewd competition. as it’s slowly trickling down between your legs slowly, a hand of his slithers down your shaky limbs to feel it. to make sure it doesn’t go to waste, to make sure it doesn’t spill.

gojo satoru’s cum was priceless—quite literally probably. plugging it back in before you whine. “wanna cum with you, ‘toru.”

“can never say no to you, baby,” he hums, bringing another kiss to your lips. despite his raspy worn out tone—he’s still so gentle with your body in his hands. gojo’s zealous hips slow down a bit before his lips capture against yours again. a hand swiftly wraps around your throat, briskly oscillating back against your body before another hand grabs the headboard. you glance up, spitting the veins poke out through his sleeves that were peeling down. he’s giving you slow, sensual thrusts. “fuuuck . . me,” and his words were delayed by a few seconds. he’s mercilessly grinding against your heat so good to where it becomes sloppy. he’s so close again—he knows that feeling all too well. you didn’t know what to focus on. gojo’s length, the girth that keeps your walls sweetly captive, or his voice but it was all so appetizing. so . . flavorsome.

he couldn’t help but slow down his hips a bit. with a single hand, he reaches down to pull his leaky dick out right before he came. he shot into you already—dozens of times actually, but he felt like being a tease again.

“ugh,” he groans, feeling his base swollen itself up. as you finish on your own, your body transmitting into a shockwave of a wave of rapturing rhapsody he mimics you before a stringy amount of ropes splat right onto your folds. it’s so much, so viscous and goopy that paints the entrance of your cunt to where it’s as if your pussy was a mere canvas for him. “look at thaaaat,” and as he licks his lips, you’re shaking right underneath him. gojo leans in to kiss you and that’s when the bed suddenly jitters. it’s rumbling but he ignores it— bringing you into the nth kiss for the night. “atta girl.” he whispers between kisses.

as you’re leaning into his touch, your anklet erotically rubs down the muscles of his back in such a sensual way. with tongues tangling together in corresponding harmony, the expensive wood on the headboard suddenly breaks. it’s a ear-splitting noise, an almost creak. noticing the noise, you break away from his lips before sheepishly muttering. 

“did the bed just . . break?”

“perhaps,” gojo whispers, but he was totally unfazed. you had him pussy whipped, he didn’t even look tired.

pretty cerulean irises gaze into your all—so pretty that it almost could be mistaken for a solid pigment of green. a jade loving kind of green that you only see in jewels. his intense, needy stare longs into you for a few more seconds before he makes you flip over. you gasp, still feeling his cum ooze out of you from the inside. it was so feverishly warm, sweltering hot with bulks of his sticky seed. all that and you just wanted more, you didn’t care how greedy or needy you came across.

snickering, gojo picks up the money that’s scattered everywhere on the bed only to put them right back on your back where it belongs—

he then sticks a single fifty dollar bill between your lazily stuck-to-the-side panties before letting off a dry laugh.

“let’s not worry about that though. let’s worry ‘bout how ‘m gonna try ‘ta get you pregnant, tonight sweetheart. nowww, let’s practice that arch again one more time, my love. bend over just for me, yeah. atta fuckin’ girl.”

[arminsumi]

Ahhh, student!Satoru, who's leaning into the palm of his hand, mouth concealed behind his pale hand, eyes stuck on you. And they've been stuck on you ever since he saw you first walk up the steps into Jujutsu Tech. Bright blue. Heart quivering. Fixed gaze.

He takes any excuse to be near you, even though he knows that you're annoyed by him — he's so cocky and full of himself. But don't you see that he's also just a lovesick boy? Look at the way he follows after you down the halls, long striding legs effortlessly meeting your quick pace.

You're just trying to get a cold soda from the vending machine after a long two hours of practicing martial arts with Satoru, Suguru and Shoko. And since Shoko promptly left with Suguru for a cigarette break, that left an overjoyed Satoru alone with you.

"Which flavor do you usually get?" he asks, grasping at any conversation starter he can think of. He just wants to talk to you, even if it's about something so dumb... even if it's while stood next to a vending machine.

"Uh, strawberry... it's my favorite."

He takes a mental note of that.

He's always trying to get your attention, even if he has to become a fool in order to earn a glance from you. Walking away, looking dumb, even his best friend shakes his head at him and tells him that he's way too downbad for a girl that doesn't even like him back.

But Satoru doesn't listen to anyone when they say that you don't like him back. He knows the chemistry is there, as awkward as it may be sometimes. He knows there's something connecting him and you, like an invisible thread.

He still brings you gifts on V-day. He still pesters you in class. He still shares one earbud with you on train rides. He still gets that accelerated heart beat when you so much as graze your hand over his while walking side-by-side.

So eagerly looking at your lips, Satoru pulls out lip balm and makes eye contact with you while applying it. He's always got chapped lips, he knows because someone made exactly 1 comment about it and now he's never forgotten to put a lip balm in his pocket.

"Whatchya starin' at my lips for? You wanna have a taste of strawberry?" he winks, puckering his kissable lips at you.

"Ough..." you cringe at him, "Satoru, it's no wonder you're single."

Okay, he has zero flirting skills. But he earns a smile out of you right then, so even if he's cringe, he's surely doing something right. Are the cogs turning in your head? Do you think he's cute? Do you want to kiss him should he lean into a kiss oh he's leaning into a kiss now aaand he nearly falls flat on his face, because you didn't notice that he was leaning in for a kiss and now he just has to play it off and look like a dumbass once again.

His feelings grow exponentially as the years pass.

You're always catching him staring and he doesn't even feel ashamed.

Though it's been on his mind all the time, it's not until after three years of knowing you that Satoru kisses you.

It happens one day during heavy rainfall. He runs to you with a grin, no umbrella, totally soaked, and like a bright-eyed bunny he bounces at your side.

He's unzipping his uniform jacket, hanging it over the two of you. The proximity has his heart thumping. Before he knows it, he's leaning down to kiss you, right there as the two of you are concealed from the world in your own little bubble — in reality, everyone knows that you two are liplocking under Satoru's jacket. Duh. His shoes click on the ground as he repositions himself, bending his knees and arching down to meet your lips, 'till his spine gets angry at him for falling for a short girl.

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[chastiefoul]

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

[tender-rosiey]

sake and sass — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: was imagining drunk sukuna so now he is here and we have made him drink enough for three elephants so yes he is drunk drunk and you kinda take advantage of that to boss him around cuz why not

sukuna rarely drinks. not because he dislikes it, but because it takes an absurd amount of alcohol to even faze him. tonight, though? tonight, he’s hit that threshold.

the room reeks of sake, and sukuna’s massive frame is sprawled across the cushions like a spoiled tyrant—robe disheveled, crimson eyes slightly hazy.

the usually indomitable king of curses looks dangerously close to tipping over.

“you’re drunk,” you state bluntly, arms crossed as you observe the man you call your husband.

he scoffs, waving a sake bottle with an air of arrogance that doesn’t quite land. “nonsense. I don’t get drunk.”

“you don’t?” you reply, deadpan. “so why are you swaying like a tree in a storm?”

he sits up straighter—or tries to, at least.

one of his four hands gestures vaguely in your direction, the movement wobbly but pointed. “watch your tongue, woman. you’ve grown far too bold for your own good.”

you sigh, stepping closer despite his poorly disguised glare. “sukuna, you’re making a fool of yourself. just lie down before you hurt yourself.”

“hurt myself?”

he lets out a bark of laughter, though it’s slurred at the edges. “the great sukuna doesn’t—” he pauses, narrowing his eyes in a glare. “wait, did you just call me a fool?”

“I did,” you reply matter-of-factly, reaching for the bottle in his hand. “and you’re proving me right by the second.”

he jerks the bottle away, a scowl pulling at his lips. “touch it, and I’ll crush your fingers.”

“like you could even aim right now,” you retort, snatching the bottle before he can react.

his eyes narrow dangerously, but instead of retaliating, he slumps back against the wall, arms crossing over his broad chest. “you’re insufferable,” he mutters.

“and you’re impossible,” you counter, setting the bottle far out of his reach.

his gaze follows you as you move, sharp despite the alcohol dulling his senses.

“you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he growls. “always strutting around. that smug little grin of yours—I’d rip it off if it didn’t…” he trails off.

“if it didn’t what?” you prompt, leaning closer with an amused grin.

his brows knit together, and he glares at you like it’s your fault the words are spilling out.

“none of your damn business,” he snaps, voice low and heated. “always grinning, always back-talking. you’re insufferable. insolent. infuriating.”

“and yet here you are, married to me,” you quip, unable to resist teasing him.

“because no one else could survive you,” he bites back.

you blink, momentarily caught off guard. “is that your way of saying you like me?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” he grumbles, his ears turning an unmistakable shade of pink which you honestly can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or just the alcohol.

you laugh softly, crouching beside him with a damp cloth. “you’re a real romantic, sukuna.”

“shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t pull away when you press the cloth to his face, wiping away the traces of spilled sake.

you’re careful not to press too hard as you wipe his face, trying to clean up the mess he’s made of himself without provoking his drunken temper.

but it seems sukuna has no plans of cooperating tonight.

as soon as you pull the cloth away, one of his hands shoots out to grab your wrist. his crimson eyes, though hazy, are filled with devilishness.

“enough with the fussing,” he growls, tugging you closer. “you’ve done your part. now, take that robe off.”

you blink at him, utterly unimpressed. “oh, absolutely not.”

“you dare to deny me?” he snaps, his voice dipping into something far too commanding for a man who can barely sit upright.

“I dare,” you reply, pulling your wrist free. “now sit still, or I’ll tie you down.”

he glares at you, two of his hands fumbling to tug at the collar of your robe. “you wretched, stubborn woman,” he snarls, his movements clumsy.

“always thinking you’re above the rest—thinking you can deny me. I could level cities, but you think you can boss me around?”

“I don’t think; I know,” you reply flatly, dodging his clumsy attempts to grab at your robe. “now, go to bed.”

“bed?” he scoffs, attempting to rise to his full height, only to stumble back onto the cushions.

“I don’t need a bed. I need my wife, right here, shutting that sharp little mouth for once.”

“you need water and sleep,” you deadpan, retrieving a fresh cup of water from the tray nearby. you thrust it into his hand, ignoring the glare he shoots your way. “drink.”

he sniffs the cup like a suspicious child, frowning. “this isn’t sake.”

“brilliant observation,” you reply dryly. “drink it anyway.”

his crimson gaze narrows on you, clearly debating whether defiance is worth the effort.

with a low growl, he downs the water in one gulp before tossing the cup aside dramatically. “there. satisfied?” he mutters.

“not even remotely,” you reply, grabbing his arm and pulling. “up. you’re going to bed.”

to your surprise, he lets you tug him halfway to his feet before deciding he’s had enough of listening.

one of his lower arms snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. his breath is warm against your neck, and his grin is downright wicked.

“you’re always like this,” he mutters, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “impossible. insolent. arrogant. bossing everyone around.”

“someone has to, considering how you’re acting right now,” you reply, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“and smug,” he growls, his voice dipping into something darker.

“always grinning at me like you’ve bested me somehow. do you think you’re clever, woman? that you’re better than me?”

“right now? yes,” you reply, yanking the hem of his robe to cover more of his chest.

he catches your wrist again, his grip firm but not painful.

“you’re not better than me,” he hisses, though his voice is softer now, almost petulant. “you’re just...impossible. and clever. and—damn it—too damned beautiful for your own good.”

you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard by the unexpected admission.

“don’t look at me like that,” he snaps, his glare returning in full force. “your face is annoying enough without adding that stupid look to it. it’s maddening.”

“noted,” you say with a small smile, gently prying his hand off your wrist. “now lie down before you embarrass yourself further.”

he doesn’t move, his gaze locking onto yours.

“you’re unbearable,” he declares, voice rising in irritation. “always acting like you’re untouchable. damned arrogance and a damned grin.”

“mmhm,” you reply nonchalantly, guiding him to lie down. “and yet you keep me around.”

“because I have no choice,” he retorts right away, though there’s no heat behind the words.

“you’re mine. mine to deal with. mine to hate. mine to…” he grits his teeth, his gaze averting. “mine to keep, damn it.”

you blink.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” he adds quickly, his voice sharper now.

“I’m not saying I enjoy your insufferable company. but I’d rip apart anyone who thought they could take you from me.”

“sweet dreams to you, too,” you reply, tucking the covers around him as he finally starts to drift off.

“insolent woman,” he mutters one last time before his breathing evens out, the alcohol finally pulling him under.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will make you drink pure ginger

check out my buy me a coffee!

[confettiibunny]

ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ!ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ʜᴄs ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

Nanami editors on TikTok are cooking a little too hard and now they got me all soppy about him ☹️

🎀 Husband!Nanami who’s manages to quell every single one of your outbursts without letting the situation scale into an argument. His way of approaching any relationship issues is just so inexplicably healthy, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Whether you’re panicking, lashing out, or even crying he is present. Anything you have to say tumbles out of your mouth and when you’re done, his arms do all the talking as he tugs you close, rocking you back and forth in a soothing motion. All your emotions fizz away and you’re left a mushy mess in his arms, sniffling and nodding your head as he finally starts to talk you into calming down.

🌼 Husband!Nanami who is a big believer in spoiling you. Your hair is always glossy, your skin seems to glow from within, and your nails and clothes are nothing short but impeccable. But he also believes in spoiling you rotten with love. He has to hold you when it’s just you two alone, sitting you in his lap as his hands keep a reassuring grasp on your hips. And as you cling your arms around his neck and press your nose against his pulse, the world is quiet and peaceful and you feel like you’re falling in love all over again.

🎀 Husband!Nanami who is a sucker for feeling you scratch his back. It sounds a little strange but after a stressful day of work, all he wants is to strip down and flop onto the bed, knowing that you’ll always appear and give him what he wants. You insist on doing this anyways, settling your body on his lower back and raking your freshly manicured nails down his back to elicit rewarding little sounds from him. Low groans, gentle sighs, and cooes of “love you, baby” leave his lips and make their way to your ears, making you feel all fuzzy inside.

🌼 Husband!Nanami who lets you do makeup on him during his days off. Perched in his lap with him back against the headboard, you carefully curl his lashes before applying an even coat of mascara to his stubborn lashes. It’s not much makeup but it honestly suits him well; a cushion foundation, some concealer for his under eyes, and cheek and lip tint, and mascara. The fact your husband was so comfortable within his own skin and masculinity that you could doll him up so cutely made you giggle like a fool. And once you finish the everyday look, he’s so quick to ask about all the products and techniques you used with genuine care for what you have to say.

🎀 Husband!Nanami who slowly but surely becomes a biter. It all started when you tried to bite his cheeks while cuddling, only to pout when you nearly hit into his cheekbones. Of course he had to return to favor and nibbled on the squish of your cheeks, making you burst into laughter and squeals. From then on he’s expanded, leaving purplish love bites upon your chest and when you’re both feeling a little cheeky, on your collarbone and neck as well. It makes him flush with a little shame when he thinks about it, but the silent display of possessive affection never fails to leave him grinning like a child when he’s alone.

🌼 Husband!Nanami who has a photo of you everywhere and makes it known to anyone asking that yes, that lovely lady is his wife. His lock screen is a snapshot of your hands after a spa nail, pretty pink nails and a golden band that is your wedding ring. There's a small pic of you in his wallet from the times you were just starting to date, caught in a frenzied laughter after being told a joke. Ooh, and if anyone asks who you are after seeing such photos of you, he’ll say with all his chest “that’s my wife in these photos. I love her very much,” all while having a rare smile in public on his face.

🎀 Husband!Nanami who loves you like there’s no tomorrow. Who holds your hand everywhere outside and watches over you with critical eyes, glaring at anyone who even remotely gives you a strange look. He’s a man that drags out every kiss, a hand on your neck as he gently groans into your mouth. Who hugs you so tightly you feel like you’re about to burst at the seams, thick and burly forearms encircling your waist as you snuggle against his chest. This is where you belong, the both of you: nestled in each other in a heart-to-heart embrace.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I really loved your career day fic and I was wondering if you could do a Shut up mom fic with the same lineup with nanami tho if you write for him🥺 👉👈

Shut up, Mom!

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, mostly crack, cursing, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: I would be delighted to write this anon :) my requests are open, loves. If you want me to write a specific idea, definitely ask and I’ll try to deliver on it! also, if anyone wants to be on a taglist please let me know. So, I gave Sukuna a kid in this one because I didn’t really see Yuji calling you mom or him dad. Yuji calls you two unc and auntie :)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

“Aoi, did you take out the trash?” You ask your nine-year-old son while trying not to giggle. Aoi has recently discovered pranks, and he suggested playing one on Satoru. You couldn’t help but think that was an amazing idea.

Your husband was leisurely sitting on the couch, playing a game on the console he and your son shared. He was able to see you from his peripheral vision while you and Aoi were in the dining room. He didn’t seem to be too intrigued by the conversation, but Satoru is a chronic eavesdropper. He can’t help it with his technique and all.

“No, mom. Why can’t you do it?” Aoi plays his role perfectly, even throwing in an annoyed groan at you. Gojo cut his eyes towards you two, but he stayed silent for a moment. He knew this was your battle to face, and he wasn’t usually the disciplinary parent anyways.

“Because I told you to do it, Aoi. It’s your chore.” You say, putting on a serious voice as you would if he had really been sassing off to you.

“Ugh. Shut up, mom!” Aoi yells with a dramatic eye roll.

Immediately, you hear the game console cut off. It seems like you two had garnered Satoru’s attention. Footsteps carry into the dining room, and your all too tall husband leans against the doorframe.

Aoi sees his father, and his eyes widen. Your little actor. He then tries to walk off, but Satoru easily put his hand out against Aoi’s chest, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Woah, woah, woah, there little man. Who do you think you’re talking to there?” He interjects as his hands slowly unwrap his bindings from around his eyes, letting you know that he’s about to get serious.

“She’s getting on my nerves, dad!” Aoi continues to play the role, even though you can tell that he’s scared shitless.

“Hey, look at me.” Satoru says as he bends his knees to be eye level with Aoi. Your son complies with his dad’s order. “I don’t give a shit, okay? Never, and I mean, never tell your mother to shut up unless you intend on fighting me afterwards. She says to take out the trash, you say yes and take out the trash. Do you understand me?” Satoru says as he holds his son’s shoulders, squeezing them a bit so Aoi knows he’s not fooling around.

“Because I don’t think you want to fight me, do you?” Satoru questions. His blue eyes beam in the light, making your son nervously sweat.

“Baby, it’s just a prank.” You quickly interject with a laugh as you gently nudge your husband away from your son.

“Yeah dad, I was just acting!!” Aoi’s nervous gaze flutters into an adorable smile.

Satoru rolls his eyes and playfully laughs along. “You two are too silly, makin’ me turn off my game for this.” He shakes his head as he wraps his eyes back up.

“You were like gonna hollow purple me!” Aoi shouts with an excited laugh, and he reenacts Satoru’s cursed technique.

“Yeah, I love your mom a little too much.” Satoru responds with a grin up towards your direction.

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako are coming into their teen years, and recently, they’ve been obsessed with the idea of TikTok. After seeing the “shut up mom” prank all over, they knew that they had to play it on Suguru.

You, of course, agreed to help them pull off their little shenanigan.

“You two are not going out. It’s a school night.” You chide at the twin girls, giving them a small wink as Suguru was enjoying a cup of tea while sitting at the breakfast bar. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, reading the news or something like that.

“Mom, please. Everyone’s going.” Nanako pled and even threw in a small pout.

“Yeah, who cares if it’s a school night?” Mimiko chimed in.

“Girls.” Suguru warned as he normally did when you were having to deal with the twins. He didn’t like the idea of the girls ganging up on you.

“I said no. I bet you two didn’t even do your homework yet either.” You carry on, eyeing the two girls as if they were really in trouble.

“Ugh! Mom, shut up!” The girls somehow managed to say in sync. The two had obviously practiced their lines.

The tea glass hit the counter, and Suguru a stood up from his seat on the stool. “Hey. I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language in this house, especially not to your mother. Got that?” He said as he eyed your daughters.

Your husband was a bit of a strict father to the girls. He really just wanted them to turn out good, so he was the main disciplinary figure in the house.

“Dad! She’s-“

“Aht.” He cuts Mimiko off, and starts to walk up to the girls. “I didn’t ask. Apologize to your mother this instant. Then, go upstairs and do your homework. You two are grounded from going out for at least a month.”

“Sugu, it’s a prank.” You say as you can’t hold back a laugh from how angry he got that quickly. “It’s a prank, sweetie.”

Your two girls were nodding quickly, holding their hands out in surrender. “We saw it on TikTok!”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the three of you. “That app is no good for you.” He quietly chides. “Did you two do your homework?”

Mimiko and Nanako exchange nervous glances, and they both run up to their rooms to get it done.

Your husband laughs quietly and shakes his head before sitting back down on his stool. You walk over towards him and card your fingers through his long hair. He lets out a long exhale of contentment while leaning his head into your touch. “What are we gonna do with those two, hm?”

“Love them and try our best to teach them.” You softly respond before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

TOJI

Toji is a pretty laid back dad. He lets you take the lead on a lot of the parenting aspects, since it comes to you more naturally than it does with him. However.. he has his moments.

“Megumi, come help me do the dishes.” You say to your 13-year-old son. He’s in that weird stage of puberty where you’re his best friend one day and his worst enemy the next, which means he sometimes agreed to play pranks with you.

“Busy, mom.” He mumbles at the table as he’s trying to learn the hand signs for one of his shikigami. He was left learning this stuff on his own since Toji wasn’t a sorcerer, and you weren’t apart of the Zenin clan. You had no idea how to do the hand gestures.

“You can do that after you’re done helping me, Gumi.” You say as you turn on the kitchen sink. Your son doesn’t even acknowledge that you said anything.

Toji eyes him from his seat at the dining table, waiting for his son to comply.

“Gumi. Get in here.” You finally say after a minute of him not responding to you.

“Shut up, Mom!” He raises his voice at you, and immediately, Toji is on him quicker than you could respond.

“What did you just say to your mother, brat?” Toji grits as he stares down at his teenage son. Megumi looked back up at him mortified. “I brought you in this world, and I will take your ass out of it if I hear you speak to your mom like that again.”

“Baby, baby, baby, it’s a prank!” You say as you rush over to Toji. Megumi cracks a nervous smile, and you gently nudge Toji back.

“It’s a prank!” Megumi shouts as he leans back away from Toji slightly.

Your husband lets out an annoyed grunt. “You two play too much. Gonna make me kill my own son.” He says as he releases Megumi’s shoulder. He walks back over to his seat at the dining table and smacks your ass on the way back.

SUKUNA

“Ryu, come take out the trash!” You yell to your son. He recently brought up the idea of pranking Sukuna by yelling at you to shut up in front of him. You had urged your son that this was a bad idea, but he was persistent.

Sukuna was sat at the dining table, eating whatever Uraume had prepared for him. Usually, Uraume handled the trash as well, but you distinctly told them to leave it.

There’s no response.

“Ryu! Trash now!” You call out again in a more frustrated tone.

Sukuna is biting his tongue at this point. There is nothing that he hates more than insolence, especially towards you. You’re his queen, and he demands for all to respect you, including his son.

No response.

“Ryu!”

“Okay mom! Shut the fuck up!”

All four of Sukuna’s eyes widened, and he put down his fork. “Domain expansion. Malevolent-“

“It’s a prank!” You shout as you spin to look at Sukuna quickly. Your son is standing behind you, quite literally trembling in fear.

“Yeah- it’s a p-prank, dad.” Ryu stutters out.

Sukuna narrows his gaze, and he looks between the two of you. “Foolish.” He grunts. “Boy, come have a seat.” He commands, and your son reluctantly complies.

“If you ever pull some shit like that seriously, I’m not afraid to start over and make a new kid. I got nothing but time on my hands.” Your husband says while eyeing your son.

“Ryu’s a good kid, Kuna.” You assure him as you walk over to your husband and rub on his shoulders a bit.

“Mmm, for now.” He mumbles, and he nods his head to the trashcan. “Take the trash out.”

NANAMI

Your husband was sitting in the living room, enjoying his “lazy Sunday” as he called it. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the life he was living right now.

He had everything he ever dreamed of: a stable job, an amazing wife, a small family in a loving home.

You were sitting next to him, casually rubbing on his thigh through his pajama pants. You and your daughter had been texting about playing a prank on your dear husband, and it was finally going to happen.

“Hana, did you fold the clothes like I told you to?” You call out to your daughter as she’s in her bedroom. Nanami turns a page in his book, still not paying too much attention.

“Mom, I’m doing something!” Your daughter yells back.

“Hana, get in here and fold those clothes!” You shout back, getting a bit more serious. Nanami lets out a small sigh as he places his mug on the coffee table. He’s normally quick to nip Hana’s attitude in the bud.

“I’m busy!”

“Hana!”

“Okay mom! Just shut up already!” She finally yells as she storms into the living room. Nanami shuts his book and immediately stares down your daughter.

“What did you just say?” He asks as he sits up from his cozy position. His jaw tightens a bit as he glares at Hana.

“I just told her to shut up. She’s being overdramatic.” Your daughter continues, playing her part perfectly.

“Who’s her? Your mother? You’re telling my wife to shut up?” Nanami says as he starts to stand up.

“It’s just a prank, Ken!”

“Dad, it’s a prank-!”

You and your daughter both shout nervously, and Nanami looks at both of you confused for a moment. It then clicks in his head. “God, don’t stress me out like that.” He chides as he relaxes back on the couch. He wraps his arm back around you and picks up his book again.

[sugoroo]

TRADING CARDS!

ʚɞ summary: toji’s in need of some cash, and you’re in need of having your cherry popped! he’ll take your v card if you lend him your credit card. simple, right?

warnings: fem!reader, penetration (p in v), breast play, tummy bulge, squirting, loss of virginity (reader), fingering, oral (f receiving), age gap (reader just finished college), tojis a bit of a perv, 18+ minors dni.

wc: 7.2k

"hey, doll?" toji grunts as he pokes his head into your room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he shoots you a slightly apologetic grin. "i'm gonna need ya to cover my half of the rent again this month."

you look up from your phone, your lips pulling down into a small frown at his words. this isn't the first time this has happened, and it certainly won't be the last, either. "seriously, toji?"

toji simply gives you a noncommittal shrug in response, turning the pockets of his sweatpants inside out as if to further prove his point — there wasn't a single cent in sight. "i ain't got nothin', sweets. hardly been able to buy food these last few days."

you roll your eyes, letting out a soft huff at his not-so-subtle attempt to make you feel bad for him (which almost always worked, and he knew it.) "fine. but you better come through next month. i can't keep covering you."

he lets out a sigh of relief, reaching out to ruffle your hair with one his large hands. "yeah yeah, i'll pay up next time. promise." he was lying through his teeth, and you both knew it. but you chose not to comment on it — maybe a small part of you wanted to keep toji as your roommate, even if you had to pay his rent half the time.

toji heads back out into the living room to lazily slump across the couch, leaving you to your own thoughts.

it was really starting to grate on your nerves how much you had to support him. he's a fully grown man, and you're a young girl fresh out of college. and yet, somehow, you ended up being the one paying his bills with the leftover money from your summer job.

and maybe it wouldn't bother you so much, if you weren't so constantly pent up.

college was supposed to be your time to shine, where you'd attend countless parties and have meaningless hookups with guys in bathrooms, just like all the movies you watched when you were younger.

but it wasn't really like that. and as much as you loathe to admit it, you're still a virgin. with only your own feeble fingers to keep you company, you can probably count on one hand the amount of orgasms you've had in your life.

and that's when you have an idea.

it's just like trading cards — toji takes your v card, and in return, you lend him your credit card.

it's shameless, and you might've felt embarrassed with yourself for even coming up with it if you weren't in dire need of releasing some tension.

and if toji's as desperate for money as he makes out like he is, maybe he wouldn't mind agreeing to your little proposition.

the only catch in your genius idea is that you actually have to ask toji about it.

you've been lingering outside his bedroom door for what feels like hours, trying to figure out how to actually phrase your proposal without making a complete fool of yourself.

but just as you timidly raise a fist to knock, the door swings open, and toji walks right into you, causing you to collide face first with his toned chest. you barely register the two strong hands that rest over your shoulders to steady you, your mind suddenly laser focused on the way your cheek is squished between his pecs.

"oops. sorry, doll," toji chuckles heartily, moving one of his hands from your shoulder to gently grasp your hair and pull your now noticeably flushed face away from his chest. "didn't see ya there."

"n-no, it's my fault." you manage to stammer out, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain your composure. shit, you hadn't even asked him yet, and you were already a mess.

he raises a thick eyebrow at your skittish demeanour, his hand leaving your hair to teasingly poke at one of your adorably pink cheeks. "aww, what's this? you blushin'?"

you try and shoot him a glare, but it looks more like a pout than anything else as you meekly swat his hand away from your face. "shut up, toji. you're the one who walked right into me."

he lets out a deep, amused chortle at this, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at you with a lazy smirk. "right. and you're the one who was lingering outside my door like a creeper."

you let out an embarrassed huff at his rebuttal, knowing there's no way to deny it now. you take another deep breath, idly wringing your hands as you crane your neck to look up at him. "yeah. about that. i, um, i wanted to ask you something."

toji cocks his head to the side, his expression turning mildly curious. "oh? what could you possibly want to ask this old man, hm?" he grunts, your little nervous fidgets not going unnoticed by him.

"w-well, i, um..." you begin, your features twisting up into a grimace as you struggle to get the words out. damn it, you were already cursing your past self for thinking this was a good idea. "i have a proposition for you."

this seems to pique the dark-haired man's interest, and he straightens his back slightly, reaching up with a large hand to scratch his chin. "what kind of proposition are we talkin', sweets?"

you swallow thickly at the way he puts such emphasis on the word proposition, as if he already knows exactly what you're thinking. but of course he doesn't — how could he?

"the kind of proposition where i lend you my credit card to help with your little... money problem," you begin, fighting to keep your voice as steady as possible. "and in return, you..."

toji's eyebrows raise even higher at your words, and he lets out a grunt of irritation when you trail off at the end of your sentence. "in return i what? use your words, doll."

"and in return, you..." you repeat quietly, your voice becoming consistently quieter until the last few words come out as a mere whisper. "help me lose my virginity."

the silence that follows your words is absolutely deafening, the only noise being the faint sounds of cars passing by the road outside the apartment.

you immediately start thinking of ways to salvage the situation, maybe just laugh it off and say it was a prank or something. it's a flimsy excuse, but it's better than this painful silence.

just as you open your mouth in an attempt to backtrack, toji grasps your chin in one large hand, effectively shutting you up with the movement. "you're a damn virgin?" he rasps out, turning your flushed face from side to side as if examining it would help him find the answer.

"u-uh, yeah," you mutter sheepishly, shrinking in on yourself slightly under the sudden intensity of his gaze. "why do you sound so surprised?"

toji barks out an almost incredulous laugh, as if you were utterly ridiculous for even asking such a thing. "seriously?" he huffs, shaking his head. "you're a fine little thing. figured ya would've had guys linin' up around the block for ya at college."

your eyes widen almost comically at his words, your mouth opening and closing a few times as you try to form a coherent response. you never expected your considerably older, rough around the edges roommate to actually find you attractive. "i-is that a yes, then?"

he scoffs loudly at this, repeating your words back to you in a mocking tone. "how the hell do ya expect me to say no to that?" he mutters, the pad of his thumb skimming across your jaw. "i've done worse deals for a whole lot less."

you let out a long sigh of relief, some of the tension leaving your shoulders at his agreement. the hardest part was out the way — you'd managed to get him on board.

"hey." toji grunts, his hand on your chin squeezing hard enough to get your attention as he angles it higher, tearing you from your thoughts. "look at me when we're talkin', girl."

your eyes widen even further at his sudden commanding tone, your thighs instinctively pressing together slightly beneath your skirt. the reaction doesn't go unnoticed by toji, but he doesn't comment on it, simply filing the information away for later.

"ya sure this is what y'want, sweets?" toji asks, his voice barely above a low mutter as he leans his head down closer to your level, his hot breaths just barely puffing across your face as he seemingly searches for any signs of hesitance. "once it's done there ain't no goin' back."

"i... i know." you gulp, vaguely aware of the way his dark eyes follow the gentle bobbing of your throat. "i wouldn't have asked if i didn't want this."

he hums, appearing satisfied with your answer. his thumb moves from your jaw to the plump skin of your lower lip, pulling it down slightly before letting it snap back into place. "how long do i get ya credit card for?"

"how long?" you repeat, blinking a few times. you hadn't even thought about that. and it was becoming quite hard to focus with the way he was toying with your lip. "um... twenty four hours."

toji grunts in acknowledgement, but his lips start to spread into a mischievous grin, and you can tell he's not going to make this easy for you. "nah. forty eight."

you let out an indignant huff, your eyes narrowing at the audacity of this man. two whole days? he was probably planning on bankrupting you at this rate. "thirty six." you counter.

he lets out a hearty laugh, his chest visibly rumbling with amusement at your haggling. his thumb traces over your lip again, causing you to let out a shuddering breath. "mm. ya got y'erself a deal there, dollface."

"good." you mutter, reaching out a hand towards him in a gesture of sealing the deal. toji takes it, his large hand entirely enveloping yours as he gives it a brisk shake.

before you can even think of saying anything else, toji uses his grip on your hand to tug you closer to his chest, your face almost colliding with his torso again.

"i'm assumin' you've atleast kissed before?" toji muses, this thumb still tracing the contour of your lips as if that would answer his question.

you let out a small, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of your neck as you find yourself avoiding his gaze again. "yeah, i have."

toji tuts, yanking your chin back up again, more forcibly this time. "jesus, girl. what did i say about keeping your eyes on me?" he grumbles. "and whatcha laughin' for? i say somethin' funny?"

"sorry." you huff, your lips pushing out into an involuntary pout. "i'm not laughing because of you. it was just a really... bad kiss."

he hums in response, tilting his head to the side as his grin morphs into a small smirk. "damn. a virgin and you've never even had a good kiss. i got my work cut out for me here."

you try and shoot him another glare, a huff of exasperation leaving your lips. "no need to rub it in, toji. i'm paying you for this, remember?"

toji barks out an amused chuckle, shaking his head at your little attempts to try and look stern. cute. "yeah yeah, i know ya are. and don't worry, ya won't regret it."

you're about to open your mouth to retort, but before a single syllable can leave your mouth, toji's lips are on yours. they're rough and slightly chapped as they brush over your own, just the texture you would've expected them to be if you had to guess.

it's not a rough kiss, but it's not exactly gentle either. it's somewhere in the middle, somewhere that makes you think even the way toji kisses is just so... toji.

he pulls away after a few moments, letting out a soft huff of laughter at your dazed expression. "you still in there, sweets?" he hums, flicking his thumb against your forehead.

you can feel the way your cheeks flush darker at his taunting words, silently cursing yourself for getting so worked up over a simple kiss. damn it, it was so obvious just how touch starved you were. how were you going to make it through this?

"i'm still here." you grumble under your breath, causing toji to chuckle even harder. "and if you're just gonna keep laughing at me, maybe i'll go ask someone else to help me."

toji's chuckle turns into a bark of laughter, and his lips curve up into a smug grin as he flicks your forehead again. "no can do. we already shook on it. handshake's sacred, dollface. dontcha know?"

"ugh. you just made that—" you attempt to argue, but he shuts you up by pressing his lips back onto yours again, slightly rougher this time. you let out a sound of surprise against his mouth when his scar brushes against your skin, but slowly, you start to reciprocate the gesture.

he lets out a satisfied hum, starting to take a few steps backwards through the doorway of his room, his lips still moving against yours all the way.

you angle your face up to unknowingly chase after his lips when he pulls away, and you have to swallow down the embarrassing sound that threatens to escape you when you realize what you're doing.

toji snorts, shutting the door behind the two of you with a stupidly self-satisfied smirk stretching across his lips. "that attached to me already, huh? we only just started."

"i'm not attached." you scoff meekly, though your actions severely contradict your words as you lean up on your tiptoes in the search of another kiss.

"mhm. whatever y'say, girl." he mutters amusedly, his hand snaking under your chin again to help you reach his mouth. he meets you halfway, his kisses growing slowly more insistent as his tongue flickers out to swipe over your lower lip.

a soft gasp escapes your lips at the feeling of the warm, wet muscle asking for entrance into your mouth, but you comply, parting your lips to allow the intrusion.

he lets out a satisfied grunt, his tongue darting every which way as it expertly explores the warm cavern of your mouth. you just stand there, completely stock still, for a long few seconds before your own tongue starts to meekly lick against his.

"yeah, there we go," toji mutters into your mouth, his thick tongue easily enveloping yours as he rolls them together. he's so effortless with it, like this is second nature for him — you suppose it probably is. you're not oblivious to the amount of hookups he brings back to the apartment when he thinks you're asleep.

toji pulls back from your mouth with a lewd pop! once he registers that you need some air, observing the way your chest rapidly rises and falls like you can't get enough oxygen with silent amusement.

he's going to have such fun pulling more of these pretty reactions from you.

while you're still desperately trying to catch your breath, he slides both of his rough, calloused palms under the fabric of your shirt, his hands leaving a tingling trail of heat across your skin.

"wait—" you begin to protest, but whatever you were going to say trails off once you feel his fingers brush against the underside of your breasts.

he lets out a grunt of surprise, raising his bushy eyebrows. "no bra, doll?" toji scoffs, shaking his head. "you were ready for this, weren't ya?

your cheeks flood with embarrassment for the nth time this evening, and you feel the sudden urge to just shove his hands away and go back to your room to get yourself off with your feeble fingers. but you don't.

toji lets out yet another snort of laughter at your reaction, rolling his eyes. "i ain't sayin' it's a bad thing, girl," he mumbles, moving his hands to cup each of your breasts in his wide palms. "makes things easier for me. i like it."

you let out a small huff of relief at his sort-of-creepy reassurance, unable to fight the way your body instinctively leans into his touch, pressing your chest into his hands slightly.

he hums, removing his hands only to push your shirt up to get a look at your bare breasts, the fabric bunching up around your collarbone as he leans in closer to inspect your assets.

"toji!" you gasp in complaint, trying to push down the instinct to cover yourself up from your roommate's intense gaze. but when your hands fly up to guard your chest, he instantly grabs your wrists, making you freeze.

"ah ah," he chides with a smug smirk, easily moving both of your wrists into one hand while the other reaches out to fondle your breasts. "no need to be shy. ya got a nice pair of juicy tits right here."

his compliment is so lewd, and even with the way you attempt to wriggle your wrists free from his grip, he effortlessly keeps them trapped with one strong hand.

toji squeezes and kneads the supple flesh of your breasts, laving both with equal attention as he feels up every inch of skin available to him. he can't believe his little roommate has been hiding these pretty tits from him all this time.

when he leans down to pop one into his mouth, you let out a strangled gasp which quickly morphs into an almost pornographic moan when he starts to gently suckle at your highly sensitive nipple.

"shit." you manage to push out, your breaths becoming increasingly more erratic as he starts to flick his rough tongue over your perked bud. you can feel rather than hear the raspy chuckle he lets out at your reaction.

"so damn sensitive," toji rumbles as he pulls back from your breast, which is now shiny and slick with his salvia, before moving to the other. "y'like that, huh?"

it takes you a few moments to form a coherent response, your mind suddenly feeling unable to focus on anything other than the way he's practically making out with your chest. "y-yeah."

toji's smirk widens in a grin at your stammered words, clearly finding enjoyment in the way your body is reacting to his every touch. "bet ya do. poor thing, graduated college and still never been properly touched."

you let out an indignant huff, annoyance momentarily taking over your pleasure. damn it, why did he always have to mock you at any given opportunity? you're starting to wish you never told him about your virginity.

he snorts again at your huff, removing his mouth from your breast with a long, stringy trail of salvia connecting his lips to your chest. "whatcha huffin' for, girl? thought ya wanted this."

you shoot him another one of your trying-to-be-stern-but-really-just-pouting glares. "i do want this. but i also want you to stop laughing at me the entire time."

he rolls his eyes dramatically, acting as if not laughing at your expense was the most difficult thing he'd been asked to do today. "i'm not laughin' at you, dollface. i'm laughin' at those stupid ass college boys who missed out on having you like this."

before you can even begin to process his words, toji crowds you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of his bed, and you instinctively plop down onto the mattress, looking up at him with wide eyes.

he snickers at your shocked expression, moving forward to stand between your legs. from this position, he towers over you even more than usual, and you have to crane your neck practically all the way back to meet his eyes.

"why so surprised, hmm?" toji drawls, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in an uncharacteristically gentle touch. "y'think i didn't notice how pretty ya were the first damn day ya moved in?"

you open and close your mouth a few times before managing to pull yourself together enough to speak. "honestly? i kinda figured you didn't pay me much attention — considering how many hookups you bring around here."

he hums in response, moving his hand to grasp your chin and force you to maintain eye contact with him. "so you noticed that, huh?" he grunts, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "they're just distractions, really. i've wanted you for a while, but i assumed ya wouldn't be interested in and old man like me."

you can only raise an eyebrow incredulously at his words, as if he'd just said something ridiculous. "toji, you're so dramatic. you're not that old."

he barks out a loud laugh at this, slowly lowering himself to his knees between your legs. the audible sound of his muscles protesting the movement seems to disprove your words, making you wince. "no need to flatter me, sweets. i know 'm old." he mutters, his smirk still firmly in place.

you open your mouth to argue, but quickly forget whatever you were about to say when toji's large palms start to trail up your thighs, stopping just below the edge of your skirt.

"ya got no panties on too?" he asks teasingly, although you can hear the faint sense of actual curiosity in his tone. however, when his fingers graze against the edge of your lace panties, he huffs. "hmph. you disappoint me."

you roll your eyes at his words. you would've gone pantyless too, but unfortunately the prospect of finally losing your virginity made you so wet that you had to wear them to prevent yourself from dripping on the floor of the apartment.

"you've touched yourself before, i take it?" toji grunts as his hand moves to easily cup your clothed pussy in his palm, his smirk becoming a grin again when he feels how damp the material is.

you suck in a sharp breath, your eyes fluttering in pleasure at the feel of someone else's hand except your own touching your most sensitive area. "y-yeah, i have. but it's..."

toji seems to understand why you trailed off, letting out a hum of acknowledgement as his fingers start to rub little circles against your panties. "but your little fingers can't make you cum right, yeah?"

you can only manage a feeble nod, fighting the urge to start grinding yourself into his hand. he chuckles amusedly at your reaction, his fingers just dipping under the edge of your panties but not quite.

if you were one of his usual hookups, he'd probably be balls deep inside you by now. but you're not — you're his pretty little roommate he's had his eye on for a while, and on top of that, you're a virgin.

he's going to take his sweet time with you.

toji spends what feels like an eternity teasing you through your underwear until you're squirming restless on the edge of his bed before he finally, finally makes direct contact with your pussy.

"shit," he grunts as he swipes his finger through your sopping folds, the digit practically slipping across your slick skin. "you're so damn wet, baby. i've hardly even touched you yet."

you can't stop the pathetic whine that escapes your throat, your cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink and your eyes half-lidded with need as you look down at him. "please, toji."

fucking hell. he actually has to restrain himself from just pouncing on you right there and then when you beg him so sweetly. instead, he lets out a raspy chuckle, his finger moving down to lazily circle your dripping entrance. "please what, girl? use your words."

"please..." you say again, your voice breathless as you wriggle your hips slightly underneath his hand. "touch me properly."

toji snorts at your phrasing, shaking his head. but before another retort can leave his lips, he's rendered speechless for a moment when he slides a finger into your entrance, your gummy walls instantly sucking him in.

"jesus," he mutters hoarsely, yanking your panties to the side with his other hand to get an unobstructed view of the way your little pussy flutters around his finger. "what a pretty fuckin' cunt."

you let out what can only be described as a mewl at his words, and the noise sounds foreign to your own ears. god, what is he doing to you?

he groans low in his throat at the sound you make, moving his finger around inside of you as gently as he can and brushing the thick digit against your spongy walls.

it should be illegal, really, how quickly toji manages to find your sweet spot. he's had a single finger inside your pussy for just under a minute, and the calloused pad of his digit is already grazing your sensitive g spot.

"ah!" you practically sob, your thighs instinctively clenching around his beefy arm. you've never felt such an intense spark of pleasure before — it's obvious you never managed to find that spot before when you attempted to get yourself off.

he grins smugly, brushing his finger over the spot again, almost touching it but not quite enough to properly stimulate you. "that's the spot, ain't it, dollface?" the question is rhetorical. you both know that's the spot.

but before you can start grinding yourself down onto his finger, he abruptly pulls it out, admiring the way the digit is now coated in your shiny slick.

you open your mouth to protest, or beg for more, or something, but all rational thoughts leave your mind when you see toji slip his finger into his mouth, sucking your juices from it with a low grunt.

"damn, that's good," he mutters gruffly, almost to himself, as he slides it out of his mouth with a lewd pop! — his eyes then fall back on your glistening pussy, his pupils dilated considerably more than before.

in a matter of moments, toji's slid your ruined panties down your legs, admiring the sticky mess soiled there before shamelessly shoving them in his pocket of his sweatpants.

"hey!—" you huff half-heartedly, but before you can even think of finishing the sentence, toji's chapped lips are placing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thighs.

"mmph," you moan softly, not bothering to protest as he slides your thighs further apart with his palms, his lips nibbling against the supple skin of your inner thighs, undoubtably leaving small marks that will bloom tomorrow.

"wanna eat you," toji murmurs once he's face to face with your pussy, his hot breaths puffing across your sensitive skin and visibly making your little clit twitch impatiently. "can i eat you, dollface?"

you crease your eyebrows a little in confusion at his request. from what you'd heard from your college friends, guys hated performing oral for girls. but the way toji was staring hungrily at your cunt, his tongue swiping across his dry lips, made you think he would simply laugh at you again if you told him that.

"o-okay," you mutter sheepishly. and the second the agreement leaves your lips, toji's burying his entire face against your heat, groaning into your pussy as he rubs his sharp nose up and down your sopping folds.

when he first slides his rough tongue across your sensitive skin, you swear you go cross-eyed for a full moment before regaining control of yourself. it's like nothing you've ever felt before, wet and warm and so deliciously lewd.

"fuckin' sweeter than candy," toji grunts against your skin, the vibrations causing your body to instinctively attempt to wriggle away. but he's not having it, his beefy arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you in place. "ah ah, no runnin', baby."

while before you might've tried to argue a little in protest, your brain has already turned to mush from just his finger and his tongue, so you can only let out a few unintelligible murmurs.

"yeahhh," he snorts as he continues to sloppily lap at your folds, gathering as much of your syrupy slick on his tastebuds as possible. "don't hear none of that backtalk now."

god, he's so messy with it. you can hardly manage to keep your eyes open to gaze at him, but when you do, it only makes your pleasure heighten to new levels.

you've never seen your roommate so focused on anything before — not even those storage wars shows he likes to shout at on the tv. his eyes are half-lidded, his thick fingers are digging into your thighs so hard you can visibly see the marks forming, and his tongue is ruthless as it delves in and out of your dripping hole.

"t-toji, shit. feels so good," you manage to stammer out, your head thrown back and your hands traveling up to tangle in his messy dark hair without thinking, tugging on it gently.

your action draws a raspy chuckle from low in toji's throat, and his sloppy, shameless tongue seems to speed up even more in response. you vaguely register a glob of saliva landing on your pussy, but just as quick as it falls there, he's already licking it back up. "c'mon, girl, i know you can pull harder than that."

you attempt to tug his dishevelled strands harder, but your hands feel weak, and your thighs are starting to shake slightly around his head. you notice a familiar spring coiling in the depths of your stomach, but it feels more intense than any build-up to an orgasm you've given yourself before.

"t-think i'm close." you gasp out, your mouth hanging open as you try and keep your body from collapsing back against the mattress. he's quick to help, his hands sliding up the back of your skirt to support your back.

toji hums in satisfaction, a shit-eating (or, in this case, a pussy-eating) grin spreading across his lips as he continues to devour you, his tongue repeatedly massaging your g spot.

it feels like he's trying to eat you whole, and it's completely overwhelming in the best way possible.

"yeah?" he mutters against your cunt, wrapping his lips around your puffy, swollen clit and sucking the sensitive bud harshly. "go on then, baby. cum for me."

it feels like a part of you was instinctively waiting for his permission, because the second those words leave his mouth, your entire body starts convulsing in his strong arms, a strangled cry leaving your open mouth as you orgasm.

your earlier suspicion was right, because this is the hardest you've ever cum before in your entire life. (not that there's really much competition). your limbs feel all tingly and airy, and there aren't really many thoughts left in your mind except from toji, toji, toji.

"hmmph," toji grumbles, pulling back from your cunt after he's sure every bit of your sweet release is down his throat. he looks up at you, snickering gruffly at the utterly dumb look across your features.

you look completely fucked out already, and he hasn't even fucked you yet. that's what happens when you make a deal with a virgin, he assumes.

while you attempt to come down from your high, toji shifts slightly, his knees aching slightly from spending so long on the floor. but even worse than that, is the raging erection he has straining against the material of his sweatpants.

it's been there since he started kissing you, and it's only gotten progressively worse as the time stretched on. he's so hard now that it actually hurts, and the small stain of pre-cum darkening the front makes him feel like a damn teenager again.

toji gets to his feet, ignoring the way his stiff muscles protest, and sheds his sweats and his boxers in one swift movement, kicking them somewhere across the room. he makes his way between your legs, spreading them even further apart to make room for his body.

"wait..." you mumble dazedly, your words adorably slurred as you blink lazily up at him, reaching out a hand as if silently asking for something. "don't y'want me to return the favour first?"

he snorts, although it makes something inside him warm the slightest bit at your consideration. "nah, dollface. you're paying me, not the other way 'round, yeah?"

your pouty expression from earlier returns, but before you can argue further, your eyes fall on his cock, which you only just notice is free from his sweatpants. it's bigger than any you've seen videos of online before, with a prominent vein running down the length and pearly rivulets of pre-cum leaking from the pudgy tip.

your mouth falls into a small 'o' shape, a sudden sense of dread filling you at the mere thought of trying to take that inside of you. why did you have to make this deal with someone who has such an unnecessarily large dick?

toji chuckles deeply at your reaction, cocking his head to the side with a smug smirk. "what? don't tell me you're g'nna chicken out on me now, sweets?"

you could just smooth down your skirt, hand him your credit card as payment for what he's done for you already, and walk right out of his room the way you came in.

but you don't. you've come too far already to back out now — you're this close to finally losing your virginity.

"no," you murmur meekly, swallowing thickly and tearing your eyes away from his cock and meeting his eyes again. "i don't wanna stop. it's just... is that thing really gonna fit in me?"

he barks out an amused laugh at this, his rough palms on your thighs squeezing in what's probably his way of giving you a reassuring gesture. "it'll fit, baby. i loosened you up a little already, so that'll help."

"okay," you mutter, your eyes flickering back down as he wraps a large hand around the meaty base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance and rubbing it along your puffy folds, gathering some of your creamy slick on the head. "is it gonna hurt? it's gonna hurt, isn't it?"

toji huffs at your hurried rambling, leaning his head down to shut you up with a quick kiss to your lips. "it'll only hurt at the start," he grunts in as soothing a tone as he can muster, bracing a hand against the headboard above you.

this seems to ease your nerves, if only a little, and you nod in a sign of silent permission. but he doesn't appear satisfied with this, and he grasps your chin with his free hand. "that ain't good enough, dollface. use your words f'me."

"y-you can start now." you murmur in response, your eyes glued to the way the muscles in his arm flex above you as he begins to slowly push himself in.

"fuckin' shit," he groans, the sound more guttural than anything he's let out so far as his cock breaches the first ring of muscle inside of you, his beefy arm visibly shaking as he tries to hold himself back from just plunging all the way in. "so damn tight in here."

your face contorts into a grimace as a rush of pain pangs through your body, your hands clutching at the sheets for purchase. you'd heard about it hurting online, but then again, most people didn't take a cock as big as toji's for their first time.

"sorry, babydoll." he mutters hoarsely, his gruff tone holding an underlying tone of genuine sympathy instead of the amusement he's shown so far — he's clearly aware of the strain he's having on your body.

he gives you a few moments to adjust to the intrusion, gritting his teeth to hold back any sounds that threaten to spill out of his mouth when he feels your cunt clenching and unclenching around him.

"you can keep going now," you manage to say, your eyes screwed shut and your hands fisted in the bedcovers as you try to deal with the pain. "i'm okay."

he grunts in response, the hand that was around your chin moving to grasp one of your balled up hands as he continues to sink himself inside inch by inch. he can feel how hard you squeeze his hand the entire time, probably cutting off the circulation to his arm in the process.

but he couldn't care less about that. not when he so close to finally being balls deep inside of his pretty little roommate.

"biiiig stretch." toji hums, a low, drawn out sound, when he finally feels himself bottom out, your spongy walls contracting and fluttering around him as if they can't decide whether to push the intrusion out or pull it in deeper. "there we go."

you, on the other hand, couldn't manage to string together a single syllable. it feels like toji has buried himself into your guts, like he's physically rearranging your anatomy right before your eyes.

toji lets his own eyes flutter shut for a moment, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. he knows you need a while to adjust to taking all of him, but damn if he doesn't want to pound you into the mattress right now.

you let out a strangled groan, wriggling around against the covers as your body stretches to accommodate his sheer size. it feels like he could split you in half without much effort. "p-please... start moving, toji."

"you sure?" he rasps gruffly, his hand gripping the headboard so hard his knuckles have gone completely white. "once i start i prolly won't be able to stop."

"i-i don't care. just..." you begin, unable to even finish the thought when he shifts slightly, unintentionally pushing into you even deeper. "move."

he snorts at your desperation, but the sound turns into something akin to a growl when he pulls out slightly, before shoving himself right back in all the way.

"ah!" you sob pathetically, clinging onto his hand even tighter as he starts to shallowly thrust into you. shit, you're pretty sure you just felt something inside of you snap.

you're officially no longer a virgin.

"yeahhh." toji grunts above you, his lips spreading into a pussydrunk grin as he moves he moves his hips leisurely but expertly. you're starting to understand why his hookups always cry his name so loud through the thin walls separating your rooms.

the initial pain slowly starts to fade, being replaced by an overwhelming sense of pleasure and fullness. you bring your shaky legs up to wrap around his beefy back, your ankles locking against his skin.

"jesus, girl," he groans, his hips subtly stuttering in their pace in response to your actions. "y'er pullin' me in even deeper."

you open your mouth to apologize, or retort, or something, but it comes out as a slurred garble when you feel toji's fat cockhead brush against your cervix.

"uh huhh." he grins smugly, his hand that was interlaced with yours moving down to grip your hip and keep you in place as he quickens his pace slightly. he's being a little gentler than he usually would be just for you, but this is still toji here.

"t-too much!" you cry out, reaching up to grasp onto his bicep above you for some sort of support. your entire body is jolting against the covers in response to his increasingly hard thrusts, your mouth hanging open dumbly.

"nah, dollface," he grunts in protest, his fingers digging into the skin of your hip as if to ground you. "i know y'can take it. doing so damn well f'me."

toji brings his palm up from your hip to slide under your previously bunched up shirt, fondling your breasts and rolling one of your hardened nipples between his fingers.

this makes a loud mewl escape from your throat, your cunt clenching around him in response to the dual sensations. if you thought his tongue made you reach new heights of pleasure, his cock is a completely different beast.

you can already feel something strange stirring in the depths of your stomach. it's not like your previous orgasm, it's unfamiliar — it almost feels like you're about to pee.

"t-toji, feels weird," you slur out, squirming against the covers as you try to hold the rising sensation at bay. "like i'm gonna pee or something. m-maybe y'should pull out."

he barks out a laugh at this, as if he knows something you don't. his hand moves down to pat your stomach, right where the prominent bulge of his cock is moving in and out.

"that means you're gonna squirt, baby." he utters simply, making your eyes widen in surprise. now that's something you've definitely never managed to make yourself do before.

looks like you're gonna be ticking off more than one first from the list today.

"makin' ya squirt for y'er first time," he proclaims cockily, smirking to himself as he effortlessly keeps up the languid rolls of his hips. "i'm damn good, ain't i?"

"i haven't even squirted yet." you grumble, heat flooding to your cheeks in response to his teasing. he's still your annoyingly smug roommate, even when he's fucking you into his mattress.

"key word — yet." toji shrugs in response, his lethal thrusts quickening in pace. his rough palm pushes down right above your bulging tummy, causing you to let out a strangled gasp.

your cunt clenches impossibly tighter around him, your ankles digging into the skin of his back as you feel your second orgasm of the night start to wash over you. "fuck. g-gonna..."

"yeah? c'mon, baby, make a mess all on me." he grunts gruffly, his hand moving down to rub lazy, sloppy circles against your puffy clit, the nub pulsing under his touch.

"tojiiii!" you practically sob, the added stimulation sending you hurling over the edge before you can process it. your vision goes completely white with the intensity of your high, your breaths coming in heavy gasps.

"oh, thattt's it," he hums in satisfaction, lightly patting your pussy as he watches the gushes of clear liquid squirt out, lewdly coating the base of his cock and balls in your essence. "fuckin' good girl."

it only takes him a couple more strokes for toji to know he's close too, and he quickly pulls out, slapping his thick cock against the flushed skin of your tummy and giving it a few final jerks.

as much as he'd love to fill you up, he figures that since you're a virgin, you probably wouldn't be on birth control.

and he's not about take that risk.

toji lets out a low, raspy grunt as he spills his creamy, pearlescent cum all over your stomach, tainting the supple skin with his sticky, oozy mess.

he lazily tugs his boxers and sweatpants back up, wiping some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before leaning down and giving your cheek a quick, wet kiss.

then he saunters out of the room, leaving you panting and limp on his bed while he rifles through your purse on the living room table.

"i would've done that for free, by the way." toji mutters amusedly as he pulls out your credit card, waving it tauntingly in front of his face with the smuggest grin yet stretching at his lips. "see ya in thirty six hours, dollface."

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

i’d like to dedicate my first proper fic to @screampied because her works inspired me to begin writing my own! <3

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[wriokitty]

i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

❤︎ word count: 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

❤︎ comments: i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin. 

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing. 

Fabric. 

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips. 

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his. 

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him. 

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique. 

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him. 

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat. 

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you. 

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle. 

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?” 

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow. 

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips. 

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own. 

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad. 

Almost. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction. 

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort. 

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts. 

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch. 

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip. 

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him. 

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists. 

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft. 

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock. 

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever. 

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath. 

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it. 

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then. 

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body. 

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back. 

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow. 

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here. 

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper. 

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love. 

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact. 

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning. 

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling. 

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest. 

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive. 

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes. 

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full. 

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod. 

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable. 

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need. 

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you. 

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin. 

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock. 

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

[rafecameronssl4t]

Actors on Actors || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: Actress!reader and Drew partaking in Variety's Actors on Actors!!

Warnings: not proofread sozz

Word count: 3,057 loooong one

A/n: damn I felt like I was in the interview room for this one

MASTERLIST

Drew couldn’t keep his eyes off you as the crew flitted around, prepping for the Actors on Actors interview with Variety. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing lightly at something one of the staff members had said, your head tilted back, eyes sparkling. To him, you looked utterly breathtaking—ethereal, even. Everyone knew Drew Starkey had the biggest crush on you.

He was never subtle about it, often caught in candid interviews or behind-the-scenes clips praising you, his admiration so obvious it became a running joke among his friends and colleagues. But right now, as he adjusted his mic and watched you from the corner of his eye, he wished he hadn’t been so vocal about it. His nerves were getting the best of him.

What if he said something dumb? What if you already thought he was just some lovesick fool? He swallowed hard, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest as you walked toward the set, your heels clicking softly against the floor. “Drew Starkey,” you greeted warmly, a radiant smile lighting up your features as you settled into the armchair opposite him.

You sat first, crossing your legs effortlessly, the picture of poise. “Y/n,” Drew smiled back, leaning forward slightly to kiss both of your cheeks. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent his pulse racing, but he played it cool as you let out a soft laugh, your perfume lingering faintly in the air.

“How’s it going?” he asked, his tone steady, though there was a barely perceptible edge to it—a nervous undertone that betrayed just how much this moment meant to him. His gaze lingered on yours, longer than what might be considered polite, but you didn’t seem to mind. “I’m good, and—” You paused mid-sentence as Drew suddenly leaned forward, his brows knitting together.

“Sorry—hold on,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, softer, as his fingers reached toward the hem of your dress. “You’ve got a little something.” Before you could respond, he gently plucked a stray piece of lint from the fabric, his fingertips brushing ever so lightly against the material.

The touch was fleeting, almost inconsequential, but it sent a quiet thrill up your spine, one you quickly masked with a polite chuckle. “Oh—thanks,” you said, your voice airy as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re welcome,” Drew replied, his lips curving into a shy grin, his usual confidence momentarily replaced by something more boyish and endearing.

For a moment, you could swear his ears turned a little pink. You leaned back, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you studied him. Of course you knew Drew Starkey had a crush on you. It wasn’t exactly a secret.

But there was something undeniably flattering about it—something that made you feel just a bit lighter, a bit more self-assured. However, you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on him. It was Drew Starkey after all.

Your eyes met again, and the silence between you stretched into something that felt almost electric. Both of you wore soft, bashful smiles, the moment teetering between unspoken words and playful tension. Finally, you broke into a small laugh, breaking the spell, and Drew looked away, scratching the back of his neck, his own smile lingering despite himself.

“You know,” you began, shifting slightly in your seat, “it’s kind of funny. We’ve both been at so many of the same events, but we’ve never actually talked until now.” Drew chuckled, his posture relaxing just a little. “I know, right? It’s crazy. First time was… the Glass Onion premiere, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, humming in agreement. “Yeah, I was there supporting Madelyn," Drew spoke. "Ugh, I miss Maddie," You give a small pout as Drew chuckles. “And then Immaculate, I remember standing right behind you in the photo line.” You laughed, your cheeks warming at the memory.

“Oh my god, yes! And somehow, we still didn’t even say hi.” “And then the Queer premiere a couple weeks ago,” Drew said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Right,” you said, leaning forward slightly as your laughter softened into a chuckle. “It’s wild how we’ve been orbiting around each other this whole time.”

“Crazy, huh?” Drew murmured, his voice lower now, his eyes soft as they lingered on you. The way he looked at you was different—not just admiration, but genuine warmth, curiosity, and something else you couldn’t quite place. “How’s everything been?” Drew asks, leaning back in his chair, his voice warm but tinged with curiosity, as if he genuinely wants to know every detail.

“It’s good,” you reply with a soft smile, shifting slightly in your seat. “I’m here in LA, which is nice—” Before you can finish, he interjects, his brow arching in curiosity. “You’re from New England, right?” You click your tongue playfully, tilting your head at him. “I see someone’s done their research, Mr. Starkey,” you tease, flashing him a playful wink.

Drew’s grin widens, and he throws his head back in laughter, the sound rich and easy, like he’s completely at ease for the first time since the cameras started rolling. “I had to, didn’t I? You’re not exactly an open book. I had to dig deep.” “Oh, is that so?” you challenge, your voice lilting with mock skepticism.

“Well, since you’re so curious, tell me—what do you know about New England?” you challenge, leaning forward slightly. He grins, but it’s a little sheepish. “Not much, if I’m honest. You’ll have to fill in the blanks for me. What’s it like there?” Your eyes widen in exaggerated disbelief, your hand fluttering to your chest like you’ve been insulted.

“Wait—you’ve never been? My goodness, Drew! Come with me, and I’ll show you around properly,” you say, your tone teasing but full of warmth. His smile softens, and he leans in just a little. “I’d like that very much,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that makes your breath hitch for a fraction of a second. “Well then,” you reply with a chuckle, regaining your composure.

“I think we can organise something. You’re from North Carolina, yeah?” Drew hums in confirmation, his grin widening. “Born and raised. But I gotta admit, New England sounds pretty tempting now.” “It should,” you quip, pointing at him playfully. Then, after a beat, you lean in slightly, an amused gleam in your eye.

“Can I just say—and I’m sure you get this a lot—I’m a huge fan of Outer Banks.” Drew raises an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly bashful as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re team Pogue,” he jokes, but his eyes are fixed on you with a playful sparkle.

You snort softly, clasping your hands together in your lap. “Not quite. But I’ve gotta say, you play Rafe so convincingly. How do you approach a character like Rafe? I mean, you’re, you know… the complete opposite of him.” You chuckle, your words carrying a mix of admiration and disbelief.

Drew leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before clearing his throat. “Well, Rafe is a challenge, to say the least. He’s not your typical villain. It’s easy to hate him on the surface, but if you dig deeper, he’s this broken guy with so many vulnerabilities. That’s where I try to focus—on making him human. I want people to see why he makes those awful decisions, even if they don’t agree with them. It’s all about balance.”

You nod, your expression softening as you listen. “That’s fascinating,” you say earnestly. “It’s definitely what makes him such a compelling character.” Drew smiles, but you notice something different about his gaze. He isn’t just answering your question—he’s watching you, his eyes holding a softness that makes your heart skip a beat.

Before the moment can linger too long, Drew shifts the focus back to you. “And your character in Ghosted,” he says, his voice warm and curious. “It’s so different from anything you’ve done before. How did you prepare for that role?” You smile at the question, grateful for his genuine interest.

“It was a lot of emotional work,” you admit, leaning back slightly. “She’s so different from me in so many ways. I spent a lot of time understanding her motivations, her fears, and what drives her. It’s a very internal role, so the process was… draining, to say the least. But also rewarding.” Drew’s lips curve into a soft smile as he leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Sounds intense,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always wondered in the film how you guys manage to keep it together when the emotions run that deep.” You shrug lightly, a thoughtful smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not easy, but that’s the beauty of the craft, isn’t it? Tapping into those emotions and channelling them into something real.”

Drew nods, his expression softening even further. There’s something unspoken in his gaze—something that lingers longer than words can express. “Yeah,” he says finally, his voice dropping just a fraction. “I get that. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re incredible. I’ve seen your work—it’s inspiring.” His words hang in the air, heavy with sincerity, and you can’t help the rush of warmth that floods your chest.

A small, genuine smile spreads across your face. “I could say the same for you,” you reply softly, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, it’s like the rest of the room fades away, leaving just the two of you, sharing something unspoken yet deeply understood. Drew shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity evident. “So, let’s talk about Saltburn. You played Venetia Catton. How did you even begin to prepare for a role like that?"

You smile, the mention of Saltburn immediately bringing back memories. “Honestly, Venetia was one of the most challenging but rewarding roles I’ve ever taken on. Emerald Fennell has such a sharp, specific vision as a director, and she brought so much depth to every single character. Venetia wasn’t just the surface-level socialite that she might appear to be at first glance. She’s deeply entrenched in this world of privilege, but there’s a kind of desperation underneath it all—this need to hold it all together, to maintain this facade of control.”

Drew nods, his expression thoughtful. “I feel like Emerald has this incredible knack for creating characters who feel both larger than life and painfully real. What was it like working with her?” “Incredible,” you answer without hesitation. “Emerald is so collaborative and detail-oriented, but she also gives you the freedom to bring your own interpretation to the role. She’s this powerhouse of creativity, and you always feel like you’re in safe hands with her. She’s also hilarious—like, incredibly funny—so even on the more intense days, there was always this underlying sense of ease on set.”

Drew smiles at that, clearly invested. “And then there’s the cast. I mean, Rosamund Pike, Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi—they’re all such giving actors. What was it like working alongside them?” You exhale softly, recalling the dynamic energy of the cast. “It was surreal, honestly. Rosamund Pike is… well, she’s Rosamund Pike. She’s this commanding presence on set, but she’s also so warm and generous as a scene partner. Barry, on the other hand, is just a chameleon. He’s fearless in the way he approaches his craft, and watching him work was like taking a masterclass every day.”

“And Jacob?” Drew asks, his tone light but curious. “He’s been everywhere lately.” “Jacob’s amazing,” you reply with a smile. “He’s so grounded, which is kind of funny considering the larger-than-life characters he’s been playing lately. But on set, he’s just this really laid-back, thoughtful guy. We had a lot of fun with our scenes together—he brings this kind of effortless charisma that makes everything feel natural.”

Drew leans back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a stacked team. No pressure at all, right?” You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, no pressure whatsoever. Just casually working with some of the most talented people in the industry.” “Well, you pulled it off,” Drew says sincerely. “Venetia felt so fully realised—like, even in her silences, there was so much going on beneath the surface. It was fascinating to watch.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, his compliment catching you off guard. There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat. “So,” you say, shifting into the next topic, “you’ve played a lot of interesting characters—Rafe Cameron, of course, but also roles like Zach in The Other Zoey and the projects you’ve got coming up. Do you feel like people expect you to stick to certain kinds of roles because of how iconic Rafe has become?”

Drew’s smile fades just a little, his expression turning thoughtful. He seems to appreciate the question, his blue eyes searching yours for a moment before he answers. “Yeah, there’s definitely that expectation sometimes,” he admits. “Rafe is such a big character, and I think when people see you in one role, they assume that’s all you can do. But as actors, we want to stretch ourselves, you know? Surprise people.”

He pauses, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s kind of like you, actually,” he adds softly. “You’ve done dramas, you’ve done comedies… you’ve proven that you’re not just one thing. I think that’s what makes people really root for you—you're versatile. You don’t let them put you in a box.” The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you can feel heat rise to your cheeks again. You shift slightly in your seat, trying not to let his words completely throw you off balance.

“That’s… really nice of you to say,” you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think that’s the beauty of what we do, right? Showing people different sides of ourselves, through the characters we play.” Drew nods, his eyes softening. “Exactly. You just said it better than I could.” You smile, letting the moment hang between you for just a beat longer than it probably should.

You adjust in your seat, leaning forward slightly as you shift the focus of the interview. “Alright, let’s talk about Queer. You play Eugene, and from everything I’ve heard, it’s such an emotionally rich and complex role. What drew you to it, Drew?" You smile as he laughs. “Honestly, it was the script. You know with it being based on William S. Burroughs’ novel, and the way it explored themes of longing, identity, and self-destruction… it was just so raw. Eugene is such a fascinating character because he’s flawed, but you can’t help but empathise with him. It felt like a challenge I couldn’t pass up.”

You nod, smiling softly. “It sounds like it required you to really dig deep emotionally. Was it intimidating stepping into a story like that?” “Completely,” Drew admits with a laugh. “But it was also the kind of role that forces you to grow as an actor. I had to be vulnerable in a way I hadn’t been before, which was scary but also freeing. And having someone like Luca Guadagnino directing—it felt like a safety net, you know? He creates such a safe, collaborative environment.”

“Luca’s brilliant,” you agree, your voice filled with admiration. “And then there’s Daniel Craig. What was your experience working with him? I mean- I remember working with him on Glass Onion and being blow away by how meticulous he is." Drew grins, a flicker of boyish excitement crossing his face. “Oh, he’s incredible. Daniel is one of those actors who’s just so present in every scene. He has this intensity, but he’s also really generous as a scene partner. He listens, reacts—he makes you feel like what you’re doing really matters.”

You smile, nodding your head, "He's also got such a great sense of humour!" Drew laughs, nodding. “Exactly! Like, he can go from delivering this super heavy, emotional scene to cracking a joke that has the entire crew in stitches. It’s such a unique balance, and it keeps the energy on set really light, even during the intense moments.”

“Do you have a favourite memory with him from filming?” you ask, genuinely curious. “There’s this one scene we did that was really emotionally charged—like, full-on tears and everything,” Drew begins, his smile softening. “After we wrapped the take, I was still kind of in that headspace, and Daniel just clapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Well, that was bloody exhausting, wasn’t it?’ It snapped me out of it, and we both just started laughing. It was one of those moments where you realise, ‘Okay, this is heavy, but it’s also what we love to do.’”

You laugh at the image of Daniel’s bluntness, shaking your head. “That’s so him. He has a way of grounding you, doesn’t he?” “Completely,” Drew agrees. “And honestly, having him on set made me feel like I had to step up my game. He’s such a pro, and you can’t help but want to match that level of commitment.”

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “It sounds like Queer really pushed you as an actor, in the best way.” “It did,” Drew says earnestly. “And, you know, hearing you talk about working with Daniel—what was it like for you? I mean, I imagine Glass Onion had a very different vibe, but I’m sure he brought that same energy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply. “Daniel has this way of making everyone feel like they’re part of something special. And with Glass Onion, there was this playful energy because the story is so twisty and fun, but Daniel was always so focused and intentional with every scene.” Drew leans in slightly, clearly fascinated. “Did you ever have one of those moments with him where you just stopped and thought, ‘Wow, I’m working with James Bond’?”

You laugh, nodding. “More than once! It’s impossible not to. But then you get to know him, and he’s just… Daniel. Down-to-earth, funny, and incredibly kind. It makes you forget about the whole ‘James Bond’ thing—at least for a little while.” Drew grins. “That’s good to know. I feel like we’ve both been lucky to work with him, even if I’m still a little starstruck.”

“That’s what Daniel Craig does to you, ladies and gentlemen,” you teased, your laughter light as you pointed at the camera, winking playfully. Drew’s amused chuckle followed, a soft sound that matched the warmth in your tone. The atmosphere of the interview had shifted, the playful banter between the two of you creating an easy camaraderie as the conversation drew to a close.

“Well, I think we’ve discovered we have a lot in common after all,” Drew said, his smile widening as he turned toward you. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and genuine appreciation. “This has been a great pairing, truly.”

Your smile softened as you met his gaze, the connection between the two of you almost palpable. “I think so too,” you responded, your voice light and sincere, a soft chuckle escaping you as your gaze lingered on him. “Very great pairing,” you added, your words more than just agreement—there was an unspoken understanding, a mutual respect that hung in the air.

Drew’s smile widened slightly at your reply, the chemistry between the two of you becoming more evident as the final moments of the interview came into focus. Despite the cameras and the public personas, there was something undeniably real in the exchange, something that hinted at more than just a professional connection.

[gyaruhana]

Hi Xae, have a good new year, I wanted to ask you if you could write about Kang Dae-ho (player 388) from Squid Game 2, where the reader joins Gihun's team and even though it's only been a few hours, she and Dae-ho already have chemistry and Dae-ho tells Gihun's friend how pretty the reader is, making him a little angry and calling him a fool in love, ty ❤!

-🦊

Kang Dae-Ho/Player 388 - Fool in love

Synopsis: You and Dae-ho get along within the first second you meet - maybe it's meant to be?

A/N: Finally dropping this !! Dae-ho is so cutie and I love him sm

Warning: none !!

A game where death is lurking right around the corner is enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine. Especially yours. You only came here because you needed the money but you weren't confident that you'd be willing to die for it. The idea that you might die soon made you utterly afraid. You had a family that you'd most definitely like to go home to but most of the other players seemed far too keen to stay in this hell and it meant you were stuck there with them too.

On a more fortunate note, there seemed to be a previous winner amidst the hundreds of other players and you'd be damned if you didn't rely on someone who knew what he was doing. If he really was a winner, then he could predict the games. Maybe then you'd actually have a chance of getting out alive and with a lot of money.

“Hi. You're the guy from earlier who said that he played this before, right?” You ask as you stand in front of player 456. You thought maybe being his ally would make you feel better but, with the way he looked up at you, he was actually kind of scary. It's like his face had been frozen into a hard glare. Though, to be fair, he was apparently the sole survivor of the game he played so he must have suffered plenty of losses. You suppose you'd look that unhappy too if you lost people you cared about.

He gives you a nod as the other people sitting around look at you too. They looked a lot less terrifying than him which made you feel a bit better. “I was wondering if maybe I could stick with you guys? I don't really want to be on my own and, since you've played these games before, you can help, right?” you ask with a hopeful look. You were really hoping that they'd be welcoming to you. 

“Mm? Who are you?” Someone suddenly speaks and, when you look towards the voice, you see a boy with food stuffed in his mouth peeking out from around the corner. His eyes briefly widen when he sees you properly before he quickly puts his food down and jumps off the bed. “Of course, you can stick with us,” he says rather eagerly as the three men behind him give him a strange look.

“Ah, really? Thank you,” you say with a nervous grin as he practically pushes you to sit down. You honestly didn't expect to be welcomed with such open arms. Actually, maybe that wasn't really a team decision but you didn't complain because now you had a team who could protect you and that you could hopefully trust. 

“So, who are you?” He asks as he grabs his food from the bed before he sits down beside you with his legs crossed. He looked genuinely interested to know everything about you and it made your heartbeat a little faster. He was cute. That was for sure. So to have his eyes on you was certainly making you slightly nervous. You cleared your throat before introducing yourself as you tried to maintain eye contact with him.

He repeats your name as if testing out how it sounds when said from his own mouth. After a slight pause, he gives a slight nod of approval before speaking up again. “I'm Dae-ho. Kang Dae-ho,” he says with a smile. In all honesty, he had never seen someone as pretty as you. You really captivated his attention. He felt like he couldn't take his eyes off you.

“Kang Dae-ho,” you repeat quietly as you engrave the name into your mind. “That's a nice name,” you say with a small smile and he smiles too. “It's supposed to mean big tiger. Kang means big and Dae-ho means tiger,” he explains before taking a bite of his food. 

“Big tiger? You don't look very big,” you say with a small smile, teasing him slightly. He swallowed down his food before responding to your comment. “Wha-? I'm big! I was a marine,” he says with a proud smirk. You look at him and down and raise an eyebrow to send a clear message that you didn't believe him one bit.

“No, I'm serious!” He says before pulling his sleeve up to reveal his tattoo. “See?” He says as he makes sure you get a good look at it. “C'mon, anyone could get that tattooed on their arm,” you say and he immediately shakes his head in denial. 

“You still don't believe me? Maybe I need to show you my strength then,” he says with a small smile before throwing some gentle punches at you. You laugh at his actions as you two play fight - something that captures the attention of the other three that were sitting around. They look at you two before exchanging a glance between each other then looking away and trying to act as if you and Dae-ho aren't clearly forming some sort of chemistry right now.

The next few hours you had spent exclusively with Dae-ho talking about every little thing. You opened up to him about why you were in these games and what you had gone through and he listened so intently, it made your heart race. You swear your brain would short circuit when he looked at you with that look. When his head was tilted and his eyes said all the words he wanted to say with his mouth.

You couldn't believe you were crushing on a guy you just met. Sure, he was a good listener, funny, strong, nice, and everything else that makes someone perfect but you couldn't just fall in love with him. Hell, you're both in a game of death! One of you could die tomorrow so you really shouldn't be letting your heart race at 100 miles per hour just because he's cute.

Before the both of you knew it, there was already five minutes until lights out and you'd all have to go to sleep to have energy for tomorrow’s game. You looked over at Dae-ho before speaking up. “Dae-ho, I'll be back. I'm just going to use the restroom,” you say with a small smile. When he nods his head, you wave before walking off quickly towards the door. He watched as you knocked on it before having it opened by a guard and then promptly disappearing round the corner. 

He let out a sigh before turning around and walking over to Jung-bae. You were so pretty. He honestly couldn't believe you were real. Maybe his brain had made you up as a coping mechanism? You were just so perfect in his eyes. Everything he could possibly want. God, he'd love to take you to dinner sometime when both of you get out of this place so he can give you the love and attention you deserve. He just wished that he could cover your face in kisses for hours on end and hold your hand while taking a walk together. He didn't care if it was cliche. It didn't matter because it was for you.

He finally made it to Jung-Bae and took a seat next to him quietly. He shifted slightly to rest his chin on his hand and waited for Jung-Bae to ask what was on his mind. It was quiet for a few moments as Jung-bae chose to pretend like Dae-ho definitely didn’t have anything to say about you so Dae-ho made the quick decision to let out another sigh- this time much louder to catch Jung-bae’s attention and force him to ask what's on his mind.

Jung-bae turns to look at him with slight annoyance. “What? Don't just sit there and sigh. What is it?” Jung-bae asks as Dae-ho turns to look at him with a shy smile. “She’s so pretty,” he says with his face flushed slightly red, embarrassed that he was fawning over you like this. “Huh?” Jung-bae responds, confused about what he was talking about. 

“Her. She’s so pretty. She has the most amazing laugh and the cutest smile and-” Dae-ho begins to speak before receiving a smack over the back of his head making him shut up. The smile on his face drops as he looks at Jung-bae like a confused puppy.

“You're such a fool. You just met her a few hours ago,” he says as he shakes his head in disapproval. Dae-ho laughs nervously as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess.. but still. She's so perfect,” he says in poor defense. 

He hears the door open and his head snaps towards it immediately. He was hoping it was you because he already missed talking to you, even if it's only been a few minutes since you left for the bathrooms. When he sees you, he quickly smiles and, if he was a dog, anyone would see his tail wagging back and forth. Jung-bae let out a sigh and shook his head like some father who was disappointed in his son.

“You're planning to ask her out, aren't you?” He says only to get an immediate response.

“absolutely,”

[pasukiyo]

A PLACE IN THE SEA OF STARS

anakin skywalker x f!naberrie!reader word count: 10.4k (my longest yet... i'm so sorry) warnings: two idiots pining, pining, reader is padme's younger sister (whether biological or adopted is up to you), first time having sex, soft smut, angst synopsis: a life spent in padmé amidala's shadow and never once did she ever think she'd be envious of her sister. that is, until anakin skywalker walks his way into her life and she finds herself praying that one day, he'd look at her the way he does at padmé, that she'll be given a place in the sea of stars, that her destiny will include him.

read on ao3

 It came as no surprise that Anakin Skywalker would be enamored with her second-to-oldest sister.

 After a life spent behind Padmé Amidala’s shadow, she’d grown accustomed to it— being overlooked. But for once, just this once, she wished history wouldn’t repeat itself, wished the prophecy could be rewritten and for once, let it be her who was chosen, who was noticed. 

 But of course, it’s futile. 

 You can sink to your knees and pray to whatever higher being is in the sky but at the end of the day, there are millions of lost souls just like you doing the same. You can have faith, you can believe that someday you’ll be heard but with each silent day that passes, your voice still falls on deaf ears. 

 She’s done her time playing the fool who sinks to her knees and pleads with the night sky to find her a place in the sea of stars, so that she may fit in a constellation too. She’s been the statue who's been made to wait— and she’s started to crumble. 

 She remembers the day she started to pray like it was yesterday. It was the day she first met Anakin Skywalker, back when he was only a Padawan, still searching for his own place in the world. Her parents were restless then, having heard of the multiple assassination attempts on their dear second oldest daughter. Of course she was worried too, but she still could feel the guilt that settled into the marrow of her bones when she found herself pondering whether her parents would react the same way if it had been her life at stake instead. 

 She remembers helping her eldest sister, Sola, and her mother with dinner in preparation for the arrival of their sister Padmé and her Jedi escort. She’d been tasked with bringing a bowl of fruit to the table and she remembered nearly being trampled over by her nieces, Ryoo and Pooja, as they squeal Padmé’s name, sprinting for the door. 

 She remembers huffing, mumbling a curse in an alien language beneath her breath just as their guests step inside, looking up from where she leaned over the table, dropping the bowl down onto the surface. She remembers her breath catching in her throat when her gaze found a sea of blue that put the Naboo waters to shame. 

 Padmé’s lips curved into a grin as she exclaimed her sister’s name, circling the table to capture her in an embrace. Her sister wrapped her arms around her and her chin found Padmé’s shoulder as the blue that took her breath away crashed into her and she swore everything changed in that moment. 

 She remembers the first time Anakin Skywalker looked at her. It was a brief, friendly locking of the eyes but a fleeting moment for him felt like lightyears for her. His eyes were the blue of the water where the sun’s reflection gently ripples and warps. They were the blue of the sky after it rains and the sun begins to spill through the cracks of the wall of clouds. 

 She’s never understood what it meant to be speechless, for something to literally steal the breath away from her lungs. But from the moment her eyes met his, she began to understand. 

 “Anakin! This is my youngest sister,” Padmé announced, pulling away from their embrace. Her spine stiffened when her sister introduced her and she watched as his full, pink lips moved to form her name. His voice is like nails scraping against the itch she can’t reach on her back, his voice is like velvet she can swallow, deliciously soft and rich against her throat. 

 “It’s nice to meet you,” Anakin dipped his chin in greeting, the silly, little braid falling off his shoulder. She drained the lump that had formed in her throat, bowing her head. Her lips trembled and her breath was shaky as she prepared her salutations but her words fell dead on the tip of her tongue when Padmé’s squeal permeated the room. 

 “And my eldest sister Sola!”

 And just like that, all attention rolled away from her and onto her eldest sisters but she still watched him, heart beating against her chest. 

 And that was the moment she began to pray. 

 She prayed, even though the looks he’d given Padmé didn’t go unnoticed. The way he watched her, even when she wasn’t the one speaking, the way he’d soak in every word, every praise for her that fell past her parents’ mouths. The way he stared longingly at her sister when he was certain nobody was watching— and no one was, for their attentions were on Padmé, save for hers. 

 It was typical. 

 It should come as no surprise that everyone would worship the ground her sister— the former Queen, current Senator of Naboo— walked on. She’s not surprised that someone young and benign like him would fall in love with her sister— she’d only seen it happen more times than she ever really cared to count. 

 And she’d never really cared about all the suitors on their knees at Padmé’s feet before— they were her sister’s problems, not hers. She’d never even really envied her sister, at least in that sense. 

 But everything changed the moment Anakin stepped through the door. Everything changed the moment their eyes met, if only for the most fleeting of seconds. 

 So she prayed. 

 Inside the inner realms of her mind, she sinks to her knees and stares into the void above her, the stars that beamed down at her twinkling, almost as if they taunted her. She swallowed her pride, folding her hands together and raising them to her chin, brow dipping as she pleaded with the higher being in the sky to hear her cry. 

 “Please, hear me, Maker,” she whispered into her mind, externally staring at Anakin, internally losing her gaze amongst the stars as if the Maker himself would appear between them. “Hear my plea. Whatever destiny you’ve pre-written for me, please be sure it includes Anakin Skywalker.”

 She didn’t see Anakin Skywalker again for another year after that. 

 Apparently, being a Jedi means he’s constantly from place to place, but next time they do end up in the same place, it’s even more fleeting than the last. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever see him again, if she was foolish to continue hoping that he might notice her, that he might even love her. But she still remembers the way his eyes flickered in recognition when they caught hers across the courtyard of Theed Royal Palace. His hair was longer and he didn’t have that ridiculous braid or tiny ponytail on the back of his neck anymore. The Chancellor was speaking to him and another Jedi with umber hair and a matching beard, but his attention was on her. 

 He looked… darker. As if the years of war had finally begun taking its toll on him. But he’s still the same man he’s always been, still the same one she’s dreamed about. He even looked better.  

 They don’t get the chance to talk, only share knowing glances, as he was on duty and their paths unfortunately didn’t cross. But that gleaming in his eyes, the one that blazes with knowing is all the kindling in the pit of her belly needs to bloom, to blossom into a raging wildfire. 

 So, she prayed again. 

 “Maker,” she said into that night sky inside of her head. The stars shone brighter, as if to laugh at the foolish girl beneath them. She ignored them of course— because she truly believed that one day, she’d prove them wrong. “Please. Hear my plea. Let Anakin Skywalker see me again. Give me a place in your sea of stars and make sure it is in Anakin Skywalker’s orbit.”

 She doesn’t see him again for another two years. 

 But still, he lingers, just like a phantom weaving through every corner she passes, cloaked in shadow. She sees Anakin Skywalker everywhere she goes— in the lakes of shining waters out in the country, in the rain that falls on a dark, cloudy day, in the litany of stars that idle in the sky. 

 She sees him in her dreams, staring the way he did at Padmé. Only, in her dreams, his gaze finds her. Almost like he had that day in the courtyard, but in her dreams, his eyes would linger longer. 

 His voice calls out to her whenever she’s sleeping and it lingers in gooseflesh on her skin, frosting over her bones. She’ll open her eyes when he calls but she’s never truly awake. Alas, if dreaming is the only way she’ll see Anakin Skywalker again, she’d gladly succumb to her sleep and trick herself into believing it is real. 

 Except tonight, she does not think she can take it much longer. 

 “Anakin,” she whispers one day when she peels her eyelids open after he calls. She says his name like it’ll be the last time she ever will. That look is on his face again— the one she’s seen so many times directed at her in her dreams, she’s nearly forgotten it wasn’t meant for her in the first place. 

 She used to wake and long for sleep to come again, just so she could watch him look at her like that. 

 But three long years of waiting and foolishly praying to beings who do not hear have begun to rust the illusion she’s deluded herself into hopelessly believing in. Three long years of silence and she’s finally cracked. She is broken— she sees it now. She’s grown weary of hoping he’d be the one to fix her. 

 His lips curve to form a smile and for three years, she’s fooled herself into believing it could be for her— truly be for her, outside of her dreams. But to be forthright, she’s tired. She’s grown tired of pretending, tired of clinging onto the dying embers of mere memories of how a man looked at someone that wasn’t her— but rather her sister. She’s grown tired of hoping, waiting, praying that one day, he may wander back into her life and thread his way into the tapestry that her destiny’s been woven into.

 Tonight is the night she forfeits with her palms to the sky, tonight is the night she yields to the stars that have taunted her for far too long and admits her defeat. That they were right all along. Tonight is the night she blows away the ashes she’s desperately held so close to her chest and sealed away in secret urns inside for far too long. 

 Tonight is the night she lets go. 

 When she wakes the following morning, birds chirp outside her window. Sunlight spills into her room as it rises over the mountains across the lake and she yawns, stretching her arms over her head. Today is merry— it is the day her sister, Padmé Amidala, marries. 

 Today is merry but instead, she feels dread seep into the marrow of her bones. She’s happy for her sister, really, she is, but it serves only as a reminder that her time is ticking, and time has turned vexing. It serves as a reminder that she must make haste to find her own purpose, to find someone who will cherish her the way she’s spent many fortnights dreaming about. Sola’s already married and found her purpose, and Padmé’s had her entire life laid out before her since she was only fourteen years of age. 

 Sola, the wife and mother, Padmé, the Queen and then the Senator, and then there’s her. Unsure. Undecided. An ellipsis. 

 She’s envious. How could she not be? She’s envious that she’ll never be the perfect mother like Sola, envious that she’ll never live up to Padmé’s legacy, she’s even grown envious of the stars: they simply idle in the night sky but even their idleness has a purpose because their places have reason, to create constellations that in turn, tell stories. 

 She knows that after today, the pressure of fulfilling whatever destiny’s been written for her will only further suffocate her. She will suffocate beneath the weight of this pressure and she will be expected to continue breathing. She’s tried for so long to keep the air in her lungs but it’s so hard when with each day that passes by, the darkness grows more appealing. 

 She’s tried so hard to find the right path she’s supposed to take, but there are so many roads, so many choices and so many consequences. She’s afraid— and it’s why she’s allowed herself to hide in her sisters’ shadows for so long. But it feels so stifling now. 

 She sighs and blinks up to the terracotta ceiling. And then of course, dread wears her bones for an entirely different reason. Because it’s inevitable that she’s going to see Anakin Skywalker today. And things will be different. 

 It’s been lingering like an annoying, little insect since Padmé announced she’d invited her Jedi friends to the wedding, ever since she heard Anakin’s name being read off the list. Things were certain to change because he is but a mere guest, and not the groom. 

 It may have come as no surprise that Anakin would fall for her, but it certainly came as a shock that Padmé wouldn’t fall for him. 

 It makes her flesh blaze with a strange anger she’s not quite sure how to describe. How could her sister have something she so desperately wanted but not pursue it? How could she reject Anakin when he would willingly break and bend to her every whim? Why must her sister take his infatuation for granted— why could it not be given to her instead?

 She thinks it must be some cruel trick the Maker is playing on her, dangling Anakin in front of her like that, cursing him with an unrequited love when she was right there. She thinks it must be the Maker’s— damn him— cruel way of taunting her, as if the sneering stars had eyes, his eyes. Even if part of her is relieved Anakin is not marrying her sister, it still feels like a blaster wound to her chest, puncturing her skin and searing her insides. 

 She hears her name called from outside her room’s door and groans. 

 “What do you want?” She replies in displeasure as the door slides open. Her eldest sister, Sola, steps into the room and glowers at her youngest sister’s tone. 

 “Well, good morning sunshine,” Sola remarks and she rolls her eyes. Sola makes her way towards the bed, dropping a dress the color of fire onto the mattress. “Is there a reason for your ill-temper today?”

 She pushes herself to sit upright, wrinkling her nose at the dress as she takes a fistful of it in her hand. “Orange?” She scoffs, tossing it back down onto the bed. “I thought we were wearing blue?”

 Sola shrugs, plopping down onto the mattress. “Padmé changed her mind last minute,” she says. “I suppose if we wore blue, we’d mesh with the background, don’t you think?”

 She sighs and flops back down against her pillows, one arm folded over her stomach, the other folded behind her head. Sola pokes her forefinger against her knee and she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling. 

 “Now, answer the question,” her oldest sister insists. “What’s the matter with you?”

 Her eyelids flutter closed and she wishes more than anything that she could simply wink out of existence. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be here for Padmé, she does, but she’s uncertain how she could possibly explain how she feels to Sola in a way she could understand. It’s exactly this that’s made her feel so alone all these years. 

 She’s never had someone who could understand her, really get her. She’s always been different from her sisters, even before marriage and coronations and political promotions. It’s something she’s certain her sisters have known, that even her parents must’ve known. She’s never been jovial and nurturing like Sola, or clever and independent like Padmé. She’s always preferred silence and privacy, and maybe that’s been her problem. But it’s all she knows, being alone. 

 Sola’s never spent years yearning for a boy who yearns for another, so she couldn’t possibly understand. She doesn’t think she could even make her understand. 

 She sighs, lolling her head to the side until her gaze finds Sola’s. 

 “Not looking forward to wearing that dress for the entire evening,” she says instead. Sola’s eyes roll and she leans over to pinch her calf beneath the covers. She hisses and swats her sister’s hand away as she clicks her tongue, moving out of the way. 

 “Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Sola tries to reason. 

 “It’s hideous,” she deadpans. 

 Sola deflates with the acceptance of her defeat. She grabs her sister’s knee, giving it a shake. She glares at her older sister. 

 “Come on, that can’t be the only reason why you’re in such a foul mood,” Sola insists, her bottom lip rolling in a pout and she swears it’s almost comical how her eldest sister can act like such a child. It’s a wonder how she has children of her own. 

 She blinks at Sola as a sort of realization creeps onto her eldest sister’s face and she blinks, internally grimacing. For she knows that whatever is bound to come out of her sister’s mouth next is going to be completely and utterly wrong. 

 “I think I get it now,” Sola’s tone is softer, her face falling to match it. “You’re upset you’ll be the last of us to be married.”

 And there it is. 

 She internally cringes at just how wrong Sola is but she says nothing, further prompting her sister to lean forward, reaching for the hand that rests on her stomach. Her muscles stiffen when she takes it and she wills herself to stay still. It was better to let Sola say whatever she had to say than recoil and deny it— it’s not like she had any better excuse anyways. 

 “I know it can be tough,” she begins. “Feeling like you’re left out. Believe me, I had my fair share of it. I was so jealous of yours and Padmé’s relationship when you were younger because I was so much older, I felt like I just didn’t quite fit in with you two.”

 Her eyes finally meet Sola’s and she begins to see her eldest sister in a different light. All this time, she’s believed she’s the only one who’s felt this way— lost, left behind. While this isn’t quite the same context, she still feels her heart tremble in her chest for her sister, still feels like something’s shifted. It’s at least one thing they can understand each other on. 

 “But then, I found my husband. And then I had Ryoo and Pooja,” Sola continues. “And it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

 Sola’s grip tightens around her hand and she leans forward to place her other one on top. “I know it must seem hard, seeing as both Padmé and I are married— well, almost anyway.” Her lips curve into a soft, reassuring grin. “But you’ll find that same happiness one day. I just know it. So don’t fret, little sister.”

And there, she fears, is where her sister misses the plot. 

 She almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds. She remains silent, however, and Sola gives the back of her hand one last reassuring pat before she lets go, sliding off of the mattress. 

 “Anyways, I’m going to breakfast. You should come too before all the blue waffles are gone.”

 She watches as her eldest sister slips out of the room, the door sliding closed behind her and she sighs, digging her knuckles into her closed eyelids until the galaxy shimmers before her. How could Sola have come so close to understanding her one minute only to read her so wrong the next?

 She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed and in all honesty, she wishes she could simply stay here forever, or at least for the rest of the night. At least long enough that she doesn’t have to face Anakin Skywalker. 

 Because even though she’s already promised herself that she’d let him go, she wasn’t entirely certain she could hold true to her own word when she sees him again.

 The day goes by in a blur. In the blink of an eye, she’s wearing a satin dress in that deep orange she finds hideous beside Sola who stands beside Padmé. Padmé stands facing her husband-to-be, fingertips delicately placed in his palms as they recite their vows. 

 The sun paints the villa’s terrace with an orange glow and she watches it sink beneath the mountains across the lake from the corner of her eye. The sunlight looks like fire rippling in the gentle waves of the water below and she has to look away because she thinks of Anakin, how his eyes glimmer just the same. 

 She’s determined to keep her gaze away from the audience, however, because she knows he’s there, the incarnation of all she’s ever wanted, of all her bad ideas, of everything she cannot trust herself with in one. She searches the ground below, watches the way her dress ruffles with the breeze, like fire askew in the wind. 

 Padmé says something that makes the audience erupt in laughter and it startles her, so much that the hair on the back of her neck erects. When she flinches, she makes the mistake of blinking up— right into the eyes she’d been bound to avoid all night. 

 The world around Anakin Skywalker seems to stir until it’s all wet, blurry hues of orange, green, and white. Anakin is the only one she sees in high resolution— she can see every lock of wavy, dark blonde hair, every rippling wave in his irises, the scarlet line that slices just beside his right eye. She’d never seen this scar before— it must be new. 

 But what’s the most peculiar of all is that she meets his eyes— she meets his eyes. She’d blinked up to find he’d already been staring, already transfixed on her by the time their gazes met and his eyes had illuminated with that same knowing gleam she’d seen in them that day in the royal courtyard. 

 Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she is not in a dream. It’s both momentous and utterly devastating all the same.

 She isn’t quite sure whether to look away or not. This is what she's mooned over more times than her pride will allow her to admit. She’s dreamed this many nights, for Anakin Skywalker to simply look at her and now he is. Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she should feel elated but instead she feels… conflicted. 

 Does her heart flutter in her chest? Sure. 

 Does her stomach twist itself into knots? Certainly. 

 She felt so confident just the night before when she threw her hands up in surrender to the black sky, admitting her defeat to the stars who spent many moons mocking her that she was done. She felt so confident that she was ready to move on, to let go of this desire she’s harbored for Anakin for so long. 

 With the simplest of looks, Anakin Skywalker has proven capable of crumpling the paper walls she’d placed around herself. She was left feeling feeble, exposed and any sense of courage she thought she had was now lost. 

 Because three years of waiting and praying to higher entities who did not hear her pleas could not cease overnight. Her attraction to Anakin Skywalker could not cease in hours. She thought she’d extinguished the last flames of her withering hope but, as it turns out, a single dying ember remained. It means a part of her still yearned for him. A part of her still burned for him. 

 She wonders now, that he’s still looking at her, what possibly goes on inside his head. Why does he look at her now? Why does he stare, why do his lips twitch before curving in a smile when their eyes meet, why do they irradiate the longer her gaze lingers on his? Why does he not look sad at the wedding of the woman he loves? Why does he not even look at Padmé?

 Her mind swirls like a tempest— churning with unhinged, vicious anguish. She has to look away before the acid that bubbles in her throat can come to fruition but she can’t, and Anakin seemingly can’t tear his gaze away from her either. It’s all the more sickening and earth-shattering nonetheless. Her heart swells and pounds in her chest, the border of her vision beginning to blur with the familiar sting of tears. Her head is aching and it’s all just too much— she needs an escape. 

 “I now pronounce you, husband and wife.”

 She blinks away her emotion to the best of her ability, using the end of the ceremony as an excuse to look away as the crowd around her thunders with applause. Her mind is reeling and she feels like her head is spinning as she subconsciously claps her palms together, the sound muffled like water in her ears.  The watercolor around her stirs until it’s clear again and the entire world suddenly seems to move again— it’s her, this time, that’s in slow motion. 

 The cheering sounds like thunder, the applause like rain pelting against a window, and her mind begins to crumple, just like metal. She longs for escape, to flee and to be beside herself for the rest of the night. Padmé and her husband begin walking back down the aisle as their guests congratulate them, tossing flower petals into the air above them. She thinks that this is her chance to escape, she thinks everyone is distracted enough that no one will notice her leaving. 

 They never cared to notice her before anyways. 

 She begins to shuffle away but she doesn’t make it very far before her stomach lurches when someone clasps a hand around her wrist, tugging her forward. She snaps her head to the source to find her eldest sister, Sola, with her face illuminated by a grin. 

 “Come on!” Sola exclaims, dragging her down the aisle and back inside the villa. “It’s time to party!”

 Dread drains the blood from her cheeks but she’s given no time to protest before she’s being dragged down the aisle, right past Anakin Skywalker. She doesn’t dare look up but she feels him when she passes by, a mere brush of the arms, the feeling of his elbow brushing going just as fast as it came. 

 And it’s still enough to make liquid of her insides. 

 She drowns in a sea of people as she and Sola find Padmé, wrapped in their mother’s arms. She can hear her heart drum in her ears as Sola releases her hand to draw Padmé into an embrace, tears streaming down the apples of her cheeks. Everyone around her is so happy and she should be too— but she still feels like she’s beside the altar, caught in the trap Anakin has seemingly laid out for her. 

 A tear that’s been painfully dormant in her eye falls and she’s certain her distress shows on her face but it must be easily mistaken for tears of joy, because Padmé pulls away from Sola to turn to her, drawing her in for a hug. Her sister’s arms wrap around her body, a palm on her back, the other cupping the back of her head. Even Sola reaches forward to give her upper arm a reassuring squeeze, undoubtedly thinking back to the conversation they’d had earlier. 

 “Don’t cry for me, baby sister,” Padmé laughs tearfully beside her ear. She can feel Padmé’s smile against her shoulder. She pulls away and rubs her palms up and down the length of her arms. “I’m still the same Padmé I’ve always been.”

 She’s unable to reply— again, she’s misunderstood. But it’s her sister’s wedding day, she won’t burden her with her own confliction. So she swallows the boulder-sized lump in her throat, curving her lips just enough to form a tight-lipped smile. 

 “I’m just… happy for you,” she manages. Padmé cups her cheek and soothes the pad of her thumb over her skin before Ryoo and Pooja draw her attention away. Padmé’s hands fall from her arms and finally, she can breathe. 

 But even that is momentary. 

 “You make a perfectly fine bride if I do say so myself, Senator.”

 Her spine stiffens. She knows that voice. And she knows exactly who is near when she hears it. 

 Padmé laughs and tosses her hands. “Obi-Wan,” she greets him just like an old friend would, pulling him in for an embrace. “And little Ani.”

 How is it that she’s already seen him more tonight than she has in the past three years? She sees Anakin’s dark boots from the top of her vision, not daring to tear her gaze from the ground. 

 “Padmé,” Anakin’s deep, enriching voice sounds and rumbles deep in her belly. She shifts uncomfortably where she stands, desperate to flee. She thinks she can manage it now— Obi-Wan and Anakin are engrossed with Padmé now, right? 

 She begins to make her first attempt of escape, taking slow, careful steps to the side until her second effort crumbles when Anakin speaks her name. 

 Ice frosts over her spine and she’s no choice but to acknowledge the man she was so intent on avoiding the entire evening. Padmé and Obi-Wan are engrossed in their own conversation but Anakin’s gaze remains on her, eyes even sparkling when she finally meets them. 

 Her mouth is a desiccated oasis and her throat feels like a desert as it constricts painfully when she swallows. Still, she manages to breathe out, “Anakin.”

 It’s the first time she can ever recall having a true, proper conversation with him. The last time being when they said their goodbyes that very first time before he and Padmé left for the Lake Country. It’s confusing how this is everything she’s ever wanted yet, she feels an urge to push it all away. 

 Anakin clears his throat and his eyes flicker to his feet for a moment as if he could possibly be nervous before they find hers again. “You look good,” he says and her heart stops beating in her chest. “That dress is beautiful on you.”

 She thinks she could punch him. 

 Or kiss him. 

 She has to look away, or she may very well do the latter. 

 She wonders if this is some cruel, senseless joke the Maker is playing on her. She wonders if she’d upset him by unlatching herself from his hook and this is his way of reeling her back in. She hates that it has the potential to work. 

 “I…” she stammers and closes her lids frustratedly, willing air back into her lungs. She shakes her head— she cannot be here any longer. She may very well explode if she has to succumb to this torture for even a second more. “…thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 And then, she bolts. 

 She’s lost track of how long she’s been locked in her room, sitting in the window, staring at the moonlight that ripples in the water below. It was long enough for the chatter downstairs to quiet to murmurs until it finally ceased altogether. The villa is now quiet and suddenly, her room feels suffocating. 

 With a sigh, her feet meet the floor and she pushes away from the window seat, cupping her neck to roll it around her shoulders as she pads towards the door. It slides open and she slips through, making her way down the hallway leading towards the main foyer. Her dress flows behind her like flames in the wind, the satin cool against her legs as she walks. Fresh, night air greets her and she inhales, letting it flood her lungs as she saunters to the wide terrace ahead. 

 She stops at the stone arches of the railing and exhales, feeling the wind sift its fingers through her hair, breathing on her skin like a lover in the throes of passion. It caresses her neck and rolls down her back, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. 

 She’d spent many nights just like this one. Staring at the moon rippling through the water, at the stars that twinkle overhead, the sky that blackens behind them. She’d spent many nights praying, releasing her pleas into the air and letting it drift away with the breeze. 

 She does not pray this time. When she lifts her head to brave the dark that faces her, she merely asks why. 

 “Why, Maker,” she whispers beneath her breath. There’s an edge, a strain to her voice that stings her throat, that feels like daggers to her chest. “Why must you be so cruel? I have done everything, I have given you everything. Why wasn’t it enough? Why do you mock me now?”

 The stars overhead gleam as they cackle, sneering at the misfit below. “You’ll never have a place among us,” they seem to say. Tears well in her eyes and she drops her head, fingernails scraping the stone edge of the railing. She leans back on her heels and wills herself to breathe before a sob could wrack her body. 

 She feels lost and utterly alone, and she truly begins to feel like the weight of this prolonged pain has started to fall on top of her. She’s lost and alone and her entire world has started to crumble around her. And then she hears her name. 

 It’s like the call that haunts her every time she closes her eyes, the same velvety voice that caresses her ear every night when she lies down in bed. But it is not a ghostly whisper this time, because it is real. 

 Footsteps sound behind her and she further scratches her nails against the railing. 

 “I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Anakin remarks as he approaches and she can feel him beside her, like a whisper of shadow creeping along her skin. She rolls back onto the balls of her feet and stands straight, sniffing. 

 “Anakin,” she says, steadily, methodically. As if it took great effort to say it without stammering. She can see him out of her peripheral, dark blonde curls falling when he leans an elbow against the railing, tilting his head in an attempt to meet her eye. 

 She does not move. 

 “I was looking for you, you know,” he continues. “You must’ve found a good hiding spot.”

 She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was in my room,” she replies simply, a steely, monotone in her voice.

 Anakin inhales and hums. “Then it makes sense why I could not find you. I would never barge into a lady’s room.”

 It’s an attempt at humor but she feels anything but. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place with seemingly no clear solution in sight. She could walk away. She should walk away. She shouldn't spend a single second more in Anakin Skywalker’s presence— she simply couldn’t trust herself to not betray her own vow. 

 Or she could stay. She could stay and once again succumb to the fool’s game she’s been playing. She could stay and let Anakin Skywalker tie another noose around her neck, allowing him to drag her along for another three years. 

 She knows what is right. She knows what she should do. 

 But she’s frozen. 

 She cannot move, cannot even bring her lips to move so she can speak. She instead wilts, like a rose who once stood beautifully now losing its color, shriveling in on herself until she inevitably withers away. 

 She can feel Anakin draw himself just an inch closer beside her, and he’s like a single drop of rain that’s enough to somewhat salvage the husk of who she once was. 

 “Why do you avoid me?” He asks and it’s a question so simply but so damn infuriating all the while. She’s been a volcano in dormancy up until this point, but there’s a rumbling deep within her, threatening to erupt. 

 “Why are you doing this?” She questions, snapping her head towards him, brows dipped and drawn. Anakin blinks and draws back, a dent forming between his own brows. 

 “Doing what?” He asks and that feeling of wanting to ram her fist into his face comes back. She turns to fully face him and he pushes off the railing, uncertainty warping his features. 

 “This,” she gestures between them. “Staring at me. Talking to me. As if we’ve spoken more than hellos and goodbyes to each other.”

 Anakin raises a brow, the one his scar pierces, and it warps with the movement. 

 She continues. “And then you have the audacity to tell me I look beautiful in this gods-awful dress just to spite me.” She is a volcano, no longer dormant, no longer overlooked. She is exploding and Anakin is unfortunate enough to be in her wake. 

 He shakes his head. “Spite you?” He repeats. She begins to pace, a hand on her hip, the other rubbing her chin. Anakin follows, exactly like a lost puppy. “I wasn’t— I would never—“

 “Don’t say you’d never,” she turns on him, sticking an accusatory finger in his face. He blinks from it back to her, that ocean in the irises of his eyes raging, lightning cracking in the sinkhole at its center. She drops her hand and it curls at her side, her fists two shaking balls of fury. Blood bites her cheeks and she thinks of all the times she’s imagined speaking with Anakin Skywalker, of being alone with him. 

 This certainly was not how she’d ever imagined the scenario playing out. 

 She inhales. “Don’t say you’d never do anything to spite me while you are actively using me to get over Padmé,” she exhales, braving the stormy sea in his eyes. The tide shifts and his manner does too and she believes she’s already cracked him. She thinks she’s already shattered the illusion he was trying to create, that she’s lifted the wool he’s tried to veil over her eyes.

 She thinks that he believes whatever game he was trying to play was over. 

 Anakin straightens. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he says and she scoffs, backing away. 

 “Don’t I?” She retorts. “You don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve always looked at her? How you’ve always loved her?” 

 It brings her great pain to merely mention it. Her palms wipe at her face as tears begin welling in her eyes again, her cheeks warm as she desperately tries to quell the beginnings of a sob that stutters through her chest. She realizes now that by keeping all of these emotions, these feelings she’s harbored for Anakin for so long bottled has made her restless, has made her tick like a time bomb. 

 And her time to detonate has come. 

 He says her name again and tries to step forward, reeling back when she steps away from him. His hand wrapped in a leather glove hovers in the air between them and he drops it with an exasperated sigh. 

 “Your sister means a great deal to me, yes,” he begins. “But it is not—“

 “My sister is the sole reason why you torment me!” She snaps. “And you have no right to use how I feel against me just because she does not love you back.”

 Her words are an arrow meant to strike, to pierce through his chest, his heart her target. Her words are meant to cut deep, to draw blood, to make him bleed just like she has everyday since they met. She thinks they will, she thinks her blows will etch deep, will even leave scars in their wake. Part of her longs to see that pained expression upon his face, just like the one she wears now. 

 But her arrow merely grazes, soaring past until it sinks in the shining waters below. 

 Anakin’s face shifts but it is not in the way she thought it would, not in the way she hoped it would. His brows dip and his eyes swarm with a pained sort of desperation she’s never seen before in someone. She certainly never expected to see it in someone like him. His chest rises and falls with his breaths as he steps forward again. She stands still, unable to move. She is stunned— Anakin Skywalker has surprised her. 

 “Padmé does not love me,” he admits. “I met her when I was only a child. The only girl I’d ever seen before her was my own mother. So, of course, I felt drawn to her.” Her jaw tightens and her lips fall together in a firm, thin line. Anakin’s brows knit closer together and there’s a flicker in his eyes that she swears looks like the predecessor to tears. 

 She doesn’t quite want to believe it. He could not cry. 

 “And I spent a decade pining, a decade praying that I’d one day see her again, a decade hoping she’d been counting down the days until she saw me again, just like I was.”

 She doesn’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s a reflection of her own story, her own foolish pining, her own foolish praying but not hers, but Anakin’s. Her heart stutters in her chest and she forgets to breathe, having to gasp to gather air back into her lungs. 

 She’s never once felt like she could be understood. She’s never once felt like anyone else could experience the inner turmoil she has, the seemingly fruitless yearning she has. 

 But she’s realizing now that that's not true. Not anymore, at least. Everything is changing right before her eyes. 

 “And then I did,” Anakin shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving his lips. “And I felt nothing. But I tried. I tried to convince myself I loved her. But I just… didn’t.”

 Her brow furrows and Anakin’s gaze darkens as it finds hers. 

 “I spent a decade obsessing over someone I didn’t really know, and how could I? I was a child.” His eyes search hers, searching for something unbeknownst to her. But she lets him. “I didn’t know what love was. All I knew was infatuation. I didn’t know what it meant to truly feel seen, to truly feel drawn to someone.”

 Anakin pauses and she gets the feeling that whatever he says next will be calamitous. 

 “Until I saw you again, that day outside the palace.”

 Her lips tremble and her breath shudders, an icy chill frosting over her skin. To think he’s thought about her everyday since their eyes briefly met in the midst of a crowded courtyard was hard to believe yet, when she looks at Anakin Skywalker now, she sees the softening of his brow, the quiver in his lips, the honesty in his eyes. 

 She’s only ever imagined one look in his eyes. Desire. 

 But she looks at him now and finds an entire galaxy— there’s longing, there’s earnest, there’s optimism, there’s burning. As it turns out, living creatures are not black and white like she initially thought them to be. Anakin Skywalker is a complex creature, made of flesh and blood and of an intricacy she’d never stopped to consider before. 

 He’s even better than she’s imagined he’d be. 

 Every moment spent under the stars, praying that she’d one day have a place among them, that she one day would sit among them with purpose rather than in an ellipsis suddenly begins to feel like it wasn’t all for nothing after all. Every prayer she’s whispered into the night breeze with Anakin Skywalker’s name in it suddenly feels like they begin to matter, like they begin to come true. 

 Still, she is wary, and Anakin seems to recognize this caution. 

 He takes a step closer and he steals the breath from her chest, just like he had the first moment she saw him. Her fingers twitch, itching to find his, her palms tingling with the desire to feel his skin, her lips buzzing with yearning. She does not touch him, she does not kiss him, she does not do anything. She simply waits for the rest of his story to unfold and her brain aches with the hope that it will unravel into hers. 

 “I saw you that day at the palace to find you were already looking at me. That you were already seeing me,” he mutters, a little breathlessly. “It may have been for… for only a moment but when you looked at me, I felt…” he trails off, a furrow in his brow as he searches for the correct word. “…I felt… like something shifted.”

 She watches as he rolls his lips together, watches as the moonlight catches how they glisten with spittle. Her breath catches a little bit, her gaze lingering there, her desire to lap it all up flaring. 

 “It felt like there was a string there between us I’d never noticed before,” he continues. “There was a connection I’d never realized until the moment our eyes met. I felt you, and I felt you see me. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed by since where I didn’t feel you, where I didn’t feel like we were connected, like we were two stars written in the same constellation.”

 Her chest rises and falls to the erratic beating of her heart as Anakin draws nearer, the hand with his glove meeting her cheek with a tenderness she’d felt from no one before. She’d never realized how starved of touch she’s been until now and it feels so invigorating. Her stare drops to his lips and she feels that string Anakin must’ve been talking about, feels it drawing her closer into his mouth. 

 “Padmé does not love me back, and I do not care,” he says in just above a whisper, his voice rising and falling in a way that jellifies her knees, that makes liquid of her insides. “Because I am burning– foolishly, maybe, yes– for you.”

 She inhales sharply and it truly feels like all her prayers are finally being answered, like she’s being inducted into her rightful place in the sea of stars. And in her constellation, Anakin Skywalker resides too. 

 She reaches up with a hand to hold the crook of his elbow that’s strung between them as he brings his other, ungloved hand to rest on her other cheek. She feels his skin on her cheek as the pad of his thumb soothes over the warmth of her flesh and her body quakes with shivers that roll down her spine all the way to her toes. He begins to lean in, his breath hot where it fans against her skin but she tilts backwards, just enough for him to halt, a quirk in one of his brows. 

 “I will not let you settle for me, Anakin Skywalker,” she whispers, admitting that insecurity still lingers, despite his words. Anakin’s eyes narrow as he uses his hands on either sides of her face to draw her in, his lips but a mere whisper away from hers when he murmurs, “settle? This is not settling. This is binding.”

 Then, his lips are on hers in an electrifying bind that shatters her spine with cracks of lightning and she falls into him, her hands on either of his forearms to keep herself steady. 

 Anakin kisses her with an ardor she could never even dream up in all of her wildest of fantasies. He kisses her and she feels like she finally fits in her dress, as it is the color of fire and she’s engulfed in flames. He kisses her and he is the flame that lights her candle, the flame that melts her from the center, that makes heat course through her that washes all the way down to her toes. He kisses her and she is melting, right into him. 

 His tongue pirouettes over hers and she hums into his mouth, feeling his fingers thread through her hair. Her heart is pounding and her lips are buzzing but all she feels is Anakin, she feels the muscles in his arms, the warmth that radiates off his body and spills into her. She feels the push and pull of the passion, the yearning he’s kept inside all this time. She feels her own longing and fervor pour into him and they are floating, two clouds that collide into one another to become one. 

 Anakin steps forward and steps backwards until she hits a wall. When they pull away for breath, she realizes he’s backed her into one of the pillars, a vine caught in the hair on the back of her head. Their chests heave with the weight of their breaths and she watches as Anakin’s hand, not the gloved one, but the one with skin rises, following it as it reaches for her neck. She shudders when he touches her collarbone, exposed from the side of the fiery satin of her dress. His fingertips sear her skin as it drags to the neck of her dress, following the satin where it wraps around her throat, all the way to the back of her neck where the lace falls. 

 Her breath catches when his fingers find the small strings keeping her dress together. Her gaze finds his again to find he’s already staring, a narrow, earnest look upon his face that darkens his eyes and hardens his features. There is a silent question that hangs in the air between them: “do you want to stop?”

 Maybe they’re moving too fast. Maybe this is crazy, maybe they’re simply caught up in the moment, high off the feeling of burning for someone who burns for them too. But after years of pining, of waiting, of praying, it only feels right. 

 But still, she asks, “what if someone sees? Someone like Obi-Wan who can get you in trouble?”

 Anakin shakes his head, “they won’t. Now, I don’t want to talk about Obi-Wan. Do you want to stop?”

 The shake of her head is all Anakin needs to see before he unlaces the strings holding her dress together, the satin falling like a spark blazing down the frayed edges of a rope until it pools at her elbows. Her breasts spill from the dress and the night’s ghostly whisper chills her skin, peaking her nipples. 

 Anakin’s eyes devour and she is prey. 

 His stare pierces through her skin to the marrow of her bones that catch a chill and she quakes. He meets her eyes again as his hands drift lower, dipping until they finally find her chest. A sharp gasp escapes when his palms cup either of her breasts and she arches into his touch, already aching for more. 

 “Anakin!” She gasps in a breathy exclaim when he dips his chin to press a kiss over the top of one of her breasts, heat blossoming in his lips’ wake. His eyes catch her again, a little warily. “Is this okay?” He asks, his voice low and gravely, scratching the itch in her brain she didn’t even know she had. It makes her knees feel weak and if it hadn’t been for his body pressed up against hers, she would’ve crumpled straight to the ground. 

 “Yes,” she breathes, chest heaving into his palms. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… never…”

 Anakin’s lips curve and she can see a flash of white peek between them. He shakes his head. “Me neither,” he admits with a breathy laugh and she titters too, grateful for the fact that she’s not the only one who’s a little green. 

 “Can I keep going?” He questions and his voice is liquid desire, melting straight down to her core. She swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat, nodding. “Please,” she adds, feeling her heart beat straight into his palm. 

 Anakin’s head dips again and she watches, cheeks warm as he places an open-mouthed kiss just above her nipple. His palm kneads the other breast as his lips venture just an inch lower, finding the peaked bud that awaits, suckling it into his mouth. 

 It’s like electricity flooding through her veins. 

 She throws her head back, lips falling agape as her eyelids snap closed, soaking in the pleasure of Anakin’s lips on her nipple. He cautiously flicks his tongue against the bud, watching through his lids as a moan falls from her lips, encouraging him to do it again. He flattens his tongue against her nipple and licks a long, fat stripe from the underside of it up, feeling her tremble in his arms. He lets go of her breast with a wet pop, trailing kisses through the valley between them to make his way to the other. 

 Touching him, feeling him, kissing him is somehow even better than she’d ever imagined, even after all those years of dreaming for moments like this. She can’t believe she’s gone so long without feeling him like this, she doesn’t think she can ever stop touching him. 

 Anakin suckles on her breast, flicking his tongue against her nipple as his hand not wrapped in a glove ventures down her body, past her waist, down her hip. He pulls the satin material of her dress up until his arm can sneak his way beneath it and she shivers when his fingers find her center over her underwear. Her nails dig into his sleeves above his shoulders, holding her breath as he finds the wet spot in her underwear, gently pressing against it. 

 Her hands tighten on his shoulders and ceases all movement, peering up at her. “You’re wet,” he says rather matter-of-factly because of course she is, how could she not be? She nods down at him, swallowing thick layers of saliva down her throat. “Can I touch you here?” He asks and his voice drops to that silky, velvety tone that makes her core ache. She presses her lips together to stifle her groan, head vigorously nodding up and down. 

 “Gods yes, Anakin,” she moans, slowly rocking her hips against his finger. “Please.”

 She feels filthy in a way for asking, for needing friction so desperately. She’s only ever taken her own fingers when she’s too lost in pleasure at night to sleep, never been touched by anyone else but it’s all she craves now, for Anakin’s fingers to touch her, for him— whatever part it may be— to be inside her. 

 A flame had been ignited in the pit of her belly long ago, back when Anakin first stepped through the door the day they met. It’s sat stagnant for too long, waiting for its moment to further bloom and now it has. It blossomed when her eyes met Anakin’s that day in the courtyard but it’s now in full bloom, now that they burn together, now that his kisses have seared her skin, now that his fingers are pulling her underwear down her thighs, just enough that he can reach her center. 

 When his fingertips brush her clit, she bursts. 

 Anakin’s arm wraps around her waist as she practically collapses into him, his middle finger drawing circles against her clit, his breath hot as his lips rest on her brow. 

 “Is this good?” He asks against her forehead. “Do you feel good?” He questions again as he adds his forefinger to the mix, applying just a little more pressure and it makes her eyes roll. 

 “Yes, just… just don’t stop,” she exhales, feeling her stomach twist itself into a knot, his fingers against her clit threatening to pull it undone any moment. 

 So he doesn’t. 

 He’s unrelenting in the way his fingers press to the aching bud in her center, tracing tight circles until her eyes squeeze closed so hard, milky-ways shimmer behind her lids. He dares venture lower, gathering her slick on the pads of his fingers as he teases near her entrance. It’s a foreign and strange feeling, it’s a pattern she’s traced many times with her own fingers but never been touched by someone else. Even in spite of how many nights she spent trekking that path wishing it was Anakin’s fingers instead, but it’s still strange feeling him there now. 

 She clutches his arm tighter and he slows, beginning to retract his hand. She stops him, lifting her head until their eyes meet again. 

 “No,” she pants, shaking her head. “Don’t stop, just… just take it slow.”

 He nods, his finger a little unsure as it circles her entrance, unintentionally teasing until she begins to crack. She’s panting, trying to wiggle her hips so that she can draw his fingers in, seeking that feeling of being full. Anakin dips his forefinger into her hole and she tosses her head back, her lips parting for an “oh” to emit. 

 He watches her face, even if she can’t see it, she can feel his gaze behind her closed lids. He is testing the waters, learning what makes her moan, what makes her squirm, what makes her come. Slowly, he sinks his finger further in and she feels every single millimeter that drags along her walls until he’s knuckle deep. Her legs feel like jelly and her knees begin to wobble, nails clinging to his sleeves like they were her lifeline. 

 Pressure builds in the pit of her belly as Anakin carefully retracts his finger, just to sink it back in again, a slow, cautious rhythm that leaves her mind spinning. His fingers are so much bigger than hers and she already feels so stuffed despite it only being one finger. Somehow, it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

 “Ana… Anakin,” she gasps, peeling open her lids to find he’s already looking. His finger slows but picks up its pace again when he realizes she’s not in any pain. “Another.”

 His brow dips and his head tilts in confusion, uncertain what she means. She gathers moisture on her lips, trying to speak through the pleasure-driven haze in her mind. 

 “Another finger. Please.”

 Their eyes lock and there’s a flicker in his, a hint of doubt. 

 “Are you su—“

 “Please.”

 So, Anakin gathers her lips with his and she mewls into his mouth when he presses his middle against his pointer, sinking them into her cunt until they reach as far as they can. She’s trembling against him but he keeps her upright, with his arm and with his lips. 

 Just one of Anakin’s fingers had made her feel stuffed but two of his fingers made her feel full to the brim. Her walls clench around his fingers and she gasps his name like the beginning of a prayer, pleading for more. 

 It’s a twist on the prayers she recites to the Maker every night. It’s rewriting her every broken hymn, transforming it into something entirely new. She moans Anakin’s name and his fingers turn it into a song so that she cries like a dove into the night. The Maker may have left her feeling broken, wasted, unimportant but Anakin has found her, patched her up, polished her until she’s brand new. 

 The tangle in her belly begins to rupture, slowly unraveling and so she pushes his arm away, his fingers sliding out of her cunt, her walls pulsing with the loss. They both pant and Anakin’s face hardens in question as his chest heaves. 

 “What is it?” He asks, searching her face. 

 She gathers air deep in her chest. “I want…” She trails off, her embarrassment washing over her cheeks in blood. Her gaze drops and Anakin tilts his head to find it again, their eyes locked. He says nothing, only the nod of his head encourages her to continue. “…I want more. I want… I want you to…”

 She purses her lips in frustration. For heaven’s sake, she’s talking to the man who just had his fingers inside of her mere moments ago. Why does she feel embarrassed now?

 She takes another deep breath, mustering the courage to tell what she truly wants. “…I want you to feel good too.”

 Something shifts in Anakin’s eyes. It could be easily mistaken as a trick of the light but she sees it, she feels it. Anakin is burning just the same as her, his pupils becoming a backdrop behind the fires of desire, and she burns within it. 

 She watches as Anakin’s hand sinks below the belt around his middle, all the way down to the waistband of his trousers beneath his dark tunic. She watches with her breath lodged at the base of her throat as he pulls down his pants, just enough for his cock to be set free and oh, it is just like her dreams but even better. 

 Nothing could have ever prepared her for the sight of Anakin Skywalker’s cock. Not even the wildest of her dreams could ever capture the essence of the art of Anakin Skywalker. He is handcrafted by the gods themselves— he is the physical embodiment of masterpiece. 

 He steps forward and towers over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her face. She peers up at him, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing. His hands find either side of her face and she stops breathing altogether, wondering what he will do next. 

 Then, “put your arms here,” he whispers, guiding her arms over his shoulder. “And hold on.”

 She squeals when he drops his hands to the undersides of her thighs, lifting her off the ground so that her ankles lock behind his back. Her arms tighten around his neck as he presses her back against the pillar, his chest pressed into hers. She can feel his length as it’s squeezed between either of their bodies and her walls clench around nothing, practically sobbing to feel him inside. 

 For a moment, the world stills around them and it’s like when she sees him in the audience during Padmé’s wedding. The night stirs and blurs until it’s dark watercolor, but Anakin is what she sees in high resolution. It’s the perfect mirage— she and Anakin feel like two stars in the middle of the black abyss above, forming their own little constellation. 

 And when Anakin finally slides himself inside of her, she feels like her place in the sea of stars has been cemented. She finally feels like she’s where she belongs.

a/n; SO! MY LONGEST IMAGINE YET.... may or may not have gotten a bit carried away (more like a little too wordy...) BUT! i really hope some of you enjoy and i truly appreciate anyone who reads this all the way through. i know 10k words is a lot 😭 also i hope this doesn’t seem too insta-lovey… this idea just came to me in a dream so i wrote what I dreamt lol

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

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[cosycafune]

NO ESCAPE ZONE…

1.7k words. sure, you’re supposed to be taking sylus’ measurements. yet, what happens when you’re sexually drawn away, pushing forward an offer that the two of you can’t refuse? once you’ve made a deal, you have to keep it.

acts: oral (m) receiving, throat fucking, gagging, whimpers, facial, cum-swallowing, crying, sadistic tendencies, massive cock, slight cock warming, almost getting caught and more.

a/n: he’s officially my favourite now. like, he’s the perfect man. argue with the wall if you think I’m wrong. 1/3. pt2 here.

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PROPPED within such a delicate space, your heart boisterous, you remain before Sylus. A measuring tape embroiders your fingers, leaving you a contorted mess — your fingers situated against his sculpted abs.

“Do you want me to wear the wrong size?” Snarky aloofness mixes into Sylus’ question.

Patronisation stains him while he looks down at you, his crimson eyes slicing into your facade. Wickedly, mischief tints a composed Sylus. It sculpts him into soft grunting at your touch becoming more intense.

Skilful, you clumsily back into Sylus’ chest. His closeness clamps around your mental functions, rendering you breathless. Attempting to scoff, to paint yourself as unbothered, you continue to take in Sylus’ measurements.

“With your cloudy mind, you are going to mess up my outfit,” Informing you, Sylus’ vibrating tone causes your breath to hitch. All the stability within you was beginning to falter.

“Stop complaining,” Stubbornly countering Sylus, you allow your delicate fingers to fall against his v-line.

Blooming with forbidden thoughts, you cast yourself into becoming bolder. Tracing the intricate curves of his abs, you lightly disregard the measuring tape. Unable to revert, you continue — knowing this is a no-escape zone.

“You can do whatever, but we’ll have to strike a deal, sweetie,” Taunting you, Sylus gruffly speaks — observing you drift your hand incredibly lower.

“Mhm, you can do whatever you want to me, Sy’,” Responding to him, you momentarily gather the courage to sensually flutter your eyelashes at him.

“Be careful of what you put on the bargaining table,” Uncaring at Sylus’ warning, you roughly drift your hand lower — casting your palm into resting against his cock outline.

Mesmerised, you plaster yourself into listening to his rapturous heartbeat. Grinning, you develop lustful at Sylus’ stolen groans — pushing you into cruelly squeezing.

“Is gentleness not an attribute of yours?” Grunting, Sylus cloudily questions you.

“Your body begs to differ,” Mocking Sylus, you teasingly trail over the ample outline — listening to his sensitive gasps.

“Damn, s-sweetie,” Stripped of composure, Sylus voices his guarded heart — curling into your fingers prying at his concealed fly.

Riddled with tainted control, you greet Sylus’ fluttering eyes. Naturally, he tries to suppress his anticipation — beads of sweat contrasting his coolness. Happiness festoons you while you silently unbutton his trousers.

Bubbling with ropes of control, you allow his elusive trousers to fall — completely pooling before the both of you.

Smothered with commitment, you glance at Sylus’ thick, girthy, pre-cum, adorned erection. An erection that’s scarcely caged, pointing greedily in your direction.

“Your body always goes against your mental stoicism,” Corrupting Sylus’ sanity, you lowly speak — pushing eagerly closing your plush thighs.

“Is that why… you’re clenching your thighs?” Fixed with a strained expression, Sylus’ territorial inquiry causes you to innocently puff out your cheeks.

“Is there any reason to lie to you?” Raising your brow, you counter Sylus’ point — beginning to disregard his cock-blocking underwear.

“If you were a fool, of course,” Your abdomen curls, refined by butterflies at Sylus’ snarky remark.

It completely aroused you, pushing you into straining the ache that wells within your toned thighs. Pushing with a restrained might, you almost cave at Sylus’ clouded gaze resting upon a lust-trembling you.

Shaping yourself mentally, you lower yourself with every fabric tug — inching painfully nearer to Sylus’ throbbing cock. Shuddering with longing, you admire every vein that greets your smitten eyes. Sheerly his v-line made you almost finish, riddled with your release between your clamped thighs.

Lowered before him, dominance still ravelled around a patient Sylus, you continue to watch as his girth cock eventually releases itself from his briefs. Drool adorns your lips while you admire the thickness of his precum-beaded tip.

Nothing within you could manage yourself as you loudly gulp, allowing his underwear to properly fall. Dutiful, you push yourself into grasping his girth — smearing your fingers against the midst of his large cock.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re on your knees,” Admiring you, Sylus admits his thoughts — glancing down at you with admiration.

“You’re next, Sy’,” Too enamoured by his monstrous cock, you whine with longing — wanting to fill yourself up with his cock.

However, you’re in a reserved place.

“What was that?” Eagerly questioning you, Sylus softly moans at your lips parting — gently kissing upon the tip of his dripping cock.

Before you could consensually glance at him, Sylus releases crimson and raven tentacles from his evol. Satisfyingly humming, he casts himself into smugly glancing at you — consumed by you hungrily greeting his gaze.

“You…heard me,” Replying hazily to him, you reach towards mentally satisfying your sexual trance.

Being swiftly released, you blanket a hand around Sylus’ inhumane cock — relishing the delicate, veiny skin. Focusing your lips, you pepper tender kisses — consumed by the idea of satisfying him.

Filtering your hearing, you pluck out the hefty sounds of Sylus’ needy moans, his breathless pants, his silently voiced eagerness. To you, it was obvious that the heartless man was riddled with an immense amount of pleasure.

Content with how effective your touch is, you widen your warm mouth — burrowing Sylus’ tip between your saliva-tinted lips. Slimming your cheeks, you contently suck down on his tip — innocently flaunting your glimmering eyes.

Unable to stop yourself, you prepare your mouth for more —- flattening your tongue before you push your head further. Completely enticed, you lodge your mouth with Sylus’s cock — rewarded by his subconscious moans.

Flustered, you mellowly watch his cheeks grow blessed with a crimson hue. Pleased at the rare sighting, your curiosity peaks at Sylus’ fingers yearning to burrow into your hair and guide you.

Honoured, you strategically fill more of your mouth with Sylus’ girth. Knowing his heavy cock would be hard to fully put into your mouth, you take a little bit more — filling your mouth so obediently.

“Oh, yes,” Unwilling to quell his moans, Sylus completely releases them. His lips part with his intense gaze glancing down at you, his eyes rolling back effortlessly.

Fond at Sylus’ enjoyment, you softly bob your head — feeling every vein whilst you intensely suck down. The warmth of his cock stains your mouth while saliva drips from your lips, supporting the pace that you set for your mouth.

Contently sucking, Sylus subconsciously bucks his hips into your mouth — his fingers grazing your forehead. Beautifully obeying him, you listen to his every moan — love-stricken by the gushy sounds of your cock-sucking.

“This…is the…best way of shutting you up,” Playfully rolling your eyes at Sylus’ scrambled words, you harshen your pace — watching silence envelop a trembling him.

“Ah! Yes!” Unable to control his breathing, Sylus’ frantic moans continue to spill over you.

As he watches you through strained eyes, Sylus softly bucks his hips into your mouth. Stirred on, Sylus strengthened his pace while you fruitfully gag on his cock. Unwilling to pull back, teary at his pleasurable pace, you grow flustered at the heavy squelching sounds that flee from your lips.

“Such a…good girl,” Sylus contently praises you, throwing his head back.

Testing your limits, Sylus pushes your head against the base of his cock — turned on by your heavy gagging. Lightly pulling back, your face riddled with tears, you grin at him.

“Too much?” Concerned, Sylus’ beams of affection tint his question.

“More,” Wooed by Sylus’ subconscious yearning, you gesture for him to throat fuck you.

Blanketed by your compliance, Sylus casts himself into slamming his cock into your mouth. Your heavy tears falling completely turn him on, leading to him quickening his pace further at the lewd sounds of his cock fucking your throat.

“Close, my…sweet,” An aggressive, focused expression tints Sylus’ face while he watches you, so near to finishing.

Nodding lazily, Sylus’ pace effortlessly creates an impossible momentum. Narrowly struggling to keep up, your eyes flutter at him burying your mouth impossibly with almost every inch of him.

“Hm, take… it,” Smushing your lips against his cock base, Sylus almost hunches over with his energy-consuming statement.

Flushed, Sylus’ worded murmurs completely stain your ears. Ears before he holds your mouth there, hardening effortlessly. Almost rendered breathless, you hold out for him — listening to him moan extremely loudly. His loudness leaves your thudding cunt a pooling mess, in need of being touched upon and coddled.

Grunting so audibly, Sylus relaxes whilst his throbbing cock shoots out thick, warm cum down your throat. It causes him to almost bellow a whimper at the sensitivity, panting harshly whilst his balls are finally empty.

Strained with pleasurable tiredness, Sylus happily pulls back from a used you. A small beam frames his lips while he admires your smudged mascara, your streaming tears, the cum and saliva bubbling around your lips, along with the drops staining your clothes.

“Swallow,” Sylus dominantly instructs you to do so, accidentally bringing himself to finish against your face.

Gasping, you slightly flinch at his thick beads of cum caressing your eyelashes. However, you then hear the sound of a worker stirring nearer to your reserved spot. Panic arises within you, causing you to hyper fixation on the cum staining your face.

You’re far from presentable.

“Sy—”

“—Are you ready for your measurements to be finalised?” A worker so cheerily asks, causing you to stifle your breaths — embarrassed.

“I think I’ve already finalised my measurements,” Smirking, Sylus responds to her — gently placing his cock back into his briefs.

“I’ll be available if you need to finalise for customisation,” As she speaks, you frown at Sylus smoothing out his sexual ruffles — leaving you on your knees.

“Perfect,” Sylus announces, observing you pout — a little annoyed at him simply staring.

“A little help here?” Completely pulverised, you croakily speak. Large specks of cum rest upon your face and within your styled hair.

“Sure, but I’ll be sure to fulfil my half of the deal,” Softly informing you, Sylus gently lifts you, “Once we get back to my home.” Amused by the degrading sexual look you wear, Sylus admires you — mellow.

He wasn’t done with you, yet. 1/3.

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