#is it too late to just burn the house down

[beardedjoel]

i cannot stress enough that prompt #15 on the first list is SOOOO smother coded, imagine on a hot summer night joel and blossom are up late and just yapping and looking up at the stars (blossom would def make a joke about how one of the constellations reminds her of joel) and then one thing after another he's fucking her raw and deep into the ground, when they're done blossom has grass stains on her dress or something (ALSO JULIE CONGRATS ON 5K YOU FUCKING DESERVE ILY)

thank you so much for sending this in and the kind words bby! beyond appreciate your patience from sending this in months ago 🤧 sorry for the delay! i had so so much fun writing this one though hehe because it really was very smother coded and it felt so natural for them. stargazing really does feel like something they'd do together often, especially after the way it goes for them here!

sea of stars — joel x f!reader

request: "stargazing that turns into sex". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! could be read as a standalone daddy joel if you really wanted to but it is rather smother-y and written with them in mind 😋

wc: 2.9k

warnings: dry (wet?) humping, piv, dirty talk, ddlg / daddy dom!joel + sub!reader

Sticky, thick air clings close to your skin, your hopes of beating the late night heat of summer by opening all the windows dashed as the house remains a stuffy, sweltering prison. You wished for air flow more than anything, a fan, and Joel promised he would do his best to find a working one for the two of you someday. You knew it was unlikely to ever materialize, but Joel would do his damndest to never give up on something that you’d so sweetly asked for.

“Can’t sleep, daddy,” you murmur, rubbing your burning, tired eyes and rolling over to face him. Despite the heat, your naked body gravitates towards him, your longing for him unable to be quelled by it and the layer of sweat that seems to permanently live on your skin. His arms find you, bringing you close, clammy limbs tangling together but neither of you caring, lethargic in your movements.

“I know, sweetheart. ‘M sorry,” he replies, stroking your hair soothingly. “It’s jus’ a heatwave, darlin’, these usually only last a few days. Should be out of it soon.”

You nod, still feeling pitiful, sighing and rolling onto your back as Joel’s arms retract, the both of you trying to cool off again. After a few silent beats, Joel sits up in bed, watching you blink listlessly at the ceiling.

“Alright, up. I’ve got an idea,” he says.

You clamber off the mattress half in a daze and he hands you a ball of thin fabric - your nightgown that had been discarded before you got in bed. Sheer and lovely and see through, you pull it over your head, the material thankfully feather light on your skin. Joel feels better knowing you’re covered up for what he has planned. It’s odd, how deep the possession runs, knowing that nobody else is within miles of this place, but still feeling that pull to keep you as only his to see. It didn’t hurt that you always looked almost too alluring in the clothing he picked out for you.

After tugging on a pair of briefs, Joel leads you outside, snatching a throw from the back of the couch as you pass. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you step past the threshold, the cooler air sweeter than anything as it caresses your skin. 

“Few degrees makes all the difference, don’t it?” Joel says, and you quickly agree with a happy little hum. His hand on the small of your back, he guides you away from the cabin, stopping where a clearing of trees reveals the night sky to you, the moon only a tiny sliver shimmering in the distance, hardly providing any light. You strain your eyes slightly, comforted by the warmth radiating off of Joel reminding you he’s right there.

“Lay down,” he tells you, and you pause, wondering if he can see your face scrunched up in confusion as both of your eyes still adjust to the darkness. “Jus’ trust me,” he adds on at your hesitation, kissing the side of your head.

You lay down on your back, the cool grass beneath you making you smile as goosebumps briefly prickle your skin. You’d started to lose hope that it was possible to find relief in heat like this. Folding your hands over your stomach, you see Joel kneeling down next to you, hear him groan quietly as his knees crack on the way.

“Now tell me what you see, honey,” Joel says, settling next to you.

The obvious answer is right above you, twinkling dots littering the black sky. Their serene beauty transfixes you as you simply mutter, “Stars.”

“Mhm,” Joel confirms, propped up on his elbow to face you. “Pretty, ain’t they?” His fingers tease along your scalp, brushing backwards in rhythmic, soothing strokes. Lulled by his touch, you simply nod, letting the sea of stars swim in front of your eyes.

“You know any constellations?” he asks, laying onto his back to gaze at the sky with you.

“Mm, not really. Can you teach me?”

“Don’t know very many myself.” He pauses, scanning the sky for a few quiet moments. “Well I know that one there. ‘S the big dipper, but everyone knows it. Y’see the handle? An’ the big spoon part too?”

Joel’s hand envelops yours, guiding it to point towards the constellation. You squint, focusing your eyes to try and see it, but shake your head, making a contemplative little noise. “Kind of,” you say, twisting your lips to the side. “Wait… yeah, I see it, daddy! Right there…” You move your hand with his in a line, showing that you see the handle.

“You got it, princess.”

Both of your hands fall to the side, staying interlinked as you quietly observe the beauty floating above you, suspended in the clear sky. You’ve completely forgotten about the heat, the restlessness that had plagued you these last few hours. The air stays cool enough to take the edge off, your skin finally free from that grimy layer of sweat it seemed to carry at all hours during this heat wave.

“What’s that one?” you ask, finger pointing high into the night sky.

“I- I don’t know if that is one, darlin’,” Joel replies amusedly, trying to follow your eyeline. “We’ll get you a book on it, maybe, you’ll be a pro in no time.”

You give a bright smile at his offer while trying to make out more shapes in the twinkling expanse above. “What about that one?” you ask impatiently, pointing again. “It kind of looks like a face, maybe. Maybe it’s you,” you turn your head, giving him a cheeky grin as you laugh.

“Silly girl,” Joel chides you with a chuckle, reaching over to pinch your cheek for the teasing. “You know that daddy doesn’t know everything, right? Despite what it may seem.”

You giggle quietly, shaking your head. “You do know everything, daddy. Isn’t that one of the rules?”

“Knowin’ best f’you and knowin’ everything are very different, blossom,” he says playfully. “An’ especially when it comes to this… constellation stuff, I ain’t ever thought to learn them before, really. Sometimes it’s nice to just… look at ‘em. Thas’ been my philosophy, at least.”

“It is nice…” you mutter dazedly, feeling lulled by the serenity of the sky, the quiet noises of the forest surrounding you, the rustle of a soft but gladly received breeze blowing by. 

“Feelin’ better?” Joel asks, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

“Mhm. Much better,” you reply, sounding more subdued. The heat had made it harder to keep your composure throughout the last few days, leaving you on edge and worried you would inadvertently snap at Joel, resulting in a punishment. It had been a while since he’d had to dole one out, but the memories of them alone makes your body feel flush with need.

You did hate getting them, yet craved the heated attention from him that came with it. You curl a little closer to him at the thought, rubbing your thighs together.

“I can cuddle you again, daddy,” you tell him, making Joel’s chest vibrate with a tiny chuckle.

“You didn’t want to cuddle your old man before?” You can practically hear the daring raise of his brows in his voice.

“Too hot,” you insist innocently, tucking your face near Joel’s armpit and poking him in the side. He makes a noise of agreement as he playfully swats you away. You’d noticed the same from him during this heatwave - the way his body wanted to gravitate towards yours as usual, but even your insatiable Joel had found it too stiflingly hot to give you what you both desired as often as normal.

Now, however…

His energy shifts, hand slithering down your back, making goosebumps crop up as you shiver. Even less than a few days without his touch has your nerves frazzled the second his hands are on you again, greedily making their way down to your ass, squeezing hard at the plush skin there.

A needy growl pulls up from Joel’s throat, leaning forward to press his lips to your ear, wrapping them around your ear lobe and suckling. Another wave of goosebumps trails over your entire body, a helpless cry whimpered out. 

“Ain’t had enough of you these last few days…” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, raspy and heated. Your breath catches and you clench between your legs, your core moving towards his without thought, throwing a leg over his. His hand tightens on your ass, yanking you closer until you can feel the hard shape of his cock press into you. The thin fabric of both of your clothing does little to hinder either of you, and you start rolling your hips against him, whining.

“Poor baby is needy without her daddy filling her up constantly, isn’t she?” Joel taunts, his other arm slipping underneath you to grab your other ass cheek, now starting a steady, faster rhythm against him.

“Daddy…” you manage to whine breathlessly, your mind only focused on the feeling between the two of you, brain going fuzzy with need. He seems to grow harder, his cock desperate to break the confines of his clothing, to wear down the fabric of your dress with the way he’s moving you in earnest now. You gush between your legs, built up tension from the last few days that hadn’t been sated well enough coming back in full force. 

The fabric of your dress pressed further between your legs starts to grow damp, catching on your poor clit and sending little waves of pleasure buzzing through you. You moan quietly, only forlorn little breaths that Joel eats up, fueling him to keep forcing you to rut into him.

“I w-want -” you try to speak, but the bulge in Joel’s briefs reaches deeper between your thighs, your entire body twitching. 

His lips find your earlobe again, biting gently before turning to your neck and nibbling there. “What does my blossom need, hm? Use your words…”

You whine in response, thrusting inward at the same time Joel urges your hips forward, moaning louder. You pant, angling yourself to get off even easier on him, feeling an obscene amount of moisture seeping onto your dress, soft squelches filling the air as it leaks onto Joel’s briefs, too.

“Christ, baby, my little girl is a needy fuckin’ thing isn’t she,” Joel punches out in disbelief, losing control, his hips twitching harder into yours, chasing his pleasure.

“I-Inside…” you manage to choke out.

Joel tsks. “Not ‘till you give me one,” he demands. You immediately double down on the rocking of your hips, letting yourself get lost in it until your body is burning, so close to reaching that bliss. His cock leaks for you, adding to the wetness sticking to the clothing between you, sweat forming on your brow and neck and everywhere else now, too.

The climax hits you in a hurried burst, leaving just as quickly, not the release you’d been hoping for. You groan in frustration as you come down, clinging to Joel’s sweaty chest.

“Pl-please, daddy. I’ll do anything…” You beg him, your skin prickling and hot with frustration, the heat slowly making you irritable again.

“Anythin’? Ain’t no different from any other day, princess.” He teases, mocking you with that drip of condescension he does so well. It only riles you up further, and you move to untangle yourself from him to move into the position you know will give you the relief you need from him. Before you can get on your hands and knees, Joel grabs you by the waist, pulling you into where he still lays, your body fumbling into his solid chest as it clunks back to the ground. His lips press to your ear, your body tight to his as one arm holds you by the torso, the other near your neck. “Nuh-uh. You know you don’t get to decide how I take you. That ain’t how this works,” he grits out, ruthless.

Whimpering, that odd mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins, you smirk, struggling slightly in his hold to egg him on, your ass wriggling into his crotch. Joel clocks it immediately, moving to reach between you and tug down his briefs and tear your dress off where it already barely covers your ass.

“Gonna make me crazy, bein’ a little brat like that, baby. We both know that ain’t you. She’s a good girl. Right?” He presses his cock between your thighs, forcing it through to your entrance, teasing you when you remain silent. “Right?! Say it, sweetheart. Tell daddy you aren’t a brat.”

“I-I’m not…” Just the tip of his cock presses inward and you grit your teeth, holding back the pathetic, desperate begging you really want to spit out. “I’m not a brat, daddy, I promise. I just -”

“You need daddy’s cock, I know.” He interrupts you with a press inward of his hips at his words, sinking the thick length of himself inside of you. You squeal, the noise turning to a moan of relief as he slides in easily, your slickness already coating everything, including the way it’s dripping down the inside of your thighs.

“What are you then, if you ain’t a brat?” Joel sits perfectly still, his well practiced restraint palpable between the two of you. You want him to move, you need him to move, to fill that void you’d been missing for the last few days.

“I’m a g-good girl. I am… I am… I-I’m good, see?” You keep perfectly still with Joel for a long beat, letting him make the final call on whether or not you’ve been good enough. One of your hands grasps tightly into the grass to pour out your pent up frustration, nails digging into the earth.

Joel cranes his neck to kiss the side of your head. “That’s right. Thank you, blossom. Good girls get a reward from their daddy, too.”

You nod eagerly, and in a flash Joel’s body is on top of yours, forcing his cock to plunge deeper inside of you as you lay belly down. He yanks on your hips, bringing them upwards and begins to thrust steadily and surely into you. Your g-spot immediately feels the change in angle as he starts to press on it, your pussy pulsing around him, still sensitive from the last climax.

“Y-yes, yes…” you groan out, the top half of your torso still pressed into the ground going deeper into the grass with each bounce of your body on Joel’s thrusts. He smacks your ass and you yelp happily, heat radiating from there into pleasure at your core when he does it again.

“S-shit… baby, come for me. Want to hear you, want to feel you. Daddy a-ain’t gonna last…”

Something about his desperation pulls your insides taut, makes you clench harder around him. His hand reaches to your clit, rubbing urgently as he pounds into you. “Come, f-fuck, come, blossom. Now.”

His command, always your bidding, follows that same pattern now, sending you toppling over the edge. You come hard, your legs trembling, sinking lower to the ground so that you’re almost flat, your knees unable to hold you up. The pure abyss of pleasure rocks through you for those few, perfect moments as Joel pants above you as he pistons his hips faster. He suddenly yanks himself out of you, leaving you empty and trembling. You hear the squelch of your slickness in his hand, pumping his cock a few times before the hot splattering of his cum hits your back, soaking through your dress.

Joel sighs, collapsing next to you on his back, tucking himself back inside his briefs. “S-sorry, baby. I needed that too, I guess,” he says, sounding more sheepish than usual.

“I liked it,” you tease him, genuine in your words. You roll to your side, sitting up slightly and glancing down at your dress with a frown. Through the dark, your eyes more well adjusted now, you can see the stain smeared across the front of it. It isn’t the first time that grass stains have invaded your wardrobe from a passionate moment like this, but you like your dresses pristine for Joel, always worried about him getting it out for you. “My dress…” you lament.

Joel’s lips pull up into a smirk. “Afraid the back ain’t any better.”

You giggle, flustered and still shy after all this time at the thought of what you and Joel do together after the moment passes. “You made a mess this time, daddy.”

His lips find yours, pressing a deep kiss to them. “Can’t help that it looks good on you. You want to go change?”

“Too tired now. Want to sleep.” You shake your head, blinking at the night sky again, studying the stars with heavier lids now. The cooler outside air, despite your recent activities making you sweat all over again, starts to dry it quickly, leaving you pleasantly comfortable and sated. Joel’s plan seemed to work wonders, this setup much better than it had been trying to fight for sleep inside the stuffy house. Your limbs feel lazy and heavy, body still humming from your climax, every part of you comforted when Joel moves to hold you.

He smiles softly, placated to see you so at ease now. Joel reaches for the throw blanket, unraveling it and setting it at the ready for when you inevitably start to get chilly in your sleep. 

“You sleep then, sweetheart. Daddy’s got you.”

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "3 AM SHENANIGANS" — Suna Rintaro, Akaashi Keiji, Kuroo Tetsuro, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Bokuto Kotarou, Iwaizumi Hajime, Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, Kozume Kenma, Oikawa Toru

in which you catch your boyfriend talking in his sleep Sleep-talking boyfriends >>> therapy. content : fluff. multicharacter. post timeskip.2000 words

SUNA RINTAROU

It’s late, and the room is quiet, except for the occasional shuffle from Suna, who’s already half asleep beside you. You’re about to drift off when you hear him mumble, his voice low and irritated.

“Are you serious right now?” Suna grumbles, not fully awake. “Atsumu, you can’t be this extra all the time.”

You freeze. Wait, is he... talking about Atsumu?

You glance at Rin, then casually grab your phone. With a grin, you hit record, knowing this is going to be top-tier content. “You look like a damn highlighter, Atsumu,” Rin mutters, sounding genuinely disgusted. “Who told you neon green was a vibe? Was your mirror broken that day?”

You bite your lip to hold back a laugh. This is already better than anything you could’ve expected.

“And that ‘sexy smirk’ you keep trying to pull off?” Suna continues, totally unaware of his roasting abilities. “You look like a kid who just learned how to wink and is way too proud of it. Cut it out, bro.”

You snicker, barely able to keep your cool. I’m definitely sending this to Atsumu in the morning.

“Honestly, just stick to your usual ‘I’m better than you’ routine,” he grumbles. “At least that’s believable. But seriously? You think anyone’s buying this ‘heartthrob’ act? You look like a failed shampoo commercial from 2009.”

You choke on your laugh, clutching your stomach as you snort. Suna, meanwhile, is still in his own little world.

“And for the love of God,” he adds, “stop flexing like you’re auditioning for a bodybuilding competition, because nobody’s impressed. We see your ego in every room, and honestly, it’s exhausting.”

You just can’t stop giggling, holding your phone up to get every word. This is absolute gold.

“Seriously, Atsumu,” he mutters, voice slurring as he shifts slightly. “I’m just trying to sleep, and you’re out here acting like you’re the main character in a K-drama. Take that energy to the next level, bro.”

You whisper to yourself with a grin, “Suna's literally sleep-roasting him like he’s on a talk show.”

Suna rolls over, still completely unconscious, and you stop the recording, already looking forward to showing this to Atsumu. You lean back and snicker under your breath, "This is so going viral in the group chat.”

AKAASHI KEIJI

It’s late, and you got up because you were thirsty. You’re just about to go back to sleep when you hear a mumble from Akaashi next to you.

“Did I leave the oven on...?” he mutters groggily, his voice low and concerned.

You blink, confused. Wait, what?

You glance over at him, only to find him still fast asleep, looking completely unaware of his own panic. “Keiji...?” you whisper, half-jokingly. He mumbles again, his tone slightly more urgent this time. “The oven... I think I left it on. Did I...?”

You try not to laugh, but you can’t help it. Seriously? In his sleep, he's worried about the oven? “Hey Keiji...” you try to get his attention, but he continues as if he’s in the middle of a full-blown crisis.

“I swear, if I burned the house down...” he mutters, shifting slightly in the bed. “I was just trying to make toast...”

You’re now fully awake, trying to hold back laughter as you watch him talk about something as mundane as burnt toast while still completely unconscious.

“I know I should’ve checked the timer...” he continues, his voice tinged with regret. “Why do I always forget the basics?”

By now, you’re trying your best not to laugh out loud. This is too funny, and you decide to take full advantage of it. You tap him on the shoulder gently, but he doesn’t react. He’s still spiraling in his sleep. “Babe, it’s fine. The oven's off,” you say in a teasing tone, hoping it’ll snap him out of it.

“But what if I didn’t turn it off...?” he mutters again, his concern reaching new heights. “What if... what if the fire department has to come? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You sigh, finally giving up on holding it in and letting out a chuckle. Akaashi, always the over-thinker—even in his sleep. With a smirk, you nudge him once more, and he finally lets out a small sigh of relief, still half asleep. “I’ll deal with it in the morning...”

You shake your head, still smiling. Next time, maybe check the oven before going to bed.

KUROO TETSUROU

The night is calm, the kind of stillness that’s perfect for deep sleep—or so you thought. You’re peacefully dreaming when you suddenly feel a hand on your arm. Kuroo shift beside you, his body going rigid all of a sudden.

“No, no, no... why is she—” he mumbles in his sleep, his voice growing more frantic by the second.

You blink, slowly waking up as his random murmurs continue. "Tetsu?" you ask groggily, unsure whether to just ignore it or poke him awake.

"She’s... she's drooling—WHAT THE FUCK, WHY IS SHE DROOLING?"

You furrow your brows, still half-asleep and confused. "What? Drooling? What are you talking about?"

Kuroo starts thrashing around a bit, looking like he's trying to dodge something invisible. "No, no, NO—this is bad. This is so bad. It’s... it’s—LILY ROSE DEPP! GET AWAY! GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU'RE GONNA GET ME WITH THE DROOL!"

Pause. Why the fuck is he dreaming about Lily Rose—

It hits you like a lightning bolt. He's dreaming about the movie you saw today.

You can’t help but snicker at the absurdity of the situation, but Kuroo is clearly in full-blown panic mode, hands swatting at the air like he’s trying to fend off some kind of horror movie monster.

"Tetsu," you whisper, trying not to laugh too loudly. "Chill out, it’s just a movie. Lily-Rose Depp is not going to drool on you."

"But she’s... she’s just standing there tweaking out! WHY IS SHE DROOLING LIKE THAT?! SHE'S GONNA MURDER ME!"

You can’t hold it in anymore. "You are literally freaking out over fake drool. It’s not even real!"

He freezes mid-squirm, looking like he’s just realized he’s been fighting invisible drool this whole time. "Wait... I’m... I’m dreaming?"

"Yes, babe, you’re dreaming," you say, trying to get him to relax. "It was just a weird movie scene, chill. No one’s gonna drool on you in your sleep."

He mutters something under his breath, clearly still processing, but then—BOOM. He jolts awake, blinking in confusion and looking around wildly. "Did I... did I just fight off a drooling woman?"

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair. "No, baby, you’re good. There’s no one here. Just weird movie dreams."

Kuroo lets out a deep sigh of relief, but not without one last dramatic comment: "But seriously... that scene? Unsettling. Why did she even do that?" He shudders dramatically as if he’s still trying to shake off the absurdity of it.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "It was just a weird artistic choice, Tetsu. Just go back to sleep, dream about something less gross."

Kuroo pulls you closer, still looking a little frazzled, but at least he’s relaxed enough to go back to sleep. "If I dream about drool again, though, I’m going full superhero on it," he mutters.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, stifling a giggle. "Goodnight, hero."

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

The night is quiet, and you’re just about to drift off when you feel something unexpected: a weight on your waist. You blink, confused, only to find that Sakusa—who's usually the least touchy person you know—is clinging to you like a koala in his sleep.

"Mmm… no… no, not again..."

You blink a few times, still half-asleep. "Omi?"

He doesn't respond, but you hear him muttering something under his breath.

"Stay back, Atsumu..."

You sit up a bit, eyes wide in confusion. "Atsumu?"

His grip on you tightens, and you feel his body tense against yours as if he’s trying to protect himself from an invisible force. "No… no, you’re too sweaty! I can’t breathe… germs… germs everywhere!"

You rub your eyes, not sure if you’re dreaming or if Sakusa’s really having this conversation in his sleep. "Wait, what?"

"Germs…,” he mumbles again, still clutching you like you’re his lifeline, as though Atsumu—who’s clearly not here—is about to attack him with sweat.

You can’t help it. You snort, more amused than anything else. This is the guy who gives you a 10-minute lecture about disinfecting your phone, and now he’s sleeping like a cat glued to your side.

"Omi," you murmur, trying to suppress a laugh. "You’re literally dreaming. There’s no sweaty Atsumu here. Calm down."

But he’s not listening. His voice gets more frantic, and his arms tighten even more around you. "I can't… I can’t touch him, Y/N... it’s… it’s everywhere. The germs, the sweat, it's all over..."

You blink, stunned at how clingy he’s gotten. Normally, this guy wouldn’t touch you unless you had a very good reason. And now? He’s practically attached to you like a backpack. "You’re really going all in with this, huh?" you tease softly. "Do you need me to disinfect myself before I sleep with you too?"

"Need bleach...,” he mumbles, still not awake. "We need bleach. Stat."

You burst into quiet laughter, shaking your head. "You’re fine babe. There’s no germs here. I promise. It’s just you and me."

His response? He pulls you closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck like he’s shielding himself from a storm. You almost fall out of bed from how tightly he's holding you, and the absurdity of it all finally hits you.

"Omi," you chuckle softly, "I can’t believe you’re this clingy when you're asleep." You can practically hear his mind working as he sighs in his sleep. "Thank you... you're so clean..."

You're starting to enjoy the chaos now, though you’re still trying not to suffocate under his sleep-induced clinging. "Well, if I'm so clean, maybe you should calm down before you suffocate me," you tease, lightly pushing him off.

He doesn’t budge, still clinging to you like a human koala.

"I promise, no one’s getting sweaty near you," you murmur, shaking your head in amused disbelief.

Sakusa finally relaxes a little, still holding onto you, though not as desperately. It’s almost sweet… if you ignore the fact that he's sleep-clinging to you like a lifeline and muttering about germs.

"You're so soft," he mutters sleepily, finally drifting back into peaceful slumber, his hand still gently gripping your waist.

You blink down at him in confusion.

You can’t help but snicker. Looks like, for once, you’re the one who has to play the role of the calm, reassuring one. Not that you mind—just as long as he doesn’t try to disinfect you in the middle of the night.

BOKUTO KOTAROU

It was late—too late—when you felt something shift next to you. At first, you ignored it, already half-asleep, curled under the blankets. Then, suddenly—

"HEY HEY HEY!!"

Your body jerked awake at the sheer volume of his voice. "What the—?!"

Your sleep-addled brain barely had time to process before Bokuto fist-pumped the air—WHILE STILL ASLEEP.

"BEST SPIKER ALIVE, BABY!!" he cheered.

You blinked in the dark, completely disoriented. "Are you serious right now?" He didn’t answer. Because he was still asleep.

You groaned, rubbing your face, trying to slow your heartbeat down after that sudden wake-up call. "Bokuto, shut up," you muttered, voice raspy with sleep. But he wasn’t done.

"THAT WAS PERFECT!! DID YOU SEE THAT, Y/N?!"

"Oh my god," you whispered, realizing what was happening.

He was sleep-talking. Again.

"Ko, babe," you sighed, poking his forehead, hoping to shut him up before he woke up the whole building. "You’re dreaming. Go back to sleep." But instead of calming down, he suddenly turned towards you, grabbed your wrist, and squeezed it like a coach hyping up a player. "Y/N, YOU SET ME UP SO GOOD, I COULD KISS YOU!!"

You froze.

Your sleep-deprived brain took a moment to process the words before your lips parted. "…Bokuto Kotarou, I don’t even play volleyball."

"DON’T EVEN NEED TO! YOU’RE JUST THAT GOOD!!"

You sighed deeply, trying not to laugh. Sleep-talking Bokuto was something else. "Okay, okay, I’m amazing, got it. Now, can you go back to sleep?" Bokuto let out a content sigh, rolling back onto his side. "Mm… MVP… my Y/N…"

And just like that, he was out cold again.

Meanwhile, you stared at the ceiling, still awake, because somehow you just got dragged into an imaginary volleyball match at 3 AM.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

The night was supposed to be peaceful. A rare moment of rest. No stress, no overthinking—just warmth, a comfortable bed, and the sound of Iwaizumi’s steady breathing beside you.

And then—

"Damn… look at those biceps…"

Your eyes snapped open.

For a second, you just lay there, blinking at the ceiling. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you were dreaming.

Then, another sigh. "Shit… those arms… they’re unreal…"

Slowly—very slowly—you turned your head.

Iwaizumi was out cold, brows slightly furrowed, face relaxed in sleep. Yet his lips still moved, muttering nonsense into the darkness.

You stared at him. "Excuse me?"

He inhaled deeply, like he was taking in the sight of something majestic. "Damn, Ushiwaka…"

You nearly choked.

"USHIJIMA?!"

Nothing. No reaction. Just more soft, reverent mumbling. "Man… wonder what his arm day looks like…" A dreamy sigh. "Bet he curls, like… baby cows or somethin’…"

Your mouth fell open. For a solid ten seconds, you just laid there, processing. Then, slowly, a grin crept onto your face.

Leaning in, you whispered, "Hajime, do we need to have a conversation?"

A twitch. Then a small, sleepy grunt. "Mm… nah… ‘M gonna get bigger… even bigger…" His fingers twitched against the blanket, like he was mentally curling dumbbells.

You bit back laughter. "Bigger than Ushiwaka?" His brows furrowed, serious even in his sleep. "Tch… obviously…” A pause. "…probably…" That did it. You had to shove your face into the pillow to keep from bursting out laughing.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better—

"Y/N… ya think I’d look cool in a whey protein commercial…?"

You lost it. Grabbing your pillow, you smacked him upside the head.

MIYA ATSUMU

The night was peaceful, quiet, and exactly what you needed after a long day.

Then—

"THAT LYIN’ SNAKE—"

You shot upright, heart slamming against your ribs as you whipped toward the source of the outburst.

Atsumu. Still completely asleep.

His brows were furrowed, his mouth twisted in pure betrayal, and his fingers twitched against the blanket like he was plotting a murder. You exhaled sharply, flopping back onto the pillow. "God, Atsumu. Go back to sleep."

But he wasn’t done.

"I KNEW IT," he muttered, voice thick with righteous fury. "OSAMU’S BEEN WORKIN’ WITH THEM ALL ALONG…" Your brows furrowed as you turned to face him, half-exasperated, half-amused. "With who?" Atsumu’s breathing hitched. Then, in a voice so low it was almost conspiratorial, he whispered—

"The pigeons."

You blinked.

"What."

"They ain’t real, Y/N…" he continued, jaw clenching. "Government spies. Watchin’ us. Waitin’."

Your face went slack. "You’re joking."

"First it was the onigiri… now it’s full-blown espionage…" Atsumu grumbled, gripping the sheets tighter. "I gotta stop him… I gotta—"

Then, abruptly, his whole body relaxed. His face softened. His lips curled into a stupidly fond smile. "Mm… Y/N, ya smell good…" Your soul left your body.

"WHAT?!"

"Like… bread…" he sighed, completely content. "I love bread… ‘M gonna marry bread…" You stared at him.

Then, without thinking, you smacked him with your pillow.

"WAKE UP, YOU MENACE."

Atsumu just rolled over onto his stomach, mumbling something incoherent. But then, just as you were about to settle back down… "Not if Osamu gets to it first… damn bastard takes everythin’ from me…" You buried your face in your hands.

It was too late at night for this.

MIYA OSAMU

It was past midnight, and the only sound in the apartment was the occasional hum of the fridge. You were comfortably asleep—until you heard mumbling beside you.

At first, you thought you imagined it. But then— "No, that’s mine, ya greedy pig…"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned your head toward Osamu, who was lying on his back, looking completely relaxed. His lips parted slightly as he mumbled, his voice low and grumbly from sleep.

"Didn’t even leave me a single bite… selfish ass…"

Oh. He was sleep-talking. You had to physically restrain yourself from laughing.

Carefully, you shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. "What’d he take this time?" you whispered, playing along. Osamu sighed like a man who had suffered greatly. "The last onigiri…"

You bit back a grin.

"That bastard," you whispered dramatically. "Didn’t even ask?" Osamu's brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly. "Didn’t even share…"

You lost it. You absolutely lost it.

You pressed your face into his shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. This was too good. Then—"That was my favorite one, too…" Osamu sounded genuinely heartbroken.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from holding in your laughter. "'Samu, baby, you own a whole restaurant."

There was a beat of silence.

Then, with the most serious expression—still completely asleep—he muttered: "DON’T MEAN I WANNA SHARE, Y/N." You immediately rolled onto your back, gripping your stomach, wheezing.

That was it. You were bringing this up tomorrow.

And if Osamu thought for one second that you wouldn’t record it next time? He had another thing coming.

KOZUME KENMA

Kenma was a silent sleeper. Most nights, you barely even noticed he was there—except for the occasional shift when he curled closer, or the faint glow of his phone screen if he stayed up too late gaming.

Tonight, however, was different.

Because at exactly 3:12 AM, he mumbled—

"No… no… lag… not now…"

You blinked awake. For a second, you weren’t sure if you imagined it. But then—"Tch… stupid server…" Kenma shifted slightly, brows furrowing in his sleep. "I swear if I d—if I d—if I d—" He twitched.

You squinted. "Kenma?"

"—if I d—if I d—if I d—"

You sat up. "Are you… lagging?" Kenma twitched again. His lips parted slightly, his voice glitching. "N—not n—now—lag—s-stu—pid—"

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing. "Kenma, baby, you’re buffering."

"Ngh… Y/N…" His fingers twitched, his face contorted in distress. "They’re—th-th-they’re stream sniping me…" You bit your lip. "Who?"

"Sweaty… 12-year-olds…" He exhaled sharply. "Little monsters…"

At that, you lost it. You flopped back onto the pillow, shaking with silent laughter.

"Kenma," you gasped. "You’re getting wrecked by children in your dreams?" "They—they won’t stop emoting on my body…" He turned his face into the pillow, like he was actually suffering. "Disgusting…"

Tears pricked at your eyes from holding back laughter.

Then, suddenly, Kenma’s breathing evened out again. His fingers stopped twitching.

Silence.

Until—"…Kuroo, stop taking my loot…"

You rolled over and smacked him with a pillow.

OIKAWA TOORU

The bedroom was quiet, you and Oikawa in a peaceful slumber, until, you’re woken up in the middle of the night by Oikawa’s voice, soft but unmistakably confident.

“...Y/N, I’m telling you, I can do a backflip. I’ve practiced, I swear.”

You blink, groggily trying to process what he’s saying. "A backflip? Sweetheart, where would you even try that?"

He doesn’t answer, but you can hear him shift in his sleep. Then, his voice comes again, louder this time, as if he’s trying to convince the whole room. “I’m serious! Just wait ‘til I show you. I can totally do it. You’ll see.”

You squint at him, slightly confused. “A backflip? Are you actually dreaming about impressing me with acrobatics?”

He sighs in his sleep, as if this whole conversation is just basic stuff to him. “I’m not just impressing you, Y/N. I’m proving I can do anything. You’ll see...”

You can’t help but laugh quietly, shaking your head. "Okay, Oikawa. When you land that backflip, let me know."

His voice is muffled as he mutters, “Just wait... I’ll do it in front of the whole team... they’ll be amazed…”

You roll your eyes, utterly entertained. "Sure, sure. I’m sure they’ll be floored, Oikawa."

He mumbles something unintelligible, then goes silent again, clearly satisfied with his dream logic. You shake your head, already half asleep again. "Whatever you say, superstar."

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

Taglist (OPEN). / @cherrysurf @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee

[starlightslvtt]

summary: Y/N and Lu’s fierce academic rivalry takes a turn when Lu’s harsh words in the tension of the moment leave him filled with regret. His heartfelt apology & attention to Y/N’s passions sparks an unexpected shift from enemies to something more. As tension turns to longing, they realize their competition was only the beginning of their story.

tropes: enemies to lovers, academic rivals, introver(ish) reader x extrovert luigi, mean/bully luigi, fluff, slow burn romance!

୨ৎ authors note:omg this fic is my first ever one so hopefully i wrote it well. I’ve had this scenario running in my mind for so long & now I’ve finally wrote about it! also this song reminds me of lulu soso much?! hopefully you all enjoy reading it. if anyone has any tips on how I can improve my writing please do share! anyways happy reading! ily all sm!!

“Studying again, Y/N?” Lu drawled, his smirk laced with condescension as he plopped down at the desk beside hers in the library. “You do know there’s an entire world outside of textbooks, right?”

Y/N didn’t even glance up from her notes. “And you do know that stuffing your face with food while pretending to be an academic weapon doesn’t actually make you one?”

His jaw tightened, a flash of irritation flickering in his caramel-brown eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Y/N finally turned, leveling him with a cool stare. “And neither does arrogance, Mangione.”

Lu huffed, crossing his arms. “Call me that one more time, and I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Beat me in our next exam? Oh wait, you’ve never done that before.”

The tension between them was suffocating, their unspoken rivalry a fire that never seemed to burn out. For years, they had been at each other’s throats—vying for the top spot, trading barbed insults between lectures, and tearing each other apart in debates. It wasn’t personal. Or at least, that’s what Y/N had always told herself.

Until one day, Lu took it too far.

“You know, Y/N,” he said, leaning against the hallway lockers, his voice laced with something crueler than usual, “it’s kind of pathetic how you spend all your time studying. No friends, no social life—what’s the point of being the smartest in the room if there’s no one around to care?”

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening around the books in her arms. The words stung more than they should have. Maybe because there was truth in them.

Lu’s smirk faltered. He hadn’t meant to say it like that, hadn’t meant for the flash of hurt in her eyes. But it was too late.

Later that evening, regret clawed at him as he sat at the dinner table, picking at his food. His mom and sisters exchanged a knowing look.

“What’s wrong?” his sister, Maria, asked, nudging him.

“I… I said something really awful to Y/N today.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know why. We were just—caught up in the competition, I guess.”

His mom frowned. “Apologize properly, like a man. Own up to your mistake, and she will forgive you.”

Lu nodded. “Yeah. I was thinking… she likes homemade cookies.”

“and how do you know that?” Luciana his other sister asked.

“I heard her talking to someone once, on the phone. She was talking about all the things she likes to do but doesn’t have time for any of it.” he mentions.

Which is how he found himself standing outside Y/N’s house the next afternoon, a baby pink container with a ceramic bow on top holding freshly baked cookies in hand, and his mom hovering beside him with a too-pleased expression. His friends—because of course they had to come and witness his misery—stood nearby, grinning.

Y/N opened the door, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “Mangione?”

He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. “Uh. These are for you. I—” He sighed. “I was an ass. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you work hard, and—look, I just, I’m sorry.”

Y/N glanced at the cookies, then at his mom, then back at him. Slowly, she took them. “You made these?”

“With help,” he admitted. “But mostly me.”

His friends erupted into teasing remarks.

“Wow, Mangione’s got a soft side.”

“Just date already.” Tracy his friend yelled out, teasing.

Lu groaned. Y/N rolled her eyes, but a faint pink dusted her cheeks.

And somehow, after that, everything shifted. The insults became playful. The rivalry felt lighter. The long nights of studying became shared instead of solitary. And somewhere between the stolen glances, the laughter, the way their fingers brushed when they reached for the same book.

They stopped being enemies.

And they started being something else entirely.

[sleepysuga0]

Unspoken

A/N: Hey guys welcome to my page ! This is my first ever fic , please be nice 🫡 I really hope you all enjoy this oneshot I came up with it when I was sleep deprived 😭

Pairing : Yoongi x Wife reader

Summary : A love stretched thin by distance and silence, until absence becomes the only thing loud enough to be heard.

Genre : Established Relationship, Angst, tiny fluff at the end.

Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction and purely for entertainment purposes. All characters and events depicted are fictional and do not reflect real-life individuals or situations.

____________________________________________________

The clock read 11:13 PM, I had been sitting in our bedroom when I heard the door to his home studio creak open. It had been hours since he went in there—just like every other night lately. I didn’t even look up from my book as I listened to his footsteps pad down the hall, heading toward the kitchen. I already knew the routine. A quick snack, then back to work. Always back to work.

I swallowed, gripping the edge of my book a little tighter. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

On his way back, he slowed in the doorway, leaning against the frame. I could feel his eyes on me before I even looked up. When I did, he gave me a small, tired smile—one that felt like an old memory instead of something real. I smiled back, and for a split second, I felt something. Felt him. It was the closest we’d been in weeks. But it didn’t last. Before I could even open my mouth, he was walking away, and the moment slipped through my fingers like sand.

I needed him.

“Yoongi.” His name left my lips before I could stop myself. He turned around, eyebrows pulling together in quiet confusion.

I hesitated. This was stupid. He was busy. He had deadlines. He had a world outside of me that demanded more from him than I ever could. But I still said it.

“…Can you hold me?”

The pause was too long. His face was unreadable. Then—

“I don’t know if I have enough time.”

A knife to the chest would’ve been kinder.

“Oh,” I whispered, the weight of humiliation pressing down on me. I could feel tears burning at the edges of my eyes. I wanted to crawl into myself, to disappear, to erase the past five seconds and pretend I’d never asked at all.

But then he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and walked over to me. I barely had time to react before his arms wrapped around me, firm and familiar.

But something was off.

His body was stiff. Hesitant. His touch—something that once felt like home—felt foreign now. And my mind wouldn’t stop racing.

Did I force him into this?

His fans will be disappointed if the album doesn’t come out on time.

I’m always in the way.

I’m ruining his life.

Does he even love me anymore?…

I couldn’t take it. I shook my head and pulled away, ignoring the flicker of surprise on his face.

“You can go back to your studio. I’m fine now.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine, Yoongi.”

He didn’t believe me. I knew he didn’t. But after a few seconds of hesitation, he nodded and left.

I stared at the ceiling that night, never once falling asleep. My mind looped the same thoughts over and over, whispering the same awful conclusions.

He doesn’t love me anymore. I’m just another thing pulling him away from his work. If I disappeared, nothing would change.

And so, I did.

I started staying at my friend’s place. At first, it wasn’t intentional—I just kept making excuses to stay out later, to avoid going home to a house that barely felt like mine anymore. But then one night turned into two, then a week, then two weeks.

Yoongi hadn’t noticed.

Of course he hadn’t. He practically lived in his studio. Even when I was home, it wasn’t like we saw each other anyway.

But then—things started to click.

The dishes were piling up. His coffee cups stayed wherever he left them. His laundry sat in the hamper, untouched. The scent of my shampoo, my perfume, was fading from the house. The bathroom counter remained exactly as he’d left it—none of my skincare bottles or hair ties shifting out of place.

He was the only one home.

And he was finally starting to realize it.

When I finally came back, I wasn’t planning to stay long. I just needed fresh clothes. My plan was simple—sneak in, grab my things, and leave before Yoongi even noticed. He was probably in his studio anyway.

But when I opened the door, I froze.

He was waiting.

Sitting on the couch, arms crossed, staring at me with a look I couldn’t read.

I jumped back, heart hammering in my chest. “I—”

“Where have you been?” His voice was calm, but not soft.

I clenched my jaw feeling defensive all of a sudden. “You didn’t even notice I was gone.”

His expression hardened. “That’s not true.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t it? You work all day, all night. You don’t even come to bed. I could’ve packed up all my things and left for good, and you wouldn’t have noticed until you needed something from me.”

His jaw tensed. “That’s not fair.”

My eyes flashed. “Not fair? Yoongi, I have spent our entire relationship waiting for you. Waiting for you to come home. Waiting for you to see me. Waiting for the moment I’d finally matter more than your work.” My throat tightened. “But that moment never came. And I’m done waiting.”

Yoongi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/N, I work hard for us. For you. I thought you understood that.”

I scoffed, the heat rising to my face. “For me?” I stepped closer, shaking my head. “If this is for me, then why do I feel like I have to beg for your time? Why do I feel like I don’t exist in your life outside of the moments you allow me to?”

His hands curled into fists. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you, Yoongi!” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “I want us. I want to feel like I’m not fighting to be in my own damn relationship.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He had nothing to say.

The silence hurt more than anything.

I inhaled sharply, blinking back tears. “I’m leaving, Yoongi.”

His face fell. “No, wait—”

I turned and walked out the door.

And this time, he noticed.

—

One month.

One month of unanswered texts, missed calls, and desperate voicemails.

Yoongi had never begged for anything in his life. But for me? He begged.

I ignored every message.

Until he showed up at my friend’s house.

When I opened the door, I barely recognized him. His eyes were sunken, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. His hair was a mess. His clothes hung looser on his frame.

He looked wrecked.

For the first time in our entire relationship, Min Yoongi looked like a man who had lost something he couldn’t live without.

“…Y/N,” he whispered. His voice cracked.

My throat tightened. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to steady my heart. “What are you doing here?”

He let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “I needed to see you.”

I didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, voice raw. “I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve realized how much I was hurting you before you had to leave. And I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I—” He swallowed hard. “I love you. I love you more than anything. And I swear to you, I will change.”

I stared at him for a long moment, my heart aching.

“…If I come home,” I whispered, “I need to know you mean that.”

His eyes softened, desperation and sincerity written all over his face. “I swear it.”

I inhaled shakily.

“…Okay.”

—

That night, as he held me close, I still felt the ache of everything we’d been through.

But I also felt his arms tighten around me, as if he was afraid to let go.

And for now, that was enough.

[gohyemi]

no turning back

She worried. Really worried.

Is there anything that she does that makes him upset? These days, he had been ignoring her calls and even replying coldly to her whenever she texted him, which made her worried.

She has to fly to New York for her work, and it may take a month for her to get back here. To ease her heart and feelings, she is planning to see her boyfriend's happy face before she takes off. She wears a dress that he likes her to wear, preparing a light lunch for him cause she knows that he will be grumpy a bit if there isn't any food in his stomach and as an extra, she buys some flowers.

Lily flowers

As she made it to the company, she went to the floor where her boyfriend would be. As she was about to open the door, one of her boyfriend's friends greeted her.

“___, what a glad to see you!” Jeonghan went for a hug. She just smiled and greeted him back. Jeonghan see what she is holding and give her a teasing gaze.

“Wooo, I bet ddadu would be happy to see you prepare for this all” Jeonghan bumped his shoulder lightly.

“I hope so.. He's been off these days, and I'm trying to make it better. Which I hope it will,” she smiled awkwardly. Jeonghan ruffled her hair and smiled. “I bet he will, kiddo. Let's go surprise Cherry!” As Jeonghan opened the door a bit. They heard a conversation that was kinda intense. Jeonghan was in front, so she did not see what was happening inside.

“You know you’re being rude right now” Wonwoo told him.

“I can't stand it anymore. Why can’t she just notice that I'm trying to avoid her because of how clingy she is?” he said.

She was trying to be positive and thinking that he was talking about someone else, but the next words that he said already broke her heart and made her feel a lump in her throat. How could those words easily come out from him?

“Y/n should know that everyone is busy, not like her, who always has time swinging her legs. I'm kinda regretting starting this relationship” Jeonghan gripped the door handle and looked at the corner of his eyes. He saw how she lowered her head, wiped her tears and tried to hide her face.

“Oppa, I think today is not a great day for the surprise, I guess”, She said with trembling in her voice just to play it cool.“I think I might be late for my schedule. I’ll go first” Before Jeonghan could say another word, she had already walked toward the lift.

Unable to bear looking at her like that, he opened the door wide until it hit the wall, attracting people inside, including Seungcheol.

“Ya choi Seungcheol, don't you think you're being too much just now?” Jeonghan ask calmly.

“What do you mean?”

“Playing dumb, are we?” Jeonghan sarcastically said, “We heard what you just said. If you don’t want to have hard life break up with her she deserve someone better that asshole like you.”

“We?”

“She heard it all, and she, on the way out, cancelled her plan to surprise his dickhead boyfriend to make him happy again” Jeonghan went to the water dispenser, trying to calm his burning inside.

—————————

“Come on, pick up, please!” Seungcheol becomes more anxious as time goes by. He tried everything to reach you, but to no avail; it all failed. His last resort is to go to your house. But it seems like you are not home, and that is when he notices all the messages that he ignored the whole week.

Cheollie, are you ok?

I’m sorry if I did something wrong, but I left a bit of takeout at your house. I hope u like it 

He sees the last message along with a picture of her flight ticket. It made his blood drain from his face

I don't want to disturb you. I know you have been busy, but I just want to inform you that I got the show at Newyork, which I will 

“Go today…” Seungcheol mumbled. He looked at the time, and it was already your flight. He slumped down in front of your door, ruffling his hair in frustration. All of the harsh things that he said pass through his memory. How hurt she can be when she heard all of that. How he will feel if he is in her shoes

[rafedaddy01]

Live in maid y/n going to the kitchwn to get a midnight snack in just a nightgown

There is no light except for the one coming from the open fridge

Y/n is looking for aomething to eat

And rafe comes up behind her ,bunching up her nightgown in his hands and fcks her right against the open fridge

Ripping her nightgown from her body in the process

Caught in the Dark

“What do you think you’re doing?” The deep voice behind you startles you, sending a jolt through your body. Your breath catches in your throat as your fingers instinctively tighten around the fridge door handle, knuckles turning white. The cool air from the open fridge brushes against your skin, but it does nothing to calm the sudden rush of heat spreading through you.

You turn around slowly, your breath hitching as you come face to face with Rafe. For a fleeting moment, you nearly sigh in relief, realizing it’s just your boss—but that relief vanishes the second he steps closer. His gaze darkens, raking over you with a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine. The air between you shifts, thick with an unspoken tension. It’s late—so late that you hadn’t thought twice about coming downstairs in just your nightgown, assuming the house would be empty. But now, under Rafe’s burning stare, the thin fabric feels almost scandalous, clinging to your curves in a way that suddenly makes you feel far too exposed. “I asked you a question.” His voice is smooth, edged with something dangerous, and when his brow lifts, his eyes trace every inch of you like he’s savoring the sight. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You stutter over your words, trying not to let his gaze trick you. “S-sir, I’m s-sorry. I was just hungry, looking for a midnight s-snack” That’s when rafe turns you around, your palms falling flat against the open fridge counter and you feel his hands bunch at your night gown. You hear the groan come out of him as he sees you have no panties on. You feel the heat of his exposed chest against your cold body, and you like it.

“Fuck, y/n” Rafe groans as he inhales your hair. Reveling in your scent. His hands grip at your hips under your clothing, the skin on skin contact making your body shake but also ache.

“I need you so bad” he doesn’t wait for you to answer as he kicks your feet apart and you feel this already exposed cock press against your entrance. Your breath hitches, unsure of how to act or what to say or what to do. You don’t exactly want him to stop, but you didn’t exactly ask for this either. Before you have time to think, rafe thrusts forward with all force making you gasp and grip your hands against the fridge tighter. He groans as he feels how tight and warm you are around him and then he starts pounding into you like a raging beast.

His cock feels so right inside of you. All the veins scraping against your walls and only adding to the pleasure. You try to stay silent, not give rafe the satisfaction of knowing how good he’s making you feel. He grips your throat from behind, yanking you closer until your eyes meet and your heads turned at an awkward angle. “I want to hear you, y/n. No holding back, I know this feels good for you” it’s like he read your mind, and that devilish smirk plastered on his face proves just that.

You let your sounds fall out of you, moans and praises of his name while he hold your neck and keeps your eyes on him. “There we go, such a good girl”

Taglist

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[mrspiastri]

10. “You do realize you’re completely stealing my heart right now, don’t you?” with Lando Norris and maybe sibling's best friend? Thank you 😊

lando norris x reader

prompt 10. “You do realize you’re completely stealing my heart right now, don’t you?”

💌💌💌

Lando had always known Y/N was off-limits.

She was his sister’s best friend—the girl who had spent more time in their house than some of their actual family members, the one who had been there for every birthday, every stupid family trip, every late-night conversation when his sister needed her most.

She was supposed to be untouchable.

But somewhere between childhood and now, Lando had stopped seeing her as just his “sister’s best friend”.

He wasn’t sure when it had started. Maybe it was the summer she had come back from university, all sun-kissed skin and easy smiles, sliding back into their lives like she had never left. Or maybe it was when she started calling him late at night just to talk, her voice soft with exhaustion but filled with things she could only tell him.

Or maybe—just maybe—it had been forever, and he had only just started to realize it.

The weight of it all had been pressing down on him for weeks.

It was in the way his heart raced whenever she laughed at one of his stupid jokes, the way his hands burned whenever they accidentally brushed against hers, the way she looked at him sometimes—like maybe she was thinking the same thing but didn’t know if she was allowed to.

And then there were the times when she wasn’t looking at him, and he found himself staring at her anyway.

Like tonight.

She was curled up in a chair on the patio of the Norris house, the soft glow of the string lights casting a golden hue over her skin. The party inside had mostly died down, leaving only a few lingering voices and the distant hum of music. His sister had gone to bed hours ago, assuming Y/N would do what she always did—crash in the guest room like she had a hundred times before.

But this time, she hadn’t.

Instead, she had stayed out here. With him.

And Lando? Lando was losing his mind over it.

He sat beside her, stretching his legs out, watching as she played absentmindedly with the rings on her fingers. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy —charged with something unsaid, something inevitable.

Finally, she broke it.

“Lando,” she murmured, not looking at him.

His heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

She hesitated, fingers tightening around one of her rings. “Do you ever feel like… things have changed between us?”

Lando inhaled sharply. He had not been prepared for that.

He turned to face her fully, studying the way her brows furrowed, the way her bottom lip was caught between her teeth like she was trying to stop herself from saying too much.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I do.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a second, neither of them spoke.

It would be so easy to brush it off. To make a joke, to change the subject, to go back to pretending that they weren’t slowly unraveling every time they were near each other.

But Lando was tired of pretending.

He let out a breath, dragging a hand through his curls. “We can’t keep doing this.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “I know.”

“But I want to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She exhaled shakily, shaking her head. “God, Lando. You have no idea how much I want to.”

His chest tightened. “Then why don’t we?”

She looked at him then, something raw flickering in her eyes. “Because your sister would hate me.”

And yeah. That was the problem.

Lando’s sister loved Y/N like she was family. Their friendship was everything to her. If this went wrong, if it ended badly, Y/N wouldn’t just lose him. She’d lose her best friend too.

Lando should care about that more.

He did care.

But not enough to let her go.

Not when she was sitting there, so close, looking at him like she was trying to convince herself that walking away was the right thing to do.

“Y/N,” he murmured, leaning in just slightly. “You do realize you’re completely stealing my heart right now, don’t you?”

Her breath hitched.

And for a second, he thought she might push him away. That she might laugh and shake her head and pretend like none of this was happening.

But then— finally —she whispered, “You stole mine first.”

Lando’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“Then let’s stop pretending,” he said, voice rough with something between desperation and relief.

She hesitated, and for a terrifying moment, he thought she was going to say no.

But then, ever so slowly, she reached for his hand, fingers threading through his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Fuck it,” she breathed.

And that was all the permission he needed.

Lando surged forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that felt like every stolen glance, every unspoken word, every suppressed feeling finally being set free.

She melted into him instantly, her hands fisting in his hoodie as if she had been waiting for this just as long as he had.

When they finally broke apart, willing their hearts to stop beating so fast, Lando let out a breathless laugh. “That was a terrible idea.”

Y/N smiled, her fingers tracing absent patterns against his chest. “Yeah.”

“You still wanna do this?” he asked, searching her face for any sign of doubt.

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I do.”

And just like that, they crossed the line they had been dancing around for far too long.

Whatever happened next—whatever fallout came from this—they would figure it out.

Together.

[rachhaven]

For poly!moonwater, the three of them all being in different houses and get their ties mixed up and that's how Sirius discovers their relationship?

here you go lovely- i wrote this in my lecture and during an endo flare so apologies if it doesn't make sense 😭

635 words- ish?

Last night had been- fun, to say the least. A game of exploding snap between the three of you leads to a cup of tea spilled on the wooden floor of your dorm, and then Regulus’ feeble attempts to clean it up lead to a bleach stain on Remus’ trousers, and the horrid smell left in the air, so to the Slytherin dorms it was, spiked hot chocolates in hand a good book to fall asleep reading together. It was nice, peaceful even, to sneak around and spend the evening together without fearing your and Regulus’ older brothers finding out. 

The brothers, the older brothers, James and Sirius are a package deal, so it only made sense that their little sister and little brother met and spend time together, and Remus just slotted in so perfectly and beautifully in the way that only he can, it just worked, but James and Sirius still don’t know. Well, until now. 

It was safe to say you were all running late when you woke up with only half an hour of breakfast left before lessons, so you were all in a hurry to get ready, chaste kisses and hugs goodbye as you all head to your separate tables, Hufflepuff for you, finding Hannah sat and waiting, Reg heading towards the Rosiers and Barty at slytherin, and remus towards the rest of the marauders on the gryffindoor table, happy as larry and finally ready to start the day. 

“moony?” Peters brow furrowed. “reg?” asked between laughs on Barty’s behalf. “Y/n?”, Hannah’s voice breaking you from plating your food. 

“Who’s tie are you wearing?”

Shit. 

You look down, a green and silver tie around your neck, your head spins to regulus, a red and gold tie around his neck, and finally Remus, adorned in a yellow and black tie. Shit. Shit. Shitty fuck. 

A squeal breaks through the air and it’s the only two you can imagine it would be, Sirius and James. Something about being ‘brothers in law’ and ‘family holidays’ and ‘shared bloodline’ and you’re all lost, you and reg excusing yourself to the Gryffindor table to sort this mess out. The tie you originally had on is in your hand, passing it to regulus as regulus passes his to Remus, you taking yours back at the same time. Cheeks burning red and embarrassed, but the feeling of safety you only get when you’re with your boys, Remus welcoming you to sit down with him, and sort this out, your forehead falling on Remus’ shoulder as regulus shoots daggers at his brother. 

“how long?” asks James, eyes curious and filled with such joy, speaking at the exact same time as Sirius, “how didn’t I know about this?”. Both questions are valid, James is nosey, always has been, but Sirius, he’s best friends with Remus, regulus is his little brother, and since moving in with the potters back in third year, he’s your older brother by proxy too, he means a lot to all of you. 

“six months”, you mumble, answering your brother, regulus answering his. “they were hesitant, didn’t want to upset you if anything went wrong” he explains, his head tilting towards you and Remus, Remus’ arm over your shoulder to try and ease the anxiety all the attention is giving you. Reg was loud and proud about his love, relieved to have finally found someone, two people, who he can actually open up to, who love him for him, but with your brothers antics and both yours and Remus’ hatred of being looked at by everyone else, it was nice to keep it quiet, like a sanctuary, but with how open and welcoming James and Sirius have been, maybe there wasn’t any need of fear. And just maybe, everything will be fine. 

[tanjamikaelson]

MEDDLE ABOUT - CHAPTER 2

MASTERLIST

You walked into your bedroom, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. The room was dimly lit, a soft glow from the streetlights outside slipping through the curtains. You exhaled as you peeled off your clothes from the day, replacing them with your usual bedtime attire—pajama shorts that barely cover your butt and a crop top that left a sliver of your stomach exposed. The fabric was soft, familiar, and comforting. Satisfied, you ran a hand through your hair and stepped back out, making your way toward the bathroom.

As you passed the living room, Rafe’s eyes flickered toward you, drawn by the movement. He caught a glimpse of your pajamas, the way your shorts hugged your hips, the way your top revealed smooth skin. His throat goes dry. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, back up at the ceiling. But it was too late—the image was burned into his brain. His fingers twitched against the blanket, jaw clenching slightly as he tried to shake the thought away.

In the bathroom, you go through your nightly routine—brushing your teeth, washing your face, and letting the cool water soothe your skin. The quiet hum of the house settled around you, the air still and heavy with something unspoken.

When you stepped back into the hallway, heading toward your bedroom, you passed the living room again. This time, Rafe wasn’t lying down. He was sitting up, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor as if lost in thought. At the sound of your footsteps, he glanced up, catching a fleeting glimpse of you before you disappeared into your room.

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

In your bedroom, you moved around, pulling back the blankets, fluffing the pillows, and preparing your bed for sleep. The exhaustion from the day was finally beginning to settle into your limbs.

But just as you were about to crawl in, a soft knock on the door frame makes you turn.

"Hey, uh..." Rafe stands in the doorway, hesitating. His hand lingered near the doorframe as if unsure whether he should step inside or stay put. His expression was different—unguarded, uncertain.

You tilted your head. "Yeah? You need something?"

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before finally speaking. "Can I... sit with you for a bit? I’m having trouble sleeping." His voice was lower now, quieter as if admitting it out loud made it harder to bear.

You study him for a moment. There was something raw in the way he was looking at you, something almost vulnerable. You nodded, patting the edge of the bed. "Okay."

Rafe smiled softly, relieved, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He crossed the room in a few strides, lowering himself onto the bed beside you. There was space between you, a careful distance, but his presence was heavy. He was only wearing his pants now, his bare chest illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window.

"So what’s keeping you up?" You asked, watching him.

He shrugged, his gaze drifting away, unfocused. "Guess I’m just not tired anymore. And my mind won’t shut up," he admitted with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. "Too many thoughts bouncing around in there."

You leaned back slightly, considering his words. "Maybe it will help if you tell me," you suggested.

Rafe glanced at you, surprised. Most people didn’t ask. Most people didn’t care. But you... you were offering to listen. He swallowed hard, looking away. "It’s stupid."

"It’s not if it’s keeping you up. Is it about your dad?"

Rafe nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to his hands, which were clasped loosely between his knees. His fingers flexed slightly as if he was holding onto something invisible. "Yeah. Every time I start to fall asleep, I hear his voice in my head. It’s fucking annoying."

You watched the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw tightened. "Maybe you need something to ease your mind," you offered.

Rafe lifted his gaze to you, curiosity flickering in his tired eyes. "Like what?" His tone was skeptical—he doubted you had any magical solutions for the mess in his head.

You stood up, walking over to your nightstand. "How about a blunt?"

Rafe raised an eyebrow as you pulled open the drawer. But before he could process the blunt and lighter in your hand, his eyes caught something else inside—a box of Durex. His throat bobbed as he quickly looked away, forcing himself to focus on anything but that.

You returned to the bed, sitting down next to him, placing the blunt between your lips as you flicked the lighter. The flame flared, the tip burning bright before you took a slow inhale, letting the smoke swirl in your lungs before exhaling.

Rafe watched you. The way your lips curled around the blunt, the way your lashes lowered slightly as you inhaled—it was strangely intimate. He cleared his throat, forcing his gaze elsewhere. "You smoke?"

"Yeah, it helps me," you replied, offering him the blunt.

He hesitated for only a second before taking it from your fingers, his own brushing against yours briefly. He lifted it to his lips, inhaling deeply, the familiar burn settling in his chest. He exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in his muscles begin to ease. "Fuck, I needed that," he muttered.

You smiled, watching him. "I have more if we need it."

Rafe nodded, taking another hit before passing the blunt back to you. His limbs were already feeling looser, the constant noise in his head dulling. He leaned back on your bed, stretching out slightly. "You’re full of surprises, you know that?"

You leaned back on your elbows, mirroring his posture. "Am I?"

Rafe looked over at you, studying your face in the dim light. He noticed the way your hair fell around your shoulders, the soft curve of your lips as you exhaled another stream of smoke. He watched you in a way he didn’t before, taking in details he never allowed himself to notice.

"Yeah, you are," he admitted.

You took two more slow drags before handing the blunt back to him.

Rafe accepted the blunt, bringing it to his lips and taking two long drags. The smoke filled his lungs, and as he exhaled, he felt the tension in his body start to unravel. His muscles loosened, the constant buzzing in his mind faded to a dull hum, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he was not consumed by frustration or anger. His thoughts were pleasantly foggy, softened by the high settling over him like a warm blanket.

He leaned back further, stretching his long legs out in front of him with a contented sigh, sinking deeper into the haze.

You chuckled at the sight, amused by how quickly the weed had mellowed him out. "Is it helping?"

Rafe nodded, his eyes drifting closed for a second as he let the warmth of relaxation spread through his body. "Yeah, it's helping a lot. Thanks," he murmured, his voice lower now, a little slurred around the edges. He cracked one eye open, smirking lazily. "You're really nice when you're not being a bitch."

You rolled your eyes but smirked back. "And you’re really nice when you’re not being a jerk." You shifted slightly, turning on your side, propping yourself up on your elbow.

Rafe chuckled softly at your response, watching you. He liked this side of you—unguarded, playful, not hurling insults at him every five seconds. It was different. Nice. Without thinking, he mirrored your movement, rolling onto his side to face you. His gaze flickered down to your lips briefly before he met your eyes again.

"You smoke a lot?" he asked, his tone lighter, more curious than accusatory.

"Every other day," you replied, taking another slow drag of the blunt.

Rafe watched as your lips curl around the blunt, the way you inhale deeply before exhaling the smoke in a slow, steady stream. There was something about the way you did it—so effortless, so natural—that he found strangely hypnotizing. He reached out to take another hit.

"Every other day, huh?" He brought the blunt to his lips, inhaling deeply, letting the burn settle in his lungs. "No wonder you're so calm about everything." He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the air between you. "You ever get high alone?"

"Well, since I live alone, yeah," you said simply.

Rafe’s hand lingered near the blunt for a second longer than necessary before finally letting go. His eyes flickered back to yours, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "What do you do when you get high alone?" His voice had a slight edge to it, a flirtatious undertone creeping in. Between the weed and the fact that you were lying so close, he was finding it harder to maintain his usual detached attitude.

"Usually just lay here until sleep takes over," you admitted. You took another hit before holding the blunt up to his lips.

Rafe hesitated for half a second before leaning in, inhaling deeply from the blunt you were holding to his lips. His eyes locked onto yours for a brief moment before he closed them, taking in the hit. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke swirl between you. His voice dropped slightly when he spoke again. "You ever watch movies or listen to music?"

"Sometimes. I usually like the quiet when I smoke," you told him.

Rafe nodded, considering that. The weed heightened his senses, making him more aware of everything—the way your voice sounded, the way your body was propped up just inches from his. "I usually listen to music when I smoke."

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Mostly rap and R&B," he said, his voice slower now, more relaxed. "It sets the mood, you know?" He studied your face, wondering what kind of music you listen to when you're alone and high. "Do you listen to any specific genre?"

"Yeah, I usually listen to Y/F/M."

Rafe nodded approvingly. "Good choice." He flicked the blunt between his fingers, watching the ember glow faintly in the dim room before taking another hit. The weed was fully kicking in now, leaving his body feeling weightless. "How high do you usually get?" His voice was low, almost teasing.

"Sometimes I like getting really high," you admitted. "You?"

Rafe grinned mischievously, his expression relaxed, his eyes half-lidded. "I like getting cross-eyed high," he confessed, his voice dropping even lower. "You know, where everything looks wavy and sounds echo-y?" He took another drag, holding it in before exhaling with a slow smirk.

You chuckled. "Oh yeah, I like that too."

Rafe watched you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Have you ever smoked so much that you got really paranoid?"

You groaned, laughing as you recalled a memory. "Oh god, I did… And I thought somebody was in my house. I locked myself in here."

Rafe burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with amusement. "Damn, that's classic," he said, still grinning. He took another hit, holding in the smoke as he pictured you standing in your room, terrified out of your mind. "Did you have a weapon or anything?"

"Like a baseball bat," you admitted, laughing. "I stood by the door for like half an hour."

Rafe nearly choked on his inhale, coughing as he wiped at his eyes, still laughing. "A baseball bat? Shit, that's hilarious." He exhaled the smoke, shaking his head. "Did you finally peek out to see what the scare was?"

You shook your head. "No, I was too scared. I put a chair against the locked door and eventually just fell asleep."

"Jesus," Rafe chuckled, taking another hit. "You serious? You didn’t go check if someone was really trying to break in?" He found it way funnier than it should be, mostly because you always seemed so put-together like nothing could rattle you. Seeing this side of you—human, a little paranoid, a little ridiculous—it was... weirdly endearing.

You laughed with him. "I didn’t want to risk someone killing me."

Rafe nodded thoughtfully, blowing out another slow stream of smoke. "I get it. Sometimes when I’m high alone, I feel like the world is a different place. It’s like everything slows down, and nothing can hurt me."

You hummed in agreement, watching the blunt disappear as he smoked. "Yeah, that’s why it’s so relaxing."

Rafe noticed you watching him smoke, and for a moment, he held the remaining smoke in his lungs, letting the burn settle before blowing it toward the ceiling in a slow, steady stream. The way the smoke curled and disappeared caught your eye, and before you realized it, you were staring. He smirked.

"Want the last hit?" he asked, his voice slightly husky as he brought the blunt closer to your lips.

"Mmhm," you murmured, leaning in slightly.

Rafe placed the blunt against your lips, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. The warmth of your mouth against the filter sent a strange, unexpected flutter through his stomach. Your lips were softer than he expected—so soft that it threw him off for a second. It was unsettling, the way something so small made his pulse quicken. "You really enjoy getting high, don’t you?"

"Yeah," you nodded, exhaling the last hit. You tilted your head toward the nightstand close to him. "Can you take another one from that drawer?"

Rafe reached over, opening the nightstand. His fingers brushed against a few small items before they stilled. His gaze landed on an open Durex box, with only one condom left inside. "Yeah, sure," he replied, keeping his tone as casual as possible. But his mind was racing. When was the last time you had sex? With who? He didn’t know why the thought bothered him, but it did. There was a tightness in his jaw as he grabbed the blunt, pushing the intrusive thoughts away.

You lay back against the bed, your body sinking into the mattress, completely unaware of his staring. Rafe watched as you got comfortable, your eyes half-lidded, your expression relaxed. He should stop thinking about it. He really should.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his eyes flickered back to the box in the drawer, his fingers unconsciously dragging along the edge of it before he snapped the drawer shut. He didn't want you to know he was trying to figure out your sex life. He licked the blunt wrapper slowly - an unconscious habit that made his mind briefly wander to dirty places. He forced himself to shake the thoughts away.

You held up the lighter as he placed the blunt between his lips.

Rafe watched the flame flicker as you brought it closer. Your focus was solely on lighting the blunt, completely unaware of the unreadable expression on his face. He inhaled deeply, the cherry glowing red before he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. His eyes dropped to your lips for half a second before he pulled his gaze away.

He was getting high and horny—not a good combination. Not around you.

"So," he hesitated, almost second-guessing himself. Then, curiosity won. "How often do you have sex?" He watched your face carefully for a reaction. Most girls would get self-conscious or offended.

Your eyes widened slightly at the blunt question before you chuckled. "What? Why would you ask me that?" You didn’t realize he saw the box of condoms in your drawer.

Rafe shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Just wondering, you know? Seems like a random question, I know." He took another long drag, letting the smoke cloud his words. "But you keep blunt wrappers and condoms together. Seems... practical."

"Oh shit, right," you laughed, realizing he must’ve seen the condom.

He watched your face shift in understanding, his curiosity deepening. He took another hit, waiting to see if you’ll offer up any more details.

"So, like... weekly? Bi-weekly?" He exhaled the smoke slowly, rolling it between his fingers like he was not paying much attention. But he was.

"Weekly, usually," you replied, taking the blunt from him.

Rafe’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Weekly? Damn. He wasn’t expecting that answer. He kept his expression neutral, but he couldn’t stop himself from watching the way your lips wrapped around the blunt again as you took a slow hit. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly.

"With the same person?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He was prying, and he knew it. But he needed to know.

"I don’t have a boyfriend if that’s what you’re wondering," you said with a small smile, exhaling the smoke.

Rafe relaxed slightly. No boyfriend. That still didn't explain the lone condom. His lips twitched into a smirk. "So, you hook up with someone new every week?" His voice wasn’t judging, just genuinely curious.

"Yeah, but I also have some regulars," you replied with a chuckle.

His smirk faded slightly. "Regulars?" he repeated, his tone unconsciously sharper. He didn’t like the sound of that. Regulars meant consistency, and familiarity. Something that wasn’t just a one-time thing. He took another long drag, his mind running through scenarios he had no business imagining. "Like, friends with benefits?"

"Yeah, something like that," you confirmed before shifting the conversation back to him. "What about you?"

Rafe hesitated for a moment. He didn’t usually talk about his personal life, but there was something about your honesty that made him want to reciprocate. "I’ve got a few girls I hang out with," he admitted, watching your reaction carefully.

"Hmm, like at the same time?" you teased, chuckling.

Rafe laughed, a deep sound that filled the room. "Nah, not like that," he shook his head, still grinning. "Just... different girls at different times. No strings attached, you know?"

You nodded, laughing too. "I get that."

Rafe watched you closely. It was strange—how similar your attitudes toward relationships were - or lack thereof. He decided to push a little further. "Have you ever had a serious relationship?"

You glanced at him, considering the question. "Yeah. You?"

Rafe took the blunt from your fingers, his own brushing against yours briefly. "Yeah. Eight months," he answered, his eyes locked onto yours. He realized how comfortable he was at sharing with you, and how easy it felt.

"Eight months, really?" You raised an eyebrow. "Rafe Cameron had a relationship that lasted longer than two nights?" You teased.

Rafe grinned, leaning back against the headboard, stretching his arms lazily above his head. "Crazy, right?" His smirk faltered slightly, turning more rueful. "The girl broke my heart, though. So now I’m scared."

You laughed, "What did she do?"

Rafe sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Cheated on me with my friend. Typical cliché, huh?" He flashed a forced smile, trying to downplay the sting of the memory. He took another long drag, exhaling slowly.

"Seriously?" You blinked, surprised.

"Yep," he confirmed, staring at the ceiling. "Found them together at a party—drunk, making out. He was supposed to be my wingman, not stealing my girl." He chuckled, but it was mirthless. He took another hit, his fingers tightening slightly around the blunt.

"Shit." You shook your head. "Honestly, I would’ve taken you for a cheater, not the one who gets cheated on."

Rafe turned his head to look at you, one eyebrow arching. "Why’s that?" His tone was curious, not offended. He genuinely wanted to know how you see him. "Because of my flirtatious reputation?" He smirked slightly, taking another drag.

"Yeah, your reputation precedes you. Everybody in OBX knows you’re a fuckboy." You reached out, palm open, waiting for the blunt.

Rafe laughed, handing it to you without hesitation. He was used to people calling him that, and he learned to embrace it. But with you, it felt different. Like you saw through him but didn’t judge him for it.

"Guilty as charged," he said, smirking. But for the first time in a long time, he wondered if he really liked the label as much as he pretended to.

You chuckled lightly, "Let me put some music on."

Sliding off the bed, you moved toward the table where your laptop sat, the soft glow of the screen illuminated your face as you navigated through YouTube. The blunt rested between your fingers, smoke curling lazily into the dimly lit room.

Rafe watched you, his gaze drifting lower, trailing the sway of your hips as you walked away. His jaw tightened slightly when your shorts rode up, revealing just a bit more of your curves. He bit his lip, forcing himself not to stare too obviously, but when you bent down to search for a song, he caught himself admiring the view.

Fuck.

You leaned forward, clicking on a playlist that fit the relaxed atmosphere. The bass hummed softly through the speakers, blending seamlessly with the lingering smoke in the air. The music was good—his kind of good. His lips quivered in approval.

From the bed, Rafe watched as your body moved subtly to the rhythm, swaying slightly, lost in the melody. There was something effortless about the way you held yourself, taking slow drags from the blunt, letting the smoke roll out between your lips.

"You ever hook up with someone while high?" His voice was smooth, and casual, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity beneath it. He always wondered about you—whether you were the type to get more affectionate when you’re stoned, or if you pull away instead.

You met his gaze, locking eyes with him. "Yeah," you say simply. "You?"

Rafe didn’t look away. Instead, he smirked, leaning back against the headboard, getting comfortable. "A few times," he admitted. "It's different. Everything feels more intense."

"Mmhm, it does." You made your way back to the bed, crawling on top with ease, holding the blunt out to his lips. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight as you settled in front of him.

Rafe parted his lips, his eyes still on yours as he took a slow drag. He inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs before he exhaled in a controlled stream, the smoke curled lazily between you. He noticed the way your face was just inches from his, your body close, the space between you charged with something unspoken.

You smiled at him before sitting back onto your heels, pulling the blunt back to your lips.

Rafe watched you, admiring the way you handled it so effortlessly, so naturally. The blunt glowed softly as you inhaled, the smoke trailing out from between your parted lips. The haze in the room thickened, the air feeling heavier, and warmer. He shifted slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to focus on something other than how good you looked right now.

"Should we light up a third one?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyes glassy from the high.

Rafe smirked, watching you. Your relaxed posture, the lazy way your lips curve up in a smile—it was making it increasingly difficult to ignore how attractive you looked right now. He nodded slowly. "Fuck yeah, pass me that lighter."

Reaching over, he pulled another blunt from the drawer. You handed him the lighter while placing the finished blunt into the ashtray beside him. As you did it, your arm lightly brushed against his knee.

The touch was subtle, fleeting, but Rafe noticed. He felt the warmth of your skin against his, a small spark at the contact. It was stupid—just an accidental brush of your hand—but in this atmosphere, with the music humming through the speakers and the smoke swirling lazily around you both, it felt oddly intimate.

He lighted the blunt carefully, inhaling deeply before handing it back to you. "You know what’s funny?" he asked, his voice slightly raspier now, the weed making everything slower, warmer.

You took a hit before exhaling smoothly, chuckling, "What’s funny?"

"How comfortable we are with each other," Rafe mused, watching you. "Like, we’re just lounging around, getting high, and it feels... natural." His voice was softer, more thoughtful than before, his blue eyes searching yours.

You nodded, taking another drag before replying, "Oh yeah, suddenly we don’t hate each other’s guts."

Rafe laughed, the sound warm, genuine. He reached out, gently pulling the blunt from your fingers, his touch lingering slightly longer than necessary as he took a hit. He exhaled slowly before handing it back, smirking. "Who would’ve thought, right?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Guess that’s what weed does to people, huh?"

Rafe leaned back against the headboard, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Apparently so. Here I thought I hated your guts. Now look at us, sharing blunts and shit." He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

"Mmhm..." You bobbed your head lightly to the music, settling onto your heels beside him.

Rafe watched you, his gaze lingering. The way the music wrapped around you, the way the smoke curled lazily around your face, the relaxed expression in your eyes—it was all... surprisingly attractive. The way your lips parted slightly after each exhale, the slow blink of your eyes as the high settled deep in your system.

He swallowed.

He should probably look away.

But he doesn’t.

"So, are you always this chill when you're high?" You raised an eyebrow, watching him curiously as the smoke drifted lazily between you.

Rafe nodded slowly, taking the blunt back for another hit. His movements were relaxed, his posture easy, completely at home in this hazy atmosphere. "Pretty much. Weed just... relaxes me. Makes me stop giving a fuck about all the usual bullshit." He exhaled smoothly, watching the smoke curl into the dimly lit room before turning his gaze back to you. His lips twitched into a smirk, something playful dancing in his eyes as he studied you. "Why?"

You shrugged, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. "Makes you stop giving a fuck about the fact that I'm a Pogue and you're a Kook, and that we wouldn’t be like this if we weren’t high." You reached over, taking the blunt away from his lips before he could protest, your fingers grazing his in the process.

The contact was brief but noticeable. A small tingle lingered at his fingertips, his smirk deepening at your words. "True that," he murmured. "Normally, I’d probably be telling you to fuck off by now." He chuckled softly, tilting his head as he looked at you, something in his expression shifting ever so slightly.

You grinned, bringing the blunt to your lips. "And I would tell you that you’re an asshole."

Rafe laughed, the sound rich and genuine. Without thinking, he reached for the blunt again, his hand brushing against yours as he tried to take it back. "See? We’re a match made in heaven. Two assholes who can’t stand each other when we’re sober but get along great when we’re high."

You smirked mischievously, pulling the blunt just out of his reach and taking another slow drag. "That’s fucking right."

Rafe sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes in mock frustration. "Give it back, you stupid Pogue." He reached for it again, but this time, your hands collided, fingers briefly intertwining as you both held onto the blunt. His touch was warm, and solid, and for a split second, he forgot what he was even trying to do.

"It’s mine, you stupid Kook." You laughed, tugging it away playfully.

Rafe watched you, shaking his head as he leaned back. He let you win this time, watching as you brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling deeply. His gaze flickered downward, landing on your mouth. He suddenly realized how full your lips are, how they look even better when you're smirking or laughing. His throat tightened, and he quickly looked away, exhaling slowly through his nose.

You leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you as you brought the blunt back to his lips. "Here you go," you murmured, eyes hooded with the weight of the high.

Rafe parted his lips, accepting the hit, but his mind was still stuck on the way you were looking at him—like the moment was intentional, deliberate. The way you leaned in, the way your voice sounded softer, slower. He took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs, trying to play it cool. But the way you were watching him made his heart beat just a little faster.

He exhaled, releasing the smoke between you, and you inhaled it, your lips parting slightly as you took it in. The action was smooth, effortless, but fuck—it shouldn’t feel this intimate.

"Fuck," you murmured, blinking lazily. "I'm starting to feel it even more."

Rafe watched the way your lips moved as you spoke, his smirk returning. "Me too," he admitted. "I'm fucking high as a kite."

You stretched, rolling your shoulders as you sank deeper into the bed. "I don’t think we’ll be sleeping tonight if we continue like this."

Rafe leaned back, stretching his arms above his head, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Why sleep when you can be stoned off your ass talking shit with a Kook?" He chuckled, glancing at you with amusement and something else—something softer, something unreadable.

You threw your head back, laughing, the sound light and unguarded. "Ah, that was always a dream of mine," you said sarcastically, taking another hit before handing the blunt to him, the ember slowly disappearing.

Rafe took the blunt from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours again, though neither of you acknowledged it this time. He brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar burn settle in his lungs before exhaling. "Seriously though, you’re not so bad for a Pogue," he said, smirking. "I mean, you’re still a fucking idiot, but a high, entertaining idiot."

You rolled your eyes, laughing. "For a Kook with a bad reputation, you’re not so bad either."

Rafe smiled at that, something in his chest tightening unexpectedly. He didn’t expect to actually enjoy your company tonight. "Yeah, well, even Kooks can be decent company when they’re stoned out of their minds." He passed the blunt back to you, his fingers lingering against yours for just a second longer than needed.

You took the last hit, the ember finally dying out as you tossed the roach into the ashtray. "Finished this one too."

Rafe watched as you pressed the roach into the ashtray, his gaze lingering on the way your fingers moved, slow and deliberate. He liked how calm you are when you're high—no obnoxious laughter or stupid jokes like his friends usually made. Just quiet, relaxed, lost in thought. It was a side of you he had never really seen before, one untouched by the usual arguments or sharp-edged insults.

You glanced over his body toward the drawer, your expression thoughtful. "I think I have another one."

Rafe watched as you stood, rummaging through the nightstand. Your shorts hung low on your hips, teasing just enough skin to make his throat go dry. The way you stretched slightly, your back arching as you dug through the drawer, made his already hazy mind blur further. Everything felt ten times more intense when he was this high. Every little movement, every small sound.

"You got any liquor too?" His voice was rougher than he intended, thick with something he didn't want to name.

"You want liquor too?" You glanced up at him, still kneeling beside the nightstand.

"Mmhm." His eyes traced the curve of your back as you shifted, stretching to grab something deeper in the drawer. Goddamn, those shorts should be illegal. He smirked slightly. "You work out?"

He already knew you did, but he was curious to hear your answer.

You chuckled, glancing at him as you pulled something from the drawer. "Yeah, I do... You probably do too?" Your gaze flickered over his toned abs, the definition in his arms.

Rafe nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching with pride. "Yeah, I lift. Can’t have these arms looking weak, right?" He flexed slightly for emphasis, his biceps tightening.

You laughed, shaking your head as you finally pulled out another blunt. "Found it." You held it up triumphantly before standing. "So, what liquor did you want?"

Rafe took the blunt from your fingers, sparking it up without hesitation. He watched you move, eyes trailing over the way your shorts hugged your legs. He exhaled, letting the smoke curl into the air before answering. "Whiskey. You got any whiskey?"

"Yeah, I got whiskey." You nodded, heading out of the room.

Rafe took another deep drag, leaning back against the headboard. When you returned a few moments later, you were carrying two glasses filled with amber liquid. You handed him one, the scent rich and warm as it swirled in the glass.

He took a sip, letting the burn settle in his throat before speaking. "Damn, you really have everything, don’t you?"

You smirked, taking a hit before following it with a sip of whiskey. "I know it’s probably not as good as the expensive ones you’re used to."

Rafe shook his head, taking another sip. "Nah, actually," he murmured, swirling the liquid around in his glass. "This is pretty decent. And besides, when you’re this high, the expensive shit doesn’t even taste any better."

"Well, that’s true." You took another drink, making a slight face as the whiskey burned down your throat before placing the glass on the nightstand. You shifted, leaning back against the headboard beside him, legs tucked beneath you. As you passed him the blunt, your fingers briefly brushed his.

Rafe took it, inhaling deeply, letting the silence settle between you both for a moment. It was comfortable, the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward or forced. Just easy.

You reached out your hand to take the blunt back.

Rafe let out a low chuckle, amused by your eagerness. He pulled the blunt just out of your reach, smirking. "Ah ah ah, impatient much?"

"Come on, that’s the last one I have," you complained, pouting slightly.

With a teasing smirk, Rafe finally relented, handing the blunt back—though not before taking one last quick hit. "Damn, getting defensive over your last blunt, huh? That’s what happens when you run out."

"This would last me two days, maybe more if I didn’t share it with you." You took another long hit, exhaling slowly.

Rafe chuckled, watching the way you held the blunt like second nature. "I should probably make you buy me more."

You smirked, exhaling through your nose. "I should probably make you buy me more."

He laughed, the sound deep and husky. He passed the blunt back to you, his fingers lingering on yours just a second too long. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll buy you a whole bag next time. But for now..." He reached for his whiskey, taking another sip.

Without thinking, you grabbed your glass, mirroring his movement as you both took a sip at the same time.

Rafe turned slightly toward you, amused at how in sync you both were—sharing whiskey, sharing blunts, just sitting there in your little smoke-filled world. His limbs felt heavier, the warmth of the alcohol mixing with the fog in his head, making everything slower.

Your eyes were heavy too as you brought the blunt to his lips, offering him a hit.

Rafe takes a slow, deep inhale, eyes locked on yours. He exhales through his nose, the smoke curling between you like something tangible. "You know what? This might be the most chill I’ve been in months."

You nodded, placing the blunt back against your lips. "That’s good."

Rafe watched as you inhaled again, the way your throat moved as you did. He swallowed hard, realizing just how pretty you look right now—relaxed, hazy, skin glowing under the dim lighting. He spread his legs slightly, shifting to get more comfortable. "You smoke too much, you know that?"

You glanced at him, noticing the way he shifted. "I don’t smoke too much."

Rafe laughed softly, shaking his head. "Right… that’s why your eyes are so fucking red right now." He leaned in slightly, voice lowering to a joking whisper. "You’re like a cute little stoner."

You rolled your eyes, but he caught the way you fought a smile. "Yours are red too, Kook." You pass him the blunt.

"Touché." He smirked, taking another drag. There’s something about this—about being high with you—that felt different. More real, somehow. "And stop calling me ‘Kook.’"

You scoffed. "When you stop calling me Pogue."

Rafe smirked, leaning back. "Not gonna happen, Pogue." He handed the blunt back, his fingers intentionally brushing yours this time. "At least I’m not a walking pothead cliché like you."

"Yeah, you Kooks prefer expensive shit like coke, right?" You quipped, taking another hit before handing it back.

Rafe chuckled, taking the blunt back from your fingers, his smirk lazy and full of mischief. "At least we have standards, Pogue," he muttered, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling in a slow, controlled stream. His half-lidded eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head slightly. "You’d probably smoke dirt if it got you high enough."

You let out a soft laugh, eyes glassy from the haze surrounding you both. "I would blow anything if it got me high enough," you teased, voice playful, your lips twitching into a smirk as you watched his reaction.

Rafe almost choked mid-inhale, coughing as he set the blunt down in the ashtray on your bedside table. He wiped at his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "Fuck, Pogue, you can’t just say shit like that out of nowhere."

You bursted into laughter, your body shaking slightly as you took in his stunned expression. "Why not?"

"Because it makes me… never mind…" His voice trailed off as he watched you, your laughter still lingering in the air between you. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking down to your mouth, the way your lips parted slightly as you breathed, the way your shoulders rose and fell, completely relaxed. His fingers twitched against his thigh. "You know you’re high as hell right now?"

Your smile didn’t fade as you tilted your head slightly. "It makes you what?"

Rafe exhaled slowly, avoiding your gaze. He picked up the blunt, taking a deep hit, using it as a distraction. His jaw tensed slightly before he exhaled through his nose, the smoke curled lazily between you. "You’re really asking me to finish that sentence right now?" His voice was slightly muffled, rough around the edges.

You rolled your eyes, playfully slapping his shoulder. "Come on, I thought we were open now that we’re high as fuck."

Rafe chuckled, but there was something different about it this time—something deeper, something almost nervous. He set the blunt down again and shifted to face you fully. His blue eyes, dark and hazy from the mix of weed and whiskey, searched yours for a long moment before he finally muttered, "It makes me want to kiss you, okay? Fucking hell, Pogue, you’re impossible."

You froze for a second, your breath catching. "Kiss me?"

Rafe rolled his eyes, dragging a hand through his messy hair. "Yeah, kiss you. Is that so fuking hard to believe?" His voice was laced with frustration, but there was something else buried beneath it—something raw. His tongue flicked over his lips as his eyes dropped to your mouth. "You’re sitting there, all fucking high and cute and—"

Before he could finish, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

CHAPTER 3 (soon)

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do a fic where the sister gets into a big fight with them and they say some really really really mean and hurtful things and she distances herself for weeks and they make up with a cute ending

“Silent Echoes”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : none

Being the only sister to three loud, chaotic brothers—Nick, Matt, and Chris—was never easy, but Y/N loved them more than anything. They were her best friends, her protectors, her partners-in-crime. But sometimes, they could be the absolute worst.

It all started on a random Tuesday. Y/N had been feeling off all day—school had been stressful, she had a fight with her best friend, and she was just overwhelmed. When she got home, all she wanted was some peace.

Instead, she walked into the living room to find her brothers shouting over each other, fighting about something stupid as usual.

“Can you guys keep it down?” she muttered, tossing her bag on the floor.

“Relax, it’s not that deep,” Chris said, barely sparing her a glance.

“I’m serious,” she snapped. “I have a headache, and I just—can you all shut up for five minutes?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “God, you’re always complaining.”

“Yeah,” Matt added. “You act like everything revolves around you. Newsflash: it doesn’t.”

That stung. “Are you serious? I barely say anything compared to you guys!”

Chris scoffed. “Oh, please. You’re always in a mood. If you’re not whining, you’re mad at us for no reason. It’s exhausting.”

Y/N’s face burned. “Maybe I’m mad because you guys never take me seriously! You treat me like some annoying little kid—like I don’t matter!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so sensitive all the time, we wouldn’t have to,” Nick shot back. “God, no wonder nobody wants to be around you.”

Silence.

The words hit her like a slap. She felt her throat tighten, her heart drop. None of them realized how deeply they’d just hurt her.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to stay calm. “You know what?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am annoying. So I’ll stop bothering you.”

With that, she turned and walked out.

— ✩ —

She didn’t talk to them for days. Days turned into weeks.

At first, she thought they’d apologize immediately. But they didn’t. They carried on like nothing happened, and that hurt even more.

She stopped joining them for late-night drives. She ignored their texts. She started spending more time in her room, in the backyard, anywhere but near them. And the more time passed, the more they started to notice.

Nick missed her sarcastic comebacks. Matt missed her movie nights. Chris missed her stealing his hoodies even when she had her own. The house felt emptier without her laughter, without her voice adding to their usual chaos.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when she declined their invite to get ice cream—her favorite—that they realized just how badly they had messed up.

— ✩ —

One evening, Y/N was in her room when there was a knock at her door.

“Go away,” she muttered, expecting them to leave like they had the past few weeks.

But they didn’t. Instead, the door creaked open, and all three of them stood there, looking… guilty.

Chris held a stuffed bear in his hands, Nick had a pint of her favorite ice cream, and Matt was holding a blanket—her blanket.

“What are you doing?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re making it up to you,” Matt said softly.

She crossed her arms. “Took you long enough.”

Chris sighed. “We were stupid. Really, really stupid. And we didn’t realize how much we hurt you.”

“You do matter, Y/N,” Nick added. “More than anything. We were jerks, and I’m so sorry.”

Chris stepped forward, setting the bear on her bed. “We missed you. Like, a lot. The house is too quiet without you.”

Her heart softened. She wanted to stay mad. She wanted to make them suffer a little longer. But looking at their guilty faces, their awkward stances, and the way they were practically begging for her forgiveness… she sighed.

“You guys really suck at apologies,” she mumbled.

“But did it work?” Matt asked with a hopeful grin.

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah… it worked.”

The boys immediately tackled her into a hug, squishing her between them in the warmest, tightest embrace.

“Never shutting you out again,” Chris mumbled.

“Never saying anything that dumb again,” Nick added.

“You’re stuck with us forever, sorry,” Matt teased.

Y/N laughed, feeling the weight of the past few weeks lift off her shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. I love you guys too.”

And just like that, the Sturniolo triplets and their sister were whole again.

[juniperwoodwell]

THE ROOFTOP

Paring: Matt Murdock X F!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol usage, Implied smut but nothing is explicitly written, No use of Y/n. (I think, I could be wrong). Smug Matt. A little Angsty, a little Fluff, a little Spice.

Word Count: 4k

A/n: Wow! Hello! Been awhile since I've written a Matt fic, I got back into my Matt phase since the new show is coming out soon. So Uh, here's this! Might make a second part for either 🥵 or to explain the history they have.

Late night. New York City. Endless possibilities.

Except the one I want.

My friends dragged me out of the house with the excuse of, "You’ve been cooped up in here for weeks!" If only they knew the real reason why.

The absence of the masked vigilante stung more than I cared to admit. So when they brought me to the club, I made a beeline for the bar, slipping into the first available seat. Folding my arms under my chest, I leaned over the counter to grab the bartender’s attention. He glanced my way before offering a small smile.

"What can I get you?"

Sitting back, I returned the polite gesture. "Gin and Coke, please."

He nodded, finishing off a glass he’d been polishing. I barely had a second to let my thoughts drift before a hand landed on my shoulder. My body tensed, but I quickly relaxed at the sight of familiar blonde curls.

Maya.

I glanced over my shoulder, taking in her bouncy, blue-eyed enthusiasm. "Maya, you startled me." My voice was soft, but she brushed off my reaction.

"You’re drinking already?!" she shouted, raising her voice as the music surged louder.

I shrugged. "What can I say? I like to start early."

She gave me a look of disapproval, but I ignored it.

"We have a table if you wanna join. We’re gonna dance!"

I tilted my head, eyeing her outfit—a baby blue tank top that showed just a sliver of stomach, low-cut shorts, and a thick black belt. A pair of oversized black sunglasses sat atop her head.

This was what we called her hunting outfit.

I smirked. "Oh, I see. You’re on the prowl, huh, Maya?"

Her face flushed a rosy shade. "Nooo, I swear I’m not!" She smacked my arm in protest just as the bartender set my drink in front of me.

"Gin and Coke."

"Yeah, thanks." I picked it up, taking a sip. The familiar burn trailed down my throat, a sensation I’d come to enjoy.

Maya placed a hand on my shoulder, leaning in so I could hear her over the music. "I’m gonna go dance, but you should join us. Please? It'll be fun."

I shook my head. "Maybe later. Go have fun."

She pouted but left me alone.

I sighed, shoulders sagging as I nursed my drink. "What a night." The words slipped out to no one in particular.

I sat there, contemplating the dull weight of responsibilities—work, bills, emails I’d been putting off.

Then, someone slid into the seat beside me.

I barely reacted at first, still hunched over, one arm resting on the bar while the other held my drink. But I felt them—their presence radiated heat despite the inches between us.

Curiosity piqued, I turned my head, and my breath hitched.

The man beside me held a white cane. He wore red-lensed glasses and spoke to the bartender in a low, smooth tone. My alcohol-buzzed brain struggled to process his words, too distracted by his lips, his shoulders—everything.

My gaze shamelessly devoured every inch of him.

I was never this bold. On a normal day, I was respectful. But when he turned his head slightly in my direction, I snapped my eyes away, suddenly embarrassed.

I took a long sip of my drink, draining it.

Sliding the empty glass across the counter, I reached into my pocket for my wallet—only to freeze.

"Shit."

I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing myself.

Leaning over the counter, I apologized quickly. "I’m so sorry, I left my wallet at home—do you have an ATM here?"

Before the bartender could respond, the man beside me spoke up.

"Put it on my card."

I turned to him, startled. "N-no, it’s okay. I just need to get some cash. You don’t have to—"

He smiled. And just like that, my already fuzzy brain fogged up even more.

"It’s alright. Just pass it on."

I hesitated before finally nodding. "Alright… well, thanks."

Sliding out of my seat, I scanned the club, searching for my friends. The dance floor was a mess of bodies—sweaty, grinding, lost in the music. I spotted Maya and the girls at our table and straightened my shoulders before heading toward them, dodging wandering hands and swaying hips.

Apparently, a hoodie and black jeans weren’t enough of a deterrent.

At the table, the girls cheered when they saw me.

"Hiiiiii!" Maya was the loudest, throwing her arms around me in a hug.

I smiled, patting her back. "Hi."

She pulled away with a pout. "Find anyone yet?" I teased, sliding into the booth beside her.

Mixed responses followed—some excited, some disappointed. I just shrugged.

A sudden squeal erupted beside me as a new song started.

Before I could react, a pair of hands yanked me from the booth.

"Maya! I’m not dancing!" I yelled over the music as we reached the center of the floor.

"Oh, come on! Let go—have some fun for once in your miserable life!"

She was drunk. I knew it plain as day.

But the words still stung.

Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide with regret. "Oh my God, I didn’t mean—"

I rolled my shoulders back, forcing a nod. "Right."

She reached for me, but I stepped away.

She shouted apologies, but I didn’t hear them. I was already pushing my way through the crowd, past feverish singles and entangled couples—until my shoulder collided with something firm.

Someone.

I looked up, gasping softly.

It was him. The man from the bar.

He held a beer in one hand. The other…

I glanced at my arm, where his fingers rested.

He leaned in slightly, tilting his head. "Are you alright?"

His voice vibrated through me.

I stepped back quickly. "Y-yeah. I’m fine. Thanks."

Then, the realization hit me.

"Why is a blind guy in a nightclub?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

My eyes widened in horror as I clapped a hand over my mouth. "Oh—oh my God, I’m so sorry, I—"

He laughed.

A genuine, amused chuckle.

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.

"Who said I was blind?" he smirked, throwing my not-so-sober brain for a loop. I tried to respond, but it came out as a confused stutter, which only made his smile widen and his laughter continue.

"Blind guys can have fun too, you know," he teased, making me roll my eyes and smile.

"I realize that, it's just… there are a lot of people and a lot of things you could run into if you're not careful."

He shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "Well, I like a challenge."

I snorted out a laugh—it caught me off guard. Maybe the gin and coke was too strong tonight, or maybe I was going crazy.

"You remind me of someone I know," I said.

He tilted his head. "Oh yeah? How so?"

“I don’t know exactly…” I murmured, searching for the ghost of a memory just out of reach. “You just… feel like him.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, his head tilting slightly toward me, like he was listening for something beyond my words. “That so?” His voice was smooth, teasing, laced with a knowing amusement that sent a shiver down my spine.

Before I could piece together what felt so familiar about him, the music shifted into something slower, something that curled through the air like an invitation. His hand lifted toward me, open, expectant.

“Dance with me?”

I hesitated, my pulse stuttering for reasons I couldn’t name. But then my fingers brushed against his—warm, steady, confident—and suddenly, stepping into his space felt inevitable.

We moved easily together, the motion effortless despite the press of people around us. I guided him just slightly, but he already knew how to follow, his grip light yet assured, the sway of his body perfectly in sync with mine. He didn’t need to see the way I watched him—he could feel it, sense the shift in my breath, the way my fingers tightened in his.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, voice just audible over the music. “Thinking too hard?”

I huffed a soft laugh. “Just… trying to figure something out.”

“Mm.” His lips quirked, amused. “And?”

I studied him—how he moved with such certainty, how he never hesitated, how he tilted his head just slightly as if catching on to the things I wasn’t saying. It was in the way he held me, not just with his hands, but in the space between us, filled with something unspoken. Something I should’ve recognized.

“I just can’t put my finger on it,” I admitted.

His smirk deepened, just enough for me to feel it rather than see it. “Careful,” he said, voice dipping lower, almost conspiratorial. “You might not like the answer.”

The words sent a strange thrill through me, but before I could respond, he shifted just slightly, closing the distance between us, his breath warm near my temple. The world outside our slow-moving steps blurred—the pulse of music, the murmur of voices—until it was just us, caught in the quiet pull of something neither of us had named.

For now, I let myself stay in that moment, letting the mystery linger, the answer just out of reach.

As the song came to a slow, fading end, I felt a presence beside me before I even turned my head.

“There you are!” Maya’s voice cut through the haze, a mix of relief and impatience. “We’re heading out. You coming?”

I blinked, my fingers still loosely curled around the man’s hand. I glanced at Maya, then back at him, feeling an odd reluctance to step away just yet.

“No—It’s alright,” I said slowly. “I think I want to stay a bit, with—”

I turned back toward him, realizing I didn’t even know his name. He must’ve noticed my hesitation because a small, amused smile tugged at his lips.

“Matt,” he supplied smoothly.

I met his gaze—or rather, the space behind his red-lensed glasses—before nodding and turning to Maya. “With Matt.”

Maya gave me a knowing smirk, but she didn’t push. “Alright, just text me when you get home.” Then, with a wink, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with Matt and the pulsing warmth still lingering between us.

He tilted his head in the direction of an empty booth near the edge of the room. “Sit with me?”

I nodded, following him as he maneuvered through the club effortlessly, despite his inability to see. He slid into the booth first, then gestured for me to sit.

Before I could say anything, he flagged down a server. “A water for her,” he said, then tapped the bottle of beer in front of him. “And I’ll finish this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Ordering for me already?”

He smirked, resting his elbow on the table. “Call it a well-educated guess.”

I huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue as the water was set in front of me. I took a sip before leaning forward, studying him again.

“You really do remind me of someone,” I said, picking up where we left off.

He took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down with an amused expression. “Still stuck on that, huh?”

I narrowed my eyes playfully. “You’re not making it any easier with your whole… vibe.”

He leaned in slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “My vibe?”

I waved vaguely at him. “The smugness, the teasing, the way you talk. It’s like you know something I don’t.”

His grin deepened. “Maybe I do.”

I scoffed. “See? That! That’s exactly what I mean.”

He chuckled, running a slow finger along the rim of his bottle. “And what if I just have one of those faces?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Bit of a bold claim, considering…”

His smile didn’t falter. If anything, he looked even more entertained. “Touché.”

I shook my head, sipping my water as he finished his beer. Our conversation drifted into easy banter—light, teasing, but always skirting around the edges of something unspoken. Every time I tried to place the familiarity nagging at me, he would smirk, throw out a casual remark, and steer me away before I could catch onto it fully.

Before I knew it, the club had thinned out. I sighed, stretching my arms over my head. “I should probably head home.”

Matt nodded, pushing his empty bottle aside. “Let me walk you.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” He stood, waiting for me to do the same. “But I want to.”

Something about the way he said it, calm and matter-of-fact, made it impossible to refuse. So I didn’t.

With a small nod, I zipped up my hoodie, and together, we stepped out into the cool New York night.

As they walked, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement, I glanced at Matt with a smirk.

“You know,” I mused, tucking my hands into my jacket pockets, “I think it’s kind of ironic—a blind guy walking a girl home.”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Well, you seemed pretty confident dancing with me. Figured you’d trust me to get you a few blocks safely.”

I scoffed. “Dancing in place and crossing a city street are two very different things.”

He smirked. “Not for me.”

I shook my head, laughing softly as we continued in comfortable silence. The city hummed around us, the distant sirens, the occasional honk, the steady rhythm of our steps against the sidewalk. It was strangely easy—being next to him, teasing him, letting the warmth between us linger a little longer.

Before I knew it, we were at my building. I stopped at the entrance, turning to him with a small, grateful smile. “Well… thanks for the escort, Matt.”

He gave a small nod, standing relaxed with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. “Anytime.”

I lingered for half a second before stepping inside, but just as the door started to close, his voice reached me—calm, smooth, and laced with something I couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t stay up too late working on the rooftop tonight.”

I froze. My breath caught in my throat, heart hammering against my ribs.

Slowly, I turned back to face him, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

Matt stood just where I left him, head tilted slightly, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

The world around me blurred as memories slammed into me all at once—late nights on the rooftop, the crisp night air, the city stretching endlessly beneath me. The voice, the teasing remarks, the quiet laughter that always found its way into our conversations.

Him.

My lips parted, but no words came out. My throat tightened, my eyes stung, and before I could stop it, a tear slipped down my cheek.

He just stood there, waiting.

I took a shaky breath, stepping forward, my voice barely above a whisper.

“…It’s you.”

Matt’s smirk deepened ever so slightly, but he didn’t confirm or deny it. He just stood there, letting the weight of realization settle over me like thick fog.

I took another shaky step forward, my pulse a frantic drum in my ears. “You—” My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, my mind racing to catch up. “You left.”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. “I did.”

A flood of emotions crashed through me—relief, anger, confusion, something dangerously close to hope. I wiped at my cheek quickly, blinking against the rush of tears threatening to spill. “Why?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His lips pressed together, his jaw tensed. He wasn’t smirking anymore.

“I had to.” His voice was quieter now, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to hear it. “It wasn’t safe—for me or for you.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “And now it is?”

“No.” He took a step closer, the heat of his presence wrapping around me like a whisper of something I’d been missing for too long. “But I couldn’t stay away this time.”

A sharp breath left me, my throat tightening. This time.

The past year and a half of wondering, of waiting on that rooftop for a voice that never came back, of aching for something I never fully understood—it all came crashing down on me.

And now he was standing here, saying he had to leave but wanted to stay.

I shook my head again, stepping back, trying to put some kind of distance between us before I drowned in the pull of him. “I don’t— I don’t know what to do with this.” My voice was thick with emotion. “With you.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, studying me like he could see every part of me, even without his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”

The way he said it—gentle, patient—made something in my chest crack open.

I looked away, exhaling shakily.

I could send him away. Walk inside and pretend this never happened.

But that wasn’t what I wanted.

I wanted answers. I wanted to understand why he left. Why he came back.

Why I still cared so much after all this time.

I looked up at him again. “Do you—do you want to come up?”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

–

He followed me inside, the soft click of the door shutting behind him sending a ripple of unease through me. Not fear—never fear with him—but something heavier, something tangled between longing and disbelief.

It was the first time he’d actually stepped into my apartment, and suddenly, I saw it the way he would. Dishes stacked in the sink. Laundry baskets overflowing in the corner. Work files and unopened mail strewn across the table. A complete disaster.

I shrugged off my hoodie, tossing it onto the couch like I didn’t care. The air felt too thick, too suffocating, so I moved to the window and shoved it open. A cool night breeze rolled in, but it did little to steady my racing heart.

"I’ll make some coffee," I offered, needing something—anything—to ground me. "And maybe a snack."

Matt hummed in approval, stepping farther in. He slid off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair before following me into the kitchen. He rested his back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest in that effortlessly confident way of his.

I kept my back to him, pretending to focus on the coffee maker, but his presence pressed into me like a weight. Every inhale, every shift—it was maddening.

My thoughts spun, colliding between the past and present. Even after all this time, after already feeling his hands on me, there was still this desperate yearning to reach out—to touch him, to know he was real.

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

"Why now?" My voice came out quieter than I intended. "Why couldn’t you stay away this time?"

Silence.

It stretched long enough that doubt started creeping in, twisting in my gut. Then, finally, his voice—low, smooth, familiar—cut through the tension.

"Would you believe me if I said I missed you?"

I let out a breath, half scoff, half laugh. "I don’t know. Do you actually miss people, or do you just like messing with them?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and damn it, it sent something sharp through my ribs.

"Both," he admitted, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. "But this time, it’s real."

I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching as I reached for a mug from the cabinet. My grip tightened around the ceramic, rolling the weight of it in my palm.

And then, instead of setting it on the counter for him, I put it back.

“Cold, sweetheart.”

“You deserve it,” I shot back, finally turning to face him.

His smirk deepened, but something flickered behind it—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Fair,” he said easily, though I could tell it amused him.

I crossed my arms. “You just decided one day to find me?”

“Not exactly.” His voice softened, the weight of something unspoken pressing between us. “I always knew where you were.”

My stomach clenched. I searched his face, trying to decide if that was meant to be comforting or unsettling.

Matt must have sensed my unease because he quickly added, “I wasn’t watching you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I narrowed my eyes, skeptical. “No? Because that sounds an awful lot like something a guy who was watching me would say.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just sighed and leaned back against the counter, tapping his fingertips idly against the surface. “I stayed away,” he murmured. “Told myself it was better that way. That you’d move on.”

I exhaled a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Move on from what?” I shook my head. “You never even told me your name.”

His jaw tensed slightly. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then—

“That was the problem,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to leave at all.”

A dull ache settled in my chest, my pulse tripping over itself.

It wasn’t fair. That he could say things like that. That he could come back after all this time and still make me feel—

I looked away, blinking hard. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

Matt chuckled, tilting his head. “So I’ve been told.”

I turned back toward the counter, eyeing the empty coffee mug I had put away. For a split second, I considered taking it back down.

But I didn’t.

I let him sit with that.

I turned, gripping the counter behind me. "So what now?"

Matt let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly as if listening for something beyond the walls. "That depends on you."

"On me?" I scoffed. "You’re the one who left. The one who stayed away. You decided what was best for me without even asking."

His lips pressed together. "You think it was easy?" His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. "You think I wanted to disappear?"

I swallowed, my grip tightening. "I don’t know what to think, Matt. I don’t even know who you are anymore."

Something in his expression made my breath hitch. His eyes—unseeing but unwavering—pinned me in place.

"Then ask me."

I hesitated, every question I wanted to ask battling to be first.

"Did you miss me?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, soft and uncertain.

Matt’s lips parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected that one.

His fingers tapped against the counter once. Twice. Then stepping toward me, closing the space between us.

"I thought about you every damn night," he admitted, his voice low and unguarded. "I told myself it was for the best, that you’d be safer without me in your life." A wry smile flickered across his lips. "But then I’d hear your voice in my head, telling me I was being an idiot."

I exhaled a shaky laugh. "Sounds about right."

Matt reached out then, slowly, giving me space to pull away. When I didn’t, his fingers ghosted along my wrist, trailing up to my elbow.

"I told myself I wouldn’t come back," he murmured. "That I’d stay out of your life, no matter how much I wanted to see you again."

"Then why are you here?" My voice barely rose above a whisper.

His hand trailed higher, brushing my shoulder, then my jaw, his thumb just beneath my chin.

"Because I lost that fight."

And then his lips were on mine.

 It wasn’t tentative or careful. It was searing, a collision of every word left unsaid, every moment stolen by time and distance. 

I sucked in a breath, caught completely off guard. My hands hovered uselessly at my sides, caught between the instinct to push him away and the overwhelming need to pull him closer. For a split second, I hesitated—years of questions, of hurt, flashing through my mind. But then he let out the smallest, almost desperate sound against my lips, and I melted. 

My fingers fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him in as I kissed him back, all hesitation burned away in the heat of his touch. His hands framed my face now, holding me to him like he was afraid I’d slip through his fingers again. And Lord help me, but I didn’t want to let go either. 

The world outside ceased to exist. His hands were firm, steady, tracing along my jaw, threading into my hair as the kiss deepened. 

I felt it everywhere—his warmth, his breath, the way he moved against me like he was memorizing me all over again. I didn’t realize we were moving until my back hit the edge of the couch. He pulled me with him, guiding me through the apartment, our hands never leaving each other, fingers gripping, anchoring. 

I barely noticed when we knocked into the table, when my hoodie slipped off the couch onto the floor. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this. Matt’s lips moved to my jaw, then just below my ear, his breath sending a shiver through me. I exhaled shakily, my fingers finding the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open as we stumbled toward the hallway. 

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice rough, his forehead resting against mine for the briefest moment. 

I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I pulled him back to me, pressing my lips to his like we could make up for all the lost time in a single moment. 

We reached my bedroom door, hands roaming, bodies pressed close, the air between us electric. I reached behind me, fumbling for the doorknob, pushing it open. 

And as we stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind us, everything else faded away.

[cattailhighway]

Panic cleaning the whole house because the landlord wants to do a walk through, also known as: an entire year of normal neurotypical housekeeping, three day speed-run edition

[navree]

"cleopatra movie starring zendaya as cleopatra and timothee chalamet as octavian" i was having a good day and now i have an anger headache

[enlichened]

ocd is so interesting to manage because you simply cannot know which compulsions you can indulge that will make your life slightly easier and which ones will become a rabbit hole that makes it all tumble down.

for example just barely after i start getting anxious about something happening to my friends/loved ones, I clench my right fist three times and then hold it for a second (sometimes to my chest, sometimes with the other hand). and it genuinely helps! i feel like i did something that, even if its not realistic or effective at all, was still something to Do with the anxiety. and kind of sweet sentiment-wise.

on the other hand. never let me check on a loved one while theyre in the other room or else ill die.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing. 

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you? 

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room. 

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him. 

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?” 

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?” 

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?” 

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—” 

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—” 

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?” 

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,” 

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,” 

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different. 

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence. 

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?” 

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,” Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead. 

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too. 

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself. 

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough. 

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.” 

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,” 

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened. 

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,” 

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs. 

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna. 

But far from your last.  

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open. 

“You want another drink, Choso?” 

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small. 

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips. 

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Uh—“ 

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence. 

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face. 

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?” 

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?” 

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna. 

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either. 

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him. 

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to. 

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,” 

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?” 

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?” 

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down. 

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“ 

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves. 

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.” 

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it,  “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone. 

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,” 

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,” 

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing. 

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort. 

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?” 

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?” 

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,” 

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?” 

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms. 

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you. 

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?” 

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna. 

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso. 

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?” 

And now he had visited you in your dreams too. 

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?” 

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants. 

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan. 

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“ 

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,” 

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles. 

“Now you’re getting it, baby.” 

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream. 

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” 

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now. 

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in? 

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out. 

“Had” being the operative word. 

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep. 

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you). 

“What are you talking about?” 

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked. 

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door. 

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke. 

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real. 

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer. 

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed. 

No, it was more of a curse. 

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass. 

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,” 

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his. 

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM! 

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you. 

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,” 

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?” 

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word. 

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning. 

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while. 

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—” 

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?” 

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,” 

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,” 

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much? 

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful. 

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?” 

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet. 

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle. 

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers. 

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts. 

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?” 

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself. 

So you don’t.  

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,” 

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here. 

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much. 

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh. 

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?” 

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,” 

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,” 

Wait. What? 

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still. 

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind. 

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own. 

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close. 

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,” 

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?” 

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts. 

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits. 

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl. 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together. 

But you couldn’t. Not without him. 

“Sukuna—“ 

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“ 

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them. 

And he smiles all the same. 

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,” 

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets. 

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,” 

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“ 

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants. 

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,” 

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue. 

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt. 

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can’t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb. 

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,” 

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek. 

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers. 

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open. 

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“ 

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,” 

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit. 

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy. 

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet. 

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,” 

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open. 

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside. 

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“ 

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,” 

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit. 

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt. 

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth. 

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together. 

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.  

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“ 

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in. 

God, fuck. 

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt. 

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you. 

It was only the first. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy. 

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning. 

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,” 

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear. 

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,” 

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant. 

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit,  “I’m—” 

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load. 

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in. 

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you. 

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.” 

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?” 

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but 

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick. 

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you. 

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around. 

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips. 

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg. 

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,” 

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence. 

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna. 

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night. 

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line,  “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,” 

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder. 

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,” 

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you. 

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all. 

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place. 

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?” 

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?” 

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh. 

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful. 

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.” 

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle. 

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.” 

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt. 

“Want me to prove it?” 

And oh, he would. Again and again. 

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.