#sorry lil readers

[lxnarphase]

heian era!sukuna fucking his pretty little wife for the first time the night of your marriage. he's being so slow and caring, it's so strange to both of you. but he's worried, he's worried he's going to break you, and he doesn't want to break you this soon.

you weren't a gift from a village or an arranged marriage of some sort for temporary mercy from the king of curses. no, sukuna picked you himself. so why would he break something he cherished so much? he’s watching your every move, groaning about how pretty you look, but it’s painful how slow he’s going.

“fuck, can't do this anymore, my wife, i need t' fuck you properly,” he growls, folding you in half as he presses your legs up, adjusting himself before slamming his hips down into you. he can't help himself, you're just so hot and tight and wet, and the way your nails drag down his back as you choke out his name...it's addicting.

even so, he's still trying so hard not to fuck you too hard, too deep, but he's getting carried away, and he genuinely can't help himself. but his hips stutter when you slap his back, hissing at him to 'stop acting like a big baby and fuck you like a real husband would.' that gets a chuckle out of him, and he presses a gentle kiss against your cheek, the last gentle and sweet gestured you'd be getting for a while.

"my pretty wife wants to get treated like my personal whore? mm, fine, but if you end up carrying my heir before planned, it's your fault, brat."

[emmyrosee]

Could you maybe do smth like cuddling with sukuna

👉👈

Backs facing each other, you gently nudge his legs with your foot, smiling as you’re able to wiggle it between his calves. He traps your foot between his legs, and you giggle when you try to pull it back.

“I’m on insta, fuck off,” he grumbles, but you hear the annoyed smile in his voice.

“I wanna snuggle,” you mewl.

“Yeah, and I want to see how this dude makes this garlic bread.”

You slip your own phone off the nightstand and open your message app, clicking his name and quickly typing.

SENT I want attention, boyfriend 🫶🏻

You hear him snort and blunt nails briefly scratch down the sole of your trapped foot, making you try to tug it back and squeal in surprise. “You want attention?” He begins, letting go of your foot so he’s able to turn on his side and spoon you from behind, body contorting to be straight curled behind you. “Well let me tell you something- I always give you my damn attention. You just can’t live without it.”

You practically purr as he loops his arms around you, tugging you closer and letting his warm hands slip under your hoodie, warm touch on your tummy relaxing you. “You’re right,” you hum. “I just want you all to myself all the time. Not my fault you give in.” He hikes up his voice to offer you a mocking “mi meh mi meh mi”’s. You call him a brat in reply.

“If you won’t let me scroll on my instagram, scroll on yours so I can watch,” he demands.

“I can’t, I follow naked anime men.”

“Im sure you’re joking, but so help me god if you go on Instagram and there’s a naked anime man, I’m blowing up your phone.” You offer him a laugh and slip out your phone to scroll, relishing in the little kiss he plants to your jawline, then adjusting his head to be able to watch your timeline with you.

You can’t help but grin as you feel one of his feet prod to try and get between your legs, mimicking how yours was just moments ago.

[freedom-of-tranquility]

Yeah no, I'm a fucking Oasis

WAIT PEOPLE ON TUMBLR ARE REAL FUCKING PEOPLE

[antiwhores]

Bakugou cums so fast and hard the first time he has sex.

Yall be like: “He lasts long!” “He lets you finish first.”

He would love to! But I imagine he actually didn’t last for shit.

Bakugou had forgotten to use the tricks that everyone had told him.

“Think about something gross so you don’t cum fast!” Not possible, you felt too good for him to think about anything but you.

“Beat off before it happens, the sex���ll last longer.” It happened spontaneously, he had no time.

“Just hold it in through your bladder!” HOW?! Thats the only one he remembered to try and yet it still failed.

He felt so embarrassed when his afterglow wore off. He thought that you wouldn’t wanna have sex with him anymore. He knew better, but he decided that you would go tell all your friends about how easily the great Bakugou Katsuki cums.

He apologizes to you with a scowl on his face (not directed towards you, it was for himself).

“I didn’t mean for it to be that fast. M’sorry.”

He finally meets your eyes when you grab his face, kissing him.

“Katsuki, it’s okay. It’s our first time. I didn’t expect you to last forever. If anything, it’s a compliment. Just means I’m that good.”

Bakugou internally sighs, the panic swaying away from him.

“…Wanna go again?”

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki can’t say no to you. it’s a fact that everybody, including him, knows and one he hates to admit is true.

and it’s not like he’s a pushover, anything but. katsuki bakugou will never do anything he doesn’t want to do. ever. but that’s the thing—he wants to do everything for you.

and it pisses him off to no bounds, you have no idea. how he just can’t stand his ground around you. unless it’s something extremely dangerous you want to do, he just cannot deny you. not when you frown up at him and you huff at him. god he hates how your hands, your hands that’re supposed to be messing with his hair or holding his face are balled into fists at your sides, why are you standing so far away from him ?

his eyes are sharp and arms are crossed, he won’t budge. however, his foot taps impatiently against the floor when that stupid crease in your brows appears. that stupid.fucking.crease.

that stupid crease ends up being his undoing. goddamn it all.

he squints, then he groans and he groans loudly, clearly unhappy but he can’t help it, he literally cannot and it pisses him off and he lifts his head up at the sky to groan even more dramatically, like he’s complaining to the gods about how much of a suck up he is for you.

his arms drop limply and his eyebrows twitch when he sees your bright eyes and your sweet little smile. you must think you’re the shit don’t you ? he hates you he thinks. so much.

yet when you throw yourself in his arms, kissing all over his face and chirping a bright “thank you, suki !” he wraps his arms around you immediately, grumbling out a weak “yeah, yeah.” and he presses a hard kiss to your forehead.

he thinks maybe it’s better this way. you’re happy, and your arms are around him where they’re supposed to be. and you’re lips make his skin tingle although you keep missing his lips where he wants you most, but he thinks this is fine. you’re giving him all the kisses he knows he deserves for being the best boyfriend ever and bending over backwards to your every whim..really, when you think about it hard enough, technically, you’re the one who’s all weak for him. showering him with love and affection so easily.

so katsuki convinces himself he’s won, and that’s good enough even though he knows he’s just an absolute suck up for you. and honestly he doesn’t mind it much, it’s better this way.

[erwinsvow]

Imagine if Rafe let R try a joint

Like, her brains getting all fuzzy and she's even more giggly than usual, and he's just, like enamoured. He thinks she's adorable.

"one hit, that's it-" rafe says, low and quiet in your ear.

you're curled up on his lap at the party, both of you resting on the couch while you observe the scene around you with big eyes. rafe's friends were snorting powder off of mirrors, washing it down with liquor that was definitely harder than the fruity seltzer your boyfriend allowed you to drink. rafe said you couldn't handle anything harder, and you agreed without questioning him, like you always did.

you had pointed to the white lines on the table infront of you and asked him as sweetly as you could if you could try some. kelce overheard you and starts pushing the mirror in your direction, and you look at him with a smile, before rafe stares him down and delivers a tap to your cheek. it's just to get your attention, not really to hurt you, but you feel your face flushing where he touched you when he speaks.

"hey, you don't listen to him, you listen to me, right?" you see kelce in the corner of your eye, taking the tray back and offering it to the girl next to him.

"i know, i just-"

"no, no just anything. y'can barely drink this watered-down crap without trippin' over your feet." he rests back on the sofa, hands gripping your waist and leg tightly. "wants to snort coke. you're funny, kid."

you pout, taking another sip of your drink. you're only half way through the can but your head is starting to feel fuzzy, already. you decide then and there that rafe always knows best for you, but you still want to try the things he tries, show him that you can handle it. the boys next to rafe pass a blunt over you, directly to him. when they blow out the smoke, you start coughing, but watch carefully as your boyfriend takes a long hit. just as he's about to pass it across to kelce, you catch his wrist.

"can i try that instead? please?" you try your best to straighten up, to show him you can take it and that you're not already drunk. "please," you whine, and his friends turn their head to look. you're sure that they think it's silly, the way you have to ask rafe for permission for everything and anything. you don't care, though.

"kid, stop-"

"i can take it, promise. just this time. i won't ever ask again."

that's how you had ended up like this, rafe talking into your ear while he holds the blunt to your lips.

"alright, suck in. long as you can. you're a pro at that, aren't ya?" his words make you lose your concentration, breaking into a coughing fit before you can even try to inhale.

"rafe!" you whine again, pummeling your fists into his chest, still choking on the smoke. your throat feels scratchy but you know that couldn't have been enough.

"what, kid, i gotta do everything for you?" he takes a long hit, and then grips your cheeks with his hand, forcing your mouth open and then blowing the smoke into your throat for you. then he clamps it shut, holds your shoulder while you cough, and passes the blunt along to kelce.

you cough a little, but before long, you're putty in his arms, leaning your head against his shoulder and giggling at nothing. you poke at his chest and then start playing with his chain, then his hair, and then back down to his fingers. he lets you do it, watching you play with his ring and pressing a kiss to your forehead. you're cute like this, he thinks, less shy and not as worried what everyone must think about you. he thinks he likes it, that maybe he should let you smoke with him every once in a while.

"feel good, baby?" he asks in your ear, and you squirm in his touch, pulling away before resting your head again.

"mhm. really good. this is fun. wish it wasn't a crime." he laughs, taking another sip of his beer. you try to copy him, reaching for your seltzer but knocking it over by accident.

"oops," you say with another laugh. "sorry to-wait, whose house is this?"

"c'mon kid, makin' a mess," he groans, picking up the can and watching the fizzy liquid travel.

"sorry, daddy." in your state, you don't realize how loud you said it, but even with everyone's eyes on you, you don't care much, smiling back sweetly at rafe.

"alright, we're leavin'."

[mothwingwritings]

Zayne goes back to work the day after his birthday and everyone takes note of the pep he has in his step. The usually stern, down-to-business doctor has been grinning ear to ear since he stepped through the door, and all the patients, doctors, and nurses can't help but notice how vibrant he is. Zayne is positively beaming- his grim aura nonexistent through the brilliance he is currently exhibiting

Most people are confused by this sudden and aggressive shift in his demeanor, but chock it up to Zayne just being in a particularly nice mood after his trip. Whatever happened on his leave must have been truly wonderful for the doctor, and that happiness was contagious. The residents of the hospital can't help but be pleased that Asko's pride and joy finally seemed to get a moment of blissful respite.

Only Greyson and Yvonne exchange knowing looks, understanding the truth of the situation immediately. Hit with the realization of just how good his mini-vacation was (and how most of that was thanks to you), they can't help but tease their friend a bit, taking turns asking prodding questions, snickering when the only response he provides is clearing his throat and demanding they get back to work.

However it's up to Yvonne to break the news to Zayne, as it became apparent that while Greyson noticed it as well, he was too flustered by seeing it to say anything. Zayne probably thought he was being safe wearing that turtleneck under his lab coat, despite the fact that it was still far too hot aside for such attire. Unluckily for him the signs of your affection would not be so easily contained, and the large red and purple splotch the crept past the hem of his collar was not something that could be played off as a simple wound-the teeth marks made sure of that.

She had never seen Zayne turn quite so red as the moment she pulled him aside and told him, and for a moment she felt almost bad for telling him, wondering if maybe she should have let him figure it out on his own to save him from the awkwardness. However when she looked back on the man as she was departing, watching as he gingerly touched your mark, a roguish smile dancing on his lips as it no doubt made him reminisce about the moment he received it from you, that she realized his blush was not from embarrassment alone.

[toshidou]

can't stop thinking of domestic ghost learning how to crochet after he sees you practicing, large scarred, battle worn hands working away with a crochet hook and wool; not missing the way your eyes go fond as he joins you on the couch to crochet by your side. trying to suppress your giggle at the soft sounds of his frustrated grunts when he tries (and fails) to tie the slip knot for the 5th time in a row before he turns to you with a blank expression, arms extended in your direction.

what starts as slowly mastering little granny squares quickly evolves into working on whole projects; clothes, hats, face masks, stuffed animals. your house slowly fills up with both yours and his creations. although it's something you mostly do together, it wouldn't be uncommon for you to come downstairs as the sun rises only to find Simon hunched over a ball of wool, clearly awoken from a night of terrors and craving comfort from the repetition that crocheting provides.

he'd inevitably have to leave for deployment, but not without laying out a new cardigan he'd made just for you (a way he can keep you warm despite the thousands of miles that might separate you) or a little crocheted plush of himself, fitted with its very own little mask; even giving you the option of dressing it in either combat gear or his go to black hoodie and jeans. it leaves you teary every time, clutching his new creation to your chest and nuzzling the soft wool into your cheek, always knowing that his hands were made for more than just war and death.

and if the day comes you finally bring a child into the world, you better believe he's making them an entire wardrobe that matches the clothes he's already made for the two of you; holding the completed tiny garments up whilst you try your absolute hardest to not burst into tears at how small they look, knowing they're so lucky to have a dad who's going to love them so, so much.

[wttcsms]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ you know i'll take you there

ᝰ.ᐟ shinsuke isn't too happy after your little escape attempt, and he makes it known. (fem!reader)

word count 2.5k content contains mating press, creampie, yakuza au, yandere themes, dubcon, praise kink, pet names (good girl), depictions of violence (not towards reader) author's notes sorry for lack of context; this is meant to take place after this fic concept

Shinsuke Kita doesn’t flinch when he pulls the trigger on a gun. 

The recoil doesn’t even register for him; when you do something for so long, eventually, it just becomes second nature. Like the mechanical movements you do when you brush your teeth, or the way you can tie your sneakers without having to actually look at the laces — shooting someone in the head is a mundane thing for Kita, for his line of work. He does it so often, has practiced it ever since he was a young boy, that what he does after is muscle memory. He removes the handkerchief from his suit and wipes the tiny splatter of blood that ended up getting on his cheek. He folds the sullied handkerchief neatly, tucking it away in the inner pocket of his suit. He makes sure the safety on his gun is in place, and he nods for Aran to drag the dead body away. 

When Aran takes his leave, the still-warm corpse in tow, the only people left in the room are Kita and a very scared young man. 

One of these men will be leaving this room, and the other will be hoping for a death as swift and merciful as the flawless execution Kita just delivered. 

“I told you there would be consequences,” Kita doesn’t taunt his victims. He’s not the type to do so. Cold and calculated — his own gang considers him to be a robot, and for the longest time, Kita agreed with them. But that was then, and this is now. Now, Kita has a reason to drag out his torture. Now, Kita understands what it’s like to find his very reason for existing. His purpose isn’t to lead one of the biggest yakuza families in the underground criminal world of Japan. His purpose is to devote his very being to you, and vice versa. 

So imagine how heartbroken he felt when he caught you trying to escape from the farmhouse he built for the two of you. And this man, a low-level runt in his group, had been foolish enough to give in and help you. 

“Please, sir, I wanted no part in the escape! She begged me, she—”

“She’ll receive her own punishment. I value fairness, after all.” Kita interrupts him, sounding as cold as the blood running through the young man’s veins. He’s frozen in fear as he tries to stammer out more excuses, more explanations, more promises to do better in the future but—

—there really isn’t much of a future for him. Not one that he’ll be happy to live in, at least. Kita is fair; having you slip away would have killed him internally. So now, Kita has to kill this man internally. Crush his spirit. Make him dream of death, dangle death in front of his face like a treat to a dog, but never, ever allow him such a kindness. 

(Kita is a fair leader, but very rarely is he kind. 

Kindness will get you killed. 

The boy dumb enough to help you — he’s kind.)

Kita retrieves a knife from one of the inconspicuous cabinets in this room. The fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling casts a warm glow over the both of them, but the blade of the knife reflects back the light, makes it shine in the poor boy’s face. He flinches. 

“Do you remember?” Kita asks him, turning the knife as if to inspect it from every angle. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters out, sounding breathless. He might be on the verge of a panic attack. That’ll make things messier than they need to be. 

“Do you remember what hand you used when you held hers?” Kita clarifies. He sounds calm, but the sight of another man holding your hand had him seething. Even now, it takes everything in him to not plunge the knife right into this young man’s heart, to twist the blade ‘round his insides, make him hurt like how Kita hurt when he witnessed it. 

“It was your left hand.” Kita answers for him. “Fortunately, you’re right-handed. Surely it won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you after I’m done sawing it off.” 

Kita’s chopped off a few fingers and one hand before, but never has he attempted to do it with a medium sized knife. A knife with a purposely dull blade. 

He smiles faintly. Sometimes, it can be fun to break routine and try new things.

You’re in bed by the time Kita returns home. He’s back later than he expects; it turns out, his little experiment with the dull blade is very, very messy. Maybe with practice, he’ll perfect that, too. That boy still has another hand to spare, after all. 

Feeling satisfied with himself, Kita starts humming gently as he makes his way to your shared bedroom. Before you, Kita never bothered making unnecessary noise. He rarely listened to music, but now—

The sting of your betrayal has lessened considerably. Kita isn’t even upset with you anymore. It’s normal for couples to fight and want to storm out on each other, but what matters most is that at the end of the day, he’s coming home to find you warming his bed. 

In his line of work, simple pleasures aren’t usually so sweet. 

You don’t stir when he joins you in bed, the mattress dipping just the slightest bit due to the sudden shift in weight, but he makes his presence hard to ignore, even in your slumber, when he presses his chest against your back, his lips nipping gently on the soft skin of your ears. 

You whine, your eyesight blurry as your eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re instantly aware of Kita’s body covering your own, and when he feels the subtle shivers of your body, the both of you know it’s not because of the chill of the air conditioner.

He makes a tiny grunt of disapproval. Even after all this time, you’re scared of him? Silly girl — he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

Well, nothing that would hurt you too badly. 

“Did ya have a good dream?” He asks you, breath warm against your ear. 

You swallow hard, not brave enough to shift your body. Ever since the truth came out, the fact that sweet Shinsuke is more than just an average overworked businessman but is a yakuza crime boss, things have never been the same between you two. Kita is nothing if not persistent, though. He still cuddles up against you, he still whispers sweet nothings in your ear, he’s still affectionate and downright loving in every action he does towards you. 

He knows not to expect an answer from you, especially when he plays with the bottom hem of your silk nightgown. “Wish ya would tell me what goes on in that pretty little head of yours.” 

You can picture him frowning; as perceptive as he is, you know that he prefers hearing your thoughts directly from you. 

“What happened to Goto?” You dare to ask, and the air seems to shift in your bedroom. 

Kita is gripping the soft flesh of your thighs, his hand large and imposing, rough with calluses and forever red with blood. You never really learn, you suppose, about how there’s a time and place for such questions. 

“Goto received his punishment.” Kita answers calmly, voice steady but cold. “And I nearly forgot about yours.” 

Liar. You want to call him out, but you at least have enough self-preservation to bite your tongue. As if Kita would ever forget. It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since your little escape attempt. 

Kita adores you, loves you, because in a world of greedy, nasty, spiteful little creatures, you are kind and caring and full of the sugary sweet goodness he’s always going to have a taste for. It’s why he’s not surprised when you ask him, 

“Is he… alive?” 

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Is that what you’re really worried about? Goto, over the broken heart of your husband?” 

When you don’t answer, Kita tightens his grip on your thigh, contemplating his next move, before he lets his hand travel to the apex of your thighs, his knuckles brushing against your bare cunt. He’s pleased to find out that you’re still his obedient, sweet girl, following his direct order of going to bed without a bra or panties. Some nights, he’s so tired, any excess fabric is a hindrance. 

“If you have a heart, you’ll tell me what happened to him.” You mumble, trying to ignore the way your body craves for Kita’s touch. Before the truth of his second life came out, you were an addict for him. No one has ever touched him the way he’s touched you, and even now, when you want to ignore him and try to remind yourself of what an awful person he truly is, you can’t.

There’s a traitorous part of your heart and soul that still longs for Kita, no matter the truth.

“It’s because I have a heart that I didn’t kill him.” Kita isn’t lying. The torture was for his pleasure, sure, but he knows how upset and inconsolable you would be if you felt like you were responsible for Goto’s death. The register of his voice lowers as he speaks again, though. His warning leaves you frozen in fear.

“If his filthy hands ever touch you again, I’ll kill him.” 

There are a litany of reasons why you find yourself in the position you’re currently in: wanting, waiting, whining for Kita. Fear, for one thing. You feel compelled to do whatever he wants, considering the sheer difference in strength and power between the two of you. But try as you might, it’s hard to ignore the tiny, nagging voice in your head that lulls you into a state of docile desire. Kita’s always taken care of you, right? You were in love with him, for fuck’s sake. And as you ride his fingers, content to wrap your warm, wet heat around three of his digits as he chuckles at your wanton display, that nagging voice reminds you that you still do — love him, that is. 

Three fingers buried deeply in the warmth of your cunt is enough to make you forget about the events leading up to tonight. He withdraws his fingers, much to your displeasure, and you whine out for him to continue with his ministrations before he shuts you up by forcing you to suck his thumb. You can feel the rough skin of his finger on your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks, treating this situation as if you were about to suck his cock, and your tongue laps at the pad of his thumb before he removes it from your mouth. 

Without any preamble, he’s back to burying his fingers into your pussy, his thumb — wet with your saliva — pressed firmly against your clit. 

“Do you wish it was my cock filin’ you up?” He grunts out, rubbing mercilessly against your clit as you continue to writhe against the bedsheets. Your cheeks feel warm, blood rushing up to your chest and face, and you bite down on your bottom lip, knowing your answer. A shameless, pitiful yes. 

“You’re so beautiful, so sweet, so kind.” In his world, kindness gets you killed. Kita’s no different from any other man in his line of work, and it’s why he’s ravaging you right now. Pumping his fingers in and out of your slick hole, making a mess of his fingers, of your pussy, of the bedsheets, of you. It’s why every time he brings you to your climax, you cum violently. You’re letting out a string of stuttered, fractured fucks mixed in with sharp intakes of breath and Shinsuke’s, and you buck your hips wildly against his fingers, pushing his digits even further in as you cum. 

With your mind hazy from pleasure, your brain scrambled from sleepiness and an intense orgasm, Kita wastes no time pouncing on you. There’s no chance for you to beg for him to wait, and you register that this must be your punishment.

Shinsuke is going to fuck you without any of his normal restraint.

He slides in your sopping wet cunt in one sharp thrust, burying his thick cock deep into your warm, snug hole. He likes having a routine, he likes having set boundaries and rules, he likes being a man of practicality. But right now, he’s fucking you like a wild beast. All you can do is just take it; take his relentless thrusts, his anger, his need to dominate you, to remind you who you belong to. 

“Open up.” He demands, his voice rough and thick with desire. You comply; it’s so easy, considering that you haven’t been able to hold back a single moan as he has his way with you. He spits directly into your mouth, watching the way his saliva sits on the surface of your pink tongue. He doesn’t need to command you to swallow, because you do, savoring the taste of him.

He makes you look him in the eyes as he fucks into you relentlessly. One hand is gripping your hip, practically crushing you as he pounds into your pussy. You’re so fucking wet that the sounds of him moving in and out of your cunt are so lewd, so loud. The inescapable burn of pain and pleasure, the sensitivity of your cunt having to endure his insatiable lust, has you moaning like a bitch in heat. 

“Shin— Shinsuke! G-gonna cum!” You squeak out, and it only motivates Kita to double down. He holds up your legs, your limbs burning from the stretch as he continues to get rougher with his movements. You’re looking at him with a dazed, fucked out expression, and he has the audacity to let out a chuckle. 

“There’s my good girl.” He praises you, spitting into your open mouth once more. 

With your legs trembling and the foggy haze of pleasure clouding your head, you greedily, happily accept his praise. Your legs press tightly against his sides, and with his spit in your mouth and his cock drilling into you with even sharper movements than before, you cum. 

Kita lets out a grunt of approval as he finishes inside of you, a load of hot seed pouring deep inside of you as he keeps your legs folded, his hips pressed against yours, as if he wants to plug you up with his cum. He kisses your forehead that’s glistening with sweat from the heat of his body colliding with yours; it seems the two orgasms he wrung out of you have taken its toll on your body. You’re a pliant, fucked out little mess — his pliant, fucked out little mess. 

“Good girl.” He murmurs sweetly. “I love you so much.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to say it back. He just pulls out his cock a bit before thrusting back into you. This action causes you to let out another long, drawn out moan. He’s absolutely relentless, and as tired as you are, you realize that you don’t want him to stop.

(Pity that you’re not capable of speech at the moment.

Because you would have told him that you love him, too.)

[moechies]

yvvie honey i have a question for you…….. i saw u write for shuji n i wna ask do u think he’d be mean or sweet in bed ……..

i think he’s the worst aku bbie…

mister shuji is definitely in between me finks , because he loves to make you feel so good but he’s gotta make fun of you a little :< tease you and mock you till you cry pretty tears, and he’ll kiss them all up when you’re hiccupin’ so hard that you can’t even babble his name right anymore.

cw nsfw praise littl dubcon (?) not rlly but ! shuji loves coddling u :>

“shuji—“

“what is it doll ? fuckin’ messy girl.” he growls at the pool of slick below your blushed butt, cunny drooling non stop with a viscous mixture of your two’s cum.

“y—you’re bein’ s’mean!” you hiccup, forearm dropping across your face to hide away from the man. he’s merciless just as his words are when he presses his chubby cock head back into your sobbing cunt, letting out a loud chuckle when you gasp in a shock. “shuji, n’more!”

you’re embarrassed all around; from the loud squelches eliciting from your sopped cunt, to his degrading words.

“no, y’r gonna have to take more, hon. look at how well y’r doing. aww,” he shuffles closer to you, pressing his chest against yours. he groans feeling your pert nipples press against his tender skin, sensitive from overstimulating himself.

he tugs away the pliant forearm from your face, a thumb coming to swipe away those pretty little tears he adores a bit too much. he’s slow with his hips, but hits deep, and it feels fucking great.

“n—need your help, wanna cum. shuji, h-help me, please!” you whine, pulling on his arm gently towards where you two connect.

“oh, ya need me here don’t you?” his lithe fingers titter across your thigh, giving your swollen clit a mean pinch. you twitch and yelp at the pressure, chest boasting up against his in a shock. “h—help me.” you cry.

“angel girl, ask nice.” he tsks, giving your clit another mean pinch. you writhe under him this time, but he keeps you still and lodged against his heavy cock.

“but.. i did, shuji, please..” crystalline tears begin to build against your waterline yet again, edging the satisfaction of a breathtaking orgasm. “please touch m’clit, please, i need yo— you t’help me cum!”

he hums in content, a soft thumb pressing at the sensitive nub. you gasp, but the sensation slowly turns pleasurable once he starts swiping over your clit sloppily, pacing himself with his thrusts.

“good girl, hm? such a sweet little angel baby. now take it and make shuji proud. got it ?”

[jetii]

Awkward

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Reader

Words: 9,063

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, squadmates to lovers, some general miscommunication awkwardness, mutual pining, inexperienced!Hunter, first time, smut, nipple play, oral (f and m receiving), face fucking, fingering, so much kissing

Summary: You messed up. After months of hiding your feelings for Hunter, you kiss him to avoid a bad situation, but he doesn't react the way you expect. And he doesn't seem interested in talking about it.

A/N: Thank you @wiltedwillowsvioletsky for the prompt! I can't lie this is one of my favorite tropes. I have another Hunter fic that I'll be posting in a couple weeks, and it's much more serious/angsty so I wanted to make this one fun.

“Physical displays of affection make people uncomfortable,” you say in a rush as if it's a single word, before you lose your nerve.

Hunter stops moving. He’s not even breathing, as far as you can tell. You feel your heart in your throat.

He looks at you, head slightly tilted to the side, like he does when he hears something strange. His eyes search yours for a long moment, his brow furrowed. 

You have no idea what he's thinking, but you plow ahead anyway. There’s no time for anything else. The guards will be on you soon.

You reach out, grab his shoulders and step closer to him. Your body presses against his chest, and his arms come up automatically to encircle your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck.

You close your eyes and lean in, until your lips are almost touching his ear. You whisper, in a tone you hope he recognizes as the warning it is, “Just act natural.”

And then you press your mouth to his.

It’s awkward. 

Painfully, agonizingly awkward.

Your noses are squished together, and he doesn't react. Doesn't even breathe, so far as you can tell. Your heart is in your throat, and you’re trying desperately not to think about what you're doing.

You’re aware that Hunter is warm and firm under your hands. His fingers twitch at your waist and the back of your neck tingles. He’s not moving. He’s not responding. You feel the familiar sensation of dread building in your stomach.

You know better than this.

You are such an idiot.

Finally, you start to pull away, heart in your throat. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Maybe you should just let the guards shoot you and save you from the humiliation.

As you begin to move, you feel Hunter take a breath. He surges forward and kisses you again, pulling you closer to him. His hands are gripping you firmly, one sliding up to tangle in your hair, the other dropping lower, almost to your ass.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss.

He still doesn't seem to be breathing, and the kiss is more a series of short, desperate presses of lips and tongue, but it's good. It's great, actually. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that Hunter has never kissed anyone before, but you’re too dazed by his enthusiasm to care.

His mouth is warm and insistent against yours, and he tastes like the caf you drank at breakfast. His stubble scrapes your chin and his teeth knock against yours, and he seems to be holding his breath the whole time. You can't tell if it's because he's nervous, or because he simply forgot how.

Either way, his grip is firm, and he kisses you as if his life depends on it. In this moment, it very well might.

You realize you're standing on the tips of your toes. You tighten your arms around his neck and lean into him, trying to relieve some of the strain. The hand on your neck slips up, cradling your cheek and the feeling of his gloved fingertips is so good, you have to stifle a whimper.

The kiss goes on forever.

It goes on long enough that you should have heard the guards coming, but you didn't.

Suddenly, Hunter pulls away from you, leaving you dizzy and off-balance. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck. You blink rapidly, trying to get your brain to re-engage.

"You didn't need to do that,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, and a little unsteady.

You look up, and meet his eyes, and you realize how close you are to him. The kiss felt like a lifetime. You were pressed up against him so tightly, his hands on you so possessively, that the absence of him is jarring. You shiver, and he rubs his thumb against the back of your neck.

"It was a good plan," you say, because you have no idea what else to say.

You are suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're standing in the middle of the hallway with Hunter's arms around you. Your legs feel a little bit like jelly.

You want to lean forward and press your face into the hollow of his throat. You want him to pull you closer, to hold you tighter. You want him to kiss you again. You want him to push you up against the wall and—

Your stomach clenches. Your pulse races. You're pretty sure you've never been so turned on in your life, and that's not a useful thing to think about when you're in the middle of a mission.

“They're not coming," Hunter says, and you know, intellectually, that he is referring to the guards, but your mind is in another place entirely.

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod.

Hunter stares down at you, his eyes roving over you like he's never seen you before. His cheeks are pink, his hair is mussed, and his lips are swollen and slick. You're having a hard time looking away from his mouth.

The hand on your waist shifts, his thumb starts tracing a soft, slow circle across the exposed skin of your hip. It's barely any pressure at all, but it sends a wave of heat through you. Your heart is pounding, and you know he can hear it.

You can feel the blood rushing through your veins, and all you can think is he can't possibly not know, he's got enhanced senses, he can't possibly not know that I'm crazy about him.

Hunter's face is flushed and he looks as wrecked as you feel.

You wonder if he will ever kiss you again.

You are so close that the thought crosses your mind that you could lean forward and kiss him again, and it would be fine. That's what people do, when they've kissed each other. They kiss again.

You're not sure you can bring yourself to do it. You're not sure he’ll let you. He’s still looking at you like he can't quite believe what just happened, or maybe he can't quite believe what he did.

You wonder if there is a way to ask him, without actually asking him.

You wonder if there's a way to make him want you the way you want him.

You wonder, with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, if you've managed to ruin everything.

"So you think they're gone?" you ask. Your voice sounds normal, somehow, even though you can barely hear over the sound of your heart.

He pauses, like he's forgotten what you're talking about, then says, "They, uh, they turned the corner a minute ago."

"Good," you say, and the two of you stand there in silence.

It would be so easy to reach up and run your fingers through his hair, to pull him down and press your lips to his again. You can't stop thinking about it. Your whole body feels like it's on fire.

Hunter stares down at you, his eyes dark and wide, and you're standing so close together that you can see the flecks of gold in his irises. His face is still flushed, his mouth still slightly open.

If he doesn't kiss you again, you are going to die.

The hand on your waist is warm and heavy, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your skin.

“We should head back to the ship,” he says, but neither of you move.

He leans in a little, and his nose brushes against yours. Your heart is pounding. You feel hot all over.

He hesitates, and you're sure that he's going to kiss you again.

He doesn't.

"I'm going to check the hall," he says, and pulls away from you.

Your body is burning with unspent desire, and your hands are shaking.

He's going to pretend it didn't happen. That's fine. You can do that too. You can absolutely ignore the fact that he just kissed you like he meant it, and you can't stop thinking about it. It's not a problem. You're not going to be awkward around him. It's going to be fine.

Hunter turns the corner. He's gone.

Your hands are still shaking.

"Shit," you whisper.

You lean back against the wall, close your eyes, and try to catch your breath.

It's going to be a long trip home.

It's not going to be weird.

You won't let it be weird.

You keep telling yourself that, over and over, and you hope it will make it true. You’re not going to make it weird. You have to ignore the way Hunter looked at you when you pulled away. You have to forget the way he kissed you, the way his hands felt on your waist, the way he tasted. You have to forget the way he hesitated, and for a moment, you were sure he was going to kiss you again.

This isn’t something you can change. This isn't a mistake you can fix. You've made the best decision you could, and now, you have to live with it. 

You try your best to be normal. You sit next to him in the cockpit. You joke with him and laugh at his stories. You make eye contact, and don't stare at his lips.

You have a hard time keeping your distance. The ship is small, and he's everywhere. When he comes into the room, your whole body responds. It's not a conscious reaction. It's involuntary. So you try your best to limit your time alone with him.

It's fine. You're fine. You're being normal.

Except that Hunter is acting...different.

He watches you constantly, like he's waiting for you to say something. He's jumpy and quiet. He's clearly on edge, and you have no idea why. You've replayed the moment outside the vault a thousand times, and you can't figure out where you went wrong.

You're not sure how to talk about it, so you decide to pretend it didn't happen. That should help, right? If the two of you can ignore the kiss, maybe things will go back to normal.

But Hunter doesn't play along.

He keeps touching you.

The first time it happens, it catches you by surprise. You're on a supply run, and the two of you have stopped at a kiosk in the market. He's talking to the merchant about the supplies you need, and his hand brushes the small of your back, right above the base of your spine.

The gesture is so casual, so familiar, and so unexpected, that you jump. You look at him, and he's still focused on the merchant. You must have imagined it.

It happens again, on the ship, when he reaches over and pats your shoulder, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. You stare at him, but he doesn't notice. He's looking at Tech.

"Are you all right?" you ask.

"Fine," he says, and he goes back to his work.

It keeps happening.

Everywhere. On the ship. In the hangar. At the bar. Everywhere.

He touches your hand when he gives you your share of the credits. He puts his hand on your hip to guide you around a group of people. He squeezes your shoulder when he passes behind you. He leans over you in the cockpit, and rests his hand on the back of your seat. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear yesterday, and he nudged your knee with his while the two of you were sitting around the fire pit.

Everywhere. All the time.

The worst part is that it's not even sexual. He touches you the way a partner would. A lover. Like the two of you are comfortable together, and it's driving you insane. You don't understand why he's doing it.

Every touch is like fire on your skin. Every time, you jump, and every time, you look at him, and every time, he's not looking at you. It's infuriating.

Finally, when he grabs your elbow at Cid's, and you whirl around and glare at him, you realize that it is, in fact, intentional.

You grab him by the front of his armor and drag him into the nearest storage closet. You are absolutely done with this.

Hunter follows without protest, and as soon as the door closes behind him, you turn and demand, "What are you doing?"

He looks at you with amusement. He's smiling a little. It makes him look younger, and even more handsome than usual. "Touching you," he says, as if this is obvious.

You stare at him.

"Why?"

"You don't like it?"

"That's not the point!" You can feel the blush creep into your cheeks. "Why are you doing it?"

He leans down, so that his face is very close to yours. "Because I want to."

His voice is low, and a little rough. He's so close, and he's looking at you in that way that makes you weak in the knees. He reaches out, and cups your face with his hands. His thumb traces your lower lip, and it takes all of your self control not to bite it.

"Because," he murmurs, "you're not stopping me."

You can't breathe.

"Hunter," you say, and you don't recognize your own voice.

"Yes?"

"If you're going to kiss me again, I suggest you do it now."

He looks a little surprised, but then he smiles, and ducks his head and does exactly as you ask.

And, stars, the kiss is so good.

He's much more confident now. Hunter's hand is warm and steady on your jaw, and his lips are firm. He kisses you gently, as if he has all the time in the world. His tongue is soft and wet and teasing, and his other hand has settled on the small of your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the thin material of your shirt.

Your hands are pressed against the cold, flat plastoid of his armor, but you need to touch him. You slide your palms up his chest, over his shoulders, until you can cup his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair.

You can't tell who moans. Maybe both of you.

His hands slip under your shirt, and his gloves are soft against your bare skin. He pulls you closer, and the kiss deepens, his tongue pressing deeper, his mouth opening wider. You can't stop the whimper that escapes you.

Your back hits the wall, and the kiss changes, becomes hungrier. He's kissing you like he means it, and you're overwhelmed by the smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. He's surrounding you. You're drowning in him, and it's not enough. You're not sure it will ever be enough.

You pull away, gasping, and he looks at you, his eyes dark and unfocused.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice hoarse, and his fingers tighten on your skin. "I was going to talk to you about this, but I've never been very good at talking."

You stare at him. You feel a little bit like someone has hit you over the head.

"What?" you manage.

He clears his throat. "I thought I'd give it some time. Wait and see if you brought it up, or if you were going to...do that."

You're having a hard time focusing on what he's saying. He's so close to you, and you can feel his chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are on you. He's got one thigh between your legs.

"Do what?"

Hunter gestures, a little helplessly, towards the storage room door. "That."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. You have no idea what is going on, but you can't think straight when he's so close.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, and your voice is a lot calmer than you feel.

He pauses, and his fingers are tapping out a nervous rhythm against your hip.

"Are you saying we haven't been flirting?" he asks, and the look on his face is almost comical. He looks so confused, so baffled, and so, so handsome. You've never wanted anyone more.

You have no idea what is going on.

"Flirting?" you echo.

"Or...something," he says, a little more cautiously.

You feel a rush of heat rise in your cheeks. You're suddenly aware that the two of you are still pressed together. His hands are on your skin, his thigh is still between your legs. You let go of him, and press your palms flat against the wall. You need some distance from him.

"You've been flirting with me?"

He frowns.

"I thought I was being pretty obvious," he says, and the confusion on his face is adorable.

"So," you say slowly, "you've been touching me, and following me around, and being..." you trail off, not sure how to describe it.

"Attentive?" he offers.

"No."

"Interested?"

"You haven't been subtle," you say instead.

"And I thought you were responding," he says, and he's looking at you like he can't figure you out, "I could hear your heartbeat. It was always a little fast when I touched you."

You're not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed by his powers of observation.

"Yeah," you say, because it seems like the easiest answer, "I was."

He's looking at you expectantly, and the realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

He has no idea what he's doing.

You're so used to being around the guys and seeing them as men, that you forget sometimes, how little experience they actually have. Hunter is a grown man, with enhanced senses, a lethal skill set, and a very high level of intelligence.

But he is also a clone, who spent his entire life training and fighting. Who spent nearly every shore leave on Kamino, surrounded by brothers. Who, as far as you can tell, has never kissed anyone, and certainly has never had sex.

He has no idea what he's doing.

You sigh, and lean your forehead against his chest.

"You're really bad at this," you say, and your voice is muffled by his armor. “I didn’t think you were bad at anything. Especially this kind of thing."

"I've never had a relationship before," he says. "I've never done anything like this before."

"Well, you're doing a good job of pretending you have," you mutter.

"You think I'm good at it?"

You look up at him, and there's an unmistakable look of satisfaction on his face.

"You're terrible," you tell him. He doesn't seem offended by this, so you add, "But you're lucky you're hot, or I would have left."

His expression turns thoughtful.

"So," he starts. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. His gaze drops from your eyes, down to your lips, and then lower. He pulls you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he leans down, until his mouth is close to your ear.

“Are you going to stop me?"

"No," you say. His answering smile is brilliant, and for a moment, you're afraid you might drown.

"Good," he says, and kisses you again.

The second kiss is even better than the first.

He's not hesitant anymore. He's not careful. He's kissing you like he can't get enough, like he's afraid he'll never kiss you again.

His hands are everywhere, sliding up under your shirt, across the flat of your stomach, over the curve of your waist. His thumbs trace the undersides of your breasts, and his teeth tug at your bottom lip. You gasp, and arch into him.

He presses his lips to your neck, and the sound you make is obscene.

You can't think.

You're not sure why he wants you. You're not sure why he's chosen you. But, stars, you want him.

"Hunter," you say. Your voice sounds ragged and desperate, and he groans and presses his mouth to the hollow of your throat.

"This," he says, and his voice is low, and rough, and it sends a shiver down your spine, "is why I've been touching you."

You laugh, a little unsteadily, and run your fingers through his hair, scratching gently at the base of his skull. His reaction is immediate, his breath catching, his mouth opening wider, his hips rocking against yours.

He kisses you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth, and your thoughts scatter. You can't think, can't breathe.

The third kiss is a long, slow, lazy exploration. You kiss him until your legs are weak, and your head is spinning. You kiss him until your lips are swollen and you're breathless. And then you kiss him some more, because you’re still not ready to stop.

"We should," he says, and then doesn't finish the sentence. It doesn't matter, because you know what he's going to say.

"We should," you agree, and you lean into him and rest your forehead on his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, and the sensation is pleasant. It's warm and soft and comfortable.

The fourth kiss is gentle, and soft, and you can't help but feel like it's more of a promise than anything else.

The fifth kiss is the one that makes you realize, with absolute certainty, that you're doomed.

Hunter kisses you whenever he can.

You don't even have time to be nervous about it, because he doesn't wait for privacy.

In the hangar, before a mission, he leans over you, and tilts your chin up with his fingers, and presses a kiss to your mouth. It's a soft, quick, brush of his lips, and it's so brief, you're not sure it happened.

At Cid's, in the bar, where everyone can see, he reaches over and touches the back of your hand. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin on the inside of your wrist. He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. The gesture is casual, and easy, and no one seems to notice. Or no one seems to care.

He does it in front of the others, and you wonder if this is his way of telling them that he wants you and that he doesn't care if they know. You wonder if he's trying to tell you that he's serious, or if he's simply testing the boundaries of his own attraction. You wish he would just tell you what he's thinking.

But you're not going to complain.

When the two of you are alone on the ship, and there's no chance of being interrupted, he does something a little less casual. He grabs your waist and pushes you against the nearest wall, and kisses you until your toes curl.

Every time, you're not sure it's going to happen. Every time, you're waiting for him to get bored, or annoyed, or change his mind.

Every time, he kisses you like he means it.

Sometimes, when he pulls away, his hands are shaking.

You know how he feels.

Every time he kisses you, it takes you by surprise. You're always caught off guard by the way he looks at you. The way his gaze roves over your face, his eyes dark and intense, his brow furrowed. 

You're always surprised by the way he smiles when he sees you. It's a small, shy smile, but it's full of affection. You're always shocked by the way he touches you. You're not used to being touched, not like this, not casually, and not with the same gentleness that he uses.

You're not used to it.

But you think you could get used to it.

You want to.

This evening the rest of the squad is out, scattering to enjoy the night before the next job. Hunter has asked you to stay behind.

He's told the others that you're both busy.

He's told them that the two of you are planning the next mission.

He hasn't told them that the two of you are spending a rare night alone together, and have every intention of enjoying it.

As soon as the others are gone, the ramp closing behind them, Hunter turns to you.

"We're not planning the mission, are we?" you ask, even though you know the answer.

"No," he says, and steps towards you. "We're not."

His hand comes up, and his fingers are soft as they cup your cheek.

"Good," you reply. "That was a terrible lie."

He laughs, and the sound warms your heart. You're not sure you've ever seen him so relaxed, so happy. He looks younger, less worried, less tense. You're not sure what's changed.

You don't ask.

He doesn't tell.

He’s far too busy pulling you into his lap, and kissing you until your knees are weak.

His hands are everywhere. On your face. Your neck. Your back. Your waist. They're warm, and strong, and possessive, and his lips are firm, and insistent, and soft, and kriff, he's a really, really good kisser. How he went from being bad at this to being so good, so quickly, you have no idea.

This kiss is a little rough, and a little needy. His hands are on your thighs, holding you in place, and his body is pressed against yours. He's not shy about letting you know that he wants you. He's forgone half of his armor today, and you can feel the insistent press of his cock, hard and straining against his pants.

You want nothing more than to wrap your hand around it, and stroke it, and feel him pulse and spill his seed over your fingers. He'd make the most incredible noises, and his face would flush, and he'd look at you with that dazed, overwhelmed expression he gets, and you want him so badly, it almost hurts.

His hips jerk forward, and you moan into his mouth. He breaks away from you, and presses his face into the curve of your neck. He's breathing hard, and his breath is warm on your skin.

"You're really good at this," he says, and you can't help the laughter that bubbles out of you.

"You're terrible," you tease. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because it's true," he murmurs.

You run your hands up his back and scratch lightly at the base of his neck. He shivers, and his fingers tighten on your thighs.

"Good at flirting." He leans in and kisses the hollow of your throat. "Very, very good."

"Stop," you say, laughing, and your face is burning. You're embarrassed by the praise, and the fact that he can feel how warm you are. He can hear your heartbeat. He can probably smell how wet you are.

He chuckles against your skin.

"Why would I do that?" he murmurs. His mouth moves up, and his lips are warm on the underside of your jaw. "I can tell how much you like it."

"Hunter," you hiss. Your voice sounds strained, you almost don't recognize it. He kisses the soft skin just below your ear, his tongue darting out to taste you, and your brain short-circuits.

“I can hear it." There's a note of wonder in his voice, like he's amazed at the way you react to him. "Every time I touch you, your heartbeat gets a little faster."

"You've noticed that?"

"Yeah," he rasps, and the feeling of his voice vibrating through your skin makes you shiver, "I can't concentrate when I hear it. Every time I hear it, all I can think about is kissing you."

"Every time?"

"All the time," he murmurs. He kisses the spot behind your ear, and your toes curl. "You have no idea how distracting it is."

You can't think. All you can do is tilt your head to give him better access. His mouth is hot and wet and he's sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there. You moan softly. His grip on your thighs tightens.

"So," you say, and your voice is unsteady, "what are you going to do about it?"

He pulls away, and his hands slip up, his palms settling on your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. He looks at you, his gaze traveling over your face, and then dropping lower. You're acutely aware that he's staring at your mouth, and your whole body is buzzing with anticipation.

"Well," he says slowly, and the expression on his face is absolutely sinful, "I was hoping that I could touch you."

You swallow hard. You have to take a few seconds to get your voice working. "Where?" you ask.

He grins, and his eyes sparkle.

"Everywhere."

You nod.

You can feel his body tense, and then he's kissing you again, and you lose track of how many kisses the two of you have shared.

It doesn't matter.

This is the one that's going to ruin you.

This kiss is hard and fast and messy, and his hands are gripping your thighs, his hips are rocking up against yours, and you're grinding on his cock, and it's so good.

His hands slide under your shirt, and his fingertips brush the underside of your breasts. He groans into your mouth, and the sound goes straight to your clit. You grind down on him again, and his hands move up, palming your breasts, and he pinches your nipples between his fingers. The feeling is so sharp and sweet, that you have to pull away from the kiss, gasping for breath.

His mouth is immediately on your neck, his lips warm and wet on your skin. He kisses his way down, across the curve of your shoulder, and bites down on the tender skin of your collarbone. You can feel the sharp edge of his teeth, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"Fuck," you whisper.

His mouth is still on your skin, but he laughs.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He runs his tongue over the bite mark. "Did that hurt?"

"Yeah," you say. Your voice is unsteady. "I liked it."

He growls, and his mouth is on yours again. His tongue slips past your lips, and you suck on it, and the sound he makes is so desperate, and so needy, that you have to grind down on his cock again. You can feel him straining against his pants, hard and thick, and you can't wait to get your hands on him.

"Hunter," you manage, and his name comes out like a whine.

"Yes," he says, his mouth pressed against the base of your throat, "anything, just tell me."

"I want to suck your cock."

He freezes.

His entire body goes tense, and he pulls away and stares at you. His eyes go wide, and his lips part. It’s the same look he gave you when you kissed him for the first time, and you can't get over the fact that this, somehow, is more surprising than the kiss.

"Do you want that?" you ask, because maybe he doesn't. Maybe you've read the situation wrong. Maybe you've misjudged his reaction, and now you've made a fool of yourself. You’ve never had anyone turn you down before, but this isn't just anyone. This is Hunter.

He doesn't say anything, but he nods, and the expression on his face is a little dazed, and a lot hungry. His pupils are blown, and his breathing is shallow. He looks wrecked. You've barely touched him, and already, he's a mess.

You've never had anyone look at you like this. It makes you feel powerful and a little bit smug.

"Yes," he says.

"Can I?"

"Yes," he repeats.

He doesn't seem inclined to move, so you slide off his lap, and get to your knees in front of him. When he sees you on the floor, looking up at him, his mouth drops open a little more, and his cock twitches. You can see it straining against his pants.

You want your mouth on him so badly, you're afraid you might pass out. You lick your lips, shifting slightly to ease the ache between your legs. His eyes follow the motion, and he takes a deep breath before reaching for his belt.

He unbuckles it, and pops the button on his pants, and you lean forward, and help him pull them down. His cock springs free, hard and thick and curved, and the tip is already slick and shiny with precome. It’s just as beautiful as the rest of him.

He shifts a little, and you put your hands on his thighs and run the tip of your tongue over the head. The taste is salty and bitter and familiar, and the sound he makes is so needy, you can't help but moan.

"Oh," he says.

He sounds shocked.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes."

He's looking down at you, his mouth still open, his face flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You wrap your hand around his cock, and he inhales sharply.

"Is this okay?" you ask.

"Yeah."

You lean forward, and kiss the head, and he exhales.

"It's good," he says, and the words are strained.

"I'm glad," you say with a smile.

"You're very...considerate," he says. Your smile widens. You have to hide your grin by pressing a kiss to the side of his cock. His hips jerk forward, and the moan he makes is delicious.

"I'm a nice person."

"You are," he agrees. His voice is rough. "You're a very nice person."

His head falls back, his words dissolving into a groan as you take him into your mouth. The noise he makes is so beautiful, you can't help but moan. 

The vibrations must feel good, because his hips jerk, and he makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. The motion forces him deeper, and you have to concentrate to relax, and take him without gagging.

He's thick, and long, and hot, and the way he's trembling and moaning above you makes you feel powerful. It's a little heady, knowing that you're the one who has reduced him to this. You can feel him struggling not to move, and the effort it takes is evident in the way his body is taut, and the tension in his muscles. He's fighting the urge to thrust. 

You're not sure how much longer he'll be able to resist, and you can't wait. 

You want him to let go. You want him to fuck your mouth. You want him to come on your face. You want him to grab your hair, and use your mouth, and fuck you until you're a mess, and he can't hold himself back any longer.

Your hand is still wrapped around the base of his cock, and you take him as deep as you can. The sounds of his pleasure are intoxicating. You can't get enough of them. 

He's breathing heavily, his hands are clenched into fists, and when you pull back, and slide your tongue up the length of his shaft, his hips jerk. You moan again, and he curses and grabs your shoulders. You think he's going to pull you off of him, but instead, he's trying to drag you closer. He's trying to pull you towards him. He's trying to force his cock further into your mouth.

You look up at him, and the expression on his face is desperate, and lost. He's so close. He's barely hanging on. You want him to come. You want him to use you. You want him to give himself to you, and take everything you have to offer.

The hand you have braced on his thigh squeezes as you relax your jaw, and Hunter's eyes shoot open. The expression on his face is somewhere between awe and fear, and his body is tense, like a bowstring, drawn tight and ready to snap.

You squeeze your hand again, and he lets out a harsh breath. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head before his hips start to move, and then he's fucking your mouth.

It's rough. It's sloppy. It's perfect. His movements are frantic and uneven, and it's clear that he's not going to last. His grip on your hair tightens, and he fucks your mouth in quick, hard, strokes. It's so good, the feeling of him filling you, his cock sliding in and out, hitting the back of your throat. He's making the most beautiful noises, and you can't believe that you're the one making him sound like this. It's almost too much.

You look up at him through your lashes, and the sight is so overwhelming, that you can't stop the whine that escapes you. A flood of arousal pools between your legs.

His nostrils flare as his eyes flicker down to meet yours. He groans and fucks your mouth harder. You moan and arch into him. You're dripping with need. You can feel your underwear sticking to your cunt, and it's distracting.

"Fuck," he says, his voice hoarse, "are you getting off on this?"

You moan again. You can't help it. It's a reflex.

"Fuck," he hisses again. "Do you like it?"

You moan louder, and his breath catches. His movements stutter, and his grip on your hair tightens.

"You do," he says, and the look on his face is dazed, and disbelieving.

You squeeze his thigh, and he curses. His hand leaves your hair, moving down to wrap around the back of your neck. He pulls you closer, his hips bucking, and he's not pulling away now. He's holding you in place, forcing his cock deeper, and you relax your throat and take him.

"Good girl," he murmurs. The praise hits you like a blow, and you can't help but whine. "Fuck. That's good."

You whimper, and Hunter's hips stutter, and then he's coming. His grip on the back of your neck tightens, and his eyes slam shut. His whole body is tense, his thighs trembling, his cock pulsing as he spills down your throat. It's a lot, you can't swallow fast enough, and it drips out of the corners of your mouth. He's still making these helpless little sounds, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. You want to burn the memory into your brain.

He's beautiful. He's perfect. And you're pretty sure you're going to be ruined for anyone else.

You pull off of him slowly, and his hand drops from the back of your neck. His eyes flutter open to watch you catch the last bit of come on your tongue, and he inhales sharply. The sound is rough and broken, and when you lick your lips, he curses.

You smile at him, and he shakes his head.

"Shit," he breathes.

"How was that?"

"I...you...uh," he trails off, and gestures vaguely. "I can't. Words."

You laugh, and stand up, and press a kiss to the side of his jaw. Hunter turns his head, and kisses you. It's a soft, slow kiss, and you melt into it.

His hands are gentle on your waist, and when the kiss ends, he pulls you close, and holds you tight. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, and sighs.

"You okay?" you ask.

Hunter hums a response, and kisses your neck, and then your jaw, and finally, your mouth. He cups your cheek, and brushes his thumb across your lips, and then kisses you again, and the gentleness of it makes you dizzy. He kisses you until you're breathless, and then pulls away, and rests his forehead against yours.

"What do you need?" he asks. His voice is soft and low, and the concern in his voice makes you flush.

"What do I need?" you repeat. You're not sure what he's asking. You're not sure if he's asking.

"Yeah," he says. "It's only fair."

"You don't have to do anything," you say, a little awkwardly. "I was having a good time."

"I know," he replies, and the smugness in his tone makes you roll your eyes, "but I want to."

"Hunter…" you start, but you're not sure how to finish.

He doesn't seem concerned by this.

"You like being praised," he says. He's looking at you with an expression that's far too serious. You want him to stop. "And you like being held down. Is there anything else?"

"You figured all that out just now?" you ask. Your cheeks are burning. He can't tell what you like. You've barely started. This can't be happening. It has to be a coincidence. You can't be that easy to read. "We've barely done anything."

"I've been paying attention."

"That's..." you trail off. You're not sure what the word is. Embarrassing? Flattering? Surprising?

You keep forgetting how observant he is. It's unnerving, and thrilling, and a little overwhelming. 

"Why?"

He's quiet for a moment.

"Because I care about you," he says finally.

"You do?"

"Yeah," he says. There's no hesitation. No doubt. "I care about you."

"I care about you, too," you say.

"So," he continues, "can I touch you?"

You nod, and Hunter grins, and kisses you again.

"Come here," he says. He stands, tucking himself back into his pants before he takes your hand and leads you over to his bunk. He sits down on the edge and pulls you into his lap, and then his mouth is back on yours. 

The kiss is messy and uncoordinated, his lips soft and insistent, and he tastes like sweat and sex. You're a little dizzy, and the way he's kissing you isn't helping. It's distracting, and overwhelming, and when his fingers brush over the top of your breast, the sensation is so intense that you can't help but grind down on his thigh.

He makes a small, surprised sound, and his hands find your hips. The world blurs for a moment as he turns and presses you into the mattress. He's above you, his body a warm, solid weight, pinning you to the bed. You wrap your legs around his waist, and arch up, and he groans, and bites down on your shoulder.

"Shit," you gasp.

"Sorry," he says. He doesn't sound sorry.

"It's fine," you breathe. His mouth is still on your shoulder, and he sucks on the spot he just bit. You moan, and your head falls back. "Oh."

"Good?"

"Yes," you pant, and his hands slide up under your shirt. His thumbs trace the curves of your breasts, and he pushes the fabric up until he can expose your chest. His gaze drops, and his eyes widen.

"Kriff, you're gorgeous," he murmurs. Hunter braces himself on one hand and traces the swell of your breast with the other. He runs his fingers over the curve of your waist, and then drags his thumb over the underside of your breast. His eyes are fixed on the way your flesh dimples beneath his touch. "How are you so soft?"

He leans down and kisses the top of your breast, and then nuzzles his face between them.

"I want to touch every inch of you," he whispers, and the sensation of his breath on your skin is maddening. His hair tickles your chest as he moves his mouth to the valley between your breasts. "I want to kiss every part of you."

He presses a line of kisses up the slope of your breast, and then his lips close around your nipple, and you gasp. Your back arches, and your hands scrabble for purchase on the blankets. He sucks and scrapes his teeth across the sensitive bud, and then lets go, and moves his mouth to the other side. His fingers toy with the nipple he just abandoned, and you whine. He's being gentle, and slow, and thorough, and you're not sure how much longer you can take it.

"You're sensitive," he says, and he sounds delighted.

"You're taking too long," you manage.

He laughs, and the vibration from his voice, and the warmth of his breath on your skin, makes your toes curl.

"Patience," he says, and then his mouth is on your nipple again, and the sound that escapes you is half laugh, half moan.

He switches back and forth, sucking, licking, and biting. The movements are teasing and deliberate, and by the time he finally pulls away, your skin is red, and sore, and slick.

"Hunter," you whimper. You want more, you need more, and you're not sure how much longer you can last. "Hunter, please."

He doesn't answer, but he sits up and pulls your shirt over your head, and then reaches for the button of your pants. His fingers are steady, and sure, and his expression is intense. He's focused on the task at hand, and the look of concentration on his face is adorable. You want to laugh, but it's cut off by a gasp as he slips his hand beneath your underwear, and runs his fingers along the seam of your cunt.

"Shit," he breathes, and his voice is strained. His eyes are wide and bright, and his face is flushed. His pupils are blown, and his nostrils are flared.

You're not sure why, but the way he's looking at you makes your cheeks burn.

"Sorry," you mutter.

He gives you a startled look, and shakes his head.

"What?" he asks.

"It's embarrassing," you admit. "I'm...it's a lot."

"Embarrassing?"

You shrug, and look away, and then he's cupping your face in his hand, and tilting your head back. His touch is gentle, and the kiss he gives you is tender. It's soft and sweet and slow, and when he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against yours.

"Nothing about you is embarrassing," he murmurs.

"You don't have to say that."

"I mean it."

He looks you in the eye, and his expression is so sincere, so earnest, that your heart clenches.

"It's not embarrassing," he says, and there's a finality in his tone, like he's daring you to disagree with him.

"Okay," you reply, a little weakly.

"Okay." He kisses you again, and it's quick, and chaste, and sweet. He presses a line of kisses up your jaw, and then his mouth is on your ear. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this?" he asks.

You shake your head, and he chuckles. His breath is warm against the side of your face, and his lips are soft on your skin. You can't help but squirm.

"A lot," he whispers, and you feel his mouth curve into a smile. "So much."

His fingers are still stroking you, and when they press against your entrance, you whimper. He teases you, his fingers circling your opening, spreading the wetness that's already leaking out of you. It's driving you crazy, and he's not helping.

"Every time you're near me, I want to touch you," he continues. His mouth moves back down your neck, and he presses a kiss to your collarbone. "Every time you get wet, it drives me crazy."

"You can't be serious," you gasp. His fingers are still teasing you, and you want them inside you. "You can't smell that."

He pauses. His mouth is on the swell of your breast, and his tongue is tracing lazy patterns across your skin. He leans back and looks you in the eye.

"Of course I can," he says.

"How is that possible?"

"The same way I can smell everything else," he says, a little absently, and then leans down and runs his tongue across your nipple. You let out a shaky breath, and he glances up at you. "I've had to go jerk off in the 'fresher, just so I can focus."

"You're joking," you say, because there's no way. It can't be true. There's no way he's attracted to you that much. No one has ever been that attracted to you.

"Not joking," he murmurs. He bites down on the underside of your breast, and then his mouth moves down your stomach. His fingers hook into the waistband of your pants, and he tugs them down and throws them to the side along with your soaked underwear. His eyes are on your cunt, and the look on his face is a little awed, a little hungry, and a lot smug.

"Fuck," he breathes, and the tone of his voice makes your pulse jump. He leans forward and runs the tip of his nose over your pubic bone. You can't help but shiver. His breath is warm against your cunt, and his lips brush over your clit as he speaks. "You're so beautiful. So, so beautiful."

He presses a kiss to the top of your mound, and then his tongue is on you. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, pushing them up and apart, and the first lick is firm and confident, and it sends a jolt through your whole body.

"You taste amazing," he whispers.

You laugh, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that?

He takes it as an invitation.

"So fucking good," he murmurs, and then he's licking you in earnest. He licks up the length of your slit, his tongue dipping inside, and then he drags it across your clit. You let out a strangled cry as he flicks the tip of his tongue against the sensitive bud, and your hands fly up to grab the back of his head.

"Hunter," you say, and it's supposed to come out as a warning, but it's too breathy, and too needy. He hums in response, and the vibrations from the noise make you clench around nothing.

"You're so wet," he murmurs. His breath is hot against your skin, and his voice is hoarse. "So wet, and so soft."

He licks his way back down, and pushes his tongue inside you. You cry out, and the noise is loud and obscene. It echoes in the small room, and you've never been so grateful for Hunter's enhanced senses. He's always seemed to know what to do, and he's not letting you down now. 

He fucks you with his tongue, and it's fast and sloppy, and he's making these needy little noises that send shivers down your spine. His nose grinds into your clit, and his tongue is pressing into the front wall of your cunt, and kriff, the feeling is incredible. It's overwhelming. You can feel the orgasm building, the pressure rising, and it's too much. You can't handle it.

You try to pull away, but his hands tighten on the back of your thighs, and he doesn't let you go. Instead, he doubles down. His tongue speeds up, and the motions are rougher, and more frantic. His teeth graze over your clit, and his lips wrap around the bud, and he sucks, hard. 

Your vision whites out, and you can't hear anything but the rush of blood in your ears. Every muscle in your body locks up, and then your release hits you, and you're lost.

Your back arches off the bed, your fingers tightening in Hunter's hair as you grind down on his mouth. The sound you make is raw, and broken, and you don't recognize your own voice. The pleasure is so intense, it almost hurts. 

A flood of wetness spills out of you, and Hunter moans. The sound is muffled by your cunt, and his mouth is still on you, and you can't stop yourself from moving against him. You keep riding his face, even though the sensation is overwhelming, and your hips stutter as you push against his mouth. 

You're not sure how long it lasts, and when the haze finally lifts, your body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Hunter's lips are still on you. He's still licking and sucking and kissing you, and it's too much.

"Stop," you say, and push his face away.

"Did you...?"

"Yes," you say. Your voice is unsteady. You're a little breathless.

"Are you sure?"

"Very," you reply.

"Oh," he says. He sounds dazed. "That was fast."

"Hunter."

"You were really turned on," he says. His eyes are bright, and he's looking at you like he can't quite believe what just happened. His mouth and chin are soaked with your slick, and the sight of him, flushed and disheveled, sends a rush of heat through your veins. "Was it that good?"

You laugh. You can't help it.

"Yes," you say. "I told you, I was already worked up."

"You really like me that much?"

You roll your eyes.

"Yeah, I do," you say. "Now you're just fishing for compliments."

"Maybe," he replies. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and when it lowers, he's smiling. His eyes are sparkling, and the expression on his face makes you ache. "It's nice to be wanted."

"Get up here and kiss me," you say, and reach for him. The kiss is deep and slow, and it's a little sloppy. The taste of him mixed with the taste of yourself makes your toes curl. 

"But I also want to know what I did right for next time," he says as you break apart.

"Next time?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. He rolls over and pulls you on top of him. "Next time."

"You're very confident," you tease. You prop yourself up on his chest and smile down at him. His eyes are closed, and the look on his face is serene. He's happy. You did that.

"I am," he says. He cracks open an eye. "Was I wrong?"

"No."

"Good," he says. He reaches up and brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I meant what I said before. I like you."

"You're such a sap," you say. Your cheeks are burning, and your chest feels tight.

"Don't tell the others," he says. His voice is solemn. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"What do I get in return?"

"Hmmm," he murmurs. The sound is a little thoughtful, a little smug. He slides his hands down and palms your ass. "I can think of a few things."

"You have a deal," you say. You lean down and kiss him again. You're not sure how much longer you'll get to spend like this. You'll take every second you can get.

He rolls over and pins you to the bed, and when he kisses you, you lose track of how many times his mouth touches yours.

It doesn't matter.

This one is just the beginning.

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @baddest-batchers @spicy-clones @qvnthesia

@arctrooper69 @heidnspeak @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @cw80831

@lovelytech9902 @etod @lordofthenerds97 @umekohiganbana @chocolatewastelandtriumph

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “YOU REALLY ARE A FREAK . . . KYLAR .”

promise he didn’t mean to stupidly jack off to you , it was just hormonal urges acting up, yeah.

Fuck, underneath this thin layer of pure impulsivity, he’s undeniably aware that he should’ve stopped things here the second it escalated— Hastily shut off the cheaply recorded clips hazily shown back towards him by the dimly lit monitoring of his screen. He had his tell-tale suspicions secretly simmering deep within, yeah, lil’ freak here knew you weren’t necessarily the most loyal of people ‘round town. Didn’t mean his skittish eyes to instinctively seek yours out in a crowded room, hidden amongst the numerous people he’d usually glance over in bare disinterest when in search for your own recognizable frame. A harmless crush, he’d initially call it to soothe the lurking urges annoyingly gnawing at the back of his mind, repeatedly whispering to him the instinctual need to fervently possess you further, sweetly leave his fair share of littered marks all around your unblemished skin so that the town may notably take notice of your cherished bond.

Still, this is— this is so fuckin’ unfair, y’know?? How dare you merely prove your brazen disloyalty to him time and time again and here he is, curled fist stubbornly snug around his leaking cock, tacky globs of pre-cum profusely dribbling out of his swollen slit as if he’s not crudely getting off to the sight of you— you, fucking getting your whorish boy hole ruined by another person. Desperate bucks of his hips, jeans carelessly slung down to his ankles below, rest of his sticky with cum underwear probably thrown somewhere along the scattered mess in his room. It’s sick, downright vile and he knows it, but fuck— it has started off with a familiar scowl making its way past his normally soft features when faced with your usually placate room devoid of anyone else but his watchful eyes carefully taking in the sight of your snoozing frame comfortably tucked away under the woollen covers.

Except, you’re not truly alone and ah, here goes.. Robin? Seamlessly sneaking himself into your room instead, not him, but that fucking friend of yours constantly sticking to your sides at school, outside of there too — yes, he’s checked, no he’s not a creep for it! — Affectionately nosing along the crook of your neck, muttering out wistful words, he, himself cannot possibly hope to discern considering his— well, namely cheap equipment he has to forcibly deal with, here. Subtle brush of your best friend’s palm sneakily disappearing underneath the thick blanket, though he can barely make out the outline of his hand dizzyingly slipping its way past your boxers, probably.. hah, feeling your cute cock up, sticky mess pervertedly staining the material already. The little, heated sighs collectively tumbling forth from both of your lips, discreetly obscured within the dark corners of your narrow room shouldn’t be affecting him this much. Yet, it is as proven by the burning flush heating his cheeks, teeth instinctively digging into the rosy flesh of his bottom lip. Inwardly seething at the pure display of love intimately being shown to him — without your aforementioned knowledge too, by the way — and that his cock itself is painfully reacting to it, stupidly tented against the front of his ripped jeans, craning his neck closer as if it might magically allow him to see your movements beneath.

Don’t need to wait all that long for it since you decisively do the honours for him of course, or unfortunately Robin here, whose hands and lips are busying themselves all over your originally untouched body. Supple fingertips coyly caressing rhythmic circles along your hips, thumb lovingly circling around the edge of your hot, drooling tip freed out in the air. Relishing in the hitched gasps, slightest shivers of your curled frame snugly pressed against his, adorably pleading for more with a needy whine of his name. A name, name that should be Kylar’s — not his. Repressed freak frustratingly chewing at his chipped nails, gaze not leaving your glazed over eyes for the briefest of seconds in favour of freeing his fat, throbbing cock from the tight of confines of his pants. It’s— It’s not bad! He’s just helping himself because at the end of the day, he’s nothing but a man too, just like you. A pathetic loser who’s wracked in a mess, stupidly fisting his cock at the bare sight of your figure being sinfully defiled by your best friend hidden beneath the haphazardly spread sheets. Swollen, pink nipples shown out in the cooling air for his eyes to breathlessly take in, soon also taken by Robin’s mouth hungrily latching onto one of them. Audibly suckling on the perky buds with noisy sucks, relishing in the muted gasps gradually being drawn out of you. Noticeable scrunch of your face, timid grasp finding its way entangled along the soft strands of your best friend’s hair in a shy mewl for more cuz’ shit, it must feel good, right?

He could make you feel way better than that, promise! Though that’s the very last repetitive protest on his blurring mind, dumbly shut off as he jerks himself off. Slippery slides of his palm gliding along his cum coated length in an audible squelch!, rhythmic up-and-down motion of fisting his cock raw against his palm, furiously humping upwards in time with each controlled thrust of Robin on the other end. Hah, wonder what you’d do if you truthfully knew what he’s currently doing, how that precious owl toy gifted to you on that faithful day wasn’t for innocent intentions and all that, wasn’t to kindly look over you to make sure you’re always at ease. He means, it is! But, not necessarily that, no— in fact, it’s for opportunities like this. Like a pervert, he’s shamelessly getting off to your tight, little fucking hole being stuffed full of your best friend’s fat cock, bobbing dick cutely swaying between the tantalizing spreading of your thighs. Legs deftly locked around Robin’s hips in a tentative beg to keep going! and feels so fuckin’ good! and oh, how he wishes he was the one stupidly balls deep inside of you. Subtle arch of your back, peppered kisses being repeatedly planted against your pouty lips, lolling tongue and rolling eyes and fuuuckkk—- it’s the second you make immediate contact with him, maybe not out of purpose. No, definitely not, but the split second of eye contact you both share, slightest flicker of your gaze settling upon the owl who’s flickering camera is blinking back, recording this all — that has his hips stuttering, head impulsively thrown back and whiny moans hurriedly spilling past his open lips as hot spurts of his sticky seed spurt out of his cock and into the air. Stiffening limbs wracked with his orgasm, quivering legs sat atop his creaking chair all the while milking every last drop of his cock, till it uselessly dribbles out in pitiful droplets onto the ground.

Ah, look at the effects you have on him that he embarrassingly enough, cums so quickly from a mere glance of your eyes in his direction. And really, how he should be properly blaming you for the coated mess on his wooden floorboards which he should be currently cleaning right about now, lest his parents find out again. Truly, he should probably go and.. grab a wet rag now.

..And some tissues for later.

[6gumi]

what a sweet sight.

⋆.˚ NSFW mdni . wc . 800 . jiaoqiu x f!reader 、titsuckin’ 、maybe body worship 、t!tplay / n!ppleplay 、tuggin’ on jiaoqiu’s ears a lil’ bit ( ᴗ ̫ ᴗ ) — 𝑹𝑼𝑩𝑰 : “ postin’ so many fillers, i swear this is the last one . . the rest will be on mai other account ! hehe hope dis was okiez, also a lil mini celebration for 2000+ before plannin’ somethin’ bigger ! ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )”

JIAOQIU could feel your body clinging onto his, his lips curling into a grin as he listened to your constant blabbering and complaints . . . your adorable complaints about how he focused more on your cunt than those sweet breasts of yours. “now now, darling girl . . . is this really something to be whining about? i took good care of you, didn’t i?” under unexpected circumstances, jiaoqiu’s eyes widened for a moment at the sight of you lifting the robe on your body, lifting it enough to show off your ample bosom, he couldn't help but let out a low whistle. “tsk tsk tsk . . . still so demanding, despite not saying a single word . . .” his smile turned into a mischievous smirk as he settled his spoon down on the wooden counter, his own hands reaching out to cup both of your breasts. "your breasts are quite the sight, a sweet sight . . .” the foxian complimented, leaning forward to press a kiss to one of them. he trailed his fingers along the edge of your robe, teasing your sensitive flesh as he pulled away, with that same stupid expression on his face.

"you’re right, darling . . . i did neglect these pretty things last night," he agreed, his fingers lazily reaching out to cup one of them once more, his touch gentle as he began to massage the soft flesh against his palms. “look at how beautiful and perky your nipples are, my sweet . . . it’s like they’re begging for me to give them attention. so so beautiful.” the young male’s thumbs circled around your erected nipples, rolling them between his fingers as he leaned in to nibble on your neck. "let me make it up to you then . . . that good, hm?” jiaoqiu suggested, his voice dropping to a sultry purr as he reached for your body, pulling you closer against him. jiaoqiu pressed another kiss to your lips, parting them with his tongue as he deepened the kiss, the taste of cinnamon lingered on his breath, a remnant of the meal he was about to enjoy just a few minutes ago.

he rolled your hard nipples between his fingers a second time, pinching them just enough to make your back arch in pleasure. jiaoqiu watched the pink blush spread across your skin, his ears twitching at the small squeak of your voice, “jiaoqiu . . .” his own expression grew more intense at the mere sound of his precious girl’s voice, he leaned forward to take one of your awaiting nipples into his mouth. “oh my sweet girl . . . look at this perfect body of yours, so gorgeous . . so perfect.” the foxian flicked his tongue over your sensitive nub, sucking gently and letting his teeth graze it in a feather-like touch. jiaoqiu continued to tease you, switching between your breasts every so often, his hands tracing circles around your sensitive nipples before giving them a sharp tug. “you taste good," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“every inch of your body that i missed last night . . . will be under my care, ‘kay? just lay down for me.” the foxian instructed, his voice a soft purr as he watched you lay on your back, his gaze lingering on your chest. "pretty baby . . . your breasts are like ripe fruit, begging to be plucked and savored," your boyfriend praised, his fingers trailing down your sides, teasing at your waist. he leaned up, capturing one of your nipples between his lips once more, switching between sucking and nibbling. “i could drown in your beauty, sweetheart. i only wish I had more than just my hands and mouth to worship every inch of you," he confessed, his voice a low, sensual rasp. “my tongue on your nipples . . . is not enough for me.”

your eyes widened at the sudden sensation and sweetness laced in his words, causing you to tug on his ears . . . earning a soft grunt from him. a small chuckle left your throat when your fingers ran through his luscious pink locks and those unique foxian ears of his, “you’re so cheesy.”

“oh, is that so?” jiaoqiu hummed, his playful smile did not falter . . . not once. “i assure you, when you're this delicious, a little cheesiness won’t hurt anyone.”

“but s—still . . . it’s cheesy and corny.” your hands came to rest against his cheeks, squeezing them with a soft smile. "i know," he chuckled, his lips brushing against your skin . . . gazing at you with a grin, his ears twitching in response to your little tug. “but you seem to enjoy it, no matter how corny it is," he joked, his hands reaching up to cup both of your breasts once again with a hum of satisfaction. “guess i’ll have to keep doing it . . . isn’t that right? i should thank you for blessing me with this sweet sight.”

© 6GUMI 2024. modifying 、translating 、sharing my works on other platforms 、or considering them as yours is strictly prohibited.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CAN'T CLOSE MY EYES ALONE ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; arguing with satoru is always exhausting. bitter and spiteful, you leave him in the bedroom and go find another place to sleep; your couch would be the obvious choice, but where’s the fun in that?

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (he calls you ’stubborn girl’ n ’pretty girl’ but other than that it’s gn!!), toru and reader have a fight, reader sleeps in the bathtub (don’t ask it came to me in a vision), hurt/comfort, he's doing his best :<, fluff!!

a/n; smth abt …. arguing w satoru gojo ……. idk why the concept has possessed me in the way that it has i just think hurt/comfort w toru is <33

okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.

in your defense, you weren’t exactly thinking straight; fueled by spite, eager to get far away, and admittedly a little curious as to how it would feel, the decision was made almost purely on impulse. and stupidity, probably.

it’s not comfortable at all.

maybe it could be. maybe if you had just a couple more pillows, a fluffier blanket with a cozier texture. maybe if you had something soft to put beneath you, another blanket or a comforter or — whatever. maybe if you had a warm cup of tea to drink. maybe if you had something warm to hug to sleep. 

or someone.

(aw, what’s wrong? can’t sleep without me after all, huh?)

— nope. you are not going back there. 

just the thought of how smug he’d get makes you bite the inside of your cheek, increasing your already growing frustrations. in desperate search of a more comfortable position, you nuzzle further into the pillow, but nothing works.

your limbs feel stiff, and your bones can’t seem to relax, a discomforting numbness seeping into your spine. and it’s cold. the feeling of porcelain against your skin keeps you tossing and turning, akin to an icy winter breeze, caressing the apple of your cheek. 

still, there’s simply no other option. under absolutely no circumstances can you turn back now. not when you’ve come this far, when you can almost begin to sense an inkling of sleep’s familiar call, the drowsy flutter of your eyelashes.

it takes time, and perseverance — but eventually, the road to sleep does seem to brighten on the horizon. crawling closer and closer, lulling you into its embrace, while all you can do is lie there. completely at its mercy, exhaustion ghosting your subconscious, eyelids ripe with fatigue. 

slowly but surely, your consciousness begins to fade. tenderly, soothingly, like a curtain over your eyes being slowly unveiled. you can almost taste it, on the tip of your tongue; sleep is only a moment away.

soon, you’ll fall into that cozy abyss. and then you’ll open your eyes, and the morning sun will greet you. it’ll be a new day, a better day.

so you keep your eyes closed, and sink a little further into the plush of your pillow, and —

the light flickers on.

in the state you’re in, tiptoeing on the edge between dreams and reality, so tantalizingly close to falling asleep, the brightness is positively grating. even through your shut eyes, it invades your senses — a glow so irritating it’s startling. the bathroom lights mock you with their shine, illuminating your figure, curled up in the tiny bathtub. 

the whine you let out is involuntary, coaxed out from deep within your throat, as the uncomfortable sensation rouses you from your would-be slumber.

satoru raises an unimpressed eyebrow, where he stands by the door.

chest bare, wearing only a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts, he looks at you with tired eyes. exasperation painted onto his dishevelled features. then he clicks his tongue, voice raspy and rich with fatigue.

”you’re ridiculous.”

the judgemental tilt of his voice only makes the annoyance in your veins bubble up once more, just when it was finally about to dwindle. eyes squeezed shut to escape the burn of the artificial light, you let out a sharp wince, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow. 

”turn it off!”

ignoring your angry plea, satoru makes his way over to you. with long, slow strides, vaguely uncoordinated steps. just a little clumsy. he plops down on the edge of the bathtub, and gazes down at you.

you’re lying on your side, arms wrapped around a fluffy cushion, knees against your chest. under the illumination of the bathroom lights, he can see you clearly; messy hair that he yearns to ruffle, a crease between your brows that he yearns to smooth away.

you look awfully uncomfortable, to no one’s surprise. he isn’t sure what else you were expecting. 

despite the sting of the bright lights, you force your eyes open — only to give satoru a halfhearted glare, an attempt at appearing intimidating. though you somehow doubt it’ll work.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, satoru tilts his head. soft locks of white hair follow the movement, falling over his eyes, a little more tousled than usual. like he’s been tossing and turning, sprawled out on the bedroom mattress.

and, just like you suspected, the dirty look you send his way doesn’t seem to scare him off. not even in the slightest. if anything, you think you catch a flicker of lazy amusement dancing through his eyes. and it irks you, it does — an itch beneath your skin, a taste of irritation on your tongue.

because satoru is looking at you like you’re somehow in the wrong, here, like you’re the one acting out. as if he isn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

at this point, you barely even remember what the fight was about. too sleep-deprived to recall it properly, too stressed to make a genuine attempt. all you remember is getting ready for bed, and the familiar sensation of frustration prickling your skin. you remember his pretty little grin, his teasing remarks and refusal to take you seriously.

remember the way he laughed, when you told him what was bothering you; the crinkle of his eyes, the warmth of his hands reaching over to squish your cheeks. a little patronizing.

(there was no malicious intent behind it, that much you know. he probably just wanted to lighten the mood. but it irked you, all the same. hurt you, maybe. just a little bit.)

then you remember storming out. grabbing a blanket and pillow and telling him to sleep on his own, if that’s how he was going to be. the words felt cold as they left your mouth, little breathy icicles. and then you left.

which is why you’re here, right now. curled up in your goddamn bathtub, for some reason that still escapes you, trying desperately to get even a wink of sleep without your boyfriend there to help.

and that’s also why satoru is here, back a tad slouched as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, looking at you like you’re some misbehaving cat. blinking slowly, drowsily, dragged down by the fatigue clinging to his eyelashes. 

(he can’t sleep, either.)

”you’re really gonna sleep in there?” he sighs, after a moment’s pause. any honest concern in his voice is almost entirely overshadowed by the sense of admonition that follows it.

a scoff falls from your lips, sharp like a razorblade. ”yes,” you deadpan, shifting to lie on your stomach, hiding away from his insistent view. ”i was sleeping just fine before you barged in here.”

satoru shoots you a look, thoroughly unimpressed, entirely unconvinced of your blatant lie. ”you’re being dumb,” he huffs. ”at least sleep on the couch.”

”i don’t wanna hear that from you,” comes a hiss, low and disgruntled. a growing irritation. ”and i’m comfortable where i am.”

another dissatisfied huff. why are you being so irrational? he just doesn’t get it. scrambling for excuses, satoru tries his hand at another tactic. 

”you’ll hurt your back.”

another little scoff. oh, so now he suddenly cares? you can’t believe him. 

”so what?”

a moment passes. satoru bites his lip, teeth sinking softly into the flesh; a little pang of ache, but it’s nothing compared to the twist of discomfort in his chest. you’re making this more difficult than it has to be, he thinks. always so stubborn. 

what is he supposed to say? how is he supposed to convince you to come back to bed, when you’re already so set on denying him?

god, he’s tired. he just wants to sleep, close his jaded eyes. just wants to not have to think, for a couple hours, curled up with the only person who makes him feel safe. just wants to dream in soft shapes.

but if you aren’t there, then…

a deep sigh. weary, annoyed. ”c’mon,” he coaxes, blinking sluggishly. ”you know you won’t be able to fall asleep without me. can’t we just make up already?”

your nails dig into the fabric of your blanket. every word he says only seems to deepen the sense of irritation plaguing your sleep-deprived mind.

it makes you want to shut him out, bury your head in the soft sheets and forget about everything else. he keeps acting like you’re just overreacting, like you wanted to have an argument. like he wasn’t the one who made you upset and then laughed at you about it. 

”i don’t need you to fall asleep,” you grumble, muffled by the pillow in your grasp, arms tightening around it. nuzzling deeper into the soft velvet comfort.

satoru’s fingers twitch, as if urging him to pull you close. he almost glares at the cushion in your arms, that you’re hugging so fondly, putting all your body weight on — snuggling into it in search of comfort and warmth.

(that should be his chest.)

the gears in his head turn, slowly and mechanically, as he brings a hand up to card through his hair.

satoru hates seeing you so upset, so far away from him. having to watch you close yourself off, not allowing him to be near, soothe you and take care of you. kiss all your worries away. that’s all he wants to do, everything he needs to keep himself whole, to keep himself from being devoured by an exhaustion he’s lived with for as long as he can remember.

a strong frustration gnaws at his conscience. a certain desperation.

a big, heavy sigh leaves his lips. it bounces off the walls of the bathroom, the white tiles and shiny mirror, as he drags it out. almost childishly. then he’s angling his body to face you properly, big hands resting on his knees, a determined gaze set on your figure.

”look, i’m sorry,” he starts, rigid and earnest. blinking once, twice, chasing away the drowsy weight of his eyelids. ”i shouldn’t have laughed.”

your ears perk up.

shifting to your side as if hoping to hear him better, you peek up at him through half-lidded eyes. almost in disbelief, a kind of hope sprouting in the corners of your dilated pupils.

is he genuinely going to apologize, you wonder? admit that he was in the wrong? does he actually feel bad?

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, until satoru’s voice spills into the air again.

”there. i apologized,” he exhales, a little gruff. annoyed. ”now will you please just come to bed?”

…

wow. 

okay, nevermind. you hope the ceiling fan falls on him.

beneath your skin, a mellow kind of anger bubbles up, blood slowly coming to a boiling point. he’s not sorry at all. of course he isn’t. you were stupid to think he’d actually give you a sincere apology, stupid to think he’d do the one thing that would actually make you want to fall back into his comforting embrace. stupid, stupid. 

clenching your teeth, nails digging into the velvet fabric of the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut once more. only this time, you don’t plan on opening them again — at least not until morning comes. not until you see the sunkissed tiles of the bathroom, until the ache inside your chest has passed.

”satoru,” you enunciate, frigid and final. ”just let me sleep. we can talk tomorrow.” a beat. the tiniest grumble resounds from your lips, tinged with exhaustion. ”i’m too tired for this.”

under his breath, satoru winces. that palpable fatigue in your words sends a tremor running through his chest, discomforting, a shiver of his heart. you won’t look at him anymore, and the hint of finality in your tone makes him feel slightly dejected.

god, he’s awful at this. sincerity has never been his strong suit. he’s gotten better, lately, but it’s still so very foreign.

he didn’t mean to make you angry, didn’t mean to upset you. didn’t mean for the lilt of his voice to make his apology sound insincere. but that’s still what happened.

and satoru isn’t quite sure what to do. 

he’s tired. eyes heavy with lost sleep, glimpses of would-be nightmares he knows he’d have were he to fall asleep right now. an anxious lump has long since formed in the back of his throat, and he misses you. misses your presence, your warmth. misses the feeling of having you close, the knowledge that you haven’t left yet.

(without you, he can’t —)

a sigh. soft, and resigned, flowing from his lips.

the inner turmoil in satoru’s mind begins to fade, slowly but surely, smoothed away by the sight of you. bundled up in a blanket too small to cover you properly, lying in that cold and cramped bathtub, discomfort evident in your features. sadness dripping from the bitter words you grace him with.

so out of reach, too far for him to follow, a boundary he wants to cross more than anything. but something about that meek expression makes him falter, makes his heart twist and turn inside his ribcage.

(he knows that you’re tired, too.)

so satoru swallows his pride.

the words are spoken in a whisper, hushed, through a voice so low you wouldn’t hear it if the silence of the bathroom wasn’t so suffocating. a soft lilt of his voice, bare and raw. meek, in a way that makes him want to crawl under a rock and die. but it’s there, and he lets you hear it; that soft little truth.

”… i can’t sleep without you.”

satoru doesn’t look at you. his confession rings in your ears, laced together with a softness you’ve come to associate with warm spring mornings and rooms so dark you can’t see his face. moments in which satoru feels safe. safe enough to be sincere.

— inevitably, your heart begins to soften.

(he’s trying. it’s difficult for him, but he’s really trying. sincerity and honesty are things that have been used against him all his life, so it’s no wonder he’d be scared.)

it’s very hard to stay mad at him, when he sounds like that. when his words come out sounding a little too much like a plea, a silent call for help. 

with hesitance, you allow your eyes to flutter open, shifting a little to get a better look at him. he’s there, staring into space — the man you’ve grown to love so dearly. his tousled white hair, those slightly forlorn eyes. the vague darkness beneath them, slightly puffy skin. that tired, tired expression. 

satoru taps the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers, absentmindedly. index finger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over.

then, at last, he meets your gaze. and you think he swallows down a gulp, before smiling — it’s a pretty smile, somewhat tiny. a little sheepish, but awfully sincere. awfully satoru.

he tilts his head, gazing into your eyes with a tenderness that melts your heart to the marrow.

”… please?”

a second passes. then two. 

soft and melodic, your heartbeat resounds in your ears, akin to a lullaby. like the call of a siren, coaxing you into giving in. and you’re weak, you realize, so very weak. just a smile and a tilt of his head, and you’re rendered utterly helpless. 

(he’s just too pretty.)

without fully realizing it yourself, you’ve begun to move, dragging yourself up with sluggish motions. blanket still draped over your shoulders, and pillow snug against your chest, you blink. drowsily, slowly. a little meekly. 

and satoru brightens.

it’s visible, in the way he physically perks up, back straightening, smile finally reaching his aquamarine eyes. a blend between hope and affection sprouts in them, slathered over with something honeyed.

a soft grin blooms on his lips, and he opens his arms wide — silently beckoning you to fall into his embrace. a raspy coo tiptoes on his tongue. 

”c’mere.”

before you can make a move to do so, satoru leans over. scooping you up with ease, as if you weigh absolutely nothing, tucking you into his warm embrace. smothering you in his cushiony chest.

almost instinctively, your arms go to wrap around his neck, cheek smushed against the warm skin of his shoulder. if you strain your ears, you think you can hear the soft patter of his heartbeat. he smells of the tiramisu you ate before going to bed, and just a hint of expensive cologne. he smells of comfort.

satoru is soft, and warm, and everything you need right now. lulling you back into that cozy, sleepy state. your very own personal dose of melanin.

with a big palm on the small of your back, satoru keeps you pressed up against his chest, as if you could change your mind and try to escape at any moment. he stands up, still holding you, and hikes your legs around his waist. breathing out a satisfied hum, before turning on his heel.

satoru smiles, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. ”let’s get you back to bed, baby.”

after turning the bathroom lights off, he begins to walk to your shared bedroom, still carrying you with one arm. always so strong and reliable. you know for a fact that he’s not going to drop you, so you opt to close your tired eyes; stretching out your limbs, lazily, releasing a quiet yawn that makes his lips curl up.

despite your lingering frustration, you find yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck — and satoru coos, so painfully soft that you barely even hear it. the restlessness inside his own chest washed away, by the familairity of your body against his.

and before you know it, he’s dropped you down on the mattress. gently, but still enough to make you feel a little jostled, so close to falling asleep in his arms. he drags the blanket up to cover you, tucking you in; this one is bigger, with a fluffier texture, enough to cover you both with ease.

smiling softly at the sight of you all cozy, content in the knowledge that you’re finally comfortable, satoru crawls beneath the blanket and takes his rightful place beside you. eyes crinkled at the corners, rich with affection.

two strong arms reach around your waist, to pull you flush against him, until your head meets his chest and you can hear the soft thrumming of his heartstrings. then he sighs, in pure bliss, thoroughly content. melting into your embrace, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head, nuzzling into the warmth that seeps from your body to his.

he runs his big hands down your back, affectionately, rubbing circles into your skin. coaxing you into melting a little, too.

”see, isn’t this much better?” he smiles, a little cheeky. such a tease.

”… the bathtub was fine.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, rich with fondness. his hand goes to card through your hair, nimble fingers smoothing down your scalp and running through the soft strands. every touch gentle, full of care. every word soaked in a syrupy sweetness.

”stubborn girl.”

despite your best wishes, you’re too tired to bite back the blissful sigh that leaves your lips. a part of you still wants to protest, to push him away —

but then you start leaning into his touch. helpless to his warm hands, his soothing voice. satoru is just a little too good at making you melt. so good that you finally begin to let your guard down, nuzzling into his bare skin, sinking a little further into the mattress. 

and satoru stifles a coo. 

”honestly,” he sighs, equal parts exasperated and amused. ”sleeping in the bathtub… you’re so silly.”

before you have a chance to respond, he’s pulling back — ever so slightly, just to get a better look at your face. arms looped around his neck, you blink up at him with droopy eyes, and he can’t resist the dopey grin that sneaks its way onto his lips. doesn’t even begin to try, when you look so unbearably sweet.

unable to stop himself, he broaches the distance between you, leaning close to kiss the top of your nose. and you squeeze your eyes shut at the gesture, face scrunching up, but it only makes him chuckle. smiling, honey-sweet, he admires your sleepy pout. soaks up every soft little grumble that slips from your lips.

his hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb smoothing down your cheekbone. just gazing at you, taking you in, every single contour of your face. there is only adoration in his eyes. something silently delighted, that seeps into his words, his raspy voice.

”my pretty, pretty girl.”

a heat rushes to your cheeks. looking up at him, into those lovesick eyes, you can’t help but grow flustered.

he looks so content.

all you manage is a weak furrow of your brows, pressing a palm against his bare skin. softly, as if pushing him away, forehead meeting his chest with a soft bonk. hiding away, so he won’t see how much his words affect you.

”lemme sleep, toru…” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

unfortunately, your boyfriend is not one to give in so easily. before long, his fingertips are trailing across the skin of your jaw, coaxing you into lifting your chin. and you’re too sleepy to resist — practically melting, as he begins to smear openmouthed kisses all over your face. all you can do is close your eyes, attempting to ignore the sound of his exaggerated mwahs, frowning in a silent disapproval that you know you don’t actually mean.

satoru notices it, though. he always does.

”you still mad at me, baby?” he asks, in a way that sounds a little like he’s cooing at you. there’s a teasing tilt to his voice, but it’s also a genuine question. your frown deepens.

averting your gaze with a soft huff, even as he cradles your jaw with his slender fingers, a pout plays at your lips. under his kind eyes, you feel just a bit meek — recalling your argument from before. absentmindedly, you fidget with the waistband of his shorts, hoping to ease your nerves.

despite your valiant efforts to direct your vocal cords in a different direction, the voice that spills from your lips comes out sounding just a tad hurt.

”… you never take me seriously.”

satoru’s eyes soften.

his smile falters, by a hair, a brief stilling of movement. subtle, but hard not to pick up on. there’s a certain sense of shame in his irises, a genuine guilt stirring his heartstrings; several discomforting sensations, gnawing at the bones of his ribcage.

(you look so small.)

two hands reach out to cup your cheeks, big and warm. swallowing up your whole face. and before you can react, satoru leans in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your lips. he tastes like tiramisu. 

”’m sorry. we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he hums, and you can tell that he means it. ”i promise that i’ll take you seriously. for real, this time.”

as you look into those eyes of his, blue and soft around the edges, the last of your frustration is finally washed away. with a meek downward glance, and a faint nod, satoru relaxes — releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. relieved at your silent forgiveness.

tomorrow, he’ll definitely make it up to you. he’ll hear you out, without opening his big mouth, or trying to skirt around any emotions that make him feel even slightly uncomfortable. smoothing a big palm down your back, he hopes you feel it as a silent apology. 

for now, he’ll just hold you. he’ll hold you, and kiss all your worries away, and keep you comfy and warm. that’s his duty. the only one he’d willingly choose, the only weight on his shoulders that never feels even a little bit suffocating. the only one he wouldn’t cast away, if given the chance.

nuzzling back into the safety of his collarbone, your heartbeat settles into a drowsy rhythm, slow and serene. satoru squeezes you in a tight hug, reassuring. comforting.

he can be a handful, and a little insensitive, but you love him a lot. you can’t imagine not loving him. 

”… goodnight, toru,” you whisper. ready to give into sleep’s call, at last.

satoru smiles. you can hear it in his voice, sweet and silky, a soft curl of his lips. ”goodnight, honey,” he presses a kiss against your shoulder. warm, his breath on your skin. ”i love you.”

a yawn escapes your throat. ”love you too…” you mumble, sleepily. that one soft truth, before your consciousness fades.

and satoru’s smile only grows. hopelessly, inevitably, in the same way his hands can’t help but to bring you closer. until your heart is flush against his own, and he swears he can feel your heartbeats synchronize.

finally, with those three little words, satoru should be able to go to sleep. drifting off, he can only hope you’ll still be in his arms by the time he awakens.

(then again; you always are, aren’t you?)

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

HELLOOO idk if ur requests are on rn so take ur time with this request and get to it at ur own time but i was wondering if u could make a short one shot fic abt reader who is in a relationship with katsuki and is at home while he's out in patrol and she sees his location with life 360 and sees that he's beside some sort of restaurant or supermarket so she texts him smth like

i see ur beside the ramen place i like can u buy dinner tonight 😊

AND THEN KATSUKI IS JUST 🤬🤬🤬 WTF HOW DO U KNOW WHERE I AM ARE U OUTSIDE RN

all lighthearted and funny :))

THANK UUU SO MUCHH 💞💞

LMFAOOOO thjs js so funny😭😭😭 tysm for this ask i hope i did it some justice :33 hope you’re still stickin around to read it anon ! Short lil drabble, much luv xx

“since you’re by that ramen place i like you can get some for dinner 💋💕”

“ ? what the fuck”

“?? where are you.”

“?”

before you can send another text message, your phone lights up with your boyfriend’s caller id, you giggle.

“hi, baby.”

“where the fuck are you at ?”

you snort, readjusting on your sofa “what are you talking about ?” you ask teasingly.

you catch the sound of people talking as you hear katsuki grumbling to himself “i don’t see you.”

you giggle, kicking your legs a little “and why would you need to see me ?”

katsuki groans, already exasperated and growing more and more impatient, you’re surprised he hasn’t started cursing your entire bloodline yet “quit it with that mysterious bullshit, how do you know where i’m at.”

and just to mess with him, you respond “i see you.”

it’s quiet on his end for a moment, aside from the chatter on the street “yn. i’ll fucking kill you.” you throw your head back and laugh “once i find you, you’re done for. your ass is grass.”

“i like it when you talk dirty to me.” you joke, he scoffs hard on the other end “freak.” you hear him mumble, you giggle some more.

“i’m at home, just saw your location and decided to ask you to get me some food.”

“get you some food.” he bites, scoffing in disbelief.

“us, get us some food. pretty please, suki ?” you use your sweetest voice, maybe he might even be able to imagine your puppy dog eyes through the phone.

he laughs sarcastically “right. what makes you think you deserve to get anything after that little stunt you pulled, huh ?”

you pout, whining so he knows you are “i was just kidding, was jus’ a little jokey-joke.” you can’t help but tease him a bit more.

“yeah, my ass.” you snort loudly, laughing and the huff he lets out clearly lets you know he’s not amused, you can see him rolling his eyes at your antics.

“we’ll see.” is the answer he graces you with. you squeal, cus you know that means you won. katsuki is quick to remind you he didn’t say yes, but you already know his mind’s been made.

“i’m surprised you didn’t ask me why i have your location on my phone.” you hum.

katsuki sounds utterly confused by your question when he responds “why would i give a shit about that ? s’not like i get somethin’ to hide. don’t care if you know where i’m at.” he responds simply.

“sides, i know how obsessed you are with me, so—”

“i’m hanging up now, katsuki. get me my ramen. toodles.” your bitter tone makes him laugh, and just to piss you off some more he adds in a honeyed sweet “see you later, babe. love ya.” before he hangs up. you huff shaking your head. a text pings and you swipe up to check it, it’s from katsuki again.

“i’m not getting you shit btw.”

he does indeed come back with ramen.

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: if you have stuck around and waited u are INCREDIBLE thank u so much for ur patience <3 esp cos i'm still testing it with my slowburn lmao + tell me what u think lovelies and as always, enjoy

word count: 4.1k

synopsis: Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

CHAPTER TEN :: SHADOWS

Azriel is a spy by his very nature.

It makes sense; the gift of Shadowsinger is never bestowed so lightly so that it could ever leave any doubt of the user. Shadowsingers are spies, even well before their gifts revealed themselves. Always watching. Always listening.

It was, then, a tad against his disposition to keep his nose out business that wasn't his — as that was precisely what Azriel did best.

But his decision was resolute. Azriel had promised himself he would not be the first to break the distance between you two.

However, for a fae over five-hundred years old, it's quite unsettling to yet again feel the pangs of impatience. Years of practicing restraint and then, in a mere few months, his hard earned patent for patience begins to fray at the ends. You'll be his undoing, he's sure of it.

Like a young and fresh-faced warrior itching for battle, it's almost embarrassing how Azriel can't seem to stay away from you. His feet wander and all paths lead to you.

His shadows are not helping.

Azriel thinks they've managed to get more insistent, which he hadn't really believe was possible. They've proven him oh-so wrong. When he walks the halls of the House of Wind, the dark wisps dart out, as though trying to tug him along.

He had trusted them all of two times before, face flushed and with an ungraceful but thankfully unnoticed exit, he learned just where they were leading him.

They were following the invisible thread between you, taking him to see his mate.

When it became clear he wasn't going to be coerced along, his shadows had only got more devious.

It's a particular brand of torture, Azriel thinks, to be delivered little parcels of knowledge of the person he's not allowing himself to see.

And they're ruthless about it. Whispers about how you're healing and the growing steadiness of your feet, the way you stand a little taller each day, about the tentative trust extended to Cassian.

Gods, that one had made his hand jerk across the paper in surprise, spilling a patch of ink onto the report he was in the middle of.

You were talking to Cassian— no, you were nearly friends with Cassian. The magnanimous hope had ballooned within him before Azriel remembered to stomp it back down.

Mor had teased him for the black stains on his hands during dinner.

He studies them now, nearly washed away completely, before he lifts his head. In the cool air of dusk, Azriel surveils the training ring from the shadows of the door, eyes scanning across the balcony.

It's empty, as expected. The rising moon is his only company.

You've stuck to training in the mornings, of course.

He's relieved and disappointed all at once—then Azriel forces that disappointment out of his system with a frustrated huff.

He is not allowed to be disappointed. Your trust is something he still needs to claw his way back to, to earn, and that required waiting and accepting that.

Azriel would see you... when you wanted to see him.

Despite his resolve, the thread between you still gives a futile tug before he can stop it. Scowling at himself, he rubs at his chest meanly, banishing the feeling. He steps down onto the balcony and heads towards the equipment.

As his scarred hands reach out and pluck one of the training staffs off the rack, his shadows twirls and trill, an almost teasing motion. It takes one pointed whisper, one tug on his heartstrings —they used that one just earlier today— before his hands are glowing warm from the second-hand touch.

His fingers spring apart and the staff hits the tiles with a loud clatter. Even though it's just him out on the balcony, he still casts an awkward glance around him. Gods

If his brothers could see him now, Azriel thinks dryly.

He swats at the shadow that had unhelpfully fed him the information. It dances away from him, swooping down to circle the staff on the ground with its others, a mass of black surrounding it.

Azriel bends down and gingerly picks up the staff, his hazel eyes staring at it for a long moment. Where your hands have been.

After a moment, his fingers curl around it. His marred hands feel like they're glowing again, warm and tingling, even if he knows it's all in his mind. Even so, he swears the golden thread between you hums, just ever so slightly.

He'll allow himself this, just this once, Azriel decides. His grip tightens and he heads to the ring, preparing to train, his hands where yours were just mere hours before.

—

The day after you had met Cassian, as the dawn breaks over sky, you find him on the training balcony before you.

You're a little later than you'd normally be, the sun actually rising before you do. You're moving a little more sluggishly too, but for once it's for a better reason.

Sleep, normally light and fitful for you, had actually been a reprieve last night. You slept deeply, falling into dreamless slumber and resting properly.

When morning crept in, dragging your eyelids up had felt like a mountainous amount of effort. Part of you wonders if it's because of the male across the balcony from you.

Allies, you had agreed upon.

It's a little easier to rest when you've made one less enemy.

Watching him now, stretching his supple and bulging arms, you have to force down the instilled anxiety that festers up, a force of habit that's kept you safe all these years.

You're not in Exordor anymore. You're not keeping any secrets.

Cassian clocks your hesitant stance in the doorway as he turns, a wide grin breaking across his face. His wings perk up, a genuine sign of his excitement. He stops his stretching momentarily to wave.

"Morning!" He calls out, despite the fact the distance between you doesn't require him to do so.

"Ally." He adds pointedly, leaning over to give an over the top wink.

Somewhere buried deep inside you, a laugh almost wants to wriggle free, but it's smothered before you can think too hard. You give him a wry smile instead, the best you can manage, and take a tentative step down onto the balcony. Your wings give a tiny shiver in the passing breeze.

"Good morning," You manage to return, the words sticking in your throat on the way up. It's awkward but nothing in Cassian's friendly demeanor changes to indicate he's noticed. Your feet lead you over towards the weapons rack.

It's as you reach them do you realise your heart is rabbiting wildly, pounding in your chest, stewing you in discomfort. The hair on the back of your neck rises, prickling with unease. Your back is turned to a fierce warrior, one that could very well attack you.

And worse, you'll be training next to him, still not healed, still stumbling on your feet—revealing all the ways to strike you down.

You—you haven't done this, ever. You haven't trained with someone completely as yourself, with no facade to hide beneath. It suddenly becomes incredibly vulnerable.

Your hand trembles as you reach out for the training staff and you try your best to swallow down your nerves.

Cassian has kept his distance, resuming his stretches, but you don't miss how his eyes dance over to you every couple of seconds. For a moment, it alarms you but as you find a place and settle into your stance, you steal another glimpse.

It's more like... a dog wagging its tail, you think faintly.

You press down the urge to smile and begin your exercises.

There's all of ten minutes of silence before it gets broken.

"How do you like Velaris?"

You pause in your motions, huffing to catch your breath as your grip the training staff loosens. You cast a glance over at Cassian who's now picked up one of the broadswords, beginning to throw its weight around easily.

You blink and for a moment, your eyes dart out over the edge of the balcony, to the city teeming with life, so close and yet so far from you. A part of you aches fiercely to see it.

"I... haven't been into the city." You answer honestly. It comes out curt and doesn't exactly answer his question.

Eyeing his sword nervously, your force your aching muscles through another series of exercises. You're a sliver better than the day before but when your ear twinges loudly, you still stumble, a minuscule motion. Your heart lurches up your throat, frustration welling like a tidal wave within you.

"Okay, then how do you like the House of Wind?"

You pause again, looking over to Cassian tentatively, the pain in your ear momentarily forgotten. The rising frustration in you dissipates at the distraction. He waves a casual hand over to the house you've been residing in since you arrived in Velaris and smiles once more.

You swallow thickly. What is his angle here?

"I haven't..." You struggle to put your thoughts into words. It's... different. New. Unsettling. You don't want to say the wrong thing. For all you know, this may well be his home.

Eventually, you find your voice. "I like my room. It's—" Several words ping to the front of your mind. "—big."

You cringe. Some compliment that is. You're too honest even if it is true; you're far too used to the familiar cramped space of your own cabin. Even sharing walls with others is foreign to you and you're incredibly thankful you haven't run into anyone unexpectedly in any corridors yet.

It doesn't occur to you that it might entirely be by design, thanks to Rhys' strict instruction.

Cassian grins. "Yes, I recall Illyria being hardly known for it's roomy cabins."

He swings the sword around with a flick of his wrist, more like an idle motion than anything. Your eyes still flicker down keenly, watching for any threat, just in case.

"So, you haven't explored the house much then?" Cassian continues, feigning a stab forward with the sword, his eyes on his motions but his attention still focused primarily on you.

You follow his lead and swing the training staff again, in an arching whoosh. You shake your head in answer to his question.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you always talk this much during training?"

The words come out before you can think to check them, sucking in a sharp breath as you realise how snappy that sounded. Like you're looking for a fight.

You ready yourself to sink into a defensive stance, before you realise that Cassian has only laughed in response. A curl of his tied back hair comes loose as he shakes his head, the action almost... fond.

"Only when I'm trying to make friends." He grins warmly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Sorry, I'll stop prying."

You swallow and nod slightly, hoping it won't be read as rude. Though you'd had a hard time believing it, Cassian had been true to his word; no fighting unless it was in the ring. You hadn't dared to go near it yet.

Readjusting your stance, you prepared to go through the motions once more. It's still a bit more of the juvenile exercises than you're used to—forced back to the basics as you retrain your body—but also because you're solitary training. You're used to sparring with others.

Stealing a glimpse at Cassian, you ponder if—if you might, eventually that is, train alongside him as you had done with Azriel.

Moving the training staff deftly, you thrust it forward and twist your lithe body to dart forward again, a small patter of your feet on the stone.

It's maneuver used for rushing opponents, throwing them off their balance and driving them backwards. It works for you, mostly, but the way your wings cut through the air, the slightest whistle through the holey scars, makes you a little unsteady.

"You fight like you're bigger than you are."

Straightening up, you breathe heavily and peer around the edges of your wings back at Cassian—who apparently isn't done talking at all.

He nods to you, in reference the maneuver you've just performed. "That is a move usually far better suited for someone of a larger stature."

You clear your throat, wings curling in a bit closer around you. "Yes. Azriel, he- he was trying to rectify that. There's only one way to train Illyrians, as I'm sure you know."

Cassian nods again, lowering the sword to hang at his side. "That I do. However, I feel Azriel may have been taking the wrong approach given... the information he was not privy to at the time."

Your brows knit together, something wrong twisting tightly in your chest.

"Because I'm..."

Female.

"Not a male?"

The words come out sharp without meaning to.

Cassian's picks up on your defensiveness, his expression softening. He gives a little so-so motion with his free hand, his wings rustling behind him. "A bit, but not for reasons you may think."

When you don't speak, he continues, his explanation unfurling.

"Your centre of gravity is different to ours. That actually changes the best way for you to fight. More of your strength comes from these—"

He slaps his hands down onto his thighs with a grin.

"—than from your arms. For that reason, there are moves you will be better at than what you've been taught."

Cassian cocks his head, his dark eyes squinting for a moment, deep in thought. "Azriel likely switched your training to agility based, didn't he?"

You nod gingerly. You had no idea if what he was said was true. If there was a fighting style suited to females. That would require... female warriors which, for all you've ever known, is a highly unlikely thing to exist.

Though, being he is the General of the Night Court's armies, you'd likely assume Cassian knows what he's talking about.

He nods, that same easy smile. "He was right to do so. Most camps focus on brute strength and stamina. Makes for good warriors that can take hits and keep going. You can train that way if you still wish but you might find you excel when your efforts are put elsewhere."

It takes a long moment before you realise exactly what his words mean.

An offer. He's offering to train you, to teach you.

Pleasant surprise blooms inside you, warm, curling up behind your ribs like a purring cat. Cassian's eyes are light and friendly, his body language relaxed as though if you turn him down, it'd be of no consequence to him. Merely an offer.

You turn it over in your mind, back and forth. The gentle wind from the mountains caresses across your cheekbones, a warm touch.

Inside, deep in your chest, there's something telling you to trust. To take the step forward, to accept Cassian's outstretched proposal. That you might regret it if you didn't.

"How?" Your eyes skirt up and down on instinct, still on alert for a threat that isn't coming.

Cassian grins infectiously, not even attempting to hide his glee. He rolls his shoulders back and assesses you once more.

"Have you ever heard of the headscissor takedown?"

—

Flesh hits stone, a large shuddering bang that echoes out the courtyard. In the distance, a couple birds take flight, squawking loudly. Pain ricochets through your knees, a warbling and jarring pain that has you gritting your teeth.

"You're..." Cassian's breath comes out raggedly. "Incredible!"

He beams from where he's pinned beneath you and your pain dashes away in a moment, something gleaning and prideful taking its place.

There's a rivulet of blood under his nose, his hair knocked loose, and you know hitting the ground as hard as he did won't have been nice. He continues on as if he hasn't.

"That was perfect form. You're a Cauldron-born natural!"

You huff a breath that might be an actual laugh this time and quickly retract yourself, standing to your feet. You waver momentarily, hesitance poisoning your thoughts, before you decide. Holding out your hand to help, Cassian is quick to put his hand in your own and use it to lug himself up.

When he gets to his feet, his grip loosens but he doesn't let go altogether.

"Hey," He says, more serious this time. His fingers around your wrist, soft and warm, still make your pulse jump nervously. You force yourself to meet his gaze, still friendlier than ever. "Seriously. You're very skilled and you're a fast learner. You've got the makings to be lethal. The Night Court is lucky to have you on our side."

His hand slips back, grazing your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel the way your heart skips a beat.

No one has ever been... lucky to have you. It's so foreign that hearing someone say it aloud makes you forget to breath for one long second.

"I—" The word pushes out before you think about it. "That's... You-"

Praise is not a part of Illyrian training. You fumble with it, feeling entirely out of your depth, feeling oddly proud of yourself. It feels like your cheeks are warmer than usual.

Cassian chuckles, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "You're welcome." He says pointedly, making you realise you're supposed to say thank you after someone compliments you.

You flounder for another second, making Cassian laugh again, louder this time. He reaches forward and lightly taps you on the shoulder, a faux punch.

"You'll get used to it." He says. Part of you really, really wants to. "Now, c'mon. Let's go again. Hit me."

—

You think that now Cassian's got what he wanted—the two of you training together, learning the plethora of new moves, stances, blocks he has in his repertoire—he wouldn't have anymore questions.

You're sorely, sorely, wrong.

Two mornings later, the pair of you prepare for some sparring with the swords in the ring. Cassian's purposefully picked one of the heavier ones for himself, broad and long, but he'd put aside a blade for you.

It's smaller, lighter. It reminds you of Heartstriker.

Which reminds you of Azriel.

The mere thought of him has your heart humming, miserable and elated all at once. You're still not sure if you'd like to see him just yet, the confusing twist of betrayal too fresh, but still, some part of you seeks him out, consciously or not.

You want to wander the halls until you find the door to leads to him.

It's because he was your first friend. You reason, as you step up towards the sparring ring. He was the first person you trusted. Was? Is—maybe.

Do you still trust him?

Cassian is already in the ring, waiting as patiently as he can. His rustling wings give him away, even as casual as he looks leaned up against one of the corner posts.

His wings are stretched out, towards the sun's rays that are just beginning to slip over the horizon, trying to steal some of their warmth.

A yawn slips past your lips. The night of restful sleep was an outlier it seemed, the tendrils of a calming, easy sleep stolen away just as quickly.

Fingers curling around the hilt of the short sword, you step gingerly into the ring, eyes casting across to your opponent. You roll your shoulders back, warming up the muscles a bit more, and give your own wings a little shake. A shiver wracks through you in response, the chill of the morning touching on sensitive scars.

"Is there a particular reason Azriel is avoiding you?"

Your head snaps up at the sound of Cassian's voice, cool and calm.

He hasn't shifted, though his wings are tucked back in now. His sword is still relaxed at his side, his worn hand tucked around the hilt of it freely.

The usual chattiness that Cassian has been able to coax out of you these last few days shrivels up. Azriel is avoiding you? You hadn't wanted to see him but this—something curls up inside you, sour and foul. You swallow hard.

"I hadn't realised." You murmur, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into your words.

Cassian blinks and seems to realise his mistake. He waves a hand dismissively, as if it can scratch away his last words. "I misspoke. I believe he is... keeping his distance."

He furrows his brow, face pinched, picking his words carefully. "For your sake." He adds.

You... don't know how you feel about that. On one hand, you're relieved. It's not by pure chance that you haven't seen him yet, it's purposeful—he's keeping out of your way, giving you peace.

On the other hand, something twined in your chest pangs sorrowfully, mourning the distance between you.

While Cassian's presence as an ally (or perhaps, you'll even admit, a friend) is comforting, you'll admit it does not fill the same shape in you as Azriel does. You miss him, quite terribly so.

"What makes you think he's avoiding me?" You ask.

Cassian gives an little shrug, his head tilting to the side just a bit. He smiles in a way that tells you he knows more than he lets on. Or maybe, he simply knows Azriel far better than you do.

"He usually trains in the morning." He explains nonchalantly. "He's taken to training at night since your arrival."

You frown at the new information. You don't want Azriel to be changing things for you, to bend and warp his routines in his home, just for you. You don't want him to avoid you either, even if you're beginning to think you might never be brave enough to face him.

He left you. He was your first friend and the betrayal of that is entirely too new— but you don't know where to draw the line.

You don't know for how long you're allowed to be upset — or how long you can let this go on before you're punishing yourself just as much as you are him.

Flexing your grip on the sword, you stare across at Cassian and when you open your mouth, the words tumble out with warning.

"He..." Your breath hitches.

Something awful hooks into your chest, remembering the way he had folded himself into shadows, away from you. The look on his face.

"He left me. When I needed him more than ever." You admit.

Your voice doesn't waver but Cassian can still see the slight tremble in your shoulders, rolling in. Your eyes have dropped to study the floor of the sparring ring, seemingly lost in the memory.

Cassian's face softens, his heart aching for you. You don't even notice how your own wings have begun to curl in, a soft, comforting blanket around yourself.

It's clear you're struggling to juggle the myriad of emotions that haunt you and he gets it, Mother, does he get it. It had been hard the first time, during those first tentative months of friendship with Rhys, before Azriel was even in the picture. Cassian had one emotion that served him any purpose and that was spite.

Spite kept him alive. Spite told him who to knock down and who to put down.

Friendships and spite are not the greatest combination. When Rhys had done something Cassian had vehemently disagreed with, it had felt like a deception, stinging as badly as the backhand from Lord Devlon, sneering the word bastard.

It took time to undo the messy tangle of emotions, to learn that not all betrayal fell into the same box. That forgiveness for some people was not weakness at all.

So, Cassian asks. "Did he come back?"

You glance up at him, eyes flickering with emotion at the question. After a moment, you swallow and say. "Yes. He did."

Cassian nods. He stretches his wings out a bit and reaches up to push a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright. How long do you intend to punish him for that mistake?"

You freeze at that question and Cassian can tell he's hit the right spot. You're unsure how long you should—because all you know is that you're hurt. And when you're hurt, you don't know any other way to deal with it.

There's only one pathway ingrained for when someone hurts you. Cassian realises suddenly, Mother help him, that he must try to be good at the talking side of things. He needs to show you there's other ways you can go.

"Because," He continues, not waiting for your answer. "I can assure you that Azriel will punish himself for far longer and far harsher than you ever will. I've known my brother a long time. If there anyone who understands the gravity of his actions and will torture himself over them, it's Azriel."

A hesitant expression shutters across your face, your brows furrowing slightly. Cassian doesn't need Rhys' daemati gift to understand the conflict that's battling within you.

"You think I should forgive him."

You don't pose it as a question. A little bit more of that iciness has bled back into your voice, on guard again.

Cassian can tell that, like him, you don't take well to being told what to do. That's fine; Cassian has no intention of doing that whatsoever.

"I think that is your decision entirely." Cassian says, letting the words breathe so they truly sink in. He watches as your eyes narrow momentarily and then your shoulders relax, sinking down an inch.

"But," He says gingerly. "If you avoid each other, you might never move past this. Might never move forward. It might be worth considering what you really want at the end of the day."

The sun has properly broken across the mountain ridges, no longer just sparse rays. You turn your face, facing towards the warmth. There's still that scrunch between your eyebrows, betraying your deep thought, but Cassian has said enough for now.

He moves his sword and taps the end of it against the stone, a soft steel ping grabbing your attention. You whip your head back to face him and Cassian grins, raising his sword.

"Enough talking. More fighting."

You smile, a little hesitant but entirely genuine, and raise your sword in response. That's one thing you're sure you know how to do right.

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