#there's something about fingers in a mouth...........

[lambilegs]

best friend's older sister!sevika headcanons

contains: modern!au, mentions of smoking weed and cigarettes, nsfw content (so minors dni), not proofread, mentions of porn, clitplay and fingering, cunnilingus, degradation (word "slut" is used), sevika being a jackass and teasing the reader about their clothes + possible inexperience, reader's body is referred to with the following terms: "pussy," "clit," "cunt" and "tits," kinda imagined a younger version of sevika here, maybe late twenties

best friend's older sister!sevika who is always cooped up in her bedroom, whirring noises entering the halls from the mechanics she's working with. if you walk past her room, your body immediately gets blanketed with goosebumps from the cold air streaming in from her window, which is always cracked open so that she can blow the smoke from her weed and cigarettes out of there.

sometimes you run into her in the hall outside of her bedroom, cigarette hanging out of her lips, loud music blasting from the speakers she has in there. if you guys are both heading to the bathroom, she'll quietly nod, leaning back into the doorframe to let you go first.

there have been a few occasions where through the open door, you can see a girl laid out on her bed or sneaking out of her window. all you can do is ignore it and try to resist having wandering thoughts about exactly how good she must be in bed to have different girls over all the time.

best friend's older sister!sevika who doesn't really talk to any of you guys, just ruffling your best friend's hair or teasing her before heading back to her room, leaving the rest of you without a word from her. whenever she walks into the kitchen while your friend group is eating or making late night instant ramen, you feel your face heat up at the sight of her in a tight tank top, leaving nothing to the imagination, from her sculpted arms and the grooves of her stomach's abs. she's so tall, so effortlessly handsome, and you can't help but sneak in glances at her back when she bends to the fridge to get some gatorade.

best friend's older sister!sevika who talks to you for the first time when your best friend leaves you alone in the living room to go shower, and sevika enters through the front door, short, black hair tied back. just the sight of her neck is enough to get you tensing up, suddenly acutely aware of the patterned pajamas you have on and how childish they must look to her.

when she spots you, she raises her hand, mumbling an apology, but you insist that the two of you of two can sit together, you were only about to put something on. the truth is, you really don't want to miss the opportunity to get to know her more.

she hesitates, but gives in, sitting on the opposite end of the couch with you, twisting off the cap of her beer bottle and taking a swing from it, grey eyes focused on the television as you scroll through the options.

when you linger on gilmore girls, she scoffs. and not subtly. oh, no, she scoffs loudly, and you turn to find her lips twisted up into a smirk.

embarrassment and defensiveness make for an ugly combination, immediately arousing an irritated, "yes?" from you.

"are we seriously going to watch this crap?"

your mouth drops open. it's the first time she's properly spoken to you one-and-one, except for the brief interactions during your run-ins in the hall, and this is what she says? for a second, you're just stunned at her blunt rudeness, and you need a second to formulate a response before saying, "crap?"

"yes, crap." she tosses her hand at the television. "just a bunch of privileged little shits."

"the show literally deals with money issues!"

she snickers, and you try to ignore the bulge of her arms as they fold over her chest. "which sure aren't that stressful when you have two blue-blooded parents always there to save your ass."

"yes, but on conditions, though!"

she squints at you, lips turned down into a disbelieving frown. "friday night dinner? you're either just as spoiled as them or really naive, because trust me, weekly dinners don't mean shit."

your eyes sharpen into a hard glare, bitterness spilling through at her assumption. "you don't know anything about me!" with an indignant toss of your head, you mutter, "not that you've ever even tried to."

she suddenly bellows with a loud laugh, the edges of it rough and irritatingly pleasing to your ear. "awe, is someone sad over that?"

you roll your eyes. yes, but you weren't about to tell her that, of all people. "no, don't flatter yourself."

"you're not that good of a liar, you know that, right?"

with a twitching eye, you turn on the show, drowning out the noise of her chuckle with an immediate escalation of the volume.

best friend's older sister!sevika who doesn't stop teasing you after that night. now, when you're in the kitchen and she saunters in, she flashes you a smile that's nothing short of complete and utter self-satisfaction. when your best friend leaves you alone in her room, sevika knocks and steps inside, leaning on the wall and asking you how you are, how's work or school, sometimes teasingly tossing in, "you haven't been here in a while -- I didn't make you nervous, did I?"

you always fight back. partially because your attraction to her makes you feel so exposed and flustered that you want to try to hide it through challenging her back rather than being reduced to a blushing, spluttering mess. you know arguing back might be counterproductive, though, since it seems to only amuse even more. but, that leads you to the second reason you keep doing it. because, as on-the-spot and vulnerable it makes you feel, her prodding comments and mischievous attention makes you giddy. sevika, the allusive older sister of your best friend, is actually bantering with you, maybe even flirting with you. and seeing how easily she bounces off your words, how sharp her wit is, makes you only more excited. unnerving as it is, this little thing you guys have going spikes your excitement everytime you come over.

best friend's older sister!sevika who gets bolder and bolder. when she comes into the bathroom as you're brushing your teeth, looking for a hair tie to get her hair out of her face, you catch her in the mirror's reflection glancing at you, eyes quickly flicking up and down. the double take nearly makes you tighten your thighs together, mind whirling with thoughts, speculating over what she might be thinking.

you get your answer when she suddenly snaps the band of your tank top, which causes you to leap on the spot. when your eyebrows furrow into what you hope is a stare strict enough to hide just how turned on you are, she laughs, the noise low and velvety. "cute," she muses, eyes raking over you shamelessly before she reaches to the hairtie on your wrist, snapping it off and tying her hair back with it.

best friend's older sister!sevika who starts working out very intentionally in front of you. doing pull-ups in the kitchen when your friend group is there, lips curling up as her eyes seek you out. usually, by the time she looks in your direction, you've already been staring at her unabashedly for minutes as her arms flex and roll under her ministrations.

you want to crawl into a hole when your best friend smacks your arm, her face squeezed into a sour cringe. "dude, gross."

of course, sevika totally hears the reprimand, and she wiggles a scolding finger in your direction from her corner in the room.

best friend's older sister!sevika who can't stop laughing at the way you gasp and cover your mouth when you catch sight of the lesbian porn opened up on her laptop, which rests amongst her bunched up purple blanket. it only leaves you wondering about what she was doing moments before, if that happy trail you sometimes spot in her loose, muscle-shaped crop tops leads to a curl of hair between her thighs.

"oh, c'mon, have you never seen porn before?"

despite the fact that you can barely keep a straight face in light of this revelation, you manage to bristle. "of course I have."

"oh, yeah?" she leans on her doorframe, tilting her head down to watch you carefully. "got any recs?"

"if I did, I wouldn't share them with you."

"why not?"

"you would just--" you manage to squeeze out before trailing off into silence. the truth is, the idea of you and her watching the same porn, fucking yourselves to the same video, has your clit aching with desire. but, you don't wanna give in that easily, and just do as she requests. something tells you she's too used to getting her way. "you would just corrupt it!"

she raises an eyebrow. "corrupt the porn? by watching it?"

god, you're an idiot. "yes."

"that's quite a feat to manage."

"... yes."

"this wouldn't at all be because you're lying, right? and you really haven't watched porn?"

you grit your teeth, narrowing your eyes at her. god, she's so fucking irritating, talking to you like you're completely sexually oblivious.

at your silence, she ducks her head lower, and you suck in a sharp breath at the feeling of one of her dark locks tickling your cheek. "maybe you're more inexperienced than you let on. maybe you're looking to get corrupted."

fuck, she has no idea. at this point, the rest of your thoughts are practically zapped into silence from the mental image of sevika laying you on her bed, your back to her chest, with her big hands shoved down your panties and massaging your pussy, using your slick to circle your clit into a swollen little bud. her soft lips planting wet, sloppy kisses on your neck and cheek as she coaxes you to watch the filthy video, laughing darkly when you gush at the two women in it eating each other out. biting your ear, whispering how she wants to do this thing or that thing to you, how she'd fuck you better than anyone in these videos could. her thick fingers plunging into your hole, other hand covering your mouth as she makes you come over and over again in her cramped up bedroom.

jesus, this is going too far. you force your body to stiffen, lest her attentive gaze catches any telltale signs of your arousal. "well, maybe you're delusional."

she's unfazed, eyes darting to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "I'm sure I am."

best friend's older sister!sevika who tells your best friend she'll pick you up when she finds out you need a ride home from your part-time job. she insists this is because she doesn't trust your best friend with her car, so she should be the only one to drive it.

when you climb into the passenger seat, you can't help but feel self-conscious, sweaty and exhausted after the long shift. matters are only worsened by being in such a cramped space with her, the very act of being picked up way too date-like for comfort. you can smell her coconut shampoo from here, mixed in with the cologne she wears. her hands on the wheel captivate you, fingers long and thick, veins begging for your tongue to trace them. her hair, which is still bound by your hairtie, is damp and soft.

she takes you out for food, insisting you "get something in you after a long day" (you're certain she's aware of the innuendo, shit-eating grin present when she speaks). when she takes her car into a drive through, she hands you her phone, muttering that you can turn on whatever music you want.

she proceeds to make fun of every song you play.

ignoring your protests, and using her strong arms to shove you aside when you try to lurch over her, she pays. when you thank her profusely, her nose twitches and she nods quietly. you can't help but smile at her modesty.

instead of driving you guys back to hers and your best friend's home, she parks outside the store. you guys continue to listen to music, sharing the meal and talking. her usual snark is present, yes, but she actually listens to you, earnestly so, as you ramble about your shift. she asks you questions, and listens patiently. her answers, on the other hand, are short and to-the-point, but after some nudges to her shoulder and whining, she relents with a sigh and shares some more details.

as the sky darkens, the conversation becomes a bit more personal, and you see a side to her you've never bore witness to before. eyes soft, gaze downcast, voice low, she shows a side to you that's vulnerable. a side that has the layers of responsibility shed.

best friend's older sister!sevika who you can't help but smirk at when her jaw drops upon seeing you in the lacey, skimpy pajamas you recently bought. it costed enough, that's for sure, but you feel immensely successful. after all, you only bought them after seeing them in the porn video she had been watching weeks ago.

"what-- what is that?" her voice is low, hushed.

you touch the back of your neck, suddenly plagued with acute self-awareness over how you look. "just-- it's just pajamas."

that breaks her out of her trance, face breaking into a bout of laughter. "pajamas? you're kidding me, right? you look like you're about to seduce me."

you swallow hard. well, not exactly. all you had wanted was a reaction out of her. actual sex felt like too far-fetched a daydream to get excited over. you try to brush her off, self-doubt gripping you too tightly to allow yourself to be direct. "please, you wish."

"oh? someone's gotten bold." her eyes wander over your body languidly, as though you already belong to her and it's just a matter of time before you admit it. she leans back in the seat at her desk, mouth curving into a playful grin. "besides, who knows if you even have it in you?"

"have it in me to what?"

she snorts. "seduce me, bonehead."

"well, yeah, wouldn't wanna risk disappointing you after all the girls that have been in here."

you wince as soon as the words leave your mouth. god, how pathetic are you? you already sound like a jealous girlfriend, and you haven't even confessed to her.

luckily, sevika chooses not to tease. instead, her mouth presses into a firm line and she says, "you don't need to worry about that."

you gulp at the earnest words. what the hell is that supposed to mean? does she know just how serious your words are? because it sure does sound like that. the thrill of her maybe knowing, maybe even returning, your feelings has your stomach flipping. "why?"

she fiddles with some diagrams on her desk, flicking a thumb on the corner, before her shoulders heave with a sigh. "for the same reason I haven't had any girl over for months."

you nearly flinch at the words, the sheer vulnerability in them yanking you into an intense fixation on her words. is she implying she hasn't had any girl over for months because of you? because, well, what reason could explain both that and why you needn't be afraid of dissatisfying her?

you can only think of one.

best friend's older sister!sevika who pulls away from her desk, spreading her thick thighs over the seat, and nods you over. "come here."

when your trembling body reaches her, she hesitates before spreading her hand along your thighs. you immediately clutch onto her shoulders, shivering at the feeling of her rough, warm palm scraping along your skin.

the gap between her teeth flashes as she laughs. "liked that?"

your nails dig into her shoulders. you don't wanna give up the game just yet. "no."

"no?" she mumbles, leaning in and grazing her teeth right where the lace trimming of your silk shorts meets your skin. "that's too bad. because if you had confirmed my suspicions, I would've rewarded you." her head leans back, eyes shining under the lamp of her bedroom. "you're lucky I'm nice and will give you one last chance."

fuck. you can't resist, not when you're this tantalizingly close to getting what you want. "fine. I--I liked it, okay?"

she presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. "finally."

twenty minutes later, she's on her back in her bed, arms hooked around your thighs while you practically hump her face. your fingers ache with how hard they're grasping onto her headboard, forehead pressed to it as she helps you move your hips on her face. your pussy is making all kinds of squelching noises as she tongues at it, the slippery muscle making a mess of spit and juices as she licks you up so messily, no direction, no rhythm, just raw instinct. her hands have your top shoved up, large hands groping your tits and tweaking your nipples. and god, she just slurps you up, drinking down the thick, sticky arousal coating your folds, wrapping her lips around them to run the tip of her tongue along their shape.

"yeah, fuck my face," she grunts into your pussy. "such a little slut, wandering into my bedroom dressed like that."

a choked out moan leaves you, and she digs her nails hard into your ass as a warning. it makes you jerk harder on her face, her nose bumping against your clit just right and making you cover your mouth in panic. of course sevika takes notice of this reaction, and just a moment later, she's rubbing the point of her nose into your stiff clit, shaking her head side to side so that you get flicked with it.

you think nothing can get better than this -- a notion immediately disproved when sevika's lips round your clit and start sucking it in, her tongue darting out to stroke roughly at it.

and that's how you come, legs shaking as you sag against her headboard and fully sit on her face, unable to stay upright. not that sevika minds, groans of pleasure lost into wetness of your cunt.

best friend's older sister!sevika who actually got her sister's blessing weeks ago and was now just waiting on you.

[softbabybelle]

CORRUPTION𓍯𓂃 r ֶָ֢cameron 003.

rafe cameron x shy!reader

 𝜗𝜚 summary : rafe has been trying to get you alone for far too long and now that he finally has, he won't give the moment up for anything.

𝜗𝜚 words : 2.3k

𝜗𝜚 c!w : smut, humping, thigh riding, public!sex, finger sucking, risk of being caught, praise kink, kinda degradation kink.

part 1, part 2.

days had passed since the incident with rafe cameron and the boy who's name you didn't wish to remember.

this time, you hadn't gone out of your way to avoid the boy but instead went back to normal, almost as if nothing had happened between you two at all. you sat on the couch of tannyhill, giggling at something on sarah's phone with your legs crossed.

now, that simply wouldn't do.

rafe had been eager for a minute alone with you which seemed almost impossible when his sister was hanging off your side every minute you spent at tannyhill.

he was sitting on the living room couch, the one across from you both, scrolling on his own phone, a finger to his mouth as he gnawed at the completely bitten down nail.

his eyes kept travelling over to you, skimpy little summers dress clinging to your form while the skirt part began to ride up your thighs as you moved against the couch.

dirty thoughts swarmed his head, thoughts that shouldn't be repeated out loud. thoughts that shouldn't have been in his head to begin with.

he thought he was sure to be damned to hell for the things he was thinking.

and then, ironically enough, the gods seemed to smile down on him. it was as if all of his prayers had been answered and every beg and grovel had finally been listened to by an angel.

the angel who's name was wheezie, standing in the living room door frame. "sarah." wheezies hair was a mess, thrown into a bun with loose strands of hair sticking out every which way, she looked tired, so awfully tired and dreadful as she stared forward at her sister who's head instantly snapped up. "please help me. i'm trying clean out my wardrobe but it's too much."

a laugh fell from sarah's mouth. "no way. it's your mess, clean it yourself."

but that was when wheezie's arms crossed over her chest, cocking a brow. "I'm sorry, who covered for you and topper last night?"

"wheezie!" sarah exasperated, glancing out into the hallway. ward and rose were upstairs but sarah still didn't wish for them to hear about the late night activities she'd been getting up to with her boyfriend.

defeated, she turned her head back to you, who was sitting so sweetly on the couch, that same sickly sweet smile crawling up on your features. you liked watching the cameron siblings interact, even if it wasn't always so pleasant, there was something oddly homely about it. "'s okay, sarah, 'm fine down here."

"okay." she sighed, getting up from the couch. "okay, you just―just hang out for a while and i'll be down soon, okay?" she watched you nod. "okay, come on, let's get this over with."

and suddenly, tension ran thick through the air.

it was you and rafe, alone.

his legs were spread apart on the armchair he was seated on, eyes running up and down your body. you seemed to notice your dress riding up and instantly tugged it down with pink cheeks. you swallowed thickly. "I, uhm―i wanted to say thank you." your eyes finally looked up to reach his.

the minute he heard your voice, his phone was turned off and tossed away. his head cocked to the side. "what for?" teasing. for he knew exactly what for.

you squirmed in your place. "for everything you did with max."

"didn't seem too grateful when you ran away, hm?" he didn't mean the bitter words that slipped from his lips. he watched the way you hung your head low, eyes glassing over. instantly, a kind of guilt washed over him and he leaned back further into the chair. "c'mere." and he patted his thigh, watching your eyes flicker down. you glanced out to the hallway and he had to roll his eyes. "'s okay, nobody'll see you. they're all too busy."

you did as you were told, crossing the room and landing in his lap.

there was something so sensational about being in his lap again.

memories flooded your head, pictures and images of you and he, in this same predicament inside his bedroom, his lips tainting yours. you couldn't help but latch your eyes onto his lips.

"you wanna tell me why you keep runnin' away, hm?" you don't answer, eyes searching anywhere but his face. he doesn't allow it, turning you slowly towards him once again. "asked you a question, sweetheart."

you fought words inside your mouth, all threatening to come tumbling out. "was scared." is all he's met with.

"scared of what?" his head dips, his eyes trying to reach yours, trying to look in and gauge your emotions. "scared of me?"

you shook your head, fingers reaching out to trail across the fabric of his sweater. "i... liked it when you kissed me." you admitted and he watched as a blush fell across your face, red reaching the tips of your ears. "i liked it a lot but 'was scared that sarah would find out 'n i don't―"

"sarah doesn't need to know anything." he answers quickly. "besides, who you kiss..." his fingers trailed across your bottom lip, sucking in his own bottom one between his teeth as he gazed down at them, sweet like honey. "is none of her business, yeah?"

you nodded too quickly, too eagerly, too convinced by his words too quickly. "'m sorry, rafe, 'm really sorry."

"think i know how you can make it up t'me." his fingers left your lips and placed themselves against your hips. "you wanna make it up to me?"

"yes, please." came out too swiftly.

he couldn't help but smirk at your eagerness. "'m gonna kiss you again, okay?" and suddenly, you could feel heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach. he leaned in, his breaths falling hot against your face, his scent filling your senses. and just as his lips brushed against your own, he whispered. "you gotta promise me something first, 'kay?"

you licked your wet lips. "anything." wanting nothing more than for rafe to lean in and seal the kiss. you'd do anything he ever asked.

"no runnin' away this time." his fingers pinched at your jaw, holding it so your eyes could reach his. "you want this? you take it 'n you don't go pushin' me away again, alright?" a curt nod. "words, princess."

"promise." you spoke quickly. "promise, rafe, please."

his lips quirked.

but he didn't keep you waiting.

when his lips crashed into yours, you were very aware of the fact that you were sitting on the couch of tannyhill, the living room door wide open. all it took was for ward or sarah to come down the stairs and they'd see what you'd been up to.

they'd see that you weren't such a good girl after all.

but you couldn't seem to care.

you were too focused on his hot hot lips, tongue slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss, hands pinching at your waist, holding you in place.

your mind began to unravel, all you could think about was him. rafe cameron. you were sitting on his lap, kissing him, again. and you swore it was a feeling unlike any feeling you'd ever felt in your entire life. it was making you so desperate, so messy, so wet.

and you were sure he could feel it too. he tugged on your waist, rolling your hips against him.

you let a whimper be swallowed by his mouth.

his lips finally broke from yours for air but he didn't allow himself enough to fully regain his breath before they were latched beneath your jaw, sucking and kissing harshly.

again, he rolled your hips. you weren't sure if it was him moving you or you doing it by yourself now. you could feel him growing hard beneath you, you could feel him pressing himself up against your clothed pussy and all you could think about was how much you needed everything off.

you needed to feel him, skin to skin.

it seemed so close yet stretched so far away.

his hands ran up the skin of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress up as he went. "r-rafe." you whimpered out, head turning to the door. "someone could see―"

"'s what you asked for, isn't it?" his hands were rough against you, tugging the dress upwards, not caring for the family who remained upstairs. "isn't it?"

you swallowed thickly. "yes." you stammered out. "b-but―"

"you still wanna make it up to me, don't you?" his brows knitted together in this false sense of sadness, as if you'd done something awful to the poor man. you'd felt suddenly guilty for even suggesting that you stop.

you felt yourself ease against him, your own brows pinching together. "'m sorry, rafe, swear 'm sorry. i'll do anything, jus' please don't be angry―"

"'m not angry." he assures you, fingers brushing up and down your thighs, inching too high. "jus' need you to do something f'me, can you do that, sweetheart?" you were nodding like a puppy, eager to do anything he would ask of you. he maneuvered you so you were situated on one of his spread thighs and not his lap anymore. "y'gonna rub yourself on my thigh like the pathetic good girl you are, okay?"

you'd never done anything like this before.

suddenly you began to panic. "rafe, someone'll hear 'n―"

"nobody'll hear you, baby, jus' gotta be nice 'n quiet, yeah?" you still looked hesitant, top teeth clamping down on your bottom lip. "would make me feel so good, princess 'n you jus' wanna make me feel good, isn't that right? yeah, baby, jus' wanna make rafe feel good, you're such a good girl, aren't you?"

and you don't know how, why, or when but suddenly, you're doing just what he told you.

your hips are stuttering as they move against his jeans, you can feel your panties growing wetter and wetter with every jolt of movement.

rafe doesn't appear to be doing much, hands skillfully moving your hips while he leans back against the armchair.

"there you go, good girl." his cock twitched in his jeans, watching your hesitant, shy face as you moved oh so slowly on his jeans. "lift your hips f'me, sweetheart." you did as you were told, pausing to lift yourself up from his thigh. his hand moved beneath you, tugging your panties to the side and rubbing gentle circles against your clit.

"oh." fell so sweetly from your lips that to anybody else, it would have appeared almost innocent. but rafe was well aware of how dirty you really were.

he landed you back on his thigh, letting you rub yourself against him, this time, it was your bare pussy that ran up and down his jean-clad thigh.

he groaned at the sight of you, free hand coming down to fix his situation that was suddenly growing in his pants. he pulled at the jeans slightly, trying to make his growing bulge less noticeable but there was simply too much to hide.

your eyes cast down to his hand, then to the bulge and you found a little whimper leaving your mouth.

his eyes studied your face, watching you lick your already wet lips and rubbing yourself against him a little quicker. sweet, poor, innocent, you was so turned on by his growing dick. and he could feel it by the dampness of his jeans turning wet hot

you really were filthy.

a particularly loud whine left your lips and rafe realised that perhaps it wasn't a smart idea to start this whole thing off while his whole family was home.

but he couldn't stop now. that'd be cruel. especially seeing how worked up he'd gotten you.

he trailed his fingers up to your lips and tapped on your chin.

you didn't even need to be told, you simply opened up. he stuck his digits right in, feeling your flat tongue against them and spit coating them.

"so filthy, baby." he uttered so softly, as if he were complimenting you. "what'll we do with you, huh?" you only whimpered around his fingers. "'s okay, sweetheart, gonna get that pussy stuffed jus' like you want. just gotta be patient, yeah? can you do that f'me?"

and you're sloppy against his thigh, sloppy against his fingers. you can feel juices rubbing against his jeans and dribble forming at the gaps between your lips and all you can do is not so dumbly.

a stutter of your hips.

a grin on his lips.

"you gonna cum, already, huh?" it didn't take long, but you were already approaching your orgasm. he wished now more than ever that he could take pictures with his mind. that he could frame this moment and pull it out every time his dick got hard. he slipped his fingers out from your mouth. "gotta ask like a good girl before you cum."

your hands pawed at his shoulders. "please, rafe." your mind was turned to mush. "please, please, please."

he shrugged so cruelly. "'m hearin' a lot of beggin' but i don't hear you asking me yet."

"p-please, can i cum?" your face was red hot, embarrassment flooding your features quickly. "please?"

he smirked, leaning back against the armchair and removing his hands from your waist. you were a big girl, you could finish yourself off. "go on, princess."

he watched as your hands pawed at him, hips stuttering and eyes rolling backwards, mouth falling open. it was such a pronographic, filthy scene. and yet, he knew by tomorrow, you'd be prancing around in the same little dress and everyone would see you as the same lovely good little girl that you pretended to be.

and rafe thought that was enough to make him cum in his own pants.

[girlgenius1111]

chosen

alexia putellas x reader after insisting on going to r's childhood home to spend christmas with her family, alexia helps r navigate a rather difficult reunion with rather difficult parents. angst -> fluff / comfort :)

—

It was almost embarrassing, bringing Alexia home to a family so devoid of love. She’d insisted, though, never having met your parents, even though you’d met her entire extended family multiple times. She’d explained it adorably, that she wanted to see where you came from and the people that raised you. You weren’t entirely sure how to tell her that none of that was worth seeing, so with several complaints, you’d agreed to return home for Christmas. Alexia could be difficult like that; when she wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. 

She wanted you to get to spend Christmas with your family, and she was making it happen. No matter what you said. 

What you absolutely couldn’t have, though, was Alexia getting to your childhood home unprepared. She had to know what she was getting herself into, and you did your best to prepare her. It started with small things, telling her how your mother was very religious, or how your father was quiet and probably wouldn’t speak much. But you couldn’t stop thinking of things to warn her about, until you were on the plane sitting next to her, a whole speech about your mother and her disapproval of your career falling from your mouth. 

“And she’ll probably say something about us getting real jobs, and I just don’t want you to–”

Alexia cut you off, grabbing the hand that was gesturing wildly as you spoke and giving it a firm squeeze. “Amor, I have been hearing that for years from people. I can take it.” 

Her smile was nothing but reassuring, and you weren’t sure how to express just how difficult your parents and your family could be. Your girlfriend knew that your relationship with your family was strained, but you’d always been very tight-lipped about the details. You were filled to the brim with anxious anticipation, and you could tell Alexia didn’t understand why you seemed to be dreading this. Christmas at home with your family should, theoretically, be an enjoyable and fun time. 

It wouldn’t be. It hadn’t been, in all the years that you’d been travelling back home for it, and you knew it’d be even worse this year, because every second your mind would be consumed with being terrified of what your girlfriend would be thinking. Of your family and the way they viewed you, the way they spoke and belittled you. The fear that she would realize just how ugly and cruel your family could be and decide she didn’t want that in her life was all consuming. 

You’d always heard that a person was the truest version of themselves with their family. This sentiment had always horrified you, your greatest fear being that it was correct. The version of you around your parents was the worst version of yourself, and Alexia was about to see all of it. 

But didn’t Alexia deserve to see what she was getting herself into with you? In the end, this was what had you convinced to let her come home with you for the holidays. She deserved to know all of the person she was with.

“Amor, hey.” Alexia called, cupping your cheek with one hand as you focused back on her, apparently having gotten lost in your thoughts. “Where did you go just now?” 

Her eyes were crinkled with concern, her fingers soft on your cheek, and you felt the sudden appearance of tears pooling in your eyes. Her brow knitted together and she leaned closer, gently kissing your cheek. 

You inhaled deeply, letting her hand in yours ground you into the present. “I’m nervous. I don’t think you get that–”

Alexia interrupted you again, covering your mouth with her hand. “I understand that your family is difficult. I understand that your relationship with them is not the best. But maybe this can be your chance to try to mend things, no? And I promise, amorcita, nothing I see from your family will make me love you any less.” 

Alexia kissed you again before pulling you into her chest as best she could with the arm of the airplane seat in between you. You let her hold you, wondering if she was telling the truth. If she’d really still love you after… what you were increasingly sure would be a disaster was over. 

—

It started as soon as you arrived. There were a few moments of peace on the drive from the airport to your parents house, with Alexia practically smooshing her face against the window to get a glimpse of your hometown.  

And then you’d arrived, and within a few minutes of your arrival, your mother had commented on your hair, your clothes, your career, and your lack of time spent at home. Alexia was quiet, as you knew she would be, because she still felt insecure about her English, and she much preferred to listen to it than to speak it. 

Your parents seemed to like Alexia, at least, commenting on how put together she seemed, and how kind it was of her to bring the bottle of wine she had with her as a gift for them. You were still tense, though, standing in the pristinely white kitchen with your parents and your siblings, discussing the plans for the day. It was the 22nd, and there were still things needed to be done before everyone arrived on Christmas Eve. Alexia stood at your side, just observing. 

“Alright, what else does everyone need to do?” Your mother asked, taking out a notepad and holding her pen at the ready over it, as if you all weren’t adults that could remember simple tasks.

“I need to get the ingredients for the Christmas cookies I’m going to make.” You stated, having done all of your shopping already and sent it ahead. 

“Really? You’re going to make those cookies?” Your mother replied, her fast twisting with disgust. You shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Yes, everyone normally likes them.” 

Your mother exchanged a look with your father, smirking as she looked back at her list. “Honey, no one eats them. I throw most of them out every year when you’re not looking.” 

Your face burned with embarrassment, and you shrunk into yourself, head bowed as you stared at the floor and willed everyone to stop looking at you. This was what you’d always done; instead of arguing back, you’d shut down. They could say what they wanted, but you didn’t have to let it hurt you. You weren’t exactly sure how to stop it from hurting, but they didn’t have to know that. 

Yet as your Mom turned to your sister to ask her what she had left to do, Alexia stepped closer towards you, grabbing your hand and taking a deep breath. 

“I like the cookies. And so does the team, they always ask you to bring them.” Her voice was soft, words accented, but the room was silent. Your mother turned to look at her, an odd expression on her face, and you sighed internally. You could feel nothing but deep gratitude for Alexia, sweet loyal Alexia who loved anything you cooked and and refused to let even you criticize yourself. 

Your Mother chuckled, a cruel sound that made you wince. 

“You don’t need to lie, Alexia, you’re already way out of her league. You shouldn’t have to eat her awful baking too.” Your Mother joked, a glint in her eye that told you she wasn’t really joking.

Still, Alexia seemed offended at your mother’s words, and you should have known she would be. Her grip on your hand tightened, and she stepped in closer. 

“No, she is a good baker, and I–”

Your father cut Alexia off, speaking for the first time since you’d arrived. “Well, the Spanish do have weird tastes. Excessively affectionate, too.” His eyes flickered down to where your hand was intertwined with Alexia’s, his meaning clear in his tone. 

You felt Alexia’s hand slip from yours, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that she had turned red. This was a step too far. Making Alexia feel embarrassed for showing affection towards you… you could take everything they had to throw at you, but they were not allowed to mess with the best person you’d ever known. 

You stepped forward, despite the light tug on the back of your shirt from Alexia, clearly telling you to let it go. You couldn’t let it go; you could handle the disrespect from your parents, but you wouldn’t let them do the same to Alexia. 

“That was rude, Dad.” Your voice shook pathetically, the big stand you were taking seemed pitiful as soon as you tried to speak. 

Again, your parents just exchanged amused glances, and you could see out of the corner of your eye your siblings rolling their eyes. It seemed as if no one was on your side, and you weren’t sure why you were surprised. That’s how it always went. 

Without another word in your direction, your Mother turned to your siblings, asking them what they had left to do. Of course, there was no criticism of the cake your sister intended to bake, even though it always came out dry. No one told your brother that the amount of alcohol he was planning on getting was absurd. It seemed the humiliation was only reserved for you. 

The old feeling was back, the one of deep loneliness. You’d spent almost 18 years in this house, feeling like an outsider. Whenever you returned, it was like you reverted back to the 18 year old that had left, no matter how much time had passed. You always felt like an irrationally angry kid in the face of how your parents treated you, and you hated it. Always second guessing yourself, always half sure that you were the one in the wrong. Your parents, your brother and your sister, they all agreed that you were the problem. You were alone, here, like you always were. 

Another tug on your hand, though, reminded you that you weren’t actually alone. 

“Come on, show me your room.” Alexia whispered, her hands gentle as she guided you out of the room. She was shocked, to say the least, at your family’s treatment of you. She’d known you had a difficult relationship but she didn’t imagine it was like this. You’d been home for 10 minutes, seeing your parents for the first time in almost a year, and they’d wasted no time trying to embarrass you in front of her. She was hoping this was a one off, though, perhaps an inside joke she had misunderstood. So, she let you lead the way to your room, taking in the small space more critically than she normally would have. 

Her room at her mothers house was left practically untouched from when she’d moved out. It was filled with posters of footballers and old memories. Your room here, though, was devoid of any sentiment. No pictures, no decorations, nothing that made it feel like it had been yours. Alexia wasn’t sure if your parents had cleared away any trace of you from the room, or if it had never really been decorated in the first place. She wasn’t sure which she preferred, honestly. 

But as you leaned into her wordlessly for a hug as soon as the bedroom door shut behind you, Alexia began to worry. Making you bring her here was starting to feel like a mistake. She didn’t have the whole picture, or even most of it. All she knew was that she hated the blank expression on your face, and she hated the way you seemed to shrink into yourself around your parents. Like you’d rather disappear than be noticed by them. 

—

It wasn’t a one off, the awkward moment upon your immediate arrival home. It had barely been 24 hours, but Alexia had witnessed at least 5 different instances of your parents treating you like an inconvenient annoyance instead of the daughter they hadn’t seen in almost a year. 

First, it was your mother asking about your plans for when football ended. 

“All I’m saying, honey, is that you are not going to be able to find a good job with your school records.” She tutted, before turning to Alexia. “I swear, she didn’t finish a math or science class with more than a C her entire time in school.”  

Your mother smiled, as if she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Alexia’s face was one of both shock and horror. Her mami would never have said something even remotely close to what your mother had just said, even if Alexia had failed every class she’d ever taken. It was so unnecessary, and your girlfriend could see the weight your mother’s words had over you. 

It was more of the same from the day before; instead of saying anything in response, you just sank back into the couch, gaze fixed on the floor. This only seemed to mollify your mom, and as she kept talking, rehashing every test you’d failed, Alexia could see tears beginning to well in your eyes. 

“Her marks were so bad before she left for football, I don’t think she would have even graduated.” Your mother chuckled. It was untrue; your grades weren’t that bad. Not the best, sure, but you weren’t in any danger of failing or getting kicked out. Still, it was like your mouth was sealed shut, and saying anything in response wasn’t possible. You couldn’t defend yourself, you couldn’t even look up from the ground. It was pathetic. 

“Amor, can you help me choose what to wear tonight? I brought two sweaters, and I cannot decide.” 

Alexia didn’t wait for a response from you, standing and reaching for your hand, well past caring that your parents seemed to think of Alexia’s affection as something of an entertaining joke. You followed her down the hall and into your bedroom, her hand warm and soft in yours, only making the sob caught in your throat more difficult to keep in. 

As soon as you were safely in your sadly bare bedroom, though, she was wrapping you up tight in her arms. 

You tried to defend yourself, mortified at everything your mother had said, words mumbled into Alexia’s sweatshirt. “I’m not dumb. She made it sound like I’m dumb, but–”

Alexia cut you off, holding you even tighter. “You are not dumb, I know this. Do not listen to her, do not even think about it. You are so intelligent, mi amor, I promise you.” 

Your body began to shake in her arms, a quiet thank you breaking the brief silence. You were crying, and it was all Alexia could do to keep holding you until the tears stopped. What else could she say? 

But for every conversation that followed in which your mother attempted to belittle you or make you feel bad, Alexia would find an excuse to pull you away. 

When your mother expressed her distaste for your haircut, Alexia practically wrote you a poem in the garage about how much she loved your hair. 

When your father made a thinly veiled comment about how you were most definitely not invited to church the following day, as the other families would be judgemental about your lifestyle, Alexia was right beside you, trying to hold back her absolute fury. She forced a smile, telling your father it was better you both stay home, because ignorance and stupidity were not worth engaging with. 

When your mother suggested you eat a salad instead of the pasta you were going to order for dinner, Alexia very pointedly informed your mother that you were among the fittest on the team. And later, laying in bed, when she could tell you were still thinking about the comment, she… reminded you how much she loved your body. Twice. 

Alexia had an answer for everything, a way to make your chest stop squeezing whenever your mother opened her mouth. You weren’t sure how she was doing it, weren’t sure why she was possibly still here. After all of your flaws were explicitly laid out in front of her, she seemed only more determined to make it clear how much she loved you. 

It was easier, one you decided to just focus on Alexia and not what your parents had to say. With her there with you, it felt like this was a trip you could maybe get through. 

But then Alexia offered to take the family dog for a long walk while you caught up with your sister, by far your favorite member of the family. She thought it was important that you have time together, and she didn’t mind a bit of time away from the loud chaos that had taken over the house.  

She left with the dog, returning only 45 minutes later, with no idea what her absence had given the opportunity for. 

Alexia came back into the house, unhooking the dog from his leash, the smile falling from her face when she sensed the tension in the room. You were nowhere to be seen, and your parents looked beyond furious, clattering around angrily in the kitchen as they cooked. Your sister sat on the couch, guilt written across her face. 

“She’s in her room, go,” your sister whispered, catching Alexia’s eye and giving her a meaningful nod. It didn’t take a mind reader to understand what had happened. Things had been on the brink with your parents the short time you’d been home. It seemed everything had finally boiled over. Alexia moved towards your room as fast as was socially acceptable, knocking softly on the door before opening it. You were sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, face wet with tears. 

“Oh, mí bebe,” Alexia whispered, shutting the door quietly behind her and lowering herself onto the ground next to you. Her strong arms pulled you into a tight hug, and you burrowed into her, not minding the chill of her skin from the cold outside. No hug had ever felt warmer. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, feeling guilt upon guilt at the fact that you’d brought your girlfriend into this environment, even if she’d insisted on it. How embarrassed she must be, to see you so easily humiliated by your parents. She must be rethinking everything, your whole relationship. 

But, as Alexia was often inclined to do, she surprised you, tenderly wiping away your tears and giving you a reassuring smile. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, nothing.” She assured you, leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek. 

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” 

“Then let’s go. We can get flights back to Spain. Be home before Christmas, spend it ourselves. Just us.” 

“You’d do that?” 

“Of course I would, amor.”

“You wanted to come here, though, I don’t want to ruin everything,”

Alexia cut you off. “I don’t want to be anywhere that makes you unhappy.” She said softly. You looked up at her finally, and the adoring expression on her face as she gazed down at you was almost overwhelming. 

“Okay.” You murmured, pressing your face into her shoulder. She held you close, pulling out her phone to buy tickets on the next flight out. Once that was done, she guided you away from the safety of her sweatshirt, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“Get packing. I am going to speak to your parents.” 

“Ale,”

“No. I am. Stay here, pack. I will be back in a moment.” 

—

You couldn’t be sure what Alexia said to your parents. They didn’t speak as you left the house, and neither did either of your siblings. They all just watched you go, a somewhat impressed look on your sister’s face. Alexia wouldn’t tell you, either, saying she’d just told them what they needed to hear. 

The next half a day or so went by in a blur. You were emotionally exhausted from being home, and Alexia practically had to drag you through the airport once you’d landed in Barcelona. Before you knew it, you were at Alexia’s mother’s house for Christmas Eve. Eli had been delighted to have the both of you home, not saying a single word about how you were supposed to be at your family’s home. 

You could relax, finally, at Eli’s house with people you felt comfortable around. You loved Alexia’s family, loved how they all seemed excited to see you, asked you enthusiastic questions about your life. It was nice, spending the holidays with them. With Alexia’s arms around your shoulders, making sure you were always tucked into her side, and her family so happily chatting around you, it was so nice to be around a happy, loving family. 

Happy, though, wasn’t all you felt. You watched Alexia with her Mami, her cousins and her aunts and uncles. She fit so easily, smiling widely as she joked around with them. Alexia was loved by her family, but you were not. You never had been and you didn’t understand why.  

There had to be over 50 people in the house, and you were confident that no one would notice if you slipped off, just for a minute. Someone had noticed. Alba noticed the tears in your eyes, too, the ones you hadn’t even been aware of. So, while you darted off to the bathroom, the brunette went in search of her sister. 

She found her in a crowd of her uncles, in a heated argument about some football tactic. Alba didn’t have the patience to wait until the conversation had ended, and knew that if Alexia had seen you just a few moments before, she wouldn’t either. 

“Ale.” Alba said quietly, pulling on her sister’s arm. The blonde shook her off, barely turning her head to look at her as she did so. “Alexia, now.” 

With a roll of her eyes, Alexia exited the conversation. “Ay dios mio, what, Alba?” she huffed, dragging her feet as Alba yanked her in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Your girlfriend snuck away, and it looked like she was crying. Just thought you’d want to know.” Alba snapped with a frown, turning on her heel and stomping away. Alexia would fix that later, she thought. 

“Amor?” Alexia called, knocking quietly. “Are you in there?” 

She heard a deep inhale, and then your shaky voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second.” 

Alexia tried the handle again. “Let me in, please.” 

A moment passed before the lock clicked open and Alexia practically threw herself through the door and into the bathroom. 

Your makeup was running, and you were desperately trying to mop up the tears still streaming down your face. 

“Come here.” Alexia said simply, opening her arms for you to collapse into. It was a good thing she was wearing a black sweater, or there’d have been mascara visible all over it. You sniffled against her for a few moments, and she didn’t push you to talk. She ran her hand through your hair, leaving a light kiss on the top of your head. 

You pulled away after a moment, reaching for a tissue, but Alexia grabbed one before you could, gently wiping away the tears and running makeup off your face. She had a frown set on her face, and you misunderstood the cause. 

“I’m sorry. I’m okay, you can go back to your family.” 

Her frown deepened. “Do not say sorry. What upset you? Did someone say something?” 

You shook your head, feeling more tears well up in your eyes though you knew you really shouldn’t be crying anymore about this.  “No, no one said anything.” You were wilting under Alexia’s stern gaze, so she made a conscious effort to soften, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. 

“Tell me what has you so upset.” She encouraged, pulling your body closer into hers. 

You exhaled shakily, not quite sure how to explain it without sounding like an awful, pathetic person. “I… it’s just…” 

Alexia sighed, resting her hand on your cheek and encouraging you to look up at her. “You can tell me, bebé. Whatever it is, you can always tell me.” 

“It’s hard.” You mumbled eventually, studying the floor under your feet very closely.  

“What is hard?” 

“Being here.” You admitted. “With your family who all adore you, and they should, it’s just that my family… they don’t… and I just want…” Your voice broke and you slammed your mouth shut, unwilling to allow yourself to break down again. 

“Amor,” Alexia breathed, engulfing you once more in a tight hug. “I know. It is not fair the way they treat you, I am so sorry. It makes sense that this is hard, I understand.” 

You held tight to your girlfriend, letting the smell of her perfume wash over you. Alexia always knew what to say. Always knew how to make you feel better. You didn’t deserve someone as good as her, you were sure of that. As if reading your thoughts, Alexia leaned away from the hug and cradled your face in her hands. 

“Let’s go home. I have a surprise for you there.” Her face was so earnest and hopeful, you felt your heart melt. 

“But your family–”

“They will understand, and I am pretty sure they will not even notice us leave anyway, it is so loud in here, everyone loves to hear the sound of their own voice.” With a fond roll of her eyes and a half smile, Alexia had you convinced. She made sure the makeup that had run while you cried was wiped off your face, before expertly leading you out of the house. As she said, most of her family was too busy chatting to notice Alexia pulling you through the crowd, though she did stop to say goodbye to her mother. Eli gave you a tight hug, sending the two of you on your way with a large shopping bag full of wrapped gifts. 

It didn’t seem to bother Alexia, leaving early. In fact, she seemed so excited about whatever surprise she had for you at home that she was practically bouncing in the driver’s seat. Her excitement remained all the way home, until you were sitting on the sofa in your shared apartment, hands dutifully covering your eyes. 

There was some rustling in the front hall closet, what sounded like a box falling from a shelf and Alexia’s voice quietly swearing. You smiled to yourself, hearing her footsteps approach, before something was placed in your lap. 

“Okay! Open!” Alexia sang, sitting on the edge of the coffee table just in front of you. Opening your eyes, you found a gift bag resting in your lap, puffy as though it was a bit too small for whatever was inside, tissue paper haphazardly covering the opening of the bag. “Come on! Open!” 

You chuckled, pulling the tissue paper out of the reindeer covered bag, and reaching in. Before you had even processed the fabric in your hands, Alexia was leaning in to kiss you, bursting with eagerness. 

“It is matching Christmas pajamas!” She burst out, grinning from ear to ear as you unfolded the red and white plaid pajama pants, white long sleeve shirts with a well decorated christmas tree adorning the front. 

You couldn’t help but match her energy, smiling back at her as she explained herself. 

“I looked up Christmas traditions we could start, just ourselves. I have a whole list, and this is the first thing on the list. New matching pajamas every Christmas Eve. A new… our family tradition.” 

It shouldn’t have surprised you, that Alexia thought of you as her family, but maybe you just weren’t expecting anyone to choose you when your family wouldn’t even do that. You dropped the pajamas into your lap, pulling her in for a soft kiss. “You’re the sweetest. I love it. And I love you.” 

“I love you more.” Alexia whispered, kissing you again before pulling you to your feet. “Let’s put them on and watch a Christmas movie!” 

It didn’t matter that Alexia didn’t particularly care for Christmas movies. Not when she was waiting for you on the bed, her set of pajamas looking adorable on her. Her fading blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her face broke into a massive smile when she saw you in your set of pajamas. 

And as you laid in Alexia’s arms, plaid pajama covered legs tangled together as a Christmas movie played on the TV, it didn’t matter so much that you didn’t have your family to celebrate with. You had Alexia, and that was more than enough. 

—

have not proofread this so pls tell me if you find a typo

i hope you enjoy! i know the holidays aren't always enjoyable for everyone, and honestly it's gonna be a weird one for me, but i hope everyone feels loved and appreciated this year.

[simplygojo]

Pussydrunk ⸺ Choso Kamo

author's note ⸺ Saw some crazy Choso art this morning and I know that the world can always use more Choso smut...so enjoy. Also yes-he does thank you for your pussy... pairing ⸺ Choso Kamo x reader teaser ⸺ '"You let out a breathy laugh and tilted your head slightly at him, “You’re thanking me? For letting you eat me out?” Choso gave you a goofy little grin, his face still buried in your legs as he responds with exaggerated sincerity. “Of course..."' content ⸺ 18+ SMUT, MDNI, pussydrunk choso, he is OBSESSED, cunnilingus, shy emo boy turned feral, oral sex (reader recv.), choso is such a nice boy he thanks u for ur pussy, he lovesss to eat you out but let a guy have hobbies!! overstimulation, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions || discord channel

Choso is perfect. Too perfect—really. 

Your sweet, soft-spoken, emo boyfriend who always knows exactly what you need. The one who texts you to remind you to drink water, gets you your favourite snacks even when you don’t ask, and holds your hand like it’s the most sacred thing in the world. 

He’s calm, attentive, and gentle—everything anyone could want in a partner.

But there’s something about him—a hidden streak that surfaces only when you’re alone.

And only when he’s between your legs.

It’s almost comical how the man who blushes when you tease him in public—who can’t take compliments without fumbling for words, turns into someone so utterly unrestrained when he’s got his face buried in your cunt. 

Your shy, sweet Choso becomes something else entirely. Feral. Hungry. Completely pussydrunk.

It’s not just a casual thing for him—it’s a fixation, a need. 

The way his pupils blow wide whenever you start to undress or the way his hands unconsciously flex when you shift your legs apart? He’s thinking about it. How soft you’d feel, how warm and wet and impossibly sweet? Yep, he’s thinking about it…and he never tries to hide it.

It starts so innocently every time, just like it had tonight, his long fingers brushing your thighs as he kisses your inner knees. 

He whispers something tender, something like, “You’re so beautiful,” as his lips trace paths closer to where you’re desperate for him.

His words always make your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, he’s dipping his head lower, brushing his nose along the seam of your panties. 

You let out a quiet gasp, hips twitching when his tongue flicks out to trace the damp fabric.

“Already wet for me,” he says, and there’s something darker in his tone now—a hint of what’s to come. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband, sliding your underwear down your legs with deliberate slowness, and his breath catches when you’re finally bare before him.

Then the first taste hits his tongue, and that’s it—Choso’s gone.

Your thighs barely get the chance to press around his head before his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, so he can bury his face in your pretty cunt.

The first press of his tongue against your folds makes your back arch off the bed. 

Choso groaned like he’s the one being pleasured, and the sound vibrated against you, drawing a soft cry from your lips. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer, and he buries his face in you like a man starved.

He alternates between teasing your clit with quick flicks of his tongue and plunging it back inside you, each movement pulling a new, breathless whimper from your lips.

The soft squelch of his mouth working on you made your thighs twitch, but Choso didn’t stop. 

If anything, he groans louder, the sound reverberating through your core as his tongue dips back down to your entrance. He licks into you slowly, savouring the way you tighten around the soft, wet muscle.

You try to push him back once you’re trembling, overstimulated from his relentless attention, but Choso isn’t having it.

“Just once more,” he breathed against your skin, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. They’re glassy, unfocused—completely drunk on you. “Please, baby. Can’t stop. You taste so good.”

And how could you say no to that? To the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters? He is just so damn pretty. I–

His hands roam your thighs, holding them open as he devours you, sucking your clit between his lips and humming with satisfaction every time you cry out. 

When your fingers thread into his hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss, he only doubles down, tongue thrusting into your heat like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath. His lips and chin are coated in your arousal as he looks up at you with his dark hooded eyes—absolutely pussydrunk.

He looked wrecked—flushed cheeks, mussed hair, chest heaving like he’s the one who just came—and yet, he’s still leaning forward, nuzzled against your thigh, leaving lazy kisses like he can’t help himself.

“You okay?” You’d ask, voice shaky, and his lips curl into a sheepish smile as he rests his cheek on your leg.

“More than okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just above your knee. “You’re perfect. Thank you for letting me do this baby..”

You let out a breathy laugh and tilted your head slightly at him, “You’re thanking me? For letting you eat me out?” 

Choso gave you a goofy little grin, his face still buried in your legs as he responded with exaggerated sincerity. “Of course. You’re like... a goddess, and I’m just the humble servant here, living the dream.”

You snort at his attempt to be dramatic, your hands running through his messy, dark hair. “Well, I’m glad to know you’re really living right now.”

He peeks up at you, giving you a wink that’s way too cocky for his usual shy self. 

“Absolutely. You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says, and you can’t help but giggle at its ridiculousness.

“Choso, you’re so extra sometimes.” You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’re enjoying it.

His lips curl into a grin again as he presses another kiss against your inner thigh. “What can I say? I don’t hold back. I’m committed, you know?”

You gave him a raised eyebrow. “Committed, huh? To eating me out?”

Choso nods earnestly. “Yes, baby. To you. This is my true calling.” He lets out a dramatic sigh and presses his face against your leg again like he’s contemplating his life choices.

You laugh out loud at his melodramatic antics, but before you can make another joke, he dives back in, his tongue moving expertly against your clit with a series of teasing strokes. 

And that is how you and your cutie-emo-pussydrunk man spent the next few hours…

[hcneymooners]

⋆ rose moon.

mafia leader!sevika x younger!female!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you've always loved sevika, despite the tension between her and your father and their shaky alliance. it was only a matter of time before she loved you back. 

cw: sevi is in the mafia baby!!, age difference, dysfunctional family, older woman/younger woman, power dynamics, slight power imbalance, love confessions, not actually unrequited love, misunderstandings, explicit sexual content, masturbation, exhibitionism, strapping, sex toys, dom/sub undertones, top!sevika, praise kink, degradation kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, obsession, you get bratty and sevi isn't having it, protective sevika, oral fixation (implied), forbidden love, resolved sexual tension, seduction (you try lmao), non-sexual intimacy, bathing/washing, face-sitting, you've loved sevi since you were 17 but nothing happens till you're 20, and she doesn't even like you like that till you turn 19, mutual pining, sevi has better control though. notes: i love her so much. it's eating me alive. let me know if you want a pt. ii or if you have a request. love you.

since you were a young girl, you’d known there would be only one love of your life. it didn’t matter how many times you were destined to date or marry; there would be one person who would capture you, body and soul. you had resigned yourself to a life laced with symptoms of unhappiness if you were barred from being with them.

then you met sevika.

you had peeked around your mother’s hips—fourteen and praying for a growth spurt—your curious eyes drinking in the stark lines of your father’s office. sevika had been a brooding figure on the edge of his desk—a storm contained in a silk suit, her gaze weighty, her hands scarred and capable.

she was the most singularly beautiful thing you had ever seen, and you still believed that.

it was a clarifying moment in twofold: on one hand, you understood your family’s accusations of weakness had lost their sting the moment you saw light thread across the silvery skin of her scars. on the other, you realized you were underestimated. you would have sacrificed every ounce of your bloodline, sown salt into the earth of your familial legacy, if it meant you could be beholden to her for eternity.

anyone surprised by the revelation that you loved sevika simply hadn’t been paying attention. it felt as though, since you’d first learned to breathe, you’d been enamored with her.

when you were young, your family found it endearing—your wide-eyed infatuation with one of the most feared women in the city. you trailed after her, quiet but relentless, and she had been patient.

she let you cling to her hand when you were frightened, let you curl into her space when you sought attention. she was firm but fond, tolerant of your tantrums and the transgressions of a spoiled girl who had always been given too much and still wanted more.

despite the risks, sevika had allowed herself to possess a favorite. you used to cry alligator tears when she left for long periods—because you were seventeen and didn’t yet understand it.

once, she gripped your jaw when you’d earned it, twenty and fresh-mouthed, her calloused fingers pressing gently into the soft skin. you couldn’t name the feeling it stirred—something dangerous and deep as she stared you down—but it stayed with you. that moment clarified your vocation.

and so you began to push.

you fought for her—through her—tearing past every shield she raised: her doubts about the gap in your ages, her cruel certainty that you could never endure the life she’d lived, the life your parents kept hidden from you, or the world she was still shaping with her iron grip.

criminal, she’d spat once, the word acid on her tongue, as though it was a slur she couldn’t wash away. but you had only looked at her, calm and unwavering, and reminded her who your father was.

you knew the spores of your affection had spread, had infested her. her eyes would catch on the press of your breasts, how they strained against gowns you tailored to be unforgiving in their intent. she always lit a cigar to occupy her mouth when an admirer stole your attention, restraining herself from speaking out of turn.

“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” she told you once, back when you were still a simpering ingénue.

“i have always been sure of what i want,” you replied, unflinching. she had only chuckled, thumb grazing your chin before leaving you to your slow breath and trembling mouth.

your family would never forgive you for this—choosing her over them. their anger would hang in the air, an unspoken threat, and you would spend your life waiting for the moment someone came to drag you back, to force you into the inheritance you had defiled. they would call sevika a thief, accuse her of stealing you in the dead of night, as if your love for her were something to be taken rather than earned. but you were ready for this. willing to endure it all.

now, as you stepped from your bedroom, you thought of how tonight could not go wrong. it was her birthday, and this would be your greatest declaration of love.

the party would be a lavish celebration of her impressive journey.

you raised a hand to your cheeks, pressing down on the tight skin. the ache was familiar—a result of the constant, relentless smiling as you readied yourself for her arrival all night. you wondered if there would be bruises later, if the skin would turn mottled and rotten. you didn’t care. everything you did was a labor of love.

you felt her enter the house, the air around you seeming to breathe easier.

“[name]?” your mother called, her voice curling up the staircase.

“coming,” you answered, your body trembling with barely contained excitement.

♕𓃮

the party was gilded, extravagant.

you had planned it with trembling hands, pouring over every detail until the edges of your vision blurred and a headache surged, each choice made with the silent hope that sevika might experience happiness, if only for a moment. you had begged your parents for this, wrapped in promises of alliances and strengthened ties, though your intentions had always been singular.

you wore gold for her—another dress clinging to you like a second skin, the fabric shimmering like starlight. a soft veil draped over your hair, your neck adorned with delicate jewelry you’d once been too shy to wear. compliments whispered as you passed—some sincere, others crude—but all of them mingled in the haze of champagne and the soft hum of music. you could barely hear them, your pulse frantic as you searched for sevika within the crowd.

carefully, you began to climb the stairs, seeking a better vantage point.

“there you are, little bird.”

the words made you shiver, then preen. sevika’s voice swallowed you—low, rough, like smoke and gravel. you didn’t need to turn to know she was right behind you, her silhouette tall and imposing, haloed by the faint glow of the party below.

you turned, and your chest practically opened, eager to display your heart—weak, wanting. your mouth parted to offer birthday wishes, but a laugh sounded, sharp and cutting.

“look at her. she might as well have ‘kneel’ written across her forehead.”

“pathetic.”

you smiled through it, cheeks burning, despite your body threatening to collapse in on itself in embarrassment. sevika cast a sharp look that exacted a heavy silence, her mouth twitching with displeasure. without another word, the partygoers dispersed, and you touched your waist briefly to stabilize your body as it swayed in relief. she looked back at you, brow furrowed, studying your face.

pathetic.

that’s what they had called you.

“sweet girl.”

you tried to speak again, but only managed, “one moment. i need to check on the food.”

you weren’t sure where you were headed, but it wasn’t the kitchens. eventually, you found yourself upstairs in the darkened hallway of the east wing, hands braced against the edge of a credenza.

the music drifted faintly below, strings lilting up the staircase like spiteful ghosts. you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to swallow the knot in your throat.

“[name].”

as if struck, your body convulsed with shame as you realized sevika had followed you, only to find you like this. you must have looked so naïve, so stupid.

“sevika. i’m—i’m so sorry,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to meet her eyes. “i shouldn’t have left. the cake will be out soon. i just needed a moment.”

her boots crossed the wooden floors, deliberate and steady, until you felt her presence behind you. sevika—imposing and unshakable, as though the weight of the world couldn’t move her. and here you were, twenty years her junior, trembling beneath her gaze like a leaf caught in the breeze.

“turn around.”

you obeyed, as you always did, though your gaze stayed fixed on her chest. she was so close now, the scent of leather and something faintly metallic lingering on her. when you finally dared to glance up, you found her studying you—those dark eyes sharp, too knowing, as if she could see every jagged thought in your head.

“has it been like this all night?”

“sevika,” you said, and it was answer enough.

“that’s not what you usually call me,” she remarked, a slight curve to her mouth.

you flushed and tugged at your sleeves.

“i—well. i don’t think you need more reasons to view me as juvenile.”

sevika rolled her eyes, unimpressed at your jab.

“i don’t view you as juvenile, princess. i’m well aware you’re a woman.” she cast a long look over you after that, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip as her gaze followed the pendant dipping into the rising swell of your breasts. “i don’t misunderstand that.”

“besides,” sevika continued. “i like it.”

you never could argue against pleasing her.

“well, it is your birthday,” you sighed, and she smiled.

“thank you, sweet girl.” she tilted her head. “you’re so good to me.”

you turned away again, pressing your fingers to your cheeks as if to send your blood flowing away with urgency.

“it’s alright if you’re upset. they were cruel to you,” she said.

you laughed softly, the sound hollow, and spun to face her. “they’re right, though, aren’t they? i’m… a silly, pathetic little thing. i thought—” you broke off, embarrassed. “it doesn’t matter.”

“tell me.”

your fingers curled around the edge of the credenza, the words clawing their way up your throat. “i thought maybe… if you saw what i thought of you—what i did for you—”

the words hung heavy, the silence stretching between you like a knife’s edge.

“what did you do?” sevika asked quietly, her voice unreadable. “show me.”

you hesitated, shame prickling beneath your skin.

“it was supposed to be your grand gift,” you said finally. “for tonight.”

“show me,” she repeated.

your heart stumbled, but you nodded, slipping past her and further down the hall. sevika followed, her footsteps a steady beat behind you as you led her to the study. your hands trembled as you unlocked the desk drawer and pulled out the deed.

“i bought it back,” you said softly, holding it out to her. “your family’s ranch. the one you lost when you were a child.”

sevika didn’t take it at first. she just stared at you, her expression unreadable, until you dropped your gaze.

“i know it’s foolish,” you murmured, the words rushing out in a whisper. “but you must know by now that i’ve loved you for my entire life. the world is somewhat right—i am a melancholic creature driven by my whims. a spoiled brat at times, but i could—” your voice caught. “i could be better. i just… i thought maybe if you saw what i thought of you, you’d…”

“decide to love you back?” sevika finished for you, her tone firm but not unkind.

you nodded, eyes stinging. this was horrible. how did people confess their feelings? it was like staring down the barrel of a gun. she still wasn’t speaking, and your ears were beginning to ring. the shot had sounded.

instead, she reached out, calloused fingers tipping your chin up until you were forced to meet her gaze. her expression had softened, though something dangerous lingered, coiled and waiting.

“princess,” she began, and you lifted yourself from her hold.

“it’s alright,” you said, voice weak. “i had to try one final time. we [last name(s)] were never good at admitting defeat.”

“[name].”

it almost sounded like pleading. you put distance between the two of you and hid your shaking fingers in the folds of your dress. the door loomed behind her, and you sidestepped her thick body, desperate to escape.

“it’s fine. i need to prepare your cake. i’ll see you in the ballroom.”

you turned back.

“oh, and happy birthday, sevi.”

♕𓃮

shame pressed hot against your chest.

the bath water was scalding, the steam curling thickly in the air, but it couldn’t quite reach the knot tightening in your throat. you pressed your cheek to your knees, the weight of the evening finally catching up to you. you let yourself drift, welcoming the disassociation. turns out you couldn’t do anything right—not even shield yourself from sevika’s quiet entrance into your bathroom.

she leaned against the counter, her presence steady, and cleared her throat. it took you several moments to notice her, and when you did, you let out an undignified shriek. without thinking, you sat up, instinctively covering yourself. with another shriek, you scrambled for a towel as she calmly turned, propping open the window next to the sink, releasing a thick ring of cigar smoke. she stepped forward, plucking the towel from your hands and pushing you—tenderly—back into the water.

“what the fuck, sevi?”

she laughed, a low, rich sound.

“there you are. i hated that simpering nonsense you were doing earlier.”

“you mean when i confessed my undying love for you, and you told me you didn’t feel the same?”

“no,” she answered, her voice a dark purr. “i mean when you told me you loved me, and then ran like a coward.”

you huffed, turning away, the shame settling deeper.

sevika sat beside you, her metal hand tugging gently at your hair. the other, still cradling her cigar, absently traced the line of your collarbone. she didn’t speak, but you leaned into her, seeking the comfort she offered without words. her scent, a blend of blackberry and whiskey, mingled with the rose-scented bath soap. the only sound was the soft lap of water against the sides of the tub.

still, the quiet was suffocating. you couldn’t suppress the gnawing self-deprecation that had been simmering for months. it rose like a flood, impossible to contain. the weight of it pressed against your chest, the last remnants of your resolve crumbling. when sevika put out her cigar, you took that as your cue.

“i resigned myself to a life of displeasure,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

sevika didn’t respond at first. she simply pulled you closer, her fingers tightening just enough to ground you. her lips brushed against the crown of your head, but you could feel the tension building in her body, the way she braced for what was coming. she knew something was about to break.

“i prepared myself to lose you in some way,” you said, the words tasting bitter. “there would be nothing after you. i’d marry as a fail-safe, in case the business needed an alliance. and if things got bad, maybe i’d just—”

the words hung in the air, brittle and sharp in their conjuring, before being shattered by sevika’s breath—a ragged, shuddering inhale. you felt the muscles in her arm tighten, as if she were holding herself together by a thread. when she spoke, her voice was low, raw, and dangerous.

“don’t,” she commanded, her words thick with fury, “ever say that to me again.”

you stared at her, startled by the force of her reaction, and found her face tight, her eyes blazing with something primal. she was holding herself together by the thinnest thread, and you realized that the thought of losing you, of you slipping away, was a wound deeper than anything physical.

her hand came to your face, gripping your jaw with careful strength. sevika’s eyes searched yours, the intensity of her gaze making your chest ache.

“do you think i’d be so cruel?” her voice cracked, as if it pained her just to ask. “that i would let you slip away into nothing?”

the rawness of her voice trembled through you. she wasn’t angry—not really.

“i would burn this whole fucking world down before i let you die, do you hear me?” sevika’s words came out in a low rasp. “i will always find a way to save you. i will protect you, no matter what it costs. even if you hate me for it. you are mine, and i will never let you go.”

you felt her hands tremble as they slid down your arms, as if memorizing every inch of you, ensuring you were still here. still breathing.

“you are so—”

her gaze hardened.

“i asked them,” she said, her voice steady now. “tonight. wanted to do it properly.”

“asked who?”

“your parents. i petitioned them for your hand.”

the words hit like a punch to the gut, and you recoiled, your mind scrambling. “and they said no?”

“mmm.” she nodded.

you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. you pushed back, away from her, but she caught your wrist, holding you steady. your thoughts threatened to fracture.

“listen to me,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “that was a formality. it’s not their permission i need. it’s yours.”

you blinked up at her, your breath caught in your throat. “what are you saying?”

she stepped closer, her voice a low murmur.

“i’m saying you’re not a fool, sweet girl. you were brave tonight, and i’d like you to be mine, if you’ll still have me.”

“of course i still want you. are you dense?” you smiled, a shaky, indulgent smile, before your voice faltered. “but—what about—”

“forget them,” sevika interrupted, her tone sharp now, edged with steel. “i’ll take care of it. i’ll always take care of you.”

her words struck a pulse through you—not because you doubted her, but because you knew she meant them. sevika didn’t make empty threats.

you stared at her, your pulse quickening. “you mean—”

“we’ll go tonight.”

you gaped at her, but she only watched you with a fierce intensity that left no room for doubt. this was real.

“you’d take me with you?” you whispered.

her lips curled faintly, a ghost of a smile.

“of course, i would.”

your hands trembled as you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “yes.”

sevika’s hand found yours, steady and warm, pulling you closer.

“say it again.”

“yes,” you whispered.

her smile widened, dark and triumphant, as she leaned in, her voice a low rumble against your ear.

“good girl.”

and with that, your heart cracked open, and you lunged for her.

♕𓃮

if you desired her less, perhaps you would’ve been more coquettish, more in control. but nothing could have stopped your hunger.

still, as always, sevika steadied you. without any effort she caught the full weight of your body as you climbed into her arms, your hands like steel around her face. you bit at her mouth until she let you in, mewling as she pulled you into her lap. you shivered naked and wet, her large hands coming to cup your ass firmly as you plundered her mouth.

“steady, princess,” she murmured, pulling back to cup the nape of your neck. “i want this just as much. no need to work for it. i’ll give you want you need.”

“sevi,” you whimpered. “sevi, please.”

“mmm, i know.” sevika dipped her head down, sucking a dark mark into your neck. “i need you to do something for me first though.”

“anything.”

and she knew you meant it.

satisfied, sevika rose and walked you into your room. placing you gently on the bed, she used a hand to force your legs open. for a moment, she stood and watched your pussy glaze with arousal. she then leaned forward, sliding two fingers lightly through your cunt.

“so easy f’me.”

“sevi.”

sevika ducked down, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before pulling away, her movements fluid as she made her way to the desk. in a series of precise motions, she positioned herself in front of the bed, settling into a wide, deliberate manspread. idly, she slipped off her shirt so that her tits were exposed, large and enticing. your mouth watered, and you felt a new wave of slick leave you.

“you just have to do this one thing, and then i’ll do whatever you want. does that sound good, princess?”

you nodded, desperate to obey her and earn your keep.

“good girl. now, i want to watch you get off.”

you froze.

“wh—what?”

“i want you to touch yourself,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “you weren’t this shy when you were, what was it, nineteen? yeah. you told me in great detail how you thought of me when you fucked yourself, how you had to shove a pillow over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming.”

“i was—that was a moment of unsound judgement!”

“yeah. i thought about it every moment after.”

that shut you up.

“so, i want you to show me.”

her voice let you know that it wasn’t an option.

“okay,” you whispered.

you began to shallowly pump a finger inside of your cunt, eyes fluttering as you searched for that spongy dip in your walls that sends your head spinning. your thighs reigned open and sweaty; your cunt was spread wide and so pink. the lips were swollen, and you felt yourself leaking further under sevika’s relentless gaze.

“slower,” she instructed.

it took quite some effort for you to slow down your ministrations, but you needed to be good. you let out a hiccup of pleasure as your knuckles clipped your clit, rosy and full. a throaty moan burst from you as sevika shifted, bringing her head forward to maintain eye contact. your fingers picked up the pace, and your eyes grew heavy as you felt your pleasure begin to crest.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. fuck, sevi. right there, please.”

you realized sevika was still mostly clothed, certainly more than you were, and that deepened the heat in your stomach. you whimpered pathetically as you pressed harder into yourself, adding two more fingers and riding them to abandon. you slumped further into the mattress, rubbing viciously at your clit to add more stimulation.

“please. please. please. please.” this was your form of prayer. “fuuuuck!”

your head snapped back as you led yourself to your first orgasm, a wail rising from somewhere deep in your chest.

“sevika.”

she loomed over you, settling her hands on your hip. her eyes were practically two pools of black, her irises swallowed by her dilated pupils. you reached a hand up to graze along the underside of her bob, and she caught your wrist, kissing right against the fine bones resting underneath your skin.

you softened and made a small noise of contentment. she looked back you.

“turn over.”

you abided.

♕𓃮

despite how much you’d imagined it, nothing to compared to the real feel of sevika fucking you.

you were surprised that she’d chosen penetration first and said as much, but she’d only smirked at you from where she was adjusting her holster.

“don’t worry. i plan to make you finish on my face.”

you couldn’t find it in you to be upset.

now, she had you back in her lap and riding her. your back was slick against her chest, her nipples hard and rigid against your spine. she pulled your hair, drawing your head back and biting down into your throat.

“holy shit,” you moaned.

“i know, sweet girl. no one’s ever given you what you needed before, hmm? doesn’t it feel good?”

“yeah,” you agreed, high and breathy, and she laughed.

you loved it when she laughed.

desperate to cum for the second time, you placed a hand on her thigh and slammed yourself down. lazily, sevika sucked your earlobe into your mouth and drew circles around your clit.

“look at that, princess. you’re leaving a little ring around me. jesus,” she sighed, as if put out, “you’re such a fucking whore.”

you moaned loudly, and she drew away from your clit and began to play with one of your tits instead.

“you know i’m right. that’s why you just tightened around me. you’re nothing but a cock-hungry slut who wants to be filled.”

“by you,” you gasped out.

“yes,” sevika said. with a cry, you were pulled off of the dildo and rearranged beneath her. “by me.”

as if to further prove the point, she brought your legs together and pushed them back until she could mount you.

“fuck, baby. you feel like a dream.”

you clenched. you wanted this to be good for her.

“shit,” she groaned and sped up her thrusts, her hips slapping against your ass.

“sevi, please. please give it to me. i’ve been so good.”

sevika nodded sympathetically, pulling your legs apart so she could put them over her shoulder.

“i know you have.”

you weren’t even hearing her at this point, just bearing down so that you could feel her in your throat. your nails dug into her back, and she hissed at the pain. the ache only pushed her, increasing the force of her thrust until her tits were bouncing with the effort.

“c’mon, princess. are you gonna finish for me? i want you to cum on my cock. paint it for me.” her eyes narrowed, honing in on her prize. “come on.”

with a wordless scream, your body arched upward, your pussy spasming as you squirted all over the bed.

“oh, fuck,” you moaned. “shiiiit, sevi. oh my god.”

“mmm,” was all she said, still intent on delivering on her promise.

your world once again turned on its axis as she picked you up, bringing you to sit on her chest. stupidly, you only stared down at her, and she couldn’t suppress a half smile.

“and i here i thought you were all work and no play,” she teased, dragging you upward until you hovered over her mouth.

“humor me, princess,” she ordered. “settle.”

we'll be happy, you thought.

she opened her mouth, tongue extended, and you fell.

© hcneymooners.

[hellokittyish]

part one here.

★ thinking about mutual masturbation on facetime with ex!satoru which starts off with you just staring at him in some sort of daze, wondering what on earth possessed you to pick up the call in the first place. this is a mistake, you know that... so why aren't you hanging up already?

but before you can dwell too long on the answer to that question, your train of thought is rudely interrupted by a particularly loud moan echoing through the speaker.

“mmh… you actually didn’t decline for once," the white-haired menace gasps out, the slick sounds of his hand gliding up and down his cock only picking up in volume as he lays eyes on you. “shit— you don't know how much i've missed seein’ that pretty face of yours, baby.”

“you’re so shameless, satoru.” you mutter, lacing your tone with as much disdain as you can muster; but the way your own hand somehow snakes its way beneath the waistband of your sweatpants and into your panties tells an entirely different tale of how this whole situation is really making you feel.

“yeah,” he muses in an unapologetic hum, making a show of tilting the camera down to give you a better view of where he's currently thumbing his leaky, blushing tip. “but… ah— so are you, otherwise you would’ve blocked my new number the second i sent you that dick pic.”

“w-well how do you know i wasn't about to press the block button right when you called me and i accidentally clicked accept instead?” you shoot back through teeth which are clenched partly in annoyance and partly in an effort to hold back letting your own pleasure show on your face.

“nah, don’t give me that bullshit,” satoru snorts amusedly, leaning in closer to the screen and tilting his head to the side, snowy lashes fluttering seductively as his bright eyes stare knowingly into yours. “if you’re not enjoying this, then i want you to show me that your hands aren’t in your pants right now rubbing that pretty little pussy.”

shit. of course he'd be able to see through you that easily — he is your ex, after all. but no... you can’t let him win just yet. so, as subtly as possible, you pull your hand from your panties and hold it up to the phone screen, hoping against hope that the darkness of your room hides the wetness of your palm.

“hah. nice try, baby,” he drawls smugly, smiling so wide now that both of his annoyingly cute dimples are on full display; and it’s deliberate, too. he knows full well they were always your weakness. “...but i can see your sweet juices coating those cute fingers from here.”

and he knows he has you right where he wants you when you still don't hang up the call like you both know you should, instead just shoving your hand right back into your panties and rubbing messy circles over your clit while keeping direct eye-contact with him — trying to beat him at his own game, are you? oh, how he's missed you.

so he picks up the pace of his jostling fist around his cock, candy-pink lower lip caught between his pearly teeth as he tries to catch even a small glimpse of your bare skin through the screen; and god, only you could make him act this pathetic, this desperate. "fuck... please, pretty, y'gotta give me something to work with here. h-how about you pull your top up just a little for toru, hm?"

and you've already let this escalate too far to back out now, so you decide to throw caution to the wind and tug at the edge of your oversized tee just enough so that your bare tits spring free, courtesy to your preference for not wearing a bra around your apartment.

"o-oh, just look at those. i missed my girls s'much. bet you wish they were in my mouth right now, huh?" satoru rasps out, balls tightening to an almost painful degree as he reaches down to pay the heavy, neglected sacs some attention by gently fondling them.

and you, having finally caved and slid a finger into your fluttering hole, can only respond with a soft whine as you reach up to knead a breast with your free hand, the image of his skilled mouth suckling on them like he always used to making your much-too-empty cunt clench around your digit with need.

and that singular sweet, sweet sound from your lips that he's been deprived of hearing for months is all it takes for him to finally bust a load all over his chest and hand, goopy white streaks tainting his previously unmarred pale skin as his entire body trembles with a pleasure only you can give him.

and when he eventually manages to compose himself enough to glance back down at the facetime and realize that you're still trying to reach your own climax, your meek little fingers clearly not enough to finish the job, satoru has the absolute audacity to lean right in close to the screen and mutter out a cheeky…

“hey, if y'want me to come over and help you with that then all you gotta do is agree to get back together with me, baby.”

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[straylightdream]

never leave this bed

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: husband!jeon wonwoo x curvy!f.reader

once your husband returns from a long trip you want nothing more then to stay in bed together.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, established relationship

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): non idol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: very fluffy, they’re both super in love with each other, mentions of past body insecurities, wonwoo is obsessed with his wives curvy body, mentions of have having children in the future, smut warning below the cut.

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: explicit, smut, 18+

𝐚𝐧: this is a part of my series I’m going to writing with the SVT boys as husbands called ‘my only one’.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: big dick wonwoo, soft dom wonwoo, needy mc, pussy stretching, unprotected sex (mc is on birth control), breeding kink, mention of impregnating the reader, wonwoo is obsessed with his wife’s thick thighs, body worship, size kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, nipple play, fingering, cockwarming, alluding to shower sex

Rolling over you cuddled into your husband chests. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips as you wrapped your arm around his strong chest. You’re both completely naked from the long night you spent together.

You had been married for two years and neither of you had ever been happier in your lives. You had met because you were friends with Mingyu and he had introduced them to each other. Mingyu had told Wonwoo he found his future wife from him, and to this day Mingyu tells everyone you got married because of him.

Wonwoo was home from a two week long work trip. You had decided to spend the day in bed just enjoying each other.

Slowly you pressed your lips to his neck, and put your leg over his stomach. You were basically laying on top of him, but he didn’t care. He always told you he loved when you laid on him. According to him you weigh nothing. Your soft stomach and thick thighs strongly disagree with him. Anytime you even got slightly insecure about your body your husband would immediately let you know how attracted to you he is.

Gripping your thigh he held her close. His fingers gently kneading your flesh. This man has always had a fascination with your thighs. “We’re not getting out of bed today,” he said as you pressed your lips to his neck again. Leaving a trail of open mouth kisses. You wonder if he'll mind you leaving a mark.

“Nope I’m staying right here,” you murmured against his neck.

Slowly he ran his hand up and down your thigh holding you close. He couldn’t get enough of his wife. He hated going on work trips and being away from you. But you made coming home truly worth it. Even if it was just spending the day in bed cuddling. If you had your way your husband would have been naked the moment he walked in the door.

He got in at eleven at night and the moment the front door was locked you practically jumped him. You didn’t even let him take you to bed. A sea of clothes littered the living room as you sat naked on your husband’s lap. His huge cock snug inside you as you kissed anywhere your lips could reach.

Once he finally got you in bed he told you he desperately wanted to just hold you. Who were you to say no to his request?

“I love you so much,” he smiled.

“I love you too,” you said, moving so you could look at him.

Looking toward his wife he smiled and leaned down and pressed his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “You’re perfect,” he said, resting his nose against yours. His loving words caused you to smile. Finding Wonwoo was the best thing that had ever happened to you. The love he had for you was like something you could only dream of.

“What if we just never left this bed?” You asked, leaning back onto the bed away from Wonwoo.

“I would never leave this bed if I didn’t have to work,” he rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand and looked over at you as you stared up at the ceiling.

“It's a shame you can’t just work from home everyday. I need my husband to stay in bed with me forever,” you smiled. In a dream world he wouldn’t have to travel so much for work.

You knew when you got together there were going to be times he had to leave for long work trips. You knew about the details of his job from the moment Mingyu introduced you. He might be gone often, but you knew no matter what he was always gonna come back to you after his trips.

“You look so beautiful in the morning,” he said, causing your cheeks to flush.

“You are literally the perfect man,” you rolled onto her side so you were staring at each other.

“I want to be the perfect man for you. Now come back over here and lay on me again,” he rolled on to his back again. He never missed a chance to feel your body weight on him.

A soft laugh passed your lips as you moved over and cuddled back into your husband. You rested on his chest and your arm was resting across his stomach.

“We’re not leaving this bed today,” you sighed with a little smile.

“I’m only getting out of bed to take you in the shower, and to possibly eat.” Of course this man is already thinking about shower sex. That might be his favorite to take you other than your bed. Lifting your thigh you put more weight back on his stomach. “Baby I know I said I want to cuddle, but I want to be inside you so badly.”

His words earn a laugh from you. “How do you plan on making that happen? I thought you wanted to cuddle?”

“Lay on your back for me baby.”

Listening to his request you lay on your back and spread your legs without him having to ask. Laying on his side pressed up against your side, his fingers dip between your legs. His index finger plays with your clit while he rubs his growing erection against your thigh.

“You feel so good,” he groans against your skin. You can’t even respond, you just moan as he starts pumping two fingers in your already wet hole. “I need to stretch you out, little baby. I’m not going to fit if I don’t prep you.” In the beginning of your relationship that statement wouldn’t be wrong. Wonwoo has the biggest dick you’ve ever taken before. When you first started dating you couldn’t jump into having sex without him giving you some foreplay. Now four years into your relationship you’ve grown accustomed to the stretch of him filling you for the first few thrust.

“I don’t need prep. You fucked me like two hours ago,” you moan.

“Someone is needy,” he laughs. The hill of his palm continues to rub against your sensitive clit. Hooking his fingers he rubs the spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. “Just come one my hand once and I’ll fuck you nice and slow from behind.” Wonwoo never misses an opportunity to take you from behind. “All you have to do is cum once.” He whispers.

Closing your eyes, rolling your head back, your whole body feels like it’s tightening as you get closer to the edge.

Gasping his name you fall apart on his hand. Your walls contract around his fingers. His hands continue to thrust in and out of you slowly helping you ride out your high.

“Lay on your side baby.” Following his request you lay on your side facing away from him. He pushes your knee up giving him access to your wet core. His large hand kneads the flesh off your ass pressing himself against you.

“Please don’t tease me.” You just want your husband to fuck you already.

“So needy,” he’s running his hardened length through your folds. “Are you stretched out enough for me?”

“Please fuck me,” you moan. Each time his length brushes your clit you see stars.

Taking himself in his hand he slowly pushes into you. He fills you completely. His pelvis is pressed up firmly against your ass. His hand gropes your breast as he moans in your ear. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

Rolling your head back you can’t help but moan. His pace is slow. A trail of love bites are being left against your bare shoulder.

“Harder,” you whisper. You want the slow pace but just harder. He listens to you without another word. Rolling his hips into you over and over again. The roam is filled with echoing sounds of whimpers and moans.

“Won-“ you can’t even properly form his name.

“Do you want me to fill you up?” His hand moves from your breast down to your pussy. His fingers toy with your clit earning a moan.

“Please.”

“Do you want me to put a baby in you?” This has been one of your husband’s favorite things to bring up in bed now. You are ready to have a baby with him. His new breeding kink has definitely worn off on you.

“I’m going to cu-“ your body feels like a live water as your orgasm washes over you. “Wonwoo-“ your hand grips his hand that’s playing with your clit. Overstimulation kicks in as he keeps thrusting into you over and over as your high continues.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he groans.

He continues his slow but firm pace. Your hand clings to his hand. Your eyes roll back in your head as another orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks. “Wonwoo-“

The way he moans your name as he cums, painting your walls white is absolutely intoxicating. His hands dig into your hips holding your flush against him.

“We might need to get out of bed to shower,” you say, earning a soft laugh from him.

“God I love you.” He kisses your shoulder gently.

“I love you too.”

He’s still inside you and the way he is holding you you don’t think he plans on pulling out. You have no problem staying in bed cockwarming your husband for a while.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[hoshifighting]

Hello honeeey.

Can i request something? That's being going in my mind and i thought you be perfect for this... i wanted to ask for a first time with Seungcheol... like no the first time ever but the first time with him.

Like new relationship, a lot of previous teasing but he has being waiting for you to make the first step and stuff.

Pleaseeeee, i love your work, kisseeees💗

first time having sex with seungcheol in a new relationship

WARNINGS: smut, new established relationship, fingering, penetrative sex, hair pull

a/n: hiii my dear!! thank you for the request, I hope you like it <333 sorr ab how late is this going, but I can use this excuse for a chirstmas gift....? 🥺 love youuu!!!

he knows he’s about to ruin you but doesn’t feel the need to announce it.

you’ve both been circling around this moment for weeks—every touch lingering longer than it should, every kiss dipping into field that leaves you squirming. now you’re here, and he’s leaning over you with that smug, lopsided grin, looking like he’s been waiting for this exact second his entire life.

“been thinkin’ about this,” he mutters, lips brushing your jaw, his hands already sliding under your shirt. and yeaaaah, maybe you’ve been thinking about it too, but you’re not about to stroke his ego like that.

his mouth is warm, soft, leaving a trail down your neck that makes your toes curl. but it’s his hands... that really mess with your head. they’re big and rough, and its so good! its like he plays a 3 hour long documentary about womens anatomy in his head, to make it all perfect. and you’re not even sure if it’s intentional at first, the way his thumb brushes your ribs before dragging along your waistline is making you loose your cool.

“you good?”

“mhmm..”

he’s pulling your clothes off slow, his eyes flick up to yours when he hooks his fingers into your waistband, waiting for the nod before tugging it all down.

then, he pauses—just for a second, but it’s enough to notice. like he’s recalibrating, trying to balance his usual cocky self with something more reserved. you swear there’s a flicker of nervousness there, but it’s gone before you can really clock it.

and then his mouth is on your thigh, pressing soft kisses that turn into teasing bites. “you’re so fucking pretty,” he says, his voice wrecked, like he’s the one losing his serenity.

when he slides two fingers in, he tries to be soft to stretch you properly for his cock, without making it burn, curling in a way that makes you moan loud for the first time. “like that?” he asks, smirking when you moan in response. he’s watching everything, adjusting the angle, the pace, until you’re arching off the bed.

“so sensitive...” like he’s proud of the way you’re squirming under him.

but seungcheol’s not about to let you get too comfortable. just when you’re about to cum, he pulls his fingers out, grinning at the whine you let out. “don’t worry, baby,” he says, kissing the inside of your knee, “i’ve got you.”

and when he finally presses into you, he doesnt know if he should be sexy and shameless, or be more reserved in case he cums on the first slide. so he starts slow, letting you adjust before picking up the pace.

you swear he’s holding back at first, keeping it steady even when you’re begging for more. but then you pull him down by the hair, whispering something filthy in his ear—things that he was CRAVING for you to say, that’s all it takes for him to snap.

“fuck,” he growls, his grip tightening as his thrusts get rougher, deeper. but just when you think he’s going to completely wreck you, he slows down again, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. he pulls—just enough to tilt your head back—and kisses you hard, like he’s staking a claim.

“thought about this for so long,” he says, his voice rough, his movements still slow. “you don’t even know.”

you didn’t know he could be like this—rough and tender, cocky and careful, all at once. but now you’re here, and he’s everywhere, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to think about anything else. he’s determined, you can tell. determined to make you remember every single moment, every touch, every kiss, every thrust. and when you finally cum, he’s right there with you, holding you until you frown, because you two are definitely sweating.

[sturniolohouse]

Camera Shy - M.S.

reader and matt go to a 3D ultrasound appointment to get a glimpse of their future daughter, who is seemingly camera shy.

“This is freaking me out,” Matt mutters, his face pale as he stares at the 3D image on the screen. His fingers drum nervously on his thigh that is bouncing up and down. 

"I know. It’s a little alien-like, huh," I say, watching the screen like a hawk, but all I can see are what look like limbs in the swirly mix of brown and tan on the screen. 

“Is that an arm or a leg?” He gawks at the screen, his blue eyes wide with a mix of awe and unease.

“That was an arm, although she does have very long legs,” the tech speaks up, her tone amused but light as she presses more buttons on the panel. 

I chortle, shaking my head. “Explains why she kicks me in the ribs constantly.”

“I’m just going to apply a little more pressure here to get a better angle of baby’s face. She’s sort of nestled into your side here,” the tech says, shifting the wand and pressing it deeper into my skin. 

“She really doesn’t want to cooperate today, does she?” I say, half-joking, though a part of me feels a pang of disappointment.

“Stubborn already,” Matt remarks, glancing at me with a small smirk. “Definitely takes after you.”

“Excuse me?” I shoot him a playful glare. “If anyone’s stubborn, it’s you. You do the same thing when I try to wake you up, grump,” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, playing dumb, the corner of his mouth twitching.

The tech chuckles, clearly amused by our banter, “Why don’t you try moving her a bit? Press your hand onto this side and gently nudge her. See if that does the trick,” 

I place my hand where she instructed, pressing in a few times, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen. I watch for any sign of movement, but she stays put, stubbornly nestled against my side. I sigh deeply, but do it again, a bit harder this time when the tech encourages me that I can't hurt her. I feel her stir before I see it on the screen.

“Oh, oh, alright. Are you gonna show us your face, little one?” I ask softly and Matt moves in closer to get a better look. 

For a brief second she shifts position, giving us a teasing glimpse of her tiny profile. But just as quickly as she moved, her little hands shoot up to cover her face again, curling tightly into fists.

Matt groans playfully, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s like she knows,” 

“Oh wow, she’s definitely got a personality. Got her hands balled up in front of her face and everything.” She chuckles softly, and I sigh, glancing at Matt.

“Well, now we can say she definitely gets that from you,” I tease, tilting my head toward him. “Guess she won’t be a morning person either.”

Matt shoots me a side-eyed glare, his cheeks already tinged pink from the nerves that always seem to take over during these appointments. 

“I’m kidding,” I go to poke his cheek but he grabs my hand, gently pushing it away from his face and instead encases it in his warm hand. 

“Do you want to turn on your side, hun? Might make her change positions,” The tech offers another solution and I wave a hand at her and shrug. 

“That’s okay, she clearly doesn’t want to be bothered. We’ll try again next week.” I sigh, trying not to think about how she might be too big by then to get a good imaging. I'll be 32 weeks.

“I…might have an idea,” Matt speaks up hesitantly and I turn to him with a raised eyebrow. 

“What’s your idea?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him though the corner of my mouth quirks up.

“Alright, don’t yell at me. It’s all I can think of,” he begins, grabbing his phone from his pocket. 

“If you do something stupid–”

“I’m not!” he insists, but his giggles give him away.

I watch him with a mix of skepticism and amusement. “You’re totally about to do something stupid.”

Matt grins mischievously, typing away at his phone, “Trust me,” he says, giggling as he pulls up a music app. “This is guaranteed to work.”

Before I can protest further, the room fills with the unmistakable bass drop of Sicko Mode. The tech freezes for a second, glancing between the two of us–clearly entertained, while I stare at Matt in disbelief.

“You’re kidding,” I say in absolute shock. “You’re seriously playing Travis Scott for her right now?”

“You’ve told me she does somersaults when music is on, Sicko Mode is the only way,” He reasons with nervous laughter.

I turn to the tech and ask her if I’m having a stroke, to which she shakes her head as she watches this scene unfold, trying her best to stifle her laughter.

“Will you at least turn it down,” I snap but can’t help but laugh as he shushes me and brings the speaker closer to my stomach.

And I’ll be damned... She moves. The screen flickers as her tiny fists shift, moving to rest beneath her dimpled chin, her face perfectly in frame.

“You’re actually kidding me—”

“I told you!” Matt exclaims, practically bouncing in his chair, his grin so wide it’s infectious.

I press my hand over my mouth, a mix of laughter and disbelief bubbling up. “I can’t believe she actually moved for Sicko Mode.”

Her tiny features are clear now, her face peaceful and perfect. My heart tightens.

The tech is laughing now, shaking her head as she looks at the screen. “I have to say, this is a first for me. But hey, whatever works,” She says as she starts snapping pictures.

We all tune out the music for a moment and watch the screen, finally soaking in the face we've been dying to see for months. I feel a lump rise in my throat and I almost tear up as I take in the faint resemblance of Matt in her little features–the curve of her nose, the shape of her lips–but my thoughts are interrupted.

“She looks exactly like you, kid.” Matt says suddenly, his voice soft and full of awe.

I blink, turning to him. “What?”

“Look at her,” he insists, pointing at the screen. “That round little face, that's your nose…look, at that little pout. C’mon that’s you,” He's smiling ear to ear.

I laugh quietly, brushing at my eyes. “I don’t know about that. I see you in her. You make that same face,” I sniffle.

Matt squeezes my hand, his grin and his eyes softening into something more tender. “Nah. She’s all you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes stay locked on the screen.

I turn back to the image on the monitor, my throat tight as I take in every detail of our perfect girl.

“Maybe she’s a little bit of both of us,” I whisper.

I glance back at Matt, who’s still playing Travis Scott aloud, “Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head, though I can’t stop smiling. “Can't believe the only way she came out of hiding was because of Sicko Mode. You must be so proud.”

“Are you kidding me? Proudest moment of my life,” he replies, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

I snort, shaking my head, pressing my lips together and trying to keep a straight face. “You’re so annoying,” I say, though my laughter gives me away.

“And yet,” Matt starts, leaning closer to me, his voice dropping into that familiar teasing tone, “you love me for it.”

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, yeah,”

[eupheme]

— i’ll be there

[part iv of sugar, sugar] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 4.5k

tags: baker!neighbor!reader, logan pov, soft smut & fluff, oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, manual restraints PiV, creampie, light angst, references to anxiety, guilt, memories of canon-typical violence/ death, logan handling his feelings in his own way

a/n: after finishing part iii, there were two ideas in the back of my mind (this, and then fixing [redacted]) so I am back with a little more 💕

Sometimes, it feels as if he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Breath held - bracing for a blow that hasn’t yet come, each time the cracks lengthen in his walls. Letting sunlight seeping through.

So sure it’s waiting on the horizon for him, as it always had done. Has been, since that first night you spent together, all those weeks ago.

Finally allowing himself to exhale - for today, at least - in the darkened room.

It’s late when he twists the handle of the apartment door, easing it open. A habit now, how the keys drop into the ceramic mug on the table just inside, clinking against loose change.

His shadow stretching long across the wooden floor, cast by the light you left on for him in the kitchen. Fingers tug at worn laces, loosening boots that are left next to yours.

Funny how he’s able to navigate this space now, without thought. The old fleece from Wade’s closet slung across the back of an armchair. His feet taking him to the edge of the couch, fingers idly brushing over the stitching of the folded quilt left out for him.

One heartbeat passing, and then another.

He moves on.

The bedroom door creaks on its hinges, as he nudges it open wider.

Light pouring in, letting him see where you curl on your side. The space next to you open - as if waiting for him.

As if you knew he’d be coming.

All he’s wanted to do since Wade turned the car around was get back to right here.

Something loosening in his chest. Fingers working at the buttons of his flannel, then dropping to the heavy buckle at his waist. Stripped down, when he draws back the covers, and slides next to you.

You murmur his name, curl into him. Can’t pretend there isn’t a tugging behind his ribs at the sound.

His fingers drift across skin, tracing the strap of your nightgown. You lips curve up, eyes cracking open.

“You have a good day?”

Logan pauses for longer than he should, turning the question over in his head. Chooses to ignore it, for now.

Chooses to let his head dip, to press his mouth to yours, instead. Letting his mind shut off, letting it go silent for a moment.

Focusing on this, instead.

The tug of your fingers as they slide into his hair. Pulling him close - keeping him there, the sluggish movements turning more lucid as he deepens the kiss. Pliant becoming demanding, and even after the day he’s had, he can’t help the chuckle when your hand curls around his shoulder.

Urging, once more. Fully awake now, lips pressing against his jaw as he follows your whims. Settling between your thighs, cock stiffening with the way you nip at his neck. How you roll your hips upward, until he pins you to the bed himself.

“Missed you.” It’s sighed out.

Something inside his chest thrums, his heartbeat kicking up a notch. The answer coming easily, without thought.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.”

He means it.

Had left a little piece of himself behind when he left early this morning. The echo of your goodbye kiss lingering against his lips, as he had climbed into the car with Wade. Going north.

But he doesn’t want to think about that now.

Now, he’s letting his senses take over, an old habit. Focusing on warmth of you beneath him. Eyelids fluttering shut with the sting of your teeth against his throat. A twitching smile as his hands wander - letting you try to mark him as he finds the hem, slips beneath.

Fingertips dragging over bare skin. Rucking the flimsy fabric up higher each time his hips lift. A low sigh when he finally presses against your bare skin, nudging himself against the soft juncture of your thigh.

Your scent washes over him, drowning out the layer of thoughts that have chased after him all afternoon. Vanilla and sugar and you - he’s tried to taste it before, with the wet drag of his tongue.

Sometimes you smell like him, if he’s lucky, in the early morning, still tucked into bed. Cigar smoke clinging, from where you sat with him on the fire escape. Where he’s left himself painted across your skin.

It’s familiar. It’s as comforting as the pretty noises you make. Hungry for him, fingers tracing along his ribs. Slipping down the slope of his back, trying to tug you to meet him.

Logan is used to rushing things - wants to, after the day he had - but in the night, when he knows you don't have to get up early, it feels like time stands still.

He allows his movements to slow.

The mattress dips as he inches down it. Palms finding the curves of your tits, a soft squeeze against the giving flesh before he’s finding the taut peaks in the fabric with his teeth and tongue.

The silk darkens, as you squirm. A whine is wrenched from your chest, as his mouth closes around you.

The tip of his tongue flicking across your nipple. His other hand drifting down, hiking your thigh higher around his waist.

“Let me-“ It comes from you in a rush, hands tugging at the fabric.

He won’t ruin this one. Knows you like it - instead he balls the fabric from navel to sternum in his fist. Tugs, until your tits slip free.

“Fuck, Logan.” It’s laced with appreciation.

With need, as he sucks a mark against your skin. Another on the soft swell beneath, the pinch of his teeth soothed by the drag of his tongue.

Knowing what he’ll find, when he finally moves down. The fingertips that trail down as he kisses your stomach, your hip - ghosting across your folds, coming back slick.

They slide between his lips. An amuse-bouche to the feast laid out before him - unable to resist the urge to taste you, fingers spit-slick when they return.

“‘s for me?” He rasps, and a laugh slips from you - the soft, muffled sound dragging out into a moan as he traces your opening - sinking down to the knuckle.

“Always for you.”

It loosens a breath he’s been holding all day. Coming out as a rough sigh - your thighs inching wider as he kisses your mound.

Hovering then, just shy of where you need him.

“Really did miss me, huh?”

Can’t help it. Another unconscious nudge, seeking reassurance.

Your hips lift, seeking. Hands trailing down, fingers drifting over your tits, your stomach. Down to stroke your thumb against the bristle of his beard.

“Every time you leave.”

He leans into your touch. Eyes focused on the dark glimmer of your own, as he lets your fingers tangle in his hair. Let's you guide him, a low hum as he closes that final inch.

The tip of his tongue stroking against a spot he knows well, as your moan rips through the quiet. His name following with a soft whimper, and it’s then that his eyes shut.

Focused on the way you smear across his tongue. The wet suck of his finger, sinking into molten heat. Trying to grip him already, clenching around what little he’s given you.

A second teases. Slipping inside, as he tongues at your clit. As you pant, whining - nails pricking against his scalp. Thighs pressing into his shoulders, until he’s hiking one over, and then the other.

His hips flexing, rutting himself into the mattress as you surround him. Fingers curling and stroking, until you leaking against him palm. Until the quiet room becomes a chorus, his name a sweet song on your lips.

“Logan.”

Logan, Logan.

A name stamped on a piece of metal, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful for the way it rushes from you, as if you’ve forgotten all else.

As he winds you up - your grip tightening, but it only spurs him on. Your breath shortens, as his free arm bands across your abdomen, leaving your hips to flex uselessly against his strength.

“Fuck me.” You urge. A hand kneading the flesh of your breast, the other circling around his wrist. Pleading, with the pinch of your brows, as your fingers flex against his iron grip, “Need you, Logan. Want, ah-“

“Come for me first.” It’s close to a growl, his own fingers never stopping. Feeling how you stiffen beneath his arm, on the cusp of something he’s more than happy to give you.

“Want her nice and ready for me.”

You moan at the command. Head tilting back as your body obeys - the “yes” that’s chanted over and over, pitching higher each time.

Stringing out, and then breaking. Your back bows, as the pleasure alights within. Coming hard with rhythmic throb he can feel against his tongue, that tight pulse around fingers.

He doesn’t let up until you’re squirming away from the press of his mouth. Puffy and slick where you warm his fingers, your arousal already leaking down to the curve of your ass. Swollen with desire, and he swears he feels you clench one last time, when he slips them free.

Another kiss pressed against you, one that has you sighing. Wriggling out of the twist of your nightgown, hooking it around a finger until it pools on the floor below.

Still begging for him as he lifts himself up. Closing the space between you as he shifts forward, palms curving against your hips as he kneels between your thighs. Your eyes drunken with pleasure up close - soft and hazy, your smile coming easily.

His hips rock forward on their own in response, unable to help pressing himself against you. A sticky spot of need left behind, smeared against your skin.

Your fingers pinch against his forearms as you push yourself up to your elbows, eyes dipping down. He knows you can see what he can, as his own head tilts - the swipe of his cock against your folds.

How they part for him, when he teases you - slipping the fat head against your entrance. Knows you imagine it - you’ve told him what you think about when he’s away.

How it’s never enough. Never him. Watched you show him how you fit your fingers inside yourself, but you can never reach the places he can.

He sinks into your heat with a slow thrust. You’re heaven around him, tight and slick and familiar. Teeth clenched as you make room, until he’s buried flush inside you.

Can feel your pulse around his cock, when his eyes close. When he lets all his senses narrow down to the space you’re joined.

Could never last, if he stayed that way. Would get pulled over far too quickly with the way you clench needily around him, trying to coax him to move.

And it’s here, as you beg him for more, that he loses himself. Hands flattening against the mattress as he slips half-way out - the jolt it sends through you, when his hips snap forward.

The gasp it pushes from you, your eyes fluttering shut. A sharp pinch of nails again, but it’s welcome - a low grunt, as he drives home again.

Again, and again. Leaning into the snap of his hips. Your hand reaching, drawing him down to you - mouth tipping up to meet his.

A groan, when you taste yourself against his tongue. Letting his sweep against yours, until you’re panting against his lips. The angle deep, with the way he hovers over you.

His hands fisted in the sheets, now. Using them for leverage, the bed creaking as he ruts himself into you.

A growl slipping from his chest when your fingers start to drift. Knuckles brushing the whorls of dark hair across his chest. Following the trail that leads down, past his abdomen.

The tips ghosting against your clit, just a tease before he’s shifting - a hand curling around your wrist. Bringing it up, pinning it above your head.

“Don’t need it.” It comes out ragged, when it passes his lip.

“Just me, right?”

Logan can take care of you. Stoking the lot embers in your belly, coaxing them to a burning flame.

He needs this.

Needs to be the one to give it to you.

“Just you.” The reply comes automatically. Your other wrist offered as you give him the control he desires, lifted to press into the clutch of his grip.

It makes his own muscles tighten. A deep clench, his cock throbbing inside you. Fingers pinching as he sees the way you give yourself to him.

Face tipped up, bare and stretched out beneath him. The pretty jolt of your tits each time his hips snap forward, and it’s enough that he’s closing those last inches of space.

Fitting himself against you, as his nose buries against your neck. Your thigh hooked over his hip as you chase his mouth, until you’re sighing against his lips.

Knows you can come like this, squirming beneath him, as his hips tilt. As he strokes against the places his fingers know well, your lips parting with a cry.

“Come on, honey.” It’s murmured out. Mouthing at your jaw, the word rasped low in your ear, “One more and then I’ll give you what you want.”

His other hand drifting - elbow and knees taking the brunt of his weight. Down past your hip until his palm curves against your thigh, hiking your thigh up higher.

Opening you up further, when he bottoms out. His breath hot in your ear, panted out each time his heavy sack kisses against sticky skin.

Winding you up, higher and higher. Your body arching against his - toes curling, a heel pressing into the mattress for purchase.

“Oh fuck, keep going,” You beg, trying to meet him - unable to do anything more than take it when he has you pinned like this, “Please, I’m so close-”

“Know you are,” He answers with a rough sound - more growl than words. The flesh at your thigh denting with the press of his fingers, keeping you still so he can pound against the spot that has you seeing stars.

“‘ve got you. Come for me, sweetheart.”

The whine that leaves your lips pitches high, the rushed plea dissolving into needy sounds. Muscles stringing tight, head tipping back as your breath grows short.

His eyes fixed on your half-lidded ones, your lips parted in pleasure. Feeling the crest of your orgasm - the flex of your wrists in his hand, the grip of your thighs as they press against his hips.

It’s different, like this. The pulsing clench around his cock, the press of your body against his. The rush that surges through him at the way you come undone for him - always him - how he’s never been able to get enough.

He’s following soon after, with a snarl.

Unable to get a grip on his restraint. Usually can hold out, needing more.

Another. Another. Another.

Not finished until you’re boneless- pleasure-drunk - and only then does he give in to his own need.

But tonight he’s wrenched over with way you tighten around him. Tendons flexing as the steady saw of his hips grows sloppy.

A punch of metal through flesh, as he throbs - that tightly-wound tension snapping as he spills himself deep inside you with a ragged groan, thrusts going shallow as the tight clutch of your cunt milks him empty.

All those muted thoughts inside his head fading to white noise. Drowned out by the panting of his breath, the thrum of his heart.

The rutting of his hips slow, as he comes back to himself. Always losing control around you. That tight leash slipping between his fingers, piercing through. The pillow tucked under your head shredded, looking as if torn open by a beast.

“Shit.” Logan grunts - as he comes back to himself, flesh knitting together, “Sorry, sweetheart.”

A groan, as he leans back - only to find his grip on your wrists had loosened. That your fingers lace through his now, careful of the tender spots between his knuckles.

“I’ll get you another. I’m-“ He’s starting, but then you’re smiling.

“Good for it,” You finish for him, breathlessly - face tipping up to meet his, “I know.”

Still so soft and pliant. Legs still hooked around his waist as his lips press against yours - urging him to stay.

So, he does.

He still hasn’t moved.

Sometimes, it feels as if he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Breath held as he braces for a blow that hasn’t yet come, each time the cracks lengthen in his walls. Letting sunlight seeping through.

So sure it’s waiting on the horizon for him, as it always had done. Has been, since that first night you spent together, all those weeks ago.

Finally allowing himself to exhale - for today, at least - in the darkened room.

Your nails drag against his shoulders, scratching at bare skin. A little furrow in your brow at the weary sound - unable to help the question that he’s sure has been on the tip of your tongue all night.

“Did something happen at work today?”

It’s met with silence, one minute bleeding into another.

You always seem to know. An innate sense, or far too observant - and if he wasn’t so sure you were human, he’d be think you were like him.

His breathing low and steady as the hours replay in his mind again, a warm exhale against your throat. Still caging you in beneath him, your leg still hooked around his calf.

You don’t push him. He knows what he’s like - that you’ve learned it’s easier to argue with one of the brick walls in your apartment, or to talk sense and logic with Wade, when he gets in one of his moods.

Only when the scratches of your fingers slow to a halt, does he answer.

Finds it comes easier, this late in the night. In this room - his tongue loosened like the rest of him.

“Didn’t go today.”

It’s accompanied by the shift of his hands. Grasping at your waist with a low hiss as he eases from you - your body carefully untangling, as if you’re expecting him to leave.

Logan doesn’t know if he has the strength to, tonight. Instead, he only sinks back against the mattress - his arm sweeping out, tugging you close as you tuck yourself against his chest.

Not knowing where to start, or if he evens wants to - his teeth still pinching at the inside of his cheek. Eyes drifting to the glimpse of the city outside your apartment window. The moonlight that cuts across the angle of his face, a path that you follow with the tip of a finger.

Supposes he could start at this morning.

“Wade’s been talking about X-Force again.” Logan’s fingers catch yours, flattening them against his chest. The words spoken to the ceiling, eyes still unseeing, “Keeps askin’ me to join him.”

You make a low sound at that.

“You don’t have to, Logan.” There’s a twitch of your hand beneath his, “I’m sure he means well, I can talk to him-”

There’s a bloom of affection in his chest, at how quickly you offer. Trying to protect him - as if you could put yourself between him and the ghosts of his past.

“That’s not what I’m getting at.” His eyes drag to you then, crinkling, “Thank you though, sweetheart. ‘s nice of you to offer.”

Unconsciously curling his arm a little more tightly around you when he sees the way you look at him - so fiercely, eyes unblinking. Before he goes somber, loosening his hold on something he’s held close to his chest for a long while now.

“Been thinking about it.” Logan confesses, quietly.

You’re silent, processing his words. The weight of your gaze settling over him.

He gets it - he’s felt the same. Hasn’t said it out loud before - no more than a non-committal sound, when Wade first brought it up.

“Think I liked being a part of something. Back in the void, it felt… good.”

He clears his throat, his gaze drifting from you again. The bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows, fingers twitching against yours.

Had forgotten what it was like. Had rebelled even then - brushing aside the planning until Laura had found him by the fire. Even then he had wanted to discard it. Even as it festered in the night.

But even after everything, he couldn’t let them go alone. Not when he could help, this time.

“So I went today. With him. He was headed up to the mansion, and I thought I could do it. Go in this time, but-”

The sentence hangs, half-finished.

It’s not the first time he’s gone back.

Went the week after he first started staying with Wade. Needed to see if it was still standing.

If the sky was still blue above, instead of being blocked out with ash.

His body had rebelled the whole drive. Had only gone back once in his world. That time no more than a blur and yet the memories had still crashed over him, threatening to pull him under.

Even with the reminder that this mansion wasn’t his rang in his ears, it hadn’t done any good. His mind was never one to truly forget. Spent two hundred years watching places, people change. Ones that once existed, ones that would never look the same - they all existed in him, somewhere.

And even after everything - even after those bouts of not knowing who he was - they still managed to survive, broken into bits and pieces. Tearing its way through his skin to be known.

So even if moss grew high, even as it sat there - overgrown - the memories flooded back.

His feet taking root, at the gate. Unable to make himself take another step further - held in place as if by a force he’d encountered before.

Fleeing, like a scared animal.

But he’d gone again.

And then again.

Drawn back - each time moving just a little bit closer.

Each time still a mile away.

Thought maybe he could do it this time, when he wasn’t alone. Pass over the threshold and inside.

Maybe they’d still be there.

But…

“I couldn’t.” He manages.

Logan knew they wouldn’t be. It had been another knife between his ribs, when he found out they were still gone. The Logan of this world with them, and maybe it was better that way.

He’s met a few that live inside, since. Those who still carried on didn’t bear the hatred that his world did. Didn’t know him like he knew himself.

Didn’t know what he did.

Had only told a few, and even they didn’t look at him the way he was used to - and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that, either.

Ones like Wade - Wade who had noticed the way he stiffened at the steps to the Mansion.

Grown silent.

If it had been another day, Logan would’ve had something sharp and unpleasant to say about that. But there was a ringing in his ears. Tunnel vision, narrowing down to the old brick.

The dread hadn’t crashed over him this morning. Had been right - Wade’s presence had muted it. Made it bearable, until his eyes had lifted.

Reading the old placard affixed to the stone. The name - worn away, but he knew each letter, the shape of them, by heart.

But it had him giving into the feeling that he shouldn’t be there.

“Five minutes” he had been told. Didn’t know how Wade knew exactly how long five minutes had taken, but he had been back exactly as three-hundred counted seconds had passed.

The afternoon plans dropped - taking him along for a haphazard amount of errands. Laundromat. Grocery Store. Arcade. Discount Outlet. Logan forced to follow, until he’d been able to find himself again. Push down the memories, lock them away, as he always did.

Until it felt like it happened a week ago, instead of this morning. The endless chatter a balm, with its familiarity.

He tells you this now, slowly.

“Thought I was done running.” Logan sighs. A hand scrubbing a little too harshly across his face, pulled from yours, “Guess I was wrong.”

Your brow knits. The look you give him is soft, empty fingers curling.

A breath - as if you’re unsure how he will take what you’ve about to say.

But then it’s slipping from you.

“I don’t think you’re running.” It comes out quiet, but he can tell you believe what you’re telling him.

“It’s okay that you’re not ready. You know that, right? Not everything has to be all or nothing.”

Logan hums.

“Maybe,” You start, carefully. Another breath, and he lets his hand return to yours when you reach for it - resting across his chest.

“Maybe you keep going what you’re doing. Maybe you keep trying. Another step each time.”

There’s an age-old urge to rebel - to push your kindness away. To lean into the voices he’s brought over from his world.

But it’s hard to, with his heart thrumming beneath your palm.

“If you want me to, I’d-”

It drops off - but he’s certain he knows what you were going to say.

That you’d be there.

Go with him, be by his side - if that’s what he wanted.

He doesn’t know how to take it, your offer. Voice pitching low and gruff, as he twists his chest towards you.

The words coming slowly, and he finds he means them.

“Just knowing you’re waiting at home for me is enough.”

Home.

That’s what this place has become, hasn’t it? Wade’s apartment. Yours. This room, with his things tucked among them.

“I will.” You breathe, “Always.”

It’s a promise.

It’s one he thinks he might just believe.

His eyes flick down - and the dance begins once more, as leans into you. Done with words, for now.

The cracks deepen, as his hand slips up your bare shoulder. Cradling the back of your back, as your mouth meets his half-way.

Being the one to keep you close, this time.

Losing himself in you, once more.

Logan wonders sometimes what would have happened if Wade had pulled him into another world.

Would it have been enough, if they had been alive there?

But he might not have met you, there. Things might have not gone the same way, in the journey before. Another path taken, one where he had made it alone into the room with the Time Ripper.

Or worse, if he had been the only one to make it out.

Even those who worked outside of space and time had told him there was no going back.

He couldn’t fix what happened.

He could only move foward.

One step at a time.

Logan huffs, a breath of a laugh, as your own gradually slows. The second round and the late hour catching up to you, in the silence that’s gone soft, and the warmth of his embrace.

So many nights he thought about this. Certain he didn’t deserve it. Deserve you.

Always pulling away.

But tonight, your fingers lace through his. He’s tucked between your back and the wall of painted brick behind him, almost as if you’re protecting him.

Ears keen enough to pick up the faint clattering next door. A low murmur of voices, cadences he’s come to know well.

Maybe once, he can believe he’s safe.

Not everyone gets a second chance. He knows that now, and vows to grab onto it with both hands.

Sink his claws into it, if he has to.

And as his arm tucks around you like an anchor - he finally lets sleep take him.

if you've come back - thank you so much for reading. this series has meant so much to me, so it was very exciting when I was struck with inspiration for two more chapters of their story (exploring some ideas I hadn't yet been able to get to) 💖 I am planning to post another part next week, and this will be holiday-themed!

[heich0e]

"so... how's work?"

you accidentally click the edge of your wine glass against your teeth as you tip it back, jarred by the strange question from the man standing at your side. you swallow the tiny mouthful of wine you manage to sip, turning to look at suna in bewilderment.

"work?" you ask him incredulously. "why are you asking me about work?"

suna rintarou doesn't care about what you do for work. truthfully speaking, you're not sure he even knows what you do for work—you certainly don't remember ever telling him, and the memory would stand out quite starkly considering all you ever seem to do when you run into him is bicker with him uselessly.

suna is a friend of a friend. or a friend of some friend's ex. or something. all you know is that every so often the two of you end up at the same social event, and there's something about the guy's face that just... makes you want to pick a fight.

and he has yet to turn down your instigation.

your friends all think it's funny—like you're some kind of comedy duo, and this is your special bit—but you don't see the charm in the slightest. you suspect they've started inviting you both to events just to have some entertainment.

"what?" rintarou asks, fiddling with his cellphone in his hand—pinching it between his thumb and his ring finger while he twirls it with his index. "i'm not allowed to ask about work? isn't that normal small talk for a christmas party?"

you're a little taken aback by his words. first of all, because he's right (which you hate). second of all, because he seems strangely defensive about it.

"normal for other people, maybe," you mutter, more to yourself than anything, before taking another tiny sip of wine. you swallow it, but somehow it doesn't help the dry feeling in your mouth. you're not sure you like this particular wine, you think, as bitterness clings to your tongue. "work is... fine."

suna perks up beside you at that, and you feel his eyes on your profile like he's waiting for you to go on.

"things get, uh... things get slow this time of year, so I'm mostly just answering stupid emails and ordering gifts online while i sit at my desk." you swirl the glass of wine in your hand, watching the way that the light catches in the deep red surface. "my section chief has kids and loves the holidays, so she's been pretty checked-out lately, herself. makes it easy to get away with slacking off."

you risk a glance over at him, and are somewhat dismayed to find him listening intently.

"must be nice to get a little break," he offers.

"yeah, i guess," you reply. your words are in agreement with him, but still your brow furrows.

what the fuck is going on?

you look around the room, as though checking for a hidden camera, or some other sign that might give away what the hell this guy's motives are. but around you is simply a room of friends enjoying each other's company—sipping drinks; eating finger foods the hosts had been carefully set out to graze on; chatting amongst each other about their lives, their holiday sweaters, their work.

everything seems totally normal, other than what's transpiring in the quiet corner where you and suna rintarou find yourselves standing side by side.

"how is... your... work?" you manage to ask, though it sounds as though the question is pulled from you with considerable effort. stiff and strained in every way a question so innocuous doesn't have any right to be.

suna laughs a little under his breath, masks it with a clearly fake cough, and then rests his hand over his mouth. he's smirking. you know he is. he's revelling in every second of your discomfort like the twisted little freak he is.

you're about to tell him as much, but he cuts you off.

"it's good," he replies to your pained question with an unexpected sincerity. "we're coming up to the half-way point in the season, so training is still pretty intense. we do get a day off for the holiday though."

right, he's a volleyball player. you'd learned that upon your first meeting, before your opinion of him was quite so hostile. you remember thinking at the time that he looked like a volleyball player—tall, lean, with big hands that made the beer can he'd been holding look almost laughably small in comparison.

you glance down at those hands again, still idly fidgeting with his cellphone. he's not drinking a beer tonight, and you wonder if maybe it's because he's in the middle of his season.

you think about asking him.

but you don't.

suna seems to be waiting for you to say more, but when you don't, he continues on the conversation himself. "i thought about taking the train to hyogo for the day, but it wouldn't really make sense just to go visit for a few hours."

you take another sip of your wine. you decide that you do not in fact enjoy it.

you hum a bit, ditching your mostly full glass on the edge of a table that rests within reach. "tough to just make a day trip, especially since the weather's so..." you trail off, gesturing vaguely with your now empty hand in a way that's supposed to indicate the unreliability of the winter climate.

suna laughs.

you look at him in confusion.

"the weather?" he asks you, rubbing at his mouth again like he trying to hide the expression underneath his fingertips. it might work if his eyes didn't crinkle at the corner when he smiles. "we're talking about the weather now?"

your lips part indignantly at his jibe. he's the one who'd initiated this hellscape of small talk, and now he had the nerve to chide you for it?

"oh, i'm sorry," you guffaw, feigning remorse, "is there some pressing matter you'd rather discuss?"

rintarou dips closer to you from his greater height, and the fact that he's so much taller than you are only irritates you more.

"there is actually," he says with a nod.

"oh, yeah?" you roll your eyes, gearing up for a fight. you turn to face him properly, tilting your chin up to meet him eye to eye without wavering. "and what's that?"

"are you aware that we've been standing under mistletoe for the entirety of this conversation?"

you slowly look overhead.

like something out of a horror film, you find that for once in his life (or at least the few months you've known him) suna's chosen to say something factual. overhead, a little bundle of mistletoe has been affixed to the ceiling with a piece of tape that seems to barely be hanging on—the decoration at risk of falling at any moment.

you feel sick.

"so what?" you ask him, swallowing down that feeling of dread and maintaining (what you hope is) an air of indifference.

"so that means we're supposed to kiss," he tells you matter-of-factly, almost a bit pointedly, like he can't believe you didn't know.

"i'm aware of that," you hiss. "i don't, however, bend to the whims of plants, as a general rule."

"weird rule," he remarks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

you feel a throb of irritation behind your eyes.

"you're the one who came over here to bother me," you point out. "if you knew there was mistletoe hanging up there, that means this is your fault."

suna shrugs a bit.

you keep going, your pulse thrumming beneath your tongue and fanning the flames of irritation churning in the pit of your stomach.

"if anything, that makes you the weird one for coming up with some scheme to trick me. we're not children. if you wanted to kiss me so bad you could have just aske—"

"can i kiss you?"

what?

"i asked if i can kiss you," rintarou says, and you're not sure if that means you voiced your thought aloud or it was just plainly written across your face. he inches closer to you, and though you would usually shift away to accommodate for the intrusion, the table where you'd discarded your glass of wine keeps you mostly trapped in place. pinned. cornered. "you said that if i wanted to kiss you, i should ask. so, i'm asking if i can kiss you."

why?

suna sighs after a moment of contemplating the look of abject shock on your features, slumping forward and resting his forehead on the wall beside your head, caging you against the wall with his lanky frame. you can't breathe with him this close—too startled by the proximity and the warmth radiating from him to even think about drawing air into your lungs. too confused by this entire situation to meet your basic human needs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he asks quietly. he's so near that you feel his words more than you hear them—especially since they were spoken so quietly just next to your ear.

"get what?" your own voice sounds distant—sounds strange—to you when you finally manage to speak.

suna pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, and you're shocked to see just how pink his face is. he looks mortified—and desperate—as his eyes find yours. he tilts his face towards you, and when he speaks again you feel the warmth of his breath break against your lips.

"you're the only person in this room who i'd enjoy listening to talk about the weather."

and it's not until much later, when the lingering bitterness from the wine has been replaced by something much sweeter (though entirely unexpected) on your tongue, that you realize rintarou was the only person in the room tall enough to reach the ceiling.

a/n: for nana, who forced me to write this entirely against my will but whom i love dearly in spite of it

[smarteoasis]

Have you ever think about Riki+face slap?

"take it, you fucking slut." riki's hips slam against yours as his fingers dig into your hips.

moans and yelps escape your mouth, riki's fat cock filling up your warm insides so nicely.

you're looking up at him, mouth wide open in pleasure, laying on your back with your legs wrapped around his waist, allowing him to go even deeper.

"riki- ngh! i can't-" tears stream down your face at the continuous pleasure.

he shakes his head, scoffing at your denial when you came onto him, whining about how horny you are.

"you asked for this, so take it." a loud slap echoes through the room, riki's palm making contact with your cheek.

a choked gasp leaves your mouth, eyes rolling back to your head and your tight walls clenching around him.

riki groans, hips not stopping their pace as he realises you liked that.

"dumb slut.. you into this shit? nasty thing."

your moans and whines get louder, squirting all over his abdomen.

he comes inside you, filling you up to the brim.

riki rubs your red cheek, pressing a kiss to your swollen lips. you look up at him with a smile, giggling at what just occured.

he rolls his eyes, plopping down next to you and pulling you close, mumbling something about you being a freak.

[butterflytint]

in your web of lies - s. gojo

summary: as a devoted student of science, you put all your time just to that. Misfortune falls upon you when you are faced with being in the same class as satoru gojo, your longtime academic rival and essentially the bane of your existence. It goes one step further when his strange behavior seems to get even stranger as the web slinging hero of New York suddenly swings into your life. . . not that there's any correlation.

pairing: spiderman!gojo x fem!reader

warnings: college au, excessive banter, guns, violence, death/bloodshed mentioned, sexual content, smut, porn with plot, mentions of SA, p in v, oral sex, missionary, doggy style, riding, little sprinkle of dirty talk

a/n: this is based off the spiderman gojo art by @ aliyartss on instagram!

First weeks of any semester are always brutal.

The sound of traffic clogging and polluting the streets, brutal. The beginning of ringing headaches from the lack of sleep, brutal. The start of all-nighters to complete homework and study, brutal.

That’s just a small piece of the brutality that follows college students.

At least that’s what most students can relate to.

You glance over at Shoko, next to you as you settle into class. Being miles ahead of schedule was always way better than being even a second behind. So walking into the small lecture room ten minutes before class plays in your favor even if it was Professor Yaga’s class, the same professor you’ve had for two past semesters already.

“You look a little annoyed,” Shoko comments while flipping through her notebook.

“Sorry—I had a bit of a fight last night with my Dad,” you sigh out, shaking your head. Your finger slides along the edge of your own notes. “And I guess I’m just a little stressed about everything. The JJ Tech guys are having me spend extra hours and I can hardly get an hour to myself in the day.”

“Well chin up, we’ve got a long lab ahead of us today,” Shoko tapped playfully against your chin, her eyes down on her papers.

“Hm, right,” you mumble, eyes drooping at the chalkboard. “Wonder how you’re getting through this lab by yourself.”

“Hey, Satoru is my lab partner. You shouldn’t worry too much about that,” she chides. Shoko has a habit of not looking at you when she’s in the middle of doing something while conversating. “You seem like you have something else on your mind. You wanna talk about your dad?”

You eyeball the warmup problem he has on the board, jotting it down in your notebook. Your mind races with that conversation you had with your father just last night. How he wanted to have an assigned detail with you on campus, safely getting you to and from class. You have enough to worry about with finally shifting to yours and Utahime’s new apartment in a few short weeks without having to think about your dad.

Your impending argument was scheduled to continue once you saw him again since you didn’t even have a fighting chance when he got a call about a high-profile criminal striking again. You wonder just what could have transpired last night, apparently there were witnesses that sighted him.

“Not really.”

His fingers trail down the side of his torso, eyes screwing shut when he grazes that sensitive expanse of skin. Throbbing mercilessly, he hisses through clenched teeth, opening his eyes and glancing at the banged-up mirror on his wall.

That skintight suit was still clinging to his body like glue. He tears his mask off his head, tousling his white locks in the process. His head tips back when his gloved fingers brush over that tender place on his side.

A series of slow, deliberate breaths travel past his lips. Mindlessly, he reaches for a vial of painkillers. He doesn’t even count how many he tips into his waiting palm before popping them into his mouth and chasing them down bitterly with a bottle of water.

The boy grunts out as he falls back onto his bed, hoping he could sleep the soreness off before class tomorrow.

RING! RING!

Those eyes of his that had just shut after eons of forcing himself to stay alert and prepared for any attack were cruelly wrenched open once more.

RING! RING!

Another blasted alarm sounded from across his room, an alarm clock he simply can’t punch to snooze as he’d already bought a new one after abusing his previous two.

Satoru sat up, wincing at the sting on his side.

He groaned, gruffly peeling that suit off his body. Thoughts of the day ahead warped his mind. He had spent all night traipsing rooftops, swinging through the streets in pursuit of a gang of sloppy bank robbers.

He usually had fun trailing and taking down thuggish rogues, picking them off and bringing them to justice ever so casually. He got to feel the rush of the midnight air as he swung from building to building, between the streets. Arms and legs easily stretching and freely moving without a care in the world.

He loves it.

Last night, he had run that stolen van off the road without much effort. Everything went swimmingly until he had foolishly been launched into a brick wall mid-chase.

That had caused him to lose a bit of coordination during the fight that ensued shortly after. After stringing them up with his webs, he had swung back home only to stop yet another mugger on the way.

Once he had finally returned the woman’s stolen purse and made sure she got home safely, he gave himself the same protocol.

He tries to rush out of the apartment as soon as possible. He had enough on his plate to worry about with school, he could hardly keep up with his nighttime activities.

No, not that. His work as a vigilante made it difficult to have even a moment to himself. Let alone the fact his internship at JJ Technologies started earlier this month as well. So yes, he has enough on his plate with no room to spare for the breakfast his conscience had suggested.

“Yo! Suguru!” Satoru calls. He is jolted out of his thoughts when he approaches his best friend right by the theology building.

“Oh, what’s up?” Suguru turned around. “You watch the game last night?”

“Wha—no,” Satoru shakes his head, pushing his glasses up. He sheepishly sighs, “You know I’ve been busy with the internship and with homework.”

“Oh right,” Suguru mumbles teasingly. “The internship? Speaking of, did you see the news? They’re saying the man who banged those guys up pretty good last night was the mysterious Spiderman.”

“Will you shut up?” Satoru gasps, almost slapping him.

Of course, Suguru knew. He found out in a freak accident only a week after Satoru had been bitten. The freak accident being Satoru forgot to lock his bedroom door while changing out of his costume and his best friend walking in.

“Relax. No one knows,” Suguru reassures, he takes a sip of his coffee. “Only a small population of the public are still choosing to be delusional.”

“Yeah, delusional enough to believe Spiderman doesn’t exist,” Satoru scoffs.

“No, delusional enough to believe he does,” Suguru corrects harshly. “If I didn’t walk in on you half naked with that suit on and saw how you shot out a web before you realized I was in the room, I would never have believed those photos I saw in the news either.”

“Spiderman is a household name now whether you like it or not,” Satoru self-righteously points at himself with his thumb. “You wouldn’t believe how big of a fan the ladies are.”

Suguru shakes his head as he eyes his student portal on his phone. “Fuck, I have a history quiz today.”

“Shit, me too,” Satoru grunts, shaking his head as he walks past yet another sorority bake sale on his way down the main streets of campus. “Wait—we’re in the same class.”

“Oh—yeah,” Suguru fumbles with his phone as he points at Satoru. “I think I might ask Nanami to let me cheat off him—Haiba won’t mind but let’s face it, he’s not the brightest—Wait, you never mentioned what exactly happened last night.”

“Toji Fushiguro’s on the run. There was a sighting of him last night and I went to track him down but no luck. Then there was a bank heist on West 7th, I wish I got to fucking sleep after. Being flung against a brick wall is not as fun as it sounds. Fuck—wait I have class!” Satoru interjects, darting off in the middle of the conversation, leaving Suguru with a look of disappointment on his face.

“I have the same class,” Suguru frowns.

Yaga has always been quite the authoritarian, he knows what to expect from one of his star pupils as he strolls into class with a lazy smile on his face, ten minutes late.

“How nice of you to join us, Satoru,” Yaga’s tone isn’t as sweet as his words. “I should count myself lucky you showed up at all today, no less right before we worked on our lab assignment.”

That hand you have your cheek resting on slides up to palm at your forehead, hoping to soothe the forthcoming headache once that boy settles into his seat.

“We’re switching lab partners today,” Yaga declares, pen in hand as he scribbles and crosses out names on his seating chart. “I know you must’ve been comfortable with your partners from last semester, but I’d like you to find your name on the board and sit accordingly. This partner is who you’ll be working with for the final project.”

Satoru was perfectly fine working with Shoko. Their scientific caliber was on par with one another and despite the fact they butted heads quite often, they somehow managed to do quite well on their labs.

His mind traps him in praying he doesn’t end up with Yuki that he almost doesn’t realize the fact you were his new partner. He whips his head to the right, seeing your brows raise as you glance back at him.

Seriously? Him?   

No one can relate to how brutal it is having Satoru Gojo of all people as your classmate in your organic chemistry class.

Yeah sure, give you an assignment of reporting the development and properties of organic photovoltaic cells for renewable energy applications or even deciphering the molar mass of your father’s whiskey collection, you could make sense of it.

You could never make sense of this kid, however.

Satoru Gojo.

The irritating kid you’ve been battling to beat out for the highest exam score since middle school. The kid that ran into class late and hardly seemed all that present but still landed a score almost as high as yours every time. The kid that sat at the back of class, dozing off during lab. The kid that spent a decent chunk of senior year playing Digimon on his phone and still antagonized you before every science test you had.

That kid you thought you wouldn’t have to worry about after high school but were proved severely wrong when you saw him on your campus your first semester. That kid you hoped you wouldn’t have to run into anywhere else but still did somehow where you had been interning.

If there was a chemical formula to understand why you couldn’t stand him, your list of grievances would have to be simplified to fit on one page.

You’re seriously contemplating on marching up to Yaga and demanding a switch in partners. Someone else. Anyone else.

Trying to change Yaga’s mind on anything though, was a feat greater than what any scientist could accomplish.

Heaving a sigh, you plop your books down on the table. There was this severity in your movements that wove seamlessly into propriety. He peeks over at your color-coordinated notes all lined out in neat handwriting.

Yeah, he’s been competing with you in school for years. It’s not like he meant to, he was just great at just about everything he did. It’s not his fault!

He knew you couldn’t stand him, and he enjoyed that for some reason. Getting under your skin with quick quips were designed to be much more fun because of that. Since he is on the clock every hour of the day, he needs to let out his stress somehow. Punching bad guys is not enough anymore.

“Look at your notes,” Satoru cheeses, flipping through your book. “All shiny and pretty. You know, if you put more effort in, you could look the same.”

You shove his arm, snatching your book back from him, “Shut up. Don’t make me mad. Words can’t explain how pissed I am already.”

“Aw, you know I’m kidding,” he grins mischievously. “You’re not that bad to look at.”

You press your lips together as you inhale heavily. Your eyes raise to look dead straight at the front of the class before you turn your head to face him.

He catches that fire in your gaze that he’s not even seen in the most vicious of criminals and mutants he’s gone up against.  

“I don’t get why Yaga didn’t call Suguru out for being late either,” Satoru frowns, facing forward.

“Because Suguru isn’t late every day,” you point. “You are. And half the time, you leave early. It baffles me how you still pass all your classes.”

“Is someone jealous?” Satoru smiles.

As you shake your head, you look down at your notes. You’ve known Satoru for many years, but he was always just a classmate. He was also always the classmate you would barely beat out to get the highest marks in science or any other class. The classmate that would get under your skin way too often.

There was something about him that made you pay close attention to him.

“Oh shit!” one of the students in class shouts out, eyes glued to his phone. Needless to say, he’s garnered the attention of the entire class. “There’s a robbery going on right now at the bank downtown! Six-gun men have all the customers and staff held hostage!”

This earns a series of nervous gasps and prayers from the students. The hair on the back of Satoru’s neck stands up and he’s still in his seat as his peers flock toward the lab table of the student watching the news live stream.

“Wonder when Spiderman’s going to show up,” one of his classmates ponder aloud.

“Nah, he can’t do shit. You think a clown in tights is going to take down a fucking group of men with guns?” another kid snarks, causing Satoru to all but roll his eyes as he stands up.

Ah, the everlasting and everchanging debate as to whether the wall crawling vigilante was a menace or a savior of society.

If he wasted his time worrying so much about what people thought about him, he’d never get a single thing done. He drowns out their discussion as he strides to the door with his mission clear in his mind: Save those hostages.

“Alright boys! Glad we wrapped this up!” Satoru, or should one say, Spiderman dusts off his hands ever so casually.

He crouches down, leveling with the leader of the gang who happened to be tied up thanks to Satoru’s expertise webbing. He breathes freely with the knowledge that the hostages have rushed out of the bank, straight into the arms of their worried loved ones outside and the police.

When a vial of green in the pocket of one of the tattooed thug’s glints in the light, Satoru reaches to pull it out. He squints through his mask at the bottle of green, “What do we have here?”

As expected, the thug spits out, “None of your fucking business, you bug.”

“Quiet, will you?” Satoru harshly smacks the man’s forehead.

“Robbing a bank on a busy day like this for me?” Satoru tuts, a menacing lilt in his joke. “You should feel lucky I haven’t strung you upside down in your underwear out on the street lamps. But I’ve got somewhere to be unfortunately, so have fun in jail!”

With that, Satoru extends his arms out and a thick web sprouts out in the direction of the tall buildings lining the streets. If it was any other day, any other time of day, he would’ve stuck around. Spewed out some more quippy remarks, had a bit more fun with the goons.

But alas, he must get back in time before class ends. He knew the twenty minutes he had vanished for were going to raise questions.

He was absolutely correct.

“Satoru, where the hell were you?” Yaga all but yells at the boy stumbling back in. “Class is over.”

The entire class has their attention steering over to the late boy. He knew what he had to say, the lie didn’t need to be ridiculous but he knew regardless, he would still sound utterly stupid. He did not particularly give a fuck though.

“Little boy’s room,” Satoru casually responds, not a speck of shame in his rather comical answer.

This has the entire class locked in a deadly silence. That is before they split into a fit of boisterous laughter. Satoru revels in the fact he’s defused the tension he suspected he may experience.

You narrow your eyes, eyeing Satoru as he trudges over to his seat, tugging his collar into place. You let your eyes fall to the tabletop, looking over your work.

Typical. He leaves for God knows what and you’re stuck doing his work. If this isn’t precedent enough to request a new partner, you don’t know what is.

He’s not said a single word to you yet . . . How odd. You expect him to do no less than tease the living hell out of you or ask if you missed him.

All that swarms his mind however is what the hell is in this vial?

“What the hell is in this vial?” Suguru murmurs quietly as he inspects the glass tube.

“Beats me,” Satoru replies, swiping the bottle off him. “I need to figure that out.”

“Don’t you think that maybe you should’ve handed it over to the police?” Suguru asks, the sound of fellow classmates typing away on their laptops and chattering away in the campus library buzzes in the background.

“Police won’t do shit,” Satoru bites back, rolling his eyes. “If law enforcement was capable of anything, don’t you think that there wouldn’t be a need for Spiderman?”

“What about Spiderman?” Haiba butts in unannounced.

Satoru nearly jumps five feet in the air at the sudden intrusion. His six eyes that worked in his favor as a sixth sense to alert him of danger have helped him tremendously in combat time and time again, but not so much with nosy classmates.

Quickly pocketing the substance, he looks at Haiba, “None of your business.”

“Are you kidding? I spent all afternoon looking for footage from today’s robbery—I got nothing,” Haiba whines, flailing his arms in the air.

“I heard it was pretty cool,” Satoru boasts pridefully, earning a well-deserved elbow to the gut from Suguru.

Haiba trots off to go bother Nanami before Suguru faces his best friend again. “Oh fuck. Y/n is coming this way. Good luck.”

The vigilante’s eyes widen when he recognizes your stern, no-nonsense face and stride. Everyone is well aware of what that means, your kind and lighthearted behavior is put on hold in favor of your stern approach to your academics.

He half expects you to create a scene in the library but he knows you better than that. You never openly got angry, the worst he’s seen you do is roll your eyes. It’s one of the reasons he pokes fun at you as much as possible, hoping to see how he can make you crack.

Yet, you never do. You hold notebooks and files close to your chest as you march to a halt three feet away from him. Indifferently, you pull out a packet and hold it out for him.

“Since your bladder has never-ending issues, I did your part of the lab today,” you chide like you have a myriad of other things on your mind.

“Shit—you did not have to do any of this,” Satoru knows he should be frowning, but he’s not. A little leer spreads on his face, eyes wide and glimmering through the lens of those glasses he absolutely had no more use for since the day he was bit by that spider.

“Don’t bail on me again. Then I won’t have to do it,” you purse your lips at him before you turn around.

He is left there with nothing else to do but embarrassingly watch you walk away, clutching his lab report in his hand.

“Hold on,” Satoru mumbles to Suguru as he watches you sift between the aisles of shelves.

 Before either of them know it, he’s making his way to the aisle you are in. He’s eyeing you up and down almost skeptically, eyes lingering far longer than they should.

“Can I help you?” you quiz quite impertinently, your right hand pulling out a heavy book from the biochemistry section.

“Why did you do my part?” Satoru tips his chin down, a crease forming between his silver brows.

“Because you . . . didn’t do it,” you slowly iterate, grasping the book with both your hands as you flip through the pages. 

“Well, duh, but why?” Satoru repeats. “You didn’t have to do it. I ran out of class and left it all on you—you shouldn’t have done it.”

You take a deep breath, slamming the book shut, “If you really think I did it for you, you really don’t deserve to be in the same class as me at all. I did it so I don’t have to rely on you to get the work done. I’d rather have the work done right than have it half-assed. And here I thought you were much more clever than that.”

“I’m not stupid,” he smirks. “Just confused about a lot of the things you do sometimes.”

“Yeah, because you don’t know me,” you say, sliding that book back into the open slot on the shelf. You look up, reaching for another book that is placed well above your head.

“I know you. I know you’re your father’s daughter,” Satoru’s statement is playfully delivered yet it strikes you like a bus. His fingers stroke the spine of the book you were reaching for, relishing the fact you couldn’t reach it. He looks down at you, tugging the book out and holding it in his big hands. “You might just be stricter than the captain himself.”

“Why are you talking like you know my father?” you glare, folding your arms.

“Seen his interviews on the news. He’s one tough cookie—but it only makes sense when you’re a cop, huh?” he has a lilt in his head.

“Why are you saying stupid things?” you question, narrowing your eyes at him. “I already have enough on my mind, I don’t need you badgering me with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, it’s my professional opinion as your partner,” Satoru holds the book out with a ridiculously charming smile.

“Lab partner,” you fix his statement, reaching for the book but he pulls it back out of your reach, stupid grin still on his face. “Don’t play games with me, I have to get to work now, and you have to get there too.”

You pry the book from his hands and stride off before he can annoy you further. Satoru’s head turns, following you march off. He’s not sure why he’s trapped in staring at you for so long.

“I’m guessing you plan on finding out on your own as to what’s in that bottle,” Suguru interjects in the middle of Satoru’s wandering mind, popping up in the aisle.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Satoru fishes in his pocket, hoping that the touch of his cool fingers on the glass will telepathically reveal its identity to him. “If I had the equipment to do it on my own . . . it would be so much fucking easier.”

Suguru gapes at him like he’s stupid, “Hello? You intern at the biggest scientific research facility in the city.”

Satoru’s brows raise and the corners of his mouth turn down, weighing the possible next route to his answer.

“Okay, you have to log the results in the system like this,” you instruct your team. “Then you move on to the next step. Trust me you don’t want to forget logging that data, it could entirely throw off the process.”

You’ve been interning at JJ Technologies since last summer which has done nothing short of drain you of any free time whatsoever. It’s only been several weeks since you were moved up to lead a fresh batch of young interns. Luckily, you haven’t had to deal with teaching them in the laboratory with the equipment, just basic information and note-taking thus far.

That unfortunately was only the first of four hours at the facility. The next three hours, you would be holed up in the lab, inspecting and experimenting with nanotechnology. As tiring as it is, it is just as rewarding.

Knowing the amount of good that can be done with this research and work was a brilliant means of motivation. Society has advanced already as it is—the world of medicine has benefited greatly—billions of lives have the chance to improve. How could anyone give up on that?

Thoughts of what homework assignments you have yet to submit reign your brain. Hours and hours of straining your mind to intake as much information and apply it all in the lab was making you want nothing more than to crawl under your covers and call it a week.

With a hefty breath, you take a well-deserved recess to the vending machine. Hoping that this little trip for a snack can hold a candle to the sleep you oh so desire.

Satoru knows his assigned place of work is four levels down. He also is aware that his group had been dismissed ten minutes ago and he should be swinging his merry way through the streets to scout for trouble.

He is also entirely aware that he should not be on the twenty-something floor that had a chance of having an empty lab right about now.

Swiping his boss’s ID card is far too easy, shooting an inconspicuous web at any cameras of interest is just as simple.

The hard part is deciphering what is in this damn vial. The lights are dim inside the particular lab he steps into. A breath of relief pushes out of his lungs as he pulls the small bottle from his pocket, circling the stations to get to the specific equipment he needs.

There’s a limited amount of liquid in the vial, so he knows he must handle this process with care and precision. The story would be different if he had another vial or two.

You watch almost lifelessly as a bar of candy and a canned coffee drop down, landing with a dull thud. Mindlessly, you reach through the bottom flap, hearing the faint hinge as you pull out your restitution for break-free work.

Closing and harshly forcing your eyes back open, you try to keep your mind alert as you march on back to the lab to clean up. When you open the door, you’re not expecting this boy to whip his head up at you like a deer in headlights.

“Gojo?” you furrow your brows, one hand still on the door and the other clutching your food.

Gojo is stunned into silence, a laughable silence. When he says nothing, you tip your head down, “What are you doing here?”

“I just had some work,” Satoru quickly lies. “My manager needed me to look at something. I know you’re pretty happy to see me—your face says it all.”

“Oh, does it? Aren’t you supposed to be on the 20th floor?” you quiz, left eye twitching.

In most situations, when Satoru’s backed into a corner, he can somehow flip his way out of there or even sweettalk whoever he needed to. But he can’t explain why he actually feels bad lying to you, it makes his head whirl. “Uh—yeah, but I had to use some of the equipment up here.”

Squinting skeptically, you near him slowly. As you do, Satoru can’t help but gulp. He’s not sure what it is he should focus on. The fact he needs to come up with a way to convince you to not report him? Or the fact you are only a couple inches to his left, looking over his shoulder? The fact you look so adorable in a lab coat?

“What is that?” you peer down at the vial, noticing he has already placed a drop of that substance down on a microscope slide.

“Not sure,” Satoru shrugs. “I haven’t got the faintest clue.”

You continue staring at the chemical concoction, you flick your gaze at him, “Mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it,” Satoru shuffles a couple inches over, giving you enough room to peer into the eyepiece of the microscope.

He can’t help but tautly swallow, hardly able to pay attention because of how sweet you smell. He has to stop himself from telling you just that but he can’t let it get to your head. As effortlessly as he spins webs, he only hopes he’s half as graceful when feeding you some half-assed answer as to just what this chemical was and that his manager most definitely would give him such a compound.

“Hmm,” you hum, slowly turning the dial on the side of the instrument to lift and then focus what was in the slide. “Figuring out what is it shouldn’t be too tricky. I just need to measure the resonance frequency by breaking the substance down a bit more. Then determining the chemical properties shouldn’t be too tricky.”

Satoru’s brows lift and the edge of his lips turn down, amused clearly. “Wow.”

“What?” you blink.

“I always forget how smart you are,” he says airily. When you shoot him a look that seems to be a hybrid of threatening and offense, his nose crinkles and his glasses shift accordingly on his face, “That came out very wrong. I just meant—”

“So this is why you broke into my lab?” you cut him off, still squinting down at the substance.

“I didn’t break in,” Satoru defends himself. “I just figured no one would notice.”

“Why don’t you check over the logic in that again,” you suggest, eyes glancing up at him. “It’s hard to believe you’re the guy who almost beat me out for valedictorian.”

“And why’s that?” Gojo tilts his head, leaning his elbows on the table. It leaves you eyeing him from head to toe as inconspicuously as possible. Sometimes you forget how tall he is. The fact he towers over you serves as a friendly reminder he’s not just any old geeky kid from school.

Before you can give him an answer, his phone buzzes. He shoots a glance down at it, his pretty features sinking. The program he had compiled with Suguru to tune into the police’s radio communications to pick up on any crime alerts had pinged with notifications on his phone. There was a robbery currently taking place at a jewelry store three streets away.

“Shit—my aunt needs me to pick her up from her cooking class,” Satoru quickly lies, blinking unsteadily as he faces you. “It’s kind of far and not safe for her to ride the train by herself. I have to go. Sorry for bothering you—”

“Wait—” you hold a hand up, earning a wide-eyed look from him. It’s kind of endearing how earnest he sounds. “How about you go, and I’ll keep looking at this for you? Once I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“You don’t have to,” Satoru frowns, sliding his backpack on, his Spiderman suit nestled neatly inside.

“It’s no problem. You go—don’t keep your aunt waiting,” you beckon him to get a move on. “I’ll see you at school.”

There you go again, being so incontestably kind yet being so severe while doing so. It’s when you crack a hint of a smile to ease him that he actually does as you say. That must be the first he’s seen you sincerely look at him.

Satoru rushes out the door and you glance down at the vial again, trying to understand what exactly the contents of it were.

Satoru has no time to think about how badly he feels leaving you with such a task. He’s too busy webbing his backpack up high on an alleyway wall after he’s changed into his suit.

Before he knows it, he’s already in the air, swinging loosely through the streets of New York. He feels the wind rush at him like it wishes to capture him, keep him in the sky with the moon. But with how quick he’s moving, he feels invincible—like nothing can touch him.

Satoru’s fallen into the same routine every night. Despite the fact he never gets the recognition in his personal life, he would not give up being Spiderman for the world.

Citizens walking the streets all gasp and point when they see the great Spiderman shoot past them like a comet. His white and blue suit makes him look like he was meant to be a part of a winter night sky, the sapphire blue spider emblem in the center of his chest casting a beautiful contrast in the ensemble.

He pays no mind as the silver meshy strings of his webs cling to buildings, aiding him in passing through the streets with ease. He also doesn’t stop himself from enjoying the occasional flips to impress the children out with their families and friends. Satoru insists it’s entirely necessary.

Once he spots the store mentioned on the police comms, he zips around the corner. Landing right above the entrance to the small jewelry shop, he pushes it open rather discreetly. It’s almost comical the way the goons inside haven’t the slightest clue that the Spiderman was crawling into the shop right above their very heads.

Thanks to Satoru’s wall crawling abilities, he’s able to cling to walls and ceilings with ease and without so much as breaking a sweat. So when he casually gawks down at the masked thieves, he tilts his head in amusement at how panicked the men look shouting orders to one another.

“Quick! Before Spiderman gets here!” one spits, stripping a diamond chain straight from the display case. When his friend breaks the glass case all together, he screams, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“The Spider’s not gonna come. He’s too chicken,” the other responds. “I’d like to see him try.”

“Cute,” Satoru chuckles above them.

This causes all four to whip their heads up at the masked vigilante. Satoru is only able to see their eyes through the cutouts but he can tell by the way their pupils dilate that they are downright terrified.

In the papers and in the news, Satoru is privy to the fact the general public is split on whether they see a need in all the flips and tricks that come along with Spiderman.

Satoru couldn’t care less though, he is wholeheartedly prepared to stand trial to attest to the fact that the flair is entirely necessary. He displays the testimony by the very way he does a backflip and lands with both feet and a palm planted to the ground.

“Y’know I left a really pretty girl all alone just so I could stop you?” Satoru teases lightly, straightening up and flexing his arms by crossing one over the other. “But hey, if that’s what you think, we can make this a lot more fun.”

One of the men reached for his gun, pulling it out and pointing it at Satoru. All he huffs out is a displeased and underwhelmed breath as he shoots out a web, yanking the gun back.

“Come on. Show a bit more effort. You’re killing me,” Satoru drawls like a six-year-old. His six-eyes alert him of an impending punch hurtling his way from his left, making him duck and grab the very goon’s fist in the process. “Missed me!”

The goon let out a threatening growl as he swung again, only to miss Satoru. . . over and over again. Satoru laughs childishly as he doges and parries off swings one after the other. Two of the others manage to finally point their guns at the arachnid hero, clicking the safeties with a string of snaps that causes the shop owner to gasp and cower further into the corner he was in.

Satoru rolls his eyes, delivering an unruly kick to one of the men that dominos into him clashing into his friend, knocking them both to the ground.

The hero giggles at the pathetic exhibition before him. He hardly bats an eye when one of the men throws something that resembles a marble to the ground. A cloud of smoke emits from the impact of the small pellet on the shiny limestone floor.

Satoru’s eyes widen behind his white and black mask. He moves to leap back but inadvertently breathes in far more than he intends to.

His head spins, or maybe it’s the room that is spinning, he can’t tell. All he knows is that his head is suddenly throbbing in pain, every nerve ending feels like it’s thrumming to burst within his very skull. Like they are conspiring against him and hoping to flee the purgatory of his mind.

His ears tune in and out like his head has been dunked underwater. Vision beginning to blur, he tries his best to plant his feet firm on the ground but to no avail. He’s hit with a great wave of despondency when he envisions his uncle’s dead body before him.

That and flashes of him in a beautiful house overlooking a balmy little coastal town, the sound of his laughter blends in with a girl’s and he cannot distinguish whose.

He hardly gets the chance to decipher the strange blend of images when he is suddenly hit in the back of the head with a crowbar.

Once again, the poor boy’s head rings and his head snaps down from the impact of the weapon to his skull. He lets out a pained groan, doing his best to gather himself and seize control of his sense again.

His vision begins to clear and all of a sudden, his six eyes begin to tingle and flash in his mind. INCOMING.

He listens to his instincts and ducks straight away, successfully dodging another deadly swing of that damned crowbar.

“Alright, party’s over,” Satoru scowls under his mask and flips back, snaking a well-aimed and well-timed web sticking to the man and tugging him back.

He punches him quite harshly in the face that it all but knocks him out. Satoru quickly lunges for the two goons in the midst of aiming their guns at him. The thieves don’t even process how quickly they are disarmed because Spiderman has already smashed their heads together.

They drop to the ground, leaving one more thug, quivering in terror. He points his gun at Satoru with a shaky hand, only to find that weapon of his leaving his very hands when Satoru tugs it at towards himself with the help of his webs.

“Last one, huh?” Satoru smugly says. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

The thug fumes as he charges at the vigilante, “I’ll fucking kill you. If not me, then the others!”

He throws a fist at Satoru, but he whips his head to the side, “Others?”

He then lands a punch of his own at the criminal before successfully dodging yet another hit. As Satoru’s third punch causes the thief to lose balance, he’s already in the middle of stringing the man upside down from the ceiling.

“Who are your friends—” Satoru stares at the tangled man, readying his fist to intimidate the thug. “And I advise you talk.”

“I’m not saying shit!” The thug spits, trying to wriggle free.

“You’ll be here for god knows how long. All that blood rushing to your brain, oof, must hurt a little.” Satoru threatens playfully. “And it’ll hurt like hell when I actually beat you to a pulp!”

“Shit! Okay! Okay!” the thief cries, panic-stricken sweat dripping down his forehead into his hairline. “I—I work for a guy named Jogo! He’s this freaky looking guy that wears this mask on his face—I’ve never seen him but he’s big in the group, works with some other guy—I don’t know his name.”

“Jogo,” Satoru mumbles wracking his brain to see if he has had a run in with him. “What is he up to?”

“I’ve got no clue! I swear!” the man attests frightenedly. “All I know is that they needed us to look for a specific relic—You see my partner you knocked out right there? He’s got a picture in his back pocket. Jogo sent a bunch of us on heists in banks and jewelry stores to see if we can find it but there’s no sign of it anywhere.”

Satoru steps back and grabs the photo from the pocket of the man the other thief had indicated. He pulls back the photo, glossing over it briefly.

It was a photograph of a box. Made of some sort of coppery-silver metal with engraved eyes on the sides of it. The irises though, were made of jewels—rubies.

“Going through a whole lot for this freaky looking thing,” Satoru waves the photo with a dexterous flip of his fingers. “Why are they going through all that trouble for this? And what’s in it for you?”

“Wish I knew why those guys want that thing,” the man shakes his head, eyes still wide. “They told us they’d give each of us a cut in all that we returned from the heists—Jogo is not someone to be messed with—he’d track us down and kill us if we went back on our deal.”

“Tch. You’re scared of the wrong people,” Satoru tuts, stowing away the photo for safekeeping. “Tell me what that thing was that your friend threw on the ground. That little ball.”

“That? I have no idea. The boss just gave my partner a few—I think that was the last one. He didn’t tell us what it was or what it did,” the felon explains.

Satoru feels his own fingers twitching in irritation, “Think again. Remember what it was and I’ll go easy on you.”

The criminal’s eyes widen, “I don’t know anything! I swear! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Goodnight,” Satoru grunts out, ramming his elbow into the man’s nose, putting him to sleep.

It’s a matter of seconds before Satoru is watching from a few rooftops over as the cops arrive on scene. The flashing blue and red lights flashing into the back of his very skull. He’s running through what the thug he interrogated said, trying to make sense of it.

Speaking of making sense, you’re lugging yourself out of the lab after finally making sense of just what that vial Satoru had given you contains.

The worry on your face embeds itself into your features as you stash the chemical in your bag. Why would his manager hand this to him?

You glance over your phone, seeing your father calling you as you’re walking towards the train platform. Taking a beat to answer, you speak into the receiver, “Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, sweetheart, are you on your way back? It’s getting late,” your dad says, chatter in the back cause your ears to perk. Radios and police codes being tossed around in dialogue.

“Yeah, I’m waiting for the train,” you reply, looking up and down the tracks. “Are you still working?”

“Yeah, captain duties, dear,” your father responds calmly, yet you can hear the annoyed strain in his voice. “That spider’s strung up a few men in a jewelry store downtown. Taking care of what’s left of this place.”

“Oh—you saw Spiderman?” you ask, watching the train stop in front of you, bracing yourself as the lashes of wind whipped at you full speed.

“No, he’s left his webs all over the place,” your dad grunts dishearteningly. “Damage control is going to have lots of fun with that . . . Mom’s going to be pretty mad at us tonight for missing dinner, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” you nod like it’s obvious, sitting down and making eye contact with a gruff pair of men before quickly averting your gaze. “Maybe you should bring her flowers. She always likes that.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” your father says. “Alright, honey, get home safe. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You think over what he says. Your father always mentions the elusive Spiderman. How none of his men have gotten even close to cracking the case on who the wallcrawler is. How Spiderman is somehow everywhere and takes care of crimes of all scales.

How could a man find the time to even do all that?

The desire to study a man like him plagues your mind far much more than you would like to admit. Who would pass up such an opportunity?

But more of what’s spinning in your mind like a deadly train is why Gojo has a vial like this?

Speaking of trains, when yours comes to a stop, you stand up to get off. It’s unfortunate that the subway stop couldn’t be closer to the next one you are supposed to take.

As you drag on down the street, you mull over what you plan to say to your dad when you try convincing him to simply leave you be once you move out because your safety is put more at risk from the distant and late commutes after classes and your internship.

There’s something in your gut telling you to rush, like you’re being chased or watched at the very least.

You toss a look over your shoulder, seeing those two rugged men about fifteen feet behind you. It’s well past dark and your heart hammers louder against your ribcage, a prisoner demanding release.

Facing forward again, you try to hurry as fast as you can but you feel helpless when you enter a scarcely populated street.

Fuck.

That’s when you break into a full speed run. You hear the footsteps behind you pick up. Your hand slips into your bag’s pocket to grab your mace or taser, but when your fingers only skim the glass of that substance Satoru gave you, you know you’re doomed.

You glance back again, thundering heartbeat blaring just as loud as your footsteps against rough pavement.

“Hey, pretty!” one of the leering men shout. They are far too close to you now. “We just want to have some fun!”

You reach for your phone to send an SOS message to your dad—but that’s exactly the moment the man grabs your arm. You scream in horror, trying to keep going but the other one grabs you too.

Against your will, they drag you into the deserted alleyway nearby. You’re still wriggling in their hold, hoping to free yourself. Thrashing, kicking, screaming, you try it all.

“Let go of me!” you scream. “My dad’s a cop and he’s on his way right now!”

“Shut up,” his friend spits. “You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not,” you grit your teeth. “Captain L/n—badge number 103—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the first man says. “You look better when you’re not talking. We gotta do something about that.”

Your eyes widen, and you try pushing, screaming as loud as your lungs can take. The elbow you throw against the jaw of one of the men seem to have done some damage. His head whips to the side but surprisingly his body shoots back about five feet, striking against the brick wall.

Your big eyes follow the man, seeing that wasn’t your doing at all. Of course, it wasn’t. How could a girl like you simply cause a man to fly across an alley and slam against a wall?

That’s when he appears like a fallen angel. In black and white, a glowing blue in the core of his chest, a symbol of hope.

Spiderman.

He’s against the wall the man had flown into, but you have to crane your neck a fair amount to look up at where he’s clinging to. You can hardly blink at the fact he’s against the brick wall with no reinforcements whatsoever, just his fingers and soles of his feet keeping him afloat, defying physics, logic, and gravity.

“You gotta be at least a little attractive to hit on a girl like that,” Spiderman tilts his head, voice light yet husky, young.

“Fuck,” the man closest to you now was backing away. “I didn’t do nothing! I’m—I’m sorry—”

“Ugh, shut up,” the vigilante drawls, dragging out his syllables childishly.

He drops down with the most impressive of flips you haven’t even seen gold medalist gymnasts do. After he effortlessly sticks his landing, he wastes absolutely no time in lunging at your assailant.

He punches him square in the side of the jaw, the pop loud enough that you gasp, stepping back.

The man lets out a frightened cry, and right when you almost feel bad, you’re reminded of how you screamed a few moments prior. Yeah, this terror is well deserved.

Spiderman delivers a seamless kick to the side of his opponent’s abdomen. The entrancement you’re trapped in doesn’t let you avert your eyes at all. His movements are like water, like a choreographed dance even Broadway level performers can never imitate.

A scientific miracle. Something inhuman. Someone untouchable.

The man falls to the ground after taking a quite deadly strike to the face. Your eyes go from the attacker on the ground to his attacker.

The superhero stands there, his back to you, silhouetted by the dingy light from the end of the alley. He turns his head to the right, and you’re guessing he sees you from his peripheral because he’s still not looking directly at you.

You want to watch him for much longer, the superhuman that saved you. The superhuman in a well fitted suit, defining every inch of his body—his muscles, his perfect height.

“You okay, miss?” Spiderman asks, turning to you.

“Y-yeah,” you rasp. “Is—he . . .”

“Dead?” he finishes, snickering. “No. Just sleeping peacefully till the cops get here. Which should be in about five minutes.”

You nod, humming in the little frozen state of yourself. Behind the mask, Satoru wants to do a million things. Ask you a million things. But he knows he needs to keep up the persona of the wall-crawler he his.

“You don’t want to get caught in the lengthy questioning the police are going to do, right?” Spiderman (Satoru) crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

“Not really, no,” you hardly move at all as you speak.

“See? That’s why I like my way of business. Less paperwork,” the web slinger jokes. “I can get you where you need to be in a matter of minutes. Tell me where you were headed.”

You gulp, “Home. But what do you mean? I don’t think you have a car—wait a second.” That’s when the reality of the situation hits you. “You’re real?”

Satoru chuckles, “We’ve been talking for almost a minute now, lady.”

“I know, but,” you’re looking him up and down. “I thought those news reports were based on just pranks. Seriously—no one has seen much of you—I thought these criminals were just leaving webs everywhere as a sign of loyalty to their gangs.”

This gets the man to laugh again, his head is facing down, and he shakes his head. You’re staring again, it’s hard not to.

“Alright, miss,” Satoru looks at you, making sure he doesn’t accidently slip up and call you by your name. “Where were you headed? Home?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching him push himself off the wall and hold a hand out to you. You glance down at his hand, then up at his face. His mask is covered in synthetic fibers stitched to imitate webs.

“I know you’re shaken up by those guys and what just happened but please trust me,” he sounds inexplicably genuine, unaccountably sincere. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Your eyes soften, so does the rest of you as you place your hand in his. There’s a level of trust you don’t understand the strength of when you do so. It’s borderline undermined when he tugs you toward him quickly, eliciting a gasp from you.

“You might want to hold on tight,” Spiderman suggests, snugly sliding his arm around your waist, pressing you against him.

“What are you—,” you don’t have the opportunity to finish your question when you find that your feet have left the ground.

You grasp on tighter to him, heeding his suggestion without so much as a second thought. You look down, feeling the wind whipping in your hair. The sight below you is enough to draw a yelp. Well, anyone that is being swung through the streets of New York would. It’s only natural.

“Oh my god!” you scream when you feel yourself hurtling towards the ground.

He shoots another web in the nick of time before you hit the concrete, and you’re in the air again. You bury your face in his neck, clamping your eyes shut. Satoru holds you close, tightening his grip on you. This feels nice.

A part of him doesn’t want this little swinging spree to end. Maybe it doesn’t have to.

“Sorry. No seatbelts,” Satoru laughs. “Should’ve mentioned that!”

“You think?” you quiz, half gasping with the rush of the wind. “Wait! Where are you even taking me? I didn’t tell you where I live!”

“Just trust me!” he yells back.

You open your eyes, looking over his shoulder at the city. The lights don’t blur like you expect them to. You feel like you’re flying, like the moon was waiting for you to join with the stars.

Cars seem smaller suddenly. People look smaller. New York, though, looks just as vast as it always has been.

Once the initial fear shakes out of you, you stare at the city, “Woah.”

You turn to look at him—at Spiderman. He’s still focused on swinging you through the city with one arm. Studying his mask, you can see the fibers of fabric, polyester or something similar. There can’t be many people that can say they’ve seen Spiderman, let alone been this close to him.

You’re amazed, in awe of the impossible. Peace consumes you as you continue to gaze at the wonderous city you love.

Another swoop over rooftops and you feel him lowering towards one. You hold on again, hoping the landing isn’t so rough. Luckily, it isn’t.

You look around, realizing you aren’t on just any rooftop. You’re one of the rooftops of the building you live in.

“How’d you know I live here?” you quiz, brows furrowed and jaw slack.

Satoru has a bit of an oh fuck moment. Words almost fail him but he’s easy to recuperate.

“Well, your dad lives here, doesn’t he?” he points at the ground. “The captain?”

Your mouth that was agape slowly closes and your eyes drift to the edge of the building, “Oh. You know who I am.”

“I know who your dad is,” the man replies. “Seen him a bunch of times. So I’ve seen your face around the main precinct a lot and on the news.”

“You have?” you cock a brow.

“Yeah—hey, don’t worry about those guys. Just try not to be alone at night,” he advises, gesturing with his hands. “Guys see a pretty girl and don’t know how to act a lot of the time.”

You can’t help the slight brow raise when you realize he called you pretty. Satoru pays it no mind however as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Where were you coming from anyway?” he asks, pretending not to know.

“JJ Tech headquarters,” you answer, licking your lips discreetly to tame yourself from gawking at his lean yet muscular figure. Eyes lingering far too long on how the skintight suit fit him, accentuating everything.

Satoru catches this, smirking to himself, “JJ Tech, huh? You must be pretty smart.”

“Pretty smart would be an understatement,” you say. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there this late anyway. I should’ve been home two hours ago.”

Satoru’s ears perk up, he takes this as his opportunity to pry, “How come you stayed longer?”

“Just this guy—he ran in and asked me to help him with an assignment,” you grumble, rolling your eyes.

“Just a guy? He your friend or something?” he asks, leaning his back against the wall to the stairs.

“Or something,” you mumble.

“Oh?” Satoru pipes. This is the perfect moment to see what you think about him. To even flirt with you without any repercussions. “Does that mean he’s your boyfriend?”

“What?” you squeak, voice all high pitched. “God, no. No. He’s just a classmate. He pisses me off most the time—I can hardly stand him at all.”

Satoru scowls beneath his mask, not what I was hoping for.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact you exist,” disbelief clings to your tone. “You know you’re a scientific marvel, right? Scientists would kill to study you.”

He laughs, it’s a pretty laugh, one that feels hauntingly familiar, “You want to cut me open or something?”

“Oh, I’m not qualified enough to do something like that,” you wave your hands. “Who’s to say I can’t study your body in other ways?”

Satoru can’t help but smile, he sees that glimmer in your eye and you sound so innocent despite how inviting you phrased that. You don’t even realize it, but he smiles wider.

“You’re funny,” he laughs, shaking his head.

There’s a bunch of things on your bucket list, a lot of things you aren’t sure you’ll get to even accomplish. One of them being making thee Spiderman laugh was definitely not one of them.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, pulling him from his little fit of amusement. “I thought I was . . . I thought they were going to get away with what they wanted to do.”

Satoru raises his head again, straightening up. It dawns on him that he’s responsible for you being out on that street this late. That if he had hurried up, he could’ve gotten back in time like he planned. He just feels lucky that he made it in time.

He made it just in time, and he’s thankful for that. But he truly hates the fact you almost got seriously hurt because of him. He’s at fault and he knows this will haunt you for a long time.

“Don’t thank me. It’s nothing any normal human being wouldn’t do,” Spiderman tells you, walking over to the edge of the building. “Just stay safe. And know you can depend on your friendly neighborhood Spiderman anytime.”

And with that, he dives off the side of the building. You suck in a harsh breath, rushing and leaning over the elevated stone along the perimeter. Looking down, you find that you have to follow the black and white blur swing up again.

You smile breathlessly, watching the amazing Spiderman soaring off.

“Suguru, it was all my fault,” Satoru paces his apartment . . . ceiling?

 He’s walking in circles upside down, feet sticking to the ceiling like it isn’t scientifically impossible. His mask off but his suit remains on.

“If I hadn’t left her there for so long working on that freaking solution, she wouldn’t have left so late. If I was even a second off, I don’t even know what could’ve happened,” Satoru’s white locks are swaying as he walks. Although he defies gravity, his hair doesn’t.

“You saved her though, that’s all that matters,” Suguru assured, stuffing the chopsticks with a mouthful of noodles in his mouth. “But how did she not recognize you? There’s no way you talked to her.”

“I did,” Satoru drops to the ground. He makes his way over to where Suguru sits on the couch, picking up a box of takeout. “Maybe she’s not as smart as she thinks she is.”

“Please,” Suguru eyes Satoru, handing him a pair of chopsticks. “Don’t underestimate that girl, she’s smarter than half the tri-state.”

“Sure, she’s cute and happens to be smart,” Satoru shrugs. “She’s just a girl though, not a threat.”

“Why did you bring up her being cute?” Suguru narrows his eyes, lowering his food. “That had nothing to do with the conversation.”

“What?” Satoru mutters, chewing on his noodles. “She’s beautiful—there’s no denying that.”

“Beautiful?” Suguru laughs.

“What?”

“You just took it one step further,” Suguru teases, laughing again. “You have a crush on her!”

“What? No, I don’t!” Satoru snaps.

“Now it all makes sense,” Suguru has a wide grin. “Teasing her nonstop, annoying her to get her to yell at you. Wow, you can just ask her out, y’know.”

“Okay, you’re on drugs,” Satoru squints at his best friend.

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru dismissively says. “So did you get that vial back from her?”

“Obviously not, I’m not supposed to know about that as Spiderman. Only Satoru Gojo knows that,” Satoru states, pointedly gesturing with his utensils. “I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

“Hm, what are you going to do now though?” Suguru asks. “I mean about this Jogo guy that thug told you about.”

“I’m not sure,” Satoru mumbles. “I’ll have to look into that.”

“Shoko, you know I wouldn’t make up something like that.”

“I know! That’s not what I said, it just sounds insane. Like, Spiderman? The Spiderman?”

You stare at her flatly and Utahime rubs your shoulders, “That sounds terrifying. Did you tell your dad?”

“What? Are you kidding? No,” you quickly spit. “If I tell my dad that he’s going to station two cops to follow me twenty-four seven. I can’t have that.”

“Y/n, that could’ve ended very badly,” Shoko frowns dejectedly. “What if Spiderman didn’t show up?”

“But he did,” you say. “If he didn’t, I’d be dead, and all my stupid little worries would be gone. But you don’t understand—that man . . . wow.”

Shoko and Utahime pause to look at one another, the former quizzing, “You—you don’t have a crush on Spiderman, do you?”

“Not a crush, no,” you chuckle, sipping your coffee before you look down at Shoko from where you’re sitting on the picnic table. “Fascination, yes, I have that. But to be honest, he was incredible to look at—his body was . . . ugh, I don’t have anything appropriate to say.”

“Now, this is how I know you need to get laid,” Shoko chuckles. “Having a crush on a spandex wearing spider is insanity.”

“Is it?” you look at where she sits on the bench. “You experience what I did, and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Shoko frowns at you, then at Utahime. That’s when the latter says to you, “Wait, didn’t you need to talk to Gojo?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, sparing a cautious glance to your bag containing that mix. “Got to go over that stupid project before class. Would it kill him to be on time? He’s always late.”

There’s no need to tell your friends what the fuck Satoru had given you to configure on your own. Not until you at least talk to him and get the full story. You have enough on your mind as it is, having Shoko and Utahime’s thoughts thrown into the mix would only rattle and confuse you further. It doesn’t help that one of them grew up with Satoru and knows his aunt and the other loathes him almost more than you do.

“I’m going to grab a croissant before class,” Shoko rubs her stomach. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

You hop off the bench and head on down towards where your Orgo class is. There’s still about twenty minutes left till class and Shoko falls behind to grab her baked good.  

Those memories of last night carry you where you need to be. You strut along the path with a purpose, your hair is effortlessly styled, makeup barely there, yet it somehow masks just how disheveled you truly feel.

“Gojo!” you call as you spot him by the bottom of the steps in one of the University’s vast courtyards, he just so happens to be in the midst of discussing something Digimon related with Haiba.

Haiba and Suguru’s eyes widen as they realize it’s you storming towards Gojo and not just any other girl.

Satoru flicks his gaze over as you walk over, stopping in front of him. He’s not sure what to say, he knows he should probably address the task he stupidly left for you to do but he hardly strings a solid greeting together without sounding stupid, “Hey.”

“Can I talk to you—in private?” you ask, your face gave away an austere look, like you were about to scold a child.

How can he say no?

He nods, standing up and following you down the side of the building. The two of you are supposed to be heading down to class that happens to be the other way but he doesn’t even question you when he’s whisked onto the school grounds.

His mind fumbles through the events of last night. He had two conversations with you. One as your savior and one as the guy you got stuck with for science class. He’s racking his brain enough to decide how to behave although the answer should be obvious.

The boy follows you behind the bleachers, looking around with an incredulous quirk in his brow when you step into the dark underside of them.

“Is everything okay?” Satoru blinks as you stop.

“Gojo.” You sternly face him, not saying anything else.

“That’s my name, yeah,” he sassily retorts. “Doesn’t answer my question though.”

“Don’t test me,” you hold up your index finger threateningly.

Cute, he thinks.

“Where did you get this?” you hold up the small vial. “And the truth this time.”

Satoru’s eyes lock onto the green liquid, unsure what lie he should curate this time. He could simply insist on the same lie as before, convince you that you were overthinking. Or he could tell you the truth, ultimately putting your life and his secret in danger, but hey, it’ll save him from looking entirely idiotic.

“I told you, my manager,” he states, reaching out to take it.

You pull it back, further from his reach and he wants to laugh at how easy it would be to take it from your hands in the blink of an eye.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you quiz.

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” he says, a smile goes with that shake of his head, his hair falling over his bespectacled blue eyes. “Just a little scary.”

“Listen, I know your manager didn’t give you this because he wouldn’t give you this.” You pointedly flash the vial in his face. “Do you realize what’s in here?”

“Wait,” Satoru’s smile fades. “You’re telling me you actually found out what’s in it?”

You nod haphazardly, more confused than skeptical, “You don’t know?”

“No—I don’t, what is it?” he asks, nearing you too closely without meaning to.

You lower your hand, “It’s a highly concentrated blend of hallucinogens and anesthetics. One sip could send a man into cardiac arrest—or worse, kill him.”

Your eyes are on his, but his eyes aren’t on yours. His are on the bottle of chartreuse in between your fingers.

“Satoru,” you murmur quietly, lowering the bottle into his indecisive palm, his fingers edging closer to yours but pulling back ever so gently before they attempt to muster the courage once more. You glance down at his long pale fingers, his skin glows sweeter than the moon itself.

Your gaze dips to your skin grazing his as you place the bottle into his hand. You let your hand linger against his, not sure why you don’t think of retracting.

Why are you just realizing how pretty he is?

The rims of his glasses glint as he looks at your face, studying your features like he’ll never get the chance to ever again. You blink yourself into snapping out of it, pulling your arm back and swallowing dryly.

“Sorry about the trouble,” Satoru quietly says, stowing away the vial.

“It’s okay,” you reply, voice rasping. While his eyes are focused on tucking the bottle safely, you say, “I don’t know what it is you’re hiding—I won’t ask, but please be careful.”

Satoru can’t help the grin he cracks, “I’m tougher than I look.”

And when he walks away, there’s a strange feeling that stirs in your gut. A feeling that tells you he may be right.

You aren’t sure why you’re still thinking about why he had that chemical in the first place. Did he make it himself? Did he buy it off someone? What was it intended for?

The rest of your organic chemistry class, you’re left there wondering what that boy is up to. You’re left wondering why he is missing class again today after you just saw him. And you’re left wondering whether Satoru thanks Yaga for never marking him late or absent at all. Call it favoritism, you suppose.

He thanks any deity that he can think of when he arrives on time to JJ Technologies before his manager questions him.

He finds some time to slip away, sneak up to your floor while you’re instructing your latest interns. He smiles, watching you scribble something down on your clipboard while you walk.

“Okay, this right here is just a sketch of one of our current studies,” you point at a holographic, digitized image that appears above a table. “This is a paradigm for a new discovery of nanoparticles. They’re commonly used to reduce the number of catalytic materials within chemical reactions. There are two fields within certain industries that they are applied to. Can anyone tell me what they are?”

The students all flip restlessly through their notepads, struggling to look for the answer to your question.

Satoru can’t hide the snicker he lets out. Half the student look back at him and you peer through the batch of preppy kids to see him.

“Petroleum refining and automotive catalytic converters,” Satoru replies, still smirking complacently.

You have a bit of a curl to your lips, eyes locked on his as you say, “Yes. That’s correct.”

Seeing him appear within your mix of pupils almost throws you off, but you know you have a certain image before the students so you keep yourself composed. You quickly instruct the students to write the answer down and head to their stations with their teams.

When the interns disperse, you cross your arms, face to face with Gojo.

“What do you want?” you ask, a sickly-sweet smile on your face.

“Oof, would it kill you to talk nice to me?” Satoru acts like a wounded soldier, palm across his abdomen.

“I feel like it might, so I’d rather not take the risk,” you say pointedly.

“Hm, right,” Satoru scoffs, he looks down. “You’re going to be alone now in the lab, right?”

“No, I’ll be in the lab but not alone,” you say. “My colleagues are going to be in there with me. You need something?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something,” his brows tense.

An odd sensation stirs in your stomach, “Ask me what?”

It’s been a while since either of you actually began interacting with one another somewhat civilly. You don’t know what it is that will come out of his mouth but you’re suddenly hopeful.

He grabs your hand, leading you off to the side, causing you to jerk your head around in case anyone’s looking.

Once you are beneath the mosaic mural of DNA helixes on one wall, Satoru stops, letting go of you. You try not to let the idea of his hand staying in yours distract you from what’s to come.

He tries not to focus on how soft your hand is, and once again how the fragrance of your perfume feels like candy on a summer day.

“You didn’t tell anyone about that bottle, did you?” he whispers, eyes darting between yours and the rest of the busy facility.

“No,” you shake your head. “Of course, not. I had a feeling you wanted to keep it private.”

Satoru looks at you, his smile reaching his ears, “Aw, how sweet. You care about me.”

You smack the back of his hand, causing him to hold it close to him possessively and rub it gently from the very slight sting of your slap.

“Shut up,” you snap, catching the way his blue eyes gleam behind his glasses. “Is that all?”

“No,” he states, straightening up and switching his tone from light and playful to serious. “You said it was deadly to take a single sip. That the properties within it were so overly saturated it could do serious damage. But let’s say . . . you needed to use it in combat . . . could you?”

The nature of his question startles you, “Combat? Like if soldiers were fighting?”

“Yeah, sure, like that.”

You’re blinking heavily, looking towards the place where the wall meets the floor, “Well, I suppose it could be used in a vaporous form. Like gas or something. That could do enough damage too.”

“Ugh,” Satoru closes his eyes and pinches his nose. “I was afraid of that.”

“What is it?” you peer up at him through your lashes. “You’re hiding something.”

“No—I’m not,” Satoru groans. He notices the suspicion on your face, “You got time for a snack in the cafeteria?”

Flaring your eyes over his, you glance discreetly at the time, “Fine.”

You begin to walk away.

“That was a yes or no question! Not a secret third response,” he trails behind.

“You got your answer, didn’t you?” you gesture to yourself.

“Yeah, but you seem entirely unenthusiastic about it,” Satoru grumbles. “A little energy may do you good.”

You hit the elevator button, crossing your arms, “I’m not here to appease you.”

“Appease me? Oh, god,” he lets out a baffled scoff.

“What?” you furrow your brows. “Poor choice of words?”

“Not exactly,” Satoru replies, loosely shifting to get into the elevator. “It might be nicer, I guess, to know if you actually wanted to get a snack with me and not as if I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, “You brought up a snack and I happen to be hungry. Where does gunpoint come in the mix? You really want me to do cheer like you came to my rescue?”

He almost laughs from the irony but he knows not to. He knows just as well that things could have gone extremely wrong the other night if he had not gone about everything carefully. There’s another sort of irony to him, a different form of saving.

“Mhm, but you like coming to my rescue pretty often,” he responds, a lopsided smile on his lips as he leans against the wall with folded arms.

You squint at him, the word rescue coming out of his mouth reminding you strangely of the danger you were in right in that alleyway.

“What does that mean?” you say with tightening eyes.

“You did my part of the lab report to save my ass, you helped me with that liquid, you kept that secret for me,” Satoru breaks eye contact, looking at the ground. “And that time in freshman year of high school.”

His final reminder steers your heart to a slow pace, your shoulders untense. You remember that event all too well.

“I’m a decent human being,” you explain as if it’s a scientifically proven, immutable fact. “It’s less about enjoying something but more of the fact I would be miserable and angry with myself if I didn’t help someone that needed it.”

Satoru lifts his head to level with you, his eyes are wide in a blank stare. That is right before he suddenly blurts a short chuckle. “Spoken like a true hero.”

Your eyes flit upwards as the doors to the elevator open. He leads you out into the hall, his strides are much longer than yours.

“Wait up! I can’t walk that fast!” you snap breathlessly.

His gaze flicks over to you, his eyes close behind his lens, laughing again. Bustling closely to him, you quiz, “Okay, well you still have a lot of explaining to do. Like where you got that green thing from.”

Satoru stops by the line of sandwiches. His head turns to face you, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not,” you’re quick to counter. He throws his head back as you grab a saran wrapped sandwich from the stall and face it at him strictly, “You’re not normal. That’s what I’m realizing.”

Satoru grabs a sandwich and a sugary soda too and he’s about to follow you as you walk off to a table but is interrupted when the employee behind the register curtly clears his throat. A nonverbal cue to pay for you both.

Satoru lets out a throaty groan, fishing deep in his pockets for a crisp ten dollar note. He rounds the table to the other side, sitting down with you.

“You’re having all these revelations pretty late into our lives, aren’t you?” Satoru picks up the conversation as if there was no gap in between. “I’m a little surprised you just came to the conclusion I’m not normal.”

“Hm, I’ve known for a while,” you hum, turning focus to your sandwich.

Memories are thrust upon you from high school. When you first met him, he hardly spoke. He was short with his interactions and would hardly have the grace to offer more than five words. He clearly didn’t enjoy being around people.

Suguru seemed to help him out of this at some point because in your sophomore year of high school, he came to school as a completely brand-new person. His personality shown more, and he only then began pissing you off.

In a way, it was better than seeing him so down like he was before. Because of that, you have been more inclined to tolerate his shit a lot of the time.

“Listen, Satoru,” you sigh, not even noticing the way his body electrocutes at the fact you called him by his first name and not his last. “I’m very serious about my future. It means everything to me and to my parents. There’s only a certain amount of shit I can tolerate. And I can’t tolerate you slacking off at my expense.”

Towards the end of your warning, you look at him. He lowers his drink from his mouth, eyes straight ahead.

“Fair enough,” Satoru says. His head falls loosely between his shoulders, his hair glistening in the fluorescent lights. “It’s important for your parents too, that’s something I respect.”

Your brows uncinch.

“It’s important I get home on time for my parents too,” you sigh, looking at the time.

“You have an hour,” Satoru asks. “Why are you worried?”

Now he knows why you are worried. He still has to act oblivious, that’s all.

He sees the faltering blinks, eyes dancing here and there, mouth parted without a word ready to fly out.

Satoru takes another bite from his sandwich, talking with a full mouth, “Is your dad strict or something?”

Those anxious eyes morph into a revolted side eye, “You know who my dad is. You know what my dad is.”

“Yeah, he’s just the captain. Not some flesh-eating monster,” Satoru makes himself giggle.

You set your forearm on the surface of the table, rotating your body to turn to him, “My dad is a great man. He’s all law and order and then there’s my mom, also law and order. If I didn’t have enough on my mind, now my dad wants to assign a detail to me.”

“Assign . . .” Satoru shifts in his seat, lowering his meal. “You mean have a pair of cops following you around all the time?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

Satoru’s eyes travel over your face while you’re not looking at him. If the captain does sign cops to tail you, that means that there’d be cops around him. Background checks, tailing him to get a sense of who he is . . . that could lead them to him being Spiderman . . .

“That—he can’t do that,” Satoru pipes, jolting you out of your little trance of eating. “That isn’t fair to you. You wouldn’t be able to hang around me—hell, they’d be standing right behind us listening to every word you say.”

Your lips turn down and brows raise, “I had no idea you cared so much.”

“Sure, why not?” Satoru dials down his emotion.

He supposes he’d have to stay away from you if your father went through with that after all. And he finds his heart twisting and turning from the very idea of doing that.

“He’s pretty stressed because of those string of bank robberies,” you exhale, Satoru’s eyes refuse to move from your face. “So my safety has gotten to his head too.”

Satoru’s blinks were slow, something that could be confused with lethargy, “Does he have any leads?”

“Not really. He just knows they’re all linked. He thinks Spiderman’s involvement is fucking everything up,” you say, remembering your encounter from last night.

“Hm,” and he can’t help but ask. “What do you think about him?”

“Spiderman?”

“Yes,” Satoru’s heart teetering on the edge.

“I think,” you begin, “he’s what our city needs. As a medical miracle, you decide to help others—that shows what kind of man you are.”

He has nothing to say for once. No quick quip, no fast remark. His mouth falls open, unsure how to respond. You were talking about his alter ego, but it felt like you were telling him.

“He’s pretty cool,” you nod, thinking about the vigilante.

He watches as you get up, saying, “I’ve got to get going, I’ve got to get work done before my dad picks me up.”

He feels like he has much left unsaid, but he still watches as you make your way out on your own.

Satoru is rooftop hopping, rushing back after he hit a dead end on a potential jewelry store he believed a heist may occur. That has been his routine that past week on top of annoying you in class and sitting with Haiba and Suguru in the library.

“Hm, okay. I just need to get a minimum of a C on this next exam to maintain my A,” Suguru mumbles aloud. “Satoru, you should maybe focus on your philosophy paper, you don’t want to get called out by the professor again—"

Suguru continues talking but Satoru is on a completely different planet. His gaze had flicked over to you walking through the maze of tables, and it was like an angel had stepped onto Earth.

The dim library of the university had mysteriously brightened tenfold. The incessant chatter of students around you crashes to a muffled halt as the faces begin to lose definition. All he can focus on is your pretty face. Your graceful smile. Your beautiful existence.

He feels his heart caper at the very sight of you laughing, the honeyed sound of it. His heart twists a bit more at the fact that it’s because of another guy.

“Hello!? Earth to Satoru,” Suguru breaks into Satoru’s eyeline. He looks back at whatever could have grasped his attention so unapologetically. He groans in frustration, “When are you going to tell her you want her?”

“I—what? I don’t want her,” Satoru snaps his head over at Suguru.

“It’s pretty obvious you want her, bud,” Haiba says with wide eyes and all Satoru can do is roll his own.

The sleep deprivation is catching up to him and he’s not sure how to remedy it. Those brief hours he does get to sleep he can hardly do so, he’s too busy trying to figure everything out. Where is Jogo hiding? Where is the next hit going to be? Why does he need that relic?

What could you be wearing tonight?

He has to shake his head like a wet dog, screw his eyes shut and bury his ears with his pillow. What is going on with him?

The next lab you have together, you spend most of it trying to figure out how to get through it working together and not competing against one another.

Afterwards, he wants to trail behind you, talk more to you but you’re tugged away by Shoko without fail.

 Every time.

Every time you sit on some staircase out on campus, step through the winding aisles of bookcases in the library, sit at some table in one of the cafes, Shoko or Utahime are always there.

He figures he’ll get the chance at JJ Tech but he’s barely seen you with how busy both of your schedules have been. His last resort is waiting for a perfect moment to get you alone. 

Satoru manages to catch up to you somehow once again in the library, studying for midterms.

“Here,” he places a cup of coffee in front of you on the table, it sat before your notebooks and thick textbooks like an almighty divinity.

Your eyes pierce through the coffee, then up at him, “How’d you know this is the flavor I like?”

You look tired, usually you can put yourself together enough to not seem so, but tonight it’s apparent. Your pens and highlighters are spread across the desk in a crazed frenzy.

“That’s the one you usually get at work, I don’t know. Thought you might need it,” he shrugs nonchalantly, sitting down.

You straighten up, wanting to smile but holding that feeling back, tying it down, “Oh, thanks.”

“I see you’re studying for . . .” Satoru tries guessing but squints at the papers you have strewn across the table, “what class?”

“Neuroscience,” you sigh, chewing on the end cap of your highlighter.

“Stop doing that,” he lowers you hand, essentially pulling the highlighter away from your mouth. He then opens the bottle of chilled coffee, handing it to you, “Here.”

You take it from him, eyes on his as you pull it towards your mouth, taking a sip. He leans back in his seat, his eyes roaming the papers you have laid out.

“Looks fun,” he drawls, looking through everything. “Have you had something to eat yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ll eat when I’m home,” you answer. “Have you?”

“No, me neither,” he says.

“Oh,” you ponder over what the situation is. “If you aren’t doing anything, we can go get something to eat right now.”

Satoru nearly stops breathing, he has every reason to frantically say yes. One: he happens to be starving. Two: he knows he’s going to be busy all night with studying and with his Spiderman duties. Three: he can sit and relax with you. Four: It’s you.

But he needs to get going, a potential lead came up in relation to Jogo he needs to check out right now.

“I can’t,” he wants to punch himself. “I have to help my aunt with something.”

Disappointment prickles through your body, a feeling you weren’t expecting in the least in a situation like this.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you gather your belongings.

“Wait—where are you going?” his eyes go wide, watching you pack your bag.

“Uh, home,” you say as if it were obvious. “Did you forget what we talked about that one time? Dad—security detail—never letting me breathe?”

“You can’t actually be worried about that,” Satoru says as you sling on your bag. “I highly doubt the captain will go through with that.”

“Just make sure you’re on time tomorrow for class, we have to work on that lab,” you tell him, flipping your hair as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“I have an issue with losing track of time,” Satoru frowns. “It’s not my fault.”

“Maybe use your glasses to keep an eye on the time. Are four eyes not enough? Do you seriously need six of them?” you challenge with a look over your shoulder before turning back to the exit.

He wants to laugh at the sheer irony of your question.

Satoru’s on a rooftop again. Another sleepless night is sure to pass him by. He follows lead after lead, suspect after suspect, but nothing.

That tip he got led him to nothing. Led him to nothing but missing class the next morning.

He’s thinking only about how guilty he feels, how he should apologize for bailing on you again during lab. Especially when you told him not to.

You count your lucky stars that you are sitting at home today worrying about your midterm exams approaching and not worrying in the lab.

Your father shows up at your door with a cup of hot cocoa, settling it down beside you. He has a cup of his own, a rare to see smile on his face as he sits down next to you.

“Thanks, Dad,” you beam, taking the cup.

“How’s studying going?” he asks.

“It’s okay,” you sigh. “How’s that heist case coming along?”

“It’s stressful,” he huffs out as well. “Got a bunch of different stories coming from the witnesses and that Spiderman jackass isn’t helping with my peace right now.”

“He’s not so bad,” you chuckle, taking a sip.

Your dad cocks a disgruntled brow, “That guy’s a menace. Just like that one news guy keeps saying.”

“That guy is crazy, Dad, and you know it,” this time you scoff.

“You calling me crazy, too?” your dad quizzes.

“No,” you set down your cup, “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that Spiderman has saved a lot of people. A lot of his good deeds go unnoticed because there are so many little things he does that don’t get broadcasted. Whatever—anyway, what are the witnesses saying?”

Your dad slowly lowers his offended brow and explains, “Witnesses from each location are saying they were knocked unconscious. Then there are witnesses who are also saying that the suspects dropped some sort of spray on them, then there are others saying it may have been a gas they inhaled.”

“Gas?” your nose scrunches.

“Hm,” your dad nods. “After they either inhaled or felt it on them, they started hallucinating. Some saw flashes of things they feared in their life, or of traumatic moments, or they were close to being driven to sleep by pictures of nice dreams. It all is difficult to figure out what it is. Our forensics team is having a shit time with narrowing it down since it may flush out of their system quick.”

You gawk at him, lost for words. It’s a highly concentrated blend of hallucinogens and anesthetics. One sip could send a man into cardiac arrest—or worse, kill him.

Your own voice rings in your head but his face is what appears before you. Those sparkling blue eyes and that silvery white hair. A flash of that green vial struck in an instant too.

“It’s all pretty confusing,” your dad exhales, taking a sip from his foamy drink. There’s a ring at the bell, steering his attention to it. He looks over at you, ruffling your hair, “You get back to it kiddo, I’ll see who it is.”

He walks out, closing your door and you look over that video about the fundamentals of chemistry, your notes splayed open with highlighters and sticky notes littering your desk.

But you can hardly focus—now that you’re thinking about Gojo all over again. This all has to be a coincidence, right? There’s no way Satoru Gojo of all people is affiliated with a high crime gang and drugging people to rob banks. There’s just no way.

But his voice rings in your mind once more—a memory of your conversation when he asked about that liquid being able to be used as a gas in combat. . . ‘I was afraid of that.’

The little three tapped choreographed knock on your door tells you that your father is on the other side.

“Sweetheart, there’s a . . . boy from your class here to see you,” your dad awkwardly says.

You blink the tiredness away, getting up and heading to the foyer of your penthouse apartment. Your hand rests on the railing as you descend down the stairs, only to stop halfway when your eyes land on snowy hair and silver framed glasses.

His sky-blue eyes lock onto yours, his blinks are restless, and his pretty lips are parted. You see him visibly gulp, like he was nervous to face you.

“What’re you doing here?” you finally say, remembering the fact he abandoned you once more today.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Satoru waits a beat till his heart tries to settle down. “Is that okay?”

You should yell at him, and you truly want to but for some reason you can’t. You huff out a sigh, beckoning him to follow you. As you turn around to lead him up the stairs, he’s once again scattering his field of vision everywhere.

He’s paying attention to the extravagance of your home. The chandelier in the foyer, the numerous potted bonsais and lilies, the expensive stonework polished floors, the ornamental china vases and molded ceiling. He shouldn’t expect any less from the daughter of the veteran police captain of the city and the successful assistant district attorney. Your parents were clear overachievers, mother and father both, it is no less than obvious you would be on a similar path of greatness yourself.

He eyes you rather shamelessly, it’s not like you have eyes on the back of your head. You glance over your shoulder at him.

Or maybe you do.

Satoru already felt scrutinized at the door when your father opened it. He should care a little more but finds that he doesn’t care one bit about the police captain’s protective gaze on him following his daughter up to her room.

You open your door, unveiling your bedroom to the boy. Suguru and Haiba would go nuts if he were to tell them he was standing in your room with you right now. Nanami would hardly believe him at all.

Your room is neat, that’s the first thing he notices. And it’s exactly how he pictured it. Furniture white, minimalistic and clean. The bed had four posts, sheer curtains draping down the top. You had white boards, bulletin boards, filled with excessive diagrams and notes. You had bookshelves in a corner of the room, lined with chemistry and medical textbooks where your desk was.

There was a wall of windows that overlooked the city, a balcony that had a set of Parisian doors to it. He wonders how much time you spent out there with your thoughts and what they could possibly be.

While he’s observing every element of your room, you face him. He has this wondrous look in those frosted eyes of his, a look that makes them look even wider. His lips part and when you look at him in the dim lighting from your study lamp, you notice the way his top lip prods out slightly over his bottom. That they have a pouted yet subtle curve to them that came to life when he smiled. That there was a soft pinkish sheen to them.

You wonder why you’re suddenly paying such close attention to him these days.  

“Here,” you speak, ringing yourself out of wherever your mind was going.

He cocks a brow, gawking at you rifling through your school bag. His puzzled expression deepens when you press a packet of paper against his chest. “What’s this?”

“Your part of the lab report,” you grumble, eyes cold yet thwarted. “Just memorize the material by next Friday before our presentation. I’ll make sure the rest of what’s left throughout the week gets done.”

Satoru’s entirely taken aback. You have every right to be mad but he wasn’t expecting you to still want to help him. His arm shoots out to grab yours before you can walk away. Your halted against your will, shocked as you gape at him trapped in the lamplight as it clings to his skin.

“Wait—that’s not why I came here,” he sighs begrudgingly. “I came to apologize. I’m sorry I missed class and bailed on you.”

“Twice,” you correct with furrowed brows.

“Twice,” he revises. “It was a shitty thing to do. And it won’t happen again.”

He swallows dryly as he stares at that cynical look on your face. He looks like a lost pet, waiting to be scolded by its owner.

“Promise?” you tip your head to the side.

“Promise,” he answers, he feels his heart tearing through his chest at how you’ve suddenly acquired a childlike disposition, one he’s never had the chance to witness before. And all because of him.

“Okay,” you smally smile, flashing your pearly teeth at him. “But if you bail on me again, I’m telling Yaga to give you a zero.”

“Got it—but how come you’re so sure he’ll give your word priority over mine?” Satoru challenges.

“Because you were the second smartest kid in high school, and I was the first,” you pointedly say. “I have a higher GPA than you, I have won three more academic awards than you have—and let’s face it, my attendance record outranks yours in an embarrassing way.”

Satoru presses his lips firmly and raises his brows in hilarity, trying to contain that laughter wanting to blurt out of him. He fails though, laughing anyway.

Your lips part as you stare at him, suddenly you’re so aware of how tall he is again, how he’s not as lanky as he used to be in high school.

“At least I’m not stupid,” Satoru tells you knowingly. “You could’ve ended up with a lot worse than me.”

“Really? Like who?” you cross our arms.

“Yuki—Haiba—Need I go on?” he speaks with a teasing tone.

“God, no. I got your point,” you hold your hands up in defense. Your nose twitches as you let your hands slowly fall to your sides. “You didn’t have to come all this way to apologize, you know. You could’ve just apologized tomorrow or over text, you have my number.”

“You wouldn’t have thought twice about forgiving me,” he puts his hands in his pockets. “Or murdering me.”

This evokes a laugh from you, cheeky and bright, this cold light of the moon suddenly feels like beams of sunlight embracing him, warm and comforting.

Then you point a finger at him, “But you have to tell me why you have that green liquid.”

Satoru can’t flip his way out of this corner. Another lie must suffice, “One of my friends from my neighborhood gave it to me—said he swiped it off some kid in his school. He wanted me to find out what was in it.”

“Oh,” you frown, all doe-eyed and innocent. “You should get rid of that thing. It’s dangerous.”

“Will do,” Satoru salutes with his middle and index fingers. He catches that little sideways twitch of your mouth, as you stare at him from the bottom up but stop halfway. “What is it?”

“I’m just a little shocked you’re not really how I thought you’d be,” you say. “Is that bad?”

“Depends,” Satoru eyes the room shamelessly, glancing at you before he sits down uninvited on your bed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. We’ve known each other for like over half a decade—and we hardly ever really talked. I always thought you were some nerdy guy that had a bad attitude. I guess I thought you never really liked me.” You circle around the bed post to get closer to him.

Satoru’s brows are raised so far up high that they are practically skimming his hairline. He was talkative, just not with you at first. He feels like he might’ve been a bit blunt overall—but that changed for him when he became Spiderman years ago.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” Satoru says the unexpected. “I guess I just found you intimidating.”

“Me?” you point at yourself, sitting down. “Why? You’re, like, one of the most talented kids I know.”

“Because you’re crazy smart,” he blurts out, smiling as he can’t even maintain eye contact with you. He feels your body heat, just a few measly inches to his left. You’re in reach and he’s scared he’ll do something to cause you to slip away.

Your eyes widen at his words, and he seems to not be done yet with the way he sucks in a breath, hands resting either side of him on the comforter.

“You’re insanely clever and nice and it doesn’t help much that you’re pretty,” Satoru is shaking his head, meeting your gaze once again. Once again, gorgeous eyes stare back at him.

You furrow your brows, not remembering an instance in your life where you had seen him look so vulnerable for even a moment. Your eyes flick down to his pouted lips then back up to his eyes.

“You think I’m pretty?” you whisper.

“Is that even a question?” Satoru breathes.

You lean close, his icy blue eyes contrast his half lidded warm look behind his glasses. He inches closer, your noses brushing against each other.

Your lips are half a centimeter away from his. He can smell the scent of your lotion, the sweet scent of your lip balm. He’s so close to tasting it that he feels like he’s the closest he’ll ever be.

That tingling sensation shot up his spine and straight to his ears, not because of this tension.

It’s his six eyes telling him there’s an incoming threat. Footsteps. They’re faint, but he feels them coming this way.

He suddenly jumps up, grabbing the lab report and rifling through it, “Your dad.”

“What?” you’re taken aback, your face crinkling.

“He’s coming,” he says.

You blink at him, wondering if he’s just scared or if he didn’t want to kiss you in the first place.

“Listen, Satoru, if you don’t want to—”

Your door swings open, revealing your father. One hand rests on the knob and one on the door frame. The way he opened it indicated a sense of urgency, or a sense of wanting to catch Satoru in the act. The act being the boy making a move on you.

“Hey, sweetie, everything alright in here?” he eyes you quickly at the term of endearment but then keeps his razor-sharp cop stare on Satoru. He’s not doing anything to ring alarm bells, simply just thumbing through report papers like he gave the impression of initially.

“Yes, Dad!” You glare at your father. “I thought we talked about knocking.”

“Oh, sorry—I was just—” he attempts defending himself but your eyes widen as you tilt your head at him and he ushers himself out of your room.

“Jeez. You’d hardly believe I’m nineteen years old with a dad like that. What is he going to do after I move out,” you grumble. Your eyes slowly dance over to the boy who was standing up, “How’d you know he was coming?”

“I could hear his footsteps,” he says.

“Yeah, you told me like a whole minute before he actually was at the door,” you stand up, nearing him. “I know your eyes suck, but no one has that good a sense of hearing.”

“I told you that’s what I heard,” he defends himself.

You tighten your lips, watching him set the papers down with his eyes fixed on the door. His eyes are still but his mind runs a mile a minute. He’s ruminating on the fact he almost kissed you and that your father could have walked in. What’s worse right now though is the fact he is still standing in the wake of your missed moment.

“Satoru, something is up with you,” you stand up, taking a daring step forward. Your shoulders square in assertion, “I’m not sure what it is. But I promise you can trust me.”

He slowly turns his head to you, thinking about what to say but his breath stops short when you place your palms over his chest, gazing up at him.

He gulps, and he hopes you don’t see how his nerves are clearly rattling, shaking his very bones. His phone buzzes with the soft four chimed ring he’s all too familiar with and he curses himself and every other wrong doer in the whole city of New York.

“I . . . I’m sorry,” he grabs yours wrists. “I have to go.”

He goes around you, passing you without so much as another glance. You watch him leave your room and in the simplest of terms, you felt like shit.

You begin walking to your door to slam it shut when your father runs past you, frantically pushing his limbs through his police jacket, his other hand on his phone.

“Dad—what is it?” you question breathlessly.

“Sorry, honey, have to go in. There’s another theft in progress in the upper east,” your father explains in two quick breaths.

Your eyes follow him as you hear the front door shutting after he leaves, only a minute or so after Satoru did.

You can’t help that scowl you toss at your microscope on your desk, or how you sprint towards it to inspect the elements once again.

Satoru is thinking only about you. Only you, only you.

His cognizance on the fact he should focus on this heist is hardly doing him favors from how much he regrets not kissing you. If being caught by your father was a repercussion anyway, how bad could that have possibly been? Yeah, so what. Mild embarrassment, maybe a few threats here and there.

His hand wraps around the web he shoots at the side of the building, swinging straight through the shattered window. He has no time for histrionics, he just wants to get to the bottom of this case.

When the thugs turn to face the man that flew in through the window, they all drop what they are doing, scowling menacingly at the boy.

“Okay,” Satoru cracks his knuckles, tweaking his neck to the side. “Let’s wrap this up.”

That’s what prompts four burly men to lurch at the boy. Gojo makes quick effort to shoot at one’s face, gluing a sticky web to his eyes and hindering his senses completely.

He knocks over another one with a horse powered kick, pushing him into a glass display. He’s nearly amazed with himself by how rushed this fight is.

Another man comes at him with a closed fist, brass knuckles adorning them as they hurtle straight for Satoru’s face. With lightening reflexes, he swats the man’s arm, aiming the base of his palm straight up the man’s jaw. Except it isn’t his jaw he’s aiming for.

An anguished scream of agony leaves the man as he cradles his bleeding, broken nose. Spiderman towers over him again, kicking him in the gut while he’s down.

The fourth man fires several shots at Satoru, unfortunately for the goon, he hasn’t experienced just how the Six Eyes senses really benefit the Spiderman.

His gun is in Satoru’s hand before he knows it, a stringy web stuck to the end of it. The thief’s jaw drops, eyes reddened and wide when he witnesses the way the gun crushes in the vigilante’s hand, the pieces of it crumbling to the ground.

“This is getting boring,” Satoru whines immaturely. “I can’t believe I had to give up being with a pretty girl for this.”  

Forcibly tugging the man towards him with a web, Satoru delivers a lethal blow to the back of the man’s head, instantly knocking him out.

The sound of a glass rustling behind him draws his attention, the man he had knocked into the display was on his feet again. He has something in his hand that catches the vigilante’s attention, three small balls.

“Fuck no,” Satoru grabs the pellets by shooting webs again. “Not falling for this again.”

He lunges to the wall behind the man, psyching him out when he kicks off the wall and practically tackles the man to the ground.

“Not in the mood to get to know you,” Satoru frowns, his boot on the side of the man’s neck. “Where’s Jogo? And who gave you this?”

He hold up the pellets of gas, the stare of whitened eyes through his mask are enough to terrify the man.

“Please! I don’t know where Jogo is! I was just instructed to make this hit!” the man chokes out. “I got these through the—the lady we got that makes these—her name is Hanami—she works in a lab somewhere—we don’t know where. She has someone drop them off and she tells us where after the drop’s been made but—”

“You’re not telling me what I need,” Satoru steps down on the man’s throat harder.

“I—I can tell you where she gets her stuff from! In fact, I heard from somewhere that she’s got a guy on the inside getting her the goods. It’s at Myrtec Chemicals—one of her guys told me there’s a drop happening later tonight!”

“Thanks,” Satoru lifelessly smiles, kicking the man unconscious.

Shivering behind a wall of crates is not how you expect to be spending your Friday night. What you envisioned after a long night of studying was curling up with some popcorn and other snacks to watch a nice movie.

Most certainly not a group of men talking about people they are planning to kill.

“Man, I fucking hate the captain,” one spews. “I’d love to rip his heart out of his chest if I ever got the chance.”

You cover your mouth, trying to contain your gasp. The suspicion that Satoru may be involved with these men is tearing you apart. You haven’t seen or heard him in the last twenty minutes you’ve been here.

Standing outside the wired fence of Myrtec Chemicals is not how you want to go out. So slipping out now makes sense. You needed to make sure Satoru wasn’t linked to these guys and there’s been no sign of his loudmouth anywhere.

As you shift to run off as fast as you can so you can get to the bus stop at the edge of the next street, you accidentally bump your elbow into one of the big crates. A dull yet prominent thud reverberates through the air.

Fuck.

“What the fuck!”

“Someone’s here?”

“Who’s there?”

You know once again you’re cornered. Why must you test your luck so often? How on earth will you get out of this one?

“Hey! You!” a man is looking around the pile of crates, eyes landing on you.

You make a run for it but he grabs you—as expected. You cinch your eyes shut and a loud whoosh over your heads shoots through the air.

No way.

“Hey! Hands off her!”

The voice is hauntingly familiar. So is that black and white suit and that emblem of blue across his chest. That glowing spider—hope.

Spiderman leaps at the man that had grabbed you, striking him across the face. The other men shout out, rushing to grab their weapons, all the while the great Spiderman is making haste to scoop you into his arms.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry about this.”

“That’s okay, been wondering about you for a while,” he says with ease, then he leaps and you scream out, not realizing you’re on top of a small security tower. “Stay put here, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod seeing the thumbs up he gives you as he falls backwards to the ground, flipping straight back into action.

You watch as he takes down the remaining men, but the fascination to him isn’t all that you think about. You’re trying to pinpoint that voice—that cadence and rhythm in it. It sounds an awful lot like—

“How’d you end up here?” the vigilante is hanging upside down by a web in front of you, attached to the top of the watch tower’s antenna structure.

You blink, retracting in place, “I thought my friend might be here, but I might’ve been wrong. I was just worried.”

“You get into trouble pretty often, don’t you?” he chuckles, still upside down.

That thought invades your mind again—his voice sounds too much like his. There’s no way. There’s just no way.

“Sorry about that,” you shake your head.

“Why’d you think he’d be here?” the man tilts his head.

“They’re using a chemical, aren’t they? Those thugs?” you quiz. “They’re using it on people when they ransack places like banks and jewelry stores. I analyzed the particles and managed to isolate where certain specialized compounds can be mixed and it traced back here. Thought I’d check it out.”

Satoru’s suspended in the air, his state of mind matches his physical state. Speechless, he does nothing but stare.

“Ugh, God, why are you so stupid for someone so smart?” he groans.

“Excuse me?” you quickly pipe, taking a step back as he lowers onto the tower’s rail with you.

His arm slips around you, and he murmurs, “You could’ve gotten really hurt. This was a very dumb thing to do.”

“I know that but . . .”

“Why’d you have to come, huh? You care about that guy or something?” he asks, shooting out a web to another building.

“Yeah, or something,” you quietly say, eyes on him. Your suspicion as to who is behind the mask is starting to piece together and you aren’t sure whether you should comment on it or not. “Wanted to make sure he was okay.”

He can’t even face you. Do you even know what you’re saying? He wants to chalk it up to delusion but a mind as sharp as yours can’t be subject to something so petty as delusion.

When your arms slip around his neck, you stare at him and you can practically see through him.

“Hold on as—” Satoru begins.

“As tight as I can, I know,” you finish, not even being as terrified as you were the first time he web slung you through the streets of New York.

He stops at the top of a building, one far too high above the ground. That is when you realize you aren’t on top of any old building at all. You gawk from this point, the highest point of New York’s famous Vessel.

You look down, overlooking the Hudson Yard and seeing that the structure is closed to the public due to how late in the evening it is.

“I’ve never actually been here before,” you marvel at the sight. “It’s beautiful.”

“Hm, it is,” Satoru mumbles, staring at your wonder-stricken eyes.

At the sound of his voice you turn slowly, facing him, “Thank you for saving me. Again.”

“Nothing to it,” he replies, his tone hinting at a smile you can’t see. “Think I might’ve chipped a nail back there.”

Your eyes flit over him, head to toe. While your eyes stay by his feet, you say, “I want to take off your mask.”

“That defeats the whole purpose of it,” Satoru states. “Then you’d see my face. It defeats the sense of mystery too when you find out who I am.”

“I think I already know,” your eyes settle back on the white blank eyes of the mask, wanting to see the blue you’d been thinking far too much about.

Satoru’s stunned silence screams over how you move toward him. Your searing palms set on his chest, he feels like he’s being scorched to ash with how close you are.

He makes no effort to move away or tell you to stop. He swallows his inhibitions when your hands hesitantly slide up his chest to the base of his neck. The tips of your fingers caress his collarbone and neck till they tug at the edge of his mask.

Satoru knows he should tell you that he can’t let you see but he wants it so bad at the same time.

That’s why he watches with withheld breaths when you inch your way as your pull up the mask, slowly.

The pale of his moonlit skin exposes itself to you while you gently tear the mask further up. His chin peeks out, the sharp cut of his jaw, then you see his soft lips, the ones you want to just lean in and kiss so damn bad.

So you do and he knows he’d be stupid to stop you this time around. Your mouth feathers over his before you finally press onto him. Your lips meet his, buttery soft, warming your cold ones by a single touch.

He kisses you back softly but you back away, his head following your back before you part lips. He gazes at you as you cradle the lower half of his face, easing him into letting you take the mask off further.

You pull it back more, seeing that pointed nose of his you were accustomed to watching crinkle as he smiled. Then you finally pull them away from his eyes and his hair. You aren’t so surprised anymore, not as much as you should be at least.

That snowy white hair, like a fresh fleet of ice had poured onto his head ever so lovingly. Then those eyes, God those eyes. The shimmering blue that twinkled so brilliantly in the amber light, the eyes you feel like you’re seeing for the first time without any pair of glasses or masks in the way.

For once, you are the one smiling and he’s left with a somnolescent look on his face, like he could fall over at any moment. His eyes are half-lidded, fixed on your eyes and fleeting down to your lips without any sign of subtly.

He bends his neck down, capturing your lips in his again before slipping his arm around you and his free hand to your face. Now even if you wanted to move away, you couldn’t. Key word ‘if’.

You feel the way he softly inhales from his nose, breathing in like he’s breathing you in. He’s gentle and yearning, like he’s wanted this for a long time.

He presses his lips a little harder, and you can’t help the little sigh you let out. If you were in this situation two weeks ago, you’d be running around flipping your lid at the revelation that Satoru Gojo was the Spiderman. Except now, that mattered slightly less to you.

You both pull away by a hair, noses grazing one another’s as you gaze into each other’s eyes. You pull back a little more to see his face in its entirety. A fallen angel.

The little fidget of your smile as you decide whether to smile or not is enough to have him take the lead and smile anyway.

“So you did want to kiss me,” you say cheekily, eyes glistening from the city lights, the winter air pinching your nose and cheeks.

“Yes, dummy,” Satoru responds with a quiet nuance of hilarity. His gloved hand remains on your face, his thumb pressing down on your chin.

Tipping your chin down, your mouth opens. The cool air of the night blends in with Satoru’s warm breath, swirling in a strangely comforting breath, one that bore escape.

He pushes his tongue into your mouth, doing his best to taste every bit of you because he missed the chance for far too many years. Here, there is no police captain father to rush in, no thug or criminal to interrupt, no man that could touch you. Other than him of course.

You taste like peppermint, like what he would envision a warm and loving Christmas with family to be like. He wants more—he needs more.

Your tongues twirl in tandem, pace still slow but you each feel a growing desire crushing on your souls. It’s heavy and bone rattling, enough that he pulls back to shake himself out of it.

“I should take you back home—your parents—”

“Dad’s going to be out all night with that heist and Mom drank too much wine at dinner and my brothers and sister aren’t going to say anything about me not being home,” you’re quick to arbitrate. “I’m a little cold though.”

“I can see that,” he laughs as you shiver, the frosty air intermingling with his warm breath to create a translucent fog. “I—I don’t wanna sound like I’m rushing but you can come home with me to my place. I can explain everything there.”

You press your tongue in between your teeth in thought before you grin, “Let’s go.”

You help put on his mask when he cranes his neck down to you. He grabs you and you know the drill, hold on tight and do not, under any circumstances, let go.

He’s swung you through the entire city again and you take the time to enjoy, this time trusting him without a shadow of a doubt. The city looks pretty from his view, you count yourself grateful to get a glimpse of that, and that he has shared this special thing with you.

He stops outside a half open window on the side of an apartment building, he helps you through the ledge, safely getting you inside. You take a few steps back and watch him crawl inside, dropping to the floor with the agility of a cat.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” you say softly. “I can’t believe I kissed Spiderman. I can’t believe I kissed you actually. That’s crazier to me.”

Satoru tears the mask from his head, his hair all disheveled fell into his eyes, “That’s crazier to you? That you made out with me not that I saved your ass again?”

“Shut up,” you narrow your eyes, looking around. “This is where you live, huh?”

“Mhm,” Satoru answers, watching you. “So you looked into that liquid again. Why did you come all the way to that place? That was very dangerous. And very very stupid. You really came all that way because of me?”

You face him, the air still coolly frosting at the shell of your ears, “I thought you might’ve been involved with those guys at first but based on our conversations, I assumed that maybe you were trying to play hero.”

“And you showed up and realized I was,” Satoru peers down at you. “Idiot.”

“Hey, if I was an idiot, I never would’ve been there in the first place,” you jab your pointer finger straight into his chest. He lets out an exaggerated and overdramatic cough, clutching his heart as if you did serious damage. “Seriously, Satoru, I get why you couldn’t tell me but . . . were you planning on not being near me to protect that secret?”

He stills, the smile vanishing from his face. His icy hair falls over his equally icy irises, bottom lip pushing ever so lightly into his top one in a small frown.

“I didn’t mean to push you away. I tried to stop myself from being close to you—that day you were late was my fault,” he shakes his head, eyes wide.

“But you still saved me,” you justify.

“But you wouldn’t be there in the first place if it weren’t for me,” he counters quickly.

You lower your eyes, “I have a mind, you know? I can say ‘no’, and I can make my own choices. Staying to help you was my choice. And I don’t regret it.”

Your eyes lift to meet his, lights darkened in his apartment. The only thing illuminating the space is the moon, its incandescent glow spilling into the room as if it were sneaking in secrets.

Shining down on your clandestine meeting, you each are inching closer, lips feathering over one another’s before he can’t take it anymore and kisses you.

His hands thread through your hair, his fingers interlinking at the nape of your neck, pushing you against him. He’s kissing you like he wants to breathe you in, like you’re the air that needs to be in his lungs.

You let your tongue slide across his bottom lip, easing it into his mouth. You lap inside his mouth, exploring every bit that your muscle can physically reach, intertwining with his.

Feverishly, you keep kissing each other, and it simply isn’t enough. Panting like starved dogs, you want to whisper to him to take you to his room but it feels too far—and your mind is running in circles right now.

Between kisses, you reach back, shedding your coat and kicking your boots off. Fuck, why is it always so cold in New York? Couldn’t it be summer, so you had less layers to shed?

He’s reeling you back in every time your lips leave his for even a moment. Taking yourself away from him for even a split second is cruel to him, worse than battling a group of mutants as Spiderman.

Satoru appreciates your enthusiasm and your forwardness, considering he’s not as experienced as he’d like to be for you. Hey, it’s hard to date as a superhero. He just prays it’s not too obvious

Your hands are busy unbuttoning your pants as he backs you into the backrest of the couch, not as coordinated as he hopes. He is not all that concerned clearly because you find yourself on your back on his couch, him hovering over you, lips not leaving yours for even a slight moment.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, his hips in between your parted legs. “I can’t believe my luck right now.”

“You’re such a dork—” you begin to joke before he rolls his hips against you, that tent in his pants prods at the heat between your thighs and you gasp out in pure shock and thirst.

Your eyes widen when they shoot down between your bodies, seeing that prominent bulge at the front of his pants, so obviously emphasized in that tight suit of his. How had you missed that before?

“What was that?” Satoru teases, eyelids bonneting over his irises seductively, a coy smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

He tries to hide just how painfully hard he is but now he understands there’s no use. After all, he can still play with your head a bit—just a bit.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.

And his lips are on yours again, swallowing in your gasps and vice versa. All the while, he ruts his hips against you, grinding and dry humping like two pathetic teenagers.

Each time he rolls his hips into you, you moan, humming into his mouth shakily. He’s taking each sound in with pride, he can hardly believe he’s drawing out noises like that from you, miss put together. His lips trek down your jaw, peppering kisses as he makes his way down your neck, a smile curling at his lips.

With hazy eyes, you let your hands skirt at his abdomen, trying to tug at the fabric at his waist, “How the fuck do you get this thing off?”

“You’re supposed to buy me dinner before you see me undressed, you know?” he chuckles against your jaw.

“Ha ha, very funny. Now take your suit off—I don’t want to play any more games,” you plead, your tone dwindles towards something most would call pathetic, but he knows better than to make that mistake. “Please, I just want you.”

Okay, maybe he’s wrong.

He doesn’t have the heart to wait any longer either. The command is clear in his mind, tear the suit off, but his fumbling hands make the effort stretch beyond eternity.

While he is busy with the strenuous task of undressing, you decide to get yours over with. With the desire to stop, go slow, take it all in, each of you are still keeping your eyes on each other—listening to the other’s breaths, taking in the sight of the other’s skin unveiling itself bit by bit. 

As ceremoniously as one could in a moment like this, you discard your top and kick off your pants. You regret the split second you look away because when you look back at him, his shirt is gone.

The spider suit has a variant of features, all that aid in the never-ending trade of fighting crime. That suit also serves justice to whoever it may be underneath it, but fuck it underscored just how beautiful Satoru’s body is.

In the dim light, you make out his chiseled abs, how his shoulder blades are sculpted like an artist spent every drop of sweat, blood, and tears into defining them. How those broad shoulders seamlessly crown the defined muscles of his biceps. Your eyes trail down his arms to his forearms, veiny and working to take off his pants.

That’s when your focus shifts to his chest once more. The plains of his torso display his corded abs.

And you’re counting. Five—six—seven—eight—For someone so rambunctious, he sure fails to flaunt his perfect eight-packed figure.

Your eyes lock in on his lower abdomen, how his waist his much narrower in comparison to the width of his shoulders. His hips hollow out as they carve out a defined line, trailing down between his legs.

Temptation is close to getting the best of you when you realize he’s been frozen in place for half a minute now. Shooting your attention back up to his lustful gaze, you’re suddenly hyperaware of the circumstance of you only in your bra and underwear.

“You’re staring,” you warn with a sharp look.

“Mm—and you weren’t?” he returns the same expression, smugly lowering to kiss you once more.

Any argument you wish to spew are revoked the second his lips are on yours again. Satoru’s hands roam your body. Despite the freezing cold of the winter, his fingertips are piping hot, searing your skin wherever they touch. Your hips, your waists, your face, your breasts, your thighs.

Those lithe fingers slide down your side, around your back and where the clasp of your bra is. And you want to giggle at how he’s struggling to get it unhooked.

“Need help?” you grin, leaning on your elbows.

“Shut up—I got it,” he grunts out. He doesn’t have it in him to admit that he’s suddenly registering the fact that it’s you. You’re the one underneath him right now. It’s your body he can’t believe looks this perfect.

His breaths stops when he manages to tear off that stupid bra from you, your fingers toying with the waistband of his underwear.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Hm?” you hum interrogatively, being cut off when he dives down. “Satoru—ah—”

He buries his face in the valley of your chest, kissing you harshly while making his way to your exposed nipples. He latches his mouth over one and your chest nearly caves in. A moan slips from your mouth, hands at the back of his head, curling in his hair while he sucks your tits so lasciviously.

“Fuck—Satoru—ah,” you try to keep your eyes on him but find yourself cinching them shut anyway.

“You sound so cute saying my name like that,” he gasps out, tongue flicking over your pert nipple, and hand massaging at the mound he’s left alone.

Chills dissipate over your arms and legs, causing you to let out shivers. Shivers that could be a mixed response of the cold air and at the sensation of his mouth sucking you.

Satoru begins to lower himself, trailing kisses down your stomach as he goes. He doesn’t stop when he reaches the waistline of your panties. His lips press on top of the cloth, over your pussy, his fingers curl into the waistband at your hips.

His eyes flick up to yours, a smile on his pretty lips as he takes in your expression, pure desire stitched in every crevice of your face.

He pulls down your panties, eyes fixed between your legs like he was seeing the holy grail itself. His mouth is watering at the sight before him. He can’t believe that after years and years of knowing you, this is the outcome. All the competition, the annoyed glances, quick remarks, all boiled down to this very moment. With you spread out underneath him like a slut.

“Fuck me,” he groans out, tossing your underwear to the side. He lifts your left leg, kissing your ankle and trekking his way up your leg. When he reaches your thigh, his tongue begins to playfully drag across your skin. “Mmm.”

With shaky breaths, you watch him get close and closer but then he stops. He mulls over every form of research he’s ever done. He knows if he puts his mind to it he can please you, he just needs a second to reel himself in. Quite unlike him.

You watch him carefully, seeing how his smile faded and how he’s swallowing down dry lumps. There’s a flush in his face that isn’t something you’ve seen before. Is he . . . nervous?

Your hands shift down, cupping his face. At the endearing action, his heart quivers, as do his eyes. That’s when his jaw slacks, tongue lolling out and licking up your pussy.

You suck in a fragmented breath, fingers trembling when he smiles again and does it again. The saliva on his tongue drips down from the tip of his muscle, dribbling straight down to your slit.

“Do you always get this wet around me?” he has a smile painted on his face that is reaching his ears.

“Can you for once put your mouth to good use?” you whisper back sharply, earning a deep chuckle from his as he lowers his face between your legs again.

Eagerly, he swipes a long languid lick from the bottom of your pussy to the top, milking out his spit as well as your arousal. His arms easily slip around your thighs as he now buries his face, lapping at your cunt like a starved animal.

A loud moan rips straight from your throat, you toss your head back from the sheer intensity. And you can’t help but cry out like that again, feeling his tongue circling over your clit over and over.

When he hears a rather high-pitched cry leave you, his chest swells with pride. He isn’t sure what he was so nervous about. He just can’t believe he’s the one making you feel this good—or you’re the one he’s ever had a moment of weakness like that for.

Tilting his head to the side, he angles his tongue. Licking, sucking slurping your cunt, he’s producing the lewdest of noises, getting absolutely high off your taste.

“Oh my god!” you whine, now rolling your hips on his face, fingers tugging his hair and digging at his scalp. “Do that again.”

“What? This?” Satoru feigns innocence, flicking his tongue repeatedly and quickly over your clit, teasing you.

You almost let a scream burst from you, slapping your palm over your mouth as he teases you. It dawns on you then that those blue eyes looking up at you, are the same very ones you took so long to truly see. He’s not in his glasses but that sight between your legs would’ve been just as gorgeous too.

His hands grip your thighs, pushing them closer to your chest. His jaw unhinges like he’s eating a meal, nose rubbing against your puffy clit as he feels himself become impossibly and painfully harder that he could cum right then and there.

Goosebumps ripple over your body, every cell in your body short circuiting. His fingers dig into your flesh in a bruising grip. With another wanton tug at his hair, he slips out a nasty moan, eyes deliriously rolling to the back of his head.

There’s a sense of greed in the way he’s eating you out. Hunger and lust intertwine together in his movements, he can’t get enough.

His hand comes down between your thighs, fingers swiping over your clit.

Your back is arching off the couch, loud and shameless cries escape you one after the other with no end in sight. With your vision beginning to blur like a flock of clouds rolling in before a storm, you feel a white-hot heat between your legs.

Your eyes flicker towards his face below you. His eyes were shut and his brows your furrowed adorably in concentration. His hair fell in soft tufts and his jaw and tongue are moving in ways you would never have fathomed to see before. Needless to say, he is so fucking sexy.

Feverishly rocking your hips as best you can to meet his insatiable mouth, you know your orgasm is closing in. Every piece of your being is only focused on this immense pleasure and straining to get to the peak point it so desperately needs.

He sees you becoming more and more restless, your legs shake more and your fingers tug harsher at his scalp. The way you’re practically screaming tells him all he needs to know, you are right there.

You scream when it hits you like a freight train. You’re cumming right on his tongue and gushing down his mouth. By no means does that indicate he is stopping though. He continues his motions through your orgasm, not daring to stop till you were done.

Free falling from a great height, you’re whining, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, anything. Pushing him away because of how criminally intense the feeling is. He stays right there, undeterred by your efforts to get him away from you.

Your eyes stay shut but your mouth hangs open, long and drained breaths filling the air. Satoru raises his head, “So fucking messy—I find it hard to believe you haven’t always had the hots for me.”

Meanwhile, you still are reeling in your post-orgasm state, chest rising and falling. Your eyes shift to Satoru straightening up, expanding his posture.

“You okay?” he says, devious tones underlying in his voice. Sincerity had flown out the window.

You respond halfheartedly anyway, “Mhm.”

You slowly move to sit up, biting your lip to ground yourself. Despite your head feeling as weighty as a boulder, you hold yourself up. Your hands reach for his briefs, fingers hooking into the waistband and tugging at them.

“Woah—someone’s impatient,” he chuckles.

“We both know you’d prefer this over anything else,” you say with a daunting lilt of your head.

“That might be true but—” he sucks in a sharp breath when your hand grazes over the precum soaked bulge in his briefs. “Holy fuck.”

Hearing his exasperated breaths draw a smile from you, urging your hands to tug his underwear down and freeing—no way.

No Fucking Way.

Judging by your reaction, Gojo understands through and through that you were expecting much less from him.

It isn’t like you expecting so much less, but you weren’t expecting so fucking much. A dire mistake on your end.

It’s monstrous, big enough that if you wrapped both palms around it, there’d still be uncovered length left. You tilt your head in awe, eyeing the slight curve in it. How his pale skin underneath doesn’t overmine the flush in his tip, the white precum seeding at the opening of it.

“Something the matter?” Gojo flatly whispers, fully aware of how long you’re staring. But by no means is he feeling the heat of it.

“No,” you quickly glance up at him, unblinking.

“Uh huh,” he accepts disbelievingly, a cocky smirk on his face.

You lean forward, wrapping your palm around it. You give it a few precautionary pumps, almost as if you’re petting a wild beast, hoping to tame it. When you hear the reaction it elicits from Satoru, you can’t help but fixate on his face.

His brows knit together and his mouth drops, heavy breaths escaping him. Not only that, but you feel it. You feel the way his dick practically jumps in your hand, sensitive to your touch yet wanting more.

Your chest swells with pleasure, letting your hand feel just what he has to offer. You can feel the ridges in it, the way his veins ran thick, pulsating in your hand.

“If I knew this was the most effective way to get you to shut up, I would’ve done it a long time ago,” you murmur, half-lidded eyes on his twitching face.

“Ngghh—Ahh—Shut up,” he shudders, one hand gripping the backrest of the couch, and the other reaching across his stomach, a feeble hope to ground himself.

“Why should I?” you tease, tugging at his dick as you begin sinking further down on your knees, eye leveled with his waist. “I like hearing you like this a lot more, Satoru.”

And just as you’re about to drag your tongue along the tip of his dick, something within him snaps. He shivers, grabbing you by the back of the head and pulling you to his lips. A soft moan slips from his mouth into yours.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he breathes between kisses. “—I gotta be inside ya.”

Just then, you practically feel a second heartbeat between your thighs. There is no argument in the world that you could use to refute him. All you do is nod dumbly, giving yourself up to him.

He pushes you down, your back falling against the couch cushions beneath you. Satoru hovers over you, staring down at your face, truly studying it. His gaze flicks down when yours does too, to where your fist covers his shaft.

He shudders pathetically when your hand moves along his dick, pumping it impatiently. He notes the clear enthusiasm it elicits from you, how your body curves into him from how horny you were.

Satoru’s own hand reaches for his cock, jerking it slowly before he drags the tip up and down between your folds, gliding over your quivering hole enough to tease it but not give it what it craves so desperately.

You whine, feverishly bucking your hips up into his dick, hoping he takes pity and gives you what you want.

He chuckles darkly, “So needy.”

He slaps his tip against your clit and you gasp, legs jolting at the feeling. It is more than clear he enjoyed pulling a response like that from you, so he does it again. And when you jerk in place like that once more, he sadistically laughs in a way that you wouldn’t believe he’s a hero at all.

“Look at it when I put it in,” he quickly pecks your jaw.

You hesitantly look down, seeing how he coats his cock with all your arousal mixed with your cum. A little huff drips from your lips, watching how his thumb swipes over his tip, a little wet sound stringing as he fists his heavy dick.

While he aligns his cock with the opening of your pussy, your right hand flies to his left forearm and your left hand curls around one of the couch cushions.

He begins pushing it in, grunting as the softness of your walls cling to his tip, threatening to suck him in. Your jaw drops, choppy breaths falling one after the other at how it feels like he’s splitting you open.

“Shit,” he chokes, his hair tickling your face with how close he is. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your fingers tremble the further he pushes in. Your pussy wraps around him so deliciously that he has to remind himself to practice restraint—for your sake. Ever the hero, Satoru Gojo.

Your breath stops, realizing he has way more left to go when you spare a painful glance down. He isn’t even halfway in yet.

“Fuck—Satoru, you’re too big—it won’t fit,” you push at his abdomen, teary eyed.

“Then we’ll make it fit, baby,” he coos, swatting your hand away. “Nothing to worry about.”

When someone tells you not to worry, you learn, it is entirely appropriate to in fact, worry.

He angles himself to sink into you, glancing down between each of your bodies and up at your face, seeing your face contort into a pained yet pleasured expression. The more you become acquainted with his shape, the more it begins to feel good.

When he ruts himself against you, you let out a sharp squeal, clinging onto him. Your eyes feel like they are about to burst from their very sockets, in an almost cartoonish sense.

He watches you, a smirk on his restless face. He draws his hips back and jams them back into you.

“Oh fuck!” you cry, a crease forming between your brows.

“Aw, you look so cute,” he smiles, taking a breath to wince at just how snugly set he is inside you. “All the other guys at school would want to fucking kill me to get to have a sight like this.”

“You talk too much,” you shake your head, reaching up to grab his jaw.

“And you love it,” he pulls himself out till only his tip rests inside you, then he drives his cock back in you, stringing a shriek from you. He begins doing it repeatedly, thrusting in and out of you.

At first his pace is slow yet precise, the tip of his cock prodding so far inside you, you feel it kissing your cervix. Then he decides it’s better to make you work for it before he gives you his all.

His quickens his pace, his thrusts rough and catching you off guard with each one. Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles hooking behind him and toes pointing tautly.

“I’m beginning to think you go looking for trouble just to get the Spiderman to ruin you like this,” he accentuates his point with a well-meaning thrust.

The sounds filling the air are beyond your wildest dirtiest dreams. The sound of his heavy breathing is like music to your ears, just the way your moans are to his. The lewd noises of pap pap pap ofhis balls hitting your ass mix with the squelch of his cock drilling into your wet cunt.

The feeling of him on top of you—inside you, is something you can’t even comprehend the perfection in. Every inch of your body just feels so fucking good that you feel yourself teetering on the edge of delusion.

Your hands make their way up to the base of his neck, your fingers loosely intertwine behind his head. You moan again, letting your fingertips scratch at the back of his head.

Satoru pumps himself in and out of you. He can’t even help it—it’s like his body has a mind of its own. And now, he’s trying to have at least some form of restraint, trying his utmost best to not cum. It isn’t like you’re making anything easier on him.

He nearly falls apart when you pull his mouth to yours, gasping adorably as you let your tongue meet his. You’re sharing the same air at this point, and he fucking loves it.

You feel like you could cum at any given moment. You fixate on that feeling, realizing that you haven’t had time to yourself at all in the last few months. Certainly not enough time for a man to make you cum, let alone give yourself the time to do so.

Now though, you come to the understanding you were deprived. Satoru is giving you just what you needed after so long.

He knows that if his mouth stays on yours, he doesn’t have a fighting chance. So he parts from you, holding himself up by his arms and fucking you even harder.

Your hands jump to his biceps, whining as you do so. All the while, he soaks in your appearance. Your fucked out face, the way your tits are bouncing with every one of his strokes, and the way his cock is slipping so easily in and out of you.

When he suddenly pulls out of you completely, you hardly have beyond a second to realize he’s flipping you over. Your arms rest on the arm rest of the couch, while he adjusts your hips, getting you on your knees.

You turn your head over your shoulder, seeing his big strong hands spreading your ass, spitting down between your legs. You shudder, nose crinkling at the feeling of his spit dripping down to your pussy.

He then slides his dick between your folds again, coating it before he, without warning slips back into you.

He doesn’t ease into it like he did before at all. He has a quick, relentless pace from the get-go. His dick moves inside you like it wants to blend into your body, or perhaps go so far inside you that you feel him in your throat.

With this new position, you feel him prodding deeper than before. Your walls suck him in, helping the tip of his length brushing your cervix, this time at a higher intensity.

He angles his strokes better when his hands grip into your hips. With every lust driven thrust, you feel his fingers dig into your flesh even more. You’re more than certain it will leave a mark that you’ll be seeing for days.

“Fuck me,” Satoru breathlessly laughs. “You’re being such a good girl for me. You feel good?”

“So—so fucking good,” your eyes are closed, nails digging into the plush of his couch. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he darkly mutters.

He ruts himself into your pussy again, feeling the warmth that he never wants to ever part from. He clenches his jaw, trying to ground himself in the smallest way possible at the very least.

His pelvis slams against your ass with great fervor, over and over again. Your heads drops pathetically, forehead against the armrest as you jolt forward . . . forward . . . forward. Your shoulders blades contract, back arching and creating a beautiful crease down your spine.

While he’s fucking you, a part of him wants to bend down and lick up that expanse of skin. Right where the spokes of your spine take shape. Then his eyes fix on the way your ass meets his skin and he does not dare tear his gaze away.

“Mmm shit, baby,” Satoru throws his head back deliriously. “Sucking my cock in so fucking nice.”

Then he rocks his hips against you so zealously that the angle he’s at elicits a loud scream from you. Your body falls forward, knees shaking.

“Oh?” Satoru comes to a grinding halt. “Did I find something?”

He draws himself back and drives himself straight into your pussy again, realigning himself to hit that same spot again.

When you choke out a sob, he grins, “Looks like I have.”

You spare another glance behind you, meeting eyes with that complacent expression on his face. His strokes are quick, deep, and precise, skimming at your g spot just right.

“Oh my god,” you cry, arms and legs shaking. A familiar heat stirs in your core, an iron searing heat. One that feels much more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

You look back again, seeing how Satoru’s washboard abs are glistening with a beautiful moonlit sheen. He throws his head back and you spy the way his jaw hangs when he moans.

Your trembling legs are on the verge of giving out and he feels your pussy clenching. He knows you’re on the edge. He hovers over you, his chest pressing against your back as his hand swirls your sensitive clit in circles.

His senses are clouding, vision blurring just as yours is. Every muscle in your body tightens without any direction, moving at their own accord. A million little tingles flurry over your body like blizzards.

Your throat is drying out from the sheer amount of stamina stringing out of you. And you weren’t even doing any of the work.

Your cunt tightens around him, clamping down on him. His ministrations on your clit get you right where he wants you, cumming like a whore on his dick.

You cry out, body spasming like you no longer have any control over it. You’re writhing beneath him, spilling the sweetest of moans that are going straight to his head.

“Yeah, baby, come on. You got this,” he’s whispering encouragingly in your ear, lips brushing against your helix. “Ah—ah—yeah, just like that.”

Stars stipple across the night sky of your vision. All flickering on and off as if children are playing with light switches in an empty house. Any rational thought flies out of your mind, all you can focus on is this feeling, ardent as a flame.

Satoru’s pace comes to a stop, hands slowing on your nub as he backs away. He chuckles as you slump into the couch, watching you catch your breath.

Once you do, you get back on your knees, turning to face him. He looks as if he’s about to spew some condescending rhetoric but you push him so he’s now seated.

“Your turn,” you say hoarsely, taking your place on his lap.

He surprisingly has nothing to say. Or perhaps he does but his tongue fails him quite severely in that moment.

You straddle his hips with your thighs, sitting up straight in his lap. Your arms are slung around his neck and he finds it so sexy the way one of your hands reach down to put his dick back in you.

As you sink down on his cock, both your mouths fall open, eyes on each other’s. Your arms are slung across his shoulders as you look him dead in the eye and bottom out. You softly whimper but fuck, the whimper that escapes him is worth more than any currency.

His brows pinch and nose scrunches, his pretty lips fall into a pout. One that you want to kiss off his lips so bad. His hands are on your ass, pathetically trying to guide you to go faster and move at the very least. And you do, but the speed you move at is far from fast.

You lift your hips up, and then slam yourself down, earning a strangled gasp from him. You do it again, eliciting the same reaction. Your arms slide down till your hands are at the nape of his neck, feeling the scruff of his undercut.

He moans again, this time wrapping his strong arms around your back and letting you take the reigns completely. He watches the way your cunt sheathes down on his cock repeatedly, your hair in your dazed eyes and all.

As you ride him, he can’t steer his eyes away from any part of you at all, especially your tits bouncing in front of his face. He can’t even help leaning forward ever so slightly, wrapping his mouth around your nipple, hoping it stifles his moans.

You let out a raspy cry, feeling the way his tongue flicks over your bud. His prior hope of suppressing moans is all but futile for you can hear how his heavy breaths spiral into pitchy whines.

Your hips gyrate, rolling against him and he’s already been edging himself to prolong his orgasm but now he knows he’s done for. His dick twitches, and he lets go of your nipple with a pop.

His hands come to rest on your thighs and he looks up at you darkly, “You on birth control?”

Your nails scratch tenderly over his nape again, you bite down on your lip and nod.

“Good,” he simply mutters.

He lets out a choppy moan again, eyes hooded and breaths heavy. His cock twitches inside you again, and with one final plunge in you he’s fallen completely apart. “Fuck—"

His cum spurts inside your pussy, ropes of white liquid shoot in you. The warmth of it invaded your space, hurtling deep in you before it begins leaking out of where the two of you are connected.

Shakily, you breathe as you look down, feeling his seed dripping down your thigh. You take a moment to breath, watching him come down from his high as well.

You both heave heavily, catching elusive breaths. Each of you slowly trail your eyes up at each other, staring for a moment before you both break into laughter.

He rubs his hands over your thighs, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile, tilting your head unconsciously. You flick your gaze over his face, seeing the damp mess his hair is now, sweaty and clinging to his skin. His eyes still have that wintered glimmer. A smile rests on his lips too.

“Can I ask you something?” you quiz.

“Shoot.” Ironic pun.

“Is the reason you’ve been getting under my skin a lot because you had a crush on me?” you ask.

“What? No,” he scoffs, hands on your hips. You cock a suspicious brow, your hands loosely skimming his neck. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh huh,” you nod sarcastically.

“You hungry?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Oh, like crazy,” you breath.

He grins, “Let me order something and I’ll get you cleaned up. Now where’s my phone?”

He stands up, carrying you easily with one arm as he reaches for his phone on the floor. You squeal, tightening your grip on him. “Satoru!”

He pays no mind as he’s already halfway through punching in his pizza order, “Hmm, how do you feel about stuffed cheesy bread?”

“I could go for it, yeah,” you say.

“Great. Done,” he clicks, a satisfied bliss on his face.

“You know have a lot of explaining to do, right?” you remind him.

“You don’t think I know that?” he scoffs airily. “I’d be pretty dumb to forget that with you badgering me around all the time.”

You open your mouth to argue and he laughs, “Kidding! I’ll tell you everything—I swear. Let’s get you cleaned up first. Food should be here by then so I’ll explain while we eat.”

“Okay, but I like hot showers—if you put me under cold water I’m feeding you to that mutant lizard thing on the news,” you warn as he carries you off into the bathroom.

“Oh—I wouldn’t dream of it,” Satoru says. “Besides, can’t take that risk. The city needs me.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you choose to keep your sarcastic remark to yourself. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder, letting him whisk you away.

hope you guys enjoyed as much as i enjoyed writing this!! likes and reblogs are appreciated!!!

[papaya-twinks]

Your smuts are PERFECT. would you write a smut about lando having a sex playlist? I feel like a sex playlist is so lando

mood - l.n

Warnings: Smut, 18+, praise, fingering

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - 1. Tyyyy, I’m glad you like my smut, I think I’m getting better each fic! 2. I don’t really have any sex songs so I searched some random ones!

It was a lazy Sunday when you found yourself going through Lando’s bag. He had tossed it carelessly on the couch after his race. You weren’t snooping - just curious.

His bag always seemed to hold little mysteries.

After digging through some race notes and half-eaten energy bars, you found his phone. You smirked. He never hid the password.

You opened the music app, knowing Lando’s playlists were always… interesting.

But this one was different.

The title: "The Mood."

You raised an eyebrow and pressed play. The first song was slow, sultry and sensual. The bass was deep, the rhythm steady, like it was designed to make you feel something.

The next track was just as smooth but with more bite. You scrolled through the rest…and there was definitely an underlying theme here.

Love To Love You Baby - Donna Summers

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

Superman - Eminem

Sex With Me - Rihanna

Each title seemed to say something more... suggestive. Before you could react, a voice from behind made you jump.

“Caught you, didn’t I?”

You spun around. Lando stood in the doorway, grinning with his signature, wicked little smile.

“Seriously?” you raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”

He stepped closer, his grin widening. “You found my playlist, did ya? It’s for... special things.”

“Snooping isn’t a very nice thing to do, is it, hm?” he asked, stepped forwards, your back pressed to the wall as you held his phone in shaky hands.

“What d’you think it’s for?” Lando asked, his warm breath splaying across your skin as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“C’mon, let’s hear those thoughts,” he hummed, “is it for…gaming? Fun?”

His eyes were dark, teasing. You weren’t sure if he meant the playlist... or something else entirely.

“Wanna try it out?” he asked, slowly lacing his hand into yours as you nodded, following him upstairs.

“Excited?” he snickered as you pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor as he pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

Your movements were messy. Hands roaming over his body and pulling his joggers down.

“Forgettin’ something,” Lando paused, turning the music on with one hand, using the other to wrap round your neck, pushing you onto the bed as you bounced.

The sultry of ‘Superman’ played as you feverishly pulled your skirt up, legs pushed apart by his long, thick fingers.

Fuck.

You moaned - legs quivering as he sunk his digit into your core, curling it as your silken walls clenched round him, a smirk on his face.

At the same time, your hand came to his cock, slowly pumping him up and down as he groaned. “Such a professional,” he mumbled as you teased his tip.

“Wanna be in you,” he said, reaching for a condom as you nodded.

You were needier than anything, watching how he rolled the rubber all the way down to his shaft somehow making your core drip with need, clit throbbing.

His cock twitched as he pressed his head, an angry shade of red, against your entrance.

“Fuck,” you both moaned in sink as he pushed in, his cock forcing your tight walls apart, your juices making it easier for him to slip into.

“Just like that,” he mumbled, leaning down to press a warm kiss to your neck as you wrapped your legs round his waist, pushing his hips forwards and completely sheathing him inside of you.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Lando groaned, not objecting to your need, his hips immediately moving at a blistering pace.

His harsh, deep strokes reached your g-spot in no time, your moans syncing with the melody of the song in the background, a contrast to the slow, sensual rhythm.

“Fuckin’ love you,” Lando grunted, leaning down to squeeze your breasts in his hand, pulling you in for a messy kiss.

You could do nothing but moan into his mouth as your core tightened round him, your bundle of nerves twitching as you reached a finger down, rubbing soft circles into your skin.

Lando hummed, moving your hand away to replace it with his own, slowly easing more pressure as you cried out, eyes rolling.

“How d’you like the songs then?” Lando asked, a smile on his face.

You nodded, almost limply, to his question, tongue poking from your lips as your core clenched.

Each slam of his hips sent a wave of pleasure to your mind, tits bouncing as you balled your fists in the duvet.

You could feel your orgasm threaten to spill through…and spill through it did.

“F-Fuck, Lando!”.

He only sped up, helping you break the wall as your thighs shook, toes curling with the pressure of the fire in your belly, your mind painfully aware of his where his cock was.

You couldn’t even form what song it was….some Lana Del Ray song about riding someone…god Lando was dirty.

You squeaked again as he slammed into you one last time, the rubber tightening round him as his cum spilled into it.

He panted for a few seconds, the room smelling of nothing but sex and sweat, the sound of your breathing and the songs in the background.

“Fuck,” Lando finally said, helping you stand up.

“Should’ve cummed in you,” he mumbled as you sighed, head on his chest. “Let’s clean up,” you said as he nodded.

“How was it? The music ‘n’ all,” he mumbled, walking you to the bathroom. “I liked it,” you said, “it was hot,”.

“Good,”.

Of course Lando has a sex playlist.

It was so…him.

[caramelcoloredkiss]

☆* Drabble #1 ╮

[A small drabble before writing a big one! ]

Warning! 18+ sub! Male reader.

Thoughts on mute m!reader who isn't as helpless as people think he is, but gets weak in the knees when he finds out someone genuinely cares about him.

Like— Imagine how, m!reader feels as if he's a burden to people due to his disability, constantly acting independently because of that guilt. What if their was a man that took care of a him? Someone who had been assigned by his parents to keep an eye on him. (And his loneliness.)

—You're frustrated of course, he was younger than you! (Not by a lot but still.)—And he clearly didn't want to be there. The man constantly looked displeased with even just assisting you in simple tasks.

..but he didn't have a choice, he was literally your bodyguard!

...

Even with all that, he was kind of annoyingly attractive. He was muscular but not beefed up, like the body builders you watched on television. He wore a stoic face that was hard to read on— lips sealed and eyes narrow. You were a little ashamed to admit how much you stared at his face, but it wasn't your fault he was born like that! He was just so— so..

Oh.

This wasn't good, you were gaining feelings for him; and as if this couldn't get any worse— he had started to warm to to you! It was the little things that made you feel like a complete idiot for not noticing your developing friendship.

It was the way he leaned down to your ear whenever he needed something to say, the way he made light touches towards your exposed skin, it was the way he always seem to look at you whenever it was in a crowded room.

Everything he did was starting to be noticeable, and you couldn't help but want him near your presence more often than not.

Honestly— It was a bit humiliating to realize how much you actually depended on him now, not just with your necessities; but your love. And by God you were smitten.

But you kept yourself at a safe distance, too afraid of rejection from your closest person. A heartbreak is one thing— but one from someone who had seen your body, mind and soul? Who looked past your terrible mistakes? He was perfect, and a part of you thinks a darling woman with the heart of gold would suit his taste.

Oh but how naive you were, his relationship towards you wasn't simply a mutual bond of platonic friendship. It was devotion and infatuation, he read you like a book that just couldn't be put down; the heart of his other wise lifeless body. His love for you wasn't something he could put into words, and yet he wanted you to hear his desires.

He was idiotic, it was as simple as that. A man that dedicated his years of professionalism for an opportunity— just to only let in slip down through this fingers to feel your warm embrace and plush face. For someone who had such a reputation like himself it was hard to not look at you without feeling the urge to protect you from such a cruel world. Something he wished he had done before.

.....

After a while you started to crack.

You might not be a helpless lamb but you sure did hope you could turn into a gust of clouds by now.

He was tempting you, right? Or were you just becoming delirious from the sleepless nights of waking up with your heart racing like a deer from your rather.. Innapropriate dreams.

The illusions of his rough hands grazing at your thighs as he bit your cheeks with a playful grin. The dreams of all his gentle yet firm ways of thrusting his hips to stuff you full—

his hot breath on your swollen nipple as he continuously suckled until it was puffy and sensitive. You felt like you were drowning in heat, you never had thoughts like these before, so why now!? Just— why did it have to be him.

You remembered them so clearly, why did your brain wonder off so far when it came to him? It was just embarrassing.

But... If you had a favorite dream of your shameful fantasies, it would be your first.

He had you pinned down on your bed, his mouth slightly open from how he was catching his breath, bangs sticking on his forehead— body covered in thin layers of sweat that trickled down his forearms and neck continuously. He looked at you with so much devotion, biting his lip and closing his eyes everytime he penetrated his cock, it almost felt real.

You were going to die, from shame or maybe more natural causes the world gives you.

But oh.

After you had woken up from another dream, ready to pathetically masturbate in silence— he was there. Oh right.. an accident had happened and you were bed ridden until further notice, leading to him staying by your side; taking care of you as he always did.

"Ah- ha.. ? I-it doesn't matter right— let's just move on from this."

You tried to run away, to explain how he wasn't supposed to see you like this. He was going to be disgusted— who wouldn't be? If he were to laugh it off it would've been just the best case scenario, yeah he maybe nonchalant but maybe if he just—

"Who.. Did you dream about, [Name]?"

Huh? Oh, his hands moved.

"Ah.. Ha? What do you mean by that..? it doesn't matter! Just let it go—"

But he didn't, he wouldn't. He wanted to know who could make you let out such adorable noises, the desperate faces you made when you couldn't make those fantasies come true.

So he grabs you, not as gentle as he normally did.

"Just tell me, I wanna help. I'm always at your side, it shouldn't be embarrassing right? "

"I-.. f-fuck it really doesn't."

Your hands began to shake, unable to focus on expressing your words.

You were screwed, he kept leaning closer and closer. At this rate you might just make your own grave stone. So you moved your hands again.

"It's.. You."

He stared, with a blank look, something a bit too animalistic. Even still, he simply smiled while parting his lips, in favor of his own voice.

"Why didn't you say so? Let me make your dreams come true, like a proper assistant."

[Haha... Ok I might make this real.]

[A side note but they're both using sigh language! I'm sorry if it doesn't seem like it.]

[cuntphoric]

gojo has had his dick in your mouth plenty of times before. but something about having his cock in your mouth in the dim light of the living room felt so different, so much more real. maybe it was the way he was staring down at you. maybe it was the way his eyes fluttered closed as your tongue swirled around his tip. maybe it was the fact you were on your knees and just looking so pretty.

it didn't matter though. the only thing that mattered was him. the only thing you could think about was him. it was him that made you sink down further on his dick, taking him in your mouth, feeling his shaft drag along your tongue and fill up your throat. it was his fingers laced through your hair that made you bob your head back and forth. it was his moans and whimpers that made you feel like you were floating, drifting up and away. being cock drunk with gojo is crazy.

you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking in as hard as you could. your eyes flutter closed and you heard him suck in a breath, his cock throbbing against your tongue. you feel the familiar, hot, heavy weight of his cock against your tongue, and the way it slides back into your throat. you swallow around his length and the noise he makes is beautiful. his legs were twitching, his hips bucking up into your mouth.

you felt his cock throb in your mouth. you opened your eyes, and were met with his. his lips were parted, his breathing was heavy and late. you could see his chest heaving, and you could feel his hands on your hair tightened, shaking. you knew that he was close.

you felt him start to tremble even more, his hips bucking forward and fucking into your throat even rougher. he was chasing his high, his body starting to move of its own accord.

"shit," he muttered, his fingers tugging your hair. "i'm gonna cum."

his cock pulsed in your mouth. he groaned, his hips stuttering. he pulled his cock out of your mouth, stroking it a few times before cum spilled onto your face, hot and thick. you closed your eyes as he continued to stroke himself, milking his orgasm and making sure you got all of it.

you felt the warmth of his cum drip down your cheek. you opened your eyes, and you could see his eyes glued to the mess he had made on your face.

"s-so beautiful." indeed!!