#they always get there eventually but there's always a push and pull with them i think. they have to learn to really live together

[sixxels]

mine, eventually. ~ r. sukuna

fratboy!sukuna x bestfriend!reader

wc: 11k

he’s your slutty frat-boy-best-friend and you’re his sweet, bubbly angel* who has no idea that he’s been in love with you for months. he hasn’t fucked a single soul since he realized his feelings, not one. pretending he’s fine while you curl up into his chest at parties like it means nothing is slowly driving him insane.

!!disclaimer!! best friends to lovers, soft slow-burn, mutual pining, best friends who don’t know how to talk, and a love that’s been there the whole time! angst!!!! comfort!

the rager’s already in full swing by the time you get there.

someone’s shitty bluetooth speaker is blasting throwbacks in the living room, half the frat’s gathered around a beer pong table like it’s the olympics, and the air smells like weed and overpriced tequila. classic friday night.

you don’t even bother knocking. just push open the front door, step over a passed out freshman in a toga, and make a beeline for the couch you always end up on.

and sure enough, he’s already there.

sukuna’s got one arm slung lazily across the backrest, a red solo cup balanced on his knee, and the cockiest smirk you’ve ever seen stretched across his face. his hair’s a mess, his shirt’s riding up slightly at the hem, and his rings glint every time he lifts the cup to his mouth.

you roll your eyes and collapse beside him anyway.

“took you long enough,” he says, nudging your knee with his own. “i was about to send out a search party.”

“maybe i didn’t wanna see your ugly face tonight.”

he grins. “liar.”

and you are. but you don’t tell him that.

because this is your ritual. your thing. it doesn’t matter whose party it is, which frat’s throwing it, or how many people are packed into the house, you and sukuna always end up here. same couch. same banter. same rhythm that’s been beating between the two of you since freshman year.

you lean back, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged beside him. his thigh is warm where it brushes yours, and you try not to notice it.

“how many girls have you hit on tonight?” you ask, reaching for his drink and taking a sip without asking.

he hums thoughtfully. “define hit on.”

you raise a brow. “sukuna.”

“what?” he says, mock innocence dripping from his tone. “i’m just being friendly.”

you scoff. “you’re incapable of being just friendly.”

“you wound me, princess.”

you shove his shoulder and he laughs, head tipping back, throat exposed. and for a second, just a second, your brain short-circuits.

because sukuna’s hot. like, really hot. the kind of hot that should come with a warning label. tattoos and sharp smiles and sleepy bedroom eyes. he looks like every bad decision you’ve ever avoided on purpose.

and he’s your best friend.

your completely infuriating, manwhore of a best friend.

he’s the guy who once had a threesome during finals week and then showed up to study group with glitter in his hair. the one who keeps condoms in every coat pocket and probably knows the names of every bouncer on campus. the same guy who used to text you from girls’ beds, complaining about how their playlist sucked.

and somehow, despite all of that, you adore him.

maybe because he listens when you talk too much, because he knows all your dumb fixations and lets you rant about them for hours. because no matter how many people he flirts with, he always ends up back here, next to you.

“you thinking about me?” he says suddenly, smirking when you blink at him.

“i was thinking about how many diseases you’ve probably caught from this couch,” you deadpan.

he throws his head back again and laughs, loud and unbothered.

“god, you’re mean.”

“you like it.”

“unfortunately.”

you nudge his leg with yours again, more gentle this time. the party rages around you, but this little bubble, this spot on the couch where it’s just the two of you, feels untouchable.

you’ve known sukuna for almost three years now. met him during your first week at university, at some wild frat party you barely remember. you were tipsy and rambling to someone about your favorite childhood tv show and he cut in just to mock your taste. and never left you alone after that.

he’s been a part of your life ever since. group hangouts, movie nights, drunk phone calls at 2am. he’s there. always.

and somewhere along the way, you started telling him everything. even the stupid shit. especially the stupid shit. like how you spent two hours last night researching the mating habits of deep-sea anglerfish. or how you’re pretty sure your TA is in love with the guy who sits next to you.

you talk, and sukuna listens.

sometimes he teases. sometimes he gets this look, soft around the eyes, like he doesn’t even realize he’s staring. and then it’s gone. back to smirks and sarcasm.

you’ve tried not to think too hard about it.

you’re practically tangled up on the couch, like limbs and laughter and shared space all wrapped into one. sukuna’s arm is draped over your shoulders, loose but protective, and your head is tucked just beneath his chin, warm against his chest. his heartbeat is steady, slow, something grounding beneath your ear that feels like a secret only the two of you know.

it’s not flashy or dramatic. it’s the quiet kind of intimacy that’s grown over late nights and early mornings, over inside jokes and too many half-remembered conversations. it’s the softness behind his usual sharp edges, the way his hand casually rests on your arm as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you reach up and thread your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. he tenses for a moment, then relaxes, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “you’re such an annoying pest,” he mutters, voice low and rough, but you catch the warmth underneath like a whispered promise.

“you love it,” you say softly, the words a little breathless, like you don’t want to break the moment.

the party buzzes around you, loud, messy, chaotic, but it all fades into white noise. out here, pressed close to him, none of that matters. no flashing lights, no drunken shouts, no prying eyes.

just you and sukuna.

and somehow, even after all the teasing and the bickering and the ridiculous banter, this is where the real stuff lives. in the easy silence. in the way your fingers find his hand without thinking. in the quiet understanding that you’re both exactly where you want to be, even if you don’t say it out loud.

it’s the kind of closeness that’s almost too much and not enough all at once, like your hearts are so tangled up they might burst, but you don’t have to do anything about it. not yet.

because this is your truth. your safe place. the quiet love that’s been hiding behind all the noise from the very start.

“you see who maki came with?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“nah,” you say, glancing around. “who?”

“some guy named dan. total finance bro. talks like a podcast.”

you snort. “god. maki deserves better.”

“everyone deserves better than a dan.”

you hum in agreement, stealing another sip of his drink. he doesn’t complain. he never does.

“what about you?” you ask. “eyeing anyone tonight?”

it’s a casual question. one you’ve asked a hundred times. but this time, he pauses.

“nah,” he says finally. “not really feelin’ it.”

you frown. “you? not in the mood to flirt? is the world ending?”

he shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“maybe i’m growing up.”

you snort. “you literally mooned someone from a moving car last weekend.”

he grins. “growing up gradually.”

you laugh, and he looks at you again. and this time… he doesn’t look away.

“you know,” he says slowly, “you’re kind of the only reason i come to these things anymore.”

your heart skips.

you try to play it off. “because i’m the only one who tolerates you?”

“because you’re the only one who gets me,” he says, voice low. quieter than before. “like… actually gets me.”

you blink. your stomach flips.

but before you can respond, someone calls his name across the room.

he sighs and leans back, rubbing a hand over his face.

“hold that thought,” he says, standing. “gotta go break up whatever stupid shit gojo’s doing.”

you watch him disappear into the crowd, smiling as you watch his back muscles flex with each swing of his arms, you understood the appeal, he was a sexy man. in his own little fashion, he thought of you the exact same way, a drop dead gorgeous girl with a heart of gold, but you’d never even guessed he thought of you as such, after all, what would give you any sort of sign that he was into you when the latest rumour was that he was sleeping around with hot sorority chicks every weekend?

~

the party’s died down hours ago. the house is trashed, half-lit, and still pulsing faintly with leftover bass through the walls. the beer pong table’s been abandoned, someone’s hoodie is hanging from the ceiling fan, and there’s a questionable stain on the rug no one’s talking about.

geto’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with a half-empty bottle of tequila, choso’s sprawled on the loveseat looking like he’s already halfway to sleep, and gojo’s perched on the arm of the couch with a wine glass he definitely didn’t bring himself.

sukuna’s nursing a beer. slouched in a worn-out recliner with his head tilted back, eyes closed, shoulders loose in that i’m relaxed but still kind of pissed way he always gets when he’s overthinking.

he hasn’t said much since reader left.

“sukuna, man,” gojo starts, words slurring a little, “are you going fucking celibate? you haven’t fucked a chick in damn near two months.”

geto snorts, tilting his bottle toward sukuna. “what, you give it up for lent or something?”

“maybe he got neutered,” choso mumbles into a throw pillow.

gojo gasps. “don’t say that, that’s so sad. think of all the women out there missing out.”

sukuna doesn’t open his eyes. just raises his middle finger in their general direction and takes a slow pull from his drink.

“i’m serious,” gojo continues. “you used to be the first one out the door with some girl pressed up against the wall. now you’re… what, sitting on a couch all night with your weird little bestie and dodging blowjobs like they’re the plague.”

geto leans back, watching sukuna over the lip of his drink. “she’s not just some bestie though, huh?”

that gets sukuna’s attention. his eyes crack open, dark and unreadable. “don’t start.”

“not starting anything,” geto says, smirking. “just saying. you used to be all about the sorority chicks with fake lashes and daddy issues. now you’re glued to sunshine incarnate.”

gojo lets out a bark of laughter. “please. she’s too sweet for him. sukuna’d ruin her. he needs someone who can keep up with the slut energy.”

sukuna’s jaw ticks.

choso blinks at the ceiling. “she did bring cupcakes to the last pregame.”

“exactly,” gojo says, dramatic as ever. “she’s, like, wife-coded. sukuna doesn’t do wife-coded.”

“maybe he’s bored,” geto says. “maybe he’s finally fucked so many girls that his dick gave up and retired.”

that gets a laugh from the others, loud and easy.

sukuna doesn’t laugh.

he doesn’t say a word.

he just sits there, beer forgotten in his hand, staring into the dim space between the couch and the coffee table, jaw clenched, heart beating a little too loud in his chest.

because they don’t get it. they don’t know.

they don’t know how it feels to sit beside someone who trusts you with everything and have to pretend you don’t want to kiss them every time they smile.

they don’t know what it’s like to want something real for once. something soft. something that doesn’t taste like regret the morning after.

they don’t know how long it’s been since he’s touched anyone else. how the thought of it makes his stomach turn. how no one else even registers anymore. how she ruined him for all of it without even trying.

and he’s not gonna tell them.

because they wouldn’t believe him anyway.

so he just shifts in his chair, downs the rest of his drink, and says, flat and final, “maybe i’m just waiting for the right girl.”

it shuts them up for a second.

then gojo laughs again and geto raises his brows like he’s not sure whether he’s joking, and choso mutters something about being too high for this conversation.

but sukuna’s not joking.

not even a little.

the teasing eventually fades, replaced by the quiet clink of bottles and the hum of low music someone forgot to turn off. choso’s officially half-asleep, sprawled sideways across the loveseat with a blanket someone definitely didn’t offer him. geto’s back to nursing the tequila bottle like it personally wronged him, and gojo’s now laying upside down on the couch, legs dangling off the back like he’s trying to cause a scene with gravity.

“so,” choso mumbles, voice thick and lazy. “that mixer next weekend still on?”

“yeah,” gojo says without moving. “gamma’s throwing it with phi sig. should be decent. free drinks and better music than last time. they’re renting actual speakers this time, not just hijacking someone’s spotify on a jbl.”

“can i bring shiu?” choso asks, blinking slow like it takes effort.

“yeah,” gojo says, waving his hand. “he’s in delta nu, right?”

choso hums something that might be a yes or might be the sound of sleep taking him.

sukuna sits up slightly, beer bottle still hanging from his fingers. “can i bring y/n?”

gojo doesn’t even hesitate.

“nah.”

sukuna’s jaw clenches. “why not?”

“you know why not,” gojo says, finally flipping over to sit upright. “it’s a greek-only mixer. she’s not in a frat or a sorority.”

“she’s basically in this frat,” sukuna says, a little sharper than he means to. “she’s at every party. she knows everyone. she’s closer to you assholes than half the pledges.”

geto sighs, not looking up. “that’s not the point. the chapters are paying for the event. they want it to stay within the system. it’s political.”

“it’s bullshit,” sukuna mutters.

“you think i don’t agree?” gojo says, more gently now. “i love her. she’s our friend. but if one non-greek shows up, it opens the door for more, and then it’s a whole thing. alumni get pissy. mixers stop happening. and for what? a night where she already has better places to be?”

sukuna’s quiet for a second.

the air goes still.

because yeah, maybe you do have better places to be. you’re always buzzing around campus, always getting invited to every little thing. somehow you’ve charmed everyone without even trying. the girl who bakes cookies for your friends and brings tupperware to parties. the girl who’ll sit and talk with a drunk freshman for forty-five minutes just to make sure she gets home safe. the one everyone trusts, everyone likes.

but you’re not one of them.

not on paper.

not enough to be invited.

and it stings in a way sukuna can’t explain without sounding like he cares too much.

“she wouldn’t even care,” geto says after a beat. “she probably wouldn’t wanna go anyway.”

sukuna shakes his head slowly. “she would. not for the party. just to be around us.”

“then invite her to the after,” gojo says, too casually. “she can come once the official stuff’s over. like always.”

and that’s what gets under his skin.

like always.

like you’re some shadow they keep waiting in the wings. welcome, but not official. close, but not close enough. always there, always giving, and never asking for anything back.

but sukuna knows you.

knows you’d never say it hurts. never ask for an invite. never press your nose against the glass and say you want in. because you’re sweet. because you don’t want to make a scene. because you think you’re lucky just to be included at all.

and maybe that’s what kills him most.

sukuna doesn’t respond right away. just rolls the bottle between his hands and nods once, like it doesn’t bother him. like it’s fine.

but it does bother him.

because you've been at every party, every hangout, every busted-up couch gathering like this one. you're as much a part of this group as any of them, maybe more. you're the glue, the heart. the one person who always shows up and always makes it better just by being there.

and suddenly you're not allowed?

he gets it. he does. house rules. dumb frat politics. whatever. but still.

he’s never wanted to bring someone to one of these before. never even thought about it. but the second it came up, your name was already halfway out of his mouth.

and now it’s stuck there, burning.

gojo reaches over, clinks his glass against sukuna’s bottle. “next time, yeah?”

sukuna forces a tight smile and tips his drink back.

“yeah,” he lies. “next time.”

~

the next night.

it’s late when you hear the knock.

past eleven. campus is quiet outside your window, the kind of stillness that only happens after a long day of classes and too much caffeine. your desk light’s still on, laptop humming, a playlist playing low as you scribble in the margins of your notes with a pink pen you definitely didn’t borrow from sukuna and never give back.

you blink up at the sound, confused, and push back from your chair just as the front door swings open without waiting for you.

sukuna steps in, keys jingling between his fingers, sweat clinging to the collar of his black t-shirt.

“jesus,” you say, raising your brows. “you ever heard of knocking?”

he shrugs, already kicking off his sneakers. “you gave me a key.”

“for emergencies. or bringing me food. this is trespassing.”

“it’s not trespassing if i live here part-time.”

“you don’t.”

“i do, emotionally.”

you narrow your eyes, watching as he kicks the door shut behind him and rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair. he looks irritated. flushed. like he’s been fighting someone or about to.

“you coming from a girl’s place or something?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but the words slip out a little more bitter than you mean.

he pauses, one foot halfway out of his sock.

“something like that,” he mutters.

it wasn't something like that. he'd been running, something he'd been doing a lot lately instead of his nightly rendezvous with his copious amounts of side chicks. after he went non intentionally celibate, he'd started putting the excess energy he wasn't using in basketball to do laps around campus. 

but he couldn't tell you that. couldn't just say, 'yeah, i've been running marathons lately because my dick goes limp at the thought of even touching another women.' so he just chalked it up to whatever your mind was thinking.

you blink, surprised he didn’t throw a joke at you or roll his eyes. didn’t make a crack about what kind of position she had him in or if he should shower before sitting on your bed.

instead he just pulls off his shirt and flops down face-first into your comforter like he’s lived here forever.

you stare for a second at the smooth line of his back, the tribal tattoos, the way he exhales like your room is the first place he’s been able to breathe all day.

“…you okay?” you ask, stepping toward the bed.

he grunts.

“great conversation,” you mutter, crawling up onto the mattress and poking him between the shoulder blades. “what’s with the dramatics, need to talk?”

he rolls onto his side, arm flung over his eyes, voice muffled. “i’m not allowed to bring you to the mixer.”

you blink. “hm?”

you knew of the mixer and you knew you weren't going, you weren't in a sorority.

“they said no,” he says, finally lowering his arm just enough to squint at you. “strictly greek. no exceptions. even though choso’s dragging that freak shiu and he’s barely greek. and even though you’ve been at more of our events than half the guys actually in the frat.”

you go try not to giggle at his display.

“i see,” you say. “it’s fine ryo. i didn’t expect to go anyway.”

“yeah, well, i wanted you to,” he snaps, sharper than he means to. he cleared his throat abit embarrassed before continuing. “was kind of the only reason i was looking forward to it.”

you stare at him, taken aback.

he groans and throws an arm over his face again. “god. it’s so fucking stupid. i don’t even wanna go if you’re not gonna be there.”

you sit beside him, folding your legs under yourself. "hey don't say that, i'm sure you'll get your entertainments worth with what're dumb thing gojos bound to do there." 

he rolls his eyes but a smirk pulls at his lips.

“you have to though, right?” you ask quietly. “frat rules?”

he grunts again, bitter. “mandatory attendance. gotta show face, shake hands, do shots with people i fucking hate. can’t just hang out with you like a normal person. it’s bullshit.”

you watch him for a second, hes clearly very upset on your behalf and it tugs at your heart to see him so sad for you.

the frustration in his shoulders. the tension still in his jaw. how tired he looks even though he won’t admit it. and how different he’s been lately, even if he tries to hide it.

it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him leave a party with someone. months since you’ve gotten a dumb flirty text from him at two in the morning about some girl with lip gloss and a sorority pin. instead it’s been this, late nights of cooking and movies at your place, quiet mornings where he'd crash on the couch, showing up sweaty and worn out without explaining why.

you don’t know what’s going on with him.

and you don’t ask.

because he’s still your best friend, he’s still sukuna, you never know what's going on with men like him. not really.

even if you wish sometimes he’d let you see past all the noise and into whatever he’s keeping buried under his skin.

“you could skip,” you offer after a long pause. “say you’re sick.”

he lifts his arm just enough to peek at you. “and miss out on disappointing every alumni watching the insta stories? unthinkable.”

you laugh.

and he smiles, barely.

then closes his eyes again, and says, quieter this time, “just wish it wasn’t like this.”

you don’t ask what he means.

you don’t have to.

you watch him stew for another minute, sprawled on your bed like a kicked dog, jaw tense and brows furrowed. you can tell he’s stuck in his head again, spiraling over something he can’t fix, so you do what you always do when sukuna gets like this.

you get up and go to the fridge.

“what are you doing?” he calls after you, but there’s already the tiniest lilt of curiosity in his voice.

you peek back over your shoulder, smiling shyly. “making you un-grumpy.”

you return with a container of the cookies you baked the night before, still soft from the fridge, the chocolate chips slightly hardened but perfect for biting into. you plop back down beside him and wiggle the container in front of his face.

“i come bearing peace offerings.”

he raises a brow. “what are they laced with?”

“love and all things happy and awesome,” you say sweetly. “now shut up and open.”

you settle onto his knee, the position so familiar it doesn’t even register as odd anymore. you’re perched sideways, comfortably pressed against him as you hold up a cookie to his mouth like you’ve done a thousand times before with different snacks, different moods, different nights.

he sighs like he’s being tortured, but opens his mouth and lets you push a bite past his lips.

and then he goes still.

you try to hide your smirk. “good, right?”

he chews slowly, then nods once, eyes flicking down to the cookie still in your hand. “fuck,” he mutters. “why are these better than the last ones?”

“because i added cinnamon this time,” you say proudly. “i’m a genius. a visionary. a baker ahead of my time. no need to lay it all on me at once.”

“you’re a menace,” he says, reaching for the container and grabbing one for himself. he takes another bite, then leans his head back with a groan. “jesus christ.”

you beam, satisfied. “mood improved?”

he glances down at you, his arm sliding a little more securely around your waist, holding you in place like it’s just instinct. “a little.”

you twist to face him more fully, still sitting across one of his legs, knees bent and shoulder pressing into his chest. “well, i accept your gratitude. payment accepted in the form of continued affection and possibly letting me pick the movie tonight.”

“you say that like you weren’t going to pick it anyway,” he says, but his voice has gone soft.

you don’t move, just rest your cheek lightly against his shoulder. it’s quiet again, in that comfortable, lived-in way. his fingers drift absentmindedly along the hem of your shirt, not even thinking about it, and you feel the shift before it happens.

he sets the cookie down and wraps both arms around you, pulling you fully into his chest.

you blink in surprise as your face smushes into his neck, but your arms slip around his waist anyway, your cheek settling against his skin with a tiny, surprised smile.

this… isn’t unheard of.

but it’s not common either.

not like this.

not this long, not this full-bodied, not this quiet. not this careful.

he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. just breathe in sync, slow and even, held together in the kind of closeness that feels like it means something more than either of you are ready to admit. it doesn’t feel playful. it doesn’t feel casual.

it feels like everything unsaid is pressing in between the space of your bodies.

and still, you don’t pull away.

you stay wrapped around each other, soft and steady in the glow of your little kitchen light. the rest of the world fades out. no frat politics, no mixers, no rules. just your warmth against his chest, the scent of cookies on the air, and his heartbeat pressed right against your cheek.

you smile against him, a little giddy, a little shy, and squeeze your arms around him just a little tighter.

he squeezes back.

"such a softie."

"shut up."

~

friday night, gamma. 

the music’s already shaking the walls by the time sukuna and gojo pull up to the house.

the lights are low, the windows are glowing purple, and there’s a line of girls on the front lawn taking pictures against the greek letters like they’re on the fucking red carpet. half of them are laughing too loud, the other half are posing like they’re about to sell flat tummy tea. it’s a mess.

gojo whistles low under his breath. “god damn. they went all out tonight.”

sukuna says nothing, just shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and follows gojo toward the front door, already wishing he’d stayed in.

inside, it’s worse.

the house smells like weed, body spray, and some kind of mango-flavored vodka someone definitely spilled on the carpet. the bass is pounding. the lights are cycling through seizure-inducing colors. and the living room is filled wall to wall with girls in the tiniest outfits he’s ever seen.

crop tops so small they’re practically bras, skirts that could pass for belts, dresses that ride up with every step. legs, boobs, glitter, perfume. like a scene out of a movie, only louder and stickier.

gojo grins, elbowing him in the side. “this is what i’m talking about, man these chicks are drooling.”

“mhm,” sukuna mutters, eyes skimming the crowd without interest.

gojo keeps going, clearly amped. “look at her, jesus. i could write a poem about that ass. might get it tattooed.”

sukuna hums, tuning him out. lets the words wash over him without meaning. he’s good at that now. nodding, smirking, pretending to be the guy they all think he is.

“oh my god,” gojo says again, eyes glued to another girl passing by in a see-through mesh top. “this one’s not even wearing a bra. she’s doing the lord’s work.”

“praise be,” sukuna deadpans.

gojo laughs, already drifting toward the drinks table like a moth to flame, eyes darting everywhere.

sukuna doesn’t follow.

he stands near the door, shoulder against the wall, letting the party swirl around him. girls brush past him on the way to the kitchen, one of them flashing a smile he doesn’t return. he watches two of them grind against each other like they’re auditioning for attention, and someone tugs on his hoodie in passing, trying to get his attention.

he doesn’t even blink.

because all he can think about is how quiet your apartment was last night.

how your laugh sounded when he tried to talk with his mouth full of cookie. how you looked sitting on his knee, eyes crinkling, fingers brushing crumbs from his shirt.

how easy it was.

how real.

and this? this feels like a joke.

he used to love this shit. the noise, the chaos, the attention. he used to thrive in it. let it fill him up, drown out all the parts of himself that didn’t make sense.

but now it just feels loud.

pointless.

empty.

he pulls his phone from his pocket and checks it without thinking.

no texts.

you’re probably curled up on your couch right now with a mug of tea and some documentary about weird animals. maybe wearing one of your oversized sweaters. maybe thinking about him. maybe not.

he sighs, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes for a second.

wishing, more than anything, that he was with you instead.

meanwhile...

your dorm was quiet tonight.

just the low hum of your mini fridge, the soft whir of the fan you’ve wedged into the corner by the window, and the occasional clatter of your own movements as you putter around your tiny kitchen.

you’re barefoot on the tile, hoodie sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your hair pulled back haphazardly. the playlist you always turn on while baking is playing softly, the comfort stuff, the songs you don’t have to think about. your body moves automatically, reaching for ingredients, measuring out flour and sugar like muscle memory.

but your mind’s somewhere else entirely.

you keep thinking about last night. about the way sukuna looked when he walked through your door, sweaty and annoyed and tired, like the world was grating against him. and how he softened when you sat on his lap and fed him cookies. how he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.

that long hug.

you can still feel it.

his arms wrapped around you, your cheek against his chest, the quiet warmth of his body pressed fully into yours like he didn’t want to let go. it wasn’t playful. it wasn’t some joke. it felt like something else. something deeper. something you’re too scared to name.

you missed him the second he left.

you always do.

but tonight, it aches a little more. hell, it aches a hell of a lot.

because you know where he is right now. or, at least, where he’s supposed to be — at that mixer with gojo and the rest of the guys. shoulder to shoulder with every sorority girl on campus. probably surrounded by glitter and perfume and girls in backless dresses.

you try not to picture it.

you try not to imagine him pressed up against someone in a dark corner, hands on her hips, whispering something smooth into her ear. it’s what he used to do, after all. it’s what everyone still thinks he does.

you’ve never asked.

but it’s easier to believe he’s still out there being sukuna, your charming, cocky, slightly feral best friend who fucks around and never gets attached. it’s easier than hoping for something more.

you sigh and lean your hands on the edge of the sink, staring out the window for a moment before pushing off again and turning back to the counter.

if he is out there right now, tangled up with some girl, then so be it. it’s not your business. he’s your friend. he’s always been your friend. and that’s enough.

you shake away the little ache curling up in your chest and reach for the eggs.

he likes custard tarts.

you remember him mentioning it months ago, offhanded, when you were watching some cooking show together and he snorted at a pastry challenge. 'that shit’s easy,' he’d said, and then casually added, 'my grandma used to make those all the time. i could eat like five in one sitting.'

so you’re going to make him some.

you don’t know if he’ll even come by tomorrow, but if he does, it’ll be waiting for him. warm, golden, sweet. something quiet to show him you were thinking about him, even if you won’t say it out loud.

you dust your hands with flour and start rolling out the pastry crust, humming under your breath, praying this suffocating guilt in your chest will soon subside.

back with the man of the hour.

the kitchen is hotter than hell.

bodies packed in tight, music thudding through the walls, the floor sticky with spilled drinks and god-knows-what. it smells like tequila, sweat, and cologne, like every mixer always does. sukuna’s perched at the corner of the counter with a half-empty shot glass in his hand, the burn of whatever cheap liquor they’re using tonight still clinging to his throat.

he’s a few drinks in, not drunk, but warm. loose. not enough to forget, just enough to blur the edges.

“yo,” someone says, slapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “you still out here slaying or what?

it’s ino, one of the phi sig guys. bleach-blond, grinning like a golden retriever, drunk enough that his words are dragging a little.

sukuna doesn’t answer right away.

he can feel the pause stretching. can feel the weight of it. because he knows exactly where this is going.

“what?” ino says, laughing. “don’t tell me the infamous sukuna went soft on us.”

he’s joking. mostly.

but nearby, sukuna catches gojo’s eyes.

he’s leaning against the wall with a drink in one hand, watching the conversation like a hawk. and when their gazes meet, gojo raises one brow, just slightly. the look is clear.

'just lie to them.'

gojo doesn’t say it out loud, but he doesn’t need to.

because sukuna’s got a reputation. one the frat’s leaned on for years, their golden weapon. their sexed-up, reckless, untouchable president’s right-hand menace. the one who sets the tone at parties, the one who doesn’t hesitate to bang anyone, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t change.

and if word gets out that ryomen sukuna hasn’t laid a hand on anyone in months, that he’s been skipping hookups to hang out with you in your tiny dorm room, baking cookies and trading sleepy smiles? well.

it wouldn’t look good.

not for him. not for the frat. not for the image.

so he swallows the sick twist in his gut and flashes a grin that feels so disgustingly wrong on his face.

“you know how it is,” he says smoothly, rolling his neck like he’s already bored of the conversation. “been busy. but yeah. still getting mine.”

ino laughs and passes him another shot, already leaning in. “anyone good?”

“couple girls from chi o,” sukuna says, shrugging one shoulder. “blonde one — i forget her name. maybe claire? she was loud. pretty sure half the floor heard us.”

ino hollers and claps him on the back, and someone nearby chimes in with a “my fucking guy.”

sukuna downs the shot.

he keeps going.

“hooked up with that junior from zeta last week too. the one with the snake tattoo.”

“mia?” ino gasps.

“yeah,” sukuna half lies, licking his teeth. “she’s got this thing where she likes being choked. like, full hand, no hesitation. freaky as fuck, but she took it like a champ.”

there’s laughter. back slaps. someone throws him another beer.

and sukuna plays along.

he leans into the scumbag act. tells them about how he made her beg. how he didn’t even bother texting her after. throws in some bullshit about how she kept whining for round three and he just left.

and it’s easy, this was how he used to be after all.

his voice is smooth, confident, practiced. he says the words like he’s proud of them. like they don’t taste like ash and piss in his mouth. like they aren’t killing him from the inside out.

because the truth is, he hasn’t touched anyone since he realized he was in love with you.

sure he's fucked those girl before, just not as of late. 

no blonde named claire. no snake tattoo. no begging, no choking, no careless sex with strangers who mean nothing. 

just you.

just the way you looked at him the other night, eyes wide and sweet while you perched on his knee. just the way you made him feel full with nothing but a bite of cookie and a laugh. just the way your arms wrapped around him without hesitation. like he was someone worth holding onto.

but he can’t say that here.

he can’t be that guy.

so he keeps lying. keeps playing the role. keeps smiling through the noise and the heat and the taste of someone else’s expectations on his tongue.

and all the while, in the back of his mind, he’s wondering what you’re doing right now. if your oven’s still on. if your hands are covered in flour. if you’re thinking about him too.

god, he hopes you are. safe away from this performative monster he's so carefully curated.

later.

things have gone off the rails.

the house is sweltering now, bodies packed in so tight you can barely breathe. music’s still blasting, bass heavy enough to make your ribs shake, lights flickering red and blue and green over swaying heads. sweat slicks the walls, the floors are sticky with god-knows-what, and the air smells like beer, weed, and perfume way too sweet to be expensive.

sukuna’s sunk low into the couch in the middle of the living room, a drink sweating in his hand, head tilted back. his shirt sticks to his skin, his legs are spread, and his eyes are half-lidded, glazed over. he’s a few drinks deep, but not enough to be drunk, just enough to dull the headache that’s been building since he walked in.

choso’s next to him, nursing a blunt, and shiu’s perched on the armrest, scrolling through his phone with dead eyes.

“this party fucking blows,” shiu mutters, not looking up.

“wasn’t it your idea to come?” choso says.

“yeah, and i was wrong. fuck me.”

“everyone’s just trying to fuck each other,” choso says flatly. “like aggressively. it’s like a brothel in here.”

“with worse lighting,” shiu adds.

sukuna doesn’t say anything. just watches the way two girls are sloppily grinding against each other on the floor, their drinks spilling down their arms, mascara already halfway down their cheeks. somewhere across the room, someone’s moaning against the wall like they’re getting railed in public, which, honestly, they probably are.

he’s halfway through zoning out again when it happens.

a blonde drops into his lap like a stone.

he barely registers her until she’s already straddling him, arms looped around his neck, tits pushed up and glittering under the party lights.

“found you,” she purrs, loud in his ear. her voice is syrupy sweet, her lips glossed thick and shiny. she presses a wet kiss to his cheek without waiting for permission, then trails her mouth down to his neck.

his body locks up. 'ew.'

she smells like candy and sweat. her lashes are so fake they look heavy. her nails scrape his shoulder through his shirt like she’s trying to get a grip.

“you’re sukuna, right?” she asks, already moving her hips in his lap. “heard you’re fun.”

he wants to shove her off.

wants to grab her wrists and tell her to get the fuck off him, now. because nothing about this feels good. nothing about this feels right. she’s too close, too loud, too much. and all he can think is 'this isn’t you.'

but then he glances up.

and he sees them.

those same frat guys he took shots with earlier, ino and the rest. watching him from across the room with wide eyes and cocky grins. waiting. expecting. this was what they wanted, wasn’t it? the infamous sukuna he had bragged about not even an hour earlier. the legend. the sex god. they’re watching like they’re about to take notes.

and across the room, posted near the kitchen with a drink in hand, gojo is watching too.

his eyes lock with sukuna’s. one raised brow. jaw tight. a warning in his expression.

'don’t fuck this up. just pretend.' he mouths.

this is his job, after all. the frat’s bad boy, their wild card, the one who never slows down. his reputation isn’t just his anymore — it’s tied to the frat’s image, to the hierarchy, to the ego of every guy in this house who needs him to be that guy.

so sukuna doesn’t shove her off.

he lets her kiss his jaw. lets her whisper something slutty in his ear, lets her press her tits into his chest and grind against him like they’re already alone.

he lets her act like she owns him.

his hands rest loose on her waist. one slides down to her thigh, just for show. not tight. not real. just enough to make it look like he’s into it.

his skin crawls.

he doesn’t smile. doesn’t speak. he just sits there, dead behind the eyes, playing the part.

choso side-eyes him, a brow lifting. shiu’s halfway through another drink, watching the scene with a quiet kind of judgment.

sukuna doesn’t flinch.

but inside, he’s somewhere else entirely.

he’s thinking about you.

your dorm. your stupid cozy couch. your face lighting up when he told you your cookies were perfect. your hands brushing against his. your warmth.

the way you held him like you knew.

and now he’s here.

pretending.

surrounded by noise and bodies and fake gold glitter. kissing strangers in front of an audience, playing the role of someone he hasn’t been in a long time.

and all he wants is to be home.

with you.

the girl’s hands are everywhere.

on his chest, sliding under his shirt. in his hair, tugging hard like it’s supposed to be sexy. her mouth is hot and wet on his neck, and she keeps saying shit in his ear he can’t even hear over the bass rumbling through the floor.

he doesn’t want this.

hasn’t wanted this from the second she crawled into his lap.

but now she’s pulling him up off the couch, dragging him by the hand through the throng of sweaty bodies. she’s laughing, shrieking something about going upstairs, or maybe back to her place, either way, her grip is iron and her intentions are clear. and people are watching.

he can feel the eyes on him.

guys slapping him on the back as he passes, grinning, nodding, giving him looks that say that’s our guy.the same ones who were cheering earlier when she straddled him like a chair in the middle of the party. girls whispering, side-eyes thrown like confetti.

and gojo.

gojo’s standing near the bottom of the stairs now, cup in hand, watching sukuna get dragged toward the front door like some kind of prize.

they lock eyes.

sukuna hesitates for a beat.

gojo steps forward and claps a hand on his arm, grip tight for a second. he leans in, expression unusually serious beneath the usual shine of his grin.

“sorry, man,” he murmurs under the music. “i shouldn’t have made you do all that shit.”

sukuna doesn’t say anything. just nods once, jaw clenched.

“you’re a good soldier,” gojo adds, half-joking, half-sincere. “but you don’t gotta burn yourself out for the frat.”

sukuna’s too tired to respond. the girl’s tugging on his arm again, fingers clawed around his wrist like she thinks he’ll vanish if she lets go.

they step out the front door into the night.

the air outside is colder than it should be, sharp against his sweaty skin. it hits his lungs too fast. makes him dizzy.

she turns to him immediately, mouth already open. “so i live, like, five minutes away. unless you wanna go to yours? my roommate’s out, so—”

her hands are on his chest again. fumbling with the hem of his shirt, nails dragging over his stomach like she’s mapping him out with zero permission. she presses herself into him, mouth seeking his again, clumsy and insistent.

and that’s when it hits.

the disgust.

the wrongness.

the way it makes his skin crawl, makes his stomach twist. not because she’s unattractive, not because she’s done anything “wrong” by frat party standards — but because she’s not you.

and this? this isn’t him.

he jerks away from her touch as she snakes her hand over the bulge in his jeans.

“stop.”

she blinks, confused. tries to laugh it off, like maybe he’s teasing. “what?”

“i said stop,” he snaps, stepping back. “jesus fucking christ.”

her face falls.

“you can’t just—” she starts, but he’s already shaking his head.

“go." he almost yells. "go home,” he says sharply. “alone.”

her jaw drops like she’s about to protest again, but he’s not listening. he turns, already walking, the cold air slicing through his clothes, his breath fogging up in the dark.

he doesn’t look back.

the sounds of the party are muffled now, swallowed up by the night. but they still echo in his head. the music, the laughter, the voices cheering him on like he’s some kind of fucking mascot. the fake moans and the fake smiles and the way it felt to be watched like he owed everyone a show.

he lights a cigarette with shaking hands.

his stomach still feels sick.

and all he can think about, as the taste of cherry lip gloss lingers like poison, is how right it felt to be on your couch. how warm your kitchen was. how soft your hands were when you brushed his hair back from his forehead like he was something worth caring for.

he walks faster.

because if he doesn’t get away from all this now, he’s not sure he ever will.

his footsteps echo off the pavement, sharp in the emptiness, and his lungs burn with every breath. the cigarette is still between his fingers, barely smoked, the ember flickering weakly in the dark.

he can’t stop shaking.

his skin feels wrong. like something’s still crawling on it. like her hands are still there. he rubs his neck with the heel of his palm, hard, like he can wipe it off. the gloss, the heat, the fakeness of it all.

his stomach lurches.

he stops walking and bends forward instinctively, one hand on his knee, the other bracing against the cold brick wall of the nearest building. he spits once onto the sidewalk, tastes bile and tequila and something rotten.

he breathes through his nose.

in, out, in, out.

think of something else.

think of anything else.

but all he can think about is you.

the way you'd light up when you'd spot him on campus, how you'd always gravitate towards him at parties and hang outs. your stupid soft hoodie sleeves pushed up to your elbows, hands covered in flour, smiling like he was your favorite part of your day.

and god, all he wanted to was erase his entire past to start a clean, virgin slate with you.

he almost let some stranger girl touch him in a way he wishes only you would. he let her sit on him, kiss him, grab at him, and he didn’t stop it. didn’t stop it until it was nearly too late.

and for what?

some frat reputation?

gojo’s approval?

a bunch of guys who only know his name because of the stories he used to make up?

he could fucking vomit.

he dry heaves once, hard, and his whole body folds in. he grips the edge of a trash bin like it’ll keep him upright, knuckles going white. but nothing comes up. just air and guilt and the way your name sits on his tongue like a bruise.

'you’re not even mine.'

he reminds himself of that again and again. you’re not his. you’ve never kissed. never fucked. never even admitted how you feel.

you’re just friends. best friends, maybe. roommates in a different life. partners in crime when things are light.

but he knows what this is. knows what’s happening to him.

you’ve ruined him.

your gentleness. your kindness. the way you hold his face when you’re teasing him and don’t even realize it. the way you hug him like he’s worth something. like you see him, all of him, and still choose to stay.

and now he’s here. shaking and fucked-up in the street, gagging over the ghost of a girl who doesn’t matter, while you're sitting at home in your dorm when you could of been here with him, that way, he'd never of let another girl get close, he's speaks the night sitting on the porch, with you.

he sinks down onto the curb, elbows braced on his knees, cigarette hanging limp from his fingers. his vision swims, hot and sharp, his head tipping back to stare at the stars he can’t even see through the city haze.

he should’ve stayed with you.

he should’ve just stayed home, with you.

his hands are trembling when he reaches into his pocket. he fishes blindly past his lighter, crumpled receipts, a folded-up flyer someone handed him earlier, until his fingers close around metal.

your dorm keys.

he pulls them out slowly.

they sit in his palm, warm from his body heat. a pink little charm you’d added dangles from the ring, a squishy cartoon animal he never bothered to learn the name of, even though you told him three times. it jiggles as he stares down at it, breath catching in his throat.

he clenches his fist around them.

tight.

like it’ll keep him grounded. like it’ll make you real again.

the night presses in around him. too quiet, too still. but that ache in his chest, the sour twist in his gut, it all starts to blur the second he stands up and starts walking.

~

your apartment smells like vanilla and nutmeg.

you pull the tray from the oven with slow, tired movements, fingers twitching slightly through the worn edges of your oven mitts. you place it carefully on the cooling rack, your shoulders drooping.

they turned out perfect.

golden brown, smooth custard centers with just the right shimmer. they look like something out of a recipe book. the kind of thing you’d proudly serve someone you care about.

someone who promised he’d come over this weekend.

someone who’s probably in a stranger’s bed right now.

you press your lips together and exhale through your nose, eyes fluttering shut.

that ache in your chest still hasn’t gone away. it’s not sharp anymore, not like earlier, when you imagined his hands on someone else, but it’s still there. dull. tight. like a bruise that refuses to fade.

you try to distract yourself. start wiping down the counter. humming softly. pretending.

and then—

bang.

a clatter at the door. a commotion, keys fumbling against the lock. your head snaps up, heart slamming into your ribs.

before you can move, the door bursts open.

a heaving sukuna stumbles inside.

he’s wild-eyed, flushed, sweaty, like he’s run the whole way here. his shirt’s wrinkled, his jacket half-zipped, one sleeve rolled up and the other down. his hair’s a mess. his knuckles are scraped.

he looks terrible.

and he looks right at you.

for one beat, just one, everything stops.

your eyes meet, and it’s like all the oxygen rushes back into the room. the ache in your chest disappears, the weight behind his eyes fades, the tension that was tearing both of you apart evaporates the second you’re locked into each other’s gaze.

you smile first. a smile he so dearly loved to see.

small. instinctive. like it slips out before you can stop it.

and that’s all it takes.

sukuna moves fast, like something in him finally gives out, and suddenly he’s in front of you, arms wrapping around your body like he needs you to breathe. his chest crashes into yours, hard, and his arms hook tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

your hands flutter up, half-startled, and you steady yourself against his shoulders.

he’s holding you like he’s drowning.

“jesus,” you laugh softly, trying to ease the weight, “what, some girl give you blue balls or something—”

you don’t finish the sentence.

because his grip tightens.

his arms squeeze harder, fingers fisting into the back of your hoodie like he’s trying to climb inside of you. 

his face buries into your neck. and then you hear it.

a sniffle.

not a dramatic one, not obvious, not loud, but small and choked off, like he’s trying not to let it out at all.

your breath catches.

his body trembles once, a subtle shiver that passes through him like a quake, and suddenly your joke feels cruel, your smile falters, and your heart lodges somewhere in your throat.

your voice drops, softer than you’ve ever used with him.

“ryo…”

you pull back just enough to see his face.

his eyes are glassy. rimmed red. lashes damp like he’s been holding it in for a while. and when he blinks, slow and heavy, a single tear finally falls, trailing down the sharp angle of his cheek.

your heart cracks clean in two.

like your body just knows, like it feels his pain before you can even register it, your own eyes burn immediately. you try to hold it in, but it stings anyway. wells up fast, like your chest doesn’t know how to hold all the ache that’s suddenly there.

he sees it.

his lips twitch, and he forces out a quiet, watery chuckle. “of course you're that kinda person” he murmurs, voice thick. “the type to cry when someone else cries. like it’s a reflex or something.”

you swallow around the lump in your throat. “i've only done it for you.”

that makes him go still.

your hand lifts to his cheek, thumb brushing just under his eye, and your voice trembles with the weight of it all. “because i care about you, ryo. so much. more than i can even explain.”

his breath stutters.

and for a second, he doesn’t say anything.

he just looks at you, like you’re something he’s been waiting for his whole life. and then he smiles, soft and small and cracked open, and leans forward until his forehead is pressed to yours again.

you close your eyes.

you fall into each other like instinct.

your arms wrap around his neck again, and his circle your waist. tighter this time. not desperate. just sure.

you still don’t know why he’s crying.

he hasn’t told you anything. hasn’t explained the bloodshot eyes or the tremble in his hands or the way he stumbled through your door like you were home.

but none of that matters.

because he’s sad.

and that makes you sad.

so you hold him. and he holds you back.

"y/n. i love you."

you freeze.

like your whole body forgets how to move.

his voice is quiet, broken at the edges, low and raw like it got scraped out of his chest just for you. you feel it before you even fully process it. like the words ripple through your bloodstream faster than they hit your ears.

you pull back just slightly, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

“h-huh…?”

his gaze is already on you. steady. not flinching. his brows are pinched like he’s terrified, like he’s bracing for the worst, but his hands never leave you. they stay right where they’ve been, one at the small of your back, the other cradling your side like he’s holding something fragile.

“i love you,” he says again, firmer this time. “i think i’ve loved you since the first time you told me about some weird show you liked and forgot to breathe because you were talking too fast. i didn’t know it then, but—fuck, y/n. it’s you. it’s always been you.”

your eyes sting.

you’re not sure if you’re breathing.

his thumb rubs absent circles at your hip. his voice is shaking.

“i haven’t touched anyone since i figured it out. haven’t even looked at anyone like that. i tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. i told myself i could just be around you like normal and it’d pass. but it didn’t. it just got worse. everything felt worse without you.”

you press your lips together, hard.

your chest is aching so sweetly it almost feels like pain.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds quickly, eyes flicking over your face. “i know this is a lot. i just—i couldn’t keep lying. not after tonight.”

you open your mouth, then close it again.

you’re not even sure what expression’s on your face, shock? relief? some impossible mixture of everything you’ve ever felt for him suddenly rising to the surface all at once.

but eventually, finally, your voice comes out.

quiet.

“say it again.”

his brows lift.

you lean in closer, eyes shining. “please. just say it one more time.”

he swallows.

and then he breathes it like a vow.

“i love you.”

you surge forward, arms around his neck, and kiss him like it’s the only thing you’ve been trying not to do for months.

and this time, he doesn’t tremble.

he melts.

like he’s been waiting his whole life just for this.

your lips part from his just enough to breathe.

his eyes are still closed, like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way your fingers feel curled into the back of his neck. and you watch him for a second — the way his lashes tremble, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s never been kissed before.

and then you say it.

soft.

barely more than a whisper.

“i love you too.”

his eyes open slow.

like he needs to see your face to make sure it’s real.

and when he does, when he sees the truth of it in your eyes, your smile, the way your hand lingers over his heart like it belongs there, he laughs.

it’s small at first. breathless. disbelieving.

then you start laughing too.

and it bubbles out of both of you, giddy and bright, like it’s been waiting there under the surface all this time, the kind of laughter that spills into kisses, that makes your foreheads knock together, that leaves you smiling so wide your cheeks ache.

you’re both a little teary still. a little overwhelmed.

but it doesn’t matter.

because when he kisses you again, deeper this time, fuller, with both hands cupping your face like he’s never going to let you go, it’s not heavy. it’s not hard. it’s not desperate.

it’s just good.

it’s just right.

like the floodgates have finally opened, and everything you’ve both been holding back comes pouring out in warmth and wonder and wonder and wonder.

you’re still holding the edges of each other when he pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips.

“you’re it for me.”

and you smile.

because he’s it for you too.

you’re both still smiling, flushed and warm and tangled up in each other, when he suddenly sniffs the air.

his nose scrunches. he blinks. then his head slowly turns toward the counter behind you.

“…wait.”

you already know what’s coming.

he sniffs again, exaggerated and dramatic, eyebrows lifting higher with every inhale. “is that—?” he gasps, stepping around you to look.

“your favourite?” you finish, barely holding back your grin.

his eyes go wide. cartoonishly wide.

“you made them?”

you nod, biting your bottom lip, and gesture toward the cooling tray like you’re unveiling the secret ingredient in a baking show. “fresh from the oven. made them for you, actually. figured you might come by after—”

you don’t even finish the sentence before he lets out the softest noise, like a choked gasp of joy, (very uncharacteristically cute for him.) and practically tackles you in a hug. 

“you’re so cute,” he says, spinning you around like it’s instinct, like you’re weightless. you squeal, laughing into his shoulder, clinging to him as he twirls you once in a giddy circle. “you made me custard tarts? i could eat you up right here, i swear to god.”

“ahh i see, so you're gonna eat me and the tarts? someone's getting greedy.”

“absolutely.”

you laugh breathlessly, hands braced against his chest as he sets you back down. “god you perv, did you have to ruin it?”

“sorry, sorry,” he mutters, grinning like an idiot.

he leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet, then cups your cheeks like you’re something precious and kisses you again, deeper, like he can’t help it, like you’re his favorite dessert.

“always wanted to thank you like this,” he murmurs against your lips. “for all the stuff you do for me. the baking, the hugs, the late-night pep talks. all of it. i just never had the guts.”

you giggle, your hands sliding up his arms as you melt into him again.

and as he dips you backward like he’s about to marry you right there in your tiny kitchen, you decide the tarts can wait just a little longer.

my 2k special i hope you liked it 😎

[elleaitch22]

Love on Fire

Chapter 10: Some Things Return

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Here’s the full chapter! Happy reading! I hope you love it!! xx Elle

Warnings: Mention of pregnancy symptoms and vomiting

Word Count: 3.9k words

-----------------------------------

Week 7:

On Tuesday, Azzi is seven weeks and two days pregnant, and all the joy she feels is snuffed out by the anxiety she has. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to breathe easier until she hit eleven weeks. She would catch herself rubbing her belly, smiling at her flat abdomen, then she’d remind herself not to get too attached.

Until Paige saw her.

Azzi hadn’t heard her come in. She stood in the mirror in baggy jeans and a bra. Paige saw as she pushed her stomach out and turned to the side. She started to smile at the soft expression on Azzi’s face. Then she saw her stiffen, her hands drop, the smile vanish.

“Az?” She called quietly.

Paige gasped as the tears shining in those big, brown eyes.

“I’m so scared, Paige.” She whispered.

The blonde was across the room in three steps. She pulled Azzi into her arms and held her, tight.

And the dam broke. Deep, heavy sobs pour out of Azzi’s mouth. Fat tears flowed down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, mama?” Paige muttered into her curls.

“I can’t breathe,” She gasped. “I’m scared to move. I’m scared to eat. I’m scared to think. I’m scared to love my babies!” Azzi’s breath sped up. “It feels like I’m missing something. And I can’t let myself want these babies when I know they could be taken away too.”

Paige didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t shush her cries. She didn’t whisper anything in her ear.

She just held her. Let her get everything out.

She rubbed slow circles on Azzi’s back with one hand. Massaged at the nape of her neck with the other. She forced herself to breathe slowly, silently encouraging Azzi to match her breath.

Eventually, sobs turned to sniffled. Paige pressed a long kiss to the top of her head, and a softer one on her forehead.

“Look at me, Azzi.” She whispered.

Azzi didn’t move.

Paige pulled away, just enough cup her best friend’s wet cheeks. “I know you miss Peanut. But I don’t think they ever really left you. I think maybe they came back. Brought a sibling for the road. S’why you’re having twins.”

“You really think so?” Azzi asked, looking at the ground.

The blonde gently tugged until brown eyes met blue. “I think most people have one baby, not two. I think God sent you another to help with how you’ve been feeling about Peanut.” She smoothed the front of Azzi’s ponytail back. “You’re doing everything right, Az.”

Her chin quivered. “But what if it’s not enough?”

“It is.” Paige’s voice a firm, certain. “Because you are enough.”

Azzi’s eyes searched hers as it sank in.

“You loving them won’t hurt them. It won’t hurt you either. I know it’s scary, loving them when they’re still so fragile. But I know you, Azzi. If you force yourself to not love them, you won’t forgive yourself. It won’t keep you safe, just alone.”

Her brown orbs were still shining. “I don’t want it to happen again.” Her voice shook.

“It won’t happen again, Mama. And even if it does, I’ll be right here. Again. Always.” Paige’s voice cracked. “I can’t promise that nothing will happen, but I can promise that whatever happens, you won’t go through it alone.”

Tears started falling again as Azzi’s lip wobbled.

“I’ll be here when everything’s perfect. I’ll be here if everything’s falling apart.” Paige continued, thumbs brushing tears away. “You’re their Mama. All you need to do is love them. I got the rest.”

Azzi nodded into her chest, tears slowing. “I love them so much already.”

“I know.” She smiled into her curls. “Everything will be fine.”

-----------------------------------

Week 9:

Over the last two weeks, Paige had taken Azzi to the emergency room twice to check the fetal heartbeats. There was also an additional appointment at eight weeks before she graduated to regular OB care. The ultrasound technicians always gave them a copy of the sonograms, and they lived on Paige’s fridge until the next visit.

Paige still gave her progesterone injections every night. Pressing kisses into Azzi’s hip that she still felt in the morning. When they climbed into her bed, Paige would whisper prayers, stories, and simple conversations into the flat area.

Paige really did handle everything else for Azzi – well, outside of working.

She did all of the laundry. Cleaned all the dishes. Did all the grocery shopping. Always made sure Azzi had water and those ginger chews that helped with her morning (all day) sickness. She woke up at four in the morning and rubbed Azzi’s back as she hurled into the toilet. She went to Dairy Queen to get the cotton candy blizzard and mixed in Cane’s sauce, even though she thought it was disgusting. She prepared a lunch and three snacks for Azzi every day. She checked in to make sure her cravings hadn’t changed.

Paige didn’t just support her. She carried her.

And in all of Paige’s doing everythingness, Azzi found herself slipping further into being irreversibly in love with Paige Bueckers. Part of her wanted to tell the blonde too. She knew Paige probably felt the same way about her, but there was still something holding her back. Something that wouldn’t let her risk ruining their friendship. Which didn’t really make logical sense to her, but Azzi felt it in her heart.

On the morning of Azzi’s first Mother’s Day, she was greeted with breakfast in bed. The breakfast sandwich was one of Azzi’s favorite cravings. A warm biscuit with cheesy grits, bacon, and raspberry jam stacked high. She’d yet to see Paige construct the concoction without a grimace.

“Happy Mother’s Day, pretty mama.” Paige pressed a kiss into Azzi’s face with every word.

A sleepy smile stretched across Azzi’s lips. “Not a mother yet.” She grumbled.

“You’re growing babies. You’re a mother.” Paige deadpanned. “Now get up so I can give you all your presents!” Her voice filled with excitement.

Azzi cracked one eye open, sitting up quickly when she saw her favorite meal. “Aw, you do love me!” She grinned; eyes locked on the plate.

Paige ran through their itinerary while Azzi gobbled down the sandwich.

They were going to enjoy a morning in bread where Azzi got to tell Paige to do whatever she wanted. Then, they were going to brunch at the Fudd household before giving Azzi two hours at a spa to decompress. Then dinner at Bob’s house to finish the day.

“But before you get ready, I wanna give you your present.” She said, moving towards the dresser.

She came back to her bed, sitting in front of Azzi, hands fiddling with a small, velvet box.

Azzi took it slowly, brows furrowed. She opened it with a gasp.

Inside, cushioned in black silk were two rings. Two silver bands with blue stones circling the entire thing.

“It’s blue topaz. It’s one of the birth stones for December.” She spoke softly.

Azzi gasped, looking at her best friend with tears in her eyes.

“I thought they would go nicely with your ring for Peanut.” She reached forward to pull each ring out gently. “I got them engraved. Bean and Bear – it’s what I’ve been calling them.”

Azzi didn’t know if she should cry because of the kindness or giggle at the pink high on Paige’s cheeks.

In the end though, she did neither. She simply threw herself into Paige’s arms and held her tight.

“You’re the best person I know, Paige Bueckers.”

-----------------------------------

Azzi had never been so grateful for Paige’s disdain for seafood. The smell of shellfish would have had her curled over a toilet for half an hour.

The air was a little awkward as they sat around the Fudd’s dining room table. Well, Jon and Jose were goofing like normal, but the other adults in the room were quiet.

“So, how were the holidays?” Paige asked, trying to break the tension.

Azzi’s brows raised, she hadn’t realized it had been that long since she’d talked to her parents – over six months. They had always been so close; she didn’t know how she’d let all that time pass.

“It was fine.” Tim started.

Katie cut him off before he could continue. “Would’ve been better if you were there, Az. I see Paige’s parents got your time this year.” She paused, staring firmly, waiting for a response. “Missed your birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Everything.”

Paige inhaled sharply, eyes darting to Azzi. The brunette was fiddling with the ring in the middle of her new stack. Her Peanut ring.

“Oh. Um, November was a rough month.” Azzi mumbled, staring at her hands.

Katie scoffed lightly, “When you’re going through rough stuff, you go through it with your family. That’s what family’s for.”

“What?” Azzi replied, voice low.

Blue eyes widened. “Az, just let it go.”

“I mean, Katie has a point.” Tim scratched the back of his neck. “We could’ve helped you through it if you were talking to us.” He finished, ignoring the glare Paige was sending his way.

“You wouldn’t have helped though.” Azzi sighed. “You didn’t even support me, so why would I –“

“So, this is about having a baby?” Katie interjected. “You don’t understand how hard it is to be a single mom, Azzi. I never wanted that for you.”

Azzi’s face was red when she spoke again. “But that’s not your decision! And I haven’t been alone. Paige has been there for me through everything!” She exclaimed.

“Okay,” Tim spoke, “It’s Mother’s Day. Maybe let’s talk about this another time.”

“Hell no! She wants to act like I’m a bad mother because I don’t want her to struggle!” Katie said incredulously.

“I never said that!” Azzi said, leaning towards her mom. “I was upset that you wouldn’t support me, but that didn’t change how I felt about you, mom.”

Katie’s eyes softened for a second. “I love you, sweetie. So much. But I don’t want you to have to experience the things that I went through.”

“I love you too, mom.” Azzi said, reaching for her mother’s hand. “But I won’t have to go through it like you. I have you, and Dad, and Paige, and Bob and Katie.”

Something flashed quickly across the redhead’s eyes, and she pulled away. “Yeah, Bob and Katie.” She gritted out. “Instead of being with your family for Thanksgiving and Christmas, you were with them.”

“Katie,” Tim started.

She shot him a look. “No, Tim.” She glared at Azzi again, hurt and anger clear in her eyes. “Ignored our birthday wishes. Our texts and calls about the family vacation. You didn’t even call. You just ran off with them.”

“Maybe we should do this later, guys.” Paige started. “We’re not getting anywhere with this.”

Azzi shot out of her seat, hands fisted tightly by her sides. “I had a miscarriage.”

The room was silent.

“What?” Katie gasped, face dropping.

“I had a miscarriage, and you weren’t there because I couldn’t call you!” Her voice cracked. ”Because I knew you wouldn’t support me!” She exclaimed.

This time, both of her parents reached for her, but Azzi backed away abruptly, knocking the chair down.

“You know who was there, though? Bob and Katie. They brought food to the hospital. Got us a house for a week so I wouldn’t have to be in the place where I lost my baby. Paige has bathed me, washed my hair, gone to all my appointments so I didn’t feel alone. She let me move into her house so I wouldn’t have to go home again. She’s done everything for me. And you. weren’t. there.” She finished.

“Azzi,” Katie said, moving to touch her.

“No!” Azzi almost tripped over her own feet to get away from her touch. “No. Let’s go, P.” She turned on her heel and stormed out.

Paige stood and sighed deeply. “I’ll talk to her. Thanks for having us.” She walked around the table, pressing a kiss into Katie’s temple. “Happy Mother’s Day. We love you.”

She walked out to see Azzi sobbing in the passenger seat.

Between Paige and…well Paige, she felt like both parties were wrong. The Fudd’s shouldn’t have come down on Azzi so hard when she said she was going to try to have a baby. They also shouldn’t have waited until her birthday to reach out. But Azzi should have called them to try to smooth out all the issues. And Paige had told her that, several times.

But was she going to tell her that right now? Absolutely not. She valued her life.

She opened the door and squatted in front of her best friend.

“Was I wrong?” Azzi’s voice was wet with tears. “They just wouldn’t stop bringing it up.”

Paige pulled her into a hug. “I know.”

“It’s not like I was trying to be a bad daughter. They didn’t even try to call me. And I didn’t call them either, but they were the ones who hurt me first! They should’ve apologized. But they didn’t care. They just wanted to be right.” She sniffled after every sentence.

“Everything is going to be fine, Mama. They love you and you love them. Y’all will work it out.”

-----------------------------------

Paige was determined to make Azzi’s first Mother’s Day amazing. And even though the brunch went to shit, it didn’t mean the rest of the day had to. So, she decided that Azzi would get whatever she asked for (which honestly was nothing new)/

Which is why when they pulled up to the spa, and Azzi gave her the poutiest face with the most puppy dog eyes she’d ever seen, she knew she was screwed.

“You’ll come with me too, right?” Azzi questioned.

Paige stuttered, “I just – The reservation is for one.”

Her lip poked out further, “Well maybe when we go in, they’ll just let us.

“Azzi, it’s Mother’s Day. Everything’s probably booked.” She put the car in park, looking at her with pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“You won’t even try!” Her eyes filled with tears.

Paige would rather a weeklong shift at the station during a wildfire than seeing Azzi cry because of something she did.

She climbed out of the truck, moving at the speed of light. “Okay! We can try, I promise.”

Azzi walked to the front desk sniffling. “Hello. There was a reservation for Azzi Fudd?”

The raven-haired girl looked up with a warm smile. “Give me one second.” She clicked away on the keyboard. “I have you for a sixty-minute prenatal massage and a sixty-minute manicure and pedicure. Is there anything you would like to change or add?”

“Yes. I’d like the same thing for her. Except she’s not pregnant, so just a regular massage. And can we be together?” Azzi smiled smugly.

The receptionist grimaced. “Unfortunately, there needs to be at least two hours before booking appointments.”

Azzi’s smile disappeared. “Well, if she can’t get a massage, I don’t want one either.” Her voice wavered.

“We just have to give notice, so we have techs to do the services. I’m sorry.” The woman replied.

Azzi sniffled loudly, first tears starting to fall. “Well, can she at least get her money back?”

The woman’s eyes widened, “Let me see if we have anyone available.”

“Azzi,” Paige called. “She’s just doing her job.”

“No, Paige. I don’t want to do it if you can’t do it with me.” She glared. “I’d rather just go home if it doesn’t work out.”

Paige just sighed and moved to hug her. “Even if I can’t get anything done, I’ll stay in the room or something. Would that make you feel better?” She asked.

“I have good news!” The receptionist said, coming back out. “We have a free massage and nail technician. You two were wanting to be in the same room.”

Paige looked down with a smile. “Yes, that would be great.” She pulled her wallet out. “How much?”

“Due to the last-minute reservation, there is a 25 percent upcharge.” She smiled.

Paige swallowed a grimace at the damage that would be done to her bank account.

“Thank you, Paigey.” Azzi said, pressing a kiss into her cheek.

And maybe the bill was worth it, if it meant Azzi would smile.

-----------------------------------

By the time they left the spa, it was time to get ready for dinner at Bob and Katie’s.

Both women were applying concealer when Azzi turned to Paige.

“When do you think I should tell your parents about Bean and Bear?” She questioned.

Initially, Azzi wanted to tell them when she was 11 weeks, but she wondered if she should wait until her first trimester was over.

“Whenever you want. They’re gonna be excited either way whether you tell them next week or next month.” She shrugged.

Azzi nodded slowly. “Maybe for Father’s Day? We can do a cookout or something. Tell them then?”

“Pops would think that’s the best present.” Paige smiled widely.

On the way to the house, they bounced pregnancy reveal ideas off of each other. Paige thought doing onesies would be a good idea, but Azzi didn’t want to recycle what she’d planned for Peanut.

Azzi suggested a Christmas ornament since they were going to be December babies.

“But the ornaments won’t have names, and it’ll be weird to get an ornament in June.” Paige paused. “What if you just invited them to the gender reveal?”

Azzi tossed a skeptical glance at her best friend. “Why would I have a gender reveal?”

“You hate surprises, Azzi.” She deadpanned.

The pregnant woman huffed and looked out the window in response. “Those are boring though.”

“Ooh!” Paige exclaimed. “What if you did one of those burning cakes! Like on TikTok!” She grinned. “You could do like ‘Happy Father’s Day, Papa!’ and then have the ultrasound under the burning paper. Isn’t there some kind of printer cake paper?”

Azzi laughed at the blonde’s excitement. “That might actually work.” She smiled. “I’ll put it on the short list.”

The rest of their trip was filled with comfortable silence.

When they got to the Buecker’s household, they were greeted with the smell of marinara sauce and bread.

Paige turned to Azzi abruptly. “Is Olive Garden gonna make you throw up?”

“We’ll see,” She pushed past her into the house. “Happy Mother’s Day, Katie!” She exclaimed, walking to plant a kiss on her cheek.

The dark-skinned woman. Grinned widely. “Thank you, Azzi.”

Then, “Paige! Tell Dad that if you have an egg and some shrimp, ramen noodles can be gourmet!” Drew called from the kitchen.

“Absolutely not!” Azzi interjected. “Don’t insult me or my profession like that, Drew.”

“I told you!” Bob retorted. “Anything cooked in Styrofoam is nowhere near gourmet.”

Paige chuckled, joining Katie and Azzi in the dining room. “Bold words from someone who boiled eggs in an electric kettle.”

Bob turned around with the plates in his hand. “That was one time. And besides, most of the boxes weren’t unpacked.” He said sheepishly.

Giggles exploded around the table as Bob passed out serving of lasagna, Katie’s favorite food.

“You see who my father is? This is why I’m broken.” Drew grumbled.

“You’re not broken, baby.” Katie started. “Just…unique.”

Unlike in the Fudd household, dinner around the Bueckers’s table was warm, comfortable, soft. Conversation flowed easily, and Azzi found herself relaxing into the company despite the memory of the morning. She absent-mindedly pressed a hand against her flat stomach. Last Mother’s Day without a baby to hold.

Paige caught her eye for a second and smiled. Just a flicker. Azzi looked away first.

She didn’t think it would be this hard to keep the secret. They’d be overjoyed with the news. But there was something a little sacred about the prayers Paige would whisper into her abdomen every morning. And the way she was so tender with the shots.

Maybe she had some anxiety. She talked about telling Bob and Katie, and three days later, her baby was gone.

“So,” Bob said, breaking Azzi’s concentration. “Can I do a toast?”

“Oh no,” Drew murmured. “They’re gonna start crying.”

Paige threw him a nasty look but still got up to get the tissues.

“To my wonderful wife. When we moved to Virginia, I didn’t think Paige would ever have a mom. I thought it would just be us playing sports and chilling together. But there you were. You came into our lives, you’ve loved Paige like you birthed her, and you gave me another kid. I couldn’t have been blessed with a better wife, and our kids are so lucky to have you.” He raised his glass high, “To Katie! Happy Mother’s Day, my love.”

Katie wiped her tears silently as they clinked glasses. The warmth in the room didn’t come from the food, it came from the love. From the well-worn paths of old stories and old jokes.

After dessert, Bob, Drew, and Paige went into the kitchen to clean up while Katie and Azzi lounged on the couch.

“You okay?” Katie asked softly, finding a movie to watch.

Azzi blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

 “You’ve been quiet. That’s all.” Katie’s smile was warm, but concern shone in her eyes.

“Had a fight today, with mom and dad.” Azzi hesitated. “They were upset with the lack of contact, and I just lashed out on them.”

Katie nodded. “You all are hurt, and that’s okay. But you can’t let this hurt ruin your entire relationship.”

It was quiet for a little while longer, then Azzi spoke again. “This was a nice night.”

“It was,” Katie agreed. “You don’t have to tiptoe around us, you know. No one is upset with you.”

Azzi looked down at her hands. Her fingers were lightly trembling.

“I don’t know. You guys just do this so much different that my parents did. Paige and Drew are really lucky to have you guys.” she said.

Katie paused. “I’m lucky to have them too.” Her expression shifted into something softer. “When you have a baby someday, they’ll be just as lucky.”

Azzi swallowed hard. “You think?”

“I know.”

Katie pulled her into a brief, gentle hug. “You’ve got the heart for it,” she said. “And I’ve got enough Mimi energy for a whole daycare, so when the time comes, just say the word.”

Azzi smiled, blinking fast. “You might regret that offer.”

“I really won’t.”

-----------------------------------

Later that night, after they were showered, lotioned, and pajamaed, Paige and Azzi curled into the blankets like they’d done a hundred times before.

“Thank you for today, P.” Azzi said, pressing a kiss into her neck. “Best Mother’s Day I could’ve hoped for.”

Paige pulled her closer, all lazy and warm. “Anything for you, Az.”

They lay there for a while, breath synced, Azzi’s heart beating a bit faster.

Just when Paige was almost asleep, Azzi’s voice floated up again, barely above a whisper.

“Hey, Paige?”

A tired grunt.

“Why do you do all this stuff for me?”

There was a pause. A long one.

Then –

“Cause I love you, Mama.”

A kiss was pressed into the edge of her bonnet. A quiet promise.

“Now go to sleep.”

Paige’s breath slowed against her shoulder. Azzi closed her eyes and rested her palm on her belly. She let out a deep breath and an “I love you too” followed them into the night.

-----------------------------------

[blackleatherjacketz]

Moonstone

Werewolf Robby x Nurse/Witch Reader

You think Robby hates you, but it's something much worse...

Notes: It's always Halloween in my heart, so here we go. Might turn this into a series.

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Werewolves, Witches, Crystals, Scenting, Neck Nuzzling, Grabbing, Choking, Aggressive Robby

Tags: @spookypeachpitt13 @likedovesinthewnd @skittles-archive

Word Count: 1.2k+

Read more ROBBY

You hadn’t been at PTMC very long before you met Doctor Robinavitch, your travel nursing contract bringing you here just a few weeks before he finally worked the same shift as you. You’d heard stories of how kind he was to his patients and colleagues alike, how he would often joke with them and make everyone feel at ease. But apparently that didn’t seem to apply to you. You were an outsider, someone who had to work extra hard to earn the trust of people who knew each other for years, sometimes even decades. You accepted that role with a humble sort of grace when you signed that lucrative contract, waiting for your coworkers to slowly let their guards down around you, brick by boring brick.

Everyone eventually warmed up to you. Everyone except for Doctor Michael Robinavitch.

He looked at you as if you owed him money, those soft eyes of his narrowing every time you walked into a room or sat down at the nurses station to chart. He was extremely curt with you no matter how pleasant or efficient you were, avoiding you at all costs while taking time with others to tell them jokes or give them words of encouragement. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that set him off, if you looked like an ex of his or said something wrong when you were tired, but his heated glare never wavered, not once.

It wasn’t until he asked about the pendant that you wore around your neck one night that you actually felt it, saw it. Saw him for who he was… for what he was. The stress of the job and sheer number of people in the ER at any given time had clouded your judgement, blinded you from him. But now that it was just the two of you, it was clear as day. The reason he’d been pushing you away, keeping you at such a cold distance finally made a whole world of sense as the automatic doors exposed you both to the night sky.

“It’s a crescent moon,” you told him as you exited the sterile walls of the hospital, fondly fingering the iridescent white stone hanging from the gold chain around your neck.

“Yeah, I know that.” He stated matter of factly, walking down the sidewalk with you, side by side as your feet led you toward the parking lot.

So much for a friendly conversation.

“Then why’d you ask?” You wanted to hear him say it.

He stopped in his tracks and turned toward you. Those eyes of his squinted in their usual manner, tilting his head to the side before taking a step toward you, his gaze locked onto your necklace. He bit his bottom lip as he continued to stare, taking the tiny pendant between his fingers and holding it in his hand before even bothering to speak.

“Why do you wear it?” He asked, his tone accusatory as always.

“I like the moon?” You replied, giving him just as much venom in return.

“Bullshit,” he called you out, squeezing the stone between his fingers as if he aimed to crush it right then and there. Instead, he pulled you in a little closer by its chain, completely unbothered by the sound of your sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk as he brought you crashing into him. “Tell me the truth.”

“Robby,” You muttered, planting your hands flat against his chest as he twisted the necklace even tighter, pulling you even closer. It was a shot in the dark to get his attention, a name you’d heard your coworkers call him in passing, even though he’d only introduced himself to you as Doctor Robinavitch.

He chuckled and took in a long deep breath, inhaling the scent of your skin as his beard tickled the spot just below your ear. “I can smell the sage on you, the cinnamon and salt.” He pressed his nose directly against your scalp, shamelessly sniffing your hair as he let your natural scent settle into the base of his lungs, committing it to memory. “I know a witch when I smell one.”

“You’ve met a lot of them before? Here in Pittsburgh?” You couldn’t help your smart mouth even if you tried. But his lips made you shiver and forget your sense of humor as they brushed against the shell of your ear, nuzzling into that special spot as if he needed the contact more than the answers he was seeking. It was as if he could smell the very hormones rushing through your body, the complex mixture of oxytocin and cortisol battling it out in your bloodstream as your heart pumped them all the way through to your core.

“Answer me.” He only pulled tighter on the necklace, grinning darkly as you winced.

“The moonstone’s supposed to protect the traveler, bring good fortune to new beginnings. My mentor gave it to me when I started travel nursing a few years ago.” You finally answered through trembling lips, turning your face toward his. “She was the real witch.”

You’ve never called yourself a witch before, not really. You’d simply been raised to believe in the spiritual world as much as the physical one around you, to respect nature just as much as you trusted science and technology. You believed in fate and magic, in karma and energy as they took their toll on the worst kind of people you’d ever come across. But you also knew that your beliefs were a little contradictory to those in your line of work, shrouded in mystery, so you never really brought it up, never advertised what you were up to on the first of the month or nights with full moons hanging in the sky.

“Your mentor, huh?” Robby huffed against your neck, retreating just enough to look you in the eye for confirmation. “But you do practice, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, your nose brushing against his as you decided to admit what you’ve kept hidden for years. “Here and there.”

He laughed under his breath at your reluctance to be more forthcoming with him, slowly shaking his head as his nose swept across the apple of your cheek. He clenched his jaw and rested his thumb against the divot in your neck, his other fingers loosening their grip on your chain as he let it unravel in his palm. “It’s okay, I know you’re conflicted, but you can trust me with the truth.”

”Conflicted? I’m not… I’m not conflicted," you lied. "I get grabbed by my coworkers all the time. You should see the doctors in Colorado, they’re really something else.” Your heart rate slowly steadied as your necklace no longer threatened to strangle you. You knew that you weren’t in any danger of him biting to turn you in his human form, but he was still a man, and that was sometimes just as dangerous.

”Oh, I can smell it. Each and every hormone racing through those pretty little arteries of yours, down to the very capillaries in your fingertips.” He reached down to grab your hand that still rested on his chest, squeezing your fingers tightly as he held it there. “Look, I can’t let them find out what I am, either. They can’t… I just need you to know that I wasn’t the one responsible for the attacks last week.”

“Attacks?” You searched his face for a reactive answer, any hint of a facial tick before he could actually give you one verbally. You hadn’t heard about any attacks in the area or anything else out of the ordinary. But then again, why would you? You weren’t part of any gossip mill in the hospital yet, or even in the city. Hell, you haven’t even been here long enough for that to happen.

“Let me show you something.”

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Synopsis: You were never the type to believe in fate — especially not red string theories or childhood promises. But somehow, through rooftop afternoons, stolen chicken wings, and a photo booth you didn’t want to enter, she kept showing up. Tug by tug, moment by moment, the world kept pulling you back to her.

Word Count: 4,462

Karina X Male Reader

a/n: do you guys believe in the red string theory?

they say to know if someone’s on the other end of your string… you have to walk away. take a few steps back. distance yourselves, even if it hurts a little.

and if, somewhere deep in your chest— you feel that little tug? not pain. not guilt. just a quiet pull?

then it’s them. they’re the one.

because strings stretch. they tangle, loop, and drift with time.

but they never break.

and when she left that rooftop that day without waiting… you felt it.

just a little pull.

the first one.

It was a sunny afternoon. like—the kind where the sky's too blue, and everything feels slower than it should.

you were skipping class again. apple juice half-finished. unopened melon bun beside you. you were lying on the rooftop like it owed you something, counting the coins in your pocket like they could magically multiply.

“shit,” you mumbled, squinting. “should’ve just bought that shitty cafeteria food. it sucks, but at least i’d be full.”

you stretched, arms behind your head, staring up at the sky like you were mad at it.

“whatever,” you sighed. “paycheck’s this week. i can eat chicken wings again.”

and right as you were about to doze off—

BANG.

the door to the rooftop burst open like a scene from a slice-of-life anime.

“hey! I knew you’d be here, dumbass.”

it was her. Karina. class 2-B. the girl who talked too much and smiled too easily. you’ve known her since middle school—your parents were close. her house smelled like jasmine and new laundry. yours didn’t.

you didn’t open your eyes. “what now. i’m trying to sleep.”

she walked over, sat beside you, pulled her knees to her chest. “you’re gonna get sunburnt, y’know.”

“good. then i’ll match my bank account. burnt and empty.”

“poor you…”

silence.

then—

“i know a chicken place nearby,” she said, voice light. “you like wings, right?”

you scoffed. “you listening? i don’t have money.”

“i didn’t say you’d pay,” she replied, brushing hair off her face. “but whatever.”

and then she stood up.

walked to the door.

closed it behind her.

just like that.

you stared up for another second. then took your cap off. then sat up.

you eventually caught up to her.

she didn’t look back—just walked ahead like she knew you’d follow. because you always did.

“hey,” you said, catching your breath. “as i was saying... i’ll join ya.”

you trailed behind her, eyes on her steps. her scent hung in the air a little too long—like soft perfume and laundry soap and something warm.

“good,” she said without turning. “let’s go.”

“…right now?” you blinked. “class is still ongoing, y’know?”

“yep. be my stepstool.”

“wha—?”

and that’s when you found yourself crouched at the base of the old brick wall behind the gym. one foot planted firmly on your shoulder. karina, halfway up like she did this every week.

“dang,” you muttered. “you’re heavy.”

“you don’t say that to a girl!” she snapped.

“i’m just saying—” your words got cut off as she literally stepped on your head.

“faster, y/n,” she huffed.

“i’m trying!” you grunted, pushing her up. “it’s not like i have a stepstool i can summon whenever i want.”

“hey—i’m paying for the food!” she called back, finally hopping over the other side. “don’t explain!”

you stood there a second longer, hand on the wall, half-annoyed and half-smiling.

you two walked through the streets like you were on a mission. sun in your face, breath uneven, your wallet crying in your pocket.

eventually, you reached it.

“rensuke’s fried chicken.”

“finally!” karina gasped, dramatic, hands on her hips like she just finished a triathlon.

“you really had the audacity to catch your breath, huh?” you said, way more out of breath than her.

“let’s go, y/n.”

you both entered the stall— a small, corner street business. probably family-owned. the kind of place where the chairs don’t match but the food tastes like love and stubborn tradition.

the moment you stepped in— blast of cold air. the smell of soy garlic and parmesan. and a melancholic voice humming from the speakers:

"my love... all mine..."

“mitski? at this time of day?”

“i know right?” she smiled, tugging at your dirty school uniform sleeve.

“let’s sit here.”

you didn’t get to answer. you just followed.

because that’s what you do when she tugs.

“what do you want?” she asked, her eyes landing on you like a soft spotlight.

you blinked. and then didn’t blink.

because she was— closer than usual. and her eyes were doing that sparkly thing again.

you stared. too long. too obvious.

“you’re staring, creep.”

you snapped out of it. “my bad… anything’s fine. not like i’m paying for anything anyway.”

she grinned. “then let’s get soy garlic and spicy yangnyeom.”

right on cue, a staff approached your table.

“welcome to rensuke’s fried chicken! ready to order?”

“two sets—soy garlic and spicy yangnyeom, please.” karina said, holding up two fingers.

you didn’t speak. you just looked.

at her jawline. her messy-but-perfect hair. the way her eyes caught the light like they were made to ruin you.

something thumped in your chest.

“oh! we actually have a couple promo right now,” the staff smiled. “you two are dating, right?”

karina immediately turned red. “NO, we aren’t da—”

“yep. we are. apply it, please.” you said, cutting her off without blinking.

“perfect! i’ll be right back with your food!”

karina stared at you, stunned. you could literally hear her heart pounding.

“why the hell did you say that, y/n?! we’re not dating!”

you sipped your water. calm. collected. “hello? it’s 20% off. learn to value money…”

“wow. coming from you—who spent over 1000 pesos on photocards.”

“hey. it was a limited one.”

you both laughed. she rolled her eyes.

but under the table, your pinky brushed against hers for a second too long.

and you didn’t pull away

tthe food arrived after more unnecessary arguing.

“just so you know,” karina huffed, arms crossed, “i’m never giving you a photocard again.”

“wha— how dare you.” you clutched your chest like she stabbed you. “you wound me.”

you both laughed.

and for a second— like, just a second— you smiled at each other.

not teasing. not dramatic.

just… smiled.

“here you go, lovebirds,” the waiter said, setting down your food. “don’t get too lovey-dovey in here.”

he winked at you.

“thanks!” karina chirped.

you didn’t say anything. you were already mid-bite. eyes closed. blissed out.

“hey—slow down,” she said. “the chicken’s dead already.”

“my bad,” you mumbled through a mouthful. “it’s been too long since i ate one of these.”

“enjoy.”

she tried to act normal. but she kept stealing glances at you.

every time you smiled, her heart did something stupid. like... skip. or thump. or whatever hearts do in cheesy romance movies.

and then— at one point—

you both looked at each other.

eye contact.

too long.

you panicked. broke the gaze.

but you also inhaled the spicy sauce too fast and immediately choked.

“oh my god—” she laughed, grabbing a cup. “here. drink.”

you grabbed the water, chugging it. only to realize halfway through—

it was hers.

you looked at her. she was already laughing, hair falling into her face, joy written across her cheeks.

“imagine being a couple,” you muttered, wiping your mouth.

“yeah. imagine,” she echoed. “it’d be a pain being with you.”

you gasped. “don’t i have a say in this? i’m hurt!”

you held out a piece of chicken to her. “fine. if i’m a pain, let me feed you. like a real couple.”

“…whatever,” she rolled her eyes, but leaned forward.

she took the bite.

“…tasty, right?”

“mhm,” she mumbled, chewing, sauce on the corner of her lips.

she reached for a napkin— but before she could—

you wiped it off for her.

gently.

just your thumb. quietly. casually. like it was the most normal thing in the world.

but to her?

the world stopped.

your eyes sparkled in the light. her breath caught. the air got warm.

and in that moment—

her first tug.

after the meal and her very loud declaration that you’d never be getting a photocard again, you thought that was the peak of embarrassment for the day.

you were wrong.

you two left the stall, bell jingling behind you, the smell of soy garlic still clinging to your clothes.

karina stretched her arms, eyes squinting against the hot afternoon haze.

“cold drink?” she asked.

you didn’t need convincing. “heavenly.”

the sun was low, but still relentless, turning the pavement into a mild sauna. you walked beside her, arms occasionally brushing, footsteps lazy and light.

but that calm?

shattered halfway through the park.

“shi— it’s professor.”

karina blinked, then turned.

and there he was.

your teacher. plastic bags in hand. right there. like a jump scare. like karma in the flesh.

you panicked. “run.”

“what?!”

“RUN.”

you don’t know what was funnier: the fact that you actually tried to run, or that you both got caught anyway.

detention.

the fluorescent lights were too bright. the fan sounded like it was dying. your limbs ached from the sprint.

but your stomach? hurt from laughing.

“imagine running,” karina wheezed, almost out of breath, hair sticking to her cheek.

“it’s called survival instinct,” you said, leaning back, arms behind your head. “i’m literally built to run. my ancestors did this in the woods.”

“your ancestors didn’t run from professors.”

“you don’t know that.”

you were still catching your breath. still grinning.

after a while, time lost its shape.

a few birds outside. the slow crawl of golden hour. the hum of nothing.

the door opened once.

“you two,” your teacher said, “i’m going out for a meeting. behave yourselves.”

“yes, miss!” you both sang like saints.

the door shut again.

and then… it was just you two.

7:00 PM.

you don’t get out till 7:30.

karina was leaning forward on the desk now, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the whiteboard like it owed her money.

you were quiet, fiddling with a pen, tapping out a beat only you could hear.

then she said it:

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

“do you believe in theories?”

you raised an eyebrow. “like what? aliens? or that the u.s. president is secretly a lizard?”

“…what?!”

“nah, hear me out. i think some of those theories are just distractions. coping mechanisms, y’know? people blaming the government for stuff they lowkey did to themselves.”

she looked at you like you just told her you believed the earth was shaped like a melon bun.

“WHERE did that come from?!”

you shrugged. “you asked.”

“i meant like love theories, dumbass.” she huffed, but smiled.

“oh.”

“like the red string one,” she added, voice softening. “you know that one?”

you leaned back again, folding your arms.

“the one where you’re tied to a designated lover since birth, right?”

she nodded.

“yeah,” she said, this time quieter. “they say everyone’s born with an invisible red string tied to their pinky. and at the other end of it is someone you’re meant to meet.”

you turned to her. she still wasn’t looking at you.

“you might not cross paths right away,” she continued. “years might pass. lives might change. but the string doesn’t break. it stretches. it loops. it tangles. but it holds.”

the room felt warmer. not from the heat.

from her.

“and they say,” she added, barely above a whisper, “that if you want to know who’s on the other end... you have to distance yourself.”

you blinked.

“walk away. stop talking. cut contact.”

a pause.

“and if you still feel it… that little tug inside your chest, like something’s pulling you back to them…”

her voice trembled, just a bit.

“…then it’s them.”

you didn’t say anything.

she turned to you slowly.

“...do you think that’s real?”

and for the first time all day— you had no joke to make.

the classroom felt heavier after that.

after her words. after that look.

you sat there, still, trying not to think too hard. about her voice. about the quiet in the room. about the invisible string you suddenly couldn’t stop feeling.

so you did what any emotionally unavailable idiot would do.

you tried to escape.

you pretended to stretch. checked the clock. got up to “use the bathroom.” opened the door a little too slowly.

karina watched, unimpressed.

you turned, finger to your lips like you were in a spy movie. she gave you the most dramatic eye-roll in history.

“seriously?”

you grinned. “see you on the outside.”

and just like that— you slipped through the crack in the door like a cockroach with trust issues.

ten minutes passed.

karina sat there. staring at your empty seat.

arms crossed.

mind loud.

“idiot,” she muttered.

and yet— she got up.

and walked out after you.

the hallway was warm with the last bits of sunset. footsteps light. heart heavier than it should be.

it wasn’t just about detention. or boredom. or the fact that you were acting like a human paper cut.

no.

it was something else.

something quieter.

something… pulling.

her second tug.

2 WEEKS LATER.

Karina wasn’t planning to go out that day. It was supposed to be simple: eggs, vinegar, dish soap. A quiet solo walk to the market after lunch, earbuds in, playlist shuffling between sad girl indie and whatever upbeat thing she didn’t skip. She liked errands like this. She liked moving through the noise of the world without needing to speak.

And yet, there she stood, squinting down at a shiny red scratch card handed to her by a smiling lady at a snack stall. She had only bought a bag of chips — seaweed flavor, her favorite — but now she was holding something else.

“Congratulations! You’ve won 2 FREE TICKETS to Mirae Amusement Park!”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

And for a brief, very undignified moment, Karina squealed.

It wasn’t loud, barely a whisper muffled into the sleeve of her hoodie, but it was real. Her heart jumped the way it hadn’t in weeks — not because of the tickets themselves, but because the second she read the words, only one name popped into her head.

Y/N.

She didn’t even think of Ning, or Minjeong, or her rollercoaster-loving cousin who would’ve killed for these. No, her brain had already fast-forwarded to a version of tomorrow where she was standing in line for overpriced ice cream with him, elbow to elbow, pretending not to stare when he made fun of the mascot.

God, she was doomed.

She tried to be casual when she texted him.

“hey, are you free tomorrow???”

Three question marks. A mistake. A huge mistake. She never used more than one.

He texted back.

“you okay? why the triple punctuation?”

She almost groaned. Still, she replied.

“just answer.”

And when he said “sure, what’s up?”, she smiled.

The kind of smile she only let herself have in private. The kind that meant something was tugging again.

It wasn’t a date. (Or at least, she’d never admit it was.)

But there were two tickets. And for some reason, she didn’t want anyone else holding the second one.

You showed up ten minutes late.

Okay, twelve. But it’s not like you meant to. The shirt you wanted was still drying, your shoelace snapped mid-tying, and the vending machine near the gate literally ate your coin. You’d been fighting for your life, alright?

Now here you were, messy hair, unbothered aura, and a cold sports drink in hand like nothing happened.

You spotted her right away.

Gate 3. Back turned. Long hair down, half tucked behind one ear, holding two amusement park tickets in her hand like she was scared they’d fly away if she let go.

She hadn’t seen you yet.

And for a second, you froze.

Because… damn.

She looked—nice. Not her usual messy ponytail and hoodie combo. She was wearing something light, casual, cute. It looked new. She had earrings on. Makeup, maybe? Not much, but enough that it made your brain go a little stupid.

You took a sip of your drink. Your hand was sweating.

…Wait.

Is this a date?

She got ready twelve hours early.

Not joking. She showered the night before, laid out three different outfits, and tried them all at 7 A.M. She brushed her hair twice. She stood in front of the mirror with lip balm and a tiny liner pencil she stole from her older sister’s drawer.

“You’re acting like you’re going to prom,” her sister said, walking past with a towel on her head.

Karina rolled her eyes. “Shut up. It’s just Mirae Park.”

Her mom walked in. “Mirae Park? You’re meeting friends?”

“…One.”

Her mom raised an eyebrow. The sister leaned in from the hallway.

“Is it that boy from middle school? The one who always used to steal your melon bread?”

“I gave it to him.”

“OHHHHH—” they both said in unison.

“Stop. It’s not like that.”

Her mom was already beaming. “My daughter’s in love.”

“I’M NOT—”

“Wear the white top,” her sister said, smug. “The one that makes your arms look cute.”

“I hate all of you.”

You walked up to her, holding your sports drink like a weapon.

“Yo.”

She turned, eyes lighting up so fast before she caught herself and narrowed them.

“You’re late.”

You shrugged. “Shirt drama.”

She looked you up and down.

“…It’s wrinkled.”

“So are we, emotionally.”

That got a small smile. Barely.

She handed you the ticket. Her fingers brushed yours.

You looked down at it.

Then at her.

Then back at the ticket.

“…So this isn’t, like… a date, right?”

She blinked. A beat passed. She looked away.

“I only had two tickets.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Unless you want it to be.”

You coughed.

“...I mean, it’s 20% off if we pretend to be a couple again.”

She laughed.

“Let’s go, idiot.”

She didn’t say it was a date. But he still walked next to her, sipping from his drink and bumping into her shoulder sometimes on purpose.

And every time he did?

Her heart tugged.

Again.

You were not expecting the park to be this crowded. It was like every couple, family, and group of screaming kids in the city collectively decided today was amusement park day. Lines everywhere. Music playing from tinny speakers. Balloons floating by like cartoon thoughts.

You weren’t big on crowds.

But she looked like she belonged in one.

Karina was walking ahead, hair bouncing with each step, squinting at a map she clearly didn’t need. She looked… happy. Bright. Like the human equivalent of a sunny-side up egg.

You caught up to her and nudged her elbow.

“You look like you’ve planned this.”

She didn’t even look at you. “I have an itinerary.”

“…You what?”

She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket.

You stared at her, half-laughing. “You’re insane.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “Now let’s go ride the log flume before the couples clog it up.”

She didn’t know why she was acting so put-together.

Her heart was in full sprint mode, and she was trying not to think about how close you stood next to her in line. How your arm brushed hers. How your hair was messier today, and somehow that made you look better.

You kept buying food. First it was fish balls. Then fried mochi. Then you two shared cotton candy.

Shared.

Like—one stick. Two people.

At some point she had pink sugar on her cheek, and you leaned in to wipe it off with your thumb. Didn’t even say anything.

Just… wiped. And kept walking.

Her brain short-circuited for a solid two minutes after that.

You didn’t say anything when you wiped her cheek. You couldn’t.

Because for that second, you looked too long.

You saw the way her lashes curled slightly at the edges. The way her mouth parted when she froze. And for a flicker of a moment, the rest of the park disappeared.

You almost said something.

But then she pulled you toward the Ferris wheel like she hadn’t just stunned you silent.

The Ferris wheel was quiet.

The cart rocked gently as you sat across from her, knees nearly touching.

Outside the glass, the sky turned gold. The sun dipped below buildings. The noise faded the higher you climbed.

And then—her favorite part.

Silence.

The kind that wasn’t awkward. Just soft.

“Pretty,” she whispered.

You looked at her.

“Yeah,” you said.

She turned to the view, missing the way your eyes stayed on her a second too long.

It was on the way down when it happened.

Your hand grazed hers on the little seat between you. Nothing dramatic. Just a brush.

But neither of you moved.

And when the wheel turned again

Your pinkies hooked.

Accident?

Maybe.

But neither of you let go.

Not even when the ride ended.

Not even when the sun fully dipped.

Not even when the park lights started to glow.

The photo booth was impulsive. Maybe even cliché.

But when she tugged you by the wrist and pointed at it, she didn’t care.

“Let’s do one,” she said, eyes bright.

You tilted your head, skeptical. “Seriously? That thing’s for couples and cringey high schoolers.”

She gave you a look. “And what are we, if not cringey high schoolers?”

That made you laugh.

So you went in.

It was cramped. Warm. Your knees bumped. She could smell your cologne—cheap but clean, the kind only you would wear without irony.

“Pick a filter,” she said, hovering her finger over the glowing screen.

You just shrugged. “Surprise me.”

3... She smiled.

2... You leaned in slightly.

1... Flash.

And then again. And again.

No time to think.

Just dumb faces. A peace sign. Her hand accidentally resting on your leg. No one moved it.

When you stepped out, she held the strip between you, letting the glossy paper dry in the air.

You looked at the photo. Then at her. But neither of you said anything.

You needed to pee.

Which, in hindsight, was the dumbest possible way to get separated from someone you maybe-sort-of liked at an amusement park 10 minutes before fireworks.

“I’ll be back in five,” you said.

“Fine,” Karina replied, rocking on her heels. “Don’t get lost.”

You saluted her like a dork.

You came back seven minutes later.

She was gone.

The crowd was shifting already.

“Attention park guests, the fireworks show will begin in 10 minutes! Head to the central plaza for the best view!”

You looked around. Then behind the booth. Then near the food stalls. Nothing.

You called her name. Once, twice.

Still nothing.

You stood on your toes, heart racing faster than it should for someone who just shared cotton candy and a photo booth. But maybe it wasn’t just about the moment.

Maybe it was the feeling you didn’t know how to name yet.

She waited by the fountain where you left her.

Then the booth. Then the prize corner. Nowhere.

She wasn’t panicked. Not really. Just… frustrated. And a little breathless.

Her fingers gripped the photo strip tighter.

You were probably wandering somewhere, unaware she was looking for you like she was about to miss a train.

She sighed.

“Y/N, you idiot…” she whispered to no one.

Two minutes until showtime.

People were already stopping to look up. Some were counting down. Kids on their parents’ shoulders, couples wrapped in sweaters and plastic souvenir bags.

And then, just when you were about to circle the plaza one more time—

There.

Right near the center fountain. A tiny shape in the crowd. Hair pulled into a low ponytail. Slightly slouched shoulders.

Her.

You froze. She turned.

And your eyes met.

You both stepped forward, slowly, until you were just a breath apart.

“You’re the one who got lost,” she said, voice flat. But her grip on the photo strip trembled.

“No, I wasn’t,” you replied, soft.

“You said five minutes.”

“You didn’t even wait.”

“I waited,” she said quietly. “Twice.”

“…Did you look for me?”

She looked away, cheeks flushed.

“…Maybe.”

You exhaled a laugh. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, meeting your eyes now. “This would’ve been boring without you.”

You blinked.

And before you could say anything else—

BOOM.

A firework cracked through the sky in gold.

The crowd gasped. The plaza lit up.

But your eyes never left her.

your second tug.

15 YEARS LATER

It wasn’t a grand wedding.

No massive venue. No five-layer cake. No viral drone shots. Just a garden, trimmed neatly. Paper lanterns. White folding chairs. Her mom crying too early. Your tie crooked (as always). Her bouquet slightly tilted in her hand.

The sky was kind that day.

A little cloudy, a little gold.

You stood in front of her in your white button-up, blinking away emotion you swore you’d keep in check. She wore a dress so simple it felt like her — clean, lovely, real. Her hair was loosely pinned. A few strands kept falling near her eyes. You wanted to fix it. You didn’t.

Not yet.

You just held her hands and tried not to shake.

“Fifteen years ago,” she began, voice clearer than you expected, “you said you’d pay me back for chicken wings.”

A few people laughed.

You did too.

She smiled. “You never did.”

You opened your mouth to say something but she squeezed your fingers.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she continued. “Because you gave me everything else.”

Your turn.

You took a second. Looked at her. Really looked.

This was the girl who wiped sauce off your cheek, Who made you laugh in detention, Who waited near a fountain while the sky blinked gold. The one who tugged the string — and never let go.

“Fifteen years ago,” you said softly, “you told me the red string theory wasn’t proven.”

She laughed under her breath. Everyone else was quiet.

“But,” you added, voice breaking slightly, “you still chased me down like it was real.”

The officiant said a few more words. Something about love. Something about promises.

But you barely heard them.

Because her hands were warm in yours, and your chest felt full in a way words couldn’t explain.

“…you may now kiss.”

You stepped forward.

She leaned in.

And in the space of half a second— everything slowed.

Like the world had to make room for this one moment.

Her lips met yours.

And in that kiss—

In that soft, slow, earned kiss—

was everything:

the melon bun afternoons, the Ferris wheel silence, the photo booth laugh, the fireworks, the lost and found, the confessions you never had to say out loud.

Because you knew.

Because she knew.

And because finally— after all those years—

that invisible string pulled one last time.

Gentle. Complete. Final.

The last tug.

[jarrenstopia]

Jarren Duran NSFW Alphabet

this ended up taking significantly longer than expected, and it would not have been possible without major help from @prollywolly so be sure to check out her wattpad if you haven’t already.

if you have more jarren concepts you want to discuss, feel free to send them my way. enjoy!

A – Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jarren is for sure doting on you after sex, aftercare is a must. he might be a little clingy but also wants to make sure he wasn’t too rough. he has so much stamina that when he’s finally done with you he’s exhausted, but still takes time to ensure you’re cared for both physically and emotionally. he would talk you through the come down, being incredibly mindful of how sensitive you are.

B – Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

i don’t doubt he’s an ass guy but i’d like to take it a step further and say he’s obsessed with your thighs. despite his love for the gym, he wouldn’t care if your legs were toned or not. he just likes being able to grab and squeeze, especially with his tattooed hand. there’s nothing he enjoys more than burying his head between your thighs, biting until you’re dripping down his chin. 

C – Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he’d never pass up a chance to cum inside you, but his favorite place to cum is your mouth. seeing you on your knees in front of him, waiting eagerly, does it for him every time. always instructing you to open your mouth so he can check that you swallowed every last drop.  he’s not opposed to cumming on you, obviously. he’d love to cum on your back eventually smearing it around giving him another excuse to touch your ass. 

D – Dirty Secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he loves when you mark him up. he might protest at first, but in the moment, he has his eyes shut tight, whimpering, and begging for more. if the guys teased him about a hickey in the clubhouse, he’d act shy, but secretly, he loves knowing that everyone can see how good you two have been loving on each other.

E – Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

jarren is no doubt experienced but he can be timid sometimes. he’s constantly checking in with you to make sure you like what he’s doing, taking time to understand you and your body. if he’s too in his head, he would love you guiding him and telling him what to do. he’s obsessed with learning new ways to push you over the edge. 

F – Favorite Position (this goes without saying)

this one depends on what kind of sex you’re having, but his favorite would be the mating press. his non-negotiable is that he has to be able to see your face, wanting the option to bury his face into your neck while you moan in his ear.  however, an honorable mention for backshots! he loves watching how well you take him. if you have long hair, i’m praying for your scalp bc he always has a handful to pull you back. 

G – Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

as much as jarren loves fuck, sex is ultimately a way for him to connect with you. he appreciates the occasional awkward moment in the middle of sex, kissing you on the forehead why he giggles and refocuses. 

H – Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

jarren likes to keep himself natural but trimmed, never letting it get too out of hand. this applies to his happy trail, chest hair, etc.  as for the hair on his head, he loves to have your hands in it. doesn’t care if you’re tugging, pulling, or just running your fingers through – he can’t get enough.

I – Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he’s focused but very attentive of you. he loves to praise you for being there for him and so good to him all of the time. he’s so hard on himself, but he damn well knows how to show you he appreciates everything you’re doing for him. he’s always sure to thank you with kisses on the face and whispering sweet words into your ear. 

J – Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

jarren would save this for when he’s traveling or hasn’t seen you in a while. he has definitely rubbed one out to a picture he keeps of you. he tries to wait until he’s back home to get everything out of his system, but even the idea of you makes him hard.  maybe you slip a nude polaroid of you into his bag before he leaves, which always has something dirty written in your handwriting at the bottom. 

K – Kink (one or more of their kinks)

i think there are several to explore here (overstimulation, breeding kink, etc.), but jarren undoubtedly has a praise kink. he loves hearing you tell him how good he’s fucking you, constantly encouraging you to make any kind of noise. he knows he’s doing something right when he feels your finger start tugging at his curls, ultimately using it as leverage to fuck up into you harder. 

L – Location (favorite places to do the do)

sometimes he’s just too impatient to make it to the bedroom. more often than not, the first round is on the kitchen counter. he loves that it puts you at the perfect height for him to bury his head in your neck. if it’s not on the counter he’d take you up against the wall, holding you up with his massive arms, using the pure strength to keep you still while he fucks you. 

M – Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

nothing motivates him more than a win. after a game, it’d be impossible for him to keep his hands off of you. and if you were wearing his jersey during the game, he’d be extra feral, fucking you at least once with it still on. 

N – No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he would never be down for something that could hurt you. spanking would probably be as far as he’s comfortable taking things physically. 

O – Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

jarren loves having you on his knees in front of him, especially after a rough game. when he wants to change things up he has you dangling your head off the side of the bed, tongue lolled out, so he can fuck your throat. he loves the sounds of you struggling to take every thrust he gives you and loves to see the drool pour from the sides of your lips. he’s also obsessed with eating you out (proven with the new dugout celebration he debuted). he’s good at it, which he knows, and it shows. between your legs is when he looks most desperate, lapping you up like it’s his last meal. he’d continue sucking until you’re crying out in release, hands once again tugging at his hair. 

P – Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he may slow it down on special occasions, but in general this man fucks like a bunny! it’s hard for him to stop, but if you genuinely need to catch your breath, he’ll just place kisses and bite at your skin until you’re ready for him again. 

Q – Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

as much as he loves to take his time with you, he’s never one to turn down a quickie. he has definitely pulled you into a family bathroom before heading to the field to get you out of his system. 

R – Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

jarren is open to experimenting but would likely be opposed to anything too risky. when you do try something new, he’s sure to check in with you every chance he gets.  one thing he is willing to risk it for is road head. you’ve done it while leaving the player parking lot at fenway, which eventually results in him getting his windows tinted. some people might hate the idea since it’s awkward, but jarren loves a challenge. 

S – Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

jarren’s definitely not satisfied from one round, he’d keep fucking you until you both can’t move anymore. there’s nothing he loves more than you squirming and pleading beneath him. he always tries to make sure you cum first, holding off as long as he can. 

T – Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

jarren isn’t a big toy guy. in his mind, nothing compares to the real thing. he loves knowing that he’s the one making you feel good without any extra help. if you do have a couple they’re reserved for when jarren is out of town. he laughed when you posed the idea of making a silicone mold of his dick for when he’s gone, but was surprised when you sent him a video of you using it on yourself. he’d be so obsessed that he’d get you another one in a different color so you have options. 

U – Unfair (how much they like to tease)

i think he’d prefer to tease you in public. constantly flexing, trying to get your attention but knowing there’s nothing you can do about it until you get home. but in the bedroom, he folds too quickly. he can’t resist you no matter how hard he tries, immediately giving in when you whine and beg. 

V – Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

jarren isn’t loud himself per se, but he’s definitely not silent. he’s letting out small breaths and pants to let you know he’s feeling good. when he’s really riled up, that’s when he gets vocal, especially when he’s cumming. 

W – Wild Card (a random headcanon for the character)

i think he would be obsessed with mirror sex! jarren would immediately notice you focusing on how his arms flex while he fucks you. he’s well aware of the work he puts in at the gym, but something about you eye-fucking him drives him crazy.  when he has a chance to take his time with you, he loves watching you ride his thigh. bonus points if it’s his leg with the sleeve. his eyes always settle on the way the ink is glistening with your slick after you get off on him. 

X – X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s sizable for sure, but i think he moreso knows how to work with what he has. always find a new way to hit a different spot than the last time. 

Y – Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

this man has a crazy sex drive. he wants you all the time and can’t stand when he’s away. when he is home and wakes up before you, the first thing he’s thinking of is how badly he wants you. 

Z – ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

jarren always has time to cuddle afterwards. after he’s made sure you’re all cleaned up, he immediately has his head on your chest. if you’re not playing with his hair, he’d love watching your fingertips trace over the ink on his skin. he’d continue to pepper you with soft kisses until you both fall asleep.

[exitingmusic]

▬▬ι════════════════════════════════════ι▬▬

When you were little, you had a best friend.

His name was Suguru Geto and up until high school, you did everything together.

From the moment you pushed him off the monkey bars, you became friends.

Everyday, you'd walk together to school, kicking rocks and skipping, talking about anything and everything. You walked to classes together, you walked home together.

Usually you both went to his house, playing in the backyard for hours until your parents called you back.

As you got older, you'd have sleepovers, talking all night and falling asleep in bed together, squished between each other and pillows as music or a show continued to play in the background.

For a kid, it was perfect.

You had a best friend, the best friend.

He made sure no one picked on you, helped you with homework, gave you his extra change at the convenience store, and always gave you the plushies he would win at the arcade.

In return, you gave him a best friend, someone to be with him always as well as someone to talk to whenever something happened.

You were each other's shields and you were inseparable.

One summer you went away to a camp for a month and as soon as you pulled into your driveway, Suguru was there, waiting expectantly to see his best friend.

Eventually in junior high school, feelings started to get involved, but neither of you acted. What more would a relationship mean for the two of you? You already fell asleep together and spent more time together than apart. Besides, the only way to go from there was downhill.

But, after junior high, he moved to Tokyo, going to a different high school then you.

It hurt, it was so different now, going from spending most of the day together to sending a couple texts a week, max.

He sounded happy at least, easily making friends with the other students. But, he did shut you down when you suggested to come visit.

Your life felt oddly hollow, like Suguru sucked the life out of you when he left. Of course, you did have other friends, but it wasn't the same anymore.

After a while, you both stopped texting, it was getting harder and harder to keep check of each other when you both were far away.

Besides, he'd come back, right?

▬▬ι════════════════════════════════════ι▬▬

Now, it had been a few years since you last saw him, walking him like usual when something felt off. It made the hair on the back of your neck tingle, giving you a shiver.

You walked quicker towards your house, only freezing when you heard a scream coming from your neighbor's house.

Mr. Geto.

You didn't think, only throwing open the unlocked front door, staggering back when you saw the sight.

Mr. Geto was practically blown to pieces, his limbs bloody and scattered around the room while his wife laid on the floor, neck at an odd angle and blood dripping from her empty eye sockets. And standing over them was...

Suguru.

He turned to you slowly, lips pursing together in disappointment.

He looked tired, bags under his eyes and blood smeared on his face. His hair was up an a usual bun, stray hairs peeking through from whatever scuffle there was.

What happened to him?

"Suguru?"

He tsks, walking closer, "You shouldn't have come in."

You take a step back, catching your hip on the doorframe as you watch him carefully.

"See, I wouldn't have had to do this if you didn't come in," he practically purrs, moving towards you with lethal grace.

How could he look so beautiful yet so deranged at the same time?

He raises his hand and runs it down your face, "Shame, you weren't a bad one."

"I won't tell anyone," you blurt out.

His lips curve into a smile, "Why do you look so scared, hm? I'm still your Suguru."

You couldn't respond, sliding down the wall as something felt like it was shredding your stomach apart.

Blindly, you cry out, swatting at the invisible force as Suguru's brows furrow, looking at you with slight panic.

"No, no, no, get back up here," he says quietly, hands gesturing in ways you don't understand.

The force jerks up, the pain going to your chest now, intensifying as you tear at your own skin.

Your whole body jerks as flakes of skin peel off, cries and screams making her shake.

Suguru kneels in front of her, eyes wide and panicked as he tries to help her pull the curse off.

After far too long, you freeze, your muscles going slack as a deep cavity appears in your chest.

He catches you as you tip over, frantically patting your face, "No, no, no, no, NO!"

He throws the curse against the far wall, cradling your empty body in his arms. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to see any of this.

He was already tired from exerting his power against his family and the village that he couldn't pull the curse away in his panic. You weren't supposed to be involved. He was going to take you away, you were the only non-sorcerer he could spare.

But now you laid dead in his arms by him.

"I'm sorry," his voice broke "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it was supposed to be everyone but you, anyone but you."

He bowed his head, pressing it to your hair as he weeped silently, holding you like he used to do as kids.

Oh if only he never left you.

▬▬ι════════════════════════════════════ι▬▬

A/N: ...sorry, I wanted a little angst but it spiraled... I don't think I can ever write a fully fluffy Suguru fic...

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v 2025

Reader Style: fem!reader Character: Izou/Thatch Vibe: dub-con Rating: Eviscerate Me Ending Style: Ambiguous Prompt: bdsm dungeon Gift Giver: @legends-of-the-grandline

Summary: Izou wants you to obey him, and apologize to Thatch, and he's not going to leave you any room to deny him. (also this is almost twice as long as I've meant any of these to be, but gods I do not regret getting on a roll).

Content Notes: shibari, drugging, dub con, manipulation, fingering, mean dom Izou, sweet switch Thatch, 18+ minors dni

There was no fighting Thatch as he fed you. You’d already fought those battles, and as kind and soft as he was, he was not weak. You couldn’t beg him with words, and you weren’t strong enough to overcome him.

And so you sat, naked, on his lap, and opened your mouth obediently as he fed you.

It was a light meal, provided to you in the “play” room that had been built for you, because Izou was going to tie you up and suspend you from the ceiling. You were pretty sure you were only being fed so that you’d eventually beg to be let down to use the bathroom, or they meant to leave you dangling from the ceiling for so long you were going to miss a meal or two.

Thatch’s hand wandered a little while you ate, and you let it, even spreading your legs and letting him slip a finger between your labia. It was easy to keep him happy, and keeping him happy made everything else easier. His finger was at least pleasurable, a fraction of the size of the beast between his legs.

The first time you’d seen Thatch’s cock you ended up being punished by Izou for making him feel bad. You’d been too intimidated to mind your words and had scared him away. It was after that that you started doing everything you could to keep Thatch happy and clothed.

Izou was harder to keep happy, because he knew when your obedience was genuine, and when it was manipulative. He didn’t want you to obey him to keep him happy, he wanted you to obey him because you wanted to obey him.

Something you were afraid you were fast approaching. Izou’s will was relentless.

Thatch worked you up as you ate the last few bites, but no matter how you moaned for him, he wouldn’t push you over the edge. You gave him a pout, but you still finished your meal.

Thatch and Izou worked together to tie you up. Your flexibility had been greatly improved thanks to Izou’s care. Given the seemingly inevitability of your situation, you were grateful for that much. 

“You’re doing so well,” Izou praises, pulling your limbs into positions that only ache for a moment before your body starts to adjust to them. 

If you were on the ground, you’d be squat down with your butt on the floor and your knees nearly at your shoulders. Up in the rig the position leaves you exposed, cradled by the ropes, with your arms pulled behind your back and your feet tucked against your ass. Usually Izou’s poses for you were asymmetrical, but this one was balanced.

As you expected, you were going to be here for a long time.

Izou puts a thick rubber ball in your mouth and taps your nose. “Don’t drop it.” He commands and you whimper. It’s big, which is bad enough, but that he didn’t use a proper gag was concerning, it was all on you to keep it in place.

The two sat and had a proper meal while you dangled nearby. 

Izou’s mind games were the worst. Thatch was easy to read, and easy to please, but Izou was a nightmare. He always pushes your capacities to the limits, and you’re never sure if you’re expected to fail a task he puts before you, or if he wants you to succeed.

His punishments never feel like something you’re meant to enjoy, but he always praises you. Even when you fail a task he still says something about knowing you did your best. At least, when you actually did do your best. You tossed and fought a few commands at the start of things.

A few months ago, you would’ve spit this horrid ball out almost as soon as he put it in your mouth. Right now you wanted to keep it in your mouth. You just weren’t sure if that was because you wanted to please Izou, or because you didn’t want to endure a punishment.

After a few minutes, however, you realize the ball isn’t your problem.

Sweat breaks out on your skin and you feel warm. A small shift on your part sends a delicious shiver through you, and that sensation makes you moan quietly against the ball. 

You need to breathe, you need to breathe more than you can with the ball in your mouth but you can’t let it fall out. You can feel everything. The beads of sweat ambling over your skin, getting soaked into the ropes, only for a new drop of sweat to take its place on the other side of the rope. The gentle shift down your skin was almost maddening, how clearly you could feel it.

How your pussy throbbed, the thick drop of need slipping down your skin itches like mad. You hold onto the ball with your teeth, huffing heavily around it. You’re not trying to keep quiet, or still, shivering and whining as the sensations become sharper.

“’Wease,” you whimper, looking over to Izou and Thatch as best as you can in your current position. “’Wease, ‘elp.” 

“Hush pet,” Izou says coldly. “We’re not done eating.” His words are for you, but his eyes are on Thatch who sighs, and settles back into eating his meal.

Once you started squirming you weren’t able to stop. Your toes wiggle and the motion sends beads of sweat down your legs, which pluck at your small hair and itch down the back of your thighs. Sweat down your back. Your arms. Tickling and itchy path down the curve of your ass before dripping free. Each release and relief is nothing compared to the increasing number as you warm up more and shiver more.

Drool escaping your lips only adds to it, the saliva meandering over your breasts and soaking into the ropes. Pleasure slicks from your pussy and you’re certain it’s audible every time a thick drop of need splatters on the floor.

You’ve never been turned on just from being tied up, and you realize, as the maddening itch becomes something more serious, that you were drugged. Thatch drugged your food.

Thatch had done so before, but it was always something to help you sleep, or make you sleep. It was never anything like this. 

“’Uck,” you swear, tears slipping down your cheeks as you fight to hold onto the ball between your teeth. Your jaw aches, but the rest of you is screaming in a different way. 

You need to be touched, and you are in such a position that you can’t even make your pussy twitch enough to grant you relief. 

“’Ease…. ‘Ease,” you sob the word quietly, desperate for relief. Desperate for someone to take this ball out of your mouth. Desperate for something to change the situation you were in right now. 

You don’t know if they’re done eating, you don’t know if you’re going to be punished, but you’re desperate. Far too desperate, and you can’t take it anymore.

Crying even as the ball drops from your mouth you beg.

“Please, please… anything… I’ll… I’ll do anything. Please, I can’t take it anymore.” You sob, not able to bring yourself to look up at them. 

There’s silence from the other two, and you just whimper, broken begging slipping from your lips, and you start to worry that dropping the ball means you’ll be left like this until the drugs wore off on their own.

Izou’s finger comes into view, and he ghosts it along your slit. Sobbing you breakdown, apologies pouring from your lips for dropping the ball, apologies for being difficult, apologies for everything you could think of. You’re hiccuping from the combination of sobs and words by the time Izou shushes you.

He gives you a moment to calm down and bends low enough for you to see his face. 

“Sweet flower, look at you, finally beginning to bloom for us.” He says the words kindly, a soft smile on his face. “I’ll forgive you for dropping the ball, but you have to do something for me.”

You nod frantically. “Yes, anything, please, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, Izou. Thank you.”

You should’ve known, as Izou strokes Thatch’s cock, exactly what it was that you were going to have to do. 

“You must be nice, sweet flower.” Izou coos, pushing two fingers into your dripping cunt easily. The pleasure of his fingers makes your entire body tense, sucking in a surprised gasp from how powerful the sensation is. Izou rubs your slick on Thatch’s twitching member. “Make sure he knows you really want him.”

Die. You were going to die. You were going to beg Thatch to put his cock in your pussy and you were going to die. The pleasure from Izou’s fingers nearly brought you to orgasm. 

“I need it,” you pant, squirming in the ropes. “Please Thatch, please-please-please put your cock inside me, please. Kuh-carefully, you’re so big but-but I trust you.” You insist. You can’t hope to crane your head to look at him, but you’re doing your best.

It’s easier to say it all, because you’re desperate for it. You’re going to die if you don’t get some relief at this rate, and you might die from taking that beast, but you don’t care. You’ll get some relief on the way out, so you’ll take it.

“Please sir, please Thatch, please fuck me, I’m a good girl I can take it, I’m y-your doll right? Your sweet, precious doll, you’d n-never hurt me, I know. I know, I trust you, please.” You’re practically sobbing at the end, trying to move toward him, and Izou finally steps back.

Thatch’s massive hands easily palm your ass, holding you and lifting you just a little higher. He presses the tip against your entrance and you moan, your hips shifting automatically, smearing the slick from your lips onto him. You can feel his fingers flex against you before he pushes against you, carefully working just the tip of his cock in.

You can’t do anything to help or hinder him, completely under his control, and once his throbbing tip pushes inside you, you cum.

The orgasm is surprising and harsh, making you scream from the intense euphoria as your body curls against the ropes. You can hear Thatch grunt, but he doesn’t stay still, pushing in slowly, deeper and deeper, making you cry and wail as your body shudders blissfully from the intrusion. You can’t believe how good it feels, you can’t believe how easy it is to take him.

When he pulls flush with your body, his torso brushing against your clit, you cum again. Grateful for the ropes that are keeping your body together even as it feels like you’re falling apart.

“Fuck… fuck me,” you gasp, body shuddering from the pleasure, mind hazy from the back to back orgasms. Nothing else mattered, you were either going to survive this ordeal, or die in bliss.

“Sure thing, doll.”

[desideriumwriter]

Anyone But You | Chapter 19

Summary: Aftermath of last night. Some amends have been made.

wc: 1.9k

a/n: posting this while on the verge of falling asleep, sorry for taking forever and posting another short one, but pinky promise this next chap is already 3k+ words lol

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Previous | Next | Navi

As much as Fred didn’t want to get up. He knew he had to, he still had chores he was told to do. As nice as it was to have you pressed against his side—looking the most relaxed you’ve looked in weeks—he really didn’t feel like getting another scolding from his mum.

He got up and took care of the list his mum sent. He also may have stayed with you for 20 extra minutes after he told himself he’d get up.

You tensed slightly when you woke up, your eyes fluttering open to find that Fred’s body was replaced now with a pillow, the blankets of his bed tucked tightly around your shoulders.

Your eyes strained and you squeezed them. They still stung from the amount of crying and the sunlight wasn’t doing much help.

Other than the slight pounding in your head and slight nausea. Disappointment had hit you in the chest. It would’ve been nice not to wake up alone. To wake up to his warm body against you and not a cold pillow.

The room somehow felt smaller with him not in it.

You felt the sheet slide against your legs as you stretched them underneath the comforter. Small moans hummed past your lips as you listened to your joints crack.

You were more than embarrassed as the memories from last night faded back into your mind. Another big scene had been caused, you were right in the middle of it.

Once you were able to actually gain enough energy, you lazily walked out his room, and headed for the stairs. Halfway down the steps to the first floor, you heard the TV playing downstairs and the smell of batter.

As you went down the last few steps of the creaky wooden stairs, a small realization struck. The Burrow had to be one of the most comforting places on Earth.

Warm orange lights illuminate most of the rooms at night, the way the sun would hit the stained glass windows and make colored patterns on the wooden floors, the pretty view you got once you looked out a window, any window in the house.

Home knitted and well loved blankets draped over the couches and loveseats. Notes of baked bread, cinnamon, and flowers lingered throughout the burrow. There was a very slight scent of the smoke you smell after a sparkler goes out when you’d enter the twins room.

You wondered how you never really noticed, nor appreciate the beauty of it all.

Once you reached the living room, it was empty, but in the kitchen stood Fred in front of the stove accompanied by a box of pancake mix, a scribbled down recipe floating in front of him, and mugs washing themselves in the sink.

The small window in front of him had the translucent curtains pushed open as he was humming a tune, probably a song from one of the bands from the posters on his side of his room.

You leaned against the doorway, taking in this moment. This is probably one of the first times you’ve watched him with no intense feelings boiling through you.

For the first time in a while, everything felt calm. No intense emotions, no tightness in your chest or stomach, no lingering worries or thoughts in the back of your mind, no big moments happening. Just this moment. This small, silent, simple moment.

Fred would eventually notice you there, if he hadn’t already. He could always tell when you were there. You never understood how he did it.

“I didn’t know you could actually cook for yourself.” Fred took a moment to look behind him, at you, then looked back to the pan.

“You like to assume my mum never told me to help around the house.” He shot back with a smile, letting out an amused huff.

Letting out a hum of defeat, you pushed yourself off the doorway and walked over to the table, pulling a chair out and sitting down. Fred grabbed a plate with two slices of toast off the counter and used his long arm to reach behind him to place it down in front of you.

“Here, I made some toast. It usually helps with hangovers.” A new jar of homemade jam, napkins, a glass of water, and a butter knife came your way as well.

“I’m not hungover.” You grimaced, voice a bit scratchy. Fred said nothing in response, he only gave you a knowing look. His face didn’t change dramatically. But it was easy to read what his face said. He thought otherwise. And he was right. That’s not the point though.

“Whatever.” You huffed, yet there was no actual agitation in your voice. You had just woken up, you were slightly hungover, and you weren’t much of a morning person. Especially after a night like that.

“Hey. Cheer up, your bad mood is ruining my cooking.” He pointed at you with the metal spatula in his hand.

Raising your eyebrows, giving him a look that said ‘seriously?’.

“I feel discouraged.” His voice was small, he puffed out his bottom lip for dramatic effect.

“Discouraged?”

“Yeah. Discouraged, now cheer up or you’ll find out what scrambled eggs taste like when they aren’t made with love.” You dropped your shoulders and slumped back in the seat. Reaching to grab the jam jar and popping it open, slathering the jam onto your toast and taking a few bites.

No conversation was made as Fred cooked the eggs. He worked and you watched him from the table, your head resting against your hand. The birds chattered outside and you heard the pigs groan occasionally. Beams of sunlight peeked through strands of Fred's messy bed head hair. It was quite nice, a cliche morning.

“Why don’t you stay for the rest of the weekend?” The suggestion fell out of Fred's mouth when slid a small plate of scrambled eggs to you. You looked up at him but his eyes avoided yours. He focused his eyes on getting his own plate of breakfast and cleaning up his work area.

“Are you- your mum and dad would be okay with that?” You paused. He didn’t respond until he finished filling up a glass of water for himself. He might’ve been as tense as you were.

“My parents still won’t be back ‘til Tuesday. George usually stays most of the day at Angelia’s after staying the night. No one will be here to make you feel awkward.” Fred could read your mind. That’s what you were worried about; his family questioning what the two of you were. You felt like you were in too much of a vulnerable state for more suspicions about Fred and you.

You were already questioning it enough yourself. Any more about it would probably make you explode.

“Anyways, it’ll save you from a lonely late train trip. We can go back together on Sunday.” Freds words cut through your thoughts.

There was a beat. You honestly didn’t have any opposition against his offer, you had reasons on why you shouldn’t stay. But they weren’t too serious. They didn’t seem to matter. You didn’t have any comebacks about not wanting to share a booth with him. You wanted to stay.

“Alright, but I can’t wear the same clothes for the next two days.”

“Borrow mine.”

“Or pajamas.” You started as soon as he stopped. Fred looked around as if he was looking at an audience then back to you. He shrugged before he spoke again.

“Borrow mine. It’s really not that big of a deal.” He reassured you when he saw that protestant look on your face. “Now eat, I heard your stomach rumbling in bed.” He pointed to your plate with his fork he pulled out of the drawer.

He finished making his own plate of breakfast as you took small bites of yours. The current somewhat casual conversation between the both of you was killing you. So now, you had to make it awkward—like always—by asking another guilty question.

“Fred, I don’t get it.” You huffed out, slouching. “How can you be so casual? So…normal? About this?” You asked as he put his plate down on the table, pausing at your words.

“About what? Us being friends?” Fred looked to the side for a second, weren’t you both more than friends at this point?

Fred slid out a chair before finally sitting down. You were sitting across from each other, forced to face each other. Literally.

“Yes. About us being friends, or whatever we are now. But, it’s not just that.” You groaned before dropping your fork and wiping your mouth with a napkin. Fred began to eat, he was clearly unbothered by the subject and it made you feel like you were going mad.

“Listen, these past few months have been a back and forth game of one of us avoiding the other.” You tried not to fidget too much. “Having some sort of resentment. And now, it’s like none of that happened.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Fred muffled through a mouth full of eggs, clearly replying to the latter of your statement.

“I’m…not sure. It just feels like we should be more awkward. You should be more awkward. You should be awkward now that I’m being nice to you after years of despising you. Me sitting at your table and eating breakfast with you should be awkward, everything should be awkward.” You shrugged your shoulders, looking down and picking at a loose thread on yours- Fred’s pajama pants.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say awkward that many times before.” Fred joked through the tension, you dropped your forearms to lay them against the table. A pleading look on your face for him to take the conversation seriously.

He paused, taking a drink of his juice and then letting out a small exhale before he began to speak.

“All those times that I was avoiding you, not talking to you. I didn’t hate you, I was just angry. Hurt. Hurt is the better way to say it. Maybe I resented you a bit, but it didn’t mean I was going to hold a grudge against you forever. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

There it was, Freds simplicity. It’s one of those hidden things that makes him so much more beautiful. But it really made you want to gouge your eyes out.

“Fred, fuck- I’m really sorry for everything. I promise you I am-“

“I know you are. And I forgive you.” Fred’s voice was light. You didn’t understand how he could put up with you.

“I don’t understand how you forgive me so easily.” You let out an amused scoff, holding your face in your hands.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me forgive you so easily. You’re a very confusing girl.”

“You’re a very confusing boy.” You shot back, your smile hidden behind your palms.

“Then that makes us a good pair.” He reached over to poke your wrist, you separated your index from your middle finger to peek at him.

Everytime you apologized, it wasn’t for him to forgive you. It was so he knew that you were sorry, you were ashamed, you were annoyed by your past self from all those years.

You didn’t expect him to forgive you. Honestly and obviously, you didn’t hope for him to. You didn’t want him to. Was it revenge on yourself? In your own weird way?

That twisting feeling that maybe if he didn’t forgive you, you’d feel comforted by the thought. You felt he shouldn’t forgive you, and he doesn’t forgive you. Relief.

After going back to quietly eating for a few minutes, Fred made a proposal.

“Listen, how about we go out and do something tonight? I can make some dinner and we could take a trip? Give our minds a break.”

“Where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere.”

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[saffronish]

I love Destiel cuddles in bed about as much as the next person but I also can't stop thinking about Destiel and bickering in bed... Arguing about whose turn it is to get up and turn off the main light cause they both forgot about it when they first lay down and now they're too lazy to move. elbowing each other to budge over when it gets too hot or tugging at the blankets for one more square inch cause its so cold. "stop hogging all the blankets cas, its freezing over here" "im not hogging them you have a perfectly acceptable amount" "you're literally lying on half of them!" "I am not you're exaggerating" Sniping to each other about the most random thing that happened earlier in the day that either one or the other still hasn't forgotten about. dean trying to eat snacks on the bed but cas not letting him cause he doesn't like it when crumbs are left all over the place. Eventually dean convinces cas that the comfort is worth the effort of cleaning up afterwards but they still bicker over it occasionally. randomly arguing about music preferences. cas waking dean up in the middle of the night to tell him about a dream he had and dean groaning in exhaustion but letting him talk anyway even though he's barely listening, cause cas always sounds so awed and excited when talking about his dreams.

cas keeps bringing his books to bed because he loves reading late into the night (which is why he wakes up so late in the morning) and dean just wants to sleep but he cant cause the light's still on on cas' side. so dean pointedly nudges cas' foot with his own but cas ignores him. "come on cas' we have an early morning tomorrow jus sleep already" "no i'm at the best part stop talking" "caaaass ur killing me from sleep deprivation" "that's ridiculous, dean" dean tries to grab the book from cas' hands but cas immediately turns around to face the other side cause this has happened so many times before that he has started to expect dean's movements. dean's used to this as well tho so all he does is sit up abruptly and pluck the book out of cas' hands, snap it shut and bonk cas on the head with it. cas yelps and tries to get it back by turning back around, leaning over dean and reaching for it but dean's holding it above his head so he can't. cas ends up tryna pull deans arm down and they start playfully insulting each other "you're getting old, old man... cant even reach over me" "shut up, dean. i could push you over the edge if i wanted to" "oh yeah? try it" "is that a challenge?" and then they start fake wrestling and the book ends up on the floor and cas notices so he immediately flops himself over the edge of the bed tryna get it back but dean keeps pulling him back by the torso while muttering expletives under his breath because cas is heavier then he looks. the expletives eventually give way to whining about late nights and health problems and research they have to do in the morning. cas finally gives up and halfheartedly slaps at dean arm which is now pinning him down to keep him from moving. Eventually they fall asleep on their respective sides because now they're both hot and rly tired but they always wake up mashed together in the middle with their limbs all tangled so it doesn't matter in the end.

Sam can't sleep at night anymore cause of the noise (which he doesn't want to think about the origin of too closely even tho it's usually innocent). He moves to a bedroom further away from dean and cas' after about a week.

[schlattsgun]

Hello worm.

I have arrived, ready to speak my sub! schlatt request.

Schlatt bugging you at a public gathering- begging you to agree on going home

But like you no no wanna and he gets more and more persistent, eventually fully going quiet (introvert king)

Blah blah you drive home and yell at him, overstim and edging you get my vision??

Love ya gang

MDNI 18+

oooo i will do my best :3

gonna break this into two parts, if that’s okay !!!

part two will be the overstim while this part is more edging! :D in about a week if i don’t finish it earlier hehe

cw: sub!schlatt, dom!reader, gn!reader, brat!schlatt, edging, lmk if i missed any !!

“when are we leaving?”

“can we leave in about 15?”

“10 more minutes until we leave, right?”

you take a deep breath, he’s been asking to go home for the entirety of the event. you softly exhale through your nose, closing your eyes for a couple seconds.

“it feels like we just got here, baby. just give me half hour, okay?”

“no, i want to go. sooner rather than later.”

you glare at him, he’s usually bratty like this, but it’s getting in your nerves more than usual. you grab his hand, squeezing slightly,

“babe, it’ll be fine. just give me 30 more minutes, i promise we can go then. okay?”

he groans a response that’s good enough for you, as long as he’s off your back about leaving.

half an hour goes by and schlatt finds you as soon as he finds you. you’re in a small group of a couple friends, talking about what everyone’s up to. schlatt slides up beside you, tugging on your (his) hoodie sleeve. you look down at his actions, then look up to face him.

he looked so tired, he just wants to be home. you wrap up the conversation, saying your goodbyes as schlatt stays silent. you shake your head as you shove your shoes on, walking out the door and over to the passenger side of schlatt’s car. he gets in on his side, the sound of seatbelts buckling in tandem.

“do you always have to be difficult like this when we’re out? you kept coming up to me like my 3 year-old niece would!”

schlatt stews in his spot in the driver’s seat, staying quiet and focusing on getting home.

“jay, are you listening to me?”

he nods, glancing over at you before turning his eyes back to the road. you scoff, staring out the window, pissed off. he’s in for a world of hurt once he gets home.

schlatt eventually pulls into your driveway, turning off the car once he’s parked. you storm into the house, schlatt hot on your trail. he doesn’t say anything. he knows he’s the reason for your mood. maybe he did it on purpose?

once you’re both inside and the door’s closed, shoes kicked off, you grab him by the wrist and pull him to your bedroom. you close the door and push him onto your plush bed,

“why the fuck do you have to be so difficult. i wanted to have a nice night, yet you ruin it.”

you scold him, noticing a small smirk crawl up onto his face. you stare at him, grabbing his face to squeeze his cheeks to a forced pout.

“you know what you’re doing. stop being a little brat.”

you spoke as you unbuckle his belt, pulling his pants past his ankles. you toss them and his shirt to the floor, crawling up on the bed. you move his legs so you’re sitting between them, but with his legs wrapped around your still clothed torso. you watch him as his cock starts to chub in his boxers, yeah he knows what’s about to go down.

you slowly tease schlatt’s half hard cock, touching him slowly. he lets out a loud moan, which makes you remove your hand. he whines, his hips bucking as he wanted more. you looked at him sternly, gripping his cock,

“you think you’re gonna get what you want? after all you did tonight? you’ll get what i give you and that will be enough, dummy.”

you slowly move the waistband of his underwear down so his cock bounces out. he moans, his head lolling to the side. you move around so you’re on your knees sitting behind him, hands wrap around his torso and under his arms so you can pump his cock from behind. he whines once again, head leaning behind him onto your shoulder. keeping a steady hand, you play with his cock up until he tells you he’s gonna cum. you stop and pull away each time, making him whine.

“told you i wasn’t letting you have your way, gonna edge you forever baby. how does that sound?”

a mix of a shriek and a groan fell from schlatt’s lips, bucking his hips slightly. your other hand pushes his hips down onto the bed.

“no more of this baby, or i’ll tie you up with the vibe. is that what you want?”

“i just wanna cum, please.”

he whispers out of breath. he sounds so desperate, you can tell by the way his tummy keeps clenching that he’s gonna cum. you let go of him entirely,

“told you i’m not letting you do what you want, you’re gonna hold it.”

schlatt let out a small cry, he was in for a rough night :3

-

wrote with my dick SORRY

reblogs/comments are v appreciated!!! inbox me anything!

[redandgreyscale]

As an apology for cruel asks,

Sunrosechaserkiller cuddle time and massages and hangout time, after a slytherin vs. Ravenclaw/hufflepuff quidditch game, where slytherin wins and after getting showered and celebrating, the group are taking care of and praising Regulus' seeker skills and any other slytherin you headcanon as a Quidditch player.

And ft. Regulus being an embarrassed mess if youre good with that.

Thanks for this! They are all quidditch players. All of them. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin games are a mess but anyway that's for another day ✨ James is the only one in the Gryffindor stands shouting for Slytherin and it is so fun like he's so supportive is ridiculous but we love our little sunshine boy <3

By the time the Slytherin team gets to the locker room, James is already there waiting, almost vibrating with how much energy he has. Evan is the first one to enter the room so he's the one James kisses first, jumping on him and walking backwards from the impulse. They kiss and laugh and when they pull away for air, James jumps on Regulus, the next one standing closer.

"You did so good today I'm so proud" he says between kisses, grabbing Reg's face and kissing it all.

"Hey kiss me too, dumbass" Barty pushes him to get some attention too, and he gets it.

It's more passionate with Barty, it always is. They kiss until James is backed into a wall and then kiss some more until Evan makes them pull apart because "guys there's a lot of people here, keep it in your pants".

So James is forced to leave the room and wait outside.

He waits with the biggest smile on his face and bouncing back and forth on his toes.

Eventually they all get out and head to the Slytherin dorms. James jumps between them, praising every single mobe they made on the game and saying how good they are and how amazing they looked and—

"Sit down, James" Regulus says once they're inside the dorm. James sits on the edge of the bed, and even like that he doesn't stop moving "I know you want to help my love but we are very tired, can you do something for us?"

That's how James ends up sitting on top of Regulus and massaging his back. He practically moans at the relief on his muscles and the weight of James.

Evan and Barty sit on the bed beside them and work on loosing each other's muscles too, hands pressing on legs and arms and kissing a lot.

"Hey Reg, we wouldn't have won without you, good job today" Barty murmurs as his hands slide down the back of Evan's neck, the sides of it and moving to his arms.

"Yeah, you were amazing" Evan says in a breath, his head hanging forward as Barty keeps working him out.

James can't see Regulus' face because he's covering it with his arms (and he's sure Reg's doing it on purpose), but he can see the blush going all the way to his ears and down his neck. Oh so he's liking the praise.

James keeps up with it, talking nonstop of how good Regulus is and how he's the best seeker of all the teams and how he can't even focus on his own games when he's on the field. Barty and Evan pick up what he's doing soon enough and get closer to the bed, then start touching Regulus too.

It's not even massaging anymore, just caressing his body, playing with his hair and kissing between them. It's easy like this, it's good. A bit of calm on the storm their lives are.

[electric-plants]

hehe new week which meanssss it’s time to finally get inazuma’s glider which is ALSO the last one i need :3

[lxnarphase]

𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !

❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k

❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk

❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!

the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.

after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.

you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.

it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.

there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?

well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.

you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.

it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.

has...has he always looked that handsome?

he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.

"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.

"mm."

slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door

"good."

dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.

he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.

you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.

once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.

his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.

modest, yet sensual.

"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...

you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.

"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"

it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.

a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...

it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.

"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"

such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.

It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.

but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.

the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.

his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.

calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.

even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.

"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.

the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.

neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.

sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?

they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.

'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.

however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.

"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.

"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.

he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."

with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.

you were this aroused just from...talking?

the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.

you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!

you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.

but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!

a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.

if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.

no true man of god would do such a thing.

"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."

giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.

something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.

so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.

a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.

he's so fucked.

"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.

the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.

this is what it felt like?

this is what he waited for?

fuck, it felt...it felt so good.

too good.

for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.

little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.

his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.

no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.

the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.

meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.

the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.

the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.

"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.

“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.

but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.

nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.

look at her.

those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.

so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.

"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"

messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.

he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.

how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?

doesn't she know she's giving into lust?

doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?

"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.

nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.

but he's lying to himself.

he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.

the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.

"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."

he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.

his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.

you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.

“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”

be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.

the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.

fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.

but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.

breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.

with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.

this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.

"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.

"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.

his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."

a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,

"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.

if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.

"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."

he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.

"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.

nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.

"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."

that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.

it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.

no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.

the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.

"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.

he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.

"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."

with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.

the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.

your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.

not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.

"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.

you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.

"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.

no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—

"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.

"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"

with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.

it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.

a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.

oh.

you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...

his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.

it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.

"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."

but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.

"k-kento, that's nasty!"

all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.

clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.

but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.

"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?

"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."

may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[freaktoru]

DO WHAT YOU WANT WITH ME BABY!

✰ pairing: nanami kento x fem!reader ✰ summary: after several sexless months of a very vanilla marriage, nanami kento learns how his slutty wife actually likes to be fucked. wc; 4.1k ✰ warnings: food play, a tiny bit of ass play, dirty talk, unprotected sex, praise, fingering, pet names, very light bondage, hair pulling, some very sweet after care, nanami is soo addicted to his wife, honestly just pure filth. 18+ MDNI

your sex life with your husband was basically dead—buried so deep, it felt like it might never come back.

i mean, you shouldn't be surprised right? when you got married, everyone warned you it would be this way. “just wait until the honeymoon phase is over”, “wait until work gets in the way”, “wait until you start sleeping in separate beds” they told you. although you thankfully hadn’t made it to the third phase yet, you didn't believe them—at least not at first.

the first few months of your marriage felt purely euphoric—like a drug you just couldn't get enough of. you were bathing in the seemingly never ending marital bliss, convinced that nothing could have come between you and your husband— at least not when the two of you were fucking like animals in heat, absolutely devouring each other no matter where the pair of you were. well, it seems life has a way of being deceiving, doesn't it?

so here you were, only one year into your marriage and somehow, sex had completely fallen off your marriage itinerary. you don’t even know how it happened. your work lives took over, and the honeymoon rush had slowly but surely died out. your daily orgasms slowly turned into weekly orgasms which eventually turned into none. the number of times you and your husband have had sex in the last few months has been a big, fat, zero. your revised daily routine now looked a little like this: wake up, breakfast, work, dinner, sleep. exciting right?

kento was a very busy man—you couldn't blame him. he was always working overtime, always being pushed past his limits by his boss and always coming home completely and utterly exhausted. but that didn't change the stark reality—your marriage had become painfully sexless, and severely depressing. and you’d endured months of this silent, dry torture before you finally stepped up and decided you had had enough.

you and nanami were a picture perfect couple—that much was obvious from just looking at the two of you. you had the perfect wedding, the perfect house and perfect vanilla sex. though, despite its initial merits, clearly it hadn't gotten you very far—not if you found yourself so sexless this early into your marriage.

you couldn't let your marriage go down like this, you simply wouldn't. something had to change; you both knew that. the only question was, who would be the one to fix it first? so, you finally mustered up the courage to tell your husband you were sick and tired of the drought, and you were more than ready to break this invisible wall which had stood between you two for months.

when you told nanami that you wanted him to fuck you nasty, whenever and however he pleased without so much as a warning— naturally, his cock hardened, and nanami had displayed the rarest of his facial expressions: shock. though, despite his obvious shock, he was just as desperate to bridge the painful distance between the two of you.

so, of course he agreed— because nanami kento was not one to deny his beautiful wife.

and then it began—the waiting game. a semblance of hope finally returned as a light in your plain, boring days and the thrill of the unknown had you going absolutely feral. not knowing when and if he was going to fuck you had you living through your day to day life in a constant state of need and arousal. you finally felt yourself getting closer and closer to the light at the end of the tunnel where a long, loving marriage awaited you.

it had only been two days since your conversation when he walked into your shared apartment after work, and saw you standing behind the kitchen island in the tiniest, sluttiest white dress, preparing his favorite after dinner dessert—apple pie. what a perfect, thoughtful wife you were.

you looked up from the recipe book to see him standing in the doorway, looking exhausted and overworked as usual but, also looking remarkably handsome in his clean suit. gosh. he had just walked through the door and already your warm and wet arousal was settling comfortably in your panties.

“hi kento, how was work?” you asked softly, your lips pulled into a light smile.

“tiring” he replied, his voice an octave deeper than normal. he must have worked very hard if he sounded this exhausted, you thought. his bag dropped to the ground with a thud and he took his shoes off followed by his blazer, leaving just his dress shirt and pants on. you watched him intently as he walked over to where you stood behind the kitchen island, rolling up his sleeves and throwing his tie on the marble surface.

you flinched as he wrapped his big arms around your waist, welcoming the warm yet unexpected touch. he nuzzled his stubbly face in the crook of your neck, placing feather light kisses along its delicate skin. you let out small, pathetic whimpers, feeling another rush of heat settle in your core. your slick would start dripping through your panties and onto the floor if you didn't fix this soon.

“my dear wife, i didn’t know you were so dirty” he mumbled into the sensitive flesh of your neck, lightly nibbling at it, and leaving a trail of wet kisses down it’s stretch. fuck. why had the two of you ever stopped doing this in the first place?

“w-what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly, already feeling worked up from his minor act of intimacy. he inhaled your sweet vanilla scent—relishing in it, before he spoke up.

“yes kento, i want to be fucked” he started, while slowly snaking his fingers down the side of your dress. “whenever you want, however you want” he finished, mocking you sweetly with your own filthy words from just days ago. he was playing with you, baiting you—and you were falling right into his waiting hands.

his fingers met with your soaked panties as you leaned your head back onto his shoulder, feeling him rub slow, lazy, teasing circles on your clothed clit, leaving you wishing you skipped the panties entirely when you got dressed this morning.

“is that not what you told me just a few days ago, my dear?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, watching you in amusement as you squirmed under his light touch. he’d barely given you anything yet your head was already clouded with arousal, making you literally tremble with need. dirty, dirty girl. “mhmmm” you hummed in response, not bothering to utter any words. not when you were so busy relishing in your husbands sweet proximity—a proximity you hadn’t felt for months.

“if i had known my wife was such a slut—” he said, slowly moving your wet panties aside with two long fingers “maybe we would’ve never had this issue in the first place” he finished, his deep, velvety voice sending little shivers racing across your skin. you closed your eyes, letting out sweet little mewls and whimpers while he toyed with your drenched pussy.

“k-kento” you moaned, desperate for more. it just wasn't enough. after so many celibate months, you were brimming with need, ready to burst at any given moment.

“yes baby? what is it?” his coo was sweet and honeyed. he toyed with you like a doll, teasingly pushing his fingers in and out of you, slowly pushing each and every coherent thought out of your mind, leaving you in a hazy, blur of need.

“ah— i n-need more” you whined pathetically in response, reaching a trembling hand up to the nape of his neck while your knuckles turned white on the other from your desperate grip on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“more what sweetheart? use your words for me” he practically purred in your ear, his voice a soft caress. the bastard knew exactly what he was doing, teasing you like this.

he pressed himself closer against you, removing your dress strap from your shoulder to give himself easier access to your tits. you bit your lip, desperately stifling your moans as he seized a handful of your breast, kneading and teasing the supple flesh, his fingers rolling your nipple with a torturous precision. fuck him.

"p-please kento, want you t-to make me feel g-good" you let out, voice shallow and breathy. your whines and moans were music to his ears, and he vowed they would be the only sound he ever craved to hear again.

you let yourself surrender to the waves of pleasure that coursed through your body as nanami pumped two of his thick, long fingers in and out of you. god, what a sight you were for him—eyes squeezed shut, rosy-cheeked and completely breathless. until this moment, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed in these last few sexless, stressful months he had lived through.

you whimpered a desperate plea as your husband pulled his fingers out, leaving you teetering on the edge of release. no, he was not going to give it to you that easy— especially not after this long of a wait. he turned you around to face him, and in one swift motion, lifted you onto the kitchen counter, the cold marble cooling the burning, aroused skin of your thighs. you felt a strong, big hand grab your waist while the other rest on the soft skin of your cheek. he looked at you through lust filled, hazel eyes—admiring his irresistible wife.

growing impatient, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to yours. "kento" you breathed against his lips, desperate for more of his attention. no matter how much he gave you, you felt it would never be enough to make up for all the time you missed with your husband.

he kissed you softly, mapping every inch of your mouth with his wet tongue. you flinched, as he caught your lip between his teeth, teasingly biting down and nibbling on it before pulling away and leaving you whining and aching all over again. removing his hand from your cheek, he reached his arm around you and picked up the bottle of whipped cream that stood with the rest of the pie ingredients.

"my dear wife, when was the last time you made me this pie? the day after our wedding?" he chuckled deeply, studying the can in his hands.

"thought you'd like it" you mumbled, embarrassed by his mocking tone. you'd never seen him like this. his expression was one—in all your years of dating and one year of marriage—you've never seen him display. he looked hungry. a hunger that went beyond satisfying his human needs—this hunger looked feral, almost primal and he looked ready to do whatever it took to satisfy it.

nanami took a step back, opening your legs further apart to give him a better view of all your sweetest parts. you watched him flick the cap off the whipped cream can, buzzing with impatience as you waited for his next move. a strong hand pushed the fabric of your skimpy linen dress up to your waist, and you almost jumped when he sprayed some on your leg.

"ah- kento, what are you doing?" you gasped, looking down at your bare thigh, where a cute little heart of whipped cream was now drawn.

"apologizing to my sweet wife" he muttered, placing the can back down on the counter. he leaned his head down to your thigh, one of your hands instantly tangling itself in his hair. that's right. this is how nanami kento would apologize for all your missed orgasms—for unknowingly denying his wife.

his tongue met with your leg and he began slowly dragging it up and down the skin of your thigh, licking up all the cream that sat in the shape of a heart. a soft moan escaped your parted lips, and you tugged on his hair to pull his head up despite him not being finished.

"dear husband, when did you become so dirty?" you echoed his earlier words right back at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you locked eyes with his ravenous gaze. there it was, that hunger— that pure look of desire which you hoped would never disappear from his eyes. marriage was hard but in this moment you were both convinced that doing this every night, would make it feel effortless. nanami only smirked lightly before diving his head back down to meet your trembling thigh. that's right, he had you trembling with need—that's how desperate you were for his touch.

strong hands held your thigh down as he finished licking the heart of whipped cream on your leg. this was an interesting way to apologize to say the least. he lifted himself up, locking eyes with you as he slowly licked the last traces of cream from his lips. holy fuck, you almost came from the sight alone.

moving his hands, he pulled your dress over your head, leaving you in just your skimpy, soaked, panties. "so beautiful" he rasped, drinking you in with just his gaze while grabbing the can and getting to work on your tits. you giggled, watching him spray two hearts of whipped cream, one around each of your nipples.

"baby you- ah" the words died on your lips as he began licking the cream, finishing off with a light nibble that had your toes curling from pleasure. with a groan, he worked his way to the other one, sending chills down your spine and whimpers past your lips. one thing was for sure—nanami knew exactly what he was doing. and he wasn't going to stop.

"please" you whined desperately— impatiently. nanami was holding you on the brink of release, dangling your orgasm right in front of you before ripping it right back when you were about to finish. it was fucking frustrating.

so many nights, while nanami stayed late at work, you lay in your shared bed, desperate and aching, your fingers working tirelessly—trying, and failing, to replicate the feeling of his. little did you know that your dear husband spent his time in similar ways. in the late hours of the night while you were soundly asleep, he stood in the giant two person shower of your shared bathroom, hand wrapped around his veiny cock, warm water streaming down his body, pumping himself endlessly. he tried, he really tried. but nothing—nothing could compare to the addictive pleasure that came from your warm, tight walls clenching around his cock or the heavenly feeling of your soft, wet lips wrapping him so sweetly. yes, it was safe to say you were both very desperate and very frustrated.

"you wanted it nasty baby, that's exactly how i'll give it to you" he groaned in your ear moments before you were flipped face down onto the counter, toes barely touching the floor. you had awakened something inside him, and now that you'd gotten a taste of this nanami, you never wanted to go back.

you craned your neck to look back at him, watching him unbutton his now crumpled white dress shirt. he met your gaze, smiling at you while he reached beside you to grab his tie. you had never reacted to your husband this viscerally before. just the mere sight of him was intoxicating, leaving your head light and hazy, as if you were drunk on his presence alone.

he moved your hands behind your back, crossing them over each other before binding them together with his tie. a light moan escaped you, and you wiggled your hands, getting a feel for the restraint.

"spread your legs" he ordered, his suddenly stern and commanding voice only fueling the desperate throb between your thighs. you obeyed, stepping your toes further apart to allow him to stand between your legs.

you'd never thought you'd be this pliable, this eager to please. but here you were, pushed against the marble counter, wrists tied and ready to fulfill any of his wishes and demands—no matter how filthy. nanami held a dangerous level of control over you and your body, and the thought of wanting it any other way terrified you. surely this is what addiction felt like.

you flipped your head over to the other side, enjoying the cooling feeling of the marble against your burning cheek while you watched him pick up his handy whipped cream once again. guess he wasn't done with that huh.

"kento" you whined, indulging in the slow, sweet pleasure but impatiently needing more than just the teasing he was giving you. it wasn't fair. you had waited long enough.

"ah ah, so impatient, my dear wife" he clicked his tongue, grabbing hold of your wrists. you shuddered slightly when you felt the cold whipped cream meet with your tight holes. oh. he placed the can down, and got on his knees, still holding your bound wrists tightly with one hand and squishing the flesh of your soft thighs with the other. he dragged his tongue up all the way from your clit to your ass, licking up the string of cream he had drawn on you just moments before.

god, this man was filthy. his tongue lingered around your rear entrance, licking playful circles around it and prodding it with his tongue. the initially foreign feeling slowly grew on you, shooting warm pulses of pleasure through every vein in your body and deep into your aching core.

he dragged his tongue away from your tight ring, lapping up the last bits of cream left around your drenched cunt. you clenched your fists, desperate to hold something—anything to help you cope with the overwhelming pleasure you felt.

"kento— e-enough, i need you inside me" you uttered, unable to contain your restless, writhing need for him any longer.

"fine, if my beautiful wife so desires" he replied lazily, letting out a low laugh. you heard him unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the ground while he unzipped his pants. finally.

"my dirty, filthy wife" he muttered, idly pumping his hard, veiny cock with one hand. before you could protest, his fat, leaking tip found itself at your seeping entrance, prodding the wet flesh around it. you heard him suck in a sharp breath, a low hiss slipping from his lips as he pushed into you slowly, stretching you so wide that your eyes fluttered to the back of your head.

"nngh- ah" you moaned at the feeling of his tip reaching your cervix. he was sheathed inside you, waiting for your quivering body to adjust to his thick length. nanami was huge—there was no denying it. no matter how many times you had taken his cock, it was always an adjustment for you.

wiggling your hips, you tried to get as comfortable as you could on the hard, white marble countertop while he started slowly moving his cock in and out of you. "i-i haven't ah-adjusted" you whined, needing more time to get used to him. after all, the months of fucking yourself with your small fingers were nothing compared to your husbands cock.

but nanami only said, "you can take it" whilst speeding up to an almost frantic pace. you felt like you were going to fucking break. but don't say you didn't ask for this. you exposed your most vulnerable self to your husband just days before, begging to be treated like this. so yeah, you asked for it. and he was only doing what his wife desired.

nanami began to question his sanity. he never cracked under pressure, no matter the circumstance, but he felt his once strong grasp on his self control now slipping through his fingers. yup. this felt almost too good to be real—like he was either high on the most potent drug or finally losing his damn mind. he couldn't recall the last time he'd ever felt like this—not even during all the other times you had sex. you just felt that good in this moment.

each thrust had you crying out and clenching around him tighter and tighter—reassuring you that this marriage could be saved, that your sex life was not dead forever. your mind was swimming in pleasure and pain, the head of his cock kissed your cervix so roughly yet so sweetly. you silently said your final goodbyes to the sweet, innocent, vanilla versions of yourselves, and welcomed this new beginning for your marriage. you wanted this version of nanami for the rest of your life.

he fisted a handful of your hair, quite literally pulling you out of your lustful haze. nanami wrapped the strands around his hand once, securing you in place—not that you had any intention of being anywhere else anyway.

"fuck- baby you feel so fucking good" he growled from behind you, his breaths slowing into heavier, raspier ones. push. pull. push. that's what this fucking felt like. your scalp ached from the strong pull on your hair and your pussy throbbed from how hard he fucked you. your bodies fused together, connecting with each of his slams inside of you.

"nngh k-kento gonna c-cum" you stuttered out. he had you so fucked out on his cock you were barely able to even think, let alone form a sentence. it was fucking pathetic.

"yeah- f-fuck come for me" his voice came out in a ragged breath and his erratic pace began to slow into a more languid, agonizing one. he couldn't help himself—he wanted, no— needed to feel every single muscle along your tight walls clench around his cock. nothing felt better than this.

a desperate cry ripped from your throat as your entire body tensed, the long built up pressure in your core finally snapping free. your breath hitched, and you surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensation, finally unraveling around him. your walls clenched and throbbed, milking his cock with every pulsating wave of pleasure that coursed through your body.

"that's it, good girl" nanami purred behind you, feeling his cock throb deep inside you— the unmistakable sign of his climax finally reaching him. he went still, letting his cum spill out inside of you as he came down from his high. he gently untangled his hand from your hair letting your head drop back down onto the counter top.

your eyes were shut and your body was limp. there was no way that you’d be able to get up and walk around— at least not for a while. you felt your husband finally pull out of you, hearing him buckle his pants back up. warm hands met with your still trembling body, and he gently flipped you over, scooping your body up into his arms. not a single word would come out of you. you were fucking spent.

“my love” he whispered softly, placing you onto the plush bed of your shared bedroom. you looked up at him through half lidded, blurry eyes. “hm?” you hummed out, hoping that was enough of an answer for him.

“let’s take a bath” he said simply and you nodded in response. you could use a warm soothing bath right about now. he stalked into the bathroom and you heard the water turn on. he came out naked moments later, and picked you up off the bed, carrying your limp, exhausted body to the bathroom.

he lowered himself in, and you followed, sitting in between his thighs, his huge frame towering over you from behind. he pushed you lightly to sit up and you obeyed, tilting your head backwards to give him easier access to your hair. he began running his long fingers through the strands, untangling the little knots that resulted from his pulling earlier. you hummed lightly at the feeling, enjoying this small, sweet act of intimacy.

he moved his hands down to your shoulders momentarily, placing light, wet kisses on each one, and a few down the length of your back. “you did so good for me” he whispered sweetly, his gentle praise sending a rush of warmth through you.

god. you loved your husband. he was so caring and so tender, and moments like these made sure to remind you of that. you hoped you’d never have to experience another drought in your marriage like that again and you would do anything to make sure it stayed the way it was in this very moment.

“kento?” you spoke up softly, eyes still closed and head thrown back as he began to lather your hair with your vanilla scented shampoo. “yes my love?” he asked in response, waiting to hear what you mustered up all your remaining strength to say.

“i didn't finish baking the pie" you said, letting out a soft laugh. so much for being thoughtful.

he let out a deeply chuckle in return, recalling how adorable you looked, baking in a cute little white dress. he'd never eat his favorite pie again if it meant sex like that for the rest of his life.

he lowered his mouth to your ear and whispered "it's okay, i already had my favorite dessert"

a/n: holy shit if u made it this far thank you so much for reading. this ended up being wayyyyyy longer than i planned it to be but i had such a good time with this <3

[inbabylontheywept]

Reach Heaven (Through Violence)

When I was in 2nd grade, my school started a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. I want to emphasize that I started out very excited for this program. I was a small, visibly autistic child on a playground with fourth graders on it. In theory, this program might as well have been called The Rescue Babs Initiative. 

In practice, however, zero-tolerance programs almost always sink into madness. The motivations never line up right - too many incentives for cheating.

The first victim of the program was actually my friend, Sam. I was standing next to him in line when one of the fourth graders gut punched him. There was no reason for the punch, he was just small and in arm's reach. Sam got the wind knocked out of him, but he managed to gasp out the phrase stupid motherfucker right as the playground aide ran over to keep the peace. 

(Sam had an incredible vocabulary for a 2nd grader. Consequence of his dad being a recently divorced mechanic.)

Puncher got a two week suspension. That was fine. But Sam got a one week one for verbal abuse, which was beyond the pale. But that’s just what zero-tolerance is, right? No hitting became a rule everyone had to follow, and it didn't stop when someone hit us. So our options as kids were to somehow make like Jesus and ascend up to heaven… or solve things ourselves. 

We started solving things ourselves. 

I'll be honest, I think that was always the plan. A school can do a lot of things to reduce bullying, but if the goal is zero, there's only one path forward: Shoot the messenger. 

---

My part in the story was a few weeks after that. Long enough to know that the school's new unofficial policy was to suspend kids that reported problems, short enough to have no idea how to defend myself. It turned out the 4th grader that hit Sam was part of a trio, and that trio had their sights on me next. 

I asked some of my classmates what to do, and they said that the best idea was to just ignore the bullies. Refuse to give them a reaction. That was dogshit advice, but it was common enough in the early 2000s and it's not like I can fault 2nd graders for not knowing much about life. 

Anyway. I took the advice and I ignored my bullies. I ignored them when they said nasty things about my mom, and I ignored them when they bounced soccer balls off my head, and the one time I broke was when the biggest of the trio grabbed my arm hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises. We were watching a movie in the gym when he did that, and I leaned over and told him he could hold my hand if he was scared of the dark. Which worked, thank God. The grip hurt bad enough I had to excuse myself for a bit to keep my composure. 

I think a more mentally flexible kid would've changed strategies by then. Clearly, things were escalating. But it's hard for me to change my mind, so I stuck to my bad strategy, right up until the day the big kids caught me after school. I was crossing the baseball field when they got me. It was just one of those places you had to walk through to make it to the bike rack. 

The big guy, again, was the instigator. He pushed me down then stood over me, yelling for me to get back up. But I knew that if I got back up, he'd just push me down again, and for whatever reason, their Bully Code didn't allow for kicking a kid that was already down. So I stuck to the grass, and they tried a bunch of things to goad me into standing back up. Eventually, I started kicking at them while on my back, and one of them took the opportunity to grab my leg. Second bully thought that looked fun, so he grabbed my other leg. Kicking me like that was off limits, but dragging wasn't, so they just started pulling me around that way. 

They were so much taller than me that I was almost vertical during the pull so all my weight was put on my shoulders. And the fields were just made of unkind stuff. There was crushed gravel all over the place, spilled out from the divider between the big kid playground and the little kid playground, so every time they dragged me over a piece it just ripped a new gouge up my back. The ground itself was sunbaked caliche and dead crabgrass. There was a grit to it, like sand stuck to the outside of a clay pot. 

It grated all the skin off my upper back. Everything between the bottom of my neck to the bottom of my shoulder blades. I don't know at what points I went from yelling, to screaming, to just crying, but I did, and I know they seemed almost giddy every time it changed. Eventually they finished off with one loop around the baseball diamond and that hurt the worst. The dust there stuck to the snot and spit all over my face and made it into a foul mud, and the same happened in my shirt. The dust stung like salt, and the gravel in the lines tore open a few more cuts for dirt to pour in. I remember them stopping, and actually crying again I was so relieved. It was done. Thank God, it was finally done. They were done hurting me. 

They left me on my back near homebase. They'd finally got the reaction they were looking for.

It took me a few minutes after that to stagger back to my feet. I was able to wash the snot-mud off my face in the bathroom, but I couldn't bring myself to touch my back. It just felt like it was on fire. Then I made it back to the bike rack. 

That’s where my older sister, Liz, was waiting for me. She was just a grade ahead of me but it always felt bigger than that. There’s some deep weight associated with being the oldest. She could see that I was dirty and tear soaked so she asked what happened. I didn’t know how to put it in words, so I just tried lifting my shirt to show her. It made a sticky, tacky sound coming up - like the plastic coat coming off a slice of American cheese. Tchhhhk. 

I didn’t know how bad they’d got me before I heard that noise.

She looked at my back for maybe two seconds before telling me to put my shirt back down. I never actually looked at it when it was fresh, but I still had straggling scars by the time I got to highschool. Long silver-grey lines, visible mostly for the dirt still stuck in them. She looked a little sick when I turned around, but she kept it cool, which I really appreciated. I always hated crying in public, and I was half a hair from crying all over again. I don't think I'd have been able to keep it together if she'd freaked out too. 

Instead, she just asked me some questions. Who did this, how long they’d been doing it, what I’d been doing, if I’d told anyone. Some 4th graders, a month, trying to ignore them, nobody. 

She mulled those answers over. I could see her trying to chart a course forward - trying to figure out what it would take to solve this problem for good. She's always had this weird, sad, blank face that she'd make when she found a solution she didn't like. She'd make that face, then think some more, then make the face. Then think. 

Eventually, she just made the face. 

Don't tell the parents, she said. I can fix this. But only if you don’t tell them. 

I believed her. She was the most capable person I knew, and her word was gold. So I didn't tell our parents. I biked home, and every drop of sweat that rolled down my back felt like acid on my skin. I remember getting home and beelining straight to the bath, because I needed something to put the fire out. Took that as my moment to cry it out again too. First time I'd cried was from pain, but the second time was from the cruelty. Second time took longer, but the nice thing about a cold bath is that the water never runs out. I could just pop the plug out with my toes and just keep rinsing and draining and rinsing and draining until my mind was as clean and empty and stark as the tub itself. Then I could go fill that emptiness up with Calvin and Hobbes. 

It worked.

Mostly. 

---

I spent the whole next week feeling nervous anytime I was outside and Liz wasn't nearby. Some days she'd beat me to the bike racks, and I'd be relieved as hell to just go home. Other days, I'd be the first one out, and then I'd have to spend a few minutes worrying about what I'd do if the big kids showed up. But they never did. Liz always got there just a few minutes later, and I'd pretend I hadn't been planning escape routes.

Friday, I was sweating by myself when she showed up a few minutes later than normal. She unlocked her bike but she didn't move to leave. She had this big, long cable-type lock, maybe  six feet of braided steel. She folded it over in her hands so it looked like a swatter and swung it a few times in the air. Made it whistle like a falling anvil in a cartoon.

Today's baseball practice, she said. All Our Guys are on the baseball team. 

Our Guys. Odd phrasing. Also, I actually hadn't known that about them, but I nodded along anyway. She wasn't really looking at me as she talked - she was inspecting the lock.

My plan, she continued, is to wait here until baseball's done. Me and you. When it gets time I'll send you outside the bike cage.

The cage was a chain link fence, maybe six feet tall, built all around the rack. They’d lock it after school as an extra precaution against bike thieves. 

Your job, she continued, will be to hold the gate closed after they're all in. Keep em’ stuck. Think you can do that? 

She was being very frank, which helped me think clearly. I didn't think I could actually hold the gate closed if all of them ran into it at once, but I knew where a big half broken cinder block was, and I knew if I could wedge it in there, it would hold. So I told her that. 

Great, she said. Do that. 

Then I went to go get the block. She gave the cable a few more experimental swings, right as I made it around the corner. 

I'd been thinking in straight lines before that. Just meeting goals. It wasn't until that moment that I really allowed myself to know what was happening. That I allowed myself to have a choice. 

I chose to jog a little faster. I wanted revenge. 

---

I came back with the block a few minutes later, then we just talked like nothing was happening. The sun was shining, and we’d both gotten into bionicles, and it was easy to talk and be people. Normal, happy people. 

But that feeling went away when I heard the coach tweet a long whistle. Me and Liz both knew that was the signal that practice was done. I walked out and got my bric while she folded the cable in half in her hand again. Then we both waited. 

Eventually I saw the kids that drug me around the baseball diamond emerge from behind the portables. I watched them make a straight line back to the bike rack. They were laughing together, having a good time. Being normal. Like me and my sister. I realized I could let things be normal too. I saw my chance to let things go softball pitched to me, nice and easy, and I didn't even bother to swing. I didn't want normal anymore. I wanted this. I knew why my sister had that lock, and I'd thought about it, and I liked it.  

God help me, I think I needed it. 

The kids went inside the bike cage. I gave them ten paces head start, then put the cinder block under the gate. That was the signal Liz had been waiting for. 

She blitzed those boys. There were three of them, and the smallest still had two inches on her, so they probably would have kicked her ass if they ever had a moment to think. But she never gave them that moment. She picked the biggest kid, and decided he needed the first blow. I remember how much muscle she put into that swing - the cable was so heavy, and she was so small, that it kind of swung her back as she made that first half spin. Like a dog getting wagged by its own tail. 

It was a perfect connection. Flawless. She swung through her target, not at it, and the resulting slap that the cable made bouncing off the biggest kid's stomach was loud enough to echo through the cage. It brought a tear to my eye. It brought a tear to his eye too. 

The trio split after that, bouncing around the cage like fresh broke billiards. I can't describe how Liz did it, exactly, but she managed to chase the boys back together so she could hit them all more efficiently. She had a real knack for getting them right between the shoulders, so I never got to see the real perfection of her work, but she wasn't above swinging for the arms or legs if that was all she had. Those marks I could see, and they were brutal. The welts were wider and thicker than my thumb, like giant purple worms were trying to burrow out of their skin. Some even bled. I cheered on every hit. 

Liz, for her part, just had a sort of grim, single minded determination to her. She was so angry she was shaking, and so scared that tears just kept running down her face, and she was grinning all the way back to her molars, but the grin didn't get any bigger after a solid hit than a glancing one. When the kids started blubbering, she didn't change her process. I'd spent my time crying, she'd spent her time crying, of course they were getting theirs in too: That's what violence does. It brings tears. Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind. 

Eventually, one of the kids split off from the main herd and scrambled up the fence, gecko-style. Liz let him go. It was either that, or take her attention off the other two. Easy choice. 

Now, there were two kids left, the big one, and one of his smaller friends. Smaller friend did the same trick. I was worried he was gonna turn back, fight me and open the gate for his buddy, but he just fled for the hills. I remember thinking, damn, I hope they never forgive each other for this. I hope this ruins their whole friendship. I hope this festers into something awful. 

The one kid that was left really was trapped though. He wasn't built for climbing and he had no one to work as a distraction for him. Every time he started trying to make it up the fence, my sister would just twist up like a spring, then swing the cable with both hands right into his spine. The slap it made every time she did that was loud enough to hurt my ears. He never made it more than two hits like that before hopping off the fence and just trying to run around some more. He could get Liz tangled up in the bikes for a bit if he really tried, but it never bought him enough time to actually get out. She'd always find her way out of the thicket, swing the cable, and send him running again. 

Eventually, he just couldn't run anymore. He sat down, and my sister hit him a few times, telling him to stand up. He refused. He knew he was gonna get hit either way, so he might as well get hit sitting down. He put his arms up after a bit and let those take a beating too. Eventually he just started begging her to stop. So she did. 

He cried he was so relieved. I remembered how that felt: It’s done. Thank God, it’s finally done. They’re done hurting me. 

Liz told me to come in and show him my back. I took my shirt off, and I showed him a scab as large as a dinner plate. Cracked up like dry river mud. 

He looked sick. Started babbling about how he didn't know. Said he thought I was crying because I was just a kid - that he didn't know he was actually hurting me. That he'd just wanted to get a rise out of me and didn't know it would take so much. 

He didn't know he'd gone too far until it was too late. 

And suddenly, it was like looking in a mirror. 

Two snotty, welted boys, crying alone in the dirt. Backs burning like fire. Ashamed. Trapped. Realizing that they'd just done something awful, and worse, that they’d dragged the people that meant the most to them along for the ride. 

I hated him more at that moment than when he drug me over gravel. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill anything but their own brokenness reflected. Looking at him was unbearable. Like staring straight into the sun. 

I could've hit him again if I hadn't just gorged myself on violence. But I had. I was fat with it, sick and aching - anything more and I would have puked. So I just told him to get his bike and go. Please. Just go. 

He did. He staggered to his feet, and he grabbed his bike before running away like all the demons in hell were following behind. All bar two. There was a swingset nearby, and once he was fully out of sight, Liz and I walked over to it. We picked two seats next to each other and sat for a while, talking until our hands stopped shaking. Can’t remember about what. We didn’t really know how to process what had just happened. Still don’t, to be honest. 

Then we went home.

---

Thanks to @elisabethdeep-blog, @foldingfittedsheets, @amateurmasksmith, @caramel-catss @arataya, and @rozenkingdom for being my alpha readers.

And thanks @lizardho, for being my first friend, my best friend, and my childhood bodyguard. I know it took a toll on you. I'm truly sorry.

[vxlvted]

pussy drunk!bang chan

pussy drunk!chan who is absolutely addicted to you. the moment he gets a taste, it’s over for him. he would start all slow and controlled, wanting to savor your reactions. but the second you moan his name or tug at his curls, his self control shatter.

he’s sloppy with it, getting so into it, he doesn’t care about how messy he gets. lips and chin completely covered but he loves it. he practically drowns himself between your thighs, gripping them so tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

he gets lost in you, moaning against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. when eventually pulls away for air, his voice is breathless, pupils blown wide. “You taste so fucking good, baby” he groans before diving back in like he’s starved.

he’s always talking between kisses, between long strokes of his tongue. whispering how much he loves this, how good you are for him, how he never wants to stops. when you pull his hair or grind against his face—his nose rubbing hard your clit—he whimpers, low and desperate like he’s the one being ruined.

if you try to push him away when it gets too much, he won’t budge. his arms will lock around your thighs, keeping you there as he murmurs “Just one more, baby…. just one more for me.” but it’s never just one more. once isn’t enough. twice isn’t enough. he could spend the entire night between your thighs and still wants more. he’ll kiss his way back up your body, his lips swollen and voice husky and plead, “again?”

he gets smug when your legs start to shake. he open his eyes briefly to watch as you grab at the sheets, his shoulders, your pillow, at anything you can. he loves watching you fall apart for him, because of him. “That’s it, let me hear you.”

and there’s no way he isn’t turned on while doing this. he gets hard from just eating you out. if he has you on your back, he’s grinding into the mattress, into the sheets. if he’s got you sitting on his face, he’s rutting up into nothing, only feeling the slight shift of his sweatpants when his hips thrust upwards. sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until he gets embarrassingly close.

If you ever just grab his hair and hold him there, he’s a goner. his moans get louder. vibrating against your folds. I’m a firm believer in Chan being a pleasure dom. he loves making you feel good, that includes you using him for your pleasure.

I’m also a firm believer in Chan having a praise kink. I feel like he’d rather be praised than degraded. the second you call him good—your good boy, good baby—he loses it. gripping your thighs even harder, pulling you closer and working his tongue even faster to make you come undone. He lives for your praise, and he’ll do anything to earn it.

once he’s finally had enough, he’s pressing soft kissing into your thighs, rubbing soothing circles into your skin as you slow your breathing. he’d be so gentle afterwards, holding you close and whispering how perfect you are, how much he loves you. and if you let him, he’s falling asleep with his head still inbetween your thighs, completely spent but happy.

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