#would love to get lessons one day
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meatsouuuuup · 1 year ago
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it is yearning for tap hours
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asterdeer · 16 days ago
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Y'ALL.
after just over 2 years of work, i finished the Ace Jon Quilt.
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inspired by @/speakerunfolding's fanart of jon jarchivist sims with an ace-colors quilt, which was so sweet and cozy and which is still one of my favorite pieces of jon artwork. anything unsightly in this quilt is original to my work; the fanart is adorable and lovely, 10/10, no notes.
as previously mentioned, i've been working on this quilt since late 2022, which means i started it when i was still pretty new to quilting. i batch-cut a bunch of pieces for the the gray squares, and they were a quarter inch too small, which doesn't sound like it should be a big deal! but it sure was! there is....... not as much lining up of the squares as there should be, and it does not lie particularly flat.
it's also the biggest quilt i've made - approx 7 x 9 feet. actually quilting it was a pain in the ass, which is why i didn't do as much of it as i probably should, but i love quilting with decorative stitches. i backed it with bubble/double gauze which i didn't want to put through the machine, so i did most of the quilting on the top and batting and tacked it to the backing by hand. the green thread is because, you know, tma, and also because why not throw some aro + agender garnish on the ace quilt?
ANYWAY. all the yapping to say. i love this quilt. it's messy and imperfect and i worked on it through a nearly month-long cold/headache to finish it, it's essentially all i've done since christmas besides sleep and watch arcane. don't look too close at anything about it except for the parts that i was not necessarily responsible for, but also......... look at it !!! this is currently my masterpiece and i can't wait to cuddle up underneath it properly.
#quilting tag#WE ARE DONE MY DUDES.#i'm pretty sure i've contracted an illness from working on this probably from inhaling batting fluff#because i Cannot Stop Coughing Or Sneezing#and it ALWAYS gets worse when i work on it#so i'm glad to leave behind the frustration of trying to finish what a younger stupider version of myself started#and also the effort of working thru a project that is clearly trying to kill me#and guess what. i would do it again for this thing#i seriously fucked up the binding on one end so i might do a bit of seam ripping and fix that#but compared to everything else i've had to do to finish this.......... might as well!#1) the gauze backing. i thought i bought enough to join for both backing and binding. i Did Not and had to graft some quilting cotton#on the back so it would fit.#2) the batting itself was like two inches short so i herringboned a strip on the end and there somehow STILL wasn't enough#3) I QUILTED THIS ON MY SHITTY LITTLE SINGER. AND BY HAND. ALL SEVEN FEET BY NINE FEET OF IT.#the day i did most of the quilting i thought i had genuinely injured my wrist and that was on the MACHINE#oh my god this would have been such a better experience if i were a better more precise quilter. unfortunately i can't do math#and can't sew in a straight line.#but guess what. all the fucked up problems i made for myself cannot stop me from loving this quilt#both for the ace jon art aspect and for the aspect of itself#genuinely i leveled up a few quilter levels making this and the most enduring lesson is STILL Measure Twice Cut Once#aster chat
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ghostclangen · 9 months ago
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Marshlily dreams of the Dark Forest again. The smell of rot fills her nostrils, and she retches, barely holding down the contents of her stomach. She’d dreamt about it every night for moons now, but she still can’t get used to the squelching of mud between her toes, the only sound in the uncannily silent expanse. What did she do to end up here, so far from StarClan?
She takes a few steps forward, but quickly stumbles. The shaking is worse here, rapid jerks that make it difficult to walk—not that trying to run away would save her. 
“Is anyone here?” she calls, as she always does; her words are chopped up by the tremors that wrack her body. It’s with a frozen feeling in her stomach that Marshlily realizes that that’s not the only thing cutting her off; in what feels like just seconds, her throat has become clogged with foul-tasting blood. She hacks it up, splattering red on the damp ground, but it just keeps coming, choking her more and more by the second no matter how much she coughs and splutters.
This hasn’t happened before. This is new. Panting between coughs, she stares down at the pool of blood that’s growing on the grass before her. She’s faint, fainter than she should be; it’s not so much a loss of blood that makes the world bleary, but a sort of … a sort of … Marshlily shakes her head, unable to think of some way to describe it but finding herself unable to think of the words. 
She digs her claws into the earth to keep herself grounded. Her mind, however, can’t be gathered so easily; the dissolving feeling lingers. I’m all apart, the part of her that remains within in her grasp thinks. Through a mouth of blood, she gives a garbled cry once again: “Is anyone here? Help me!” 
After a few moments of silence, Marshlily hangs her head and whines gutturally. Why does she even try anymore? Nobody ever answers …
And then someone does. 
A familiar voice echoes in her ears, high-pitched and scratchy: “Marshlily …”
Weakly, Marshlily lifts her head, her ears pricked. “... Hornetstar?” she asks. “Where are you?”
“We care about you, Marshlily.” “We need you, Marshlily.” “Come home, Marshlily.”
Marshlily looks frantically from side to side, looking for Celebi, Crageagle, and—her heavy heart jumps in her chest—Charredtail. “Where are you? Where is everyone? Did you come to rescue me?” 
As the voices continue, they begin to sound closer, and with some time, Marshlily can pinpoint the direction they’re from. She takes a wobbly step toward them, but she makes it only a few taillengths before the voices of her loved ones fall quiet and a piercing scream erupts inside her brain. It’s like that alien feeling she’s been having, but worse, overwhelming her senses. There are no words put to it, no way to understand what’s going on, just a desperate yowl. 
“Leave me alone!” Marshlily cries. “Let me go!” She sinks to the ground in a heap as the screeching continues and begins to scream herself, wearing her bleeding throat raw. Of course it wouldn’t let her go. Of course her only hope would be a trap. The dissolving feeling, which had dissipated slightly, comes back with a vengeance. She really could just lie there and give in—it’d be a lot less painful …
As soon as she resigns herself to the faintness, though, something cuts through the screaming. It’s faint, but it’s there, and little by little it gets louder until Marshlily can finally hear it clearly: “I love you, Marshlily. I’ll always love you.”
It takes Marshlily a few moments to recognize the voice, but when she does, her breath stops in her chest. “Mom?” she asks, her voice wobbling. “Mom, is that you?” Half-remembered memories float to her head: milk scent; a soft, murmuring voice; the warmth of her siblings snuggled up against her. 
The voice doesn’t answer. Instead, it continues, “You have to keep going.”
It’s with uncertaintly that Marshlily gets to her paws, and the screaming in the back of her head never relented, but nonetheless, she does. Her movements are jerky and discoordinated, and she stumbles over her paws more than once, but with nothing else to do, she follows the voices of her loved ones: “It’ll be okay, Marshlily.” “You have to keep trying.” “Just follow my voice …”
She can’t begin to tell how long it takes—it could have been minutes or days; they’re all the same here—but eventually, as Marshlily continues in her unsteady gait, something shifts behind the rotting trees. The air here is always a bit misty, but this is different: a hulking wall of fog hangs ahead of her, condensing in mere seconds as she approaches, as if it were waiting for her. 
Tentatively, Marshlily pads through the last few trees ahead of her and into a small clearing. She can see the fog clearly from here; it writhes like something alive, but she doesn’t find herself unsettled by the breath-like undulations. Instead, she’s overwhelmed by a feeling of welcomeness and love. She takes a few steps toward it and realizes something: she can walk straight now. The jerking has stopped, and when she swallows, she finds that there’s no taste of blood in her mouth any longer. She’s thinking clearer, too. 
“Come here,” a chorus of voices says, and Marshlily grits her teeth. What if it’s a trap? What if she never gets better? What if she falls right back into the thrall of whatever—whoever—is screaming inside her head? 
But then, what other choice does she have …? It’s stay here and dissolve into nothingness or risk the pain of whatever might lie on the other side. With just enough trust to allow the warmth of it, Marshlily braces herself and runs through.
She jolts awake into a world of silence. No, it’s not silent … there’s the birds, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the rushing water of a nearby stream. What’s silent is the inside of her head: no screaming; no vicious, alien thoughts; just her own internal monologue, so much clearer than it has been in moons.
Marshlily takes a few breaths in and out, in and out, then closes her eyes shut. What if this is just a dream? What if this is the Dark Forest playing tricks on her? How can she trust it? 
Tentatively, she brings herself to her paws and stares out across the land; she’d run far from the Cavern the night before, but she’s still high enough up that she can see across all four territories from here. There’s PrairieClan’s, out in the tall grass of the moor; that over there is SerpentClan’s, wrapped in the shadows of the forest; and way on the opposite side is MoonClan’s, a mix of warm sand and tall trees. They’ve never looked so beautiful. Surely the Place of No Stars and its denizens could never create a place like this.
“Marshlily!”
The echoing voice comes from somewhere above her, and Marshlily turns to see Hornetstar bounding down the rocks, Hubert, Celebi, and Nettledawn in tow. She slows down as she approaches, her pawsteps becoming (rightfully) tentative, but she doesn’t flinch away in fright, which is more than Marshlily could ask for, really.
“Hi, everyone,” Marshlily croaks, and winces at the ache in her throat. For a brief, panicked moment, she thinks it’s blood that’s making her voice groggy; common sense kicks in when she realizes that the only thing she tastes is stale morning breath. She laughs at herself internally; of course her throat is sore, she’s been sleeping for … “How long was I gone?” 
“Days!” Hornetstar says. “You weren’t responding, just flailing around and talking to someone. Were you dreaming about Kestreltail?”
Marshlily can’t keep back a melancholy smile at the sound of her mother’s name. “A little bit.”
“Come on, stop with the chatting,” Hubert says, taking a couple steps toward Marshlily. “How are you feeling? Are you still sick?” 
Marshlily thinks on it for a long moment. The violence in her head is gone; she turns to Hornetstar and hears no disembodied urge to attack. She turns to walk a few paces this way and that, and her body doesn’t jerk, or even twitch. “I don’t think so,” she says finally, turning back to the others. “I think I might be okay.” 
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Hornetstar is pressed up against her, purring up a storm. “I was so worried! I thought you were going to … I mean, I was scared that …”
Marshlily chuckles and nuzzles her face into Hornetstar’s shoulder. “You and me both, Hornet,” she says, voice muffled by her thick pelt. “You and me both.”
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wavesoutbeingtossed · 8 months ago
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#warning: rant about parent ahead#I’m so so so so so empathetic to mental health struggles#like exceedingly so#but it’s just so exhausting being on the receiving end of someone’s self-loathing#and to be clear I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT ANYONE HERE#you are all my phone besties and I have so much empathy for your struggles and know that i love you all#and wish i could say the right thing to support you all always and you are always welcome to share whatever is going on#and to quote the bard herself i wish i could take the bombs in your head and disarm them#but when my mother gets into these moods she just seems to use it as a way to get a rise out of us#she’s pulling the ‘well maybe you don’t want to do x with me because it’s not fun because I’m a terrible person and you’re scared of me#and i ruin everything so maybe you would just rather i do everything alone’#and i don’t doubt she feels horrible and i know she has intrusive thoughts etc#but that is so manipulative!!!! she then puts the onus on us to reassure her that she is not!!!! But that is not what she wants!!!!#which we then do profusely and remind her that we do love her and we do do things together and whatever the fuck is the problem of the day#but of course she won’t hear it#so yes it makes us scared of her because we are always worried we’re going to say the wrong thing in a given moment!!!!#i just shut the fuck up at all times now#but my dad tries to use reason with her and of course it just ends in her lashing out and projecting all this shit on him#’oh you maybe you actually hate me maybe you want to leave me’ etc#THEY’VE BEEN MARRIED DECADES HE’S THE MOST LOYAL AND KINDEST PERSON IN THE WORLD HE NEVER ONCE HAS#i honestly don’t know how he lets this roll off his back because i am so fed up with it#It’s just so so so so hard because one minute she’s ‘herself’ and the other she’s this inferno#and we just have to ride whatever wave she’s on and it sucks all the air out of the room#it’s like the one and only time i tried to very gently bring up that something she said was hurtful *after she’d brought it up herself*#she went on a ‘oh I’m a terrible person/terrible parent’ rant and it then turned into me reassuring her that she isn’t#i was just trying to show her how the language/behaviour she uses was hurtful to me#so anyway that was lesson learned that even if she invites it i will never speak of it and luckily she hasn’t since and that was years ago#But it’s just… i know bad thoughts can’t be helped and again i feel so much pain on her behalf for what she struggles with#and i wish i could help but there’s absolutely nothing i can do#AND SHE’S GONE OFF ALL HER MEDS SO THE ONE SOURCE SHE DID HAVE ISN’T THERE ANYMORE EITHER
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insanechayne · 1 year ago
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#seems you had no intention of talking to me today either which is just lovely#you didn’t acknowledge my solution saying we didn’t need to talk every day if you didn’t want to but I guess you must have liked it anyway#and I would have obviously been fine with that but only if you’d told me beforehand that that’s what you wanted to do so I could be prepared#but this now just feels like a slight or like you’re trying to teach me a lesson or something#I get it ok? I shouldn’t have told you I felt like you didn’t want to talk to me and I shouldn’t have asked for more time with you#I should have left well enough alone and just taken what I could get from you so you wouldn’t feel like you have to justify yourself#literally feel like I’m just going to start crying any minute because I don’t know what’s going on and I guess you’re still mad at me#and I just miss you a lot and want to be able to talk to you#is it really such a crime to want to spend time with my friend?#is it really so evil to voice to you that I’m feeling blown off/ignored by you a lot of the time?#I’m sorry I felt that way and I don’t really know why I had those feelings anyway because they were clearly wrong#but seriously I can feel the panic building and the tears welling up and I just need you to tell me everything is ok#because I can’t handle losing my best friend in any form#I’ll take one message a day if that’s all I can get just don’t leave me in silence please#personal
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waugh-bao · 2 years ago
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#I’m a stupid stupid stupid person#last week when I went to Southampton (all curses be upon that place and its horrid uni) I saw in the papers of the amateur historian I was#looking at that he had the exact dates for the opening and closing of one my merchant figure’s account at the Bank of England#the BofE Archives have a really primitive search mechanism#so you have to contact one of the archivists to actually see if they have the material#and because I’m an antisocial nocturnal cave creature (ie a historian) I’d rather die than have to interact with another human#thus I put off emailing them until today when I was in the BL waiting for a request to be fulfilled#and they got back to me a few hours later to say that they do have what I want#and that there are open spots to work there from the 18th of July#which would be great#if I weren’t in Taiwan from the 13th#so I wrote back and explained that I’m traveling/researching/working for the rest of the summer and going back to my PhD program in Sept#the absolute angel of an archivist who I will love for all time told me that there was a cancellation for the 3rd-4th he would give me#and that he would ‘flex’ the 15 documents per day rule so I could look at everything#the 3rd is going to be a mess because I’m coming back from Bulgaria late that morning#but I will somehow get myself from Gatwick to Central London and make it work#(just praying they allow photography)#I guess the life lesson of this extremely long and boring story is that procrastination pays ???#me stuff#not the stones
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crescentmp3 · 2 years ago
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hi! hi hello
#im on my ten minute break for the harvard free course i signed up! its the CS50 introduction to computer science course#i managed to sign up on the exact day the course starts‚ so thats fun#the course has taught us about how binary works‚ ASCII‚ unicode‚ some main ideas‚ some coding language firsts to know‚#and some extra stuff in between i won't bother to mention.#its lovely so far! im really enjoying it and taking notes in the notesapp on the laptop. im very much so enjoying myself#i cannot wait to start learning C‚ as that's the lesson of next week#the course is 11 weeks long! its self-paced which means its perfect for me#the teacher of the course also gave a lot of talk at the start which got me pretty confident#i can't wait to learn all this stuff ^^#my dad directed me to this course‚ which i didn't know existed beforehand#oh also the subtitles are nice. if there was none i would fail this course instantly#its introductory so im not having any problems processing what he's talking about#im hoping to sign up for that CS50 introduction to video game development after im done with this course! but thats for next summer break#its very convinient that this course is 11 weeks long‚ exactly enough to get it in for summer break and finish it before school starts again#you could also get a physical certificate for some money once you're done‚ but my parents said they'll consider it once im done#anywho! very excited#im an hour and ten minutes into the course - theres about an hour left#the lecturer told the audience to take a ten minute break so im taking one too. will be back to learning in three minutes#🌙rambling
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torpublishinggroup · 9 months ago
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This advertisement is for Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea by Rebecca Thorne, a cozy fantasy steeped in sapphic romance about one of the Queen’s private guards and a powerful mage who want to open a bookshop and live happily ever after…if only the world would let them. Cover art by Irene Huang.
WHAT IT’S ABOUT
All Reyna and Kianthe want is to open a bookshop that serves tea. Worn wooden floors, plants on every table, firelight drifting between the rafters…all complemented by love and good company. Thing is, Reyna works as one of the Queen’s private guards, and Kianthe is the most powerful mage in existence. Leaving their lives isn’t so easy.
But after an assassin takes Reyna hostage, she decides she’s thoroughly done risking her life for a self-centered queen. What follows is a cozy tale of mishaps, mysteries, and a murderous queen throwing the realm’s biggest temper tantrum.
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queers4years · 25 days ago
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every time it rains instead of snows in the winter I wanna kms ngl
#Is winter just a childhood memory?#Is winter just rain and mud now?#I miss the snow#I'd settle for night starting at NOON if it would only snow (and STICK)#Every time I look outside I feel sooooo bleak.#It was 57 in Pennsylvania a couple days ago#The squirrels don't hibernate anymore#It used to be just my alpine strawberries and the needle leaves of my St John's Wort that stayed green in the winter#And I cheered for them for holding on for so long. Now I see green until December and it's sickening#I was comfortable in SHORT SLEEVES OUTSIDE in nearly January#Christmas songs and movies and decorations are so depressing bc they all include snow#The curriculum at work had the kids make snow gauges that sat in the mud all winter. Measuring nothing.#Several other lessons were anticipating snow. Like looking at it under a microscope and looking for animal tracks#And people just go hehe WaCkY MiDwEsT WeAthEr 🤪 and cheer for warmer temps#It makes me feel crazy.#Don't you get it?????? Our planet is dying!!!!! This should freak you out!!!!!#Just cus cold and snow are inconvenient doesn't mean they are bad and should go away!!!!#Winter is soooo important for our ecosystem#But no one cares about anything but convenience#And I feel like I take on the caring that other people discard about our ecosystems and planet#Cus other people don't cry when the city massacres a wooded area to build condos.#Cus deforestation is more than just killing the life there it also MAKES THINGS HOTTER GODDAMN IT#That is DIRECTLY effecting the local climate#I hate leaving the house and seeing all the land that's being sold that I know is going to get clear cut and seeing a marshy winter#When going outside used to be something I loved. It just hurts so much#Oil executives need to be lined up and shot. Their bodies used as compost.#And like I do what I can. I get kids interested in nature. I plant a native garden. I raise endangered monarch butterflies#Which helps. The year bumblebees were labeled endangered I had tons of them in my yard (New England Aster is great)#But it was absolutely DEVASTATING when i went from releasing 50+ last year to FIFTEEN this year#And like my yard is encrusted with their host milkweed and finding them used to be easy
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unproduciblesmackdown · 3 months ago
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lavender marriage / beard for the soulmate or timeloop au
#insofar as Destined To Be With This Person Romantically is akin to; you know; the demands of Romance irl#but where it's like. the universe has arranged the marriage. the universe has [marriage traditions from ''abducting A Bride is fine'']#like what's the equivalent of trying to juke / thwart the Destined Pairing in [vs fantastical premise where Reality demands it]#horror angle of being the person pushed towards the soulmate. horror angle of Being designated someone's soulmate#or even the person they Must have some kind of interaction with to Proceed lol. it Must happen#plus being the person in a loop who doesn't get to know about the looping; bonus points for the horror#sure you're not dealing w/the horror of loop awareness lol but that the lack of awareness / info puts you on the back foot#that you Are aware this elevated vulnerability could be happening anytime whether you are clued in about it or not#the ol What They Don't Know Can't Hurt Them like well is that true. does it make the Unknown Hurting perfectly fine actually#like imagining if there was knowledge like at any given time someone could be in their timeloop & you have no idea lol....#sure could affect things in ways. & in a reality here where people sure break out ''well we gotta See What Happens if we kiss/date &c''#anyway so bring it around to how do you ward it off. shift the [this would all be scary yeah] to the comedy side of the horror same coin#lavender marriages of soulmate aus b/c Sigh Well If We Gotta; Then#figuring out the parameters like when how does the universe decide you've Learned Your Lesson lol. [omniscient god?] issues now#but is it omnipotence as well. time looping might suggest it but you kiss the right person like well damn that's romance cue enough#can you be my beard so i can leave Today :/ yeah the timestream is requiring it (cue whatever Proving / Arguing that this is happening)#but still already fond of the Just Cranking My Thang Crazy Style out of the timeloop. loop just gets sick of it#all the Flexibility in what loops / Destined Relationships are For yeah sure but this is about the inherent You Gotta. You Have To.#the Horror Element is unsurprising b/c it's like yeah....yeah that's the narrative of Romance for you#or the broader narrative of ''the way this person feels about you means they want xyz from you / are entitled to a kind/level of access''#i think ''kicked out of the timeloop for not learning any life lessons just cranking my thang'' And ''but what if god is doing this to me#but without truly unlimited omniscience &/or omnipotence'' is also basically hiagb#which Nodding at how Romantic Love comes up in there but as a Wrench In The Gears vs destiny or even true solution(tm)#hm what if the person made aware of someone else's loop is the assigned Destiny but is like i gotta get outta here lmao#you have until the end of the day. you have until they Maybe tell you again....#either party being Helped by some third party like wow check out This surprising partnership we've discovered :o well anyway. no romo#tl;dr just like the comedy of evading the horror of romance as Destined Meaning & Meanintful Destiny irl. in the au contexts#& i said lovelessness lol no Replacing it w/true lifelong friendship. no replacing it w/''cranking your thang? whoa replaced w/Yourself''#[you just are you should just be] + nothing one Has to do to escape the demands of [the universe?] or [person demanded by the universe]#no authority & no Love (but what if the You Gotta was framed in positive language once there's a tiny bit more wiggle room actually)
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tonycries · 7 months ago
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The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.
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Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.
Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)
A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.
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“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”
“Duh, I know everything.”
“Nuh uh, Toru.”
“Yuh uh!”
The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 
Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.
A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.
You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.
Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-
Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:
Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 
Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 
Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.
Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.
And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.
Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 
Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”
“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”
You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”
“...you would not.”
“Would to.”
“Would not.”
“Would to.”
“Would- Sugu–!”
And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”
He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.
With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”
Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”
You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 
And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 
Everything. 
Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 
“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.
Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”
Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 
If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.
Just a friend comforting a friend, right?
So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.
Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.
That night ended with a second kiss. 
You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 
Everything. 
But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.
“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”
And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 
He learns another two things that night:
Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 
He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.
It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.
Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.
According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.
“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”
God, what a way to start the year.
Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”
And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 
“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”
“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”
“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”
And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 
But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”
You knew. 
You’d kissed him back. 
“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”
You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 
The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.
But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”
“Where?”
At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 
“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 
Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”
Close - too close. So dangerously close.
He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”
“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 
And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 
“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 
There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.
Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”
Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  
Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 
And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 
His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.
Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 
Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 
He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 
“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”
You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 
Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”
“I’m serious, Satoru.”
And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 
Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”
As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.
“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”
Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 
So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 
Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 
“Toru, I have a date.”
The fourth kiss.
Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”
And the last.
He fucked up.
He really, really fucked up.
That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 
He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 
What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 
The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 
You, that loser had you.
“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”
“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-
“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”
And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-
SLAM!
Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 
And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 
“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 
Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”
Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”
“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”
And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”
Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”
A beat of silence passes. One. Two.
Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 
“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”
Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”
“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”
And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 
Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.
His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”
Oh. 
Shit. 
“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”
And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”
“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”
“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”
“...”
Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 
Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.
But you don’t.
Fuck. 
And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 
He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 
“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 
And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 
“Oh.”
Then the movie is unpaused. 
---
The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 
The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.
Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 
The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.
“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-
Ding!
Ah, there. 
You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…
Satoru. 
Speaking a mile a minute.
Satoru.
“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”
“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 
What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 
But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 
Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.
It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.
Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.
“You loser.”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-
That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”
“Huh?”
You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 
Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”
“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”
And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 
Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 
“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”
“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 
“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.
“Toru!”
“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”
And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”
“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”
It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 
And it’s sloppy.
Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.
“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”
It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”
The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.
“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”
A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.
And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 
Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.
You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”
“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.
And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.
“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 
“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”
So goading. So like you. 
At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”
Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 
“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”
And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-
“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”
Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 
“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”
He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 
But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 
“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”
It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?
“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”
And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 
“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 
You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 
“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 
Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 
But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”
You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 
You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.
But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.
Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 
“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”
And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”
It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 
And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 
“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 
And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 
He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”
Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.
At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 
He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 
“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”
And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”
“You have no idea.”
That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 
Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 
And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 
“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”
“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  
Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-
“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”
And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 
Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 
“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 
You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.
Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”
You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 
He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 
“That’s more like it.”
You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  
Deep. Ruthless.
“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”
You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”
But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.
“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”
“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”
You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 
He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 
Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”
“Still not convinced.”
But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”
“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”
“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”
You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.
Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  
And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 
Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.
“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.
“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”
Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.
“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”
“Well, only one way to find out~”
“Oh shut up you-”
SLAM!
“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”
There were only two more lessons to be learned:
Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 
Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.
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A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?
Plagiarism not authorized.
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prickly-paprikash · 9 months ago
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Kendrick doesn't just hate Drake as a person. He hates the very idea of Drake.
Hip-Hop is rooted in revolution. In defiance. These are the songs of an oppressed group of people, and decades upon decades people have hated it. Accused of being meaningless and invalid. Media outlets took steps to belittle hip-hop and make sure it isn't recognized as an art form and as a means to fight back.
2Pac spoke of wealth disparity and inequality. Tupac was literally a member of a communist organization when he was younger and never stopped speaking against capitalism.
Lauryn Hill spoke of the struggles a woman faces. Not just women, but black women. Salt-N-Peppa. Queen Latifah. MISSY FUCKING ELLIOT.
N.W.A made sure people knew about police brutality and violence against the Black community.
And now, in this day and age, we're also experiencing an explosion of Queer Hip-Hop. Lil Nas X is at the forefront of this. Lil Uzi Vert came out as non-binary and uses they/them pronouns, even when they knew that a lot of their fans would never use it or even respect them for it. Auntie Diaries, a song about a young man who grew up in a transphobic environment and bought into those beliefs, but could never fully do it because his Uncle loved him so much and taught him a lot of life lessons, and that wisdom translated to him accepting his cousin as a woman as well.
Drake is none of that.
He's the perfect representation of what people think hip-hop is. Flexing. Posturing. Objectifying women. A fucker so insecure he bought 2Pac's ring just to feel like he's part of the black community. Rejected by Rihanna publicly. Tried to groom Millie Bobby Brown. Kissed and inappropriately touched an underage girl during his concert. His songs have inspired so many young boys to treat girls like shit. His belief that the amount of rings and chains and cars he has is the true meaning of success.
Additional Edit: This is my fault. If this post gains more views, then it would be remiss of me not to add to this. It was my fault to begin with, not stating this beforehand because while I did know, I got lost in celebrating Hip-Hop in a place that doesn't usually do so, and rightfully so.
2Pac did fight for wealth equality and better social living for the black community. He also has a long, long history of battery, domestic abuse, and sexual harassment against women. Specifically against women of color. He made a song to celebrate his own mother, but outright refused to give the same show of respect to other women in his life. His hypocritical nature was brushed off in later decades, just the way I did now.
N.W.A is the same. Sexual assault charges, violence—they spoke of Police reform, but refuses to give the same treatment back towards the women in their lives.
50 cent refuses to backtrack on any of his misogynistic lyrics.
Modern rappers of today, such as the dead XXXtentacion. 6ix9ine. Kodak Black.
I do love Hip-Hop. I love rap. And the music itself has always been anti-authoritarian at its core, because those are its roots. And I was happy that circles that did not normally know of it or enjoy it were getting into it, even for one thing like this rap feud.
Lil Nas X, Little Simz, Childish Gambino, Missy Elliot, Queen Latifah, Lauryn Hill—rappers who have at the very least consistently tried to put their money where their mouth is. Who have tried to act in accordance to what they rap and write and sing for.
@shehungthemoon @ohsugarsims finnthehumanmp3 were the ones who rightfully clarified in the comments. I know an apology won't correct my hypocrisy or my stupidity. I should have added all of this before making this post, but I wanted so badly to celebrate a genre of music but failed to do my due diligence in showing a better, holistic view of it. If anyone felt triggered, offended, troubled, frustrated or any other intense negative emotions surrounding this, please do block me. I'm sorry.
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buckiverse · 12 days ago
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Lessons
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☆--- paring: zayne x reader
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☆--- summary: Your childhood best friend, Zayne, had always been there for you, loyal, supportive, and understanding. So, when you realized you had a crush on Caleb, you turned to him for help. Taking it upon himself to be your guide, Zayne offered to teach you a few lessons in love. But as the lessons progress, you start to wonder... was Caleb really the one you wanted all along?
☆--- word count: 9.9k
☆--- warnings: mdni, oral sex, fingering, missionary, zayne is literally so jealous, caleb is kinda the boy best friend you tell your boyfriend not to worry about ngl, reader is inexperienced, soft!dom zayne, size kink if you squint, zayne knows you so fucking well it's sickening (he's just so sweet), no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)
☆--- a/n: loosely based on nightly rendezvous (yes im doing a childhood best friend au for everyone... i fear im obsessed)
↳ xavier | sylus | caleb | rafayel
Some part of you felt like it was a bad idea—you knew better. Even after all these years, it felt surreal that Caleb was one of your closest friends. In your small town, there weren’t many people to bond with. The tight-knit community had shrunk over time, and most people you knew were just memories now. But you’d never forget the two boys who lived next door. One was more charming, the other more reserved, but both were just as kind and reliable.
Years later, that sense of community felt like a distant dream. It was why you jumped at the chance to move closer to Caleb and Zayne after they relocated to the city. The passing of your grandmother had made staying in the countryside unbearable. But as you stood ankle-deep in snow, staring at the truck piled high with your belongings, you wondered if you were in over your head.
The cold wind bit through your gloves as you trudged inside the apartment building. Your eyes darted nervously to the heavy furniture that needed to be moved. You shifted your weight, glancing at the door every few seconds. If any of the boys decided not to show up, you would be screwed. 
“Y/N!” Caleb’s voice rang out, and your head snapped up. Relief surged through you as you saw him approaching. Without thinking, you rushed into his arms, your cheeks burning as his warm embrace enveloped you.
“It’s good to see you too,” he teased, his playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His hands rested lightly on your back as he pulled away, studying your face. “How long were you standing out there?”
“Not long,” you lied with an awkward laugh. “I just—got lost in thought.”
How he looked at you made it hard to breathe, as if he still saw the same girl from all those years ago. The creak of the lobby door saved you from spiraling further. 
Zayne strode in, his dark coat dusted with snowflakes. His sharp gaze flicked from you to Caleb’s hands, still resting on your waist. For a moment, his jaw tightened, but he quickly smoothed his expression.
“You’re late,” Caleb called out, smirking.
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Zayne replied, his tone dry as his eyes settled on you. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”
“Never,” you said with a grin, stepping forward to hug him. His arms wrapped around you briefly, his touch warm but hesitant. You smiled before turning and walking over to the elevator. You missed your family, and now it felt a little closer to being pieced back together. 
You gave a debrief of the plan for the day, as there was plenty you could do on your own later. Though you were grateful to Xavier for helping you get a place, it needed…tlc. The boys agreed to help you move bulky items and clean up the remnants of a bug treatment. 
The boys retreated to the lobby—they had to move a couch and some other, far too heavy things. The three of you had been friends for years, bickering and fighting like siblings, but never with ill intent. Though Caleb and Zayne constantly teased each other more recently than anything, you weren’t sure what was a joke anymore. 
Your body jolted. A sound of a shout came from the hallway, distracting you from sweeping. 
“Damn—Zayne, pull up the couch—” Caleb strained and bit out. 
“You’re the one who’s not paying attention,” Zayne shot back calmly. 
You walked up to the unfolding scene, your hands resting on your hips when you approached them. The couch was now on the tile of the apartment hallway. You were glad they didn’t break your stuff while they messed around.
“And… Why is my couch on the ground?” you asked, your gaze shooting between them. 
“It seems Caleb’s grip slipped,” Zayne quipped. You could feel the air quotes around the last portion of his statement. His hands were resting on his hips as his breathing slowed and evened out.
“I just need a second—I’m sweating over here,” Caleb said, a deep breath coming from his lips. 
You watched as he lifted his shirt. His jeans rested low on his hips as he lifted the fabric, you could see faint trails of hair leading down his abdomen. He had a vein running above his hip to below his pants. 
Your eyes betrayed you as you shamelessly traced his body. Fuck, he looked good.
Zayne watched you in silence, observing, watching the surprise on your face when Caleb lifted his shirt. And he did not like it. First, why did Caleb always do shit like that, but besides, why did you seem to like it so much.
The three of you worked together to tackle the chaos of the moving day. With the bulky items moved, Caleb helped you clean the kitchen while Zayne focused on the living room. You stood on your tippy toes, wiping the cabinet the best you could, stretching to reach the top shelf. Caleb moved in behind you, his body brushing against yours. 
“Let me get that,” he said, his voice soft as he grabbed the cloth from your hand.
Your breath hitched as his warmth seeped through your back. His fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a jolt through you. You moved aside, trying to compose yourself. He stepped to the side after finishing, leaning onto the counter, “Why don’t I take over this part, since you’re so small?” a playful grin played on his lips, as he winked at you. 
“Always picking on my size,” you joked, your voice shaky. “Maybe you’re just too tall.”
His grin widened, but something in his gaze lingered a moment too long. “...Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low.
From the corner of the room, Zayne’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen. His hand paused mid-swipe on the wall, his eyes narrowing at seeing Caleb leaning close to you. His grip on the rag tightened, but he quickly looked away. This wasn’t the time.
You noticed all his progress when you made your way to Zayne. He almost successfully cleared the living room. “Can I help?” you said, approaching his side. 
Zayne’s lips quirked into a slight smirk. “I figured you’d be too busy with Caleb to remember me.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you shot back, an uncomfortable laugh leaving your lips.
He attached the extended handle before handing you the mop, his fingers brushing yours slightly. “Guess I’ll have to remind you why I’m the favorite,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. 
You fell into a routine in the following weeks, trying to adjust to your new life. Weekly meetups with Caleb became a ritual, and today, you waited for him at a quaint coffee shop Zayne had introduced you to. The warm smell of coffee and pastries filled the air as you spotted Caleb walking in, his black coat framing his tall figure.
“Y/N!” he called out, his smile lighting up. He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground for a moment.
When he set you down, his eyes held yours for a beat too long. Your stomach flipped as you sat across from him, trying to steady your thoughts.
You began your catch-up over a coffee and some food. Your discussion filled the silence, and you shared a laugh while discussing the latest work drama. You clued Caleb into the details about your coworker, and how the Hunter’s Association locked his file.
It was pretty peculiar in your field; most hunters had a public record, released by the organization they resided under, but in his case, it wasn’t as easily accessible, making him a high-profile individual. Which just made you curious. As talented as you were you couldn’t help but notice the difference in skills between the two of you. It was so obvious he’d been at this longer than you. 
Caleb listened intently as you shared the latest work news, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.
“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Detective work?”
You shook your head, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It feels like I’d be invading his privacy. I guess—I’ll wait for him to tell me when he’s ready.”
Caleb’s gaze softened. “That’s just like you,” he said quietly, his purple eyes glinting in the light.
Before you could process his words, your watch buzzed with an alarm. “I gotta get back to work,” you said, grabbing your things in a rush.
“I’ll take care of this,” he said, gesturing to the table. “See you later.”
It was a lighter cold today, and no heavy snow blocked your path. As you walked back to work, you were honestly heavy in thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about Caleb. His smiles and touches felt deliberate, and you had no idea how to handle it. Dating had always been a mystery to you, and your nerves weren’t helping.  
This wasn’t the first time these nerves graced your presence. When you were much younger, you recall the party, the smell of alcohol, the loud music, and unfamiliar faces. You knew Zayne and Caleb of course, but them being a bit older than you made this crowd—one you hadn’t been exposed to before.
Making your way through the door was the worst. Caleb knew everyone, saying “hellos,” “hi’s,” and “what’s up, dude,” as he led the way. Making your way through the moving bodies was a challenge. You were thankful for Zayne’s hand holding onto yours as you made the way. You scanned the crowd, and everyone was dancing. The number of people grinding on others was mesmerizing, and you wanted in.
The music thudded through the walls, pounding against your ears. You remember making your way up the stairs, following closely behind Caleb, as Zayne sandwiched in behind you, finally letting go of your hand. Honestly, this didn’t seem like Zayne’s type of crowd, and he wasn’t the most outgoing. 
When you reached the room, it had fewer people than the rest of the house. You walked in, sitting on the couch while Zayne stood near the corner of the room. Some people sat in a circle with a bottle in the center, obviously playing a game. One of the girls asked if you and the boys wanted to join. 
You could feel the eyes of two important men in your life shift to you. Both were curious about your response. 
“...yeah.” 
Caleb also joined the game, sitting directly across from you. A girl with blonde hair spun the bottle, and before you knew it, it was your turn. 
Placing your hand on the bottleneck, you spun the bottle, watching its turning motion with curiosity. When it stopped on Caleb, the purple of his eyes glinted as he looked between you and the bottle. 
You could hear the circle of people urging you both on. It was just a kiss. You could do this. He’s your friend. You sat up on your heels, your hands burning as they rested on your knees. 
He got close to you and whispered, “Ready?” only for your ears to hear, and he kissed you, his lips connecting with yours softly, sweetly. Some people teased him for the gentleness at which his lips touched yours, but something shot through you when his lips touched yours. He softly bit your bottom lip before he pulled back from you. 
He kissed you. Zayne saw, everyone saw, and you liked it. 
You needed advice—something solid to guide your next move. You’d already admitted to yourself that you liked him, but how were you supposed to approach this? What did you even say? Zayne helped you through that kiss, reminding you it was just a game. But all these years later, you wanted to be more than a game to Caleb. Even in your shared youth, he had good advice for you, so why wouldn’t you trust him?
When you arrived at the office, your mind was still a tangled mess, buzzing with uncertainty. You decided it was no use overthinking it; it was better to rip the bandaid off.
You pulled out your phone, hesitating for a moment before texting Zayne:
You:
“Can I call you? I need some advice.”
When his reply came moments later—“I have a patient right now. I’ll call you after.”—you let out a relieved sigh. You trusted him, and you needed his help.
Relief washed over you as you read his reply, your heartbeat finally slowing to a steady rhythm. You let out a soft sigh, tucking your phone away. All you had to do now was organize your thoughts.
While you waited, you turned to your caseload, focusing on the profile you’d been compiling for a new wanderer-type you’d encountered during a hunt weeks earlier. Using old files as templates, you typed furiously, the steady rhythm of the keyboard pulling you into the zone. Minutes turned to hours as you worked, the world fading into the background.
The buzzing of your phone jolted you back to reality. You glanced at the screen and barely caught the call before it went to voicemail.
“You want me to teach you how to date?” Zayne’s voice drawled through the line, laced with amusement.
Heat rushed to your face as you groaned audibly. “That’s not—it’s not like that!” you blurted, but Zayne only chuckled softly.
You spent the next ten minutes stumbling through your explanation, your words tangling as you tried to paint a coherent picture of your situation. When you finally stopped, waiting anxiously for his response, all he said was:
“Okay.”
That one word was enough to knock the wind out of you. “Okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Okay,” he confirmed calmly.
Your heart soared. “Okay, then,” you echoed quickly, trying to mask your nervous excitement. You rushed to thank Zayne before ending the call, clutching the phone to your chest. Relief and joy bubbled inside you. You knew Zayne would come through for you. You trusted him completely.
On the other end of the call, Zayne set his phone on his desk, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He began packing up for the day, shaking his head in amusement. The idea of you coming to him for dating advice was equal parts endearing and intriguing.
Of course, he would help you. That much was never in question. But who had caught your interest so suddenly? The thought gnawed at him, tempting him to ask outright, but he resisted. He’d figure it out eventually.
As he picked up his phone to draft a response, a quiet laugh escaped him. “Lessons,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with amusement. He couldn’t help but smirk as he began typing out a plan. Lessons in dating and seduction? If anyone was going to help you succeed, it was him.
Your phone buzzed with details for your first lesson. You had to admit you were quite excited. When you open the message, you read simple instructions:
Zayne:
“I’ll pick you up at 7 pm. Wear something nice, but comfortable.” 
A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you gripped your phone, its cool metal grounding you—way to give me nothing, Zayne. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you typed back.
You:
“Got it.” 
With a rare day off, you had more than enough time to overthink this date—or, well, lesson. You'd been on dates before, but this felt different—important. You wanted to impress Caleb later, but you also wanted to enjoy this with Zayne and learn from him.
Determined, you took your time getting ready—a long bath, smooth and refreshed skin, natural hairstyle, skipping the heat of flat irons. Your makeup was subtle, accentuating your best features—your eyes and lips. The outfit? Simple, with an effortless elegance: a black skirt, a beige sweater, and knee-high black boots. Something nice but comfortable, you echoed mockingly in your head.
The doorbell rang. Your pulse quickened. Taking a deep breath, you cracked the door open.
“I’m grabbing my bag—give me a sec,” you said quickly before shutting it again.
Zayne chuckled softly on the other side. You looked nervous, and he thought it was cute.
When you finally stepped out, his eyes swept over you, approval flashing in his gaze. “Ready?” His voice was warm, familiar.
You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah.”
Locking up, you stepped beside him, weaving through the apartment halls. The elevator was packed when it arrived, leaving just enough room for the two of you to squeeze in. When the doors slid shut, the crowd's pressure pushed you toward the back corner of the elevator.
Zayne stepped in after you, his body instinctively blocking the others from pressing too close. His warmth enveloped you, a wall of quiet protection. When his chest brushed against yours, your head shot up, startled by the contact—only to knock it against the cold metal wall behind you.
A low groan slipped from your lips, and Zayne chuckled. “Careful.” His hand came up, cupping the back of your head gently.
You stilled. Zayne’s touch was light but steady, fingers warm against your scalp. You let yourself settle into it for just a second, your cheeks heating.
Then, with a soft ding, the doors slid open. The moment was gone.
You followed him out quickly, slipping into his car. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. Still, you were the first to break it.
“So… where are we going?” you asked, anticipation bubbling beneath your skin.
Zayne’s grip tightened subtly around the gear shift, veins visible against his skin. His lips curled into a faint smile. “You’ll see.”
You hadn’t expected this.
The setup was breathtaking—candles flickering softly, a picnic blanket spread on the grass by a lake, and wildflowers scattered around like nature’s own confetti. The crisp spring air carried the scent of earth and blooming petals, a reminder that winter’s grasp was finally loosening. The sun had just begun its descent, casting everything in golden light.
Zayne stood behind you, watching. He caught how your breath hitched and how awe softened your features. The faint flush that always seemed to bloom when he was near. He reveled in it.
“Lesson one,” he murmured. “A date.”
You turned to him, eyes wide. “Zayne, this is…” Your voice wavered with something close to wonder. “This is perfect.”
A small, knowing smile touched his lips.
You hesitated. “I’ve never really—” You exhaled. “So… what do we do now?”
He motioned for you to sit. “First? We eat.”
You obeyed, watching as he unpacked the meal. Your gaze flickered over the assortment of sweets tucked beside the entrees, and you bit your lip. He remembered your sweet tooth.
Your heart squeezed.
He handed you a sandwich—one of your childhood favorites. You took a bite, savoring the familiar flavors and the quiet thoughtfulness behind it.
The evening unfolded like something out of a dream. The conversation was easy and flowing, as it always was between you two. You talked about everything and nothing, letting the city fade away, and the wine in your glass disappeared far too quickly.
At some point, you made the mistake of looking at him.
The sunset bathed him in amber light, the gentle hues accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint green specks in his eyes. He looked beautiful—effortlessly so. The sleeves of his powder blue dress shirt rolled up, revealing strong forearms, veins pronounced as his fingers idly toyed with the rim of his glass.
His gaze lifted, catching yours.
You panicked. Tipped your head back, draining the last of your wine, pretending to admire the sky.
And so the night went on.
Laughter. Warmth. The kind of company that made the world feel a little less lonely. It had been too long since you’d felt this way.
Maybe that was why—
—why you ended up tipsy.
The last thing you remembered clearly was Zayne’s hands on your waist, steadying you as you stumbled at your door. His voice, amused and gentle, coaxing you inside.
And then—
"You're drunk."
His voice was strained.
Your skin burned. “N ‘m not,” you murmured, reaching up, fingers clumsily ruffling his hair. “I w’nted to kiss you, Z-Zayne…”
His breath hitched.
You wobbled onto your tiptoes, pressing a sleepy, featherlight kiss to his cheek. “G’night, Zayne~”
Darkness.
And then—morning.
Your head throbbed. You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, and then—
The memory came rushing back.
Your stomach dropped.
Shit.
What did you do?
You kissed Zayne—just a kiss on the cheek, but no less a kiss. And you didn’t know how you felt about it. Maybe you liked it. And when you checked your phone, your heart skipped a beat. 
Zayne:
“Are you feeling better?”
It was a simple question, but your body felt warm, and a smile tugged at your lips as the cold metal burned your hand. 
You:
“Yes, I’m still a bit warm, but much better :)”
And from there the conversation flowed. 
Zayne: 
“So you’re ready for your next lesson?”
You:
“Duh.”
This lesson was set up differently—as a more casual experience. Zayne held the door open, allowing you to enter as the scent of perfumes and faint traces of liquor—something you planned to avoid tonight—filled your senses.
Zayne trailed closely behind you, his eyes drawn to your fitted black dress. It hugged your curves just right, and while you were always beautiful, tonight, you looked divine. His gaze lingered, but he didn’t say a word, instead committing the image to memory.
You settled into the plush velvet seat, crossing your legs as you waited for him to join you. The slight pressure of the fabric against your skin and the low hum of jazz music set a tone of subtle sophistication.
“Lesson two,” he murmured as he sat beside you. “Body language.”
A sly smile crept onto your lips. This time, you were ready. Beyond your carefully chosen outfit, you had mentally prepared to hold your ground. Tonight, you would stay in control.
“So, what’s the plan today, Zayne?” you drawled, leaning forward as your fingers lightly brushed his bicep. You pretended it was a casual touch, but the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent a jolt through you.
Zayne tilted his head slightly, studying your face. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re already ahead, princess,” he whispered, his voice low. The words felt like a direct hit to your resolve.
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, your lips parted as you scrambled to regain composure. “Head start?” you echoed, tilting your head and trying to sound nonchalant.
"I want to see what you've learned—think you can charm me?" he said simply.
The lounge was an upscale dream: dimly lit, lined with high-end paintings, and filled with the smooth rhythm of jazz. The swaying figures on the dance floor moved in tandem with the music, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the scene.
Leaning in closer to Zayne, you brushed your lips near his ear. “Should we dance?” you whispered, your hand steadying yourself on his knee.
The scent of his cologne—clean with a faint hint of jasmine—enveloped you. You felt his gaze sharpen, and when you pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, the faint green specks in them seemed to glow under the low light.
“Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth, as he stood and offered you his hand.
On the dance floor, your movements flowed easily, the music guiding you. You pulled him closer, and your body pressed flush against his. His hands rested on your lower back, firm and grounding, while your fingers trailed up his chest. The hard muscle beneath your touch sent a thrill through you.
“You look so handsome tonight, Zayne,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small smile.
“Only tonight?” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting.
Your finger traced lazy patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady initially, but you noticed the slight quickening as your touch lingered. You looked up at him, your gaze filled with something unspoken but deeply felt.
“You always do,” you whispered.
The air between you was charged, the tension pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel like you might float away.
When the tempo picked up, you spun away from him, creating a bit of distance as you swayed more freely. He matched your rhythm more stiffly than anything. You couldn’t help but smile—this was fun.
“You’re way too stiff,” you said, getting close to him. Watching him try to whine his hips to the upbeat tempo was amazing. A laugh left your lips as your hands gripped his hips. “Why are your feet so close together?!” you choked out. 
“I was never a dancer,” he said flatly, unamused by the tears in your eyes. 
“Move to the beat,” you said again, trying to show him the way, but he didn’t get it. If you asked him, he’d rather watch you move your body. You moved beautifully, rolling your hips with precision.
When the lounge prepared to close, your cheeks ached from grinning, and your legs were deliciously sore. You shivered slightly as you walked side by side through the chilly night air.
“You look cold,” Zayne said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.
The warmth of the fabric—and his scent—wrapped around you. A soft, rich aroma of jasmine and something distinctly him made your heart flutter.
You nudged his arm, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You know… I think this was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”
“I haven’t danced like that in forever.” you said.
“How could I forget?” he replied, his eyes briefly flicking to the stars above. “It’s your favorite thing.”
His fingers brushed against yours, tentative at first. You took the leap, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his hand sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you caught the faint blush dusting his cheeks.
This man was everything.
Later That Week
You had agreed to meet Caleb for a more eventful hangout—to meet downtown and do whatever caught your eye. 
You spotted him easily. His tall figure towered over most people. You walked up to him, and he hugged you tightly. The warmth of his body covered yours, but it didn’t raise your heartbeat. 
When he loosened his grip on you, his hands rested on your shoulders, “Long time no see, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice full of joy. 
Your cheeks felt tight from smiling—you were happy to see him, but not for the same reasons as before.
“I know, it’s been a few weeks,” you said, pulling back from him and looking into the purple of his eyes. “Let’s get back on schedule,” you breathed, a light smile plastered on your lips. 
Work had been busy, but the truth was that your lessons with Zayne had occupied your thoughts—and your time.
While you started your walk downtown, plenty of things caught your eye. The first thing you did was enter a record shop. The store was in the basement off of a side street. It was a little creepy, but it looked like an underground studio once you got inside. Records were all over the shop, on the wall, and in little baskets stacked in rows. 
He browsed next to you, shuffling through the records occasionally showing you one he thought you’d like or an album you’d enjoyed. And in spending this time with him, you realized that you enjoyed this. 
The simplicity between you, the light air, and the lack of expectations for anything more was all you needed. Caleb’s fingers softly brushed yours as he placed a vinyl behind the one you held up for him.
“Find anything good?” you asked, your feet planted evenly on the ground as you turned to face Caleb. 
His eyes bore into yours, something flickering over them before he answered you.
 “Nah—let's get some food,” he said quickly, his demeanor suddenly returning.
Exiting the store, you joined in step beside him, exploring the city's night scene. Your options were endless as you scanned the shops that lined the streets. You spotted a food truck and the smells coming from it were amazing. 
Altering Caleb, you both sat at the outdoor seating, waiting for your orders. The chill of the evening air seeped through your clothes, making you shiver slightly.
“Do you want my jacket?” Caleb asked, his tone playful. “You look like you’re freezing.”
“Only if you have an extra,” you said, bouncing your leg under the table to keep warm.
With a smirk, he reached into his bag and handed you a spare coat. “You’re my best friend, You know I always do.”
You slipped it on, grateful for the warmth but… that was it. There was no spark, no flutter of excitement. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, adjusting the collar and wrapping it tighter around yourself, but it felt like just a jacket.
In the quiet moment that followed, your mind drifted back to Zayne. His jacket had enveloped you in warmth and scent, and your heart raced when he was near. You glanced at Caleb, who was busy watching the street outside.
Nothing. That kiss was—just a kiss. Years ago, you wouldn’t have believed anyone. Not even Zayne could have convinced you it was a fleeting crush. But it really was. You felt proper chemistry, companionship, and care and wanted to keep experiencing that with Zayne.
The weight of your realization was crushing. All the time you spent—wasted on this man. You cared for him, you truly did. But, what about you? Why were you so pent-up and focused on this person you didn't even really like? Was it really him you missed? Or just how he filled your time and made you feel small—safe, even?
That's the point. You’re not small. You're a grown woman who can stand independently, make her own decisions, and provide her own entertainment. Relief washed over you in waves because what were you even doing? Holding onto a version of the past that no longer fits?
But right behind it, sadness crept in. Not for Caleb, but for the time lost—chasing something never meant to be yours. But you didn’t truly waste time if it led you here—to someone real. To Zayne.
You forced a smile, staring down at your lap, and tried to push away the sinking feeling in your chest. You used to admire Caleb. It should feel special, especially his attention and time, but—it doesn’t. 
Caleb was the person you had wanted—the reason for the lessons.
The contrast was stark, undeniable. And for the first time, you realized the answer had been clear.
You had admitted to Zayne that you wanted a cozy evening. Work had drained you, but more than anything, your recent realization had knocked the wind out of you. It wasn’t just an idle thought—the truth that settled deep in your bones, undeniable yet terrifying.
You knew what you needed to say and do, but the effort of voicing it—of being honest with Zayne—made your nerves coil tight.
Your lessons have helped. You felt more confident, more self-assured. You understood what a date was supposed to be now, what it meant to be courted and wanted. But more than anything, you wanted something real.
With him.
So, he invited you over after work.
Zayne:
"How about I cook you dinner, and we watch a movie?"
You:
"How do you always know exactly what I need?"
Zayne:
"Make yourself at home. I just finished setting up."
When you arrived at his house, the living room instantly warmed you. The room glowed softly from the candles he had lined along the tables, their flickering light casting gentle shadows against the walls. The scent of something rich and savory drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint traces of his cologne.
But the sight of something familiar made your heart catch in your chest—small plushies, the ones you had won years ago, still resting on the couch.
He had kept them.
Your fingers grazed one absentmindedly as you took it all in, a lump forming in your throat.
You didn’t miss the sound of the shower running from the other room, and heat bloomed across your face. The thought of him stepping out—steam rising, droplets tracing the planes of his skin—sent your mind spiraling. He had just gotten off work, yet he still made time to set everything up for you.
As if on cue, the water stopped. A moment later, the door cracked open, and Zayne walked out, a towel slung low on his hips, another in his hands as he ruffled it through his damp black hair.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he said casually, his voice smooth. “Have a seat.”
Then, as if completely unaware of his effect on you, he strode into his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.
You swallowed hard. That lasted less than a second, but it was enough.
His physique was unreal—his lean yet defined frame, the way his skin still glistened slightly, the tantalizing trail of hair disappearing beneath the towel… and God, you wanted to know where it led.
This was new. You had never felt this way before.
And he was making you crazy.
You forced yourself to move, settling onto the couch, trying to calm your racing heart as you waited for him. You distracted yourself with the snacks he had spread across the table, but your mind kept replaying that brief glimpse of him.
When he finally reappeared, dressed in a fitted shirt and sweatpants, looking effortlessly breathtaking, your breath caught in your throat.
Something about this moment—the candlelight, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, the sheer intimacy of being here with him—felt so real. So domestic. So much like something you wanted forever.
Zayne disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you in the glow of candlelight. A few moments later, he emerged with two plates in hand, setting them down on the dining table before motioning for you to sit.
“Did you make all of this?” you asked, raising a brow as you took in the spread before you.
“Of course,” he replied smoothly, settling across from you. “I figured you’d appreciate a home-cooked meal after the week you’ve had.”
Your heart ached at how thoughtful he was.
The meal was warm and comforting—just like him. You took a bite, letting the rich flavors settle on your tongue and savoring the moment. Zayne watched you carefully, his gaze flicking to your lips before he took a bite of his own food.
“This is really good,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “You’re full of surprises.”
He smirked slightly, tilting his head. “You act like you don’t already know I’m good with my hands.”
Your fork stalled mid-air. Heat crawled up your neck as your eyes snapped to his.
Zayne smirked slightly, taking another bite as if he hadn’t set your whole body on fire with that one sentence.
Your stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the food.
“I—” You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. “I suppose I do.”
His gaze flickered with amusement before he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Something was intoxicating about the way he watched you. It was like he was reading every thought running through your head.
The tension built slowly, lingering between every glance, every soft smile exchanged over the rim of your glasses.
At some point, his foot brushed against yours beneath the table. It was barely a touch—so light it could’ve been an accident. But when you met his gaze, you knew it wasn’t.
Neither of you spoke on it. Neither of you moved away.
It was almost unbearable, the weight of the moment, the way the air grew heavier, tighter.
After dinner, you both moved to the couch. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more devastatingly handsome than usual.
You curled next to him as he flipped through the streaming options before settling on something. Not that it really mattered—you could barely focus because of how close he was.
The movie played, but you weren’t watching.
You were too aware of Zayne’s presence, the warmth of his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder. Every tiny touch sent a current through you.
Then, in the middle of a scene, Zayne suddenly reached for the remote.
Click.
Ring…Ring…Ring…
Your phone started ringing, now of all times, and you dropped your gaze to the device at the same time as Zayne. 
Caleb calls all the time, but the timing of this was just—it couldn’t be a coincidence. And you weren’t sure if you should answer. 
“Don’t pick it up,” was all you heard, as you gripped the metal of your phone tighter. 
“Why,” you whispered, your voice small now. The confidence you had before flickered, unsteady—like a candle caught in the wind. You felt tender, exposed. Unsure if you had the strength to do what needed to be done.
“I know you wanted lessons, because of Caleb,” he started, his eyes meeting yours. The air felt cooler now, and goosebumps ran over your skin. 
"I can’t do this if you’re still holding onto him," he murmured, his voice steady—but stretched thin, like he was barely holding himself together.
“I can’t bear to see you with him—now that your presence has graced me, I see small pieces of you everywhere I go,” he admitted, his voice soft and tortured. 
Zayne exhaled through his nose,  running a hand through his dark hair before finally speaking.
“I don’t want you to want Caleb—I want you to want me” he breathed.
The screen froze mid-ring. A silence stretched between you—thick, suffocating. Heavy with everything left unsaid.
Your brows furrowed as you turned to him, only to find his gaze already on you—serious, searching.
Your breath hitched.
The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unshakable.
You swallowed. Say it.
“I thought I wanted to be with another man, Zayne…” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He tensed slightly, his jaw tightening, but you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.
“But I don’t,” you continued softly, eyes searching his. “I want this. I want you.”
The words left you in a breath, raw and real.
Zayne didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. But you saw how his eyes darkened, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“Please, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you leaned in.
Your breath stilled, heart hammering. He was too close—his scent, the warmth radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his breath. And then… finally, you leaned in, and he met you halfway.
You pulled back slightly, your breaths intertwining in the room's dimness. Your eyes opened tentatively, and you saw Zayne staring at you, his chest heaving from the kiss you had just shared. 
“Again,” you murmured, a silent plea because now that you were here you couldn’t let this pass. And Zayne obeyed, kissing you again. You could feel him shifting your position. His hands found your back, and he briefly disconnected your lips to lay you on the couch. 
His knees straddled your hips, as he just watched you, “Beautiful,” he whispered before tasting your lips again, the weight of him on top of you was not only delicious but welcome. You gasped at the pressure, and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A groan escaped your mouth when his tongue entered your lips. 
“Wait,” you said, your hands resting on Zayne’s chest as he lay on you. 
“I’ve never done this before,” you said, noticing the clench of his jaw, flushed face, and swollen lips. 
He waited for a beat, watching you silently, “I’ll take care of you, princess,” he exhaled.
“I don’t have much experience,” he admitted, his gaze shifting from yours.
Your eyes widened with shock at his admission. You had assumed he was experienced, and that was part of the reason you asked him for help. 
You took a breath, smiling at him. " Let's learn together,” you whispered in his ear before leaning your head back and resting it against the pillow. 
You pulled him flush against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. He began his thorough search kissing your temple, to the crux of your ear, “Another lesson, …hm?” he whispered. And that caused you to writhe beneath him—the sound of his voice in your ear, and the soft vibrato of his confirmation. 
He began his steady exploration with his lips and hands. Stroking up and down your body, though most of it covered, the cool of his hands made your skin get chills when he touched you. 
“Can I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to your t-shirt. 
“Yes,” you said too quickly, embarrassed by your eagerness. 
You adjusted your body, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head. You lay there sitting up on your forearms, just watching his explorative touch. His pointer finger traced the outline of your bra, hovering just above your skin. 
“You—” you started, biting the fat of your lip, “Zayne, I want you to take this off too.” 
And those emerald eyes watched you. In his head, he couldn’t believe you would be his—already prepared to memorize your every reaction. His hand trembled before steadying against your skin. The contact of his hand caused you to arch away from the couch. Click.
The bra fell forward as you shrugged it off your arms. Your whole body felt warm as you guided Zayne’s hands to hold your breasts. Your hands rested on his before you moved them back to the couch. His thumbs felt the hardening peaks beneath his hands, and he gave them a tentative flick, watching your face. You squirmed beneath him. 
Sensitive here. He made a mental note, before rubbing the hardened nub against his thumb at a steady pace. 
He moved his mouth to your other breast kissing it, before watching your face as his tongue made contact with it. Your hips jerked forward gently when he flicked it with his tongue. You bit your lip watching him play with your nipples. 
“Can—you touch me there?” you whimpered. His lips parted from your nipple. 
“Where?” he asked, and both of you just looked at each other. 
Before you took his hand and brought it between your legs. You held it there rubbing yourself on his hand through your pants, but you didn't miss the way Zayne trained his eyes on you. Watching each little reaction you had when he touched you. Even the lightest of touch made his lips part slightly even with the furious flush of his skin. 
His cock was straining in his pants, but he waited, wanting to learn you first.
He laid you down, your hands threading into his hair. Pulling him close to you he buried his face in your neck. The smell of jasmine filled your senses, as he groaned beneath you, breathing in your scent. You leaned back into the couch, shaken by the idea of him on top of you.
Your breasts pressed against his chest, the cool fabric causing a shiver to roll through you. He ran his face up and down your neck leaving a trail of light kisses. It was as if he was savoring you, imprinting your smell, your presence in his mind—as if you’d be done with him after this.
“You’re beautiful,” he groaned against your throat.
Zayne steadied himself on his hands on either side of your head, his gaze trailing over your body to where he would find himself next. His eyes stopped between your thighs, he watched intently as you squirmed beneath him, your body shifting under his gaze.
Your heartbeat felt loud in your ears, and the cold stillness of the air sent a shiver through you. His lips found your jaw, kissing a slow line tracing to your throat. Each touch of his lips sent heat between your legs, and you tilted your head to give him more access, a whimper escaping your lips. 
Zayne was just a friend, someone who supported and loved you but someone you felt you couldn’t have. Your change of heart made you act on a whim to take advantage of your time with him. You wanted him, and no one else could have him but you. He was a high you couldn't—didn't want to get rid of. 
You grasped the blankets on the couch, trying to ground yourself somehow, while he worked slow kisses down your chest with light scrapes of his teeth.
His hands ran down your sides, caressing your breasts to your hips, his thumbs brushing the naked skin beneath your sweatpants. It was a maddening sensation, and you only wanted him to keep going.
You could see his erection pressed firmly against his pants, and you felt tempted to reach forward, to touch it. To pull him closer firmly against you, to feel him where you needed him most. 
One of his hands left you cupping you over your pants. The pressure against your clit stole your breath. A quiet groan of approval left his lips, while you felt a pulse between your legs.
You ground your hips upwards into his hand. A breath left your lips as you moved your hips. 
“Touch me, Zayne,” you breathed, you felt like you were in a dream. 
He paused, his breath hitching at your words. His gaze darkened, the green of his eyes barely visible, as he searched your face. His jaw clenched, his voice dropping, rough with restraint. “Say that again.”
You observed him, grabbing the drawstrings of his pants. “Touch me Zayne, …Please” Your voice came out small, pleading. 
He exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against your skin. He traced your pussy through your pants, his fingers burning through your pants—that you wished he’d taken off already. 
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over you, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing you.
You had never been undressed like this. And you wanted it, you wanted to be touched by him, to feel him grabbing you.
He gripped the waistband of your pants, adjusting his position to push them down your thighs, dropping them to the floor. You sat there in only black underwear while he sat across from you, still in his t-shirt and sweats. 
His attention was all yours, and it was thrilling. 
Your hands still gripped the blanket beneath you. Your feet were tucked next to your bottom. 
“Let me see you.” His voice was low and deliberate. His fingertips grazed your knee before applying the faintest pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting. “Spread your legs for me.”
You took in an unsteady breath, and you did it. 
His hands ran up your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, making your stomach tighten unexpectedly. The cool of his hands felt good against your soft skin. 
The cool air brushed against your panties making you aware of how wet your panties were. Zayne’s gaze met you there, shooting warmth through you.
Your breath hitched when his thumb pressed down on your clit through the fabric. His other hand was steady on your thigh, pressing your thighs open wider. The brush of his thumb up and down sparked a heat in your lower stomach.
You leaned your head back and started to rock under his touch. And then he kissed your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He groaned, licking and sucking your breasts with a slight scrape of teeth. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his hair. 
His mouth was so hot, and he kept licking you, how you’d never felt before. You felt like you could die. So, when he removed his mouth from your breasts, you thought you were going to scream. 
He removed your underwear, leaving them in a pile with the rest of your clothes, spreading your legs once more as his gaze fell between your thighs. 
His fingers glide gently along your inner thigh, his touch warm and deliberate, but never rushed. His gaze softens as he takes you in, his breathing slow, controlled—like he’s memorizing every part of you.
"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your skin, a silent reassurance, a quiet promise that he won’t rush you.
When you nodded, his lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, searching—making sure.
"Let me take care of you," he breathed, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee. "I want to make this good for you."
He wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and his head lowered between them. You shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, pleasure running through you. Each soft lap of your clit rolled through you. 
His arms held you so securely that you couldn’t move your hips while he licked you. As much as he said he wanted to take care of you, it felt like he was doing this for himself. 
“Zayne,” you moaned, digging your hands into his thick black hair. 
He swirled his tongue over your clit before sucking. His eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath him. His finger filled you, sending a tremor through you, with his mouth on your clit, licking and sucking, while his fingers moved in and out of you. And he did it with such ease, deep noises of satisfaction falling from his lips. 
He was taking his time, slowly working you out and the pressure was building up in you. You bucked your hips, feeling the heat growing throughout you. 
“Zayne…I need more,” you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation. 
His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he answered it with slow, calculated movements—his pace steady, yet devastating. He added another finger, stretching you further, his touch unrelenting as he pressed deeper, curling just right. The pleasure was unbearable in the best way, a wave crashing over you with no hope of escape.
Your breath hitched as his dark, heated gaze met yours, watching, reading every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered. His free hand smoothed over your thigh, grounding you, soothing you—only to bring you higher moments later.
A choked-out plea left your lips, your body arching, back curving as the heat coursed through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. You clenched around him, muscles tightening as that sharp, dizzying pleasure built to a breaking point.
“That's it,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable, something possessive yet achingly tender. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.
And then—release.
Your body trembled, pleasure crashing into you in relentless waves. He didn't stop, not right away, working you through it, coaxing every last aftershock from your sensitive body until you were completely spent.
You collapsed against the couch, fully fucked out, limbs heavy, your mind hazy with bliss. 
A shaky breath left your mouth, as you sat up slowly running your fingers through his hair.
Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.
The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. Something real.
His jasmine scent invaded your senses as his body wrapped around yours. You closed your eyes, surprised by the sudden upward jerk of him holding your naked body. You held him close as he carried you to the closed bedroom door. 
He laid you on the bed gently, holding your stare, he slipped off his shirt and sweatpants, your cheeks growing warmer even as he stood before you in his briefs. You glanced at his erection pressed through the fabric. He was so hard, and it was hot. And all for you. 
Goose bumps spread across your skin, as he opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom. 
“Do you want me?” he whispered, his gaze meeting yours, as he dropped his briefs. 
“Yes,” you breathed.
He crawled over you, kissing your stomach and breasts as he did. His body covered yours, so heavy. It made your skin sing with satisfaction. He kissed your neck, bracing his hands beside your head. 
Your fingers trailed the line of hair, you'd been desperate to touch. You hesitated, unsure how to touch him. 
Zayne felt your hesitation, and meeting your gaze, he whispered, “Your touch… I need it.”
Your heart fluttered with uncertainty, but you slid your hands down gripping his erection. His forehead fell on the side of your neck, encouraging you further. 
You wrapped your hand around his length. And he groaned. You ran your hand down to the base and all the way back up. 
"Don’t make me wait…please" you whispered in his ear, placing a kiss there.
"Tell me how much you need me,” he rasped, nipping at your neck.
"I’ve always needed you, Zayne," you said softly, dragging your hands through his hair. "I need you in every way… not just tonight."
His eyes met yours before kissing you while you stroked him again. Your breasts brushed against his chest, sending pleasure through you. 
“...Please” you breathed. 
He rolled onto the bed next to you, slipping off his briefs, the sound of the wrapper crinkling in his hands drawing your attention. You watched as he poised to tear it open, his gaze flicking to yours for confirmation.
“Wait,” you whispered, your voice soft but resolute. He paused instantly, his eyes searching yours.
“I want to feel all of you,” you said, vulnerability lacing your tone, the weight of your trust hanging in the air.
His expression softened, his brow furrowing with both tenderness and concern.
“If it’s too much, just say the word,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a promise woven into each syllable. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”
He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering as though to reassure you. Positioning himself at your entrance, his movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on you.
He took the head of his erection and rubbed it against your pussy. The tip caught your clit, causing your breath to hitch. He started to slip the head inside you, and it stung. A shudder rolled through you as you exhaled. Your fingers curled on his chest as he stayed still inside you, watching your face. 
He pushed deeper into you, his gaze dark and unwavering as he watched the way your lips parted, a soft whimper spilling free. The sound sent a shudder through his body, his breath coming out ragged as he struggled to hold himself together.
The stretch burned—a slow, intoxicating burn—one that sent heat rolling through your veins. You felt so full, every inch of him fitting into you as though he was meant to be there.
When he finally bottomed out, a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, pressing you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, his weight solid, grounding, overwhelming in the best way.
He didn’t move right away.
Instead, he stayed buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him. Your arms wound around his neck, and he exhaled against your skin, his breath warm and uneven.
For a moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the slow rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch air. He was everywhere, his presence consuming, intoxicating.
And then, he moved.
A slow, deliberate roll of his hips.
You gasped at the sensation, at the way he dragged against your walls with aching precision, each thrust filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, and he shuddered at the sensation, his control fraying at the edges.
“You take it so good,” he praised, his voice thick, rough with something raw, something reverent. 
Every time his pelvis ground against yours, his head spread throughout you. The friction sent sparks up your spine, every movement of his body against yours pulling a new sound from your lips.
He was watching you, utterly captivated by the way you unraveled beneath him. His thrusts remained slow, deliberate, as if savoring every reaction, every little gasp and moan that escaped you.
His fingers traced down your side, over the curve of your waist, gripping you tighter as his pace deepened, intensified. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.
His eyes locked onto yours, his thrusts slow and deliberate. “So beautiful for me,” he rasped, his voice low, dripping with need.
The words ran over your skin, filling you with warm satisfaction, your head tilting back as another moan escaped you. Zayne’s lips hovered above yours. With each slow thrust, they brushed yours lightly. 
His pace faltered, his rhythm stuttering as he fought for control, his breath ragged against your skin. But he didn’t dare rush—he wanted to feel every second of this, every shudder, every tremor that wracked your body beneath him.
“You’re mine… all mine,” he groaned, voice thick with possession, his body tensing, muscles drawn taut as he drove his hips deep one last time.
A choked moan escaped you as you shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His grip on you tightened as his own release followed, a deep, guttural sound leaving his lips as he buried himself fully, claiming every inch of you.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, your hearts hammering in sync as he collapsed against you, his weight a comforting warmth pressing you into the mattress.
Neither of you spoke right away.
Zayne traced slow, lazy circles on your bare skin, grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality of you. His forehead rested against yours, his breath still uneven but calming, syncing with yours.
Then, in the quiet, his lips tipped into a smirk against your temple.
“So… does this mean I can finally call you my girlfriend?” His voice was lower now, teasing but laced with something real—something hopeful.
He pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Or do I have to seduce you all over again?”
His grin was cocky, but there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you—like he needed this answer.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, a slow, tired smile spreading on your lips as you exhaled softly.
"I think you already have," you whispered.
The tension broke as he let out a satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go.
And you didn’t want him to.
Not now.
Not ever.
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bincliff · 1 year ago
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yundeob · 7 months ago
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A NIGHT IN HOLLYWOOD ☆ | ATEEZ SERIES
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— featuring ot8!ateez in iconic HOLLYWOOD romance and rom-com movies
— TICKET BOOTH IS CLOSED! 🎟️ : the movies are about to start! all fics will have MATURE CONTENT! MDNI!
sit back, relax, grab your popcorn and tissues, and enjoy the silver screen . . .
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THE PARENT TRAP ☆ | KHJ
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TROPE: exes to lovers! divorced!au
TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life
AS DIVORCED PARENTS to two twin daughters, you and hongjoong have your fair share of work cut out. Driving to piano lessons, cheering at hockey games, drop offs at each other’s houses, it can all be a little much. But could a relaxing summer retreat as a whole family possibly rekindle past emotions you’ve swept under the rug? . . .
— IN THEATRES
DIRTY DANCING ☆ | PSH
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TROPE: bad boy!seonghwa, enemies to lovers!au , 60s!au
TAGS: nsfw, smut, angst, crack
THAT WAS THE SUMMER before JFK got shot, before the beatles came, and when you were working part time at your aunts summer resort. That was also the summer you met resident heart breaker and cocky entertainment crew member, Park Seonghwa. Remind yourself why you’re suddenly dance partners with him again? . . .
— not yet in theatres . . .
PRETTY WOMAN ☆ | JYH
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TROPE: dilf!yunho x formerstripper!reader, strangers to lovers!au, contract lovers!au,
TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst
LIVING IN BEVERLY HILLS comes with its perks. But for two different people such as yourself and multimillionaire business tycoon, Jeong Yunho, both of you can’t seem to find what you’re looking for in the so called ‘Land of Dreams’. So the proposal is simple really… let him spoil you with money, jewelry and clothes while in return, you stay by his side. . .
— not yet in theatres . . .
MR AND MRS KANG ☆ | KYS
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TROPE: marriage!au, established relationship, spy!au, assasin!au
TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST, crack
WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT picture perfect suburban neighbourhood couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kang would be at each others necks trying to kill each other first. You’ve both come this far in your marriage while hiding your secret identities, but it looks like only one person can remain standing. I guess you both did promise “in sickness and in health”. . .
— not yet in theatres . . .
ROMAN HOLIDAY ☆ | CS
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TROPE: royalty!au, princess!reader x reporter!san, strangers to lovers!
TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst
AS CROWN PRINCESS, you’re on a tightly scheduled tour of European capital cities. But after an especially rough day in Rome, you sneak out of the embassy to explore the so called Eternal City, running into no other than celebrity news reporter, Choi San, looking out for his next big royal scandal. . .
— not yet in theatres . . .
10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU ☆ | SMG
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TROPE: college!au, stoner!mingi, enemies to lovers!au, fakedating(?)au, y2k aesthetic
TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life
YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER Wooyoung is desperate in getting you, his older sister in college, to date so that he can finally date in highschool. The options for potential candidates are scarce, considering men flock away like birds the second you’re near. Good thing campus stoner and weirdo, Song Mingi is the same as well. . .
— not yet in theatres . . .
HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS ☆ | JWY
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TROPE: fashioncolumnist!reader x advertiser!wooyoung, y2k aesthetic, fake dating(?)au, enemies to lovers!au, mutual pining
TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life
LISTEN, IF IT MEANS getting a promotion at your editorial company as a news journalist instead of pop culture and lifestyle columnist, you’d do anything. And that includes pretending to be the most annoying and clingiest girlfriend to some guy for 10 whole days. But just so you know, Wooyoung likes clingy. . .
— not yet in theatres . . .
ROMEO & JULIET ☆ | CJH
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TROPE: unrequited love, star crossed lovers!au, mutual pining, secret romance (shakespeare be rolling in his grave rn)
TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST
FOR CENTURIES, a plague of hatred and hostility has been present in the relations between the House of Choi and your own. You know you can’t be together, but yet why do you keep catching that dark haired boy staring at you so longingly? And why do you want him just as bad?. . .
— not yet in theatres . . .
a/n: for updates, follow my blog! this will be a work-in-progress so I ask for your support:(🙏
taglist: @vent-stink @dazzlingstarrs @vcutparis @xpixie @potatos-on-clouds @showingmafandomlove @bibbleypoof @kpop-will-kill-me @avantalem @beabatiny @gabrielle-brugger @nsixns @amaranth1ne @stayminho @myblovedjyh @kkeshia @rebekah-reads @yoonbroom @4kwp @butterflydemons @iwaizumiismybae @soobinsputnik @stayatinykatsy @atitties @justconniez @kitten4sannie @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @cheolsthicthighs @morethingsfandom @geminiml95 @byuntrash101 @quailbagutte @syubseokie @newworldwritings @urmom26john @sleepy-kat-here @pearltinyy @hjshyhyssnmgwyjh @cursedeastern @starryunho @piratekingateez2001 @jiminbility @paumll @drinkingrumandcocacola @roomsofangel @channies-bbg-room @meanaonthemoon @teeztopia @pommelex @kiln9z @sanhwalvr @youresolivlie @edawg77 @a-0206 @summer-gyu @bvidzsoo @yoongzsmile28 @tournesol155
taglist became too long so find the second taglist here💀 no longer taking requests
11/1/25 update: i apologize for how slow this is taking😭 yes, i still am 100% fully committed to finishing this series! I ask for your patience and understanding🫶🏼
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snowsinterlude · 1 year ago
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need someone older.
(teacher!coriolanus × student!reader.)
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summary: a teacher can do a lot in private lessons.
c.w: reader is 19 for repeating a year, age gap (coryo's 29), fingering, tummy bulge, heavy smut, edging (f. recieving), overstimulation, stuffed panties, mild public sex, petnames (coryo calls reader bunny, pet, good girl.), reader thinks coryo is married so . cheating implications, marriage proposal
being a dumb girl was something you tried your best to do ever since you repeated the first year of high school, watching all your friends graduating before you was something you weren't proud about- not for them, but for you. you were supposed to be by their side.
thankfully, you had your professor, coriolanus snow. god. he was the only reason for you to pay attention to class (or at least try to), you were hungry for his approval. for you to be called a "good girl", and be said that you've done well in your tests? yeah, you were willing to do anything for that.
when he offered you private classes, you said yeah without even thinking much. you needed to learn, and spending more time with him was something you craved for. the ring on his finger? fuck it. you wanted it. you deserved it. more than his wife – if he had one.
you've been day dreaming about it constantly, eyes always searching for his on every class you had with him, and he would keep that smile painted on his face, not wanting anyone to think you were the reason for him to be smiling, even if you were, the didn't need to know about it.
"bunny," he voiced, leaning on your desk and taking advantage of the fact that you both were on the library, every student on the school had gone home and the teachers had gathered to go to a nearby bar. "stop looking at my dick now, will we?" he said, chuckling at you.
"huh?" you asked, finally waking to your reality.
"you need to learn that if you don't want to repeat a grade again." he said, sitting by your side, his hand holding your thigh. "you don't want to repeat now, do you?" you shaked your head negatively, and he loved seeing you like that, shy as a kitten even if you usually had his dick on your mouth when that used to happen. "c'mon, don't look at me like that. we have to put these things on your brain if you want to graduate already." he said.
his fingers slowly travelled all the way up on your panties, finding a small damp on the fabric, he looked at you with his usual smirk, his pupils blown already from everything he was about to do to you.
and now you looked like a mess. hands gripping on the library desk as your legs trembled with the aftermath of every time you almost came. you counted six till now, crying from how good it felt having him behind you, his fingers thrusting lewdly into your cunt.
"c-coryo- t-teacher, please. please stop it, i have to cum- i can't hold it in anymore!" you begged, clenching as his fingers rubbed deliciously on your clit after thrusting so many times inside you.
"well, it's not my fault, pet. you're the one getting your questions wrong." he said, pulling his dick to tease the core of your pussy, your cries only making him feel and making his ego bigger. "tell me, baby, how do you want it?"
"q-quick, pleease! if it get slower i-i think i'll die!" you said, legs spread as your skirt revealed a small part of your ass.
"oh, c'mon, i'm sure you can take it, baby" he purred in your ear, the tip of his cock teasing your pussy and slapping your clit slightly, making your body jolt slightly. you bend over, your elbows being now your main support at that table.
"please, teacher..!" you begged. but he didn’t even bat an eye to your cries, slowly sliding his dick inside you, and fuck, you both fucked on wednesday, how come he always seems to stretch you up so good? the pace he choose to torture you with was so slow, making sure you felt every inch of his dick inside you, stretching you, making you his. "please, don't do that to me. j-just ask something easier!" you cried.
"easier? okay... let's see" his hips bucked slowly into yours, your pussy gushing around him as if your own body needed that- as if he was the hair you breathed for. "what's your age, babe?" he asked, a playful tone being cast as his free hand massaged your boob, pinching on your nipple and freeing both your boobs from it's cage.
"n-nineteen." you said, and he laughed again as he said: "good girl, you're right.", his hips giving you a powerful thrust that made you cum with only that, making you cry from your own humiliation.
"ah, bunny, don't tell me you came already only with that." he said, joking with your face as you cried.
"i'm sorry- too good. i-it was too deep." he laughed, pulling back and thrusting deeper again, this time, you made sure not to cum again, edging yourself as he changed your position to put your leg over his broad shoulder, his dick making a bulge appear at your tummy. he loved that view- much more than he loved you.
"look at you, taking me so well. how does it feel, baby? use one of the words we learned at the literature class," he grunted your tightness coating his dick with your own juices, "use them, even if it's just two, and i'll let you cum."
"tortuous," you begin, crying from how good it felt, from how dumb you were getting. "spiralling, it's twirling my insides!" you cried. and he smilled, kissing and licking your tears before placing the most gentle kiss on your lips, pouding faster into you as you closed your eyes shut, moaning and grunting from all the pleasure- and yet you tried your best to avoid moaning only to hear his moans and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.
"good girl." he said, his hands holding your hips as he fucked you. it felt truly out of your world experience. his phone ringed just at the right moment he hit your cervix. "t-teacher, your phone- it can be your wife." you said, earning a frown from him as he turned the phone off.
"wife? baby, i'm single." he said, chuckling at you. "you've been walking around school with my cum stuffed in your panties even thought you thought i was married?" he pounded into you with a more quicken pace. "god, what a dirty girl you are. fucking around with married teachers." he teased you.
you felt a heat on your cheeks that you never felt before. god, how much would you end up humiliating yourself? "b-but, fuck! y-your ring-"
he showed you the ring. taking it off his finger with his mouth and sticking his tongue to you, an invitation for you to take the ring.
"keep it." he said once you took the ring
"but- s-sir, i-"
"mm, bunny, i'm a faithful man." he said. "and right now, i'm faithful to you." he said. you squirmed deliciously at the feeling of his cock filling you up again, his tip on your cervix as you came again, and soon enough, he came too.
he helped you get dressed into your panties again and straightned your clothes, a cast kiss on your lips before he smiled sweetly at you, putting the ring on your middle finger.
"i hope you know what that means."
"i-i do." you said, for both questions heavily implied in that context.
"great. then make sure to graduate, bunny." he smiled. "i'm sure the honeymoon will be great."
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logansdoll · 6 months ago
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professor
the students are excited to have their old biology teacher back, but you can't be that great... right?
CW: fluffy fluff, the events of Last Stand didn't happen, Logan being Logan, reader is a chlorokinetic (controls plants), love at first sight, Logan's down bad off rip
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It was a couple months back when word of your return began buzzing around the mansion.
No one knew where the rumor started, or who started it, but the day wasn't even half over before the entire student body was obsessed.
Whispers muttered during class, lunchtime gossip chains, study group pow-wows.
Many couldn't believe it.
You? Come back?
No way.
Some could've sworn you were supposed to be gone for at least a few more years.
Others thought you weren't supposed to come back at all.
And a small few even believed that your arrival could come as soon as the following month.
But after a week or so of no follow up, eventually, the rumor was put to rest, interest diverted to the next, newest gossip on campus.
...
That is... until the story came out.
Apparently, one of the students—who seemed to have some sort of super-hearing—eavesdropped on a conversation between Scott and Charles, and found out you would, in fact, be returning to the school and your position as the biology teacher.
And that was all the students needed to go absolutely berserk.
It wasn't even a full twenty-four hours later before the first meeting of your welcoming committee was held, the new club already having about twenty-five members.
While they began making preparations and to-do lists for your arrival, another group began going out to your garden on the weekends, trimming the overgrown weeds and planting new flowers in their place, caring for them in the meantime.
Some students even started straightening up your old classroom, cleaning the clouded glass of the greenhouse and redecorating with your favorite blooms.
And, of course, Logan had to return from one of his trips right in the middle of it.
Now, at first, he didn't really give a shit.
But out of curiosity, he asked Rogue what all the commotion was about—especially after some kid ran past him with a trolley full of potting soil—and what he gathered was that you were some professor who left about a year ago to teach abroad.
Apparently, you were nearly every kid's favorite teacher, your fun and interactive lessons, along with your genuinely kind and caring personality, touching the hearts of damn near the entire student body.
Even kids who had never met you before were chipping in, helping out those who needed a little extra manpower.
It was almost unbelievable.
'If this chick doesn't show up, Charles is gonna have a nuclear war on his hands...'
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"Guys!" Kitty shouted, running straight through the front door and into the foyer. "I think her car just pulled up!"
The following stampede could've ranked as a 9.0 on the Richter scale.
It was eight in the morning on a Saturday, and half the kids were still in their pajamas, but they all moved with lightning speed, grabbing their signs and noise-makers before running down the stairs.
A boy with super speed sprinted to the lower level dorms and woke everyone else, while a girl with the ability to stretch hung up a welcome banner over the archway.
"Hurry! She's walking up!" Kitty reported, her head halfway through a window.
Quickly, the students formed a crowd at the door, the teachers slowly descending the stairs to join them.
"Mmm. She's here already?" Jean yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she landed on the final step, hand in hand with Scott.
"Still as punctual as ever," he smiled.
"I'll say," Ororo grinned, crossing her robe over her chest, "She wasn't supposed to show up for another week."
Logan was less amused.
No one should have that much energy on a weekend.
Even still, he quietly settled himself off to the side, leaning up against a wall while the others joined the crowd.
'You wouldn't get this kinda reception if the President was the one coming...'
"Y'know..." Ororo started, seemingly out of nowhere, as she joined him on the wall. "I think you'll like her... she's just your type."
He turned to her, raising a brow, "Is she, now?"
Despite his playful tone, he wasn't entertaining the idea in the slightest.
All that true love-soulmate bullshit didn't exist for men like him.
He was 136, going on 137, and had loved and lost enough times to realize that at the end of the day, he'd outlive her.
So why bother?
His life would be one he forever walked alone—a fact he was slowly coming to terms with.
Or at least he thought he was.
Because as you walked through the threshold before him, flashing a heart-stopping grin, he felt all that shit go flying out his head.
You were absolutely beautiful.
And you'd think after 200 years he'd learn...
"Surprise!" the children cheered, proudly holding up their signs and tossing confetti into the air. "Welcome home!"
You gasped, dropping your bags and covering your mouth in shock as you admired the homemade decorations.
"Kids, you shouldn't have!" you smiled brighter than the sun, letting out a small laugh as they all rushed you for a group hug.
And, of course, you were happy to oblige.
"It's good to see you, (y/n)," Scott greeted, he and Jean walking over.
(y/n).
The name sounded like honey on his tongue.
"Logan," Ororo smirked, elbowing her friend in the rib. "You're drooling."
The man cleared his throat, closing his mouth and averting his eyes so they couldn't embarrass him any further.
"Some of you have gotten so big since we last met!" you cheesed, pulling back to examine each of them. "And I see some new faces, too..."
But, against his will, Logan's gaze trailed back to you, Jean's speech going in one ear and out the other.
And when it landed on your face again, he realized he wasn't the only one staring.
Your soft, (e/c) eyes were trained on him as well, their flicker of curiosity and awe completely contrasting your composed demeanor.
It made him feel hot, being subject to your gaze, and he could feel himself thoughtlessly straightening his posture, making himself appear taller, and slightly larger.
You let out a silent laugh, discreetly bringing a hand to your lips to cover it, but not before letting the man get a peak of your smile once more.
Fuck, that smile.
"Can you two quit eye-fucking? It's gross," Scott groaned, joining the two on the wall.
Logan ignored him, looking toward you with a small smirk.
Something about you gave him a good feeling... like things would be different.
Maybe love could exist for him after all...
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