#you should’ve seen him when he first got me!!! you should’ve seen him when he first saw me!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aesthetically-dying101 · 2 days ago

Text

Mine

A/N: last instalement! yaysies!

Warnings: smut at the end, mention of marriage, toxic ex mention , this is incredibly long, dometic nanami.

Part 1: Unattainable; Part 2: Obtainable.

Nanami had never been so nervous in his life.

Not during his first court case, not when he was promoted to head of his firm, not even when he stood before a courtroom filled with people, their collective gaze pressing down on him like a physical weight.

But now? Now he was seated at the best table in the city’s most exclusive restaurant, his hands resting on the white linen tablecloth, and he couldn’t remember the last time his heart had beat this fast.

The restaurant was quiet, understated, elegant. It was the kind of place where the lighting was dim but warm, where each table was spaced far enough apart to offer a sense of intimacy. He’d made sure to reserve a corner table by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline, its twinkling lights mirroring the way his chest felt—bright, chaotic, alive.

He checked his watch.

She wasn’t late.

Of course not. You’re always on time, always.

He’d made sure to arrive early—fifteen minutes, to be exact—but every passing second felt like an eternity.

He adjusted his tie for the fourth time. Why had he worn a tie? Was it too formal? Maybe a bow? Maybe he should’ve gone with something more casual—no, no. This wasn’t casual. This was you. Nothing about you warranted casual. You were elegance and precision, confidence and poise. You deserved the best, and he was determined to give you exactly that.

The sound of heels clicking against the marble floor snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.

He looked up, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

There you were, walking toward him, and God help him, you were stunning.

You weren’t wearing anything flashy—just a simple black dress that hugged your frame perfectly, paired with heels that made your legs look impossibly long. Your hair was styled, your makeup subtle but flawless, and you walked with that same effortless grace that had always made his chest tighten.

For a second, he genuinely thought he might die. Right there. At the table. This is it. This is how I go. Cause of death: you.

He stood up as you approached, his palms slightly damp but his posture composed, ever the gentleman.

“Nanami,” you greeted, your voice smooth, your lips curved into a soft smile that sent his heart straight into overdrive.

“You look…” He stopped, realizing too late that he didn’t have the words prepared. Breathtaking. Ethereal. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Instead, he settled on: “Incredible.”

Your smile widened, and he swore the room got brighter. “Thank you.”

He pulled out your chair for you, careful not to let his hands shake, then returned to his seat, gripping the edge of the table to steady himself.

You picked up the menu, your eyes skimming the options, but Nanami couldn’t bring himself to look at his own. He was too busy staring at you. Not in a creepy way (at least he hoped not), but in an awe-struck, holy-shit-she’s-here-with-me kind of way.

He noticed everything.

The way your fingers lightly traced the edge of the menu, the delicate arch of your brow as you considered your options, the way the soft lighting highlighted the curve of your cheekbone.

Propose now. Just do it. The thought shot through his brain like a rogue missile, and he had to mentally slap himself. No. No, absolutely not. This is the first date, Nanami. Pull it together.

When the waiter arrived to take your orders, Nanami made sure to order a wine he knew would pair perfectly with the dishes you’d chosen. He didn’t miss the way you tilted your head slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing your face at his attention to detail.

“You’ve really thought this through,” you remarked, a teasing note in your voice.

He gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “You deserve nothing less.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted it. Was that too much? Too forward? But you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, your smile softened, and for the first time that evening, Nanami felt a flicker of confidence.

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about everything—work, life, the absurdities of the legal world. You were sharp and witty, your laugh lighting up the space between you, and Nanami found himself hanging onto every word, every expression, every little gesture.

But beneath it all, he was fighting a losing battle with himself.

Because Goddamn it, he wanted you. Not just physically—though, yes, he absolutely wanted that too—but completely. He wanted to know every facet of you, to wake up next to you, to cook you breakfast, to see you in all your unguarded moments.

And the worst part? You had no idea (no you totally did, but shhhh, don't spoil the fun).

When dessert arrived—a beautifully plated chocolate soufflé—you leaned forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him.

“You’re quiet tonight, Nanami,” you said, your tone playful but curious. “What’s on your mind?”

You. Always you.

He cleared his throat, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. “Just... enjoying the evening.”

You smiled, and he swore he saw something flicker in your eyes—something that made his pulse stutter.

“Well,” you said, picking up your fork and slicing into the soufflé, “I’m glad. I am too.”

He watched as you took a bite, your lips curling into a satisfied smile, and he had to look away before his thoughts went completely off the rails.

The night ended too quickly for his liking. As you both stood outside the restaurant, the city lights casting a golden glow around you, Nanami struggled to find the words to express what he was feeling.

But before he could say anything, you stepped closer, your voice low but steady.

“Thank you for tonight, Nanami,” you said, your eyes meeting his. “It was perfect.”

And then, before he could fully process what was happening, you leaned up and kissed him—softly, briefly, but enough to set his entire world on fire.

When you pulled back, he was stunned into silence, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

“Goodnight,” you said, your smile warm but teasing, and then you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there like an idiot, his lips tingling and his brain short-circuiting.

As he watched you disappear into the night, one thought echoed in his mind, clear and unrelenting:

I’m going to marry her.

*-*

Nanami walked into his office, shoulders already tense from a morning full of meetings, depositions, and paperwork. He hadn’t even had time for coffee yet, and he was dreading the stack of files waiting for him- especially after the date yesterday.

But all of that dissolved the moment he saw you.

You were sitting at his desk.

His very neatly organized desk, casually leaning back in his chair like you owned the place. A bento box was open in front of you, chopsticks in hand as you plucked a piece of tamagoyaki from a perfectly arranged array of food.

And next to it? A second bento box, unopened but clearly meant for him.

Nanami froze in the doorway, his brain short-circuiting.

You glanced up, completely unbothered by his stunned expression. “Ah, Nanami,” you greeted with a small smile, setting your chopsticks down. “Apologies for dropping by unannounced, but also, your secretary told me I had free access to your office?”

The words barely registered because holy shit, you made him food. His gaze darted to the bento box again, taking in the careful arrangement of rice, grilled fish, vegetables, and even a small dessert tucked into one corner.

It was perfect.

Too perfect. Did you make this yourself? Or was he hallucinating?

He cleared his throat, gripping the strap of his messenger bag to ground himself.

“Uh—well, yes,” he stammered, suddenly feeling like a fifteen-year-old boy who’d just been noticed by his crush. “I… I told my secretary to give you access. For… for whenever you needed it.”

You arched a brow, amusement flickering in your eyes as you leaned forward slightly. “Whenever I need it?”

God, why did you have to phrase it like that? Nanami felt his ears burn. He hurried to set his bag down, trying not to look like a complete fool as he loosened his tie. “Yes. I mean. For work-related things. Or… other things. If you needed.”

You hummed, clearly holding back a laugh as you gestured to the second bento.

“Well, since I have this magical open invitation, I figured I’d bring lunch. You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

Nanami didn’t even have it in him to deny it. He sat down across from you, opening the bento box with a mix of awe and reverence, as if it were a sacred artifact. The smell alone made his stomach growl embarrassingly loud, and when he took his first bite—sweet, savory, and cooked to perfection—he almost moaned.

“This is… incredible,” he managed, his voice quiet but sincere.

You smiled, propping your chin on your hand as you watched him. “I’m glad you like it.”

Like it? Nanami was ready to write you into his will. Forget love—he was obsessed. How were you so perfect? He’d known you were smart, beautiful, and terrifyingly competent, but this? You were feeding him? Caring for him? This was dangerous. He was one step away from proposing right then and there.

The two of you ate in companionable silence, your conversation easy and light. You teased him about his neatness (“I’ve never seen such a clean desk. It’s almost creepy.”), and he gently pointed out that you’d left one of your chopsticks on a stack of his papers.

When lunch was over, you stood and smoothed your skirt, picking up the bento boxes to carry them out. Nanami, of course, offered to walk you to the elevator, because what kind of man wouldn’t?

As the two of you stepped into the main office space, every head on the floor turned to look. Assistants, paralegals, junior associates—all of them paused whatever they were doing to watch you walk beside him, perfectly poised and radiant.

Nanami tried to ignore it, but the weight of their stares made his shoulders tense. He glanced at you, worried you might feel uncomfortable, but instead, you seemed completely at ease.

When you reached the elevator, you turned to face him, your expression warm but mischievous. “Thanks for letting me invade your office,” you said lightly, leaning in slightly.

“It’s no problem,” he replied, keeping his tone professional even as his heart pounded in his chest.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t a chaste kiss, either. You cupped his cheek, your lips soft and lingering against his, leaving absolutely no room for misinterpretation. Nanami froze, his brain shutting down entirely as the world tilted on its axis.

When you pulled back, you smiled, brushing a hand lightly over his tie. “I’ll see you later,” you said, your voice low and smooth.

And with that, you stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind you.

Nanami stood there, completely still, his lips tingling, his heart trying to escape his chest. It wasn’t until he turned around and saw his entire floor staring at him—his secretary included, her hands clasped to her chest like she was watching a rom-com—that he realized the full impact of what just happened.

“She kissed me,” he muttered under his breath, dazed. “In front of everyone.”

“She kissed you,” his secretary whispered back, her eyes sparkling with glee.

Nanami ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling both exhilarated and mortified. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to collapse into his chair or march right back to that elevator to kiss you properly.

Instead, he simply walked back into his office, shut the door, and let out a long, shaky breath.

*-*

Nanami meeting Snowball and Shadow felt like a ridiculous milestone, but you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit nervous as you prepped your apartment.

The table was set, the food was warm and ready, and your two cats lounged lazily on the couch, completely unaware that their judgment of your current… whatever-this-was with Nanami was going to mean everything to you.

When he texted that he’d arrived, you did a quick last sweep of the living room, grabbed your courage, and opened the door.

Nanami, of course, was overachieving as always. He stood there holding a bouquet of elegant roses, a bottle of expensive wine tucked under one arm, and a small box of desserts in the other. His suit jacket had been traded for a simple, well-fitted sweater and dark slacks, but he still looked maddeningly polished.

“Good evening,” he said, offering that polite, slightly shy smile that always made your stomach flutter.

“Good evening,” you replied, taking the flowers from him with a soft laugh. “You didn’t have to bring all this.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he said, stepping inside when you gestured him in. He set the wine and dessert down on the kitchen counter, his movements smooth and deliberate, like he was scared to mess up.

You were used to Nanami being put-together, calm, and precise in all things, but something about seeing him here—in your space, loosening up just a little—made your heart squeeze.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you told him, nodding toward the couch. “I’ll put the flowers in a vase.”

Nanami nodded, glancing at the two cats who were already eyeing him like tiny predators. Snowball, your white fluffball of a cat, stared at him with narrowed eyes from her loaf position. Shadow, sleek and dark, crouched with a suspicious tilt to his head.

“Fair warning,” you said over your shoulder as you searched for a vase. “They don’t always like new people. So if they avoid you, don’t take it personally.”

“I’ll do my best to earn their approval,” Nanami replied, his tone serious but warm.

When you came back from the kitchen with the flowers beautifully arranged in a glass vase, you nearly dropped it.

Snowball was perched on Nanami’s lap, loafing like she’d known him for years. Shadow was standing on the back of the couch, leaning down to carefully sniff Nanami’s face, and then—what the hell—she licked his jaw.

“...What did you do?” you asked, frozen in place as you watched your traitorous cats act like Nanami was their long-lost soulmate.

Nanami blinked up at you, looking almost sheepish as Shadow continued to sniff at his collar. “I didn’t do anything,” he said, his hands carefully hovering as if unsure where to pet.

“No, seriously,” you said, setting the vase down with a thunk. “Did you bribe them with treats? Catnip? Hypnosis?��

He gave you a small smile, finally lifting a hand to gently scratch under Snowball’s chin. She responded by tilting her head and purring loud enough to shake the couch.

“I didn’t bribe them,” he said, his voice quiet and smooth. “I just… sat down.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms as you leaned against the kitchen doorway. This was weird. Snowball and Shadow had been notoriously difficult with your ex. Snowball had taken nearly a year to stop hissing at him, and Shadow never so much as looked at him without suspicion. Now, here they were, acting like Nanami was their favorite human in the world.

Shadow finally curled up on the couch beside Nanami, still leaning against his side, and Snowball stretched luxuriously across his lap, purring like a damn motorboat.

You couldn’t help but stare.

“Do they always do this?” Nanami asked, glancing at you with that annoyingly handsome face of his, completely oblivious to the fact that he looked like a goddamn prince charming in that moment.

“No,” you muttered, dragging your gaze back to the flowers and rearranging them just to give your hands something to do. “No, they do not.”

You couldn’t help but compare it to the last time you’d invited someone over—your ex, fumbling awkwardly as Snowball clawed the back of his shirt and Shadow darted under the couch in protest. The difference was stark.

And as much as you hated to admit it, the sight of Nanami sitting there, looking like he belonged in your space, in your life, with your cats purring contentedly beside him, made your stomach do a weird little flip.

“Well,” you said finally, turning back to the kitchen to grab the desserts. “I guess you’ve officially won them over. That’s a big deal, you know.”

Nanami just gave a soft chuckle, his hand absently stroking Snowball’s fur.

“I’m honored,” he said, but there was something about the way he said it—so gentle, so genuine—that made you pause for just a second before shaking your head and grabbing the wine.

This man, you thought to yourself, as you walked back to join him on the couch, is going to ruin me.

*-*

The wine bottle sat empty on the coffee table, next to the remnants of dessert and two barely-touched glasses. The movie played on in the background, some noir film neither of you had really paid attention to after the first twenty minutes.

Instead, you were draped over Nanami, your legs tangled with his, one arm lazily looped around his neck as you kissed him like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

And to his credit, Nanami kissed you back with all the tenderness in the world, his lips soft, slow, and reverent.

But that was the problem.

His hands? They stayed firmly on your waist, never wandering, never tightening, just resting there like this was some innocent middle school date. And while that had been charming for about two minutes, now it was starting to drive you a little insane.

You pulled back slightly, your breathing uneven, lips tingling, and stared at him. Nanami blinked up at you, his golden-brown eyes glassy, lips parted slightly. He looked thoroughly kissed, and yet… he was just sitting there. Like this wasn’t the kind of moment where you might actually combust if things didn’t move forward.

“Nanami,” you said, your voice low, laced with exasperation.

“Yes?” he asked, his tone so polite it bordered on absurd.

“What are you doing?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He blinked, the faintest hint of confusion flickering across his face. “Kissing you?”

You stared at him for a beat, then leaned back, arms crossing as you sat up straighter on his lap.

“That’s it? You’re just going to sit here, kissing me like we’re chaperoned teenagers at a school dance?”

Nanami’s brows furrowed, and for a split second, you saw a flicker of panic. “Wait, are you—are you saying you want to…?” His voice trailed off, like he didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence without combusting.

Your jaw dropped. “Obviously! Unless you don’t want to?”

“No, no! I mean—yes, I do, I just…” He trailed off again, his hands still glued to your waist like he was afraid to move them.

You stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment, then shook your head with a half-laugh, half-groan.

“Nanami,” you said, your tone softer now but still laced with disbelief, “you passed the cat test. Do you seriously think I’d be in your lap right now if I didn’t want this?”

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “I—uh—”

With a sigh that was equal parts affection and frustration, you reached down, grabbed one of his ridiculously large hands, and placed it firmly on your ass. His eyes went comically wide, and you could actually see the moment it clicked in his brain.

“Oh,” he breathed, his voice low and a little rough.

“Yes,” you said, exasperated but grinning. “Oh.”

It was like a switch flipped.

His grip tightened on you, his other hand sliding up your back with deliberate pressure, and when he kissed you this time, there was nothing polite or restrained about it. His lips were hot and demanding, his tongue teasing yours in a way that made your toes curl.

You let out a quiet noise of approval, pressing yourself closer, one hand curling in his hair while the other wandered over the broad expanse of his chest. God, he was solid—everywhere.

As his hands wandered, you made a mental note to thank whatever divine forces had crafted this man because damn. Those hands? Perfect. The way he gripped your hips, your thighs, your waist, like he was trying to memorize every curve—perfect.

Your brain was buzzing, heat pooling low in your belly as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you made another note to bite his arms and pecs later, because wow. He was so perfect it was almost unfair.

“Nanami,” you murmured against his lips, your fingers brushing along his jaw as you leaned back slightly.

He made a low, frustrated sound, like he didn’t want to stop kissing you, but his eyes opened anyway. “Yes?”

“Can I call you Kento?” you asked, your voice teasing but genuine.

He blinked, his brows furrowing slightly, and then he gave a short, breathless laugh. “Haven't you been calling me that this whole time.”

“Yeah, but I want to know if I can,” you said, grinning as you leaned in to nip at his bottom lip.

“Kento’s fine,” he murmured, his voice rough, his hands sliding up to cradle your back. “You can call me whatever you want.”

You hummed in satisfaction, kissing him again. “Good,” you murmured, your lips brushing his as you spoke. “Because ‘Nanami’ feels a little too formal for what we’re doing.”

“Fair point,” he muttered, his lips finding yours again, his hands pulling you closer as the rest of the world faded away.

Nanami kissed you like his life depended on it, his hands steady on your waist, his lips warm and insistent. But then, suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes locked onto yours with a determined intensity that made your stomach flip.

Without a word, he stood up, his arms sliding under you, one beneath your knees and the other cradling your back, and then—like you weighed nothing—he lifted you.

You made a small sound of surprise, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Oh,” you breathed, looking up at him, your cheeks warm.

His expression didn’t waver, that resolute focus fixed on you as he carried you toward the bedroom. “You deserve better than a couch,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “If we’re doing this, I’m doing it properly.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Oh my God. Was it normal to feel faint from just being picked up? Because it was doing things to you.

You knew Nanami was strong—he looked like a man who deadlifted in his spare time—but actually experiencing it? His broad shoulders, the way his chest shifted with every step, the way he carried you like you weren’t an entire adult?

Oh la la.

You barely had time to process it before he reached the bed and set you down with such care it nearly made you melt. His hands lingered briefly, his thumbs brushing over your sides before he straightened.

He stepped back slightly, his gaze running over you for a split second before he started undoing the buttons on his shirt. Slowly.

You sat up a little, your elbows propped on the bed as you watched. No shame, just awe. Each button revealed more of that golden skin, the sharp definition of his collarbones, the broad expanse of his chest, all lean muscle and strength.

Jesus Christ. Your ex never looked like this. No one you’d ever dated looked like this. Was it even legal to look this good? You weren’t sure, but you were sure of one thing: you’d be joining him at the gym just to watch.

When he shrugged off his shirt and reached for his belt, you couldn’t help the dreamy sigh that escaped you.

Nanami paused, his hands halting, a faint crease forming between his brows. “Am I… doing something wrong?” he asked, his voice tinged with hesitation.

You shook your head immediately, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

“Nope. It’s just…” You gestured vaguely at him. “You’re so pretty.”

For a split second, Nanami just stared at you, clearly caught off guard. Then, to your absolute delight, the tips of his ears turned pink, the faintest flush creeping across his cheeks.

His flustered reaction only fueled your giddiness. You giggled, a sound that felt foreign after everything you’d been through lately, but also so good. It had been so long since you felt this light, this… giddy over a man.

Nanami cleared his throat, his hands resuming their work on his belt. “I—thank you,” he muttered, his voice a little gruffer now, like he wasn’t quite sure how to process the compliment.

When he pushed his slacks down and stood there in just his boxers, you were already halfway gone. But when those, too, hit the floor—

Your breath caught in your throat. Your brain stopped working for a solid three seconds. Holy shit.

“Is… everything okay?” Nanami asked cautiously, his brow furrowing as he caught your expression.

You blinked a few times, dragging your gaze back to his face. “This is so unfair,” you muttered, almost to yourself.

His brows knit tighter. “What is?”

“You,” you said, gesturing at him like that explained everything. “How are you so pretty? Even your dick? Like, what the fuck, Kento?”

The flush on his cheeks deepened, and you could’ve sworn you saw the corners of his lips twitch, like he was trying not to smile.

But you weren’t laughing.

Okay, maybe you were internally, because this was ridiculous—this whole man was ridiculous. From the way his broad shoulders filled out a suit to the fact that he apparently passed the cat test on the first try to… this.

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady, though you could see the faintest flicker of something—amusement? Adoration? You weren’t sure, but it made your chest ache in the best way.

“Are you just going to keep sitting there, admiring me?” he asked, his voice low, teasing, though there was an edge of shyness to it.

You grinned, feeling the last of your nerves fade away as you leaned back on your elbows, your legs shifting invitingly. “Maybe,” you said, your voice playful. “Unless you have other plans?”

His eyes darkened slightly, his throat working as he swallowed. “Oh, I have plans,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hands reaching for you with that same steady, deliberate care.

And as he lowered himself over you, his lips brushing yours, you couldn’t help but think: Yeah, this man is absolutely perfect.

*-*

Nanami took a slow, deep breath through his nose, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside him. He was naked. In your bedroom. Naked. With you.

He didn’t panic.

Not outwardly.

But internally? Oh, internally he was unraveling faster than he thought humanly possible. His heart thundered against his ribcage like it was trying to escape, and the heat pooling low in his body was so overwhelming that he was half-convinced he might pass out.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Okay, you’re already looking down. Fuck.

Your were standing there, peeling away layers of clothing with an ease that was both graceful and maddening. Each article of clothing you removed revealed more of you—smooth, soft skin, curves that his hands itched to touch, and a confidence in your movements that utterly destroyed him.

He tried to focus on anything else—your bedside table, the faint glow of the lamp, the sound of your soft breaths. Don’t lose it, Kento. Keep your shit together. You are a grown man, not a horny teenager. Breathe. You’re fine.

And then you slid your last piece of clothing off.

Oh no. You are not fine.

Nanami’s mouth went dry.

The world tilted slightly on its axis. He swore he could hear the faint ringing in his ears that came with sheer sensory overload.

You were… breathtaking. No, breathtaking wasn’t even the right word—there wasn’t a word in his vocabulary that could encompass how incredible you looked.

Your skin glowed in the warm light, and the curve of your body was so stunning, so utterly perfect, that he wanted to commit every inch of you to memory. But it wasn’t just your body—it was the way you held yourself. Confident. Beautiful. Unapologetic.

And then you looked at him. That look—that playful, knowing look—was his undoing.

“Kento,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth and something else that made his knees weak.

He blinked, realizing he’d been frozen in place. “Y-Yes?” His voice cracked slightly, and he wanted to bury himself six feet under.

You smirked. SMIRKED. “You okay there?”

He forced himself to swallow, nodding slowly. “Yes. Fine.” Totally fine. Completely normal. Definitely not trying to fend off a stroke because all the blood in his body has abandoned his brain.

You laughed, low and warm, and stepped closer to him. That was when he noticed that he was staring. Oh, God, he was staring. His gaze darted to the side for a moment, but you caught his chin gently, tilting his face back to yours.

“Kento,” you repeated, your tone softer now, less teasing. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t. It absolutely wasn’t. But when you smiled at him like that? He could almost believe it was.

He took a steadying breath, his hands reaching out instinctively to rest on your hips, and even that small contact sent a jolt of heat through his veins. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Your smile widened, and you leaned up to kiss him, slow and deliberate, and it was everything. His hands tightened slightly on your hips, but he pulled back before things got out of hand. He didn’t trust himself right now.

“Lie down,” he said gently, his voice low and rough with restraint.

You arched a brow but did as he asked, stretching out on the bed in a way that made his brain short-circuit.

Nanami followed you, lowering himself beside you with all the caution of a man defusing a bomb. He ran a hand over your arm, his touch featherlight, before trailing his fingers down your side, mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your hip.

You sighed softly, your eyes half-lidded as you watched him, and he swore he’d never seen anything more captivating in his entire life.

Focus, Kento. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then another just below it. He took his time, his lips and hands exploring your skin like he was committing her to memory.

He kissed his way down your body, every soft sound you made spurring him on. He was methodical, thorough, worshipful—because that’s what this was.

Worship.

Your hands found his hair, her fingers threading through it as he worked his way lower, and he could feel the faint tremble in your body beneath him. It made him want to fall apart and hold himself together all at once.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his lips brushing against your skin.

You looked at him, your eyes warm and full of trust, and nodded. “More than okay.”

And that was all the encouragement he needed.

*-*

You were panting like you’d just run a marathon, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you blinked up at the ceiling in sheer disbelief.

Your thighs still trembled, weak from the way Kento had just worked you over like his life depended on it.

Twice.

You weren’t even sure how you’d gotten there, let alone back-to-back.

Your body still buzzed with the aftershocks of your second orgasm, and honestly, you weren’t sure if you wanted to cry, laugh, or just ascend.

This man—this man. His tongue was a weapon of mass destruction. You hadn’t expected it, not like this.

Sure, you knew he was capable—he carried himself with so much precision, so much control, in every other aspect of his life. But this? This was a level of skill that felt almost illegal.

And then, as you were finally starting to breathe like a normal person again, Kento leaned up on his elbows and looked at you. His lips were slick, his hair disheveled in a way that made your stomach flip, and his golden-brown eyes were half-lidded, dark with intent.

He licked his lips—slow, deliberate—and the action sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through your body.

“Don’t stop now,” he murmured, his voice low and rough like gravel.

You blinked at him, your mind still trying to reboot. “Kento, I—”

Before you could finish, he sat up, his large hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you toward him like you weighed nothing. It was almost unfair how easily he handled you, how much strength he had beneath that quiet, unassuming demeanor.

“What are you—” you started, but the words died in your throat when he laid back down, pulling you with him.

“Kento,” you said again, your voice tinged with nervous laughter, “I’m not—what are you doing?”

“Come here,” he said simply, his tone firm but laced with something softer. Something that made your stomach twist in knots.

Your eyes widened slightly as you realized what he was trying to do, and you shook your head quickly. “Wait—no, I’m too—”

“You’re not,” he interrupted, his hands gripping your thighs as he guided you up, positioning you over his face.

“Kento, seriously—what if I’m too heavy? Or what if you—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off again, his tone resolute, his eyes locking onto yours. He looked so calm, so confident, as if there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind about this.

“But—”

“No buts,” he said firmly, his hands sliding up to cup your hips. “Let me do this. Please.”

You hesitated for a moment, your nerves warring with the heat that still burned in your core. But the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made your defenses crumble.

Slowly, cautiously, you let him guide you down, your knees resting on either side of his head as you hovered above him. “If it’s too much, just—”

He pulled you down before you could finish, his mouth already on you, and your words dissolved into a sharp gasp.

Oh, fuck.

You’d been worried—about your weight, about whether he could breathe, about a thousand things—but all of those thoughts vanished the second his tongue moved against you.

He groaned softly, the vibrations of the sound sending shivers down your spine, and his grip on your hips tightened.

Your head fell back as his tongue worked you over with the same devastating precision he’d shown earlier. But this was different—this was deeper, more intense, like he was trying to unravel you completely.

“Kento,” you breathed, your hands gripping the headboard for support as your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

He didn’t answer, didn’t pause—just kept going like a man possessed, his mouth and tongue finding every spot that made you tremble, gasp, moan.

You felt ridiculous, honestly. Ridiculous that you were here, in this position, with this man who looked like he belonged on the cover of some magazine—and he was doing this. Happily. Eagerly.

And the worst part? He was so good at it.

Your thoughts became a jumbled mess, each movement of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Kento, I—”

You couldn’t finish. You couldn’t think.

All you could do was hold on and pray you’d survive this, because at this rate, you weren’t sure you’d make it out alive.

When his tongue pressed against that one spot again, and his hands guided your hips down just a little more firmly, you broke—your body arching, trembling, as your third orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave.

And Kento? He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. If anything, the soft groan he let out as you came only spurred him on, like he was addicted to the way you fell apart for him.

As the aftershocks faded and you tried to catch your breath, you managed to look down at him, your voice shaky as you asked, “How are you even real?”

He smirked up at you, his lips glistening, and his voice was low and teasing when he replied, “You’re one to talk.”

You collapsed to the side, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, as Kento pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. His hands massaged your hips gently, his thumbs tracing soothing circles into your skin as if trying to ground you after the absolute chaos he’d just put you through.

It was almost sweet—until your gaze drifted downward, and you caught sight of the way his cock strained against his stomach.

Oh.

You’d seen it earlier when he stripped—how could you not—but now, with him so worked up, it somehow looked bigger.

Kento noticed your lingering gaze, and his brows furrowed slightly as he shifted beneath you. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, still tinged with concern.

You tilted your head, your lips quirking into a small, teasing smile. “I’m fine,” you murmured, your fingers trailing down his chest. He stiffened under your touch, his abs clenching slightly, and you couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh. “But you, on the other hand…”

He swallowed hard as you shuffled to kneel between his legs, your hands resting on his thighs. You could practically feel the tension radiating off him, his body coiled tight like a spring, but he still managed to keep his composure.

Barely.

“Kento,” you murmured, leaning forward just enough to ghost your lips over the tip of his cock, “you look like you’re about to lose your mind.”

His breath hitched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice cracked slightly, betraying him.

You grinned at that, your fingers wrapping around the base of him, and his head fell back against the pillows with a sharp exhale. God, he was thick. The heat of him throbbed in your hand, and you took a moment to trace the veins that ran along his length, marveling at how impossibly hard he was.

“Seriously,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him, “how is this thing so pretty?”

Kento let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh, his hand coming up to cover his face. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” you interrupted, your thumb brushing over the swollen head of his cock. He gasped, his hips twitching slightly, and you giggled. “And I will.”

Before he could protest—or combust—you leaned down, taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice low and wrecked, his head pressing harder into the pillows.

You worked him slowly, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way his thighs tensed beneath your hands. Each sound he made, each shudder of his breath, sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t help but take your time, teasing him, dragging this out.

But eventually, Kento’s hand found your hair, his grip gentle but firm as he tugged you back. “I’m—I need…” he started, his words trailing off as he looked down at you with a mix of desperation and restraint.

You pulled away with a soft pop, wiping the corner of your mouth as you met his gaze. “You need what?” you asked, your voice sweet, teasing.

He let out a shaky laugh, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he murmured, “You.”

Your heart stuttered at the rawness in his voice, but you didn’t let it throw you off. You reached over to grab a condom from the nightstand, and his breath hitched again as you rolled it onto him.

Then, you straddled him, lining yourself up as you slowly sank down.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed, your nails digging into his chest as you stilled, giving yourself a moment to adjust. He was… thick.

Kento’s hands flew to your waist, his grip firm but grounding as he forced himself to stay still beneath you. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice strained, his knuckles turning white where they gripped your hips.

You nodded, exhaling shakily. “Yeah, just… give me a second.”

He nodded, his jaw tight as he tried to focus on anything but how impossibly warm and tight you felt around him.

When you finally started to move, his resolve shattered.

You rocked your hips slowly at first, testing the waters, and Kento groaned, his head falling back against the pillows as he muttered your name like a prayer.

You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips as you picked up the pace, your hands bracing against his chest. “Still fine?” you teased, your voice breathless but playful.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hooded, and his grip on your waist tightened. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked.

You laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw as you murmured, “Good.”

Your nails dug into Kento’s chest, leaving bright red trails across his skin as you moved above him, your breaths ragged and uneven. You weren’t entirely sure whether the scratches were deliberate—your mind was far too gone for conscious thought—but the sound he made, somewhere between a groan and a growl, told you he liked it.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, anchoring you against him as he thrust up into you with a steady rhythm. He was rough in the best way—each motion deliberate and firm—but the way his thumbs stroked soothingly against your waist, how his lips occasionally pressed against your shoulder or your jaw, was impossibly tender.

“Kento,” you gasped, your head tilting back as the stretch of him made your toes curl. He filled you so perfectly, so completely, it was almost too much. Almost.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, frayed at the edges. His eyes flicked to where your bodies met, and his jaw clenched as his grip tightened. “So beautiful… fuck.”

Your hips stuttered, overwhelmed by the praise, and he didn’t miss a beat. His hands guided your movements, lifting and pulling you back down onto him as he thrust up to meet you.

You swore you saw stars.

“Oh my God, Kento,” you gasped, one of your hands sliding up to his shoulder for leverage while the other dragged down his chest again.

He groaned, his hips snapping up harder this time, as though your voice had undone whatever restraint he’d been clinging to.

“You feel… incredible,” he rasped, his breath fanning against your skin. “I don’t—” He broke off, his head tipping back as he let out a guttural sound.

You leaned down, your lips finding his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin just below his jaw as you murmured, “Neither do I.”

It wasn’t a lie. You felt like you were coming apart at the seams, your body burning with each drag and push, each of his little grunts and gasps.

When his hand slipped down to where your bodies met, his thumb brushing against you just so, you couldn’t hold back the cry that escaped your lips.

“Kento,” you pleaded, your body trembling against him.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice soft but sure, like he knew you were unraveling, like he’d do everything to catch you when you fell apart.

And you did.

Your body tensed, the world tipping sideways as the pleasure crashed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling. Kento wasn’t far behind, his pace growing erratic, his fingers digging into your skin as he buried himself deep, groaning your name like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

For a moment, the room was silent except for your mingled breaths, the hum of your ceiling fan faintly audible in the distance.

You collapsed onto him, your cheek pressed against his chest, and you couldn’t help the soft, giddy laugh that bubbled up from your lips. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Kento murmured, his voice hoarse, his chest still rising and falling beneath you. He wrapped an arm around your back, holding you close as if you might slip away.

After a long moment, he shifted, gently nudging you to the side before standing to retrieve a towel from your bathroom. His movements were calm, collected, but you could see the flush creeping up his neck when he returned to your bed.

You let him clean you up, his touch impossibly gentle, but when he was done, he stayed on his knees at the foot of the bed, staring at you with a strange intensity.

“What?” you asked, smiling softly.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his lips quirking slightly. “The sauna,” he said finally, his tone playful but low.

You blinked, then let out a soft laugh, rolling onto your side to face him fully.

“What about it?”

His brows arched, and he leaned forward, resting a hand against the bed as his other fingers traced a featherlight pattern along your ankle. “You… you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

You grinned, biting your bottom lip as you propped your head up on one hand. “Obviously,” you said, feigning nonchalance. “I wanted to see if I could break your composure.”

He stilled for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re dangerous.”

Before you could reply, his grip on your ankle tightened, and in one smooth motion, he tugged you toward him.

You let out a surprised laugh, your eyes wide as you looked up at him. “Kento—”

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk, his eyes dark as he leaned down to hover over you. “Then that,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, “was just round one.”

And before you could say another word, he kissed you, slow and deep, making it abundantly clear that the night was far from over.

*-*

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the smell. Something savory and rich—eggs, maybe, with a hint of butter and the faintest whiff of freshly brewed coffee.

The second thing you noticed was the emptiness of the bed.

You blinked, sunlight filtering through the curtains as you propped yourself up on one elbow, the sheets pooling around your waist. The events of the night before came rushing back in vivid flashes—Kento above you, the way he touched you, the sounds he made, the way you’d scraped your nails across his chest, entirely lost in the moment. You groaned softly, burying your face in your hands.

God, that man was going to ruin you.

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you slid out of bed, pulling on a robe before padding out into the kitchen. The sight that greeted you nearly made you melt.

There he was—Nanami Kento, standing in your kitchen like he’d been doing it his whole life, shirtless and impossibly serene despite the deep red scratches that adorned his back and chest like battle scars. He worked with effortless precision, flipping something in a skillet, the muscles in his arms flexing with the movement.

Also, he was only in boxers god those thighs were so... urgh.

At his feet, Snowball and Shadow were winding around his ankles, tails high and hopeful as they meowed pitifully for attention—or food.

Probably food.

“Don’t tell me you’re spoiling them,” you said, your voice still thick with sleep as you leaned against the doorway.

He turned, his expression softening the moment he saw you.

“Good morning,” he said, his tone warm but restrained. He gestured toward the counter, where two plates were already set, the presentation impeccable. “I figured you might need something to eat after… last night.”

You arched a brow, stepping closer. “After last night, huh?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but he didn’t say anything, his focus shifting back to the skillet. You could feel your cheeks warming as you approached him, your gaze trailing over his back.

The scratches stood out starkly against his otherwise flawless skin, and a tiny part of you felt guilty. The rest of you, however, was doing mental cartwheels because—holy hell—this man looked good.

“Breakfast and you fed the cats?” you teased, noting the two empty bowls on the floor.

“They were insistent,” he replied, glancing down at the felines, who were still meowing at him like he owed them more. “Persistent little things.”

You crossed your arms, watching him with a mix of amusement and awe. “Do you do this for every woman you sleep with, or am I just special?”

He turned off the burner, setting the skillet aside before meeting your gaze. “You’re special,” he said simply, his tone so matter-of-fact it made your heart lurch.

Damn it.

You were already planning the logistics of keeping him forever. Sure, you didn’t have a basement, but you had a spare room. Maybe a cage? No, too kinky—he’d just need some convincing. Legalities could come later.

As if reading your thoughts, he stepped closer, wiping his hands on a dish towel before cupping your cheek with one hand. “I hope you’re hungry,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“For food, or for you?” you asked, smirking.

His ears turned faintly pink, and he cleared his throat, stepping back to gesture toward the table. “Both, I hope.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you moved to sit down, your heart feeling inexplicably light. The man could fuck like a god, sure, but he also made perfect scrambled eggs, fed your cats, and looked at you like you hung the stars.

This wasn’t just dangerous.

This was outright criminal.

As you took your first bite, you glanced at him, already seated across from you with a mug of coffee in hand. “You’re too good to be true, you know that?”

He tilted his head, his gaze soft but searching. “I could say the same about you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Yeah, you thought to yourself, sneaking a glance at Snowball and Shadow, who had both taken up positions near his feet.

And you knew right then, that you'd marry him.

A/N: hehe i hope this was alright, i am TRYING to write half decent smut.

EDIT: I DIDNT KNOW BUT LILLIES ARE TOXIC TO CATS!!!!! don't give lillies to people with cats!!!!!! do not!!!!!!!!! (i've changed, it to roses, but initially it was lillies)

Masterlist.

197 notes · View notes

t1ts-4-donaldson · 18 hours ago

Note

I love your writing more than anything!!! Especially babygirl Alien!Art😭😭😭 Could I possibly request another sweet little snippet for him or Camboy!Art?

Camboy!Art Donaldson x Shy Reader Part 3?

He’d insist you stay with him whenever he edited videos, apparently he liked the company why it was exclusively when he was rewatching you both on the verge of fucking didn’t make sense to you but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that you were in his arms his until he was tired and wanted you to leave.

It’s right before he’s about to upload his new video when he asks what's on your mind while threading his fingers through your hair.

"Why did you start doing this?" you glance up at him curiously.

"The pay is good" he shrugs honestly "Patrick actually got me into it, we were making video's together for a while-" the comment makes you sit up in shock "seriously?" your jaw drops

"yeah" he grins "he's a good fuck too" he pauses” why you wanna join?" he teases

"No.." you huff laying back against his chest but Art see's right through it by the way you're rubbing your legs together, that’s when the idea pops up, you should know what you’re missing out on. He faces you sliding his knee between your thighs right against your core "you wanna hear about what we did?" he whispers

you shake your head not wanting to pry or seem desperate so he relents and pulls back laying down on his back but you grip his thigh bringing his leg right where it was "no.. please what- what did you do?" you,stammer eagerly he smiles proudly knowing that he made you cave.

"Well first time around we were both pretty inexperienced and nervous just like you." he caresses your cheek

“We started kissing each other.. Barely doing anything before things got heated” he hums pressing a kiss against your cheek watching how you slowly slip into a trance grasping onto every word, “he started palming my dick through my shorts.” he sighs “I didn’t have the patience stuck my hand in his boxers but he didn’t care,” he lays you flat against your back slowly moving down sucking the skin of your neck, he feels your hips start to move on their own accord sliding up and down slowly “that’s when he started touching me too.. We did it together” Art slowly slips his hand over your hip down to the curve of your ass gripping the flesh hard aiding in your motions smirking as his leg starts feeling sticky “already?” He mumbles it makes you stop you hide your face embarrassed “no don’t stop” he pinches your ass forcing you to move.

“There we were jerking each other off” he continues “Pat got desperate tugged my shorts down all the way did the same to him” he laughs at the memory but he moans eyes fluttered shut as he remembers “he moved closer his hand squeezing both our cocks together” he pants “you should’ve seen it grinding our dicks against each other soaked in spit.” You groan loudly your hips rutting faster against his leg

“fuck he was perfect” Art squeezes his eyes tight slotting his legs between yours matching your movements “we both kept going until he milked us both dry,” your grip on his arm on the verge of painful. “Fuck i’m close” Art admits sloppily rutting against you trying to guide your humping gripping your ass so tight you know it will bruise

“fuck kiss me” you beg. He relents shoving his tongue deep into your mouth hungrily lapping at your open mouth, bodies rutting against one another messily grunts and mewls meshing together along with hands clambering to hold one another finding some stability

“Patrick he-” Art heaves barely finishing the sentence “we both fucked his fist until we finished shit-” Art curses as you both cum.

You gasp into his open mouth digging your nails into his arm, both of your bodies shaking coming down from your high

Time passes by as you both lay limp on Art’s bed, “that sounded nice” you mutter body still jolting from aftershocks of your orgasm, “yeah.. I’ll invite him over sometime” he murmurs briefly looking down at the wet spot on his boxers and slick residue coating his thigh.

#challengers #mike faist #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #hannasmusings #challengers x reader #art donaldson x y/n #art donaldson imagine #camboy!artdonaldson #challengers x y/n #challengers imagine

23 notes · View notes

francesderwent · 6 months ago

Text

but you should’ve seen him when he first got me…

dive bar on the east side, where you at? phone lights up my nightstand in the black. come here you can meet me in the back —> wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark, show me the places that the others gave you scars

I’m perfectly fine, I live on my own, I made up my mind I’m better off being alone. we met a few weeks ago, now you try on calling me ‘baby’ like trying on clothes —> oh, I’m falling in love, I thought the plane was going down. how’d you turn it right around?

I got a boyfriend, he’s older than us, he’s in the club doing I don’t know what. you’re so cool, it makes me hate you so much. whiskey on ice, sunset and vine, you’ve ruined my life by not being mine —> maybe I’ll see you out some weekend depending on what kind of mood and situationship I’m in and what’s in my system. I think there’s been a glitch.

our secret moments in a crowded room, they got no idea about me and you —> romance is not dead if you keep it just yours

and I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate —> head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in, as if you were a mythical thing, like you were a trophy or a champion ring and there was one prize I'd cheat to win

I scream, “for whatever it’s worth, I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?” he looks up grinning like the devil —> the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me, I laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk on your face: you knew the entire time! you knew that I’m a mastermind, and now you’re mine. yeah, all you did was smile.

back when we were card sharks playing games, I thought you were leading me on. I packed my bags, left Cornelia Street before you even knew I was gone. then you called, showed your hand, turned around before I hit the tunnel —> got a sense I’d been betrayed, your finger on my hairpin trigger. soldier down on that icy ground looked up at me with honor and truth, broken and blue, so I called off the troops. that was the night I nearly lost you

and he’s passing by rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky —> one night a few moons ago I saw flecks of what could have been lights but it might just have been you passing by unbeknownst to me

#this is me admitting I need a music tag #do you see the vision?#she’s been returning back to those same moments over and over again #because those first moments were so romantic!!!#you should’ve seen him when he first got me!!! you should’ve seen him when he first saw me!!!#the only songs that she wrote about him after Lover that AREN’T about the beginning of the relationship are:#mirrorball (trying EVERYTHING to keep you looking at me) peace (would it be enough?) hoax (your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in #lavender haze (yikes) and sweet nothing (all you ever wanted was NOTHING.)#like???????????#like I deeply love the folklore songs #I think they were having hard times but there is SO much love in mirrorball peace and hoax #but from evermore onward she’s circling back ever and ever closer to their beginning #and she has nothing to say about their present-tense love that doesn’t get painfully recontextualized after the breakup #like I hate to put it this way (but I will) sweet nothing doesn’t become a Travis mashup. it becomes a joever mashup.#only the stuff about their beginning still rings true enough for her to sing it about her current love

25 notes · View notes

designernishiki · 2 years ago

Text

hot take but. oda is honestly one of the most interesting prominent side characters in y0 to me. like. don’t get me wrong obviously i don’t condone his actions, but speaking as a character design guy, i think he’s got a whole lot of complexity to think about in his story and identity that people tend to ignore/overlook because he’s not a black and white “good” person. like no shit he’s morally fucked, that doesn’t mean his intense pining and crazed level of dedication to tachibana and the lengths all his guilt and repressed love for the man he saw as the best thing to ever grace his life drove him to aren’t interesting to think about– if anything it makes him more interesting. he was. really something

#people like to joke about wanting problematic queer rep instead of just good upstanding citizens all the time but then you get someone like #oda and suddenly all nuance dissappears and liking him as a character (for being a well-made character I mean) is equated to #condoning sex trafficking. like. no that’s not how that works #though I do think- regardless of him being a shitty dude- he does count as a victim of burying your gays #but that’s less about his death being narratively a bad choice and more that there could’ve been more queer rep amongst prominent characters #to balance it out (who don’t die)#though idk I’m always a little put off by the all too common Gay Chracter Dies For Their Tragic Love Interest trope #because it’s. too common. and depressing. but again I think it could’ve been balanced out if someone else was prominent and #canonically queer (also thinking like. nishitani seemed pretty close to canonically bi but. he. also died. so)#anyway. yeah on the other hand im glad they didn’t sugarcoat or morally sanitize him as a character for the sake of his queerness though #I would’ve really liked to have seen more on tachibana’s side about what he thought of oda and their relationship in general- cause they #knew each other for quite a while and were undeniably close. even lived together and whatnot. and all tachibana really got to say when he #found out oda was probably dead was just. well just that. that he’s probably dead. I feel like he should’ve gotten to be more shook by that #and/or more deeply conflicted and pained by the combination of his potential death for makotos safety and his responsibility for #trafficking her in the first place. that’s. such a deep well of complicated emotions to sort out and they really did absolutely nothing #with it. like. it makes me wanna write something that’s how much is There that was unused. so much with that relationship in general really.#hhhh….. anyway I should shut up now #jun oda #oda #yakuza #yakuza 0 #rgg #rgg0 #rambling #oh yeah also. hating him is understandable but you have to then apply the same judgement to all characters who have done some real shitty #stuff in their pasts to get by- which is quite a few characters- including lee who’s far more liked and was a literal hitman #(saying that as someone who also likes him as a character quite a bit and Likes that he’s in a moral grey zone) so. yeah.#yakuza 0 spoilers

27 notes · View notes

void-tiger · 2 years ago

Text

I’m learning that my interpersonal jealousy isn’t so much exclusivity and wanting to hoard someone else like a dragon—it never has been. And I’ve been on the receiving end of that many, many times, some of which has been actively malicious versus just the other person’s insecurity.

It’s moreso a cry of “what about me? Me too! This isn’t fair! Why not me?” And keeping that in-check when the other person isn’t that connected to me yet. Tell the inner insecurity gremlin to chill. Wait. Address that later if there is a later.

Because…actually I like it when someone else has their own life. Hopefully that’d also mean they wouldn’t begrudge me for having mine. Actually that’s what I find interesting and attractive about people, so I’d never want to stifle that.

…I just don’t want to be forgotten. I want to feel secure that the feeling of wanting to connect is mutual.

And…heck. All of my friendships are quite literally long distance, and my closest ones are with people who are usernames shortened to nicknames since they’re internet friendships. Some I chat with daily. Some it’s closer to once a week or once a month or longer—but that’s all fine because I feel secure with where I stand with them. We’ve reached a stable equilibrium. I respect their introvert needs to recharge, and they tolerate my more extroverted need to word splatter and have a back&forth conversation.

Because—at least for me—that’s what jealousy is: it’s an intense awareness of want/need and lack of equilibrium and security. It will go away if those needs are met if a relationship continues to form.

#tiger’s musings #socializing crap #relationships #reflecting on my intense ‘not fair!!’ when someone else got to collaborate instead of me #when I’ve been going pspspsps! to at least be /friends!/ and art buddies for literally a year #but more effort this year vs last #(last year…gave him his space. and tbh I was kinda in a brain fog of chronic and mental pain anyway)#(he didn’t want to have people presumably pressuring to date? well neither did I. still don’t. still need a FRIENDSHIP first.)#and…it IS getting better. I know there’s actual warmth there esp with his family now #but…it’s just so Slow. this all feels like where it should’ve been in ‘month 1’#and THAT’S where the jealousy comes in #no real fault. but definitely frustration with circumstances #and…honestly? he’s seen me upset. and it hasn’t scared him away #and his family hasn’t tried to chase me off by being Hostile Vibes or ‘we don’t want you friends with our (adult) child’#that’s more than I can say for most ANYONE IRL #and…that alone. I can work through my anxieties and continue to be patient #(apparently one of my closest friends lurked for about a year Before we became friends)#(sooo it probably is Extroverted Impatience on my end)#(and needing to continue to show myself as Safe)#(I…I get that. although I tend to either size people up quicker than that #(or lend the benefit of the doubt while actively peoplereading)#…also…one of the scariest things: if I need to actually See bodylanguage and Vibes especially with Few Words Possible #I…also have to unmask my own emotions a bit #and. god that’s terrifying. there’s a reason why I learned a ‘neutral resting bitch face’#but more or less…they have shown my actual feelings don’t scare them when they leak out. wild.

3 notes · View notes

hospitalllforsoullls · 22 hours ago

Text

There was a litany of reasons why it could’ve been different this time I know I’m just repeating myself put me back on my shelf but first pull the string & I’ll tell you that he runs because he loves me

#cause you should’ve seen him when he first got me

1 note · View note

classyrbf · 2 months ago

Text

IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...you and gojo get into a fight after realizing that he’s been hiding something about your relationship the entire time

INFO...gojo x fem!reader, angsty, arguing, breaking up(?), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

You slam the door to the penthouse, your heels clicking against the mahogany floors with each step. You toss your purse on the couch, hearing Gojo opening the front door and shutting it quickly. “Baby, please just listen to me.” He pleads, following after you.

“I don’t wanna hear your bullshit excuse, Satoru.” You roll your eyes, plopping down on the edge of the bed to relieve your sore feet of the heels you’ve been wearing all night to your boyfriends opening event he’s been planning for months now.

“I’m not trying to make excuses. Please.” He walks over towards you and toss your heel at him. “Stop throwing shit and just talk to me!”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” You stand to your feet, glaring daggers at him. “Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? God, you’re a fucking asshole.” You seethe, narrowing your eyes. “I sat there all alone, while you let some woman feel up on you the entire night? Are you out your fucking mind?” You scoff.

“She’s just an old friend, y/n. I swear I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He shakes his head at you, grabbing onto your arms tightly.

“Oh, yeah? So I when I came up and introduced myself as your girlfriend none of your friends were looking at me like I was crazy? I know we’ve been only together for a year, Satoru, but that’s fucking low.” You pull away from him. “They didn’t even know who I was. Then you got miss prissy bitch clearly flirting with you in front of me and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it!” You brush past him, stomping over towards the bathroom.

“Slow down, y/n! Baby—”

“I’m not your fucking ‘baby’, Satoru.” You gather all of your products from the bathroom, from your makeup and skincare to your clothes and shampoo.

“Stop for just one second.” He spins you around so you’re facing him. “Don’t leave. I swear you’re the only girl for me. I know I fucked up, I know I did. I embarrassed you, made you look stupid and I am so fucking sorry. But please do not leave.” He cups your face gently and his touch feels so inviting, but you can’t forgive him that easily. “I only want you. I only need you.”

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing thickly as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Should’ve thought about that when you let her kiss your cheek and you smiled at her. Right in front of me. Get the fuck off of me.” You push him, rushing to grab your bag from the closet.

Gojo lets out a tired sigh, following you. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not like this. “I shouldn’t have let her near me.”

“Why was she so comfortable with being that close to you, huh?” You question, furrowing your brows as you turn to look at him. “Now that I think about it. Let me guess, you two were more than just friends.” You stand to your feet, snatching your clothes off the hangers and shoving them into your bag. He looks at you, opening his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. And from the look in his eyes, you already knew the truth. A bitter laugh leaves your lips, shaking your head in disappointment.

“It was before you! Before us! We never dated it was just a small thing between me and her!” He tried to explain. “Baby, I swear! Once I met you, everything changed. I cut her off and focused all my attention on you. You’re the only who has my heart.” He grabbed your wrist only for you to pull away.

“Clearly I ain’t the only who who’s got your dick, though.” You slam the closet door shut, turning your back towards him.

“Don’t say that, y/n. That’s the first time I’ve seen her in years!”

“Yeah? Well all your friends sure know about her. She must’ve been great in bed, Satoru. Me? Well, they looked at me like I was a fucking ghost!” You scoff. “Like I was some delusional bitch who came up to you and said I was your girlfriend!” You throw your hands up in disbelief. “You must take me for fucking joke. It must be written on my forehead or something!”

“I don’t take you for a joke! You’re my goddamn girlfriend. You live with me. You have my initial around your fucking neck! I love you and you know that!” He takes a step towards you.

“Do I know that?” You ask aloud, cocking your head to the side.

“What—of course I love you. What the fuck are you saying?” He looked at you with pure confusion.

“You’re a joke. One of your friends, Shoko, pulled me aside and told me the only reason you got with me is because your little fling ended up getting a boyfriend herself around the time we started dating. You’re a piece of shit.” You revealed the truth to him, watching him stare at you blankly, lost for words. “Think I wouldn’t find out?” You ripped off the necklace with his initial, tossing it at him.

“Yes, I was upset that she got a boyfriend but—”

“So you had feelings for her. And just to cover them up, you got with me as a distraction.” You step closer towards him. “Listen to me, Satoru, don’t ever try and contact me again, keep whatever fucking gifts you bought me and return them, sell them, do whatever because I am done,” you spoke through gritted teeth.

“No, no, no, baby. You can’t leave me. Yea I liked her before, but so fucking what? I was never in love with her, not like I am with you. I was too fucking stupid. I still am! Just give me another chance to fix this. I don’t want us to end this way.” He grabs your packed bag from your hands and tosses it on the bed.

“Let me go, Satoru.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t. You’re everything to me. She’s nothing compared to you.” He sniffles, holding your hands in his. “I love you so much and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m sorry I embarrassed you. And I’m sorry for entertaining the idea that she could even come close to you. She can’t.” His hands cupped your face, his heart pounding in anticipation as he waited to hear any words from you.

You reached up, pulling his hands away from your face. “Bye, Satoru.” You walked past him, grabbing your bag off of the bed. As much as it hurt to leave, you knew you had to respect yourself. Time and space was what you needed to think. With each step out the door, you could hear Gojo’s sobs, something you’ve never heard before in the year you’ve been with him. For the strong, flashily and confident man he is, you never once thought you’d see or him break down. Especially not for you.

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #gojo x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader angst #gojo x reader angst #gojo angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader angst #gojo satoru angst #jjk angst oneshot #gojo angst oneshot #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n

6K notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 1 month ago

Text

(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)

The phrase started as a whisper.

It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.

“Here comes the sun.”

It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.

Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.

He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.

Then the mission happened.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.

“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.

“Pull him out!” Price ordered.

But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.

This is it, he thought. This is where I die.

The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.

Like the sun.

You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.

But instead, you looked like salvation.

“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.

Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.

You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”

“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.

“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”

Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.

Here comes the sun.

It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.

Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.

You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.

“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”

“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.

Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.

Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”

“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.

Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”

Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”

You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.

Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.

You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)

Part Two

3K notes · View notes

gallavichsreddie1128 · 6 months ago

Text

FWB to Lovers w/ Logan

Description: How Y/N and Logan went from Fuck buddies to Lovers

Warning: Dirty talk

Ever since Y/N, Wade and Logan saved the timeline it has been a known thing that Logan and Y/N had tension and Wade always made it known: “UGH just fuck already Disney can just cut it out of the film.” “What?”

Y/N tried to hide her feelings at first knowing that Logan probably wanted someone his age and not a younger woman with little to no experience. Boy was she wrong: “Wade’s right. We should fuck.”

Though he said that drunk, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was sure he wouldn’t remember saying that but the never next day when she just stared at him a little too long she was up against the wall in a second: “We need to hurry before Wade gets back.”

He was huge compared to her and the size kink was real. For his age he had a nice body and a dick that hit all her special spots: “Fuck. I didn’t even know that spot could be reached.”

He took her on everything in that house. The couch, the wall, the beds (even Wade’s), shower, counter and even on a chair. Wade found out and his reaction wasn’t even surprising: “You guys can’t just fuck on my bed and not let me watch.”

Y/N was falling hard for the man and Wade could tell. Her stares were no longer just filled with lust but love. She looked at him like he was the whole world and more: “OMG is the Y/N falling in love?” “Shut up!”

Logan was too and that showed when he found out that Y/N and Wade had slept together before. Though Y/N and Logan weren’t together and only supposed to be FWB, He got extremely jealous: “YOU GUYS HAVE SLEPT TOGETHER?” “Duh. Have you seen us? Two hot people fucking is the norm.”

Y/N and Wade both found it odd that he got mad about that given it was 2 years ago and before any of this. Logan stormed off to his room ignoring them calling his name. Wade looked at Y/N with a knowing look: “Seems like your pussy is a love potion and he had too much of it.”

Though it wasn’t the best idea, Wade went to talk to him about it. Y/N almost wanted to do it herself but Wade offered and said that he wouldn’t crack jokes about the situation: “Listen peanut, I understand that you have a bad boy reputation to stick too but that hard on you’re showing says you enjoyed the thought of it.” “WADE GET OUT!”

Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. Her mind was on Logan and how he just stormed out of the room after hearing that they fucked. Did he love her back? She needed to know. She walked to his door and knocked, not caring if he was asleep or not: “Do you love me?” “Y/N, It’s 3 am.”

He did in fact love her and he should’ve shown it better. Wade always wanted to get under his skin and that’s probably why he mentioned that: “I said that to get you two together. It’s annoying to see you guys act like Blind AL trying to find something.”

Ok Wade maybe a little too far?

Both of them were idiots for not just admitting how they felt but now it was worth it in the end and Wade was to thank: “I’m not thanking you with Tacos!” “Well aren’t you just ungrateful?”

3K notes · View notes

hon3y-y · 9 months ago

Note

Roomie!sukuna doesn't even get horny for anyone other than you anymore. You have the wettest, nastiest pussy he's ever seen- and he deserves the best so nobody but you will do. You're fucking so many other fine men now that you dont even give him a second glance when he walks out the shower in just a towel to tease you. And oh, his temper when one of your hookups pick you up and you don't come home for the weekend. Or even worse, they stay for the weekend. Sukuna has never let a girl sleep over at the apartment but now there are two colognes in the bathroom, two pairs or men's shoes at the door, and he can almost never see you in the living room without some other man hanging off your side

read the other parts here! : part 1 part 2 part 4

he’s literally so embarrassingggg it’s not even funny. he’ll walk around and flex his muscles, smirk on his puffy lips as the water drips down his ripped torso. he stands outside your open door, you’re looking down at your phone deciding on whether to spend the night at choso’s or nanami’s (pick choso, nanami gets up at like 5 am 🙄), “showers empty..” sukuna basically purr’s, resting his arm on the doorway.

and you literally could not give less of a fuck💀

you just nod, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as you focus on putting both their names in a generator and letting that choose your fate for the night. let’s just say sukuna was extremely angry when a motorcycle pulls up and you just giggle and hop onto it, kissing the stupid leather clad boy while throwing on the custom bikers helmet choso had made for you. and to top it off, sukuna had to physically restrain himself from blowing up your phone on where the fuck you are??

messages;

ryo<3: didn’t see you this morning

you: i’m staying with choso for the weekend! sorry, should’ve told you last night:/

you: i also won’t be home after wednesday satoru is taking me to this festival! i’ll send pics😋

ryo<3: have fun 👍

omfg he’s losing it. he literally will spend the whole time in the gym, refusing to be in the empty apartment for longer than eight hours for sleep. he feels like there’s a cement brick in his chest when you’re whisked away by these men. but nothing is worse than when he stays over.

he being satoru.

it was becoming a huge issue. his longest “sleepover” was a week. a week where you weren’t even home for half of it. but sukuna was. he was there for all of it.

there was now a third toothbrush taking up countertop space in the bathroom, he would find satoru’s clothes in the wash (which would always somehow be in there whenever ryo specifically had to use it??), and gojo absolutely loved to make out with you everywhere but inside of your room and sukuna started to hated it. publicly claiming you in front of the guy who literally made it possible🙄 unbelievable.

let’s just say you take a break from bringing satoru over, doing your best to settle the tension at home. but sukuna couldn’t let it go, not when he stares at the stupid fucking blue electric toothbrush and knows that it’s only temporary.

at this point he didn’t even give a fuck about the other guys, you can keep them as long as he’s added onto your roster.

it’s been a while since the two of you had a movie night. something that used to, at the very least, happen once a month has been delayed due to your extra activities. the two of you relaxed into the couch, the movie was a random one you found choosing whatever looked the best by cover and for the first time in a while, sukuna felt like he had you.

“did you buy the candy?”

“shit, yeah. i think i left it in my room?”

“go get it while i make the popcorn!” you smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling excitedly. you looked so cute and soft, and ryo got a glimpse of your cute pink panties when you bent over to grab something so he was feeling just as good. he could already picture the little damp spot he’d create after teasing you and then force you to beg and make it up to him.

he thought about it the whole walk to his room, picking up the bag and then back to the living room, fantasizing about what he plans to do. and just as he’s about to turn the corner, a head of white fluffy hair is laying on your lap, legs spread to take up the full length of the couch. and the only seat available? the one farthest from you.

“i hope you don’t mind, satoru said he missed us!”

us… sukuna looked down at gojo, looking at the content quirk in his lip while he snuggled into you more, moving one of your hands into his hair to play with it. ryo’s eye twitched before he put the bag down and went back into his room, the door slamming behind him. the noise makes you force satoru up, a pit forming in your stomach. you didn’t want sukuna to feel uncomfortable in his own house—

“damn, what’s he so mad abo- he got macha kitkats!? mmm~”

*bonus*

sukuna is literally in his room about to dry heave because??? what alternative version of himself gave him such bad karma?!? in his room like this;

but quietly, because he DEFINITELY doesn’t want you to see him like this. such a fein🤦‍♀️

a/n: i didn’t put smut because i didn’t want to get repetitive BUT should we finally let sukuna get a taste?? part 4 where he finally gets her?? lmk🫶

*not edited*

5K notes · View notes

lizziesangel · 13 days ago

Note

hi lizzy !! using the tell me who did this” “who did this to you?” trope could u do sweetheart!fem reader with this and rafe !! 🤍

hi! i already did a story on this, so im making a part two to this!🥰

3.5k words ⟢ part one

the truck ride was quiet, save for the hum of the engine. you stared out the window, expecting rafe to take the usual turns toward your neighborhood. but as the minutes ticked by, your brows furrowed.

“uh, this isn’t the way to my house,” you pointed out, finally breaking the silence.

“i know,” rafe said simply, his gaze locked on the road ahead.

you turned to look at him, your confusion mounting. “then where the hell are we going?”

“my place,” he said flatly, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“your place? rafe, no. just take me home,” you argued, sitting up straighter.

“for the love of God,” he snapped, pulling into his driveway and putting the truck in park. he turned to look at you, his blue eyes burning with frustration. “stop talking and get out so i can clean you up.”

the way he said it left no room for argument. your mouth opened to retort but snapped shut just as quickly. begrudgingly, you unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed out, following him up the front steps like a scolded child.

inside, the house was quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound. rafe didn’t say much, just jerked his head toward the stairs as he kicked off his shoes. you followed, your steps hesitant as you trailed him into his room.

“sit down,” he ordered, gesturing to the edge of his bed as he rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a first-aid kit.

you sat down, watching as he opened the kit and grabbed a clean cloth and a small bottle of antiseptic. the scent of his cologne lingered in the air, sharp and somehow comforting.

“this might sting,” he warned, crouching in front of you. his touch was surprisingly gentle as he dabbed at the dried blood on your knee.

you winced but stayed still, watching him work. his brows were furrowed in concentration, his usual smugness replaced with something quieter, steadier.

“start talking,” he said after a moment, his tone calmer now. “what happened with ruthie?”

you hesitated, the memory still raw. but there was something in the way rafe looked at you—like he genuinely wanted to know.

“she was saying stuff about kie,” you admitted, your voice soft. “calling her a trashy pogue, saying she was probably stealing from people at the party. i told her to shut the fuck up, and she got in my face. said i was defending kie because i’m just as pathetic as her.”

rafe’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt, just kept cleaning the cut on your knee.

“i told her to back off, and she shoved me. when i didn’t drop it, she swung at me. the rest is kind of a blur,” you finished, looking down at your hands.

“you’ve got a pretty big mouth, you know that?” he muttered, taking your leg gently in his hand to examine the cut on your knee. “and look where it’s gotten you.”

you rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. “yeah, but i still won.”

rafe snorted softly, shaking his head as he worked. “yeah? i bet you think you were tough, huh?” he dabbed at the cut, and you hissed, instinctively jerking your leg.

“hold still,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. his grip on your calf tightened just enough to keep you in place as he cleaned the wound.

“ruthie didn’t walk away looking perfect, if that’s what you’re asking,” you said, a small flicker of pride lighting up in your voice. “you should’ve seen her.”

rafe smirked, glancing up at you briefly before returning his attention to your knee. “don’t worry,” he said, his tone casual but with an edge that made your chest tighten slightly. “i’ll see her. up close.”

the way he said it—calm, measured, but dripping with barely restrained fury—made your stomach twist. you tried to brush it off as typical rafe bravado, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear: he wasn’t joking.

“this is gonna sting,” he warned before gently pressing the damp cloth to your skin.

you winced, gritting your teeth but refusing to pull away this time. he worked slowly, his brows furrowed in concentration as he cleaned away the dried blood and dirt.

“there,” he said, sitting back slightly to look at his work. “now let me see your nose.”

you hesitated but didn’t fight him when he tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your jaw. his eyes narrowed as he studied the dried blood smeared beneath your nostrils. “it’s not broken,” he said after a moment. “just banged up.”

“thanks for the expert diagnosis, dr. cameron,” you muttered, earning a faint chuckle from him.

“hold this,” he said, handing you the damp cloth before pulling out another small ice pack. he wrapped it in a towel and gently pressed it to your swollen eye.

you flinched at the cold, but he held it steady. “don’t be such a baby,” he teased, though his voice lacked any real bite.

“i’m not,” you shot back, your glare softened by the faint tug of a smile.

he smirked again, shaking his head. “you really do have a big mouth,” he said, leaning back against his desk once more.

you matched his smirk with one of your own. “yeah, well, i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

rafe’s expression darkened slightly, but it wasn’t directed at you. “good,” he said simply, his tone quiet but carrying a weight that made your stomach twist.

the cold stung, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off him—his sudden intensity making it hard to breathe.

rafe pulled the ice pack away, out of your grasp, his gaze lingered on your face. his eyes narrowed as his thumb brushed along your jaw, tilting your face to the side.

“hold on,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“what?” you asked, your voice harsher than you intended.

he didn’t answer at first, leaning in closer. you froze, your breath hitching as his thumb moved just beside the bruise on your cheek. “there’s a cut here,” he said, his tone lower now. “i didn’t see it before.”

“it’s nothing,” you mumbled, trying to pull away, but his hand on your jaw stopped you.

“don’t,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. his blue eyes locked onto yours, holding you in place. “let me clean it.”

you wanted to argue, but the words caught in your throat. you were suddenly hyperaware of how close he was, the sharp line of his jaw just inches from you, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

he grabbed a fresh cloth, wetting it in the bathroom before crouching back in front of you. this time, he didn’t just lean in—he was so close his knees brushed yours, his fingers gently tilting your face toward him.

“stay still,” he murmured, his voice softer now but heavy with something unspoken.

the sting of the antiseptic barely registered. all you could focus on was the way his thumb brushed against your skin, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours even as he worked. the tension in the air was thick, electric, every small movement of his hand sending sparks skittering down your spine.

“you’re staring,” you blurted out, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

rafe’s lips twitched, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “yeah?” he said, his voice a low drawl. “can you blame me?”

your breath caught, and you opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. his smirk deepened as he pulled the cloth away, his thumb lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary.

“there,” he said, his voice softer now. “all cleaned up. you’re lucky it’s not deeper.”

you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “thanks,” you mumbled, feeling a little unsteady under his gaze.

rafe didn’t move. he stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on your jaw. his eyes flicked over your face, studying every bruise and cut like they offended him personally.

“she really took you on, huh?” he said after a moment, his tone almost teasing but laced with something darker. “but don’t worry, i’ll take care of her.”

“rafe, you don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off, his thumb brushing once more against your cheek before he stood.

“keep the ice on your eye,” he said, his tone suddenly businesslike as he packed up the first-aid kit.

you watched him move around the room, your mind still spinning from the charged moment you’d just shared. even as he turned away, you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, like he wasn’t quite done with whatever was brewing between you.

and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to be.

rafe came back into the room after tossing the bloodied cloths and wrappers in the trash, running a hand through his hair. his shoulders looked less tense now, but his expression was unreadable as he glanced at you sitting there with the ice pack still pressed to your eye.

“you look like you’re about to pass out,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

“i’m fine,” you muttered in answer, though the exhaustion was catching up with you.

he tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “you can take my bed if you want.”

your eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “no thanks. i’ll take the couch.”

rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “yeah, no. i’d rather have you dirty my bed than the ten-thousand-dollar couch.”

your jaw dropped. “you’re so stuck up.”

“and you’re about to sleep outside if you don’t shut up,” he shot back, but the slight grin on his face betrayed his teasing tone.

“okay, then i’ll walk home,” you said, shrugging, starting to push yourself up from the bed.

rafe’s amused expression immediately shifted to disbelief. “you’re not serious, right?”

you stood, wobbling slightly, and he rolled his eyes before stepping closer. “alright, that’s enough,” he said, lightly pressing his hand to your shoulder and guiding you back down onto the bed.

“lay down,” he said firmly, crossing his arms as he loomed over you. “keep the ice on your eye, but not too long. and put it on your knuckles too, because they’re gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”

you frowned, looking down at your hands. now that he mentioned it, the dull ache in your knuckles was growing more noticeable. you sighed, sinking back into the bed and adjusting the ice pack against your eye.

“there,” rafe said, a smug note in his voice as he watched you obey. “was that so hard?”

“shut up,” you grumbled, but your tone lacked any real bite.

he chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and tossed it over you. “just try not to bleed on my sheets,” he said, his voice softening as he lingered by the edge of the bed.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “thanks.”

his gaze softened for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. “yeah, yeah. just don’t get used to it.”

as he turned to leave the room, you settled back against the pillows, exhaustion finally taking over. you might’ve hated to admit it, but being here—being taken care of by rafe—didn’t feel as strange as it should have.

and somehow, that was the most unsettling part of all.

you woke up slowly, the first thing you noticed was the throbbing inside your head. your temples pulsed in time with your heartbeat, and every inch of your body felt like it had been through a war.

lightheadedness crept in as you sat up, forcing you to take a moment to steady yourself.

your knee ached, the sharp pain radiating up your leg with every slight movement. your cheek stung, and the skin around your eye felt tight. tentatively, you reached up to touch it, wincing when your fingers made contact with your skin.

turning your head, you spotted a glass of water on the nightstand with a couple of painkillers neatly placed beside it. a small note was folded underneath them, scrawled in rafe’s sharp handwriting: take these. don’t be stubborn.

you picked them up and tossed them back quickly, chasing it with a gulp of water. the coolness soothed your dry throat, but the pounding in your head didn’t ease right away.

dragging yourself out of bed, you padded toward the bathroom, each step a reminder of the bruises and cuts decorating your body. your knuckles ached with every flex of your fingers, and you clenched them instinctively, regretting it immediately.

inside the bathroom, the faint light from the small window illuminated the counter.

you noticed your eye wasn’t that swollen anymore, but when you brushed your fingers lightly over the skin, you winced. it was tender and, judging by the dark blue tint you glimpsed at in the mirror across from you.

your cheekbone was tender with a faint scratch, and your knuckles were red and swollen.

“great,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

you turned toward the sink, expecting to just splash your face with water, but something on the counter caught your eye: a toothbrush still in its packaging, resting neatly beside the toothpaste.

you hesitated, glancing over your shoulder like someone might catch you. but you needed it, and the sight of your dry, cracked lips in the mirror was enough to convince you.

tearing open the packaging, you squeezed some toothpaste onto the toothbrush and began scrubbing. the minty foam stung your lips, but it was your knuckles that hurt the most. every motion sent a sharp, aching throb through your hands, and you had to grit your teeth to keep from crying out.

“damn it,” you muttered, pausing to flex your fingers gingerly. but you pushed through, brushing until your teeth felt clean enough, then rinsing your mouth and the toothbrush.

leaning against the counter for a moment, you let out a long breath, staring at your reflection. this was… a lot. too much. and yet, you couldn’t help but think about rafe—the way he’d taken care of you last night, the strange softness in his otherwise sharp demeanor.

as much as you wanted to hate it, part of you didn’t mind.

shaking your head, you turned off the light and shuffled back toward the bedroom, trying to ignore the aching in your body—and the confused thoughts swirling in your head.

as you sat on the edge of the bed, debating whether to lie back down or try to shake off your lingering dizziness, muffled voices from downstairs made you freeze.

they weren’t just voices—they were angry, sharp, and escalating quickly.

“what the fuck?” you muttered under your breath, standing up too fast and immediately regretting it. the dizziness hit hard, making you grip the edge of the bed to steady yourself.

you needed to check what was going on, but not in yesterday’s crumpled clothes. opening the dresser on the far side of the room, you shuffled through the contents. most of it was clearly rafe’s—a mix of crisp shirts and athletic gear. but toward the back, you found a pair of dark blue sweats that looked about your size.

and then you spotted it: a pink t-shirt, soft and slightly worn, the kind of thing you instinctively knew wasn’t rafe’s style. sarah’s, you guessed. it didn’t really matter, so you pulled it over your head.

the shouting downstairs grew louder.

“seriously,” you sighed, trying to pull the sweats on without hurting your knee and tying the drawstring before heading toward the stairs.

when you reached the bottom, the voices became distinct.

“why the hell were you helping her, man?” topper’s voice was loud and furious. you peeked around the corner to see him standing toe-to-toe with rafe in the kitchen. his face was becoming red, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“shut the fuck up before you wake the whole house,” rafe snapped, his voice low but seething.

“the only person here is wheezie,” topper shot back, waving his arms. “and don’t act like that’s the problem. you are!”

rafe took a step closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “you’re the one yelling in my kitchen at eight in the damn morning, top. you need to fucking chill.”

topper didn’t back down. “chill? chill? ruthie said she hit y/n for a reason, bro. why the hell are you even involved? that girl’s not worth this.”

you froze, peering from the shadows as rafe straightened, his shoulders stiffening. “she’s worth not getting jumped by your psycho girlfriend,” he said coolly.

“she’s a fucking pogue!” topper yelled, his face twisting in anger.

rafe laughed, sharp and biting. “she lives on figure eight, you fucking weirdo. what are you even talking about?”

“doesn’t matter,” topper spat. “she’s trash, and if you’re protecting her, you’re just as bad. i’ll fucking kill her when i see her, for what she did to ruthie.”

your stomach dropped, and you instinctively stepped back.

rafe’s laugh was darker this time, the kind of sound that sent chills down your spine. “yeah? i’d like to see you try, bro.”

the kitchen fell silent except for the faint sound of your unsteady breathing. rafe had taken a step forward, his towering frame casting a long shadow over topper.

“you’re pushing it, man,” rafe said, his voice steady and dangerously calm. “if you have a problem with me, take it up with me. but if you so much as look at y/n the wrong way…” he trailed off, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

topper looked like he wanted to say something, but the tension was suffocating.

you shuffled into view, clearing your throat. “hey,” you said, your voice shaky but loud enough to catch their attention.

both heads snapped toward you.

you watched as topper’s face twisted as his eyes landed on you, cycling through a chaotic mix of emotions—shock, disbelief, anger, and then a bitter fury. his tongue pressed against his cheek as a sharp, humorless laugh escaped him.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he sneered, glaring at rafe like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

rafe sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face like he was seconds from snapping. “top, just shut the hell up.” he stepped toward you, his hand brushing your arm to guide you back toward the stairs. “come on. let’s go.”

you frowned, resisting his pull. “wait, what’s going on?”

“she’s here?” topper’s voice was incredulous, loud enough to echo through the kitchen. he pointed at you, his finger shaking. “you’re actually keeping her here? what the fuck, rafe? she’s a pogue! she hangs out with those freaks on the cut—those wannabe rebels with their loser-ass surfboards and groupie bullshit!”

your stomach churned, but you didn’t get a chance to respond before rafe’s expression hardened.

“topper,” he warned, his voice low and deadly.

“no, bro!” topper exploded, gesturing wildly. “don’t stand there and act like she and kie didn’t see it happen last night. you know she’s not worth this!”

rafe’s jaw ticked, and he turned fully to face topper, a dangerous calm washing over him. “you’ve got ten seconds to get the hell out of my house.”

topper let out a disbelieving laugh, his tongue poking his cheek again as he tilted his head. “what the fuck are you doing, man? you’re choosing her? over me?”

“over you and over whatever bullshit you think matters right now,” rafe shot back, his voice sharp and unyielding. “and if you don’t walk out that door in the next five seconds, i’m calling my lawyer. i’ll have you trespassed so fast your head’ll spin.”

topper’s laugh turned into a snarl. “you’re fucking crazy.”

“maybe,” rafe said, his lips curling into a cold smirk. “but i’m also the guy who’ll have you eating court fees for breakfast if you don’t leave my house, now.”

the room fell silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. topper glared at rafe, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. for a moment, you thought he might swing, but then he threw his hands up in exasperation.

“you’re out of your damned mind,” he muttered, turning toward the door before he stopped in his tracks, “and you, you’ll regret this,” he pointed towards you.

the slam of the door echoed through the house as topper left.

rafe turned to you, exhaling slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. “come on,” he said, nodding toward the stairs. “let’s get you back upstairs.”

your brows furrowed as you followed him, still reeling. “what the hell was that?”

“don’t worry about it,” rafe muttered, his voice softer now, but the tension in his posture hadn’t fully eased.

you stood there, looking at rafe, feeling the silence grow thick between you. the weight of the last few minutes, the tension in the air, made it hard to breathe.

“did you and topper... fight because of the ruthie thing?” you asked, the words tasting strange as they left your mouth.

rafe didn’t answer at first. he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched.

you waited, but still, nothing.

“rafe?” you pressed again, stepping closer to him.

he looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, in a low voice, he muttered, “yeah, i was arguing with him.”

your stomach tightened at the thought. “why?”

“why?” rafe scoffed, standing up abruptly. “because that guy has no fucking boundaries. because he's an asshole, and i don’t like the way he treats you.”

you opened your mouth to respond but were cut off by your phone buzzing in your pocket.

you pulled it out, your stomach sinking when you saw the screen light up with ruthie’s name.

before you could even process it, the screen flashed with her message:

ruthie:

“round two? come on, i’ll make sure it’s fair this time.”

you stared at the message, your hands trembling in pain as you locked your phone.

rafe caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, his gaze “she really thinks she can just go after you again?” his voice was like ice, but there was a dangerous edge to it that made your chest tighten.

“rafe, just calm down,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. you took a small step back, but it didn't stop him from pacing across the room, his jaw clenched, his frustration seeping through every muscle in his body.

“calm down?” he repeated, turning to face you, his voice rising. “she’s out there talking shit about you, threatening you—after what happened last night? you think i’m just gonna stand by and let her do that?”

“it’s not worth it,” you said, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “why does it even matter to you, rafe? you argued with topper at eight in the morning. you’re in the middle of your own mess. this... this isn’t your problem.”

he took a step toward you, and you could feel the air between you crackling. “it’s my problem because you’re my problem,” he said, his voice low, his eyes locking onto yours.

you froze at his words, your heart thudding in your chest. the world around you seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. his gaze held something you couldn’t quite place—something fierce, but vulnerable at the same time.

“i’m your problem?” you repeated, almost whispering, trying to wrap your mind around what he was saying.

rafe stepped closer, his breath just a little too close to yours. “yeah, you are.” he reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers grazing your cheek in a soft, deliberate touch.

you could barely breathe, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, the heat of his body radiating toward you. every inch of space between you seemed to be disappearing with each passing second.

“rafe,” you whispered, your voice shaky, uncertain.

“i’m not letting anyone hurt you,” he said, his words a promise—an almost reckless determination in his tone.

you were so close to him now that you could feel the intensity of his gaze. everything around you seemed to fall away as the world seemed to hold its breath.

his lips hovered inches from yours, and for a heartbeat, you were both still, both locked in that moment, waiting for something to shift.

and then—

ding.

the sound of your phone vibrating broke the spell.

rafe pulled back, frustration flashing in his eyes as he glanced down at the screen.

you could feel your stomach churn as he read ruthie’s message.

ruthie:

“you’re not getting away that easy. you know you want to.”

“i’ll see you soon.”

MASTERLIST

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @diorstarkey ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @user28388727 ⟢ @jznyy ⟢ @xoxosblogsblog ⟢ @eddsthemunson ⟢ @sublimepenguinpeach-blog ⟢ @houseofperfecttaste ⟢ @pluviophilis

#lizzieswrites𝜗𝜚 #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #drew starkey x you #lizzies anons/requests𝜗𝜚

2K notes · View notes

ramonathinks · 1 year ago

Text

Say His Name | SUKUNA

Say his name three times and he shall appear, fucking virgins before he disappear.

tags: (18+, minors and ageless blogs dni) corruption, virginity loss, monster-fucking, double cocks, mouth fucking, pet names (pet, my human, female), oral(f! receiving), handjobs, nipple play, fingering, creampies, copious amounts of cum, tummy bulge, sex in sukuna’s domain, overstimulation, mirror sex

notes: early i did originally plan an entire kinktober but lol (18+ banner/divider made by @/cafekitsune. repost from my first ever kinktober 🥂

“SUKUNA, SUKUNA, SUKUNA.” Call it childish for believing in such tales. But you wanted it to be true. Looking in the darkly lit bathroom of your dorm bathroom you groaned, blowing the candle out. You flipped the light switch back on.

You’d been hearing about it all year. But you should’ve known better than to believe a silly little legend like this. But you were a blushing and bubbling mess of a virgin. So hearing of some mysterious sexy man who fucks virgins with no strings attached seemed too good to be true and you just had to test this theory. But really you should’ve known better. You were too old to believe in such things but you were all dolled up just for him.

You’d been waiting until everyone on your floor was gone and you put on your best and sexiest lingerie. You weren’t expecting to wear this for such a man that everyone has described but you were ready. You were thinking maybe for a boy who’s eventually won your heart you’d wear this to give yourself away.

Your hair was down in a medium length silk press, wearing puffy pink ugg slides and a short pink fuzzy nightgown that hugged every inch of your body, amplifying your busty breast all for show. You even went with no panties.

All for him.

All for a no show.

Sighing, you reached for your shower caddy and got prepared to wrap your hair.

But a deep chuckle from behind, startled you. Every fiber in your being was begging you not to turn around. Your stomach clutching with a sense of fear and your mouth running dry.

“Little human.” His voice alone had you shaking but surprisingly it wasn’t all just fear, something else deep inside, something not so pure filled your body. Lust. You were still too afraid to look at him, your knees growing weak as he continued to speak.

“Too scared to turn around but all dolled up just for me. I can practically smell your sweet nectar from here.” He purred, his breath on your neck and you could feel the warmth of his body heat all over you. “I haven’t even touched you yet.” Taking his tongue, he licked up your ear before biting your lobe. “I could smell how sweet you are even before I got here. I couldn’t believe how delectable you smelled.” With hard hands, he softly grasped both of your breasts.

You released a small yelp with such surprise but your tummy fluttered. “Oh, my little human likes that…” He took note, pressed hot kisses against your neck. Squeezing your breast. With rough hands he stroked your nipples until they grew hard.

You were letting him have his way with you and you still hadn’t even seen his face. You moaned when you felt the soft drag of his claws, tugging at your gown.

“Tell me how badly you like my touch female…or I might just stop.” He pressed his hips into yours, allowing you to feel just how hard he was. “Don’t you want my cocks?” His voice was laced with something unfamiliar, he pressed his nose in your hair and did a quick inhale.

Desire pooled in your belly whenever he talked. “C-cocks?” You squealed. “I… I don’t think I can handle such a thing…” You muttered, trying to move away from him, keeping your eyes trained on your feet.

“Look at me.” He gripped your jaw in his fingers and forced your eyes to the mirror. Your pussy clenched against nothing when you saw his face. He was truly a beautiful demonic man. With sharp teeth and dark eyes that ate up your entire figure. There was colorful dark markings over his face and a sickening grin on his lips when he noticed you staring so hard. His spiked pink hair looked so soft that you wanted to pet him. “You desire is all in the air,” His told you. “Let me please you, my little human.”

“W-wait! I-um…” Your voice was hoarse and completely choked out as you stuttered, trying to find any excuse.

“You wish to deny me this?” He palmed your pussy. Dragging his hand all over the mound before trailing lower. “You are truly ravishing… in all these places.” You we’re panting and hanging on to every word he spoke, opening your thighs wider so he can feel you.

“Tell me…beg me…” His hand ran down lower, inching closer and closer towards your puffy clit.

Then he pulled away.

It was awful and your body felt cold, you even almost tripped over yourself, to which he chuckled. “Why did you st—”

Pressing his hot lips to yours he kissed you, squeezing your ass and adding his tongue. His tongue was sucking and sliding in every inch of your mouth, you could barely breathe. It felt so long and so deep, almost like he was in your throat. “I want you to beg me for my touch, I know you want it… so beg for it, or you won’t get it.” He said as he pulled away, drool on the corner of his mouth.

“Please…touch…me…” You forced the words he wanted to hear out. “I want your fingers, your tongue, your…cocks.” You whimpered a deep pout on your lips. He smiled at your honesty and he clipped your lingerie down with his claws in one swift motion.

His thumb caressed your folds softly and he groaned watching the wetness drip to the floor. Slipping one finger inside, you gasped, holding on to his wrist and grinding down a bit. Loud squelching noises filling the air every time he pushed in a bit deeper. “Tight little thing. All for me.” He dropped to his knees and licked his lips once he spread your folds open.

“Pretty little pearl.” He rasped before taking it in his mouth. Your hips buckled and thrashed against his face, your moans echoing and bouncing off the walls. He added another finger, hard. Slamming them both inside of you, stretching you wide. So much cream and slick ran down your thighs, he pumped faster inside of you.

Both of his cocks were leaking and aching but all he could think about was your pussy and just how good it taste. He groaned with his eyes closed, spreading his fingers inside as you sobbed above him.

“Please, please…” He didn’t know what you were begging for. He sucked, putting his entire mouth on you, licking up and down your sensitive clit. He pressed deep kisses before removing his fingers from your insides. He dipped his tongue deep inside of your tightness and he felt you tighten up, fisting your hand in his hair, rocking your hips.

“Sukuna!” Your eyes were filled with tears as he moaned for more of your virgin taste on his tongue. Hearing his name on your tongue had him throbbing but he resisted touching himself — wanting only to come in your tight pure virgin body.

“I’m going to— ah.” Your body snapped and shook but he continued to feast on your insides, his long tongue hitting all your sensitive spots and every muscle, you came around his tongue and he welcomed everything you gave him. Your walls fluttered against his tongue and your hands grabbed even deeper into his hair, toes curling and small sniffles filling the room.

He placed his tongue back to your sore clit and gave it a few more sucks before he smirked up at you, the pretty noises still in your throat as you tried your hardest to be quiet. Looking up at you with such desire that you felt yourself shrinking. “I was waiting so long for you…” He told you, standing to his full height. “Don’t know if I can let you go this time…”

You didn’t understand. You were still reeling down from such an orgasm. He inhaled against your neck. “Pretty little human. I’m not going to let you out of my sight. Too precious.” He took your lips again and you closed your eyes deeply, gripping his arm as you tasting yourself on his tongue.

When you finally pulled back and opened your eyes, you didn’t know where you were. All darkness surrounded you, dimly lit candles and a beautifully made canopy bed with dark sheets. You could see some sort of throne in the other part of this dark place, which took up almost the entirety of that space. The room seemed to go on forever, almost endless. You felt empty, he wasn’t there anymore. Confusion bled through your mind until you felt him take your hand, dragging you to the bed.

“What did you mean… with what you said moments ago?” You swallowed, trying not to look him in the eyes. But those deep red eyes made it almost too hard to do that. He stared you down before pushing you down to the bed.

“It means you’re mine. All mine.” His hot tongue trailed down your neck and it burned you, your weak legs thrusting against him. He lowered his hips flush against yours and you could feel just how big and thick his cocks were, it was almost disgusting how badly you wanted them. He sniffed and did a devilish grin at you. “Why fight it? You called me here. I have you. Don’t tell me you’re still scared… I won’t hurt you.” He promised.

The way his eyes held such sincerity you couldn’t look away. The flimsy material he wore, slipped off and you got a glimpse of everything he was hiding from you. The rippling abs and those dark marks similar to the ones on his face, you could feel yourself leaking when your eyes drifted to the pretty cocks he possessed.

Throbbing and veiny. Angry red tips coded in leaking creamy pre-cum. You didn’t mean to but you licked your lips and he groaned in your ear: “Female, it looks like you want to taste my cocks…�� More pre-cum dripped down and you were panting at the sight, something coming over you. With a trembling hand, you reached out between you both and gripped the base of one, he twitched in your hand but you didn’t stop your assault.

He was thick. You couldn’t imagine doing this to both of his cocks at the same time, you needed both of your hands just to cover just one of them. He thrusted his hips upward, sliding himself through your hands with strained moments. He didn’t want to cum, only wanted it to be inside of you but fuck, this was heaven.

You stroked him, nice and slow. Feeling every bit of him and keeping your clouded eyes on his, both of your breathings harsh and in sync, hot and turned on. Rubbing your thumb on the tip, you watched as a bit more liquid leaked out, slipping between your hands.

“Knees. Now.” He rasped, he needed to be in your tight little mouth now. He needed it. You barley had time to move before he was thrusting himself inside of your mouth. “Fuck…ing, pretty little mouth.” He muttered, thrusting his hips harshly in and out of your mouth. His other cock begging for attention, you squeezed it hard and be released a beautiful moan continuing his rhythm.

Swallowing around him, he bellowed. “Fuck!” He had manners and didn’t want to mess up his female’s hair but he wanted you to take him deeper into your mouth. Pulling you slightly by your hair, he buried himself deeper into your mouth. Bucking his hips, you slid your mouth up and down — saliva covering his length — then you lapped at the tip, rubbing your mouth on it before slipping him back into your throat. Moaning around his cock, then you decided to switch to his other cock.

He was amazed and his toes were curling, watching you. He could see just how much of him was buried in your throat. He could hear the amount of sucking and slurping and you still had time to fondle his balls.

He was going to cum. He could feel it in the pits of his belly. Sweet moans leaving your mouth and he couldn’t take it anymore. With a deep groan, he pulled you flush to his hips and came deep inside of your mouth, his other cock jerking and spasming — raining cum on your face.

He looked at your cum splattered face and his cocks grew hard again and he knew the perfect way to end the night. “Need to be inside of you, now.” He didn’t want anything to stop him. He didn’t clean you off or anything, he wanted to fuck you as filthy and dirty as you looked.

And he would.

He pulled down your panties and looked at your leaking cunt. Smiling in delight, “All this just from sucking my cocks…naughty girl.” He lined up both of his cocks to your small hole.

“Both of them?!” You squealed with wide eyes. “They can’t both fit…” You swallowed hard and he did a roar of heavy laughter.

“Gonna just stretch you out with this one,” He rubbed his throbbing tip along your slippery glistening folds as you cried out. “Then once you’re all full, gonna add my other cock and make you cum all night, my little human.”

He lined himself back against your tight heat, almost slipping inside, he eyed your face before he thrusted forward and buried himself inside of your virgin flesh. Your nails were digging into him as you screamed, it hurt bad.

He was so massive inside of you and your walls wouldn’t let him go, clinging to him. “So damn tight.” He groaned, his hips snapped and with each thrust he was able to get deeper and deeper.

He couldn’t bare to look at you, hearing your small sniffles was hard enough. He wanted this pleasurable for you. His fingers were fast on their way to your little clit that was already throbbing for his attention, he pressed two of them against you and felt you roll your hips against his with a sharp moan, “Ah!”

He did a few sloppy thrust, his balls hitting the cusp of your ass and he could tell that you were feeling good based off how you were reacting. “Please make me cum.” You groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. Now with a newer angle he pressed deep into a gooey wetness that had your tongue out and you squeezing his cock even better than before.

He slammed his cock inside of you, now going at any intense speed. Rocking his hips into yours, trying to hit your sweet spot again. He pressed deeper inside of you, bottoming out. “Say my name.” He told you, softly against your lips before claiming them. His thrust going hard and reckless, stretching you out.

You felt so full, he reached down and jerked his other cock. Squeezing the tip and continuing to thrust faster, rocking the bed. “Say my name.” He said again, his hips slamming down on yours. He felt heavy inside of you and you couldn’t focus on him, drowning in a warmth of endless pleasure.

He bucked his hips and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look up — to look into the mirror above you, watching yourself getting fucked before saying again: “Say my name.” This time annoyed and with a growl.

“Sukuna!” He pumped his cock inside of your little pussy, stretching it just for him and thrusting more — the hold your cunt had on his cock made him bite his lip when he withdrew himself slightly before slamming back inside.

Your eyes roll back when his tip hits your special spot again and your moans has him in a chokehold, “Sukuna, right there, please… again.” You arch your back and he grips your waist, pushing you back down into the mattress.

With a last long thrust, he fills your cervix with creamy cum that leaks out of you. His other cock bobbling before spraying you down as well, you clench around him for the final time and almost breathlessly you say his name again.

Body weak and your eyes fluttering. He pulls you closer to him and kisses your lips.

“My little human stuffed with my cum.” He purrs, wrapping a strong arm around you and you say something that he can’t hear as you drift and drift…

And drift to sleep.

10K notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 1 month ago

Text

losing you | s.r.

in which you being in danger in the field elicits a response from Spencer that you're not used to - anger

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, jareau!reader, fear of abandonment, fighting word count: 1.67k a/n: i really didn't like this one at first but turns out now i really enjoy it lol. it's hard for me to dislike anything jareau!reader. anyways, setting this up to post while i chemically straighten my hair, i hope you enjoy!

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest and casually leaning against the doorframe. A bored expression planted on his face as he watched you dump your dirty laundry out of your go-bag and begin to shove clean clothes inside.

You huffed, slamming a dresser drawer shut as you shoved socks into your otherwise empty duffle, “I’m going to stay with JJ tonight.” Avoiding his gaze, you proceeded to pack away your underwear—four pairs for an overnight trip.

Slowly, he meandered over to the bed, sitting on the ledge and watching you, “I think we should talk about this.” He told you, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“I agree,” you responded, checking your toiletry kit to ensure you had everything you needed to get through the next twenty-four hours—or more if the team got called off on a new case while you were with your sister.

Spencer frowned at your response, “You agree, but you’re still packing to leave.” He turned his head to follow you as you floated around the room, tossing miscellaneous clothes in your bag.

Nodding, you zipped your go-bag shut, buttoning an additional closure before turning back to face Spencer. “You’re angry with me, and I think we could have a more productive conversation with each other tomorrow after you sleep on it.”

“And I think we need to get our thoughts out now before it turns into a bigger issue. Internalizing emotions like you’re suggesting isn’t healthy,” Spencer challenged, following you as you walked to the front door, setting your bag on the console before searching around for the right pair of shoes. “And now you’re just walking out,” he griped, gesturing over to the shoe rack.

Your head snapped up at that remark, “Hey, I am not just ‘walking out.’” Your gaze narrowed at him as you nearly stumbled over your own feet.

The knot between his brows loosened at your expression, and for a moment, you weren’t in the midst of a disagreement. For a moment, the two of you were two kids who had been walked out on. “No,” Spencer said, his voice softer than it had just been, “You’re right. That was a poor choice of words and I’m sorry.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you paused your efforts to leave the apartment and took a deep breath. “I made a split-second decision, and it ended up saving a little girl’s life. I don’t regret it, but I do regret the way it scared you.”

Spencer kept a firm distance from you, even if you reached out an arm, you wouldn’t be able to touch him. “You should have listened to Hotch; there’s no reason that you should’ve done… that.”

“You weren’t there, Spencer! If you had seen the way he was holding that gun to her temple… if you had heard the way she was crying out for her mom, then maybe you’d understand why I took her place,” you told him, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “There had to have been another option, Y/N.”

Maybe there was, but part of your FBI training had been on making snap decisions, and this was just another example. “So, you think I should’ve let him keep that gun to the little girl’s head?”

“No,” Spencer answered, dragging out his vowel. “I just would have rather not seen a gun to my girlfriend’s head instead.”

You halted, eyes widening in alarm as you shifted to a newfound frustration, “Right,” you sniped, “That’s rich, coming from you.”

His eyes flashed with recognition, and you knew that he was well aware of what you were referring to. Last month when he had his face off with Cat Adams, leading to her pointing a gun at his head while he proceeded to egg her on. You’d given him a mouthful the next day, and you weren’t afraid to do it again, “That was a completely different set of circumstances.”

Cocking your head to the side, your nostrils flared, “Was it?” You ask sardonically, “A serial killer pointing a loaded gun to your head sounds pretty fucking similar to me!”

“At least I stayed to talk to you about it instead of running away,” he snapped, both of you escalating in the ways you knew how. You raised your voice while he resorted to the cutting edge in his voice.

You held your hands out to your sides helplessly, “Do I need to put in for a transfer or something? Is this that big of an issue to you?” You could barely stomach the idea of leaving the BAU, but at this point, losing Spencer would be worse than joining a new department.

“No,” he answered instantly, “The problem here is that you don’t think before you act.”

You held up your hand, “I think before everything I do, and I’m sorry that my synapses don’t fire a million times a minute, and I can’t calculate the probability of every outcome beforehand, but I did the best I fucking could with the time I was given.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows curiously, “The best you could? A Glock to your temple was the best you could do?”

“Fuck you! Why don’t you have any trust in my abilities in the field? Why do you all of a sudden do you think I can’t do my job?” You demanded, chest rising and falling with anger as you glared across the room at him.

Spencer flinched at the accusation, the idea that he was just as bad as all of the people who assumed you only got your job because of your sister—the kind of people Spencer used to defend you from. “I didn’t… you’re perfectly capable—”

“But not good enough for the BAU? Not good enough to be a profiler, surely,” You interrupted him. “You know what I think, Spencer? I think you’re scared. I think seeing a gun to my head frightened you, and you’re taking it out on me because I’m the only vessel that you can snipe at and know they won’t leave you entirely.”

His posture changed then, leaning against the back of the couch as he absorbed your words, “You’re an incredible profiler, honey. The team is lucky to have you, you know that.”

Your shoulders slumped forward in response, “Then why the hostility? Why did you snap at me in front of everyone as soon as you found out the gun wasn’t loaded?” You took your bottom lip between your teeth as you studied his facial expressions for an answer. When you offered to take the little girl’s place, you were under the impression that the gun was loaded, and when the rest of the team caught up with you, they were under the same guise.

It wasn’t revealed that the chamber was empty until JJ made the shot that took out the UnSub, and Spencer had been all over you with worry one moment and wanted nothing to do with you the next.

“Did you feel like your worry wasn’t warranted?” You asked when he remained silent, “Like it was a waste of emotion when I wasn’t in any real danger?”

Spencer shook his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest self-consciously as you forced him to look at his behavior objectively, “You were always in danger, Y/N. The way he was watching you, the grip that he had on you…”

The UnSub gripped your hip so fiercely that he had almost taken you down with him when he was shot, and you wouldn’t be surprised to find bruises marring your skin when you changed out of your work clothes. “I saved that little girl, Spence. That’s the deal, right? ‘I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter.’” You quoted your oath to him, the same one he had taken, “At that moment, it was my duty to save that little girl. She went home to her parents today because of me.”

“You’re right,” he said, any evidence of malice washed from his tone. “You were incredible. You were fearless, and it scared the shit out of me,” he told you. “I—” he faltered, “I’m sorry,” he said, approaching you the way you would a wounded animal.

You shook your head when he held out his hands for you, leaving your arms stiffly at your sides and shaking your head, “No, Spence.”

Despite your protests, he pulled you into an embrace anyway; your body was resistant to him, the way his warm arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush against his body. “Please don’t go,” he whispered. “Be mad at me, make me sleep on the couch, but please don’t leave,” he murmured.

Your cheek was pressed against his chest, the wool lapel of his suit jacket scratching against your skin as tears flooded your field of vision. As much as you wanted to resist, this was Spencer. Instinctively, you nuzzled your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking a shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to lose you,” he told you.

Fear of loss. Spencer had been terrified to see a gun to your head, but the thought of having to watch you leave the apartment you shared in order to get away from him was petrifying. “I have to call my sister,” you told him, your voice muffled by his jacket.

One hand was on your waist, the other on the back of your head, fingers threaded into your hair, “Why?”

“To let her know I’m not coming,” you muttered. “She’ll worry, and it seems I’ve caused enough of that today,” you told him, appreciating the heat that emanated from Spencer as he looped his arms around you, holding you tightly as if that’s all he’d ever needed.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #written by margot #jareau!reader

1K notes · View notes

macfrog · 2 months ago

Text

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #fic: cowboy like me

2K notes · View notes

fatherbrat · 2 months ago

Text

TELL ME AGAIN, R. SUNA

sum. sequel to one last time. you visit suna after listening to the voicenote he sent you, just to talk, and end up doing a little more than that.

feat. rintaro suna

cw. cheating/infidelity, suna really got on my nerves while i was writing this and he'll probably get on yours too, arguing, choking (m. receiving), edging, cunnilingus, a little manhandling kinda, missionary, multiple instances of "i miss/ed you"

wc. 2k

Suna tries his best to keep the shit-eating grin off his face when you text him to ask if he’s home.

He knew that voice message would get you. There was a tiny voice in his head that told him it would be a monumental embarrassment if you didn’t, but it was drowned out by all the other voices in his head telling him to send, send, send, send.

His stomach turns with anticipation. He doesn’t even answer your question, just orders an Uber and sends you the car make and model and how long it will take to get to your apartment. 6 minutes. And then 12 minutes from yours to his.

He fishes out the fancy santal candle he knows you like from beneath the bathroom sink and lights it in his bedroom. Then he brushes his teeth and puts some music on and waits.

He jumps when the doorbell rings.

There’s a moment of silence when he opens the door, the two of you just looking at each other. It hits Suna that this is the first time he’s seen you in person in months. He used to see you everyday. There's a part of his chest that seems to ache at the realization. He ignores it.

“Hi,” you breathe.

He blinks once. Twice. “Hey.” He opens the door a little wider and shifts to the side so you can come in.

You take one step closer and then stop, eyeing him with unjust suspicion. “I didn’t come over here to fuck you.”

Suna takes one look at your outfit—shorts that are definitely too short to be comfortable in this chilly fall weather and a sweatshirt he’s pretty sure is his—and knows you’re lying. He doesn’t call you out, just grins and shrugs and ushers you inside anyway.

You lean against the kitchen counter to survey the living room, pleased to see that it looks exactly the same as the last time you were here. Suna’s still standing by the door when you look at him again, arms crossed.

“So why’d you come over?” he asks.

It’s your turn to shrug. “You said you missed me.”

“Did I?”

You give him a sideways look. “You did.” You drag out the two words, nodding slowly and widening your eyes as if you’re speaking to a child.

Suna tilts his head to the side, smiling a little. “What else did I say?”

Oh lord. You should’ve known he’d be annoying about it. You shift your gaze up to the ceiling, pretending to struggle to remember even though you listened to his message several times, including once on the car ride over.

“You said you weren’t happy for me…which is pretty fucked up.”

Suna just rolls his eyes. “What else?”

Eyes on the ceiling again. “You said you liked my Halloween costume. And that if I had sex with you it wouldn’t count as cheating because I haven’t been with him that long.” You put air quotes around his claim, sliding your eyes back down to meet his.

He’s standing closer to you now than he was a minute ago, looking like he’s holding back a laugh. “Now that part’s fucked up. Where is the boyfriend, by the way?”

You make a face and look at the time on the microwave. “Probably home. Probably asleep.”

“Yeah? How’s he doing?” He closes what’s left of the gap between you and tugs on the drawstring of your (his) sweatshirt to even out both ends.

“Fine…” you whisper, breath hitching when his hand brushes your ear on the way to your hoodie.

He hums after fixing the string and walks towards his bedroom, tapping your bare thigh as he passes you as a silent cue to follow.

You realize that he doesn’t believe your intentions for coming over are pure, which is true, but you don’t like that he didn’t even pretend to believe you.

You follow his lead anyway, resting your head against the doorframe and watching him fish his phone out of his pocket and dump it on his desk. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks over at you with his eyebrows raised.

“I told you I just came over here to talk,” you snap.

Suna’s response is automatic. “No, you said you didn’t come over here to fuck.”

“Rin.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” He leans forward, setting his elbows on his knees and his hands beneath his chin. “Alright. Talk.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you mutter. “I shouldn’t have come.” You twist your foot to turn around and immediately hear the bed creak with relief. Suna wraps his hand around your wrist before you can fully turn your back.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” he says. “Stay. Please?”

He sounds like he’s begging. He looks like he’s begging, with his slumped shoulders and pleading eyes and desperation written all over his pretty face.

It’s not enough.

“My boyfriend doesn’t taunt me like this, you know,” you tell him, indignant.

Suna’s grip on your arms loosens as his face falls a bit.

You continue. “He’s actually nice to me. And he’s romantic. Treats me like royalty.”

You watch Suna’s jaw tick. His hand returns to his side. “He’s boring.”

“He’s steady.”

Suna’s tone grows terse. “Dull. Stale. Bland. Vanilla.”

“Stable and secure and safe.”

Suna snorts. “Safe,” he repeats, sarcastic. “I seriously don’t get how you can date him.”

“Because he’s my boyfriend who I love and not just some guy I used to fuck when I was lonely.”

It’s a low blow. You and Suna were friends long before the benefits came along. Good friends. Close friends.

If he’s offended he doesn’t show it, just latches on to the first part of your sentence. “You don’t love him.”

He’s right. “You’re wrong.”

“Really? Why are you here then?” He narrows his eyes. “And don’t say it’s because I said I missed you.”

You’re not sure when you started taking steps forward, or when Suna started moving backwards, but his calves hit the edge of the bed and suddenly he’s sitting again, looking up at you with that infuriating self-righteousness that makes your eye twitch.

And then your hand is squeezing his throat and your lips are on his and you’re straddling him and moaning into his mouth.

You feel him start to smile against you before he pulls away.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “Don’t fucking say anything,” you tell him, before tugging his face towards you neck.

You can tell Suna’s still smiling, but he obeys, sucking the tender spot right above your collarbone without another word. His hands find the bottom of your sweatshirt and he pulls it up.

His lips leave your skin and your hand leaves his neck so you can take your arms out of the sleeves and he can yank it over your head and drop it on the floor. Then he rests his hands on your hips and just looks at you.

Goosebumps dance across your shoulders and arms. Suna wants to comment on how you're not wearing a bra but he doesn’t, just continues to stare.

“What?” you ask.

He takes in the sight of you on top of him, the rise and fall of your chest—quicker than normal, a side effect of him riling you up. He revels in the weight of you on his legs and tries to recall the last time you had him beneath you like this. Your birthday? His birthday? Or maybe it was that time he tried to cheer you up after you got laid off. Either way, it’s been a long time and he hates to think about how you’ve probably been doing this with your boyfriend instead of him.

He can’t help himself. “You straddle the boyfriend like this?”

You huff and press your palm to his chest, shoving him onto his back. Your face hovers over his. “What are you gonna do if I say yes?”

Suna studies your face and puts his hands around your waist and beams. It’s the only signal you get before he flips you, putting your head on a pillow and taking his own shirt off before he drops it on the ground somewhere near your hoodie.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, glancing at the hard outline growing in his sweats as you trail your fingertips up his thigh. He leans into you and rests his forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

Your heart beats at a concerning speed. “I know.”

He gets up from the bed and snaps the waistband of your shorts before telling you to take them off and removing the rest of his own clothes. When he crouches over you again, you place the sole of your foot flat against him and tut.

“You also said you’d do that thing I like with your tongue.”

Again, Suna chooses not to comment. He wonders how many times you listened to the message, because it’s sounding like more than once, more than a couple. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed, forcing a giggle out of your throat before he plants his head between your legs.

He circles your clit, avoiding making contact with it directly and making teasing strokes with his fingers until you’re panting and quivering and making shaky demands for him to let you come on his tongue. When he does, you scream his name.

“Music to my fucking ears,” he says under his breath, licking your slick off his lips. “You scream this loud for him too?”

You can't believe you forgot how aggravating he is. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He looks so smug. You start to think that the desperation from before was too short-lived, until he’s inside you and you’re filled with him and that familiar need that makes you wrap your legs around him and claw at his back.

All you can think about is how you miss him and you missed this, and you’re telling him to fuck you harder, and then his mouth is right below your ear and his hair is tickling your cheek and a stream of yes’s and Rin’s are tumbling out of your mouth like dominoes and youre trying to pull him impossibly closer and youre so surrounded by him that its dizzying and youre whispering i miss you in his ear and hoping it doesnt sound like i love you and hes saying i miss you too and youre wondering if he really means i love you too and then youre biting into his shoulder and—

You lose count of how many times you come. Both of you do. The two of you are coated in sweat, laying on damp sheets in a room that now smells like sex and sandalwood. Neither of you speak, busy catching your breath and being lost in thought. You don’t want to say anything, afraid you’ll break the spell.

You didn’t have to worry about that, though, because you hear your phone ping loudly and realize it’s on the floor, still tucked away in the front pocket of your sweatshirt. Suna turns his head towards you.

“You should break up with him.”

You raise an eyebrow at the seriousness in his voice and sigh. “I know.”

“Today.”

A pause. “Okay.”

There’s another moment where none of you speak. And then–

“You should date me instead.”

You turn to face him and the earnestness in his expression catches you so off guard you have to look away again. It’s not that you never expected him to bring it up, you just hadn't expected him to sound so sincere when he did.

You had toyed with the idea before, a handful of times even, but everything between you two was so easy—why would you mess it up with a what are we? conversation? Although, you suppose you messed it up anyway by getting a boyfriend and ditching Suna without warning.

It takes you a long time to respond, long enough that Suna starts to game plan an exit strategy, but then you meet his gaze again.

“Okay.”

#suna smut #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #fatherbrat ♱ library #hq #sunarin #tw cheating

3K notes · View notes