#you’re longer than one piece

[jack-o-feces]

IM BEHIND ON ALL THE LORE BUT CANT CATCH UP BECAUSE THE LUNAR AND ESRTH SHOW GOT TERMINATEDDDDDDD

[jewishrizahawkeye]

something is not right about a 26 year old adult picking fights with 14 year olds and lying about people being racist and antisemitic and suicide bating because they rightfully called you out and you like the drama

[kissmefriendly]

Got my mother and my little brother staying with me soon. On the one hand, brilliant, I haven’t been in the same room with both of them at once in years. On the other, holy fuck how. In my place? It’s tiny! Someone is sleeping on the floor for a week and the other two are sharing a bed. I’ve never wanted to sleep on the floor more in my adult life.

[kavehater]

Wow that was a very good session of haterism this is why I love this account 😻🤞✨

^^ also me cause I’d go right back to her wahoo

[sahkuna]

OH, HIM? HE'S SPOKEN FOR — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: one too many women at this wedding think they've got a shot with gojo satoru. but what they fail to realize is none of them are you, the one who holds his unwavering devotion.

content warning(s): non-curse au, plot before the eventual smut so 18+ mdni, afab/fem! reader, mentions reader wearing a dress, established relationship, unprotected sex, gojo's impatient so you guys get it on an empty room upstairs, exhibitionism (sorta kinda?), brief mentions of jealousy, pet names.

word count: 4.6k+ // i lurve weddings.

For the fifth time this evening, Gojo’s teeth catch his inner cheek, biting back a smile that threatens to spread across his lips.

You’ve got a cute habit of toying with pieces of your clothing or whatever object was within your range whenever something’s nagging at your mind. He wonders to himself if this was something you were aware of.

Unconscious of Satoru’s intense gaze on you, you idly gulp down a cold glass of water and breathe a heavy sigh.

As the evening persists, you’re starting to feel your social battery deplete by the second. It’s been almost a whopping 5 hours since the wedding reception began, and with every hour that crept closer to midnight the more you wanted to throw in the towel and go home.

The poor music selection blaring from the speakers stationed around the venue— a collection composed by the newlywed couple, you presume— didn’t aid in your fight to stay here any longer than necessary.

Your index finger mindlessly loops and unloops around the straps of your attire, and Gojo can’t help but softly knock his foot with yours underneath the table to pull you out of your daze.

Rather than blatantly asking what was wrong, Satoru settles for something else. 

“Relax,” he says in an attempt to settle your nerves. Any effort that he’s previously made to stop himself from smiling is ultimately shot down the moment your eyes catch his. “You look nice, quit worryin’.”

Though you did look nice, the word alone wasn’t enough to bring any justice to how you looked tonight. The venue’s warm and orange lighting flattered and illuminated you too well. There’s more he wants to say, and it’s all on the tip of his tongue. 

But Gojo opts to sit back, eyes soft as they make a trail across your bare shoulders, eventually working his gaze up to your face. There, he traces your features slowly, from your eyes down to your cheeks and they finally stop at your lips.

And his eyes just stay there for a few seconds, lingering on your mouth.

He wants to kiss you so badly. 

To him, it didn’t matter if there was a group of old geezers who you two had to share a table with. Gojo would tune them all out if he had to. But knowing him, the moment his lips would press against yours he wouldn’t be able to pull away on his own accord. 

And you’d rip him a new one if you two ever became “that couple” engaging in heavy practices of PDA in front of such critical eyes.

So, picking up the same glass that you drank from, Gojo drinks from it, swallowing down the rest of your water along with the nagging urge to nip and lick his way into your mouth.

Huffing at the fact that he’s chugged down your drink in one go— despite clearly having more than enough in his glass— you wrestle the cup out of Gojo’s grasp and place it far from his reach.

“Thank you for that, Satoru,” you respond, to both his compliment and how he’s done away with all your water.  

Gojo hums in acknowledgement, completely missing the snarky tone your voice carried. “I’m serious though, you look really good.” 

You flash him a small smile at this. However, it’s short-lived because seconds later your lips pull into a soft pout. 

Noticing the drastic change in your mood, Gojo scoots his chair closer to you so he can get a better read on the situation.

He presses his finger to your forehead, tapping once, then twice. “What’s going on up there, hm?” he inquires.

A bit apprehensive, you start with a drawn-out, “Well���”

Throughout the evening as Gojo's plus one to his distant relative’s wedding, you’ve noticed that no matter where you step the guests at this venue seem to have eyes on you. Or more so to speak, who you came with.

It’s no secret that Gojo draws attention to himself wherever he goes, that part doesn’t need much explaining— especially when his appearance sticks out like a ridiculously beautiful, jaw-droppingly gorgeous sore thumb. But today his magnetic charm has pulled much more than you expected.

Like now.

A couple of tables away from where you two sit— perhaps two or three— is where you spot them. There’s a small group of women who hide their blushes and bashful smiles behind their hands, giggling and blatantly ogling at your dashing boyfriend.

You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bother you.

…Because it did, big time. 

Suppressing the urge to cringe physically, you turn your sights toward Gojo. “Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask, nodding your head toward the table of women who were whispering amongst themselves.

You could count on both hands the number of times you’ve had to pretend not to eavesdrop whenever one of the bridesmaids would muster up their courage and make their way up to Gojo whenever he was away from you— which was rare because despite being the one who invited you to the wedding, Satoru stuck to you as if he knew no one here.

Humming for a bit, Gojo throws an uncaring glance over his shoulder to view the mini fan club he had unknowingly accumulated tonight. A few have the decency to abruptly look away when he does so, not wanting to be caught in the act. But the others? They boldly send him flirtatious smiles and shy waves, accented with blushing cheeks.

None of which he returns, but you still feel a gnawing ache settle in your stomach.

Gross. 

Finally answering your question, Gojo meets your troubled gaze. “Nah, not really,” he replies. “It gets bothersome, sure, but I usually just ignore it all.”

You don’t respond to this and decide to flick your gaze elsewhere. If he isn’t bothered by it, then this isn’t even that big of a deal. Don’t let it get to you. It’s fine! Perfectly fine.

Blue eyes trail along your face, tracing your expression slowly. Gojo’s face softens, and his hand slips under the table and brushes against your knee before he squeezes. “Why?” he asks suddenly. “Does it bother you?” 

Yes. “No,” you respond a bit too quickly.

“‘No’?” he tries again. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to crack.

“Fine. It does a bit,” you hiss bitterly, your poker face falling into shambles completely. Gojo’s smile stretches a little wider. “So can we leave now, please?”

You don’t know if you can withstand another hour in here with all things considered. 

It’s also essential to note how you gradually find yourself nodding off to sleep every ten minutes or so the longer you’re here at this venue. You’re hoping and praying Gojo takes the bait so he would finally shoot Ichiji a text telling him he should be coming to the venue to pick you two up soon. 

Behind his rounded shades, confusion swirls in his gaze and a subtle pout tugs at his lips. “But they haven’t even handed out the cake yet!” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

You want to throw your head back in exasperation at the fact that the sole reason why you guys were staying out so late was over a damn cake. 

Throwing a cautious glance over your shoulder, you spot the culprit. An extravagant-looking tower of vanilla fondant stares back at you, where it’s situated many tables away from you and over to where the bride and groom sit. 

You don’t know why Satoru likes that crap anyway, fondant is known for its notoriously awful flavour because of how it tastes like an extremely sugary, yet stale donut glaze left out for far too long.

“Oh my God,” you wail, but you’re abruptly aware that your volume has garnered a few pairs of curious eyes to land on you and Satoru from various tables around you.

Smiling awkwardly at your tablemates, you’re prompted to lean in close to the stubborn white-haired man and lower your tone so only he’s privy to what you say next. “Can’t you ask Ijichi to grab something sweet for you on our way to your place?”

Unyielding, Gojo shakes his head. “I’ve tried, believe me,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. “But he's always on about how impractical it is for a sweets shop to be open at this time of night.” 

He can’t be serious right now. You think you’re starting to reach your wits' end. “You’re kidding me.”

Thinking you also find Ijichi’s claims outlandish, Gojo leans back in his seat more comfortably. He’s relieved you’re taking his side. “Right?! I tell him all the time that there’s bound to be—”

“I mean you, Satoru,” you say, flashing him a face of disbelief. Gojo wilts a little at this and pouts. 

Pursing his lips, it seems like he’s seriously giving your question some thought. You don’t fault Gojo for having a sweet tooth, but sometimes you wish you could ween him off it. Especially since they got you into predicaments such as this.

But, there is one more thing that Gojo Satoru loves more than his sweets. 

And that’s you.

“Those women really did a number on you, huh?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you throw an incredulous look Gojo’s way. The abrupt topic change flipped so fast it could’ve given you whiplash. He’s purposefully trying to provoke you. 

But why?

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, “What does that have to do with—”

Gojo pushes his chair away from the fancy table and shoves himself up to his feet. Just where does he think he’s going? “You wanna leave, right?”

Like this, you’re able to drink in just how appealing he looks tonight. It’s no wonder since walking in, everyone seemed to rubber-neck their attention to where you two were seated.

You nod slowly, and your hesitant nature has him practically purring when he says, “So let me take you upstairs then. Show ‘em that I’m spoken for already.” 

And at that very moment, you swear you hear the middle-aged woman whose chair is seated one space away from you choke on her drink— you don’t blame her. 

But there’s no way she could’ve heard everything… let alone understand the connotations of what he’s said, right?

She aims a displeased once over toward you and Satoru’s direction and dramatically shuffles her seat closer toward her unsuspecting husband. “My goodness,” she mutters under her breath.

Okay, so she’s heard everything.

Gojo laughs under his breath at the guest’s over-the-top antics and your blood runs a little hot.

Pushing his frames off the bridge of his nose, Gojo’s hand slides them past his hairline to rest on his head. He offers you his hand. “Come with me.”

And you’re sitting there, staring dumbly at his perfectly glossed lips that are decorated with a wicked smile because he knows. He knows you’ll let him whisk you away upstairs to do what even God wants nothing to know of. 

Carefully, Gojo wraps a hand around your wrist and tugs you to your feet. “Let’s go.” Delicate fingers slide down past your palm and lace themselves with yours. You move with him when he pulls you toward the back of the venue, near the huge wooden double doors and toward the exit. Leaving behind many shocked guests and a dejected party of bridesmaids.

Which reminds you…

Before you both slip out from view entirely, over your right shoulder you childishly poke your tongue out at the group of women right as the door is about to click shut. 

A sense of relief washes over you when you both finally step out of the ballroom and into the vacant grand hallway. There’s no boisterous noise to pound away inside your skull, just the gentle sound of you and Satoru’s footsteps padding down the marble flooring.

There’s a mix of emotions that swirl inside of you with each step that’s taken toward the main staircase and up to whichever room Gojo wishes to… well, fool around with you in. “You stick your tongue out at them?” he asks.

How in the hell would he have been able to guess that? You stare long and hard at the back of his head, half expecting to catch a glimpse of a third eye you didn’t know was there. However, there’s nothing but white tufts of snowy, white hair glaring back at you.

Or maybe you’re just that predictable.

“By accident,” you murmur, not even bothering to think up an explanation for your weak excuse.

Repeating your answer to himself, Satoru grins. “Cute.”

Stopping in front of one of the doors, with your hand still in his, he knocks on the door with his free hand, silently waiting for a response. 

When there are no signs of life on the other side, Satoru twists the knob and carelessly kicks the door wide open with his black leather shoe. The action was so harsh that the metal knob clunks loudly against the wall,— seeing that there was no door stopper— its sound reverberating off the many walls inside the building.

“Satoru!”

Uncaring for the commotion he’s made, Satoru squeezes your hand before he releases his grip and pulls you inside the small room. 

“Relax,” he drawls, before flicking on the light and kicking the door shut behind him— this time with a little more tact. “It’s fine, no one’s here anyway.” 

No longer tethered by your intertwined hands, Satoru plops himself down onto one of the two leather couches and sinks into the seat. 

Exhaling softly, you shake your head and follow your boyfriend to where he’s seated. You’re about to sit down adjacent to him until his hands abruptly shoot out to stop you.

“Y’know…” he starts, and you’re prompted to stand in between his open legs. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders when he glances up at you, cerulean eyes shimmering when he tells you, “It was kinda cute seeing you get all mad down there.”

“I wasn’t mad!” you deny, a half-truth and half-lie. “It just got to be too much is all.”

Pulling your body closer in between his spread legs, you feel something firm press against you. He couldn’t possibly be… “Are you seriously…” You swallow and clear your throat, trying to not let the heady tone of your voice take over. “Are you seriously hard right now?!”

You emit a pathetic squawk when Satoru’s hands brush up against the back of your knees. His palms run higher and higher up your legs, and the fabric of your dress pools around his forearms until they stop right under the swell of your ass.

“What can I say?” he breathes, his eyes burning with intensity the more he stares at your face, searching for something. “I like it when you get jealous over me.”

This man…

“Wasn’t jealous, either,” you say, leaning more into his touch. The more you stay like this without the two of you doing anything to combat the growing sexual tension, the more desperate and needy you become.

“Yeah?”

A heavy heat settles through your entire body when you slide down and sit on Satoru’s lap. “Yeah…”

His breath heaving in his chest, Satoru leans forward and kisses you, sighing blissfully against your mouth the moment they’re pressed together. Eyes closing, the gentle press of Satoru’s lips— soft and warm— has got you smiling against his skin, to which he returns one of his own.

Dragging his mouth away from yours, he presses a trail of searing, lingering kisses from your cheek and down your jaw.

Pressing in closer, a puff of warm air fans out over the curve of your neck. 

“I’ll make you forget aaall about them,” he whispers his promise to you, fingers curling into your waist. “Make you feel so full.”

Growing flustered with how explicit he’s become with his words— a habit of his that seems to materialize only when you two get like this—your face is screwed tight with embarrassment and you faintly nudge his face out from your proximity and bury yours into his neck. 

“You… you talk a lot,” is all you can muster as you pull him tighter into your embrace.

Satoru’s lips curl into a small smile and he squeezes your hips. The deliberately slow trail of his fingertips smoothing their way from your waist down to the bottom hem of your dress had your mind dizzy with anticipation. 

When they slip underneath your attire, you’re not surprised when he starts to get more handsy. Palming at your thighs before ultimately winding up to the lacey material of your underwear. His index fingers hook around them, making an effort to tug them off you, but he can’t seem to do that just yet due to the obstacle of you sitting on his lap. 

Groaning, Satoru jumps his shoulder, prodding you to lift your face from his neck so that you may see what he wants from you. “Help me out, will you?”

You’re more than happy to oblige by a simple lift of your hips off his lap. With the weight of you temporarily gone, Satoru lowers the underwear down your thighs and to your knees.

One leg at a time you step out of them, leaving nothing but the cool, air-conditioned air of the room breeze past your exposed cunt.

Bunching the garment in his hand, Satoru skillfully tosses it across the room… only for it to land unceremoniously atop a fake fern tucked into a corner of the room.

“Hey!”

Breezing past your sudden exclamation, Satoru's hands slide up your bare thighs and his fingertips tease over your skin, eventually grazing your pussy. When your hips inadvertently jerk back the moment they brush over your clit, your boyfriend holds you still against him.

“Sensitive, huh?” he asks, turning his head to press an affectionate kiss onto your warm cheek. “That’s one of the things I like most about you, how reactive you are.”

Not stopping with his ministrations, your boyfriend’s fingers stroke your bud, rubbing excruciating slow circles against you that send you reeling at the palm of his hands. 

Sounds of content are breathed out from his lungs when he starts to feel you grow wetter and wetter the more he toys with you. Your heart’s pounding loud against your chest, and you’re positive that if Satoru were to press his ear against you and listen real close, he’d be able to hear it.

Groaning, you exhale a pathetic string of nonsense into your boyfriend’s clothed shoulder, tugging harshly at his tie when you start to feel that familiar searing heat start to come undone when he slinks a finger inside you— gathering at the slippery arousal pooling around your inner thighs— only to take it back out again, drawing intricate shapes onto your clit.

“Oh my God,” you mewl, riding his hand now, shedding out of the once flustered facade you had moments prior.

Whispering your name, Satoru unwraps his arm from your waist so he may turn your face to look at him with the free hand that isn’t currently hidden underneath your dress. The tips of your noses brush and he watches you silently with unadulterated desire as you practically come undone by his hand. 

“Kiss me,” he demands, his palm pressing against the back of your nape to bring you closer to him, and you do as you’re told. 

Nipping at your bottom lip, your boyfriend presses one wet kiss after the other against your mouth before his tongue slides inside. The kiss is sloppy and fevered, and your whines are consumed by Satoru when his fingers are poking and curling inside you with passion.

You don’t think you can keep up with him if this continues.

Gasping, you pull away from an all too eager Satoru, who chases your lips only to be met with your cheek when you turn away from him. 

Pouting, the white-haired male searches your face for an explanation. “Why?” he whines, and a brief flash of disappointment strikes his features.

“It’s too much,” you murmur. At this, you feel Satoru’s fingers slow down inside your receptive pussy, but there is the subtle wiggle maybe once or twice to let you know he’s still there. “If you keep going like that I’ll—” You fling a lame hand in the air, hoping the unspoken gesture would speak for itself.

Seemingly catching your drift, a boyish and devilish grin is tacked onto his lips. “Want me to put it inside, then?” He bucks his hips up against your core, not caring if you’d make a mess of his lap. “I want you to feel all of me before that happens. Will you let me, sweetheart?”

There’s some sort of strangled scream that’s caught in your throat the moment the precious pet name drips off his tongue.

 You nod dumbly, to which Satoru laughs sweetly in response.

Lifting you off him, he settles you down onto the black leather seat beside you, not before hiking the bottom half of your dress up to your hips, exposing you completely to him. He presses your back down into the cushion and rests his knee between your legs.

Peeling off the black blazer from his shoulders, Gojo lets the article of clothing drop to the floor before his hands unbuckle his ridiculously expensive belt.

He’s taking his sweet ass time and he knows it because there’s an amused glint that swirls in his eyes the more he looks down at you.

“Hurry. Up,” you bite, unsure if you can withstand any more of his teasings. 

“You’re impatient as ever,” he jabs, tone laced with artificial annoyance.  Finally undoing his zipper, Satoru frees himself from the confines of his slacks and boxers before his hand finds the back of your knee, pushing it down toward your chest to get you ready for him. 

Right before the crown of his head can slip past the entrance of your slit, the unmistakable sound of heels clicking down the hallway catches your attention.

Shit, shit, shit!

You make moves to sit up and at least get yourself together, in case the oblivious stranger miraculously chooses your room out of all the others to walk into for God knows what.

However, Gojo has a different agenda. 

The corners of his lips quirk up as the sounds of what you predict to be two people, approach closer and closer down the hallway and toward your door. Satoru pins you back down and offers you a few words of encouragement along the lines of how good of a job you’re doing, before the thick head of his cock slides into you.

You both moan at the intoxicating sensation. However the sound of his runs deeper, like a pained grunt. It was as if he were a man possessed.

Fucking himself sweetly inside your tight, greedy hole, you can’t stop thinking of the fact that with each step you hear, the closer you are to toeing the line of you and Satoru being walked in on.

God, what would even do in such a situation? Keep going? Stop altogether?

“Fuuuck,” Satoru breathes, the vulgar somewhat audible sounds of your bodies grinding and bucking together had you thinking with other body parts rather than your head.

Yeah, no shot were you stopping anytime soon.

“I should’ve known he was taken, Airi!” You hear a voice exclaim from down the hall. “I mean, look at him!”

Yeah, look at him.

A furious pink blush crawls up Satoru’s neck and hues the tips of his ears as his hips drive in and out of you at such a gruelling, slow pace. His mouth is slightly parted open and the harsh sound of his laboured breathing can be heard echoing off the room’s wall with each thrust he sends inside your pussy.

He looks positively debauched right now. 

His tie (if you could even call it that now) barely can hold itself together, and a few buttons of his linen white shirt are now loose— revealing the milky expanse of his chest. He can’t seem to control his facial expressions either because one moment pale, white brows are furiously pinched together as he obscenely stretches your insides, and the next moment pleasure is etched onto those angelic features of his.

A second voice chips in, who you assume to be the woman’s friend. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

You can hear the sulk in the woman’s voice when she mutters, “I guess…” 

You’re half relieved when you hear their footsteps walk past your door entirely, unsuspecting of the pure filth that was going on behind it. 

But deep down in you, tucked somewhere far away is the feeling of excitement, knowing that you and Satoru could’ve been sniffed out at any second had you been a wee bit careless and more loud

With the coast clear, you cry out as Satoru sinks his throbbing hard length deeper inside you. His cock expertly works you open, leaving you twisting and writhing in pleasure as you start to near orgasm.

“Feels good, right?”

“So good,” you choke out, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him impossibly closer to you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, please, please don’t stop, Satoru,” you beg him weakly, you feel like you’re about to explode. It’s too hot. It feels too good and a bundle of nerves in your core is ready to snap.

With one hand secured on your leg, supporting how it rests around his slender yet muscular waist, Satoru’s other hand comes up to palm and kneads at your clothed breast.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he groans, kissing you through your panting breaths. “You take me so well, just hold on…”

Giving into the pleasure, Gojo’s hips now snap faster into you, his big hands gripping and squeezing your ass possessively, pinning your hips to the couch.

Rocking harder and faster now, Satoru’s whimpers reach a whole new octave as he’s forced to pull out of you when his balls start to pulse threateningly, alerting him that he’s nearing his release.

Shuddering, Satoru strokes mindlessly and you gasp when something warm and gooey dribbles down your lower belly and toward your pubic bone.

“Agh! I—” He’s still pumping and there are small beads of cum weeping out the slit of his tip when’s rubbed all that he’s had left to give out. It drools off his dick and drips onto your lips. “I couldn’t help it…” he responds, knowing that he had nothing nearby to wipe you off with.

At least he had the sense not to come on your dress. 

Content with his performance, Satoru gives your butt one last cheeky pinch before tucking himself back into his pants. You close your legs. “We should do this more often.”

Shimmying your dress back to its proper state, you turn to him with a questioning glance. “What— What do you mean?” you ask.

You’re hyper-aware of his cum that’s beginning its slow descent down your leg. You need to take of that and fast.

Gojo points a tired finger between you and him, and then circling it around the room, he adds to this by saying, “Getting it on in public? I like it, it heightens the ‘experience’.”

You push him away from your body and mutter for him to shut up as you prop yourself off your back and into a proper sitting position. 

Throwing an arm across his face with his forearm shielding his eyes, Gojo laughs a little. “So, are we heading back in?” he asks you. “They must’ve cut the cake by now…”

You have the most insufferable boyfriend known to man. After this whole ordeal, he was still thinking about that fucking cake. 

“I can’t stand you, Satoru.”

thank you for reading :)

[screampied]

❝ HELL ON HEELS . . ! ❞

ᡴꪫ sum. it's your third day on the job as a flight attendant. you work around a lot of snobby rich elites, but a particular one catches your eye. a particular one who tips you $300 dollars in cash and wants way more than just your uninvited attention.

wc. 6.5k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, this is how gojo and reader meet, mile high club trope, flight attendant reader, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), semi public sēx, praise kink, degradation, dry humping, squırting, spanking, edging.

an. thank u to everyone who voted for this on the poll <3

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

the low-pitched whirring of the plane’s engine was quite loud. white noise could be heard through first class as you walked alongside the aisle. with a heavy sigh, you’d just wish the day would be over. the overall duration of the flight was about a good two hours, not too bad but you were already over it. dealing with haughty a-list celebrities or elites as a whole wasn’t for the weak. a majority of them were rude, snobby, and just stuck up individuals. except for one . .

as thick pieces of rubber stick against your heels and clank against the carbon fibre floor, you sashay through and from the rows before a cheeky voice calls over to you. “excuseee me, miss ‘ttendant,” and you crane your neck to where it was coming from. sat right by the window near the left— draped in nothing but a sable-black tuxedo with a pricey g-shock wrapping around his wrist, he simpers. “do you ahh, mind if you . . ?”

“huh,” you quirk your eyebrows into a brow before he nods his head up toward the cabin compartment above all of the seats. “oh,” you give him a soft smile. he takes a quick glance at your name tag that’s glued on the left side of your blazer. you lean over against him, reaching towards the latch to pull it down. the more you get close to him, the more you smell his cologne. it’s so strong, you were sure it was some kind of expensive designer brand. a small grunt leaves your lips as you stretch before just when you’re about to pry open the cabinet, the plane grumbles with a rude shake. a rude shake in which you fall—right onto the older man’s lap who’s got the smuggest grin.

“we’re experiencing a bit of turbulence up here, sincerest apologizes passengers..”

the pilot mutters through the intercom— it’s blaring through the speakers. he talks for about seven seconds, as well as reminding for everyone to have their seatbelts on at all times before he stops.

as if things couldn’t have been anymore embarrassing, your face lands right into his crotch. “oh my god—i’m so sorry sir,” you try to atone, sitting up and as you’re up so close to him, you take a moment to actually get a good glimpse at the man.

he was pretty, simply no denying it. you knew him from anywhere. gojo satoru, the gojo satoru. the snowy white hair was a dead giveaway.

he was more of a well known business man—a ceo of some hot shot company. he had his own clothing brand, does lots of men photoshoots, and even modeled a bit in his early twenties. although, the more you gawk at him, the more it seems like he barely even aged. gojo looks like he was still in his twenties, he had a bit of a stubble but was quite really well shaved. azul-blue eyes return the stare right back at you as you take in his prepossessing features for just a bit longer.

god, he was handsome.

gojo’s hair was neatly neat, a simple slick back of a sort with a few strands of white hair running down his face. he brings a wrist up to his face to rub his mouth before covertly humming. “. . oh, am i that good lookin’, princess?”

you gulp once he catches you staring, and then it hits you again,

you were still dumbly laid on his lap as he’s gazing into your eyes with the most complacent grin. “i-i’m sorry,” you mumble, cringing at your own stutter. thankfully, it was probably about four am, it was a private jet and only a few other passengers scattered around the sectioned row. sitting up, you rub your neck sheepishly before sighing. “i . . don’t usually fall on passengers during on my shifts.”

“heh well i’d hope not,” he teases. “oh, and don’t worry about getting my luggage by the way,” and his eyes trail you down before he glances at your name tag again. “hm, i think i’d like to request something else though,” and the more you stare into his pretty cerulean eyes, the more you get lost in them.

his eyes were equivalent to a maze, you’re always getting lost in his pretty irises—never finding your way out. “you’re probably all sore from walkin’ around in those heels, how ‘bout you take a little break?”

and he was right. the entire lower parts of your calves were a bit sore, so you do. you take a break . . although,

your 'break' mainly consists of you being hunched over, propped up in front of gojo’s seat with him eating you out from behind like a starved man. your bottom lip feels all numb and puffed from chewing on it for so long. your lips part into an exaggerated ‘o’ as your head’s repeatedly being pressed against the back of the airplane seat in front of you. the softly made material rubs against your face and you moan. some older woman was snoring in the front of it, headphones plugged in both sides of her ears.

thank god, you prayed whatever heavy metal track she was listening to would distract her slumber from hearing your loud, whiny moans.

alas again, by ‘break’, you didn’t expect this but you weren’t exactly complaining either. with gojo’s tongue rummaging against your clit, it had you gasping for desperate various breaths. “s-sirrrr,” you whimper, a lewd smile pursing against your lips. two broad hands of his had your jade-colored business skirt pulled up all the way to the very hem of your torso— just about reaching near your now wrinkled blazer. as you sling an arm over the seat in front of you, you whine once his nose prods against your soddened entrance. “ngh, ‘m gettin’ close again i think. f-fuck, right there.”

“please, call me satoru, baby,” he whispers against your pussy. you shudder from the coldness of his breath aerating against your bare skin—you whine once his palm swats by your right ass cheek, giving it a mean spank. “ooh,” he coos from the recoil of your rear. so pretty, it was quite funny how things even escalated so quickly.

right before he was buried into the depths of your plush thighs, you were just chatting with him. gojo had a charm to him. he was a lot different from the other stuck up elites you occasionally dealt with. he was quite easy to talk to. you make it a habit to talk to each passenger, despite how snobby they might come across anyway.

with him though, he was a pure smooth talker.

gojo showered you with a plethora of compliments. it came natural, it didn’t seem forced—he’d point out your pretty eye color, your hair, just anything. with your job, you were used to getting a few compliments here and there—but he’d go all out, all out in a way where it makes your heart flutter and fly. you’re rutting your ass against his face, loving the way his wet tongue curls into a few alphabetic letters. he’s just filthy. each breath that escapes from your lips as if it was being held captive felt like it was gonna be its last.

“so . . fuckin’ sweet,” he purrs, dragging a thumb down your slit for a moment. gojo takes a second to admire the way you easily soak in his digit, such a breathtaking sight inside. lewd, but breathtaking. “mhm, look at her givin’ me a little show. move your ass against my face a little more, sweetheart. yeah, fuck.”

your heart does jumping jacks at his dialogue. his voice was deep, rich—and seductive.

the silvery band of his watch continues to skim all across your skin as your hips judder. you shiver, feeling yourself about to reach your inevitable orgasmic peak before you moan out loud. you tried to suppress your noises, you did—but it was no use. you’re already biting at your hardened knuckles but oh, his tongue.

every few seconds, he’d break away to spit and slobber on your pussy. his nose consistently smears all against your folds, getting you ten times more wetter than you already were. he’s nasty, making sure you keep that arch for him. your skirt was pulled up and all wrinkled. the teeth-shattering stimulation makes you feel nerves surge all throughout your body like galvanic electricity.

“s- satoruuu.” you’d huff out in tiny pants, feeling your tummy cave in a few times. your sweet moan, its like a tune—a harmony, hell, it was melodic. he’d listen to you whine his name like that all day if he could. a gentle hand of his runs down your twitching leg, giving every part of your body from behind attention.

he was starting to get addicted, you were too sweet . . candied even, it was dangerous. he’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth anyways and perhaps you were his new favorite treat.

the raving pace of his tongue was simply relentless. you’re gripping onto the back of the seat for dear life, barely able to keep up with him.

ethereal ivory lashes of his open and close every millisecond that passes. it’s as if time was going slow for you— of course it was though, considering how you were thousands of feet in the air. you don’t know why, but the thought of someone just walking by and stumbling upon you all bent over for a passenger,

not just a passenger but the gojo satoru . .

you’d be lying a bit if you said it didn’t turn you on a bit. you knew it was against policy to screw on the job, in the air at that, but it was the middle of the night and partly everyone onboard was asleep anyway. having some affluent attractive guy right between your thighs, you were living the dream. you thought this only happened in the movies.

“aw, don’t give up on me just yet, pretty,” he soothes a tune against your cunt. after a while, gojo’s speedy flicking of his tongue transitioning to pure sucks. you’re shaking within the suction of his mouth. it’s almost too much to bare yet you didn’t want him to stop. he knows just the right tempo to make you roll your eyes back too. with prying hands, gojo’s spreading open your ass a bit more to lick a deeper area with his tongue. you zealously whine once he playfully uses a thumb to poke against your puckering hole. “mhm, yeah. thaaaat’s it, but don’t be so loud though, princess. i know we’re in the back row but still, heh.”

and with that— he gifts your ass another smack. he proudly relishes in your lewd, pornographic reactions. you’re an entire mess and he’s slurping your fervor shamelessly.

“s- satoruuuu, fuck f-fuck,” your breathing starts to significantly pick up. with your chest continuing to sink in and out, he briefly sneaks his dampened lips away from your entrance to bite near your thighs. the way you were shaking to him was just so cute. the white noise that continues to sing and reverb throughout the plane’s structure grew louder. or . . that was just the ringing through your ears—regardless, it was between that noise and the sounds of your own obscene pleasure that had a competition. a competition on who could be the most louder. your name-tag that’s still pressed against your blazer remains to rub off against the fabric of the seat in front of you.

your perked nipples snag in the process as you’re arching a bit more before a wail dies out your throat. “i- i’m gonna cu— oh!”

“another few hits of turbulence, folks. please stay in your seatbelts. time of arrival should be around six thirty am..”

you bring a hand over your mouth in a cute attempt to silence yourself as you’re meeting your high—listening to the pilot, you sob out a squeal from the inside of your palm. gojo’s slurping you up again with his tongue, your grinding against his face makes him chuckle. with his jaw tightening a bit, he doesn’t care—you were so sweet, he could eat you out all day. not to mention, he was quite thirsty. instead of having you retrieve one of his bags, he was gonna originally ask for a glass of water. but this quenched his thirst a lot better in his humblest opinion. his warm breath fans against your cunt all the while you feel his stubble tickle near the undersides of your thighs. “mmph.” you moan, peeking in front of you to still see the old lady knocked out cold. with the way you were rocking into the back of her seat— you were surprised she didn’t wake up. you were glad she didn’t though. otherwise, you’d embarrass yourself yet again.

with your orgasm still having its moment, you start to calm down a bit. he’s still slithering his tongue down your folds, savoring your taste as if it’s the last thing on the planet. his chin was coated with all of your slick, and he snickers before dragging a thumb to get another taste. “good girl. give it to me, ride my—ride my tongue, uh huhhh.”

a swarm of butterflies wanders around inside of your tummy from his words—his tone, it was so soft yet the dialogue that spoke out was just downright dirty. you pulse between your thighs and it only makes you crave him more.

as you’re still arched over in front of him, you take a few hard gulps to swallow as you’re finishing your perfect nirvana state. ecstasy, just ecstasy overtakes your entire body as he gives your pussy it’s final sucks and nibbles. once he finishes, he’s still sat in his chair. spinning you around, he gives you a warm smile.

“c’mere, sweetheart..”

out of breath and pants snatching out of your full lungs with ease—you move into him with your eyes half-lidded. “. . . atta girl, taste how sweet you are. gimme a kiss,” and you get on top of him. sliding off your heels, you get onto gojo’s lap. now straddling him, you lean into a steamy, hot kiss. two hefty built arms of his wrap around your waist, pulling you in close. once your lips meet, it’s just utterly sloppy.

throwing your arms around him and tugging on his tucked out collar, you deepen the kiss. he groans at your enthusiasm, allowing his hands to glide against every inch of your body. gojo’s fingertips dance against the pieces of clothing you wore, despite it being so few. your blazer was still on and yet couldn’t help but rock against his lap as your tongue parts inside of his mouth. gojo’s head leans back as you’re enjoying yourself. but all of a sudden, you moan once you feel it. 

his boner, right in the middle part of his pants. gojo satoru was hard—hard for you.

he grunts lowly, a hand of his snaking up your leg as you taste the sweet remnants of your own flavor on his tongue. the closer you are to him, the closer you get a nice everlasting sniff of his cologne. so manly, it’s a rich scent that you could never get enough of. it was so strong—roaming through the air so much that it almost gave you a headache. 

“fuck,” he sibilates. a single hissing word that comes from his mouth makes you throb oh so easily. you’re swaying your hips against him and his adam’s apple bobs back in rapture. every few seconds, he pulls away to leave a wet slope of kisses down your neck. a hand of yours tugs against his tie that was neatly worn on him. “damn girl you’re kinda kinky,” and he finally pulls away, teasingly biting on your bottom lip before finally departing. “i’m startin’ to like you.”

“more,” you murmur, leaning in to nip a wet kiss of your own near the crooked crevices of his mouth. naturally parted lips of his twitch, causing him to wryly smile back at you. “i need more, sir. we have a few more hours left. please.”

“baby, you can call me satoru. cut the formal shit yeah?” and his voice was a pitchy low, an almost rasp hidden underneath. a hand of his gently grabs your chin and you’re met with the most prettiest eyes. if it wasn’t his long lashes, it was his celestially blue eyes. so blue that it was as if you were star gazing at a summer sky. gojo satoru a pretty man, no doubt. he hums to himself in amusement at your cute doe-eyed expression, hungry for more. sitting on his boner was already torture enough, you just wanted him inside. 

sure, you were technically working but you didn’t care about that. “satoruuuu,” he’s being playful, a thumb still pulling down your bottom lip. as you’re both maintaining such intimate eye contact, his voice softens once more. gojo’s hand slides its way between your thighs before he raises a brow in a taunting manner. “what do you want satoru to do to you? tell me, girl.”

“t- touch me.” you almost whine out, it yanks out from your throat so pathetically. the throbbing you were feeling behind your panties only turned into straight convulses. 

playfully, he tilts his head with a smile. “yeah? touch ya where.”

“i gotta spell it out for you?” you pout, and he chuckles at your frustrated attitude. you start to jerk your hips against his lap and he holds your waist in place to bring those movements to a stop. “f-fuck, ��s hard.”

stroking a thumb against your quivering lips, his minty breath hits against your nose—you smell it and it’s minty fresh. a scent of what seemed to be some kind of tangy beverage and a gum like substance. with a mocking tone, he presses a kiss against your nose before jibing. “i just wanna know where ‘m gonna put my hands on this pretty body. that’s all,” and his voice was so smooth, an almost purr. with a chortle, he moves a few strands of hair out of your view of sight before continuing his words. “now now, i’ll ask again, pretty. where do ya want me to touch you? let’s be descriptive this time.”

“between my t-thighs,” you confess, already soaked from him devouring your pussy just merely seconds ago. the shocking friction between both bodies had you feral, had you dizzy, had you stupid.

gojo gradually brings a hand down before you press a hand against his chest, pouting again. “actually, i want you to fuck me. please, satoru.”

“there we go, good girl. ‘n heh, aw i figured,” he cheeses, licking a single stripe up your neck. “mhm, you’ll have to ride me though. ‘s only so many positions you can do on a plane, heh.”

you barely let him finish your sentence before you start to unbuckle his pants. you’re so quick with it. gojo stares at the way you’re so desperate, taking it off the tiny hooks before yanking his belt all the way off. seconds later, you’re pulling down his pants toward his ankles. “ooh,” his eyes flicker towards your chest as you start to align yourself against his lap. you take a moment to stare at his now exposed cock and it was so pretty. lengthy if anything, a leaky mushroom like tip that was a bit reddened. he was so hard too, just gawking at his heavyset bulge that had you almost drooling. gojo leans back, rubbing against his thigh before flashing you a cheesy smile. “wellllll,” he sings. “don’t be shy girl. get on up here. ride all that stress away from work, pretty thing.”

he was so cocky, yet you were so needy. 

as you’re still aligning him, your damp entrance rubs off against the head of his tip. it’s peeling open a bit, the skin that attaches to the frenulum was just so mesmerizing to look at. it’s got a pinkish color, almost red. shortly following, a mere tannish color flushes on his cock near the base down. you moan once he grabs ahold of his length, helping you adjust. 

“easy . . easy baby, i gotcha,” he sighs, feeling your warmth slowly swallow him whole. those short seconds you spend taking in gojo’s dick feels like long, consecutive hours.

you’re dripping wet. as you straddle his lap, preparing to ride him, he slouches back in such a sexy way. manspread—gojo grunts out a single breath as his chest deflates. shifting his gaze towards your cunt, he spreads open your folds to get a better view. “ughhh, look at how she opens up for me. ‘s fuckin’ nasty,” he groans, staring dead at your cunt. you were indeed coating him with your slick from the base down. “give it to me, upside daisey, yeah.”

you’re taking his inches as the seconds go by before after a while—you plop down, feeling him bottom out already. gojo moans, gifting your ass with another spank. “f-fuck ‘toru,” you hiss, knowing that was a non-verbal sign for you to start up your hips. a cooling air that passes through the plane sets against your skin as you move. you whine, feeling his hands trickle alongside the secretive edges of your thighs. “touch me more, l- like that.”

“i don’t remember saying you could tell me what to do,” he meets your eyes as you start to thrust forward. he’s got the most impish grin stretching against his lips. gojo grips your chin for what was probably the nth time within this hour before he grins. “nuh uh, don’t look away. i wanna see those gorgeous eyes,” and he sneaks another wet kiss against your mouth. “ride it like you own it baby.”

you start off realllll slow, 

sashaying your hips up and down against his lap in the most alluring way. all six eyes were on you and only you..

your arms still wrap around him and he’s keeping eye contact with you the entire time. with your blazer practically ruffled and wrinkled, you continue to move yourself against him. gojo’s cock stretches you out in such a way you didn’t even know was possible. your walls craved him, you craved him.

as he leans further back, a hand’s still glued to your ass before he smacks it . . again.

he pats it afterwards, watching a cute sour expression slowly marinate against your facial features. 

gojo giggles at your cute noises, it doesn’t take long before you bury your face into the crook of his neck, gnawing your teeth against his collared shirt. “f-fuck, satoru,” you’d whine out, feeling his grip tighten against your ass. his cologne’s got your head spinning like a merri-go-round, giving you whiplash in all the right ways. “s-so big, stretchin’ me.”

“takin’ it so good, baby,” he licks against the lobe of your ear.  his breath against your neck was warm—not so cold anymore. two rough hands grasp onto your active hips, encouraging you to go more forward, more faster. “good girl, mhm, fuck me like that. use those hips for me, yeahh.”

his dick curves through every part of your walls as if it’s exploring. you feel him reach deep within every part and it’s driving you toward the first street of crazy.

breathy pants skate out from your lips as you’re swinging yourself back and forth against him. “s-satoru,” you whimper, feeling his hands continue to feel against the bare bottom parts of your ass. you could feel the bands of rings he wore rub off against your skin also, so fridgly cold. “f-fuck, ‘s good. mhm, fuck.”

“you’re so pretty,” he groans, the brief sounds of skin slapping resounding through your ears. it’s loud, almost sonorous.

his hair was getting a bit ruffled and unkempt, adding to his suave, mature features.

as he looks off into the nearly empty dim lit aisle, a silhouette appears—someone’s coming. it’s a familiar sound of heels hitting against the floor and you were too occupied of being horny to turn your head. at first, you barely even notice as you’re still grinding against his lap. “oh shit,” gojo gasps, grabbing the sides of your hips, suddenly bringing you to a stop. with a sly smile, he hums against your ear. “baby, don’t freak but i think your co-worker’s coming.”

“w- what?” you murmur, and he makes you spin around, still having his heavy cock hidden into the swollen depths of your cunt. glancing up, it was one of your co-workers coming. in a weak attempt to fix your nearly messed up blazer that was about to pop, you lean against his chest. “who— where?”

as he’s pressed right up against you, you’re met with a playful deep voice against your ear. “relax. act like you’re totally not cockwarming me, obviously,” and he runs a few fingers down your uniform, feeling you shift your hips a bit at his touch. gojo tries to make it look like you were just sitting on his lap, moving a cover over you and him from the waist down. you feel so full, you were growing more and more needy, a pout comes onto your lips because you didn’t want to stop so abruptly. you just wanted to keep riding him, but of course—you were working. “play it cool, baby.”

“um, is everything okay?” one of your fellow co-worker flight attendants, serena murmurs.

with a furrowing brow, she takes in the sight in front of her. you, happily straddling a passenger's lap whilst you’re heaving as if you’d just finish a 5k race. “we’ve been some getting complaints about noises. also, you need to restock the snacks near back. we’re runnin’ low on peanuts.”

“y-yeah, ‘m fine,” you sheepishly nod, knowing how fishy this entire scene might have looked. gojo’s dick was just idly enshrouded into your cunt, just one move and you’d be fucked. technically, you already were fucked. he’s tracing a finger against your thighs before you exhale. “but uh— can’t you restock?”

“i would but that’s not my job,” she snaps with an eye roll. gojo chortles at your co-worker’s attitude, he presses a single kiss against your neck and you almost moan. her facial expressions twist in disgust before she backs away. “anyways, just go restock,” and as she twists her heels to walk away, she utters under her breath. “weirdos. i don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

gojo lets out a breathy laugh as you finally moan again—it’s taking everything out of you and you start up the jolting of your hips again. “f-fuck, ‘m close, ‘toru,” you whimper, the friction feeling like hot static dragging against your legs. “mhm, ‘s good.”

“you’re even more dirtier than i thought, princess,” he whispers, a hand playfully wrapping around your throat as you’re moving your hips back. “i bet your co-worker put two ‘n two together. you could have been a little more believable.”

you’re moaning, his touch sending you more deadly shivers before you feel a coil within you squeeze shut tight. the beat of your heat grows rapid and your pupils dilate from pure pleasurable lust. you’re getting close again, it’s coming so quick that you barely have any time to breathe.

his aromatic cologne nearly blinds your sinuses before you feel against his neck with your palm. “i . . i don’t care if she knows,” you mumble with a scowl, feeling his base continuously rub against your entrance. you’re coating him with nothing but a pretty viscous sheet of your slick. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“yeah? what if i want you to wait?” he purrs, his sloping trail of kisses turning into sucks. you whine, leaning into his touch as he’s stuffing your insides full of thick cock. jello—your legs felt like jello, barely even able to move. the warmth against him had you hungry for more. it was addictive, you didn’t know what it was. you didn’t get like this for any other passenger, yet here you were. your mouth croons open, whining out a single harmony at his pace. he’s still making you grind back against him, the tempo having your head going for a spin every time. “what if i want you to be a good attendant ‘n wait just a bit longer f’me?”

“but—”

“nuh uh,” he snickers, bringing a smack to your ass. “wait for me, pretty. this pussy’s gonna make a mess when i want her to.”

and he creeps a hand down between your jittery legs, rubbing a few circles against your already sopping wet cunt. a gasp wretches from your throat as you’re laid back against his chest. the rugged fabric of his tuxedo top whisks against your skin and you’re babbling out sweet nothings.

“f-fuck, ‘m not gonna last,” you whine, feeling yourself throb at the way his thumb brushes against your throat. he’s feeling the vibrations of your gruttural moans and it’s so cute. by this point, you’d already forgotten you were thirty thousand feet in the air. thirty thousand feet in the air and you were getting your pussy destroyed by one of your passengers. 

not just any passenger though, 

gojo satoru. 

he’s panting right with you as you’re just bouncing on his lap, two soft padded hands gripping against his thighs. as you bite your lip, your ass thrashes back gainst him and he hisses. “just like that, pretty girl. shiiiiit, ‘m gonna cum too.”

with his deep penetrative thrusts, it’s got you going ditzy. as he starts to spank against your puffy cunt, he nibbles against your collarbone. “you wanna cum with me, yeah? ‘s that why you keep dragging y’r nails into my leg?”

“s—sir,” you desperately spat, but he spanks your cunt again so you could switch your words around. “ngh, i mean satoru. wanna cum with you, pleaseplease. ‘s good, want it, finish in me.”

“my, well when ya ask like that,” he hums, and you feel the sharpness of his hips pivot. gojo groans, standing up before he lies you back against the now reclined seat. “lie back, baby. actually, changed my mind. i wanna push those pretty knees up to your chest.” 

panting, you lie back against the now lounged seat. gojo flashes you that same sly grin before he lifts up your leg—bringing a sweet kiss toward your ankle. “you can lose your license over this, you know? dirty girl, lettin’ your pussy think for ya instead of that brain, huh?”

“don’t care,” you moan, watching him quickly align his cock against your slit. gojo grunts, feeling you easily swallow his tip up again. your cunt was clingy, he was very much addicted to your slippery sloppy core. with his pants halfway on and hanging down to his ankles, he starts up a rapid pace again. “uh, uh,” you whimper again and again, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist. you’re keeping him warm from the inside, raw moans pulling out of your esophagus like it was nothing. “right there, ‘m gonna cum, please. s-sir, fuck me.”

“satoru,” he corrects you, a hand gripping your chin. pretty blue eyes leer down at you and he’s so close to you. as he’s jackhammering his cock into your sobbing swollen walls—eyes of your own goggle into gojo’s as he’s fucking you silly. you probably look a mess from this view, the heel of your foot grazing down his strong back muscles. gojo hears the sloshing squelches your own pussy makes and you feel the sudden throb arise from his dick. he twitches inside you and it makes his head throw back. after he gains composure again, he exhales deeply, tapping a thumb against your sealed lips.“you don’t gotta be formal when ‘m inside, princess,” and he squeezes your lips together, licking near the bottom. “open.”

you’re whining, his tempo growing quicker and you’re so close. crimson-carmine lips of his twitch into a feral smile once he sees you being so easy to comply. with your lips parting open, you tilt your head back before he spits into your mouth.

“theeeere’s your tip,” he teases, pursing your lips together with two fingers as you swallow. your cunt still gripping against him as he then pulls you into a deep kiss. with your legs clutching around his waist. “uh, manners baby. where’s my thank you?”

“t- thank you, ‘toru.” you breathe, feeling your cunt throb even quicker.

“oh, you’re welcome,” he smiles and he can’t help but giving you another kiss on the mouth shortly afterwards. the lustful stare he’s giving you could almost be described as lecherous has you more sopping wet by the second. with your legs tightly and securely keeping him from breaking away, he groans. right into your mouth, his tongue collides against yours before he sucks on it. as he brings you into a loving kiss again, gojo’s girth has you feeling a sudden arch in your back arise the moment you sit up. you’re being fucking into the reclined seat, his weight almost crushing against but it feels so good. “mhmmm, ‘m gonna cum. gonna spill so much inside of you, pretty.”

“don’t waste any,” you whimper, wrapping your arms around him. you didn’t even care how unprofessional this was. in the back of your mind, you’re thinking to yourself— if someone walked in again, who cares? not you. “please.”

“well aren’t you a doll,” gojo murmurs in a cooing tone, shoving your knees all the way up near your chest. you’re preparing yourself as you’re about to reach your final pleasurable demise. it feels almost tickling, the fat tip of his cock repeatedly kisses against that same spot within you. you’re whines sound almost melodic, not even caring if your pilot a few seats back heard. “look at me.” he taps your bottom shaking lip, leaning in to plant another kiss on your lips. one turns into two, then three, then four . .

and then— his phone rings.

you’re still a moaning mess, feeling your legs just about give out as he’s pressing such amounts of weight on top of you. gojo’s hands fondle with your neglected breasts that laid underneath your blazer. he groans, reaching for his phone near the counter of the seat. with a grunt, he answers. “tch. satoru gojo.”

still snugly shoved deep inside, he’s multitasking. one hand holds onto the left side of your waist, another holding his phone up against his cheek. he’s drilling into you so mercilessly as if his occupation was a construction worker. you whine, the scratching itch never leaving you. once it comes, it comes. “suguru, ‘m kinda busy. can this wai— oh f…fuck.”

in an abrupt gasp, he ends up finishing first. it’s so much. thick gooey spurts pour into your cunt, filling up the insides of your goopy womb. gojo’s peering down at you and his lip quivers. he finished a bit early. too quick, his hand shakes as he holds up his phone before you squeeze your legs against his torso even tighter. for a moment, he almost whines himself. the strong gripping grip your pussy has against makes him swear underneath his breath.

“huh? yeah, ‘m good,” he sexily whews, slowing his rhythm down a bit.

a hand of his snaps, making you look down between your legs.

he gives you a teasing grin and you spread your folds open. it was so much, so much velvety ropes of hot cum that ooze in and out of your sloppy folds. you’ve never felt more warm from the inside. it was a feeling that had your mouth watering, salivating with your sweet, syrupy saliva. your legs were practically mush, and once you finish, you end up gushing all out at once. it takes you by surprise more than anything. the feeling comes like a crashing, unpredictable wave, a fading fade then departures from your body. minutes eventually pass and gojo’s still yapping away on the phone—yet after a while, he decides to wrap it up and groan. “yeah yeah okay, man. i gotta go now. unless you wanna listen to how i sound post-orgasm, heh.”

“what—?”

with a quick bleep, gojo hangs up. tossing his phone aside, he looks down at you—cutely sprawled out whilst chills run down your body. he can almost see you palpitating from said chills. leaning up close to you, still balls deep, he pants heavily. gojo pressed a kiss against your right temple before teasing. “heyyy, did you just squirt on me?” he asks, and he speaks in a sly soft tone.

you don’t reply and he gives you a priggish smile. “you didddd. so nasty, i should make ya lick it off me.”

you did end up squirting. it was so much. so so much.

you’re still having your legs wrap around his waist before you grab onto his wide, stiff shoulders. “s-satoru,” you moan into his neck, getting yet another balmy whiff of his manly musk. “f-fuuuck, more.”

right before he could reply though— the intercom of the plane comes on and it’s the pilot.

“ladies and gentleman, we’ve made it to our destination. local time and time of arrival is six thirty-three am. for your own safety and others around you, please remain seated and keep the aisles cleared until i announce we’re at the airport gates. thank you.”

“aw, boo,” gojo laments, slowly pulling out of your pussy. a pout unfurls against your glossed lips as you feel suddenly empty. no more thick inches inside. the only thing you felt were the leftover masses of his cum spewing out of you. the seats were a mess, he brings a hand down to strum a few fingers against your entrance and you whine. so soaked, he gifts you with a kiss on your forehead before exhaling. “well, think it’s ‘bout time we part ways, gorgeous.”

gojo helps put back on your skirt and panties and you‘re just laid back with a cute scowl as he assists you off your feet. “i . . can’t walk like this,” and he chuckles at how stiff you were— a few droplets of his cum race down your thighs and you almost moan again. you’re still sensitive, throbbing near every inch of your body before he stands up. he’s so lean and tall. as gojo towers over you, you glance up at him and you’re met with that annoying flirtatious smirk he gave you when his eyes first laid on you. “my panties are practically ripped.”

he turns around to grab his suitcases above him from the cabinet and sighs.

zipping up his exposed fly, gojo leans in to kiss your forehead. “ah, well i can always buy you some more,” and then he pauses. “actually,” he grabs his wallet and your eyes widen once he gives you three hundred dollar bills. “i can buy you more than just panties if ya want, sweet thing,” he slides the bills in between your bra before pressing a kiss against your neck. “you’ve been such a good girl,” and he then hands you his business card. it displays his name and a cheesy saying near the front, all his information in bold blue letters too. before walking away with your bawled up underwear, he leans up to your ear for a final time and whispers, “remember though, it’s satoru gojo, baby. ah, and these panties—i’ll be keeping these as a souvenir.”

[secretmellowblog]

People who try to analyze what happened on Tumblr on November 5th, 2020, often really overstate how much it was actually “about” Supernatural. As someone who has never been in the supernatural fandom ever but dID join in on the hysterical destielposting—it was really more about the stress of the pandemic and the 2020 presidential election.

The two biggest Youtubers I’ve seen try to dissect “what happened that November 5th” in video essays both weren’t American—- and I think that explains why they both tried to explain the hysteria primarily via analyzing the Supernatural fandom/the original show, rather than through the lens of the election. And while those videos are cool, valid, informational, and make lots of really well-considered interesting points— I can tell you that me and almost all my mutuals had literally no knowledge or interest in the fact that “oh supernatural had made nods at the ship in the past but the creators were adamant that I wouldn’t be canon” or etc etc etc etc. the first time I learned about any of that context was way later, watching videos where people claimed that fandom history context (that I did not know anything about) was the actual reason for the hysteria.

But the reality is that people latched on to the Destiel stuff because it was a piece of big useless inane zero-stakes fandom news in a time when we were desperately waiting for serious high stakes election news. We were latching onto a “positive “ piece of inane stupid fandom news in a time of great stress, with all the desperation of a drowning man who latches onto whatever piece of wood will keep him afloat.

The core of the hysteria was that Americans (who make up a huge chunk of tumblr’s userbase) were currently glued to their laptops watching the live presidential election vote counts come in. These vote counts were taking an extended amount of time due to the pandemic causing high numbers of mail-in ballots, resulting in a constant state of Election Day Stress for multiple days straight.

This was also during the height of the Pandemic. People had predicted Trump’s presidency would be bad; no one had predicted it would be this apocalyptically bad. No one had predicted pandemics and lockdowns and hospitals overflowing with bodybags. remember Trump spreading Covid lies and conspiracies?? There were so many Qanon conspiracies about democrats being Satanic child traffickers who had to be put to death, and coup threats were mounting from the right wing side. It seemed like this election was a choice between ‘centrist democrat’ and “apocalyptic right wing conspiracy theory authoritarianism,” in the midst of pandemic conditions that people feared would never ever improve— and it seemed like a close election.

Another major point was that Trump voters were more likely to be antimaskers/Covid deniers, while Biden voters were more likely to take the pandemic seriously— so Biden voters were more likely to send in mail-in ballots instead of risking the in-person voting crowds, which meant their ballots would take much longer to count. And so, in many state electoral vote counts, it would initially seem like Trump was very far in the lead— only for Biden to slooooowly build up an agonizingly small lead as the mail in ballots came in, and then defeat Trump at the very end.

So you’re just watching these news sites giving live election updates, refreshing the page every 2 minutes to see if you’re going to live under a spineless centrist democrat or a literal Qanon Dictatorship. And then you go on tumblr to distract yourself, and there’s more election posting, and more agonizing over the votes, and more stress and despair—-

And then it’s been days and we’re right at the crucial tipping point where it’s anyone’s game and the next few hours will determine whether Trump will win, so you need to keep your eye on the vote count, because the next hours will determine the future of the pandemic and your country and your plans for your entire life—

And then stupid Destiel becomes canon! And it becomes canon in the silliest way possible!

If Destiel had become canon at any other time, it would have been a big goofy tumblr celebration? But we wouldn’t have gotten the insane explosion of hysterical interaction.

The entire core of it was the contrast between the inane meaningless stupidity of fandom news vs the actual stressful election news you wanted to hear! It really is best conveyed in that meme where Castiel says “I love you” and Dean indifferently responds with a piece of important election news.

It’s about the contrast between the low-stakes inanity of fandom and the massive life-destroying stakes of a terrifying election. There really was no reason it had be Supernatural specifically, except that Supernatural was a thing everyone knew basic things about from dashboard osmosis— it could’ve been any other equally huge silly fandom ship news about a ship everyone *knew of* but might not necessarily be invested in (ex. Stucky becoming canon, Johnlock becoming canon, Kirk/Spock becoming more canon somehow, etc etc etc.)

I think it’s true that people who weren’t paying agonizingly close attention to the American election news got swept up in it, and that non American Supernatural fans also were extremely excited for purely fandom reasons — but the entire reason it blew up to an unprecedented degree was because of that core of stressed out terrified Americans glued to their computers watching election results and suddenly receiving stupid fandom news instead, and deciding to just hysterically parodically hyper-celebrate this absurd useless zero-stakes news.

I think it was also all elevated by the fact that, as I said before, this happened at the crucial “tipping point” of the election where the next few hours would determine the winner. The fact that Biden began to slowly develop a lead in the hours after made it feel, hysterically, as if the hours after Destiel became canon was somehow the turning point where he began to win; so celebrating Destiel felt like celebrating that slow turn towards victory.

The tl,dr is that it’s so important to Remember the Fifth of November …..in preparation the inevitable hysteria that will happen in the presidential election on November 5th of next year. XD. Personally I’m rooting for Johnlock or Frodo/Sam to somehow become canon in the eleventh hour right before the democrats win

[khioneee]

simon didn’t say ‘i love you’

not in the way most people did. but in his own quiet, raw way, he gave you pieces of his heart through the things he did say—words heavy with meaning, words that stuck with you long after they left his lips.

‘i really miss you. don’t know how much more i can take.’ his voice crackled through the comm line, strained and distant. he was halfway across the world, out on another mission, but in that moment, you could hear the weariness seeping into every word. he wasn’t just talking about the mission; he was talking about being without you—like the distance between you was slowly killing him. ‘don’t know how much more of this i’ve got in me.’

‘stay with me. i don’t want you to leave.’ the words came low and rough, slipping out as you tried to leave for work. after being gone for so long, simon wasn’t ready to let you go. not just yet. his hand wrapped around your wrist, gently pulling you back into bed. ‘just a little longer, yeah?’ he murmured, eyes heavy with unspoken need, as if saying goodbye now would tear him apart.

‘i think i like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.’ he muttered it under his breath after a night spent with soap and the lads. they’d stolen your attention all evening, and simon had stayed quiet, watching from the sidelines. but when he finally pulled you aside, his words came low and possessive. there was no jealousy, only the quiet truth that he preferred you like this—just the two of you, away from the rest of the world.

‘i would gladly break my heart for you.’ the fight still hung heavy in the air, your threat to leave cutting deeper than you realized. but simon didn’t raise his voice. his response was quiet, steady, and devastatingly sincere. ‘if it means you’ll be happier… i’d do it. i’d break my heart for you.’ in that moment, you knew his love wasn’t just in the easy moments—it was in the sacrifices he was willing to make, even if it destroyed him.

‘you’re the only good thing in my life,’ he said softly, almost like a confession, as if admitting it out loud made it more real. his voice carried a weariness that hinted at everything he’d been through, all the darkness that clung to him. but you—you were the one light that cut through it all. and in those words, he gave you the truth of his love—whether he could say the words or not.

and that’s how simon told you ‘i love you.’ not with grand declarations or flowery speeches, but with quiet, broken truths. each one more powerful than three simple words could ever be.

an. based on lyrics by cigarettes after sex haha.

[caelivir]

“are ya sure yer not dating (y/n)?” osamu suddenly asks his brother during a quiet lunch between the two of them.

atsumu chokes on the grains of rice in his mouth, coughing violently and punching his chest. when he finally settles down, he throws a glare at his brother. “what the hell, ‘samu?”

“that’s not an answer.” osamu continues to press.

“we’re not!” atsumu answers, picking up a piece of chicken katsu with his chopsticks. “i don’t like them like that. they don’t like me like that. we’re just friends.”

the bright red-pink of his ears speak otherwise. you see, osamu knows his twin better than he knows himself. he knows that whatever comes out of atsumu’s mouth is a load of crap. just friends? yeah fucking right.

osamu has never seen his brother look at anyone the way he looks at you, starlight and pure adoration swirling in his irises. he acts as if your every word were an earth-shaking prophecy sent by the heavens. his honey brown eyes stare, and he smiles so gently that it makes him sick.

friends aren’t touchy in the way you guys are. you hold each other’s hand like it’s nothing. with interlocked fingers, atsumu will trace his thumb down the back of your hand for no apparent reason. when you’re bored, you’ll take atsumu’s hand into your lap and play with it, bending his fingers, comparing hand sizes, and running a featherlight touch across the expanse of his palm to see if he’ll react.

osamu notices how you never miss the opportunity to find a seat on his brother’s lap. whether there are no seats of available or ten open ones, you will always choose atsumu. and it’s not like he’s complaining about it. in fact, osamu thinks that he waits for it because atsumu would never want to miss the chance to secure his arms around your waist and whisper into your ear amidst a loud conversation.

and you can’t forget the cuddles, and the hugs that linger longer than they should, and the way you’ll cup atsumu’s face, and the way you play with his piss blond hair.

you’re the one person atsumu lets wear his jersey to his game. he ensures you get the best seat to watch him play. osamu doesn’t miss the way his twin looks at you before every serve or the way you cheer the loudest when he scores an ace.

osamu doesn’t think that someone who “doesn’t like you” would be thinking about you every time they shop. “(y/n) likes this snack”. “(y/n) would love this shirt”. “oh hey, (y/n) showed me this”. “‘samu, should i buy this for (y/n)?”.

osamu has never seen two people so madly in love before. he doesn’t know how you guys haven’t realized it yet. and he can’t keep playing along because atsumu’s katsu looks really good right now.

“right…” osamu chooses to answer, dipping his chicken into the tonkatsu sauce. “i sure hope they’re gonna have fun on that date they have today.”

his brother’s chopsticks clatter onto the table before rolling onto the floor. the sight of atsumu’s open mouth filled with rice is unsightly, and osamu has to suppress his laugh.

“they didn’t tell you?” osamu raises an eyebrow.

“no?!” atsumu suddenly stands, slamming his palms into the table.

“yeah, i think they’re gonna leave soon.” osamu lies easily. there is no date. but of course, does ‘tsumu really need to know that?

the blond twin practically bolts away from the dining table and out of the house. when the door slams shut, osamu grins to himself, reaching for the unfinished plate in front of him.

“he can thank me later.”

atsumu brainrot never ends. something short and sweet bc school is kicking my ass.

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: a lil toxic!coriolanus, he’s rough with r, possessive talk, quite tame in this but imma tamp it up soon, a bit of making out and being lovey

note: i do not careee about who likes this character or who doesn’t okay i am writing about him because he is literally one of the hottest men i’ve ever seen, kay? i’m not here for moral dilemmas thank u, enjoy (yes i will follow up w smut and my young!coriolanus snow reqs are OPEN!) please please remember to comment and rb, it helps me so much!

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

It sickens him to his very core, sends nausea rolling like a wave through his chest; he’s not a child. Yet, the mere sight - thought - of you engaging with any other man, even innocently, is enough to have him seeing red: white-knuckled, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to eliminate any and all threat standing between him and his girl.

It's the way those boys look at you. As if you're a piece of meat, a toy to play with that they're just begging, aching to sink their teeth into, to leave a permanent mark on. The boys in this district are barbaric- that's what Coryo thinks anyway. It's disgusting, the things that he knows they think about you.

It's been a long day in District Twelve. Coriolanus' grey jumpsuit rubs and itches and his skin crawls with an uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach. It's a warm day, his skin sticky as he peels the top half of the jumpsuit from his slender arms and ties it neatly around his waist. The grass by the lake is damp with the leftover dew from the morning.

He catches sight of you amongst the trees, weaving and bobbing through the undergrowth as you do, your lithe fingers brushing against leaves. Your head dips and then raises as his tall figure creeps into your peripheral vision. A smile graces your features, real and earnest with all your teeth.

There’s a slight waver in your countenance when you catch Coriolanus’ own expression; his brows are knit, pushing his forehead into a crease, lips pushed together tersely.

You walk straight into his arms, balancing yourself on one leg and pushing your shoulder underneath his armpit. You needle your way in, your forehead rested against his chin, so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you murmur. You reach up to push out the ridge in his brow and your thumb traces the bridge of his nose in a way that couldn’t be perceived as anything other than unbridled affection. “Something wrong?”

His slender fingers settle against your waist. You shiver at the contact when he spins and pushes you back into a tree. The bark digs into your back as you shuffle to meet his eyes— his eyes that have suddenly clouded with something dark and possessive.

“What is it?” you ask again; your voice is becoming more strained the longer he stays quiet, your own hands snaking up his arms like vines and squeezing.

He shakes his head and drops his face to look at you properly.

“Nothing. I have you.”

“Okay.” You click your tongue, tilting your head at him. His face gravitates towards yours, breath hot and mixing with your own. “You gonna kiss me or what, handsome?”

He doesn’t need any encouragement, surging forward to catch your lips between his own; his hands are rough, kneading the soft flesh of your hip. His other makes its way up to your jaw, fingertips pressing so hard you’re sure he’s branding you. You’ve never been kissed like this, with such fervour and passion and need. You gasp into his mouth and your arm wraps around his neck to pull him further into you.

“Coryo,” you pant.

“Shh,” he forces out, his fingers suddenly an iron grip around your neck; the hollow of your throat is bared to him and bobs under his cruel touch.

“Coriolanus, that hurts,” you say, strangled. His eyes are alight with a fire, a blazing inferno roaring in his head as he squeezes your throat and laughs.

You wheeze, clutching at his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. He obliges you, running a thumb over the indents he’s left in your soft skin to smooth them away.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he asks. His head drops to the juncture of your neck, arms hooking loosely around your middle as he relaxes into you. “I just wanted to feel you. To know you’re mine.”

The incident is forgotten as soon as it ends. He has a charm in that sort of way; you don’t see his faults even when he shows them to you clear as day. You’ll never see what’s right in front of you even if he wants you to.

“Of course I’m yours, Coryo. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The way they all look at you here…” He falters. “Like they all want you. Like they want to take you away from me. You’re mine- they have to understand that.”

“No one could take me away from you,” you giggle, your temple resting against the tip of his shoulder so you can duck your head to meet his eyes. “I know where I belong. And that’s right here with you.”

“Good.” He mouths at your neck like a man starved, arms coming right up until they’re hooked just underneath your own. He pulls away heaving for breath.

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[linoveins]

silky shorts and stained shirts

when best friend!minho sees fem!reader in revealing clothes for the first time…

genre: smut n fluff

warnings: masturbation, perversion, dom/sub fantasies. minors, do not interact!!

w.c.: 2.1k

minho often visits your place unannounced. at some point you just gave him a key and he gladly takes advantage of it. just like today.

minho just got back from dance practice and decided to raid your apartment for some food since he forgot to do groceries and he's feeling too lazy to do them now. 

“Y/N!!!” he announces his arrival, strolling through the door like it’s his place like always.

the apartment is too silent. he figures you’re not home yet. you had a lecture around this time so he wasn’t really expecting you to be here.

he opens your pantry in attempts of finding something quick to eat but clicks his tongue at the lack of food that greets him. seems like you didn’t do your groceries too. he heads to the fridge, hoping for a miracle, and his eyes practically sparkle at seeing a cup of his favorite pudding.

he opens it up, a joyous look resting on his face like a child finding a hidden stack of candy. he makes himself comfortable on your couch, happily chewing on the sweet treat while turning on the television.

he laughs to himself. you’d definitely be annoyed at him for eating your dessert.

deciding to be even more annoying, he gets his phone and takes a video of himself happily munching on the pudding he stole.

“nomnomnomnom.” he chews in front of the camera tauntingly and sends you the video with a mischievous grin on his face.

“ding!” what the hell? the unexpected notification sound coming from your room makes him jump. he gets off the couch and goes to your room to inspect. he already guesses you're probably in there, choosing sleep over attending a minor class. it has happened too many times. you'll always regret it afterwards. he'll definitely scold you for skipping your lecture.

minho opens the door, ready to wake you up, and his heart just drops to his belly.

there you are, in deep sleep, in the thinnest shorts he’s ever seen you in. he hasn't even seen you in any piece of clothing that stops above halfway of your thigh. the loose strap of your camisole had fallen off your shoulder. your legs are tangled with the blanket, one of it hitched over the material, and his knees almost buckle at the bit of cleavage your position subjected you to.

you’re a restless sleeper. he has a whole album in his phone of you in weird positions while asleep. he playfully threatens you that he’ll post some on your birthday when you annoy him with your antics but he never does, wanting to keep the funny and adorable sight to himself.

although what he’s seeing right now is not funny at all. his cock twitches in his pants almost immediately. he blinks three or four times in shock before he finally closes your door, cursing at himself and running to the bathroom.

since when did you look like that?

had your thighs always looked that fucking soft? he groans at the apparent feeling of his sweatpants getting tighter. he has to collect himself.

but he wants to grab your thighs... spread you for him maybe. you’d look so pretty. would you shiver if he touches you higher? and your tits…

“shit.”

he now has an erection in your bathroom, right after staring at your exposed body for much longer than he should have (not long enough, he thinks and buries deep), and right after eating the last cup of pudding you had.

what a horrible friend he is.

he sighs and palms himself. yeah, he’s horrible. he’ll buy you two extra cups of pudding later but he has to take care of his problem for now before he loses his mind. 

he bites his lip, trying to keep quiet as he pushes his pants down. he palms his twitching cock and hisses.

minho gathers all the shame left in him and turns on your faucet to muffle the sounds he knows he’s gonna make eventually. upping your water bill while he jacks off to the thought of your sleeping form...

what a damn horrible friend.

he gently gathers the pre-cum from his tip and spreads it over his cock. he groans. don’t think about her, don’t think about her, don’t think about her… he repeats it in his head as if his cock will listen.

shit, your bathroom smells like you, of course. his cock jumps at the memory of your smell, now invading his senses, and he gives up on trying to be decent and just closes his eyes, thinking of you sprawled out so vulnerable and pretty. 

he’s squeezes the base and he strokes. his thoughts go back to your thighs. your perfect fucking thighs… shit, if he could only push them together and fuck his cock in between them. would you squirm? he bets you will. you can’t even take a massage without squirming. you'll squirm on it, alright.

he keeps the pace rather slow, trying to make the fantasy last as long as possible. he decides he can feel guilty about it all he wants after. 

he's sure you’d go shy on him. you’d whine and complain about it being too big. he squeezes at the base. he’d coo at you. maybe he’ll grind it on your pussy first. he bets you’ll really squirm at that. but he’ll keep you in place. he’ll hold your thighs down. fuck. your soft fucking thighs. he grips himself harder. 

he won’t take your cute little shorts off. he’ll push the fabric aside and rub his heavy cock on you. you’d be so fucking wet, he thinks. so wet for him. he strokes a bit faster. he hopes you’d be so fucking sensitive too. he’d tap it on your clit. no- he groans. he’ll slap it on you. you'd whine so prettily, won't you? moan his name with your gentle voice? you'd get wetter. he'll make sure of it. he'd spread you and fucking hump his cock on your cunt for all he's worth. you would be so fucking wet. shit. 

you’d cry and tell him you're too sensitive. he'd hum in your ear, “poor baby”, in the sweetest fucking tone you’ve heard. but he won’t stop. you don't want him to. he’ll push his cock on it harder. you would grip onto his thighs, whimpering like a good girl.

minho's hand cramps from his harsh strokes. he switches to his other hand and tugs on it at a faster pace. you'd drool and bite on your lips, he can almost taste it. he decides he'll pull down the other strap of your top until your tits fall out. he keeps up the pace. he’s almost there. he'll fondle them. he knows they’re soft too. they'll be so soft and perfect in his rough palms. he’d pinch and squeeze and hold and fucking grope while his dick runs over and over your clit. you’d keep whining about how it’s too much. too sensitive. too intense. but you’ll love it, won't you? you'll beg him for more. he’ll laugh at you all sweet and condescending. “can’t even take it and i’m just rubbing on you? can this pretty pussy even handle me inside?” you'll pout at him for that and he'll follow eventually.

he’d keep playing with your tits. he'd use his mouth eventually. licking and sucking on it. you’ll try to muffle your sounds but you wouldn’t be able to. no, not when his cock would still be all over your messy cunt. he pants, biting on his lip. he’s almost fucking there. he’d take things further. maybe bite on your nipple while twisting and tugging the other one. then he'll do it. oh, you'll scream so good when he rams himself inside you without warning. you'll be latching onto him, clenching and whimpering and cumming fucking hard on his cock.

minho cums right after his image of you. his vision blurs. it’s dizzying. hot liquid squirts all over his shirt, coating his hand. goodness, there’s a lot of fucking cum. he leans back on the door with a sigh, cock out and softening, guilt still far away after having one of the hardest orgasms he’s ever had.

a moment passes and he washes his hands. he washes his face too. his red ears and neck was an embarrassing sight. he gathers himself, and there it is. the guilt.

he realizes he made a mess of his shirt. he needs to get his shit together. he won’t risk the possibility of you seeing him in his cum-stained shirt. minho comes out of the bathroom, shirt in his hand. he’ll just quickly grab one of his hoodies in your closet. 

he enters your room, glaring hard at the closet like it's a life and death situation. he tiptoes across your room, not risking to look at you again.

he reaches the cabinet handle. quickly and quietly, he takes a hoodie. success.

“minho?” your gentle voice startles him out of his internal battles at the moment. “why are you naked?”

he puts on the hoodie, still avoiding looking at you while he closes the cabinet.

“spilled something on it.”

you blink. then you stretch while letting out a moan. he takes a deep breath.

you get up from the bed and go outside. he rolls his dirty shirt in his hand and follows you to the kitchen.

fuck. there you are again. you’re bending over, checking the damn fridge and he clenches his jaw so hard it feels like it's gonna break.

“did you eat my pudding?” you huff at him. he exhales.

“yeah. s-sorry. i’ll buy you two after”, he says, guilt-ridden, and you just stare at him for 5 seconds. shit, do you know about the other thing? it's not likely..

you laugh. “calm down. why do you look all pouty?” you think it’s odd. minho would usually poke fun at you for him eating your food. minho just blinks at you. you shrug and you just look for at least a snack.

“i forgot to do groceries… i won’t have shit to eat tonight”, you say, opening your pantry and finding nothing. you open your fridge again, then you open your pantry again as if food will mysteriously appear the second time you do it. 

he’d make fun of you for it if he wasn’t so distracted by your nipples poking through your camisole, the light from the kitchen making it visible and inviting. nope. you deserve the courtesy of him being normal.

he grips his dirty shirt that he’s still somehow holding onto. you don’t even seem to care about your little attire. you're so comfortable in his presence and here he is he feels warmth pool in his belly again. he blinks and stares at your face instead.

“y-yeah. i have to do groceries too. how about you go with me later? let’s eat at that new place near uni first”, minho says, trying to speak as non-chalant as possible.

“mhm okay. i’m hungry as hell though so let’s go now. i’ll just get changed”, you say as you walk back to your room.

you pass by him and suddenly grab his dirty shirt from him and he panics. he grabs it back a bit aggresively.

“hey! what the-”, you start but he interrupts you.

“sorry. it’s just really dirty”, he quickly says, gripping the shirt tightly so you won’t try doing anything again.

“yeah that’s why i’ll put it in the laundry bin. gimme.” you tug at the shirt he's holding while looking at him confused.

“i-i can wash it. besides, you’ll steal it from me and i like this shirt very much.” he doesn’t. and even if he did. he liked that you took his things. but he puts on a teasing smile anyway so you’ll buy his excuses. you just roll your eyes at him with a smile and shut your door to get changed.

minho sighs in relief. he goes outside your apartment to bury the evidence of his... perversions. he tosses the stained shirt into the bin outside, burying it under the other plastic bags. 

even after destroying evidence, it doesn't make him less guilty of the deed. he'll try not to think about it. it'll be easy. he'll get over it.

he comes back inside your apartment, and there you are again, all pretty in your ridiculous baggy pants and one of his hoodies you stole, all cute with a pout on your face as you frown at your phone when you hear the little “nomnomnomnom” sound come from it.

+-+-+-+

a/n: this is my first fic (drabble?) ever. pls bare with me. i made this account just to read but i got distracted seeing lino's ig story. he's sooooo fucking cute i had to write something. also idrk how to do warnings let me know if there should be something else there (^人^)

[sleep-0-deprived]

What would it be like if nerdy reader liked erotic books and liked to replicate scenes with yandere Bully?

Yandere bully x nerdy male reader reading erotic books~ ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

Just imagining your sitting on a chair in the empty school library reading your books during study hall with your face indulged into the book occasionally peeking back over your shoulders making sure no one is behind you when you’re reading, “what’cha readin?” The voice makes your back go all stiff turning around and lo and behold your favorite obsessed bully right behind you with his grin obviously knowing what you were reading.

Just imagining you getting pulled out of the library dropping whatever piece of erotica was in your hands while he whispers something like “if ya don’t want me to tell the school what you like to read then you’ll suck me off just like that girl was doin in that pervy little book of yours?” He’d mumble pushing you on your knees making you suck at his cock through the fabric of his jeans just watching you all hard on the bathroom floor rutting your bulge into his shoes.

Just imagining you working up the courage after school to beg the Yandere to let you fuck him, you keep blurtin out how you’d “make him feel good” basically pouting like a puppy when the two of you are alone until he just gives a nod not thinking you’d fuck him any good, this man laying getting his back blown out was such a humbling experience to have such a nerdy guy on top of him holding his legs to his chest while you ramble on bout “gonna stuff you up s’much”

Just imagining you reading your erotic book getting in the middle of a smut scene sitting in his bedroom all hard practically jumping his pillows squirming when you read the book, until he walks back in that is “damn, didn’t know you were such a slut…” he’d lean against the doorframe mocking you until it happens, him ending up on top of you with you bent over in his bed while he makes you read page after page of smut, if you stop reading he stops thrusting leaving you on edge with a gruelingly slow pace.

Just imagining you laying on your back in a janitors closet after school hours while he eats your ass out messily drooling sucking on your s/c bud gripping the gloves of your asscheeks occasionally muttering out, “was that how they did it in your slutty little books” while his tongue delved deeper and deeper into your hole licking at your inner walls until they puff up with sensitivity just making you bite your bottom lip to keep quiet not wanting to be caught.

Just imagining you making it to a part of your book learning about a new act during sex, and ofcourse who’s better to try it on than your obsessed/very degrading man. You get a “huh??” Face out of him when you ask about fucking the gap between his muscular thighs but you don’t get denied?….here you were behind him groaning and heaving with your cock leaking precum all down his thighs, one hand on his hip the other on his cock while you lay your chin on the back of his shoulder “just a little longer please~” you’d beg him trying to cum while he just degrades the hell out of you not admitting his enjoyment.

[milktiicup]

do you write for mr scarletella? :) if so, may i request jealous scarlet who makes attempts to get closer to reader (court them) after seeing how close they are to mr crawling

persistence is key

That creepy smile grows on his face. "You like me," he says like it’s a fact. “What the- what?” You share a glance with Mr. Crawling. “You slow in head?”

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ yeah idk, lowkey some enemies to (potential) lovers, i have no idea how to characterise mr scarletella, but i tried my best and then i kinda got a little too invested in trying to spin the fic the way i wanted and wrote a little more than usual... sorry if ur disappointed, i tried to keep the whole courting/jealous thing subtle but still kinda there >w<

warnings. canon typical violence >w<

You’re not sure when you met the man in red, but you know he’s stalking you now. And it’s getting seriously old. Unlike the ghosts and monsters you’ve had the pleasure of meeting, this one doesn’t know how to take a hint.

Your first unofficial encounter with him is something that sent shivers down your spine, tucked away under Mr. Crawling’s arm and clutching onto his kimono for dear life. The second encounter was much worse- separated from your other worldly protector and left running down an almost comically long and creepy hallway where he just magically appears in front of you. 

You don’t even think twice before you smash the crowbar into his form with all your strength, but it was futile the way he flickered? in front of your own eyes and left a weird moist residue on your weapon. You scowled, and rudely pointed a finger at him- “What the hell’s your problem, dude?”

In response, he leaned in close- so close that your nose nearly touched his. The tilt of his scarlet umbrella cast a dark shadow over you, and as he peered down, one black eye appeared from behind his hair, locking onto you with a soul-piercing stare. You felt stripped bare under that gaze, vulnerable and exposed, like he was seeing straight into your core, uncovering forgotten memories, pieces of yourself even you couldn’t remember. He smiled—a slow, unsettling curl of his lips that chilled you to your bones—and said something you didn’t understand. It sounded like a question, maybe, though you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t care. You spat out a few choice words and swung again, hard.

At least for a while, he left you alone.

Has it been days, weeks, or even months since you’ve got here? It was difficult to keep track, and it was difficult to even care anymore. The place was, without a doubt, growing on you by the day. Even if it was filled with hostile creatures that wanted to eat you sometimes, and when your skin started to get discoloured and you had the inhuman itch that just could never be satisfied- it wasn’t that bad! Hell, you even made a few friends and claimed a comfortable bed in some random room you found.

However, just as you finally started settling into the place, you had your third encounter with Mr. Scarletella.

It started with a dream- from before you came to this world. That man in red… A test of courage, your friends called it- spending a night in those so-called ‘Ghost Apartments.’ Your friends hadn’t known it then, but you were quite familiar with the building for reasons, and set yourself up in a cosy corner and the night was supposed to sail smoothly.

A rumour had surfaced- a tale of a ruin that appears only on rainy days, where you’re warned never to give your name to the figure you’ll meet there. That figure, they said, would take your soul. At the end of a dim hallway, standing silently under a scarlet umbrella, he was waiting. The man in red, eyes hidden beneath his hair. He was watching you. Or was he? Somehow you could feel his stare even if you couldn’t see it. 

You woke up, heart pounding, muttering a string of curses. You groan, rubbing a hand down your face. The discoloration of your skin hadn’t gotten any worse, but it hadn’t gotten better, either. The longer you stayed here, the more the place left its mark. As long as you remained relatively human, and the only thing this place took from you was your memory, you weren’t too fussed. How could you possibly miss something from the other world when all you could remember was smashing a crowbar into someone’s head?

You swing your legs over the bed, feet touching the cold ground. The chill sent a jolt up your spine, and it was almost too tempting to get back under the cosy, warm sheets. You stretch your arms above your head, bones cracking and popping into place and mumble a hazy ‘Good morning’ to Mr. Crawling that should have been in the other bed. Silence wasn’t something you were used to around him- and you whip around so fast that you gave yourself whiplash.

Cursing, you grab your crowbar and stumble out of the room with a hand rubbing your tender neck. You didn’t need to look far- you could see Mr. Crawling at the end of the hallway.

And Mr. Scarletella. 

The man in red was bent over to be face to face with Mr. Crawling, all-too-familiar sinister smirk on his face. Mr. Crawling didn’t look so happy either, and they seemed to be having an argument. You stomp your feet as you make your way over to the two, hand tightening on your crowbar as you ready yourself to fight literal static if it meant leaving your best friend in here alone.

“You,” you scowl, pointing your weapon at him. “You problem?”

Mr. Crawling scurries to your side, a hand gripping onto your clothes. “Dangerous… should get away!” he urges, tugging. 

You shush him with a pat on his head with your free hand and continue to glare at that menace. 

“You like them?” is the only thing Mr. Scarletella asks with a tilt of his head, smile seemingly disappearing into thin air.

Glancing at Mr. Crawling, his face covered in worry- you feel the familiar itch of your skin. You take a breath, going through all the reasons why you can’t actually kill Mr. Scarletella, and loosen the grip on your crowbar. From what you can sense right now, he’s not actually that much of a threat. Just a nuisance that can’t seem to leave you alone. 

“Them friend,” you reply, deadpan. What type of question was that anyway? This guy was a freak. 

That creepy smile grows on his face. "You like me," he says like it’s a fact.

“What the- what?” You share a glance with Mr. Crawling. You turn back to Mr. Scarletella. “You slow in head?”

The smile on Mr. Scarletella’s face falters just for a moment, but it quickly returns, more chilling than before. He stands there, towering above you. Despite your snarky comment, he doesn’t look offended- no, it’s almost as if he’s intrigued by your resistance.

You tighten your hold on the crowbar. “You problem.” You frown. “Go away.”

Instead, his grin deepens, his head tilting at such an unnatural angle that you can feel your stomach churn. It’s as though he’s studying you, savouring every little bit of your discomfort. Surely, turning your head at that angle is gonna hurt… You audibly gulp.

“Problem later,” Mr. Scarletella says, and with an unsettling flicker, he’s gone. 

The next time you saw him after that was in less tense circumstances. It was unsettling after whatever that was with his coy little ‘Problem later’, you weren’t going to worry too much about it for the time being. You decided you’ll worry about it when the problem occurs, which probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas you had. 

The earth shakes, and you’re completely cut off from Mr. Crawling. Wandering down hallways, resting in random rooms- you never really felt alone. You turn a corner, dizziness growing by the minute, and pause.

“You again,” you sigh. You don’t even bother lifting your crowbar at him. “What do you want?”

He appears directly in front of you, causing you to stumble back a few steps at just how tall he is. He bends down to your eye level, umbrella covering both of you once again. “Give name?” he asks. 

“No. Go away.”

“Give name. Teach.”

“Go away!”

“Teach name.”

“Fine! My name’s… you pause. You didn’t actually have to give him your real name, did you? “...Silvair, or something.”

He gets closer to your face. You take another few steps back, but not before you get the smell of blood and dampness off of him. It takes all the willpower in your body to not scrunch your face up. 

“Wrong name.”

“So what? It’s a name.” You scoff. Mr. Scarletella is silent, eerily so, and you can feel his piercing gaze stare through you once more. You awkwardly avoid eye contact, and clear your throat. “I’m… gonna go now, okay?” You turn on your feet and only make it a few steps.

“You teach them name?”

Them? Mr. Crawling? That guy doesn’t even understand the concept of his own name! The scowl feels as if it’s permanently etched onto your face. You whip around, pointing another disapproving finger into his red raincoat. It feels fuzzy… and wet. It grosses you out, almost. More than Mr. Gap’s greasy hair.

“No,” you hiss. “I don’t even remember my own name.” He stares, silently.  “Me,” you point to yourself, “not know name.”

“...Not know name?” he echoes. What you said has him lost, you could see that. 

Just like that, he’s gone again. You don’t see him for a few more days, nor do you find Mr. Crawling. You spend your time aimlessly wandering, knowing eventually you’ll most likely find someone you know in a friendly manner, and not pondering if every ghost you come across is a friend or a foe. 

You awake promptly to a sound of a chainsaw revving. As if it was a morning routine, you stumble to your feet, grasping for your crowbar that should have, without a doubt, been next to you… only to grasp at air. Okay, now you are starting to feel a little panic.

Through trial and error, you knew that whatever wound you receive will heal, with time- but it doesn’t mean you were looking forward to being maimed to shreds with a chainsaw! 

“Hehe.”

You froze, heart racing, and slowly turn around. There that wretched little being was- the stupid little fucker in the goat costume. The ‘Hooded Child’, the thing was termed. In it’s stupid little fucking hands, it held you handy-dandy crowbar that’s been with you thick and thin. Your stomach churns. 

You gulp and face back towards the open doorway- a long black abyss, stretching on and on, with only the haunting bounce of that chainsaw, crawling along the walls. That chainsaw that was about to mince you in a matter of seconds. That chainsaw that was approaching you rapidly.

Frantically, you grab the nearest thing you could reach for. A metal chair. You wince. Probably not the best thing you could’ve grabbed, but it’ll have to do. It’s a matter of- well, technically life or life, but still! You could feel the sweat on your palms, the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your heart hammering through your ribcage. 

You lift the chair above your head as the monster comes into view- a tall, masked being in a strapless floor length black dress… wait, why was she dressed so sexy? Your surprise leads you to hesitate as she rushes at you with her machine. You let out a yelp as you whack the chair down in front of you, metal clanging echoing throughout the room.

Complete silence. Not even the sound of that chainsaw. Not even the sound of metal.  

“Huh?” You blink, once, twice, thrice at the sliced up body of that creature, blood splatter on your clothes. There was blood even on the ceiling, too… You drop the chair in utter confusion.  “What the hell?”

“Help you.”

“You again!” You spin on your feet, meeting the dull eyes of Mr. Scarletella. You’re about to huff and puff this guy into next week, but pause. You leave your accusing finger down by your side. This guy just saved you from that thing. You avert your eyes and scuff your feet against the ground with a cough into your fist. “Uhm… Thank you.”

Wow, this guy really has an intense stare… Way to make things unnecessarily intense and awkward. 

“Protect you,” he says. “You like me?”

“Take me out to dinner first, man!” you exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not like. You not bad. Not good. You okay.”

Mr. Scarletella dons an out of place frown that even makes you feel a little uneasy. “Them protect you. You like them.”

“Them friend,” you stress, finally meeting his gaze once more. You kind of regret it. This guy doesn’t blink. “You…” Weird? Off-putting? Freaky? “...unsafe.”

“Me safe. Protect you. Help you.” 

You sigh. “Unsafe to friend.”

He just stands there, holding that stupid umbrella, with that unblinking stare. You blink at him and squint your eyes. His facial expression doesn’t change. Completely unfazed. You can’t even tell if he’s confused, or upset, or whatever he could possibly be. Your breath hitches as his unsettlingly familiar smile returns.

He tilts his head. “Me good. Me show you.”

Then he’s gone again. You can finally breathe. Your heart is still pumping. You slide against the wall, landing on the ground and resting your head against your knees. You clutch at your raincoat with shaking fists. 

Mr. Scarletella - you knew he was meant to be dangerous, but he just saved you a whole lot of pain. Even if he was still a threat to Mr. Crawling, and hounds you for your name, asks you weird questions, could he honestly be as bad as you originally thought he was? You can’t deny that he did save you… but his presence is more dangerous than comforting. He’s both a threat and an aid, but never clear on which he’ll be at any given moment. One thing is for certain, however, and that was that he was persistent for your attention. Wait… 

Oh my good God, does he like you?

“Heh…”  Chuckling, you tuck your hair behind your ear. “I am pretty cute.”

You stand, and decide it’s better to think about while on the move back to Mr. Crawling. You reach for your crowbar, and curse. Of course. The Hooded Child took it with them when they disappeared when Mr. Stalkerella showed up. Well, you sigh as you drag the chair behind you as you exit the room, at least you have a temporary weapon, for now…

Making it back to Mr. Crawling didn’t take that much longer. He greets you, frown on his face and long arms wrapping around your waist. “Me worried! You gone long time!”  

“Long time,” you agree, bending down to his level. You ruffle his hair, a smile finally sliding onto your face. It quickly turns into a pout as you wave your empty hands. “Lost attack tool.” 

Mr. Crawling points to the spilled blood on your raincoat with a high pitched noise. You sheepishly giggle, and gesture to the chair behind you. He tilts his head, processing, before letting out his all familiar laugh. You sigh in content, glad to see a friendly face and let him pet you for a while. 

He stops petting you, and turns around. “Attack tool!” he smiles wide, your trusty weapon in his grey hands. “Them give me.”

“Them?” you repeat, taking the crowbar, twisting and turning it in your grasp. “Them who?”

“Them!” 

Curse this damn language. 

“Mr. Crawling,” you hold his face in your hands, “what look like?”

His smile falters, and if you could see his eyebrows, you’d imagine they would be furrowed. He takes a moment to think, and points to the blood on your raincoat, and attempts to imitate holding an…

Umbrella.

You stare. And stare. And stare. You can’t even begin to process what Mr. Crawling just said to you, debating maybe you actually were growing crazy and it was finally time to bounce out of this place- andddd of course, you notice a red flicker at the end of the hallway. You tilt your head past Mr. Crawling.

That scarlet umbrella tilts slightly, and just for a split second, you catch a glimmer of that piercing dark eye staring straight at you, as if watching every nerve fire under your skin. You can see his smile from here, as if it was a smug ‘I told you so’ but it was actually a ‘Me show you.’ 

Well… Mr. Scarletella did show you. And now you were just left, to put it simply, utterly fucking confused. It just drilled the narrative down deeper of the possibility that he did like you. So… what do you do now? Do you apologise for trying to smash his head in with a crowbar? For being so rude? 

How do you even apologise for something you don’t even remotely feel sorry for in the first place? Mr. Scarletella was creepy! …At least, he was kind of sweet. Not really- his intentions were anything but kind. But still!

You bite the inside of your cheek. …Is it wrong to feel a little flattered? There’s barely any romance in this place anyway!

In your world, things are either friend or foe, monster or protector. But Mr. Scarletella? He exists in some in-between place. Dangerous yet helpful. It’s as if he’s deliberately defying every category you try to force him into. And now, the memory of his unsettling question repeats in your mind- “You like me?” - echoing in your thoughts with a kind of twisted innocence that gnaws at you, a bit more with each repetition.

Mr. Crawling gives a soft, anxious chirp, tugging you slightly, drawing you out of your thoughts. He’s still eyeing the red figure warily. He points. “Them… dangerous? Them good?” 

“Not know,” you mumble, defeated. “Good, maybe.” You stand to your feet, crowbar falling off of your lap and clanging onto the floor. “Me, them, talk. You stay.”

Mr. Crawling makes a noise of protest, hand reaching out to grasp at your clothes. You reassuringly ruffle his hair once more, and make your way to the end of the hallway. You don’t hear him follow behind you.

Face to face, you stand in front of the smiling Mr. Scarletella. He stares down at you, unblinking, unmoving. 

“Can’t give name,” you remind him.

He leans his face down, ever so close. “Me like you.” A pause. “Want you.” Another pause. “You like me. Give me many human. Give me many blood.” 

Well… In your defence, you didn’t know your corpse dumping ground was Mr. Scarletella’s domain. 

“Getting in over your own head…” you grumble, and lift up your hand. You pinch your fingers together. “Little like you. Okay? LITTLE.” You wonder if this guy’s smile could get any bigger, geez… “You want big like?” You point your index towards him. “Be normal. Be good. Understand?”

“Normal? “Good?” He seems to chew over the words like they’re a foreign delicacy, his head tilting at that unnatural angle again. “For… you?”

“You good,” you waggle your finger at him, “I teach name. Maybe. If I can remember it…”

There’s an unnatural, prolonged silence in the air. You’re beginning to feel the awkward tension once more, but your resolve refuses you to break the unblinking eye contact you keep with him. 

And finally, he speaks once more, agreeing to your proposition, “You teach good, you teach name.”

You hold back your groan- whatever this dance you two were playing, was going to take a long time to progress.

But at least something is better than nothing, right?

[tojisun]

PLEASE MORE DADDY SIMON IM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE AGGGHHGHHHGGHHHHHHHHH

he’s just so fuckin sweet and hot and hhhhhhgggg

simon really is so sweet and hot :((

i really really love the idea of how he’s truly more into the daddy kink thing than you are.

your slip-up only ever happens when he’s fucking you so, so good that your mind is splintering from your tethered control, leaving you rasping out whimpered moans—“daddy, daddy please!”

but simon loves bringing it out of the burning intimacy he shares with you; loves drawing it out with gentle beckoning.

“give daddy a kiss?” he asks, big hand curled around your wrist from where he’s tugged you close to where he’s sitting. you were left to hover by his front, leg brushing against his thigh.

“what?” you puff out, your voice tinged with surprise even amidst the sudden hunching of your shoulders. simon already knows—you heard him, alright.

“c’mere, love,” is what simon replies with instead, pulling you one more time and catching you with surety as you stumble on his lap.

a yelp slips from your lips, only for it to peter out, and simon wonders what it must be that you’re thinking.

do you think ill of him now that he’s gotten more clingy? more insistent?

he was always able to hold himself back, never pushing or asking more than what you give to him—every piece which he collects with reverence—but a spark had been lit in his heart and simon can no longer hold back.

he adores you. he adores the way you look at him, all starry-eyed and devoted, so shy even when you can’t shake away the honest need curling in the way you seek him out.

(“do you like it?” you asked, voice so meek that simon had to rely on his training to pick up the tremble of your voice.

”yes,” he replied, instant, eyes already crinkled in his smile. “thank you, petal. ‘m so proud of you.”

and there it was—the shy curl of your lips, the way your breath stuttered, your eyes ducking away as you let simon’s praise wash over you.

see? what a sweetheart you are.)

“please?” he asks again. “won’t you kiss me?”

simon suppresses the shiver that racks his body at the soft press of your lips on his—a sweet little peck, a ghosting caress.

so, so adorable.

[sakkiichi]

COVER ME IN SUNSHINE.

Ways in which your kid calls his dad. Will he get to hear a ‘papa’?

ft. Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Childe, Kaeya, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: pure fluff. Reader is referred to as ‘mama’, you and the character have a child. They’re all girl dads.

a birthday present for my dearest @bunny-rambles 🩵 i’m wishing you the best day today and always, hun ! ilysm, thank you for always being by my side. I hope we can celebrate many many more birthdays together, mwah <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ note: about this fic… i struggled quite a little with it, and i’m sorry it’s not my best piece… this was a totally new concept to write for me, but i still hope you can enjoy, bunbun, dear ♡

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Wide indigo orbs meet his furrowed gaze.

Scaramouche is not amused.

Or at least that’s what he wants whoever sees him right now to believe. Namely, you.

Tiny hands cup the Wanderer’s cheeks, big eyes, so similar to his, staring up at him in wonder. The little girl in his arms squeezes his face, a pout forming on her father’s lips. Giggles erupt from her smiling lips, the corners of Scaramouche’s mouth unconsciously tilting upwards.

“You’re amused, huh?” Your husband asks, rocking the baby in his hold. She stares at him, her little arms flailing upward, giggling happily.

“Moochie!” She babbles, trying to stand on the wanderer’s knees, her hands reaching for his hat.

“Hey, hey, now!” Kunikuzushi pouts, securing his hat. “That is not a toy and I’m not Moochie…”

“Moochie!” His daughter repeats, poking his cheek.

He sighs.

“Not Moochie…” Scaramouche’s ears take on a rather rosy tone, especially when your giggles are not exactly inconspicuous, your attempt at keeping hidden just outside the living room, obviously half-assed.

“Pa-pa. Not Moochie.” He repeats, bopping his little one’s nose. “And here, play with this.” He offers, handing his baby a doll curiously identical to himself.

Your eyes soften from your spot when you observe the fond smile on your lover’s face. He might feign annoyance, but when it came to your baby, all the facade was scattered to the winds. Storm clouds and lightning seemed so far away when he was surrounded by the blue skies and birdsong that dawned with your daughter’s hand grabbing his finger.

“Pa..” The little one begins, lifting the doll, as if indicating that it indeed represents her father.

“Pa…” Your wanderer prompts, as he points to the cloth mini version of himself.

Then, the girl’s eyes focus somewhere beyond her dad, tiny hands wiggling and waving, the plush doll still in her grasp.

“Mama!” She exclaims, making to reach for you, trying to climb over the sofa’s backrest, where it not for your partner’s protective hold.

Finally stepping out from your hideout, you walk towards them.

Familiar warm arms wrap around the no longer broken puppet, as your precious baby rests between your two heartbeats. Yours, steady, undeniably human. His, bloomed anew, thanks to you; with a newfound tune, sweeter, gentler, thanks to his little one.

Scaramouche closes his eyes, lashes of now starlit midnights resting on his perfect cheekbones. His head leans on your shoulder, your lips feather-light on his dusky hair, as your hands gently lift his hat a bit.

Your girl grabs one of her father’s fingers once more, the handmade mini wanderer kept close to her chest.

Yes, storms were definitely over for days to come.

✧ ALBEDO

A tug on the leg of his pants and familiar unintelligible noises pull the alchemist out of his task.

Albedo’s features soften when he spots the cause of his distraction.

Putting the notebook he was currently scribbling on aside, he crouches down.

“And who do we have here?” The chalk prince asks, smoothing the golden locks on his baby’s small head.

“Mama?” She replies, her tiny hand pulling on her dad’s clothes.

The gesture is followed by one of Albedo’s gentle chuckles, eyes like northern stars on clear nights bright at the sight of his daughter.

“Mama’s not here now, little princess.” He explains, as he picks the baby up. “They will get home soon, though.” Your child stares at him as if unsatisfied with the answer, head slightly tilted to the side. “How about we have some fun in the meantime?”

Giggles that always reminded Albedo of sunshine days at dragonspine are the answer that follows.

Taking his little one’s two hands in his, the chief alchemist helps his daughter take a few trembling steps, the baby happily padding on the wooden floor.

“There we go, princess!” Your lover chuckles, sitting the girl securely on the beige couch. Teal eyes flecked in emerald follow your partner’s movements, as he rummages through your living room’s drawers.

A few seconds later, more incomprehensible joyful babbles follow, when he sits by your daughter’s side, his hands expertely setting the supplies he retrieved on the low table. She stares at him intently, her gaze drawn to the vibrant crayons cluttering the tabletop’s surface.

“What should we draw today, my princess?” Are Albedo’s words, as he hands his child a light blue pencil, its tip dulled so she can’t hurt herself.

“Snow!” She exclaims, her tiny feet kicking back and forth in excitement, eliciting chuckles from her dad.

“You want to paint snow, my little cecilia?” He asks, combing through her blonde strands. “Alright, how about we paint you, mama and papa building a snowman?”

“Yay!” Your baby reaches for the blank paper, wonder and excitement written all over her rounded features, her tongue sticking out the corner of her small mouth. She always loved to draw and paint, especially when it was with Albedo. And even if her pictures often ended up turning out as just criss-crossing lines or messy splotches, you and your husband always kept every single one of them, displayed as priceless masterpieces on the fridge’s door, the living room walls or your study.

After a few minutes of focused work, three figures start taking form over a background of messily drawn blue snowflakes.

“Look, dearie.” Albedo calls. “Who are these?”

His girl looks up at him, a huge smile on her face as she bites the pencil.

“Mama! Me! And Papa!” She answers proudly, pointing at each of the figures.

Albedo’s eyes widen, gilded sparks reflected in the cloudless skies of his irises at his daughter’s words.

Those last two syllables.

His own pencil falls out of his grasp, clattering to the carpeted floor. In this moment, nothing else exists, save for the jingling echo of his daughter’s angelic tone.

“Papa?” She asks, tugging on his sleeve.

Albedo picks the little girl up, rising her as she laughs, unaware.

“Can you say it again, little princess? ‘Papa’.”

“Papa! Papa!” Giggles leave her throat.

Softly, Albedo places a kiss on her kid’s forehead, hugging her as the both of them lay down on the sofa.

When you got home, silence greets you, broken only by even breaths. Smiling to yourself, you brush a kiss against your husband’s and your daughter’s hair, a new painting adorning the walls after you gently throw a blanket over the sleeping figures of your two treasures.

✧ XIAO

“Do you want to hold her, Xiao? She’s been looking at you for a while.” You chuckle, your gaze softened when it sets upon your yaksha.

Golden eyes, not unlike the child’s currently on your arms, shadow in fear and shame for a moment.

What if he hurts the baby? What if his karma taints her somehow? What if-

“Xiao.” Your hand finds his gloved one, centuries of bloodshed written in the concealed scars. “She’ll be okay.” You reassure, a gentle squeeze, as your fingers slot between his.

The adeptus glances in his daughter’s direction, her round amber eyes curiously observing him.

Your husband’s jaw sets, his lips drawn in a taut line. If someone were to look at him now, they may think he’s sulking, the furrow of his brow apparently an indication to steer clear.

You, however, know better.

“Here, I’m with you, love.” You softly utter, placing your daughter in her father’s arms.

The baby stares up at her dad in awe, her little hands fiddling with the necklace he always wears.

She’s so small… such a pure and precious being… will she be safe with him?

Just as these thoughts plague his mind, the girl curls up in his embrace, nuzzling against his toned torso.

“See? She adores you, Xiao…” You tell him, knuckles brushing against your baby’s soft full cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?” She turns around, a smile drawing on her lips, as she buries herself further into Xiao, whose cheeks have gone as red as the carmine lining his eyes.

“H-hello, little qingxin…” Xiao greets her, awkwardly rubbing her back.

In response, his baby tilts her head slightly backwards, the molten suns in her stare illuminating her father’s rusted gold gaze.

“Papa!” She goes, a little clumsy, it sounding more like ‘dada’.

The vigilant yaksha’s eyes widen, his heart feeling like a million bright lanterns floating towards a starry sky.

“Xiao! She said ‘papa’! See? She loves you!” You excitedly chant, hugging your husband’s waist, as you pepper kisses all over his face. “You are her first word, dear, our baby adores her dad so much. I knew she would!” A smile tugs at your lips, lids fluttering closed as you rest your cheek on Xiao’s shoulder.

His hands hover around his daughter, his hold on her delicate, as if she was a newly bloomed flower whose petals could vanish if the wind blew too strongly.

“Papa…” The girl repeats, her chubby cheek squished against’s Xiao’s form. Her eyes are droopy, a little yawn escaping her as she settles more comfortably in her father’s embrace.

Your adeptus heaves out a sigh of relief, the warmth of a familiar fireplace swarming all around him, as if candid candle flames were running through his veins when the soft snores of his daughter reach his ears.

The conqueror of demons’ mask would be shed for tonight.

✧ CHILDE

Small hands are glued to the window’s glass panes, a pair of bright blue eyes staring awestruck at the image currently taking place in your garden.

Flashes of crystalline cyan flit across the air as Childe wields his double blades, merging them into a spear, his muscles taut at the effort.

The little girl’s tiny hands curl into fists, as she leans forward in anticipation, marine gaze following her father’s movements.

He reminds her of the illustrations she’s seen in the picture books Teucer has shown her before.

She must get closer.

Looking over her shoulder, your daughter makes sure you’re busy with something in the kitchen.

Her plan can be put into action now.

Crawling towards the door on all fours, she realizes she’s nowhere near tall enough to reach the handle.

Oh, but she takes after you, and will not be deterred by something like this.

Silently, the baby makes her way towards the dog you took in. He’s big and fluffy and very peaceful, often keeping company to the little girl. With a gentle pat to his side, she looks up at him with those big blue eyes and, despite his instinct to keep her safe, the puppy obliges to her demand.

Folding his paws, the animal lowers himself to the ground, allowing your daugher to climb. A vivid spark flashes through her ocean eyes, tiny hands securing on her companion’s fur.

And just as she was about to reach the door opening to the garden, a familiar voice that’s lulled her to sleep many a night stops her in her tracks.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, little lady.” You stand a couple feet away from her, hands on your hips, your concern masked with masterfully feigned anger.

Your baby stares up at you, that oceanic gaze puppy-like, much like her father did when you were mad at him.

“Mama…” She mumbles, her little hands signaling to where Childe is training outside, sounds you can’t understand leaving her pouty lips.

You sigh, kneeling to pick her up, rubbing your dog’s chin gently.

“So you want to see papa training, don’t you, little troublemaker?” You prompt, smiling as you tickle her belly. She giggles, wiggling her legs in your hold. “Alright, just this once, and because he’s almost finished with his routine.” You warn, softly pinching her cheek.

Once outside, you both stare at the harbinger, you, with heating cheeks; your daughter, in admiration and wonder.

Then:

“Papa!” She calls, energetically waving to her father, as you have to struggle so she doesn’t fall out of your grasp.

Suddenly, Ajax’s hydro blades vanish, a rare glow present in the eyes that are so like his daughter’s. A wide grin spreads across his sun-kissed features, arms opening as he runs towards you and his baby.

“Papa! Papa!” His daughter repeats, as your husband hugs the both of you.

No matter how cold Snezhnaya’s blizzards blew, Ajax would always have his personal patch of sunshine in you two.

✧ KAEYA

Calla lilies surround the scene, their russet-hued petals aglow in the blue shimmer of the statue of the seven standing amidst the lake.

Dusk approaches, the sky still dyed in shades of tangerine and cherry blossom, the sun, a glimmering halo right above the horizon.

Over frondous grass spotted in sun and shadow, a blanket lies, its baby blue pattern fading into the multiple colors of the snacks scattered above it: portions of cake you baked the afternoon prior; sandwitches carefully cut in triangle shapes; handpicked apples and sunsettias, cut and placed into plates by your lover.

But perhaps the most vivid color of them all was that of the couple sitting atop it.

A couple and their daughter.

“You really liked this pie, didn’t you, little lily?” Kaeya coos at his baby, her chubby cheeks littered with crumbs of the soft cake she’s been devouring all afternoon. Two pairs of ice blue eyes meet each other beneath the setting sun, the girl’s giggles eliciting a chuckle from her father’s lips as he carefully wipes her face. “Mama will be mad if you stain your dress, little princess.” The cavalry captain points out, in mock scolding.

His reprimand is met with a bashful smile and his kid cuddling into him, her tiny hands clutching his clothes.

“Kaeya, don’t tease her!” You swat at his arm playfully, soft laughter leaving the both of you as your husband smooths over your girl’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head.

“Don’t pay any mind to papa, now.” You reassure her, tenderly brushing over her chubby hands. “He’s a little silly sometimes.”

The girl looks up at you, those iceberg toned eyes wide in wonder at the world that she still has to discover around her.

You ruffle her hair, as she turns around in Kaeya’s embrace, settling on top of his legs, staring up at him.

“Papa!” She announces, taking ahold of Kaeya’s long braid, playing with it. “Papa… prince!” She points out, as she grabs one of the dolls she brought: a boy wearing a crown.

With a knowing grin, you shift closer to your lover, leaning against his side.

“Yes, little sweetheart, you’re right, papa is a prince.” Kaeya’s hand locks with yours over his shoulder, fingers laced together, the warmth of his touch so paradoxical, given the freeze he commands.

“And that is why you’re our little princess.” The knight tells your baby, as he places a stray calla lily on her hair.

“Princess!” She happily babbles, rising her arms.

Instances like this… they truly stoked gentle flames around the captain’s heart, oftentimes concealed behind apparently crystalline walls of frost. As long as he had the two of you, at least during brief moments like this, there would be no need for practiced facades.

Across the distant horizon, even dusk seemed to delay, allowing a few more seconds of luminous skies for the family sitting below it, a flickering smile crossing the anemo archon’s face of stone.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Slate skies expand above him, his opal eyes restless oceans in the tears they contain, painted lashes dripping in midnight droplets.

Rainbow roses seem to weep too, their petals downcast, the sunrise shades of their blossoms muted in the downpour.

Neuvillette stands alone, the garden of your shared home melancholy; the trees too bare, the grass ashen, the flowers wilting.

Save for the pitter-patter of rusted silver droplets, silence reigns the scene.

The hydro dragon’s mood had a tendency to be mirrored in the heavens over Fontaine, after all.

Sighing, the Chief Justice takes a sit by a bush of lumidouce bells. Fitting, for someone whose shoulders slump not unlike the petals of the periwinkle hued blooms.

“Neuvi, love.” A familiar voice calls him, gently. “What are you doing out there in this weather, dear?”

Long argent locks of hair shift, like seafoam by moonlight, when he turns around, water, from the rain, or his tears, or both, running down his cheeks.

“Someone has come to see you, my love.” You softly utter, beckoning your husband towards the porch, the impending cacophony of his racing mind and falling downpour partially silencing.

Neuvillette’s features warm up a bit the moment he realizes who you’re talking about.

A little girl placidly rests between your arms, eyes of crystalline dusk looking up at her father. Unlike his, hers are rounded, lacking the dark circles frequently etched under your lover’s.

“Look who’s here, little rainbow.” You coo at your daughter, who tries chasing after your wiggling fingers, right as you playfully poke her belly. “Papa is here, do you perhaps want to play with him?”

The baby looks at you, one of her tiny fists on her mouth, as her eyes crinkle up in crescents. Then, she turns towards her dad, arms reaching out.

“Papa! Papa!” She laughs, inclining her flexible small torso towards him.

Neuvillette’s gaze widens, placing his hands around his little girl, protectively cradling her in his embrace.

“Papa is here, sunshine.” Your lover assures her, as he leans down to kiss her nose.

In the distance, a familiar arch shoots across the heavens, the violet of goodbyes and separations shifting into rosy affection.

Golden replaces dull steel, flecks of it dotting the grass, remnants of rain clinging like emeralds to the verdant stems.

The sun is out. The hydro dragon cries no more.

[hoshifighting]

WARNINGS: idol!reader getting injured (arm), accident mention, smut, fingering, oral (f. &m. rec), ovulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, handjob, attentive sex? (due to reader's injury), dirty talk.

staff!seungcheol who’s got that severe look, eyes attached to every inch of you like he’s memorizing it. he’s standing close, flashlight in hand, checking every damn speck of glitter on your face like he’s planning on personally suing each one that doesn’t sparkle just right. like you're some kind of precious artifact he needs to make sure is flawless. there’s this faint crease between his brows as he leans in, like he’s got a checklist of your entire existence in his mind, murmuring “lemme see, hold still,” like you’re the one shifting around with his hands practically cupping your face. the makeup artist’s just nervously holding her breath in the background.

doesn’t even flinch when he sees the tiny smudge, just calmly points it out while you try not to roll your eyes. “needs fixing,” he says, stepping back only when he’s satisfied, waving the makeup artist over with a quick hand gesture.

“alright, open up,” then there’s staff!seungcheol who’s already one step ahead, holding up that tiny spray bottle of propolis like it’s the holy grail of vocal cords. he gives you a knowing look as you open your mouth for him to spray it down your throat. “don’t choke on it this time,” he says, like you didn’t just cough last night but committed a fucking crime. the spray hits your throat, sharp and herbal, and you pull a disgusted face.

“that’s awful, seungcheol,” you croak, trying to rub it off your tongue.

“and it works,” he fires back, deadpan, already watching you like you’re gonna start talking back too loud. but there’s this smirk tugging at the edge of his lips, like he’s clocking the way you’re fussing.

staff!seungcheol who’s already got a scrunchie on his wrist just for you, flicking it like a badge of honor when the fashion team rushes in, hands full of fabric and pins. “back up,” he tells them, waving them off like some sort of bodyguard-turned-stylist. he steps in, gathering your hair up with this weirdly gentle touch, pulling it back like he’s done this a million times. and he has. you’re used to the low murmur of his voice, saying stuff like “look down,” or “tilt your head,” pulling your hair back as you rip off one outfit, practically wrestling yourself into another.

and yeah, he's seen it all, seen you stripped down to a bunch of mismatched pieces of clothes, practically naked with pins and sequins scattered around. he’s the only one who gets to stay in the room when it’s time to swap outfits, hands moving steady over zippers and hooks without batting an eye. he’s too professional for that.

but sometimes you’ll catch the way his eyes flash, quick as anything, over your bare shoulder, the curve of your waist, or the bend of yourback. lingering just a second too long before he’s tugging fabric back over you. “hold your arms up,” he says, voice so steady it’s almost annoying, but there’s this barely-there flush on his face, one he probably thinks you don’t notice. only once you're decent does he call in the fashion team again, his hand lingering on your shoulder just a second longer, like some silent encouragement.

“think i’ll survive tonight, boss?” you shoot over your shoulder as he tightens up a corset, his fingers brushing your back.

“if you can keep that mouth of yours shut for two minutes, maybe,” he mutters, yanking the laces just a little too tight.

staff!seungcheol who seems to have every little detail about you learned by heart, right down to the shade of foundation that works best under stage lights and the exact temperature of water you like before singing. he’s like a walking encyclopedia on “you,” this intense manager who somehow knows you better than you know yourself some days. it’s kinda crazy when you think about it—how much attention he puts into the smallest things, like checking your posture right before you step onto the stage, brushing an imaginary dust speck off your shoulder, or even noticing when you’re tired just from a tiny slump in your stance. there’s this wild, almost comforting feeling in knowing someone’s watching that close, picking up on what you need before you even have to say it.

staff!seungcheol who doesn’t just care about the professional side of things but pays attention to you as a whole person. you’ll be pacing before a show, a mess of nerves, and he’ll pull you aside, hands firm on your shoulders, telling you to breathe, to ground yourself. “hey, it’s just one show out of many,” he’ll say, like he’s reminding you that this isn’t the end of the world. sometimes, he’ll even pull out a joke, something random to get you out of your head, his voice warm, more calming than he probably even realizes.

staff!seungcheol who’s a human wall when it comes to fans or any kind of chaos. he’s got this built-in radar for spotting trouble in a crowd, and the way he just moves through people, ushering you along like he’s a bodyguard instead of just your manager—it’s unreal. you know the crew’s got security, but it’s always him who stands closest, always him who angles himself slightly in front of you, making sure nothing gets in the way. he’s not overbearing, either; it’s this subtle, constant thing, like he’s built to be in tune with you and the space around you.

and it’s not just the big stuff. like, he’s a fiend about the little things, too. if he sees you adjusting your outfit or tugging at your sleeves, he’s immediately there, straightening the hem or re-pinning a loose detail. he’s the kind of guy who’ll silently hand you a tissue if he sees a tiny smudge of lipstick on your teeth, or he’ll have that emergency stain remover in his pocket just in case you spill something on your outfit last-minute.

staff!seungcheol who somehow makes you feel both overprotected and ridiculously independent. he’s right there if you mess up, catching you before you can fall—literally and metaphorically. he’ll laugh about it after the fact, maybe make some quip about how you owe him for always “saving your ass,” but in the moment, he’s solid as hell, totally serious. it’s like he lives for making sure everything in your world runs smoothly, yet he’s always subtly pushing you to handle things yourself, too.

then, there’s the crazy amount of trust he has in you, even though he’s like the over-prepared captain of the team. like, he’ll go through the checklist with everyone—makeup, wardrobe, lighting, sound—and he’s triple-checked it all, down to the damn microphone battery. but when it comes time for you to perform, he just gives you this look that says he knows you’re gonna kill it, and in that weir silence, it’s like he’s handing everything over, telling you without words, “i’ve got the logistics; you just be you.”

staff!seungcheol who, when you’re touring his hometown, suddenly seems way more focused on making sure you’re comfy than anything else—an entire list prepared, of all the places he wants to show you. but first, there’s the “family dinner” situation. he’s practically droning with nerves as he introduces you to his family, calling you his boss, and you’re just gritting your teeth, whispering to him with a grin, “seungcheol, quit it—i told you, just my name.” he just smirks, playing it off, even if it’s clear he’s a little embarrassed, especially when his mom starts calling him out on every little thing he used to do as a kid.

staff!seungcheol who, thanks to your fans, has become practically famous on his own. every time you two walk through an airport, you can hear them calling his name, practically chanting it at this point, pointing out “the hot manager.” and there he is, looking away, rubbing his neck or practically burying his face into your shoulder

he’ll tug at your sleeve like a kid hiding behind their mom, he gets especially flustered when you turn it on him, all smug, saying, “y’know, i must be the luckiest one here, getting to have a handsome manager like you walking me around.” he rolls his eyes, a rare laugh slipping out as he mutters something sarcastic, trying so hard to brush it off, but you know he secretly loves it, the tips of his ears going pink.

and it’s not just for show. once you’re on your off time after a show, seungcheol’s literally all over the place, making sure you don’t lift a finger. he’s there, picking up menus, already knowing what you’ll want and what to skip (yes olives or goodbye olives). he’s at the counter, practically fighting to swipe your card before you can even think about it. it’s like he’s taken the whole “manager” title to heart, as if your well-being is his full-time mission.

he’s got this sixth sense for how you’re feeling too. the second you’re showing signs of exhaustion, he’s hunting for a place to sit, guiding you to a cozy bench or a shady spot under a tree like he’s found the red dot on a map. he even maps out little stops he thinks you’d like, you can’t even remember the last time you needed to decide on where to go.

staff!seungcheol who’ll walk around the city with you, way more relaxed now that he’s on familiar ground, all while pointing out tiny things he remembers from his own life. he’ll say, “used to skip class and hang out here,” or, “this place has the best coffee.” and it’s casual, but you can see how he’s sharing a bit of himself with you, almost like letting you in on these little secrets.

he’s the same guy who’ll quietly, without a word, take off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders when the night air gets too cold, muttering something like, “can’t have you freezing out here,” while you just laugh because he’s the one walking around in a t-shirt in the middle of the night now.

staff!seungcheol who watched you perform on the backstage through the reflector and in the second he sees you stumble, heart pounding harder than it should as his instincts kick in before he even thinks—he’s moving, pushing past a cluster of crew members and ignoring the calls of the other staff, all his attention zeroed in on you. the moment he reaches you, he’s crouching down, there’s this tremor in his voice as he says, “hey, stay still, don’t try to move,” reaching to gently check your injury while his jaw is set tight, his hand firm yet shaking ever so slightly.

he’s not even sure if it’s because he’s furious at the award organization for being careless or just terrified that he saw you go down at all. there’s this split second where he holds you, practically hovering over you protectively, and when you hiss in pain, his hand moves gently, brushing hair out of your face. “i’m so sorry, it’s gonna be okay,” he mutters, his voice way softer than he means, almost sounding choked.

and that’s when it really hits him—this worry clawing its way up his chest, tearing through the professional armor he’s kept on so tightly. all the stuff he’s tried to ignore, to brush off as “just his job,” it’s all boiling over now, searing him. because the sight of you hurt, struggling to get back on your feet, it’s affecting him way, way more than it should. he’s clenching his jaw so hard he thinks it might break, like he’s trying to hold back this tight feeling in his throat, but it’s too late. all he can think is this can’t happen again, this can’t happen to you.

“look at me, alright?” he says, his voice steadier now but barely. he’s doing everything to stay calm, but his hand is still on your shoulder, squeezing just a bit tighter than usual. “i’ve got you. we’re gonna get you checked out, and you’re gonna be okay.” it’s like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is you. when you try to shrug him off, muttering that you’re fine, he doesn’t even flinch—just picks you up like he’s done it a thousand times before, ignoring any protests, keeping you close to his chest as if letting you go is an option he just can’t entertain.

walking off stage, you’re half-leaning against him, but he can’t look at you without this flood of guilt hitting him. why wasn’t i there faster? he keeps thinking, like he could’ve somehow prevented this whole thing if he’d just been a second sooner, a second more vigilant. he knows it’s irrational, but the thought eats at him. with every step, the weight of what he’s feeling presses harder and harder, making him realize, damn, this isn’t just the job anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.

and now, backstage, with you in his arms, his mind’s racing through a million scenarios of what could’ve happened if the injury had been worse, if he hadn’t been there. it’s almost infuriating, how much he cares, and for a split second, he feels like he can’t breathe, like every single barrier he’s tried to put up to keep things professional has just crumbled into dust.

when the medical team comes over, he still can’t bring himself to fully let you go. he steps back just a bit, giving them space, but his hand’s still resting on your shoulder, thumb unconsciously tracing soft, slow circles like he’s grounding himself in knowing you’re still right there. he catches your eye, the way you give him that reassuring smile despite the pain, and he feels this indescribable surge of… something he’s afraid to name, afraid to admit even to himself.

you’re talking to the medics, brushing it off, laughing even, and he’s half-listening, locked in his own head. he’s known all along he’s cared about you, sure, but seeing you hurt, actually holding you like this, it’s made him realize it’s different now. this is something deeper, something he can’t hide behind a professional mask or dismiss as just his responsibility. you’re not just his artist-boss not just the person he’s assigned to take care of. you’re everything—everything he wants to protect, to keep safe, to make sure stays as perfect and unbreakable as he sees you.

staff!seungcheol, who practically moves in with you after the injury, showing up almost daily with bags of groceries, adjusting the pillows on the couch just right, and doing anything he can to make your life easier while you’re stuck on this forced hiatus. he’s meticulous as always, organizing everything, but he still lets you do the simple things on your own when possible. he knows how much you hate feeling dependent on anyone, even him, so he keeps it balanced. still, every now and then, he steps in—like now, as you awkwardly try to pull on your pajamas with your one good arm, refusing to ask for help but struggling all the same.

“you’re gonna tear the sleeve,” he murmurs, chuckling softly as he crosses the room, gentle hands helping guide your arm through the pajama top like it’s nothing. “and before you say anything, you don’t need to feel embarrassed, alright?”

“yeah, easy for you to say,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up as he adjusts the fabric against your shoulder, the familiarity somehow making it worse. he’s done this a million times on tour, yet here, in the privacy of your own home, with your messy pajamas instead of a flashy stage outfit, it feels… like a shame. hard to ignore.

he just shrugs, glancing at you with a small, reassuring smile. “you’ve got nothing to prove to me. trust me, i’ve seen you through worse—like that one time in paris when you twisted your ankle and tried to walk it off anyway?”

“ugh, don’t remind me.” you roll your eyes, but the memory actually makes you laugh a little. “that was your fault for letting me go out in those ridiculous heels.”

“you’re the one who insisted they looked good,” he teases, smoothing down the collar of your pajama top as if that final adjustment could make this whole thing feel less awkward.

it’s only a few minutes later, as you’re both sitting at the dining table, the food he’s prepped steaming and smelling way too good, that he seems to pick up on the shift in your mood. you’re quiet, picking at your food, trying to ignore the ache in your back and the faint, familiar discomfort building up, reminding you it’s that time of the month—again.

“you feelin’ alright?” he asks, studying you with that same, observant gaze. he reaches over, pressing a hand to your forehead to check for a fever, but you instinctively pull back.

“i’m fine,” you reply a little too quickly, shrugging him off as you try to mask the irritation in your voice. but you know he’s already suspicious. he’s been keeping track of your recovery, and since your doctor had him install that app to sync with your cycle and show schedule, he’s way too aware of these things.

you glance at the notification before he turns the screen down. you groan, “god, i hate that you’re this observant.”

he chuckles softly, “comes with the job..”

“yeah, well… it’s just—look, it’s… i’m on my second ovulation since this stupid injury,” you admit, cheeks heating up as you glance away. “and i can’t… y’know. can’t do anything about it. feels like i’m losing my mind.”

he’s silent for a moment, probably a bit stunned, and you peek up, expecting him to laugh or maybe even crack some joke, but his face is serious. finally, he clears his throat, and his voice is so quiet you barely catch it.

“y/n, you—you could’ve told me. if this is, like, getting to you, there are… other ways.”

your heart races, both from his words and from the way he’s looking at you, and you try to shrug it off with a half-laugh, but your voice wavers. “yeah, and what? you planning on giving me a hand?”

he doesn’t laugh. “if that’s what you need.”

“cheol… whatthefuck?”

“don’t want you suffering alone. if you need me, just say it,” he murmurs.

and in that moment, with him sitting across from you, earnest and willing, you realize maybe you’ve been holding back more than just your pain.

staff!seungcheol watches you carefully, still as a statue except for his hands, which are gripping the underside of the table so hard you swear you can see his knuckles turning colorless. he’s waiting, practically holding his breath, watching every small shift in your expression, and you know he’s waiting for any sign you’re second-guessing. but all you can think about is how much you want him. your eyes slip shut, and you let out a shaky breath, the idea of him, his hands, his mouth on you making you dizzy. when you open your eyes, you meet his, still fixed on you.

you don’t even realize you’ve let out a soft moan until his lips twitch into a faint smile, and he pushes back from the table, coming around it with measured steps. “you sure about this?” he asks, he’s close enough now that you can see every detail of his face—the stray strands of his hair falling across his forehead, the slight flush on his cheeks, the sharp cut of his jawline.

“cheol, please?” you murmur, because god, you need him to close this space, need him to touch you.

he doesn’t need to be told twice. he scoops you up, carefully laying you back on the bed, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow circles as he moves higher, taking his time. he’s studying every reaction, every small sigh or shift, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. he glances up one more time, giving you a moment to stop him, but when you nod, his fingers hook under the fabric, peeling it down slowly.

“fuck, you’re drenched,” he murmurs, as his fingers dip between your thighs, gathering the wetness that’s practically dripping, and spreading on your clit. he raises an eyebrow, glancing at you with a smirk. “been waiting for this?”

you squirm under his touch, cheeks flushing as he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, his stubble grazing your skin as he trails his mouth higher, breath warm as he hovers above the wet cunt, your pussy clenches, making a wet sound, his eyes flicking up to meet yours again.

“stay still for me,” he whispers, before his mouth finally, finally connects, and the first touch has you gasping, fingers fisting the sheets. his tongue is slow, and you can feel his tongue sucking your juices inside his mouth. mortifying, delicious. you can’t help but arch your hips toward him, wanting more, but his hands press down on your thighs, holding you in place.

he pulls back just enough to murmur, “turned on?” and his fingers slide in, curling faultlessly as he starts moving, his mouth resuming its work on your swollen clit in a way that makes you disoriented. he doesn’t let up, alternating between teasing you and giving you exactly what you need, fingers curling tight, making the wet sounds louder, pressing against that spot that has you writhing.

“god, look at you,” he whispers, voice rough in your ear as he presses his fingers deeper, his breath hot on your skin. “you’re soaked, y/n. dripping all over my fingers… you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

your hips move instinctively, grinding down on his hand, but the way you’re shifting causes a sharp pain to shoot through your arm, making you gasp.

“hold on, wait,” he says immediately, pulling his fingers out, his other hand already moving to your side, gently easing you back down. his eyes scan you for any sign of discomfort, and then he places his hand firmly on your chest, palm pressing between your breasts as he pins you to the bed, keeping you steady. “just like this, okay?” he murmurs, fingers slipping back inside you, his thumb circling your clit. “you can still move down here, but let me do all the work.”

your breath catches as he holds you down, the feeling of his strong hand keeping you in place making you stumble breaths. you’re completely at his mercy, pinned under his hand, unable to do anything but grind against his fingers, and with every thrust, every word he murmurs, you’re spiraling further, faster.

“you’re so perfect like this,” he whispers against your skin, moving his fingers deeper, rougher. “such a mess, taking me so good… you’re gonna cumm for me? yeah? that’s it, just like that…”

your orgasm hits hard, your body clenching around his fingers, thighs trembling, and his hand on your chest keeps you from arching too much, grounding you as your entire body pulses he holds you steady, whispering soft, filthy praises into your ear as you come down, his fingers finally slipping out but his hand staying over your heart, steady and reassuring as your breathing slows.

you look up at him, the aftershocks still tingling, and he gives you a soft, satisfied smile, brushing his thumb gently over your collarbone. “now that’s my good girl.”

seungcheol hovers over you, his face an inch from yours, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. your breaths are shallow, still struggling to steady, and without another thought, you lift your neck and press your lips to his. he melts into it, kissing you deeper, tongue brushing over yours in a way that makes your skin tingle. he’s careful with his hands, keeping his wet fingers from your hair but awkwardly gripping the pillow, while the other hand slides down, lightly brushing over your chest.

“fuck… cheol,” you mumble into his mouth, feeling almost embarrassed by the way your body’s reacting. the word just slips out, and then it’s followed by, “want your cock so bad. just… just give it to me, please.”

he pulls back, and you’ve never seen that look before—his lips parted, brows raised, the most i-want-pussy-so-fucking-bad face you ever saw. he shakes his head softly, voice a little raspy, “you know i’d ruin you if i could right now,” he says, breath catching. “but it’ll hurt… don’t wanna push it too much.”

“please, cheollie,” you murmur, giving him a sly, knowing look. “you’re gonna be careful with me, right? just… give me a little. i need you so bad, been thinking about it all day…” your voice trails off, and you feel his hand grip a little tighter, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your chest through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

he takes a shaky breath, a low groan slipping out, and suddenly, he’s sliding off the bed, hands trembling just enough for you to notice as he pulls his shirt over his head. his skin is warm, tan, muscles rippling as he unbuttons his jeans, and you can barely breathe as he pushes them down along with his underwear, freeing himself. his cock is thick, flushed a deep pink at the tip, and the way he’s stroking himself, like he’s savoring every second, has you practically drooling.

unable to resist, you tilt your head up, parting your lips, tongue out as you bat your lashes at him, silently begging. he’s already at the edge of the bed, and he lowers himself, the weight of his cock pressing against your lips, and you can’t help the moan that escapes. it’s warm, heavy, and you lean forward just enough, taking him between your lips, letting your tongue glide along the underside.

he strokes a hand over your cheek, thumb grazing just beneath your eye, and his face looks wrecked, like he’s fighting every instinct to just take control. but he holds back, lets you set the pace, lets you tease with your mouth, your tongue swirling over his tip, tasting every inch of him.

you take his whole length in your mouth, sucking him slow, then pulling back to focus on the tip like you’re savoring the best thing you’ve ever tasted. you hear his breath catch, and when his knees falter, his hand grips your shoulder, the sound of his hissed “stop… stop,” barely reaching you over the rush of your own heartbeat. you pull back, licking your lips, watching his eyes go dark as he catches sight of his precum shining on your mouth.

he climbs back onto the bed, sliding between your legs, and you shiver as his rough hands smooth over your thighs, steadying himself, each touch leaving a trail of heat on your skin. his tip brushes your clit, slick and throbbing, and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut like he’s holding himself back, muttering to himself as if he’s praying to keep control, like he knows he’s on the edge of just losing it. “what a fucking idea, seungcheol.” you can practically hear him thinking, fighting to keep the restraint that’s barely holding on by a thread.

but you want him to break just a little—so you reach down, your smaller hand wrapping around him, tugging him gently, aiming him just right. his eyes snap open, catching you in the act, and he’s on you in a second, his large hand covering yours, guiding himself to press against you, so close but not quite there yet. his forearm braces beside your head as his face hovers above you, dark hair brushing your forehead, and you feel the heat of his chest pressed to yours, your nipples tight against him.

a giggle escapes frpm you, bubbling up from the tension, aroused and just a little wicked, and his gaze sharpens. he bites his bottom lip, a smirk playing on his face, and asks, “think it’s funny to watch me suffer, huh?”

“me?” you bat your eyelashes at him, feigning innocence. “wouldn’t dream of it… i’m just thinkin’ how it’s almost cute how fucked you are already. big, strong seungcheol, lookin’ like he’s about to cry before he’s even all the way in…”

he laughs, pushing just an inch further inside, making you moan, eyebrows scrunching as the heat between you builds. “gonna make you take back every word, babe,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of threat and promise, breath warm against your cheek.

you can’t help yourself, smirking up at him. “well, you better prove it then, baby. or i’m gonna have to tell everyone you barely held up through a single round.”

“oh, you think that’s how this is gonna go?”

and with that, he presses forward, sinking in deeper, your mouth dropping open as he fills you slowly, letting you feel every inch of him.

your walls tighten around him, barely able to take him in, but your body’s greedy, slick and warm, desperate to pull him in even further. your calves wrap around his ass, urging him, and in one move, you tug him, forcing him deeper, filling you completely. you cry out, head rolling back, but seungcheol groans, nearly collapsing onto you, his hand catching himself before he lands too hard.

“what the hell are you doin’,” he pants, shaking his head, his voice all gruff as he looks down at you. “you’re crazy, you know that? what if i’d fallen on your arm?”

you smirk, unashamed, reaching up to tug him down closer. “couldn’t help it… i needed all of you,” you murmur, voice dripping with need, your walls pulsing around him. “need you so deep you’ll still be there tomorrow.”

he laughs, but it melts into a growl as he starts to move. “you know i can’t take it too fast with you today.” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. “but damn, you’re tight.”

your hips tilt up, meeting him, matching the slow grind, and you look up at him, gaze heavy-lidded. “bet you’ve been thinking about this,” you purr, your fingers trailing down his chest. “probably losing it in that dressing room, thinking how wet i’d get for you.”

“fuck, don’t start with me,” he grits out, his hips faltering for just a second as you clench around him, and you can feel him twitch inside, pulsing as your words hit home. his hand finds its way to your neck, not squeezing but just holding, grounding himself as he slowly fills you over and over. “goddamn, y/n..”

“oh, i know,” you say, breath catching as he leans down, lips brushing yours, barely ghosting as his hips keep that steady, perfect rhythm. “i know exactly how you look at me, seungcheol. like you wanna destroy me.”

his breath hitches, and his hand flexes on your neck as he groans, forehead pressing against yours. “careful what you ask for.” he warns, voice low, but you pout up at him, lips pressing into the slightest pout, all needy.

“i don’t think you’re really up for it, anyway. maybe i need someone who can give it to me for real,” you murmur, words practically melting into his ear, and he stops mid-thrust, his eyes flashing as he studies your face.

“you’re pushin’ it,” he says, voice rough as he resumes moving, but you keep the playful look, barely biting back a smile as he grits his teeth. “if you didn’t have that arm to worry about, i’d have you crying right now, you know that?”

“oh, i know,” you coo back, dragging your nails down his back, just enough to make him hiss. “but what about now? all you can do is hold back ‘cause you’re too scared of hurting me. maybe it’s you who can’t handle it, huh?”

the muscles in his jaw tighten as he leans in close, hips still rolling into you with a slow, maddening rhythm that makes you squirm beneath him. “trust me, i could handle you just fine,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “but you’re so damn tight right now, i’d probably split you open if i went harder.”

“maybe i want that,” you whisper, your voice breathless as you shift your hips, taking him even deeper, feeling every inch stretch you with each slow grind of his hips. “maybe i want you to fuck me so good i forget my own damn name.”

seungcheol’s resolve nearly snaps. he groans, his hands gripping your waist to steady you, his thumb brushing along your ribs, and he lets out a shuddering breath, muttering under his breath. “god, ovulations are somethin’ else,” he says, voice cracking, clearly fighting for control. “you’re wet wet—like i might drown in you, damn.”

he lets out a low chuckle, his eyes clouded, almost in awe. “look at this mess,” he murmurs, pulling out just slightly to feel how soaked his length is before sliding back in, feeling your warmth close around him, every muscle clenching down on him, pulling him deeper, your eyes rolling back. “you really think you can handle it if i just… give you what you’re beggin’ for?”

you arch up against him, that challenging spark back in your eyes. “why don’t you just try me?”

he lets out a slow exhale, hand moving from your waist to cradle your face as he picks up the pace, still careful but with a bit more force this time, making you gasp. you whimper, nodding at him to continue, the tension building with each deep stroke, and you can see the satisfaction flash in his eyes as he keeps his rhythm steady, watching the way you start to fall apart beneath him.

he pulls out slowly, just enough to let you feel every ridge, every vein along his length, before pushing back in until his tip is pressed snug against your cervix, making you gasp. the pressure alone makes your head spin, and you can feel his balls, soaked and heavy, pressing against you with each movement, sticky with how drenched you are.

“you still think i’m not giving it to you right?” he taunts, his voice dipping low as he watches your face, one brow lifting just slightly, teasing. “you wanted it rough, didn’t you?” he grins, dragging a hand up your thigh, holding you open for him. “tell me, where’s that attitude now?”

“it’s—it’s…” you trail off, breath hitching as he thrusts again, slower, letting his hips roll so he’s as deep as possible, and you can’t help the shaky whimper that slips out.

“what was that? i couldn’t quite hear you,” he murmurs, voice smug as he leans down, kissing your jaw, your neck, every inch of you that he can reach while still keeping that maddeningly slow pace. “you were talkin’ so big before, and now look at you.”

“i… i can take it,” you stammer, clutching at his shoulders, though the words barely come out with how your voice keeps faltering, his rhythm somehow leaving you more breathless with each thrust.

he chuckles, brushing his thumb across your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. “that so? ‘cause you’re already all teary,” he points out, a hint of affection in his tone, even as he keeps that teasing look in his eyes. “am i really that deep, baby?”

“y-yeah,” you manage to whisper, but your voice wavers, and he grins wider.

“tell me what you need, then,” he says, his hips moving just a fraction faster, the sound of skin meeting skin growing louder, wetter, echoing through the room. “tell me what you want so bad.”

“need… need you to make me cum,” you whimper, the words tumbling out, barely audible. “need to feel you.”

he huffs a little. “you’re falling apart just from this? and here i thought i had to really work for it.”

“i—i can take more,” you manage to gasp out, your body responding to his every movement. “just… just give it to me, seungcheol.”

he shakes his head, smirking as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “you really think you can handle it? with that arm and everything?”

“you know i can!” you protest, trying to keep your voice steady, but your hips betray you, rolling against him. “i’m not fragile, you know? just—just don’t stop.”

“is this what you’ve been craving? sum' good cock to make you cum?”

“yes, yes, god—yes!” you whine, the heat pooling in your belly, threatening to spill over at any moment. the sounds of skin slapping together mix with the sweet squelch of your wetness, making it even more intense.

“fuck—my balls are practically soaked from you. you like how that feels, huh? my cock in your sweet little cunt, makin’ a mess of you?”

“you’re so deep, it feels too good—”

“you okay? i’m not hurting you, am i?”

“no, it’s… it’s perfect,” you manage to breathe out.

“what do you think? you think you can handle more?” he asks, almost a growl as he quickens his pace just a bit, sending your mind spinning even further. “or are you just gonna cry for me?”

“shut up!” you whimper, tears finally spilling over as he hits that spot inside you.

“too good, huh?” he teases, biting his lip to stifle a groan as he watches your face contort with pleasure. “do you think i could make you cum like this?”

“yes! yes, just like this!” you gasp, the words tumbling out of you as you feel the familiar tension building in your core. “oh god, seungcheol—”

“what do you want to say?” he presses, leaning closer. “i want to hear you, babe. tell me.”

his thrusts become more insistent, and your body instinctively responds, clenching tightly around him as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

“that’s it, baby,” he encourages. “let it go. i want to feel you cum around me.”

“seungcheol, i—” your voice catches in your throat, your body convulsing as the pleasure overwhelms you completely, every thought dissolving into pure ecstasy. the world around you blurs as you finally let go, and all you can manage is a soft whimper as you surrender to it.

his eyes widen, watching you, makes your heart race even more, and as you tremble beneath him, you feel him pulse inside you, the sensation of his cock sending you spiraling deeper into that sweet oblivion. “my girl..” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe as he rides you through it, feeling your walls contract around him. “so fucking beautiful.”

staff!seungcheol who’s always attentive, watching you as you recover from your last high. he knows how much you need him, but he’s also so damn careful, ever the dedicated staff member. even as you beg him to keep going, to let him cum deep inside you, he hesitates.

he slips out of you, but you’re not ready to let him go. raising your hand, you grab him by the cock, your fingers wrapping around him with a tightness that makes him gasp. “what the hell? oh fuck!” he exclaims, almost stumbling forward as he’s pulled back toward you. his voice shifts from reprimanding to moaning, the scold dying on his lips as he feels your hand start to stroke him.

“i just want to make you feel good, too,” you whisper, your breath hitching as you give him a few slow, teasing pumps, enjoying the way his hips instinctively thrust forward, chasing the pleasure you’re giving him.

“you’re gonna get yourself hurt,” he warns shaky, his hands gripping your wrist, but there’s no real force behind it. he’s clearly enjoying it, his breaths coming faster as you continue to stroke him, your fingers gliding effortlessly over his length. “you shouldn’t—”

“shh,” you hush him playfully, biting your lip as you watch his expression morph into one of pure desire. “just let me do this for you. i want you to feel good.”

“god, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that,” he groans, his voice trembling, but the way you’re working your hand up and down, your palm brushing the sensitive tip, it’s too much.

“then cum for me,” you whisper, a seductive promise in your tone. “i’ll take care of you, just like you take care of me. let go.”

staff!seungcheol, who can’t resist the way you look at him, all teasing yet so earnest, the way you squeeze him with just the right amount of pressure, your hand slick with your cum and sure as you stroke him.

staff!seungcheol, who gives in because he can’t help it, because every part of him is craving you, has been for so long. his hips jerk, thrusting up into your hand with a roughness he usually holds back. his eyes are dark, fixed on your hand working him, and he bites his lip, trying to keep himself steady, but it’s no use—you’re so close, whispering his name, brushing your lips over his with every stroke, and he’s already too far gone.

“i can’t hold back when you look at me like that.”

you laugh deliciously, the sound bubbling up from your chest as you lean in, licking his lips.

staff!seungcheol, who can’t hold back any longer, feels the heat rising in his cheeks as he realizes he’s about to spill over. his breath hitches, and just like that, he’s cumming—hard. it’s a mix of deep, throaty moans and soft whimpers escaping his lips, echoing in the quiet room. your belly and fingers are coated with him, and you can’t help but grin at the sight.

“yes, just like that! keep going, let it out, look at you, all moaning like a little slut. how does it feel?”

“shut up,” he mumbles, half-heartedly trying to glare at you, but his eyes are glassy, the words only making him blush deeper.

you smirk, lifting your hand to your mouth, where his cum glistens on your fingers. you start to lick it off, each slow drag of your tongue making his breath hitch in his throat.

staff!seungcheol who’s mortified, wide-eyed as he grabs your wrist, halting your movements and making your tongue stay out, eagerly waiting. “no, no, don’t do that!”

you pout at him, eyes big and pleading, your voice coming out in the sweetest “please?” he hesitates, visibly torn, but eventually lets go of your wrist, swallowing hard as you close your eyes and bring your fingers back to your lips. the way you lick it all up slowly, savoring each taste with a big-ass smile, drives him crazy. it’s like you’re teasing him all at once, every nerve in his body alive with the sight of you, so effortlessly and unapologetically indulging yourself.

staff!seungcheol who’s at a complete loss, his eyes wide as he watches, helplessly captivated by the way you move, the small smile on your face showing just how aware you are of his reaction. he shifts, clearly trying to gather himself, but you notice his fingers flexing at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to pull you close again.