#explodes you. with mushrooms

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Also remember the mutual rpf me and soup were writing and you're my assistant in that

Its going again and youre being made 10 times more evil too do you want any specific characterisation

Also hi hello love how are you hows life hows your blorbo son

ghost omg hello diva !!!! gibing you kisses mwah mwah. i've been fine and so is blorbo son, how are you??!!!! holy shit yessss i love being even more evil, especially with u !!!!!!! what evil things are we doing boss 🥺🥺

hmm rn my hobby is collecting shells so... could i be like a hoarder? maybe? we do evil things and we're interacting with different people and at the end of the day i've stolen a bunch of little things from people. true to the agni name, i've taken all the offerings

also random animal sounds. cartoonishly making random sounds when you encounter me :333

[snoozie-snooze]

MORAINE ART?!?

AND DOODLES?!?

[rhapsoddity]

Fantasy Minecraft SMP Oli!!! 🍄

I'm gonna be doing a poster like this for each member :3

one thing led to another and now he has some sort of shelf mushrooms for ears and is simply but a creecher

[eggbuggy]

Hey Mychael, since you won’t say which one’s your fav I’m drawing you with a bunch of them

Name of species under cut :3

[icara-mack]

a bit late as always, but happy nov16th everyone! 4 years… happy FOUR YEARS. <3

My piece for the @sixteenth-day-event - Quackity remembers Kinoko kingdom

(and misses his fiancés. I will never be normal about this smp)

RB’s appreciated!! I post art stuff sometimes so follows are cool if you like it :0 <- I am attempting a technique I call farming subscribers. I learnt from the best (bell ringing) (tried and true Technoblade technique) <3

[epitheterased-confessions]

epithet erased is literally the reason why i'm alive at every second of any day, month or year. if it wasn't for those silly paper moving neurodivergent queer sons of a guns, i would not have a reason to outlive, accompany or wish to do anything to any of the characters in the show. if it wasn't for the music covers, original songs and soundtrack, i would not have a reason to not blast my ears off at any random time. so i'd just like to say thank you to each character and appreciate each millisecond that they appeared in. ..except mushroom girl. i don't give a fuck about her

this confession was like a nice ride down the road and then that last line exploded the car engine

[sweetlee]

GIGGFLES!!! HIM FACE!!

😼 <- his one and only expression known to humankind LOOL

[zooophagous]

Earlier I was scrolling Reddit and I come across a post in r/shrooms, a sub reddit dedicated to psychadelic mushrooms and frequently featuring entries from users who are posting during a trip.

A guy posts, freaking out, that the delivery person who dropped off his food had a huge snake wrapped around his neck and the snake was talking to him and tripped him out.

He shares a picture ne sneakily took of the delivery driver.

The delivery driver actually does, in fact, have a live 7 or so foot long boa constrictor draped across his shoulders.

Can you fucking image. Being blasted out of your gourd on hallucinogenic substances, getting a random knock at the door and the guy has a live gigantic snake just chilling. Your head would explode

[stuck-in-jelly]

You know what I know I'm usually pretty silent but I need you all to understand the horrible impact SpaceX and Starship has had on South Texas.

Yes, fuck those ugly ass cyber trucks but FUCK that Space Center.

Starship genuine danger to the people who live here. It's to the point many of the people here when they heard the explosion joked that it was probably another one of Elon's rockets.

This is a horrifying pattern we are becoming numb to, we hear about a planned test launch and brace ourselves for more debris.

Several of Musk's attempts at rockets, especially after the deregulation, have resulted in catastrophic explosions. Want the list? Here are a few!!

December 9th, 2020- Starship serial No. 8, or SN8. Exploded upon landing.

February 2, 2021- Starship SN9. Exploded upon landing.

March 3rd. 2021- Starship SN10. Landed in one piece. Fire at the skirt caused an explosion.

April 20, 2023- Starship. Exploded once more. Debris scattered in Port Isabell.

March 6, 2025- Flight 8. Spun out of control and exploded in a mass of fireballs. Planes had to be grounded due to the mass explosion and the debris are stills scattered in the ocean.

And now we have the most recent and the worse one yet.

June 18-19, 2025- Starship 36 during a GROUND test caused a mass explosion, the looming mushroom cloud causing locals in Cameron to believed they had been bombed.

The loser describes this it as a "rapid unscheduled disassembly" instead of what they are: fiery failures locals have to deal with as a result.

Pretty much everyone locally knows Elon Musk and his negative impact on our home, people who have had the unfortunate curse to have worked with him and the center call it Cultish, 8 members of his staff who spoke out against his behavior and sexual harassment were all fired.

Its a well known fact he hates the people here, and he goes out of his way to find employees who are not from this area and move them down here.

Musk has tried to encourage even more white people to come down to South Texas and live in his "Starship City". An attempt to gentrify and push out local citizens.

Rebekah Hinojosa, a local Activist with Another Gulf Is Possible, even had her home unlawfully entered by police after an alleged graffiti on a mural he commisioned (which didn't even obscure the mural).

This article is a good read on everything Musk has done to South Texas

I am TIRED of this going unnoticed and unheard of the People of The Valley. I need you to stop laughing and start taking this seriously.

If you want to read more on all the insane shit this man has done to South Texas here are a few more Articles I would Recommend

South Texas groups sue Texas for letting Elon Musk's SpaceX dump wastewater without permit, SpaceX's Starship explodes in space, which Musk calls a 'minor setback', What Is Starbase? Elon Musk Builds a SpaceX City With Shops, Worker Housing and Its Own Mayor — But Texas Locals Aren't Happy

[jijournal]

THE GREENHOUSE EFFECT | D.M

Summary: When you're paired with Draco Malfoy for Herbology, you expected eye-rolls and dead plants. But, you don’t expect that the most sudden pairings bloom the brightest.

wc: 1.7k+

cw: Hufflepuff!reader x draco. FLUFF! FLUFF! FLUFF!, a very pouty reader who loves and names her plants.

A/N: Alright you got me. I made up some of the plants mentioned cause I got lazy going through all the canon plants in hp. I LOVE LOVE LOVE HUFFLEPUFF!READERS! 💞

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

You’d witnessed many botanical tragedies during your years in Hogwarts’ greenhouses—Mandrakes shrieking their way into fainting fits, Puffapods misfiring into clouds of spores, even a Dungbomb incident involving a Fanged Geranium with a grudge and poor aim—but nothing, not even that, prepared you for the quiet devastation that was Draco Malfoy trying to care for magical plants.

“This one’s supposed to be droopy, right?” Draco asked one chilly morning, holding up a miserable-looking Flitterbloom, his face in lost confusion. The plant sagged from his gloved fingers like a limp dishcloth, the edges tinged with black rot, its once vibrant fronds now hanging as though in mourning.

Professor Sprout audibly gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “No, Mr. Malfoy, it most certainly is not supposed to look like that! That poor dear is drowning in water it didn’t ask for!”

You bit down on your smile, valiantly trying not to laugh. You really did try. But the look on Draco’s face—offended, a little baffled, and thoroughly disgusted—was too much. Your shoulders shook with suppressed giggles, and Professor Sprout caught your eye with a hopeful glint.

“Y/N,” she said, a little too sweetly, “would you mind pairing up with Mr. Malfoy for the rest of the term? He could use someone with your… patience.”

You blinked, unsure whether you were being punished or knighted. “You want me to help him?”

“I don’t need help,” Draco snapped, standing straighter.

“You do,” you and Sprout said at the same time, your voices perfectly overlapped. Your eyes met. She looked vindicated. Draco looked betrayed.

And that was how you became Draco Malfoy’s unofficial plant handler.

⸻

You wore flowers like armor. Always. In your hair—violets carefully tucked into your braid, a daisy behind your ear, sprigs of baby's breath pinned like secrets. Your jumpers often had tiny embroidered petals curling down the sleeves or buttons shaped like blooming buds. When people asked, you just smiled like the flowers had chosen you that morning and not the other way around. Flowers were a part of you, just like freckles were a part of others.

“Is there a reason you always dress like a sentient meadow?” Draco asked once, squinting as you buttoned up a coat stitched with little yellow marigolds that seemed to flutter when you moved.

“It’s for luck,” you said serenely, smoothing a daffodil-shaped pin at your collar. “And it makes the plants feel at home.”

He stared like you’d just offered him a slice of moonlight for breakfast. “You think the plants care what you’re wearing?”

You tilted your head, genuinely perplexed. “You don’t?”

The first incident came swiftly. You’d barely begun working together when he attempted to nudge a Puffapod into blooming. One gentle poke was all it needed—delicate, respectful. Draco prodded it like it owed him an explanation, and it exploded in a soft-pink mushroom cloud of pollen.

You stood in stunned silence, covered in fuzz, bits of petal clinging to your braid like confetti. You tried not to pout. You really did. But you ended up cross-legged on the floor, mournfully collecting the petals and whispering soft apologies.

“She just needed patience,” you murmured, fingers brushing the frayed bloom. “A bit of kindness.”

Draco sneezed and looked utterly unconvinced. “It was a plant. Not a therapy client.”

“She had a name,” you said sharply, shooting him a glare. “Lulu.”

He gave you a flat look. “You named the Puffapod?”

You met his gaze with unflinching sincerity. “I would've told you her name if you didn't blow up her sister Lala earlier this year.

He sighed. "yeah... because plants have siblings."

The next week, he crushed a Bubotuber in a moment of casual irritation. One second he was ranting about someone stealing his socks, the next he squeezed the bulb like it had personally offended him. It responded by erupting in a burst of thick, greenish goo. Draco’s shriek of horror echoed off the greenhouse walls.

“You strangled her,” you said disappointed, trying not to frown as you dabbed away goo with a Moondew sprig.

“I barely touched it!”

“You manhandled her like she owed you money.”

“It attacked me!”

“She was terrified.”

He stumbled back, covered in yellow-green sludge. “Of what? My refined bone structure?”

You crouched next to the limp plant, wand raised, murmuring a soft charm. “Of being misunderstood. She’s very shy.”

Draco groaned. “Merlin help me. Not again.”

“She has a name,” you said firmly. “Matilda.”

“Of course she does.”

With a flick of your wand and a quiet word, Matilda shivered back to life, wiggling slightly in your palm. You leaned in and whispered something that made her glow faintly. She’d forgiven him. Barely.

“She’s a menace,” he muttered.

“She’s sensitive,” you corrected, stroking her stem.

Draco stared at you like he was trying to decide if this was some elaborate Hufflepuff prank. You smiled serenely and tucked a fallen blossom behind your ear.

By the fourth week, Draco had managed to offend a Flutterfern, enrage a Shrivelfig, and traumatize a Fanged Geranium into permanent wilt. The final straw came when he took pruning shears to a Venomous Tentacula like he was avenging a personal vendetta. It lashed out in protest, its tendrils flailing before curling in on themselves, whimpering.

You didn’t speak to him for the next twenty minutes.

Instead, you crouched beside the wounded plant, gently gathering its injured tendrils in your hands. You rocked slightly, whispering something ancient and low—more lullaby than incantation. Slowly, the Tentacula calmed. Its color returned in hesitant pulses. One vine curled around your wrist, tentative and grateful.

“You’ve got to be doing this on purpose,” Draco muttered from the other side of the greenhouse. “No one’s that bad at plants unless they’re cursed. Or a Gryffindor.”

You glanced up, your voice dry. “You think I’d hex my own greenhouse just to make you look bad?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “With great pleasure.”

You dusted soil from your cheek with a dramatic flourish. “I’m petty, Malfoy. Not suicidal.”

He eyed you, then your boots. “You’ve got roses on your socks.”

“They’re embroidered,” you replied, lifting your foot slightly to show him. “Climbing roses. Very resilient. A bit clingy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like you?”

You grinned. “Like you.”

His ears turned pink.

The sixth time was different. He didn’t kill the plant. He merely terrified it.

A small Mandrake sat trembling on its roots while Draco hovered uncertainly nearby, brow furrowed, tongue between his teeth in sheer concentration, wondering how the hell did you manage to stop a mandrake from crying. You watched from a few feet away, arms crossed, trying not to interfere.

“If you’re going to loom like that,” Draco muttered, glancing sideways, “you might as well do it yourself.”

“I’m observing,” you said proudly. “You’re improving. That Mandrake hasn’t flinched in at least two minutes.”

“It keeps looking at me.”

“you mean, He. Well, duh he has eyes. Of course he's looking at you.”

“Judgmentally.”

“That’s a compliment,” you said. “He doesn’t usually acknowledge people he dislikes.”

Draco scowled, but the Mandrake remained intact. Which, for him, was practically a miracle. When he wasn’t looking, you snuck the plant a leaf treat. It quivered happily.

Later that afternoon, while you adjusted the angle of a sunlamp for your Asphodel, you sensed Draco stepping beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just hovered—an odd, uncertain weight in the air. Then his voice came, softer than usual.

“You missed a spot.”

You turned, confused, just as he reached out. His thumb brushed a smudge of soil from your cheek, lingering a second too long. You froze.

The world narrowed. You forgot the cold, the damp, the faint buzzing of Pixie-flies overhead. For one suspended breath, it was just you, him, and the inch of air between your faces.

He cleared his throat abruptly and pulled his hand back. “You had… dirt. On your face.”

“Oh.” You touched the spot instinctively. “Thanks.”

He turned away, cheeks faintly pink. You didn’t say anything. Your heart was too loud.

⸻

All term, you’d been tending to a single Moonlily in the corner of Greenhouse Three. Once silver-bright, it had withered into something curled and gray, like it had forgotten what light felt like. Every class, you brought it a fresh blossom, whispered to it like an old friend. “I’m still here,” you told it. “Come back when you’re ready.”

Draco never asked about it. But he noticed. You caught him glancing at it when he thought you weren’t looking. Watching the way you cared.

And then came the last day of term.

Most students had left for the holidays. Snow pressed against the greenhouse windows, and frost dusted the vines in glittering white. You were alone, brushing a light dusting of ice from the soil, when you heard the sound of footsteps.

Draco.

He looked a little windblown, hair tousled, scarf half-untied. In one gloved hand, he held something fragile. Small. Pale.

A pot with a single marigold.

Its stem was crooked. Its petals trembled. But it was alive.

“I, uh… Professor Sprout helped,” he said quickly, almost defensive. “A bit. Mostly she just stopped me from killing it.”

You stared, lips parting. He shifted, awkward.

“It’s not perfect,” he said.

You reached out and took it gently, your fingers brushing his. The flower quivered in your palm like it knew who had grown it.

“It’s exquisite.” you whispered.

His shoulders sagged, some tightness easing in his jaw. “I... It reminded me of you. It's bright and... pretty. Very, pretty.”

You stepped closer.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice thick with something you didn’t dare name. “I love it.”

And then, without thinking, you kissed him.

It was soft, tentative—dirt-smudged noses, cold fingers brushing warm cheeks, and the quiet, sweet hush of something just beginning. He tasted of peppermint tea and the kind of wonder that comes only after you’ve stopped pretending not to care.

Behind you, something stirred.

You turned as the Moonlily—the one you’d nurtured all term—gave a shiver, then slowly unfurled. Its silver petals caught the moonlight and glowed like a promise, blooming with the kind of gentle pride only magic, patience, and love can grow.

Draco stared, wide-eyed. “Was that... because of us?”

You clutched the flower he'd given you to your chest, heart fluttering. “She’s been waiting. I think... she felt it.”

He looked at you, the usual edge in his voice softened into awe. “You’re completely mad.”

You grinned, breathless. “You still think the plants don’t notice?”

And then, for the first time all term, Draco Malfoy laughed—really laughed. It spilled into the greenhouse like sunlight after rain, warm and unexpected.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe they do.”

You reached up and tucked the crooked little flower he’d grown into your braid, letting it nestle behind your ear like it had always belonged there.

“Then they’ve clearly been paying more attention than you have.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[solxamber]

Receiving Gifts on White Day with: Octavinelle

go here for other dorms

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul stands at your doorstep, posture straight as a business presentation, but his grip on the gift box absolutely betrays him. His fingers twitch. His smile is a little too composed.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat. Twice. “As per tradition, I have prepared a gift of equal or greater value to your Valentine’s gift.”

You take the box, flipping it open to reveal mini pastries that are so meticulously crafted they look like they belong in a luxury boutique. You pick one up, noting the suspiciously perfect sheen.

“These are definitely stress-baked,” you say, popping one into your mouth.

Azul immediately tenses. “That is unfounded speculation!”

You hum, pretending to consider. “So you didn’t spend the past week in an existential baking crisis?”

“…That is beside the point.”

Your grin only widens. “Azul, these are incredible.” You take another bite, watching as he visibly tries to suppress a proud smile.

Then, because you love chaos, you lean in and murmur, “I might have to make a contract for more of these.”

Critical hit.

Azul chokes on air. “E-Excuse me!?”

You smirk, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back. “Happy White Day, Azul~”

His glasses almost slip off. His brain? Outsourced to the Coral Sea.

Jade Leech

Jade stands at your door, perfectly composed, a gift box in one hand and a very unreadable smile on his face. It’s the kind of smile that means danger.

“Good morning,” he says smoothly. “I trust you slept well?”

You eye the box. This feels like a trap.

“…Should I be worried?” you ask, taking it from him with caution.

His smile widens just slightly. “Why, I’m wounded. Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles.

You open the box—and pause. Inside are handmade chocolates, but nestled beneath them is something that looks suspiciously like—

“…Jade.” You lift the item. “Is this one of your mushrooms?”

His expression does not change. “I can assure you, it is entirely safe.”

You squint. “What kind of safe?”

“The delicious kind,” he answers, completely unhelpful.

You glance at the chocolates. Then back at him. “If I eat this and start hearing colors that don’t exist, I’m coming for you.”

Jade simply laughs, amused. “How delightful.”

You sigh, deciding to just take a chocolate for now. The moment you taste it, your eyes widen.

“Jade. These are amazing.”

He tilts his head. “Oh? I’m pleased to hear that.”

“No, like actually amazing. Did you study chocolate-making?”

Jade hums. “Perhaps. I may have… consulted a few books.”

You stare at him. “You studied for this?”

A pause. Then, softly, “I wanted them to be perfect for you.”

Oh. Oh no.

You weren’t prepared for that.

Then—before you can react—Jade leans in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple.

“I trust that is an acceptable return gift?” he murmurs, right by your ear.

….You are absolutely doomed.

Floyd Leech

Your door explodes open.

“SHRIMPYYYYY~!”

Before you can process your impending doom, Floyd lunges and bodyslams you into a hug. Your feet leave the ground. The world spins. Your life flashes before your eyes.

“Floyd—!”

“HAPPY WHITE DAY!” he yells, grinning as he finally sets you down. He shoves a massive bag into your arms, practically bouncing in place.

You blink at the weight. “Did you kidnap something?”

“Nope~!” He grins. “Just gotcha a bunch of stuff. Some chocolates, a plushie, and—” He leans dangerously close. “—a surprise.”

You narrow your eyes. “Floyd. What kind of surprise.”

His grin widens. “You’ll see~”

You cautiously dig through the bag, finding expensive chocolates, an absurdly large plush shrimp, and—oh. Oh no.

You pull out a mystery envelope. “Floyd, what is this.”

“Ehehehe~” He practically vibrates with excitement.

You open it—and immediately pause.

“…This is a coupon for ‘one free kidnapping.’”

Floyd beams. “Yup! Just give me a time and place, and whoosh! Off we go!”

You stare. “You… made me a kidnapping coupon.”

“Personalized just for you~”

You’re equal parts touched and concerned.

Then—before you can react—Floyd leans in, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your cheek.

“You like it, yeah?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to something softer, something fond.

Your heart flips. “…Yeah.”

His grin returns—wild, unhinged, perfectly Floyd.

“Good! Now c’mon, I wanna see how fast you can run before I really use that coupon~”

You are in danger.

Masterlist

[evilminji]

Been Watching Weird Fruit Explorer(?)... and I just...

W-Who let Bored Danny have BooTube?

Sorry, YOU-Tube. He has TWO Apps now. BooTube is bigger. Way more random, yet... somehow more niche? Meh. It's what happens when you get billions of billions of people who all have their own Obsessions to rant over, on a site.

Ember's channel is pretty lit, tho, ngl.

He stopped using YOU-Tube almost overnight. Too many ads, weird algorithmic pushiness. No thanks. It was too small and too "trying to take my money". You know?

Buuuuut? See.... TUCKER is the Tech guy.

Coding and that sort of stuff. HE does hands on work. You want a toaster? He can MAKE you a toaster! With LAZERS! Runs off The Goo! But a program? Eeeeeeeh? Hit it with hammer maybe? Monkey make fire? Hit with stick? Blergh.

Yeah, he can SORTA push through.

But he suuuucks.

And like... he had a headache, okay? His project had just, quiet literally, exploded in his face. So when he looked at his phone? All the apps were blobs. He clicked the one that LOOKED kinda right. Shoved his arm in his phone and brute forced a channel set up.

He figured he could ramble about Space!

It's not like he cared is anyone LISTENS or not! It's a "for him" thing, you know? Like a diary. But more... putting on a ☆~show~☆?

So he rambles from the floor of his Lair's Lab, crashs and wails in the distance, green sky occasionally visible as he lazily floats by windows. Dropping... juuuust past human knowledge understanding of Space. Talking like he's STUDYING somewhere. Referencing PAPERS no human will ever be able to find.

But a few they WILL.

Some of which, are currently? Only half written.

But then? Oh YEAH... he should eat! You know... Sam keeps bringing him fruits and veggies and stuff from her internship at that Botanical Lair. Stuff never seen before of Earth. Or hasn't been seen in centuries.

Again, like, a FEW that? Randomly? Have???

He picks up something sharply purple, bright orange insides. Crisp crunch. He makes a face. And starts to ramble about it, distracted from Space. "Weirdly mushroom-y" he notes. "Kinda bubblegum sweet? But like... CHEAP bubblegum. Like it hits you all at once and is kinda chemically. But it disappears real fast? Huh. Spicy too..."

It's the first video on the Playlist. One of hundreds. Two of the green Lanterns RECONIZE that fruit ad HIGHLY toxic to humans, can't recognize what planet they're seeing. Or how this alien teen got himself on YouTube.

He seems... unaware of how incredibly famous he's become.

But his strange techno Pharoah friend has not. HE is both perfectly aware and apparently amused. Has taken to feeding him rare and hazardous flora and fauna, to see if it tastes good.

....there have been an alarming number of plants from dead planets.

And the comments the kid makes? Alarming as hell.

Sam's just pleased everybody's getting their greens. Danny's glad him n tuck get to hang and do "try weird foods and fuck around, bro time". They've made lazers! Talked about stuff! Debated why Martian Manhunter is THE superior Justice League member.

Danny understands. Wonder Woman is a BAMF. But he's biased, Tucker. He doesn't CARE if she has a sword and flowy, impressive locks! Shape-shifting telepath! From MARS!!! *imaginary mic drop*

And Tucker? Is conquering the YouTube scene with this charming, weird, relatable young alien. Who rambles about Space, debates nerd stuff, eats weird plants and describes them, and makes sci-fi technology! Theme? WHAT THEME? Phantom is a weird channel, man. You never know what you'll find!

And no one can get rid of it.

Believe them, governments have TRIED. Censorship? Not possible. Not without removing the whole SITE.

[y2kstarr]

Quickie with ceo!dilf!chris

࣪˖ ִ⭑ ࣪ warnings : 18+, smut w/ absolutely ZERO plot, car sex (unprotected), spitting (for like a quick second), squirting

You know... you never knew the seats of a car could genuinely lay completely flat.

Needless to say, Chris helped you figure out that they, in fact, definitely could.

"F-fuck—!" You yelped as he brutally fucked you into the leather passenger seat of his black lotus evora gt, the sound of skin slapping skin hardly even heard as whines and moans poured from your lips, an obscene symphony that had him gripping at the door to steady himself.

His breaths came out as grunted pants, his eyes trained down at where the two of you connected, watching as your sopping cunt sucked him in with each thrust, a sight that had him biting his bottom lip hard to hold back from coming right on the spot.

"Holy— shit, baby—" Chris groaned as he looked up at your face, a smug grin coming to his lips at the sight of your blissed out expression, brows furrowed, kiss-swollen lips parted, cheeks red and the edges of your hair starting to stick to your forehead from the sweating.

His hands gripped your thighs that hugged around his waist, dangling off of his hips in a weakened attempt to lock him in place, fingers digging into the soft plush as he fucked you nice and good, a deep thrust causing him to groan low, but as he looked back down, it just didn't feel deep enough.

"Need more of this perfect little pussy, fuck.." Chris nearly growled as he furrowed his brows in concentration, before biting his bottom lip and slipping his hand from the outside of your thigh to your inner, his pace coming to a stop for just a moment, though it didn't stop a needy whine from leaving your lips.

His hand pushed your leg up until he was able to grasp under your knee, lifting your calf to rest on his shoulder as his other hand slid from your second thigh to your hip, grasping tightly as the both of you looked down, a whimper leaving you as he opened you up even more.

And as he took an experimental thrust, a harmonious moan fell from both of your lips, the new angle serving to bury him deeper within your pillowy cunt.

"That's it, baby, fuck—" Chris groaned, finally moving his hips at a faster pace, the pleasure nearly exploding within you at how his cock hit all the places deep within that you didn't even know were there.

"This pussy's fuckin' amazing, holy— shhhit—" Chris threw his head back in a loud groan as you squeezed around him at his praising words, your sopping cunt sure to leave a wet mess all over his leather seat once this was all over.

Your head tilted up just in time to watch as he let saliva grow on his tongue, thick and plenty, before spiting it down at your pussy, coating your clit before he reached his hand down to press against your pelvis. His thumb rubbed circles against the bundle of nerves, your mouth falling open in a silent moan before your head fell back against the seat.

"O-ohhh— mmm—!" You whined out, your back arching as your nails dug crescents into his forearms, a low chuckle sounding from him before you felt him lean forward to grin against your throat, your hand leaving his arm to tangle your fingers within his brunet curls at the nape of his neck.

He pushed your thigh forward as his hips gave deep, steady thrusts, somehow hitting you even deeper now, his mushroom tip kissing your cervix and ripping a pornographic moan from your throat at the glorious pleasure.

"Ohh you fuckin' love that, don't you, sweetheart?" Chris teased you, only receiving babbled responses from you as your brain was practically mush at this point, a fuzzy concoction of overwhelming pleasure and burning desire for more of him.

Burning pleasure coiled within your stomach, a familiar feeling that never seemed to dim with him, but suddenly, your eyes widened as the feeling burned even brighter than before, more than you've ever felt, as his palm pressed firmly against your abdomen, his thumb still working over your clit.

"C-chris—" You gasped out, nerves in your voice from how strong the newfound feeling was building, your hands practically pawing at his arm and back as your body trembled with overwhelming pleasure, trying to escape the overstimulation but also wanting him to push you through your orgasm.

"Y' gonna cum, baby? Yeah?" Chris cooed teasingly, pressing kisses down the column of your throat as his hips snapped against yours, causing you to jolt with each thrust, his teeth bared against your neck as he groaned out his words. "Cum for me, cum all over this dick—"

Your legs trembled as your hips rocked up involuntarily, chasing that high that was barreling towards you at speeds you'd never known were possible, your chest heaving with pants. "Chris— C-chris!" You nearly screamed his name out, your mouth falling open as that pleasure finally burst within you. "F-FUCK—!"

These weren't just waves of ecstasy that washed over you, it was practically a tsunami of exploding rapture, sending your back into a harsh arch as your body trembled like a leaf, nails digging into his forearm and fingers tightening their grip in his hair. Juices gushed from your pussy in a manner you'd never experienced before, making an absolute mess on his cock and all over the edge of his passenger seat.

You could hardly hear Chris' cursed groans through your muffled ears from the mind blowing orgasm, but dots connected as his hips stuttered against yours before you felt his warm, thick cum paint your gummy walls, his breath hot against your throat.

"Fuckin'... shit..." Chris panted, before chuckling against your skin, his hand finally letting go of your thigh before sliding down to join his other at your hips. Your breathing mingled together in his car, the windows nearly fully fogged from your coupling. "Didn't know you could squirt like that, baby. Makin' my car all messy, huh..?" He teased, only to be met with a tired huff from you.

After a few more minutes of recouping, Chris slowly lifted himself up, a grin coming to his lips as he looked down at your fucked out state, your lidded eyes glancing up at him. A weak whine slipped from your lips as he gently pulled out of you, the empty feeling more prominent from your thrilling orgasm, but you couldn't stop from propping yourself up on your elbows to look down.

"Look at that..." Chris cooed, his hands gently spreading your thighs just a bit to get a better view of his cum dripping from your cunt, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your inner thighs as you let your head fall back against the leather seat with a shaky sigh.

"What a fuckin' sight."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

a / n : I need to fuck him BAD 😔 (also i totally didn't have to look up hot looking cars 🙄-)

Inbox, dms, and requests are all open, hit me up wheneva babies <33

🏷️ : @sillysillymatt, @jcsturniolo11, @strnilolover, @whore4mattsturniolo, @courta13, @sophand4n4, @blueboeh444, @mattspinkiefinger, @theyluvivi, @thecrawlys, @k4urltzx, @chrislova, @fadedstvrn, @emely9274, @raesturns, @hereforshits-snd-gigglesd, @sophsturns, @brookheartsmatt, @matts-girlfriend, @bernardsbendystraws, @miolos, @sturnsxbitvh, @annsx03, @tezzzzzzzz, @chrzzslvt, @ivysturnss, @mattsplaything, @sturniolosrtewsexy, @riggysworld, @chris-hallelujah, @bxsturni, @pip4444chris, @joanakaulitz, @liaisbroke, @wondersofthecosmos222, @luvs4matt, @sturns-mermaid, @araasturns, @zenithsturniolo

dividers → me

[yukkiji]

off-camera

in the blur of spotlight and fame, a secret relationship brews between a beloved actress and japan’s star athlete—where what happens off-camera becomes the most unforgettable part of their story.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. hinata shoyo x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, smut, timeskip!hinata, actress!reader

wc: 13.8k

warning: 18+ mdni., smut. nsfw. unprotected sex. cunnilingus. spanking. pining. (inform me if there's more)

author's note: okay, hinata might be a bit of ooc here but i loved writing this and i hope you guys enjoy it!

you were a rising star in the acting industry, already building an impressive fanbase and stacking up offers—films, guestings, endorsements, you name it.

and you first met hinata shoyo during one of your guest appearances on a late-night talk show.

you knew his name—honestly, who didn’t?

a household figure in the world of volleyball, the fiery msby black jackals ace who went on to represent japan in the olympics.

he walked onto the set with that sun-bright smile, hair still slightly damp from some earlier shoot, and energy so loud it practically announced him before the host did.

you told yourself to keep it professional. he was just another guest. just another athlete doing press.

but then he sat beside you.

and leaned in.

and said, “you’re even prettier off-screen.”

like it wasn’t being recorded. like he hadn’t just derailed your entire ability to speak with one sentence, delivered so casually it almost didn’t register—until it absolutely did.

you were a professional. you were media-trained, polished, always quick with a clever reply or a charming laugh. compliments were nothing new. you heard them constantly—from directors, co-stars, hosts trying to flatter their guests. they rolled off your shoulders like wardrobe lint.

so why was hinata shoyo different?

maybe it was the way he said it, not with the usual sleazy undertone or that overconfident smugness some actors wore like cologne. no, his words were honest. teasing, sure. a little cheeky. but his eyes held nothing but admiration—like he meant it. like he’d thought it before and just didn’t bother stopping himself from saying it out loud.

and of course, you were a blushing mess.

you laughed, tried to shake it off, but your voice cracked a little when you spoke next. you avoided eye contact. your fingers tightened ever so slightly around your water bottle. and everyone noticed. the internet noticed. clips of the moment hit social media before the segment was even over.

and just when you thought you’d regained composure, the host turned to hinata with a follow-up question—something harmless about training schedules and balancing fame.

he blinked, lips parted, then smiled sheepishly before leaning into his mic and saying:

“i’m sorry, can you repeat that? i got distracted by the beauty beside me.”

you nearly choked.

the audience exploded.

your heart dropped straight into your stomach, bounced off your dignity, and kept going.

the host lost it, practically doubled over in laughter. your co-guest looked between the two of you like they were witnessing the birth of a scandal in real time. someone backstage dropped something loud.

and you? you froze. laughed. covered your face with your hands for a second before daring to look at him.

he just grinned, bright and unbothered, legs bouncing slightly like he hadn’t just shattered your entire professional facade on national television.

and in that moment—caught between the studio lights, the screaming crowd, and the burning heat crawling up your neck—you realized two things.

one: hinata shoyo was dangerously charming.

and two: you were absolutely, completely screwed.

the internet ate it up, of course.

within minutes of the episode airing, your name and his were trending side by side. edits popped up like mushrooms after rain—slow-mo replays of the moment he called you beautiful, zoom-ins of your flustered face, fan-made fancams with captions like “get yourself someone who looks at you the way hinata looks at her.”

the comment sections were feral.

“i don’t know what PR is cooking but it ain’t better than THIS.” “forget that boring actor, have you seen her smile around hinata??” “they look like a romcom waiting to happen.” “chemistry? that wasn’t chemistry, that was a collision.”

people weren’t just shipping you with hinata—they were invested. comparing photos of you beside the actor your agency was trying to push versus you beside hinata. and the verdict? unanimous.

you and hinata looked better. laughed harder. felt more real.

you scrolled through it all in the backseat of your car on the way home from the taping, trying not to smile, trying very hard not to double-tap anything.

the tweets were unhinged. the fancams were already being set to romantic bgm. and someone had somehow managed to find a frame-by-frame analysis of the exact moment you broke into a flustered smile, claiming it was “the visual representation of falling in love.”

you were about to laugh—really laugh—when your manager’s voice cut through the buzzing high of your phone screen.

"as much as possible, refrain from interacting with hinata," they said without even looking at you. their tone was clipped, scrolling through their own tablet in the passenger seat. "his image isn't what we want linked to you. the actor is much more… fitting. marketable."

you blinked.

“marketable.” like you were a product on a shelf. like genuine chemistry could be replaced with staged photo ops and forced smiles.

you didn’t reply. just locked your phone and leaned your head against the window, city lights flickering past like strobe flashes.

but even then, behind your closed eyelids, you saw his grin. heard the way he’d said “the beauty beside me” like it wasn’t a joke—like he meant it.

it replayed in your head like a scene from a movie you weren’t ready to let go of.

and fate, apparently, was a hopeless romantic.

because a few days after the interview—after your manager’s firm insistence that any interaction with hinata shoyo was off the table, sealed, buried, and locked away—you ran into him.

completely unplanned. totally unscripted.

at a small café tucked into a quiet street, the kind of place where no one cared about fame and your name wasn’t flashing on a marquee.

you were in disguise. hood up, oversized sunglasses on, one of your dad’s old college hoodies pulled over your head like it was a cloak of invisibility. you just wanted coffee and a quiet corner.

what you got instead was hinata shoyo—seated two tables away, halfway through a matcha latte and scrolling through his phone like he had no idea the universe had just handed him a plot twist.

you froze.

he didn’t.

he looked up once. blinked. tilted his head. then smiled.

of course.

he got up casually, walked over like this was the most normal thing in the world, and slid into the seat across from you before you could even decide whether to run or pretend you were someone else entirely.

"seems like fate is on our side, huh?"

his voice was just as warm as you remembered it—easy, teasing, like this was some private joke between the two of you.

you blinked at him from behind your oversized sunglasses, mouth parting in disbelief. “you’re not supposed to be here,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t exactly his fault fate had terrible timing and a flair for drama.

"funny," he said, leaning in just a little, chin in his palm, "i was about to say the same thing about you."

his eyes flicked to your hoodie, to the sunglasses, to the way you were hunched low in your seat like you were avoiding paparazzi in a spy thriller.

"and yet... here you are. incognito and all."

you gave him a look, deadpan. “i’m serious. if someone sees us—”

"then they’ll see two people enjoying coffee." he shrugged, like it really was that simple. "and maybe they'll think, ‘wow, that guy’s lucky to be sitting with someone that pretty.’”

you choked on your sip of coffee.

he smiled like he knew he got you again. like he wanted to.

and just like the night of the interview, the cameras may not have been rolling this time—

but your heart was.

recording every second.

every grin.

every word that made you forget why this was supposed to be a bad idea.

you didn’t even realize how long the two of you had been sitting there in that little corner café, tucked behind dark shades and baseball caps, fingers curled around warm mugs and stolen glances. the outside world blurred, your responsibilities momentarily quiet. it should’ve been a quick encounter—one polite hello, maybe a laugh or two before going your separate ways.

but hinata had a way of anchoring you to the moment. like gravity in the shape of a boy with a foxlike grin and eyes that sparkled when he teased.

he’d slid into the seat across from you like he’d been doing it for years, one arm slung over the backrest, the other bringing his drink to his lips. his orange hair was slightly damp, messy from what you could only assume was post-training sweat. and speaking of training—

you hadn’t meant to notice it at first. but it was hard not to.

his compression shirt hugged his torso like it was custom-made, drawing attention to the lean muscle of his shoulders, the defined curve of his biceps. he’d thrown on a hoodie, sure, but left it unzipped—like he knew exactly what he was doing. like he wanted you to look.

and god, you were trying so hard not to.

your eyes flicked up to meet his, only to find him already staring.

his grin widened.

“you okay there?” he asked, feigning innocence, tilting his head slightly. “you’ve been staring at my chest for a while now.”

you nearly choked on your coffee.

“i wasn’t—!” you started, cheeks going hot. too hot. your voice cracked halfway through the denial. “i wasn’t staring.”

he raised a brow, leaning forward just a little—elbows on the table, smug written all over his face.

“uh huh.” he glanced down at himself, then back up at you with mock curiosity. “must be something really interesting down here then.”

you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“it’s just a shirt,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

“it’s a compression shirt,” he corrected, voice low and teasing, like he was thoroughly enjoying your slow descent into flustered oblivion. “made for performance. enhances blood flow. shows muscle definition…”

he smirked.

“…clearly working, huh?”

you hated how good he was at this. how effortless he made it seem. and yet, there was nothing cruel about it—nothing that felt mean-spirited. it was light, playful. flirty. but never below the belt.

still, your hands curled tighter around your mug as you fought the urge to smile.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered.

“and you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” he replied without missing a beat.

you rolled your eyes, but the warmth blooming in your chest betrayed you. no matter how much you tried to play it cool, hinata had this uncanny ability to slip right under your defenses—like it was second nature to him. his teasing wasn’t just harmless fun; it felt personal. intentional. like he wanted to see the way your guard cracked every time he looked at you like that.

he took another slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving yours, then leaned in slightly—chin propped on his hand, gaze too amused for your comfort.

"i’ve been meaning to ask for your number last time,” he said, voice a touch quieter now, more intimate. “but you were whisked away like cinderella at midnight.”

you huffed a laugh, setting your mug down. “i think cinderella at least got to say goodbye. i was practically shoved into the car by my manager like i’d committed a crime.”

“well,” he shrugged with a playful glint in his eye, “you did commit one.”

you raised an eyebrow. “oh? do tell.”

he leaned in just a little closer, enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne—clean, fresh, a little woodsy. unfairly distracting.

“you stole my attention,” he said, lips twitching into a grin. “and didn’t even leave a shoe behind.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. how did he say things like that without flinching? without even a hint of hesitation? like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you’re really going all in on the charm today, huh?”

he chuckled. “what can i say? i’ve got limited time. might as well make it count.”

and then, as if he hadn’t already knocked the wind out of you once, he added—softly, but without a trace of sarcasm,

"are you and that actor really a thing?"

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. it wasn’t accusatory or bitter—just curious. tentative. honest.

"no," you said, the word escaping with a sigh, your fingers absently circling the rim of your coffee cup. "pr stunt. apparently, for more exposure. buzz, clicks, articles—whatever keeps the spotlight burning."

you didn’t know why you felt the need to explain, but the moment you did, you felt lighter. like saying it out loud made it real—that you weren’t actually tied to someone else, that there was space for something else. someone else.

hinata leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment, eyes flickering down to his cup like he was turning something over in his head. and then—

"so you're saying there's a chance?" he asked, lips twitching into a grin that had no right being as endearing as it was.

you laughed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t hide the way your mouth curved, the way warmth bloomed somewhere deep in your chest again—persistent and impossible to ignore.

"you’re ridiculous," you muttered.

"but charming, right?"

your gaze flicked to his. he was relaxed in the chair, one arm casually slung over the backrest, still wearing that too-tight compression shirt that you swore he knew was unfair. it clung to him in all the right places, stretching across his chest and shoulders with an ease that made it impossible not to glance—more than once.

he caught you doing it again, of course.

"you keep looking at me like that," he teased, tilting his head, "and i’m gonna think you’re into me or something."

"maybe i’m just admiring the poor fabric trying its best to survive."

he laughed—loud and boyish and unguarded—and for a second, it made the world feel simple. like there were no managers waiting outside, no headlines looming, no risk in sitting here with him.

"next time, i’ll wear something looser," he said, still grinning.

"don’t."

the word slipped out before you could stop it, and it hung in the air between you—bold and shameless.

his eyebrows shot up. "oh?"

you cleared your throat, reaching for your drink to hide your flustered smile. "i mean... wear whatever. i don’t care."

but you did. and he knew.

and when he smiled again, this time it was softer. knowing. as if he was silently agreeing: yeah, this was definitely not a bad idea.

you shifted in your seat, heart beating far too fast for a casual café meetup, and fished your phone out of your coat pocket. with a playful raise of your brow, you slid it across the table to him.

"here—before my fairy grandmother calls and turns the carriage back into a press van."

he laughed, a real one, eyes crinkling with amusement. "so you are cinderella."

"more like cinderella with a publicist and a fake relationship contract."

"even better," he said, already tapping in his number, the screen lighting up in his hands. "means i still get to be the guy chasing you down with a glass slipper."

"or a phone number," you muttered, trying not to smile too obviously as you watched his fingers fly across the screen.

"both," he said, handing your phone back. "except i won't lose you this time."

and somehow, despite the noise of the café, despite the chaos of everything that had led to this moment, that sentence landed like a promise. it made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t want to name. not yet.

he stood then, stretching a little, and your eyes betrayed you once again—flickering briefly to the way the fabric of his compression shirt moved with him. he caught it. again.

"really should’ve worn something looser," he said with a smirk, voice just low enough to make your face heat.

"you’re impossible."

"but charming, right?" he repeated, grinning as he grabbed his drink.

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the warmth blooming under your skin as he added, just before heading to the counter to grab a napkin,

"text me when you get home. and don’t disappear this time, cinderella."

he was halfway across the café before you realized—you were already reaching for your phone. already saving his contact. already typing something with a smile you couldn’t hide anymore.

it didn’t stop there.

one secret meetup turned into two. then three. then so many that you stopped counting.

you were both careful—god, you were careful. hoodies pulled low, caps shadowing your eyes, oversized sunglasses that made you look like you stepped out of a badly disguised spy movie. it should’ve felt ridiculous. sometimes it did.

but then hinata would catch sight of you from across the court—eyes lighting up mid-warm-up, a split second longer than necessary before he returned to his team—and suddenly, it was all worth it.

you’d sit high up in the stands, blending in with the crowd. pretending not to care. pretending like your chest didn’t swell every time he made a point, like you weren’t dying to run to him when his name echoed through the stadium.

after games, sometimes he’d find a way to slip away. duck behind staff exits, or fake a phone call just long enough to sneak into the backseat of a tinted car, breathless and grinning.

“you came again?” he’d whisper, like it was still unbelievable. like your presence wasn’t the thing that kept him going through grueling practice runs and double overtime.

“wouldn’t miss it,” you’d murmur back, brushing a strand of hair out of your face before it got caught in his jacket when he leaned in.

on off days, you’d meet at quieter places—a ramen shop near the river where no one paid attention, or a convenience store at 11 p.m. with instant noodles and laughter echoing off vending machines.

you learned that he trained too hard and slept too little. that his days blurred into morning drills and late-night strategy reviews, protein shakes and aching joints. he never complained, but sometimes—just sometimes—he’d let his voice soften during your calls, the exhaustion slipping through like cracks in glass. and you’d listen, quietly, offering nothing but your presence and the occasional: “you’ve done enough today, shoyo.”

he learned you hated the fake PR relationship. that you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt whenever your team sent over a new headline pairing you with that actor. the one who barely knew anything about you. who didn’t know your favorite song, or how you hated the cold, or that you could never finish a drink without biting the straw until it was bent out of shape. hinata did. he noticed everything, quietly.

he wasn’t the jealous type, not really. not in the possessive way that made people petty or loud. but on nights when you called him after a red carpet event or a staged dinner with your so-called co-star, he’d scoff.

lightly. like it was nothing.

“looked cozy with him tonight,” he’d say, clearly not meaning it. but also clearly meaning something.

you’d roll your eyes. “we were both acting. that’s the point.”

“yeah, well,” he'd mutter, “maybe i should start showing up to premieres in a suit and pretend to be your bodyguard or something. see how he likes that.”

it made you laugh. always did. because hinata didn’t know how to be jealous in the normal way. he didn’t brood or sulk. he just... got quiet. thoughtful. like maybe he was wondering if the world would ever let you be his for real.

but he never asked you to stop. never made you choose. he just waited—trusting, steady—like someone who believed that whatever you were building together could survive the noise.

and every time you heard that soft scoff or the way he’d shift his voice, just a little sharper, a little less sunny, you wanted to say: it’s not real. he’s not you. he’ll never be you.

but instead you’d promise, “soon,” because that’s all you could offer in the quiet, secret space you and hinata had carved between the cameras. and for now, it was enough.

what surprised you most—though maybe it shouldn’t have—was that hinata wasn’t just patient. he was your biggest fan.

he made it his personal mission to collect every magazine cover you were on, even if it meant ducking into convenience stores in full hoodie-disguise, mask on, hoping no one would recognize japan’s star volleyball player clutching three copies of elle like they were limited edition.

he’d send you pictures, too—half blurry, always with a dumb grin on his face.

“guess who’s on aisle three again?” he’d text, along with a photo of your face next to some shampoo ad, and “i told the cashier i knew you. she didn’t believe me.”

he made a point to stop and stare (dramatically) at every billboard you were on, whether it was in shibuya crossing or a random subway station. once, he even asked a stranger to take a photo of him standing beneath one. arms crossed. chin tilted up.

you could see the pride in his smile, even through the screen.

“should’ve signed it for me,” he’d tease, and you could only laugh, cheeks warm with something heavier than affection—something that felt dangerously like love.

he didn’t treat your career like it was something intimidating or separate from him. he treated it like something to cheer for. something to be proud of. and in those moments, between your exhaustion and his training, you realized that hinata didn’t just see the version of you the world wanted—he saw all of you. and still, he stayed.

still, he smiled.

still, he bought every single magazine.

every cover you landed on, every spread you graced—hinata had it tucked somewhere in his apartment. he never made a big deal about it, but you’d catch glimpses: one stacked beside his bed, another on the coffee table, a few more carefully placed on a shelf like trophies he didn’t win but still celebrated.

your shared off-days were quiet rebellions against the lives you both led in public. no disguises, no handlers, no staged smiles. just dim lighting, takeout containers, and the kind of peace that only came when the world wasn’t watching.

his place was your favorite hideout. not because it was spacious (it wasn’t), or particularly tidy (it definitely wasn’t), but because it smelled like him—fabric softener and worn-in cotton and just a hint of sweat from training. real. grounding.

you’d spend hours doing absolutely nothing. tangled in his sheets or curled on his couch, limbs overlapping like it was second nature. his arm slung over your waist. your fingers tracing absentminded patterns across the ridges of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. breathing in sync, like you’d practiced this rhythm your whole life.

sometimes, the kisses started lazy. playful. you straddling him without meaning to, a knee on either side of his hips while you teased him about something he said, your face hovering just close enough to make him chase it. his hands would find your thighs like muscle memory, pulling you down gently until your bodies met in full.

and then it would shift—slow lips becoming deeper, hungrier. like every second spent apart had built up behind a dam now cracking under the weight of want. you kissed like you were trying to memorize each other all over again, mouths moving in sync, breaths coming faster, more uneven.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your mouth. his palms, warm and sure, pressed into the curve of your spine, pulling you closer until your bodies aligned, chest to chest, like puzzle pieces that just fit.

his hands slid beneath the oversized hoodie you were wearing—his, of course. they moved with purpose, calloused fingertips skimming over your bare skin, teasing the soft dip of your waist before finding the swell of your breast. he cupped you gently at first, thumbs brushing just enough to draw a breathy gasp from your lips.

the sound made him smirk into the kiss, all boyish mischief and quiet satisfaction, like he was proud of himself for getting that kind of reaction from you.

“so sensitive,” he murmured against your mouth, the words a soft tease, but his tone reverent—like he was discovering something precious and trying to take his time with it.

your hips shifted instinctively, grinding down into his lap, and he let out a low, shaky breath—eyes fluttering shut as if your weight alone could undo him. his hands tightened on your waist, holding you there like he never wanted you to move. like he wanted to feel every shiver of your body right against his.

the kiss deepened again, slower this time, but still just as urgent. it was the kind of kiss that made time blur, that made your stomach flutter and your fingers twitch with the need to feel more. you could feel the heat of him through the thin barrier of clothing between you, his breath coming faster whenever you shifted just right.

his hoodie—oversized on you—was pushed up halfway by his touch, and when his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts again, you arched into him with a soft, broken sound that had him smiling into the kiss.

“you’re trouble,” he whispered, voice roughened by want, his lips ghosting along your jaw, down your neck, where he lingered just enough to leave goosebumps in his wake. “you know that?”

you mumbled something in response, too breathless to be coherent, threading your fingers through his hair again and tugging lightly—because you knew how much he liked that. and he did, a quiet groan escaping him as he pulled you closer, letting you feel just how hard it was for him to stay patient.

but you two never let it go too far. not all the way. there was a kind of tenderness in your restraint—a quiet agreement between the two of you. this wasn’t just about need. it was about trust, about the slow, magnetic pull between two people who wanted everything but weren’t in a rush to take it all at once.

still, there were moments—lazy, drawn-out nights in his apartment or yours—where your hands would wander a little more boldly. where the kisses would trail lower. where you’d end up tangled in his sheets, soft moans filling the dim light between mouthfuls of laughter and whispered promises.

and sometimes, when the tension built too high and the ache was too much to ignore, he’d take his time with you—slow, unhurried, and focused like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. and maybe in those moments, you were.

you’d sink into the couch, already breathless just from the look he gave you. and he’d kneel between your thighs, hands steady and eyes locked to yours as if asking, again, silently, for permission. and when you nodded, or whispered his name, it was like flipping a switch.

because hinata could eat like a man starved.

his mouth was reverent, like he was worshiping more than just your body. he listened to every gasp, every soft cry, adjusting his pace, his pressure, until you were arching against his tongue, one hand gripping his hair, the other over your mouth to muffle the kind of sounds the neighbors definitely didn’t need to hear.

and when he finally pulled back, lips slick and eyes heavy-lidded with pride and affection, he’d always kiss your thigh, rest his cheek against it like it was the most natural thing in the world. and you'd laugh, breathless and dazed, brushing your fingers through his hair like you couldn’t quite believe how lucky you were.

those nights weren’t about release. they were about intimacy. trust. knowing someone would learn every part of you without rushing to take all of you.

and in that slow burn, in that secret, sacred space you shared—it always felt like enough.

but maybe the tension had already reached its peak the night you went to watch one of his games, still hidden beneath a hoodie and cap, tucked into the farthest seat you could find. you weren’t supposed to be there. no one knew. but you had to see him—not through a screen or a photo or someone else’s words. you needed to watch him move. to feel that electric pull in real time.

and something inside you always shifted whenever he played.

it wasn’t just the way he moved—though that was part of it. it was the way he pushed his body past its limits, the way his jaw set with determination, the way he called for the ball like he knew the whole court belonged to him. and yes, maybe the way his arms flexed after a spike or how his shirt clung to his back didn’t help the ache low in your stomach.

you were so wound up from watching him that when your phone buzzed, and it was his name lighting up the screen—“come to my room?”—you didn’t even hesitate.

you were already halfway there when you texted back, “on my way.”

his hotel room door opened just as you were about to knock, like he’d been standing there waiting. his hair was still damp from the post-game shower, and he was dressed in just a loose shirt and sweats—but his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“you came,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

“you called,” you replied simply, stepping inside, heart pounding, heat still coiled tight in your chest from watching him earlier.

the moment the door shut behind you, it was like the space between you snapped. he didn’t waste time with small talk—just reached for you, tugged you forward, and kissed you like he needed it as badly as you did.

and you kissed him back like you’d been holding it in all night.

your back hit the wall before you even realized he was walking you there—his hands gripping your waist, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like it could anchor you through the rush of it all. his lips never left yours, moving with a hunger that had been simmering under the surface for far too long.

he kissed like he was trying to make up for every second you’d spent apart. like the crowd, the court, the noise—all of it faded the second you walked through that door.

his body pressed flush against yours, one knee sliding between your legs, widening your stance. and then his hands—hot and sure—moved under the hem of your hoodie, finding bare skin and dragging a gasp from your throat.

you moaned into his mouth, and he smiled against your lips, a low sound of satisfaction rumbling from his chest.

“missed you,” he breathed between kisses, and you could barely answer, too busy chasing the next touch, the next kiss, the next place his hands would go.

he pressed you harder into the wall like he couldn’t stand the distance between your bodies—not even an inch. not now.

not after tonight.

"baby, tell me you want this. i don't think i can hold back anymore," he said, voice low and frayed at the edges, each word pressed into your skin like a confession.

his mouth trailed down to your neck—slow, deliberate—until he found that spot, the one he knew too well. the one that always made you shiver, no matter how many times he found it.

he lingered there, lips brushing over it once, then again, just to feel the way your body reacted, the way your breath caught, the way your hands clutched tighter at his shoulders.

“right here, huh?” he murmured against your skin, the smile in his voice unmistakable. he sucked, just a little—just enough to make your knees wobble and your head fall back against the wall with a soft whimper.

you weren’t sure what gave you away first: the way your hips tilted toward him like gravity had shifted, or the way your hands were already under his shirt, dragging it up, desperate for more skin.

“yes, shoyo. please,” you moaned—soft, breathy, and unguarded.

his breath hitched at the sound, like it struck something deep inside him. your voice—like that—was a kind of possession. one no crowd, no camera, no spotlight could ever compete with. it was his, and his alone.

“you have no idea what that does to me,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours for a second, as if grounding himself. and then his lips were back on yours—slower this time, but deeper. every kiss full of something he didn’t always know how to say out loud.

his hands were on the hem of your shirt, pausing, eyes flicking up to meet yours—checking, asking without a word. you gave him a nod, barely more than a breath, but it was all he needed.

in one fluid motion, your shirt was peeled away, tossed to the floor without a second thought. his hands were reverent—warm, calloused from endless hours of practice, but gentle as they skimmed over the bare skin now exposed to him.

your pants followed shortly after, unbuttoned with trembling fingers and slipped down your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. they were flung carelessly across the room, a forgotten casualty in the urgency that pulsed between you.

“god, you’re…” his voice trailed off as his gaze dragged over every inch of you. there was awe there. hunger, too—but not the kind that rushed. this was slower. deeper. like he wanted to savor you.

he leaned in again, pressing kisses from your collarbone to your sternum, then lower, each one leaving a trail of warmth and intent. “been thinking about this since the moment you walked into the stadium,” he murmured, lips brushing the skin just above your bra. “you drive me insane, you know that?”

you let out a small squeak when hinata suddenly lifted you with ease, strong hands gripping the underside of your thighs, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. his mouth was back on yours before your back even hit the mattress—hot, urgent, tasting of everything you’d both held back until now.

his weight hovered just enough not to crush you, but you could feel every inch of him, feel the way his restraint was fraying with every second.

your hands found his shoulders, dragging down the smooth, toned lines of his back as you gasped against his lips, “shōyō… take off your shirt too.”

he pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, chest rising and falling with sharp, shallow breaths. “yeah?” he teased, voice low, fingers already reaching for the hem of his shirt. “been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

you only bit your lip in response, watching with wide, hungry eyes as he peeled it off in one motion—revealing the full view of his sculpted chest, the lines of muscle carved from years of training, the light sheen of sweat from the game still clinging to his skin.

“this what had you distracted the whole match?” he said, leaning closer, his nose brushing yours, that teasing grin back on his face. “because i saw you. front row. couldn’t even look away when i stretched, huh?”

you hated how right he was.

and he knew it—especially when your hands slid down his chest like you were confirming every part of it was real.

his lips found your neck again, mouth warm and relentless as he left a trail of small, possessive love bites. each one pressed into the sensitive skin with just enough pressure to make you whimper, to make you shift beneath him. you knew they’d darken into purple and red by morning—badges of something secret, something sacred—and the thought made your breath hitch.

his hands slid around your back with practiced ease, fingers finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it in one smooth motion. you barely registered the sound of it being flung somewhere behind you, too focused on the way his eyes dropped, hungry and reverent all at once.

the chill of the hotel room kissed your skin, and your nipples perked up from the sudden cold—but before you could shiver, his warm palms were already there, cupping your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath catch. his thumbs brushed softly over the peaks, slow and purposeful, and the contrast of his touch against your cooled skin made your back arch almost instinctively.

he chuckled, low and warm, his breath ghosting over your collarbone. “so sensitive, baby,” he murmured, like he was committing every sound you made to memory.

his mouth dipped lower again, this time latching onto one nipple, tongue flicking in slow, teasing circles while his fingers rolled the other between his fingertips. you whimpered, hips bucking lightly beneath him, needing more—needing him.

“you always get like this for me,” he said, pulling away just long enough to whisper the words directly into your skin, “so perfect, so responsive.”

his lips latched onto your other nipple, tongue swirling, sucking gently—giving it the same slow, thorough attention while his free hand traced hot trails down your body. the pads of his fingers danced along your stomach, pausing just briefly at the waistband of your underwear before slipping beneath.

he didn’t rush. he touched you like he had all night—like he wanted to memorize every reaction.

his fingers found your clit, and he started slow, dragging them up and down with the lightest pressure, teasing, testing. your hips jerked at the contact, breath catching in your throat as he began to circle, gradually adding just enough pressure to make your thighs tense around him.

“s-shoyo. ngh,” you moaned, your voice shaky, almost pleading. “it feels so good…”

he hummed against your chest, clearly pleased by every sound that escaped your lips.

“yeah? already this wet for me, baby?” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. his fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles over your clit, then dipped down to gather more of your slickness before returning, dragging out every wave of sensitivity. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

then, without warning, one finger slid inside of you—slow but sure—stretching you just enough to make your back arch off the bed, a sharp gasp catching in your throat.

“sh-shoyo—” you breathed, hips pushing forward instinctively.

his lips never left your skin, still trailing across your chest—kissing, sucking, his tongue flicking over your nipple with slow, deliberate devotion. every movement was purposeful, almost reverent. he touched you like you were sacred—like he needed to memorize the taste of your skin, the way your body reacted to him, every breathless sound he pulled from your lips.

then, he added another finger—sliding in beside the first, curling just right. your hips jolted as another moan escaped you, raw and needy. and when a third joined, moving in rhythm, his palm grinding softly against your clit, you swore you could’ve come undone right then. just from his fingers. just from his mouth on your chest.

“gonna cum, baby?” he asked, voice low and thick, his lips now hovering over yours.

you nodded quickly, almost desperate—but he pulled back just an inch, teasing.

“i want words, baby. tell me.”

“yes—ugh, shoyo—please, i’m gonna cum,” you gasped, barely holding it in.

that was all it took for him to smile, all soft and satisfied, before kissing you again—deep, consuming, like he wanted to feel your pleasure through your mouth.

and then it hit—your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding. your body arched, back lifting from the sheets, thighs trembling around his hand. for a moment, everything blurred, all thought wiped away by the intensity of it. all you could see were stars behind your closed eyes.

then, gently, his hand moved up to your cheek, brushing back a few damp strands of hair. his thumb caressed your skin, grounding you, coaxing you back into your body.

“you did so good,” he murmured, voice soft but thick with heat. his eyes were locked on yours, gaze heavy with something deeper—affection, need, pride. “my good girl.”

he pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and reassuring. but when he pulled back, the smirk that curved his mouth told you everything.

“but we’re not done yet.”

true to his words, hinata pulled you toward the edge of the bed, his hands firm but gentle as he guided you exactly where he wanted you. he dropped to his knees before you, eyes dark with hunger as they swept over your body—bare, flushed, and still trembling from your last orgasm.

your soaked panties were peeled off slowly, almost teasingly, before being tossed aside to join the scattered pile of clothes on the floor.

you were completely bare now. exposed. vulnerable. wanted.

his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them with ease, and he looked up at you like you were the only thing that existed.

“all mine,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. “so fucking beautiful.”

then he leaned in.

his tongue met your folds with no hesitation—lapping you up like he’d been craving you for days. it was messy, intense, almost greedy. he flattened his tongue against your clit, dragging slow, deliberate strokes before switching to firm, rhythmic suction that made your hips jerk and a strangled moan catch in your throat.

“fuck—shoyo,” you gasped, hand flying to his hair, fingers curling tight as he buried himself deeper.

hinata always ate you out like this. like he worshipped the taste of you. like your body was something sacred and he was the only one allowed to kneel before it. each lick, each suck, each flick of his tongue was laced with the kind of hunger that left your legs shaking around his head.

he moaned against you—low and guttural—the vibration making your toes curl. he thrived on the way you trembled, on the way your thighs tried to clamp shut around his face. and he didn’t stop. not when you cried out, not when your hips bucked up against his mouth. in fact, he gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open like a man on a mission.

“so fucking sweet,” he murmured between strokes, “you were made for this.”

your hands moved instinctively, cupping your breasts and squeezing, thumbing over your own nipples in desperate search of more friction—more of everything. and hinata looked up just long enough to see you like that—head thrown back, lips parted, hands on your chest as your body begged for more.

god, he nearly lost it right there.

“fuck—baby,” he groaned, voice rough with want, “you’re gonna make me cum just watching you touch yourself like that.”

but he didn’t stop. if anything, it spurred him on—his mouth working even faster, tongue flicking and circling your clit with purpose. his grip on your thighs tightened, dragging you impossibly closer to the edge of the bed, like he needed to be closer, like he’d crawl inside you if he could.

every moan you let out, every tremble in your legs, was feeding something wild in him. it lit him up from the inside, drove him deeper into you with an intensity that felt almost primal. he wasn’t stopping—not until you were unraveling again, trembling and wrecked, completely his.

“sho—i’m coming,” you gasped, voice breaking on the edge of a cry.

hinata looked up briefly, his eyes dark and full of hunger, lips glistening with your slick. “go on, baby,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel and heat. “cum for me. i want it—need it.”

and with that, his mouth was back on you, sucking and licking like he knew every spot that made you come undone. it didn’t take long—your second orgasm slammed into you like a jolt of lightning, thighs tightening around his head, body convulsing under the weight of your release. your hands gripped the sheets, breath catching in your throat as the pleasure surged through you.

he didn’t stop until your legs were trembling, twitching from overstimulation, and your breath came in broken gasps. only then did he slow, tongue now soft and lazy, his lips trailing reverent kisses along your inner thighs—like he was thanking you for letting him worship you.

hinata rose from between your legs, crawling back up your body. his hands smoothed over your sides, warm and grounding, gently coaxing you back to earth. he pressed his lips to your shoulder, then your collarbone, each kiss a soft anchor.

“still want to continue?” he murmured between kisses, voice low, tender—but laced with heat.

his eyes searched yours, fingers still drawing slow, soothing circles on your hips, grounding you in the moment. there was no rush in him now—just heat, reverence, and something deeper.

“of course,” you whispered, voice a little hoarse from all the moaning, but filled with certainty. your hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. he leaned into your touch instantly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, as if grounding himself in you.

“my girl,” he breathed, so softly it was almost a prayer, before he kissed your palm, then your lips again—slower this time, but no less hungry.

with gentle care, hinata shifted beside you, adjusting your position so you were lying comfortably against the pillows. he smoothed your hair back from your face and tucked a pillow beneath your lower back, like he knew exactly what your body needed after everything.

“there,” he murmured, voice still thick with affection and desire, “comfy?”

you nodded, heart fluttering as he kissed your forehead, then your jaw, then trailed lower again, as if starting all over—but this time, slower, deeper, more deliberate.

he wasn’t just taking his time now. he was savoring you.

your hand trailed slowly down his chest, fingertips brushing over his skin with intent. you felt the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch—every inch of him responding to you. your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats, tugging at the knot, and without hesitation, hinata helped you, quickly shimmying out of them, his boxers following right after.

your hand wrapped around his length, warm and pulsing in your grip. he hissed softly through his teeth, his hips twitching at your touch. he was big—thick and long, the veins along his shaft prominent beneath your fingers. the sight of him, paired with the heat radiating off his body, had your mouth watering and your core clenching in anticipation.

hinata’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as you stroked him slowly, your thumb grazing the bead of precum that had gathered at the tip.

“fuck,” he breathed, voice rough and low, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

your body was already responding to him again, the ache between your thighs growing deeper, wetter, as you imagined what it would feel like to have him inside you—stretching, filling, claiming. your legs shifted restlessly beneath him, need blooming hot and fast all over again.

“shoyo, can i suck?” you asked, voice soft, eyes wide and innocent—but laced with heat. hinata swore under his breath, jaw tightening at the sight of you like that, looking up at him so sweet and desperate.

he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours as he chuckled lowly. “not now, baby. maybe next time, yeah?”

you pouted, lips pushing out slightly, and it only made his cock twitch in your hand. but he just shook his head, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“i want to pleasure you,” he murmured, voice deep with intent, “tonight’s all about you.”

he kisses you again—slow and warm, with a hint of growing urgency—before pulling back just enough to reach toward the drawer beside the bed.

his brows furrowed a little as he rummaged through it. “shit,” he muttered under his breath, still searching.

you bit back a smile, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. “can’t find it?”

“i swear i put one in here,” he grumbled, lifting and shuffling through random things—lip balm, a stray pen, an old receipt—everything but what he needed.

“it’s okay,” you said softly, resting a hand on his arm. “i’m on the pill.”

he paused, eyes flicking to yours, the heat in them momentarily eclipsed by something tender—concern.

“are you sure, baby?” his voice was low, careful, but laced with desire.

you nodded, your thumb brushing slow circles against his skin. “you don’t have to worry about going raw with me.”

his jaw flexed, clearly affected, and he leaned in to kiss you—slow, deep, reverent. when he pulled back, his voice was rough with restraint.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

he pulls you closer, one hand gripping your hip as the other wraps around his cock. he drags the head through your folds, teasing your clit, smearing your slick over the tip and down his length. the sensation makes you gasp, hips twitching toward him.

“so wet already,” he groans, his voice low and shaky, “all for me, huh?”

he keeps rubbing the tip against you, slow and deliberate, letting the tension build. every little twitch in your thighs, every stuttered breath, was making him lose his mind.

“fuck, shoyo, stop teasing.”

your voice was breathless, almost whining, and it made him smirk—eyes dark with want.

“can’t help it,” he murmured, dragging the head of his cock over your entrance one more time, just to hear you gasp. “you’re too perfect like this. squirming for me.”

but then he leaned down, kissed you like he couldn’t bear to wait any longer—and he didn’t.

with one slow, steady push, he began to slide in, inch by inch, filling you completely.

he was big—thicker, longer than anyone you’d ever had—and your walls clung to him greedily, stretching around every inch. it burned in the best way, a slow, delicious ache that had your breath catching in your throat.

your eyes fluttered open as you pulled back from the kiss, gasping. instinctively, you looked down between you, where your bodies met—where his cock was slowly sinking deeper into you—and your stomach flipped at the sight. he wasn’t even all the way in, just halfway, but you already felt impossibly full.

“fuck,” you whispered, legs trembling, fingers digging into his shoulders. “shoyo, you’re… so big.”

he groaned, low and strained, watching every twitch in your face with hungry eyes. “you’re taking me so well, baby,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “so tight… feel so fucking good around me.”

you could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head the moment he finally bottomed out—every inch of him snug inside you, stretching you just right. your breath hitched, and your nails dug slightly into his back as you tried to ground yourself.

hinata paused there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours. he was breathing just as hard, holding himself still for you, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. his restraint was barely holding, his muscles trembling with it.

“you okay?” he whispered, voice rough and shaky.

you nodded, lips brushing his. “you can move now, shoyo. please.”

that was all he needed.

hinata moved with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface—now unleashed. his thrusts were deep and purposeful, hitting all the right spots with practiced ease. it was overwhelming in the best way, the drag and push of him inside you sending your mind spiraling.

he was feral, and you loved every second of it.

the way he gripped your thighs, the way his hips slammed against yours—it was like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of you. each thrust had your breath catching, your moans spilling freely into the air between you.

and god, the sounds—skin meeting skin, his low groans, your gasps—they could send you straight into cloud nine.

his name tumbled from your lips like a chant—shoyo, shoyo, shoyo—your nails digging into his back as he fucked you like he needed you to breathe. his pace was relentless, but not careless; he knew your body too well, chasing every twitch, every gasp, every tremble like it was a reward.

“look at you,” he gritted out, sweat dripping from his brow as he hovered over you, his thumb finding your clit and circling it just right. “taking me so fucking good.”

“fuck—look at that,” he growled, eyes glued to where your bodies met. his cock twitched deep inside you at the sight of your slick coating him, a creamy ring forming at the base. “you’re making such a mess on me, baby.”

his thrusts deepened, slow but punishing, each one pulling a gasp or moan from your lips. his thumb never let up on your clit, drawing tight circles that made your thighs tremble around his hips.

“feel that?” he groaned, pressing your hand down gently against your own lower belly, his eyes locked on yours, dark and wild with desire. “that’s me—so deep inside you.”

you could feel it—his cock, thick and pulsing, pressing against your insides from the inside out. the sensation made your breath hitch, made your body clench tight around him, earning a low, broken moan from his lips.

“fuck, baby… you’re so wet,” he muttered, hips rolling with deeper intent now, grinding into you as if he wanted to mold himself to every part of you. “can feel you dripping all over me.”

your body was burning, shaking with overstimulation and pleasure—but the way he moved, touched, and praised you only made the fire grow hotter.

“you gonna cum for me again?” he asked, thumb working your clit faster now. “wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

"yes shoyo, fuck, i'm cumming," you moaned.

hinata pulled out just slightly before slamming back in, his thrusts becoming more erratic, rougher, deeper—chasing both your highs like he needed it to breathe.

the only words you could form were broken chants of his name, over and over, like a prayer on your tongue—and he loved it. every sound you made pushed him closer to the edge.

hinata's eyes were wide in awe at the sight before him. you looked breathtaking—mouth open in bliss, chanting his name like it was the only word you knew, your tits bouncing with every deep thrust, decorated with the red and purple marks he'd left across your skin.

to him, you weren’t just beautiful. you were a goddess—divine, untouchable, and yet here you were, unraveling just for him.

he lets out a deep, guttural groan as he feels your walls clench tighter around him. you were so close—he could feel it in the way your body trembled, in the desperate way you held onto him. and fuck, so was he.

“come on, baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, breath shaky against your ear. “cum for me. i wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

his thrusts were deeper now, heavier—less rhythm, more need. the way you clenched around him, warm and tight, was making him unravel faster than he wanted to admit. but he held on, just long enough to get you there.

his thumb found your clit again, circling it with practiced pressure. your moans grew higher, breathier, body tensing beneath him. your hands clawed at his back, nails dragging down as the pleasure built and built until you couldn’t take it anymore.

you cried out his name, voice breaking, back arching off the mattress as your orgasm slammed into you like a wave. your whole body shook with it—legs trembling, walls fluttering around him so tightly he almost saw stars.

“that’s it,” he groaned, watching you fall apart completely. “just like that, baby. fuck—”

the way you squeezed him, so wet, so perfect, pushed him right over the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken moan, spilling inside you. his hips stilled, trembling slightly, chest heaving as he pressed his forehead against yours.

you both stayed like that for a moment, breath mingling, skin hot and slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.

“fuck… you’re perfect,” he murmured again, softer this time, almost reverent. his arms wrapped around you protectively, pulling you into his chest like you were something fragile and precious.

your fingers found his hair, running through it gently, grounding both of you. and for a few quiet seconds, the world disappeared—just him, just you, tangled in warmth and something deeper than either of you could name.

hinata leans in, breath still heavy, and begins peppering your face with soft kisses—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, anywhere his lips could reach. between each kiss, he mumbled in that warm, husky voice, “good girl… so good for me… fuck, you’re amazing…”

his fingers gently ran up and down your sides, grounding you as your body slowly came down from the high. you were still shaking slightly, but his touch was tender, soothing. each press of his lips felt like reassurance, like he couldn’t get enough of you—not just the sex, but you.

“you did so good,” he whispered again, eyes soft as they met yours. “you’re everything.”

he pulled you closer into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. his hand rubbed your back in slow, lazy circles while he continued to kiss your hairline.

of course, it didn’t stop with just one round.

the two of you were insatiable—drunk on each other, on every touch, every kiss, every moan that fell between tangled sheets. it was like something had snapped the moment he first slid into you, and now, neither of you could stop. time blurred, and the only thing that mattered was the way you felt in his arms, how perfectly your bodies moved together.

at one point, you were straddling him, thighs shaking but determined, riding his cock at your own rhythm. hinata laid beneath you, flushed and panting, his eyes dark with lust and adoration. his hands roamed your waist, guiding your movements as his mouth latched onto your breasts—kissing, licking, sucking like he couldn't get enough. he moaned against your skin every time you sank down fully, the wet drag of your bodies moving together making you both shudder.

"just like that, baby… ride me," he whispered, voice hoarse, lips brushing against your nipple. your name tumbled from his lips like a prayer, like you were something divine—something to be worshipped.

but he needed more.

he flipped you over with ease, manhandling you like you weighed nothing. the next thing you knew, you were on your knees, face down in the pillows, your ass raised high for him. he knelt behind you, hands spreading your cheeks as he watched his cock slide back into you with ease, slick from everything you’d already shared. the angle had you seeing stars instantly, your cries muffled in the sheets.

"fuck, look at this pussy... taking me so good," he groaned, leaning forward to press his chest against your back, his hand wrapping around both your wrists and pinning them behind you. you felt so exposed, so completely at his mercy—and you loved it.

his free hand found your hip, pulling you back into him with every thrust, and then—

smack.

his palm came down on your ass, the sting blooming across your skin and making you clench around him. he grunted, losing himself a little more every time your body reacted like that.

your mind was a haze of heat and pleasure, completely undone. words stopped making sense. all you could manage were broken, breathless moans and endless chants of his name.

you had no idea how many times you'd come—three? five? more?—but every time you thought you couldn’t take anymore, hinata gave you another reason to fall apart.

he never once let you go untouched. his lips, his hands, his voice—they were all over you. his mouth kissed your spine, your shoulders, your neck. he kept whispering filthy praise, calling you his good girl, his perfect baby, his everything.

"you’re so fucking pretty when you fall apart for me," he breathed, fingers digging into your waist. "so tight—so wet. fuck, i can’t get enough."

your legs trembled, body slick with sweat, sheets tangled around your limbs—but still, you wanted more. and so did he.

and long into the night, even when your body was too spent to move, he’d still be touching you, still be pressing kisses to your skin, still making you feel wanted, worshipped—completely his.

because this wasn’t just about sex.

it was about you. and for hinata, that was everything.

you thought you were done.

your bodies were sore, your legs barely steady, and your throats hoarse from the moaning, the whispering, the breathless gasps that filled every corner of the room. the sheets were a mess—damp and tangled, the air heavy with heat and the scent of shared pleasure. both of you were exhausted, limbs tangled together as your chests rose and fell in sync, basking in the quiet aftermath.

but hinata wasn’t quite finished.

"come on," he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stood. "we need a shower."

you groaned, muscles aching, but followed him into the bathroom, your hand resting in his like it belonged there. warm water began to cascade down, steam rising around you both as you stepped in together. he pulled you close beneath the stream, hands gliding over your skin with tender intent, washing away the sweat and evidence of everything you'd shared—at least, on the surface.

his fingers lingered a little too long. his gaze roamed, a spark reigniting behind those warm brown eyes. his touch shifted from gentle to teasing—thumb brushing over your nipple, hands sliding down the curve of your waist, his body pressing against yours from behind.

"i know we should stop," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot, "but you feel too good… i can't help it."

before you could answer, he was inside you again—slow, deep, the water masking your gasp as your hand gripped the slick wall for balance. you were already so full from the night, overstimulated and tender, but that only made every thrust feel more intense. every inch of him hit home, coaxing another wave of pleasure from a body that didn’t know it could take more.

"shoyo—" you whimpered, your voice trembling, but he only shushed you with a kiss to your shoulder, his pace steady, deliberate.

"just one more," he promised. “wanna feel you like this. warm, wet… mine.”

the water dripped down your bodies, slicking your skin as your back arched into him. he held you tight—one hand on your waist, the other slipping between your legs again, determined to wring out one last climax from you. and when you came, trembling under his touch, your name a breathless whisper on his lips, he followed not long after, burying himself deep with a groan of your name.

you leaned back into his chest, heart racing, your body humming with aftershocks.

and this time, when he washed you gently, carefully, whispering soft “thank yous” and “i love yous” between kisses, you knew—for sure—you weren’t just full of him.

you were full of something deeper. something lasting. something real.

you woke up the next morning feeling sore in places you didn’t even know could ache. every little movement reminded you of the night before—of his hands gripping your hips, his mouth trailing heat down your skin, the way your bodies moved together again and again until you both lost count.

but the ache was worth it.

you turned your head and smiled softly at the sight beside you—hinata, fast asleep, hair tousled and lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. his body bore the evidence of everything you gave him. faint red scratches down his back, purpling love bites along his collarbone and shoulders—your marks, painted proudly on his skin.

he looked peaceful, completely undone, and yet, wholly yours.

you reached out and gently traced a finger down one of the marks on his side, careful not to wake him. he stirred a little, brow twitching, but didn’t open his eyes—just moved closer, as if even in sleep, he needed to be near you.

your heart swelled.

yeah, you were sore. but if this was the price for being loved by him—touched, marked, and held like that—it was worth every single bruise, every ache, every breathless moment.

and you’d do it all over again.

you reached over to the bedside table, grabbing your phone with a quiet click of the screen. the morning light filtered perfectly through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. it was calm, warm—the kind of stillness that made everything feel dreamlike.

slipping on hinata’s hoodie, the fabric smelled like him—clean sweat, a hint of his shampoo, and something distinctly him. it was oversized on you, falling mid-thigh and completely swallowing your frame. the warmth of it soothed your sore muscles, a comforting reminder of last night.

you padded across the room toward the mirror, tucking strands of messy hair behind your ear. something about the glow in the room and the way the hoodie fell just right made you pause. you lifted your phone, angled it slightly, and snapped a mirror selfie.

it was casual, almost innocent at a glance—hoodie-wrapped, bare legs, no makeup, just soft morning light on bare skin. but if someone looked closer, really looked, they might notice the faint silhouette behind you. hinata’s muscular back, the curve of his shoulders half-covered by the sheets, was just barely visible in the corner of the frame. not enough to be obvious—just enough to hint.

you posted it anyway. no caption, just the image.

you laid back down on the bed, the soft mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight as you turned to face him. hinata was still asleep, his breaths slow and even, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that calmed you instantly.

the golden morning light streamed lazily through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room—and across him. it kissed his skin in the most delicate way, highlighting every dip and curve of his toned body. the tan of his skin looked impossibly rich in this light, glowing like sun-warmed bronze.

hinata’s eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the soft golden light filtering through the curtains. it took him a second to focus, but the moment he saw you—curled beside him, wearing his hoodie, your hair a little messy and your lips curved in a sleepy smile—his heart felt like it might burst.

a soft, warm smile spread across his face as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“good morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice still raspy from sleep.

he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth waking up to. his thumb brushed gently across your cheekbone, his touch lazy, affectionate. “you look so pretty right now,” he added, voice low, like he didn’t want to break the calm.

you leaned into his touch, your nose brushing against his. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, and he chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close until your foreheads touched. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his tone more serious, concern hidden beneath the warmth in his voice.

“sore,” you admitted, with a grin. “but worth it.”

hinata let out a low laugh and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i went a little crazy, huh?”

you shrugged, playful. “you were just passionate.”

his grin widened. “and you were perfect.”

his hands slid down to your thighs, warm and familiar, fingers tracing soft circles against your skin. slowly, deliberately, they inched higher, slipping beneath the oversized hoodie you wore—his hoodie. his touch was gentle, teasing, but purposeful.

“shoyo,” you whined, shifting slightly under his hand, “stop... i’m still sore.”

he paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, a crooked smile forming on his lips. “sorry,” he murmured, not sounding sorry at all. “can’t help it. you’re just too pretty like this.”

his fingers rested just at the edge of your folds, not pressing further—just staying there, tempting. he leaned in, brushing his lips along your jaw, then your neck, slow and unhurried.

“i won’t do anything,” he whispered, voice low and soft. “just touching... promise.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the way your breath hitched when his thumb gently caressed the inside of your thigh, the sensation light but electric. he was taking his time, just enjoying the way your body responded to his touch—even in your sore, sensitive state.

“you’re insatiable,” you mumbled, barely suppressing a small gasp.

“only with you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin. “besides... we don’t have to do anything. i just wanna feel you.”

his fingers traced the delicate curve of your folds, barely touching, just enough to make you shiver. the teasing motion sent a spark straight through your core, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that slipped past your lips.

“shoyo…” you breathed, your voice already tinged with need despite the soreness lingering in your body.

he grinned against your skin, lips ghosting over your neck as he murmured, “mm, hear that? you’re already getting wet for me again.”

his fingers moved a little more deliberately now—slow, featherlight strokes that made your thighs twitch and your breath hitch. the hoodie you wore suddenly felt too warm, too heavy, as heat bloomed between your legs.

you buried your face in the crook of his neck, hiding the way your cheeks burned. “you’re unbelievable,” you whispered, hips tilting just barely into his touch, betraying your own resistance.

“i could say the same about you,” he chuckled, fingers now slick with your arousal. “still sore, but your body’s already begging for more.”

his free hand slid up your back, holding you close while the other toyed with you—slow, careful circles that had your stomach tightening all over again. it was maddening, how easily he could unravel you even in the quiet, golden light of morning.

“just a little more,” he whispered. “let me make you feel good again.”

hinata was insatiable, and despite the soreness still lingering in your muscles, you found yourself on top of him once again. his hoodie was now discarded and crumpled beside the bed, long forgotten in the heat that bloomed between your bodies.

your thighs trembled slightly as you straddled him, but his hands on your hips steadied you—warm, firm, possessive. his mouth was latched onto your nipple, tongue flicking and lips sucking greedily, like he couldn’t get enough of you. soft whines and gasps spilled from your mouth as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin, leaving faint love bites in his wake.

“you drive me crazy,” he murmured against your chest, voice husky, breath warm.

you began to roll your hips slowly, your slick folds gliding over him, teasing him both with friction and restraint. he groaned, his head tipping back against the pillow, the veins on his neck straining as he fought to hold himself back.

your hands splayed over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palms, and you smiled—half dazed, half wicked—as you sank down on him again.

his cock filled you deeply, stretching you open all over again, and your moan echoed his own. your pace started slow, deliberate, savoring every inch as your walls clenched around him.

“fuck—just like that,” he gritted out, hands tightening on your waist as you bounced on his cock, the wet sound of skin against skin filling the room.

every movement made your breasts bounce, and he couldn’t help but sit up, wrapping his arms around you, mouth finding your chest again as if he’d been starved for it.

“you’re so perfect like this,” he murmured between kisses. “riding me like you were made for it.”

and in that moment, with the sunlight casting a golden glow across your bare skin and his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer, it was impossible to disagree. every thrust, every moan, every desperate kiss he pressed to your collarbone made you feel like the center of his world—and you basked in it, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure only he could pull from you.

of course, hinata didn’t stop until he’d wrung two more orgasms from you—each one more intense than the last. your body trembled, overstimulated and utterly spent, but he held you through it, whispering soft praise and brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“that’s it, baby… you’re amazing,” he murmured, voice rough but tender as he kissed your temple.

by the time he pulled the blankets over both of you, tucking you into his chest, you were already slipping back into sleep. your breathing slowed, your limbs heavy and warm, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

he held you close, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist, his lips resting against your forehead as the morning quiet settled around you both.

when you woke up again you felt the other side of the bed empty.

"he probably went to the gym."

your guess was spot on the moment you saw the instagram notification pop up on your screen: shoyo_hinata just posted a photo.

curious, you opened it—only to nearly choke on your own breath. it was a picture of his back, shirtless, his toned muscles on full display and unmistakably covered in fresh scratch marks. red, raw, and clearly recent. and the caption? just a smirking emoji and a volleyball. classic hinata. subtle, but not really.

your own post from earlier—taken just an hour before—was now blowing up too. the mirror selfie you’d casually posted in his hoodie, his faint silhouette in the background, had fans in full detective mode. and they were ruthless.

your notifications were in chaos.

@spikemyheart: OH MY GOD IS THAT HINATA IN THE BACK??? @liberoinmydreams: wait the scratch marks on his post… YOU DID THAT??? @sweatyforthevballboys: y’all are literally feral i’m not even mad @kneesforhinata: this is so nsfw and i LOVE IT @softservequeen: you’re sore aren’t you. blink twice if you need electrolytes 💀

later that afternoon, hinata came back to the hotel room, still a little damp from the post-training shower he’d taken at the venue, his bag slung over his shoulder and a smug grin playing on his lips.

he dropped the bag by the door, immediately walking over to where you were lounging on the bed, scrolling through your phone—still trying to recover from the wild fan theories flooding your dms and comments.

“so…” he started, plopping down beside you and tugging you close until you were tucked against his chest. “guess the internet had a little meltdown today, huh?”

you groaned, hiding your face against his neck. “don’t even start. some people are already making tiktoks syncing the posts with timestamps and analyzing the lighting.”

hinata chuckled, low and satisfied. “well… serves them right. we were subtle. kinda.”

you looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “subtle? you posted your back covered in scratches like you just survived a bear attack.”

he shrugged, clearly unbothered. “what? it’s art.”

then he tilted his head slightly, grin turning mischievous. “but hey…” he leaned in, brushing his lips just shy of your ear. “you think they’re still gonna link you with that actor now?”

you stiffened, pulling back to stare at him. “shoyo—”

he laughed, fully amused at your expression. “what? just saying. guess they know exactly who made those marks now, huh?”

you smacked his shoulder lightly, cheeks burning. “you’re impossible.”

“mmh. maybe. but at least now they know you’re mine.” he said it so easily, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

as if on cue, your phone buzzed in your hand, screen lighting up with a message from your pr team:

[urgent – need you at the office asap. call when you’re en route.]

you stared at it for a moment, dread pooling in your stomach. hinata glanced down at your expression, then raised a brow. “bad timing?”

you sighed, sitting up slowly and tossing your phone onto the bed with a groan. “it’s my pr team. i think they saw the posts.”

he leaned back on his hands, clearly not surprised. “oh, now they noticed?”

you shot him a look. “they’re probably trying to figure out how to spin this before it explodes more than it already has.”

hinata just grinned, watching you pull his hoodie back on. “want me to say i scratched myself in my sleep?”

you blinked at him, deadpan. “please never say that in front of my publicist.”

he chuckled, standing up and helping you gather your things, stealing a kiss here and there as you tried to get dressed. “don’t stress, babe. worst case, we just tell them the truth.”

“that i spent the weekend getting railed by japan’s volleyball star?”

“well…” he smirked, leaning in to kiss your neck. “worked out pretty great for both our engagement, didn’t it?”

you shook your head, unable to fight your smile as you grabbed your phone again. chaos or not, the internet could wait. but your publicist definitely couldn’t.

you sat inside the sleek glass-walled conference room of your agency’s office, dressed in a hoodie you borrowed (stole) from hinata’s suitcase and a pair of oversized sunglasses to shield your face from curious stares. despite the casual outfit, the room was filled with an unmistakable energy. your manager, two assistants, and even someone from the PR team were all seated across the table — and right next to you was hinata, legs sprawled, hand casually resting on your thigh under the table like this wasn’t the most high-stakes meeting of your month.

you felt slightly overwhelmed, if not dazed, from the sudden turn your morning had taken. not even an hour ago, you were in bed, your hair still damp from a too-long shower turned… something else. now you were staring at a stack of documents and your manager practically vibrating with excitement.

“okay, i’m just going to say it,” your manager started, slapping a stack of printouts on the table. “this is insane — and i mean that in the best way possible.”

you raised a brow. “what is?”

“you. hinata. the photo. both of your photos. the internet basically exploded.” she turned a few pages, revealing printed-out screenshots of social media reactions. “you broke the algorithm.”

hinata leaned in, amused, as your manager continued. “people figured it out immediately. ‘oh my god, is that hinata’s back?’ ‘are those her nails on his shoulder?’ and don’t get me started on the slow-motion analysis videos on tiktok.”

you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “they’re analyzing the nails?”

“yes,” one of the assistants chimed in. “there’s already a fan account documenting your ‘secret soft launch’ relationship timeline.”

hinata chuckled beside you. “i told you they’d figure it out. you think they’re still gonna link you with that actor guy now?”

you shot him a side glance. “i forgot about him.”

“your pr team didn’t,” said the woman from PR, adjusting her glasses. “but don’t worry. that ship has officially sailed. now, onto the real news…”

she pulled up a presentation on her laptop and turned it toward you. “endorsements. projects. appearances. not just for you individually — but together. turns out, everyone wants a piece of the ‘it couple.’”

you stared at the screen in disbelief. makeup brands, fashion lines, travel companies, even a luxury watch brand — all with interest in pairing you and hinata together for campaigns. one of them was a magazine shoot titled undeniable chemistry. another was a high-profile drama offer for a couple-centric storyline, with an optional steamy twist if “the actors are comfortable.”

hinata whistled under his breath. “we’re gonna be busy.”

your manager grinned. “if you say yes to even half of these, you’re set for the year.”

you leaned back in your chair, overwhelmed but not entirely displeased. the idea of working so closely with hinata was… distracting in a way that made your stomach flutter. he must’ve sensed it, because his thumb gently rubbed slow circles on your thigh under the table.

“so,” your manager asked, eyes expectant. “do we want to ride the wave?”

hinata answered before you could. “yeah. we’re in.”

you looked at him, wide-eyed. “you’re just going to agree to everything?”

“not everything,” he said, smirking. “but the stuff with you? absolutely.”

you tried to play it cool, but the way his voice dipped lower at the end made something in you stir. you crossed your legs, subtly pressing them together.

“fine,” you said, clearing your throat. “we’ll look through the offers.”

“great,” the PR rep said. “oh, and… try to keep it PG for a bit. at least until the magazine cover drops.”

hinata gave a lazy shrug. “no promises.”

you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “this is going to be a lot.”

“maybe,” hinata said, grinning at you sideways. “but at least it’ll be fun.”

and deep down, even with your nerves tangled and your heart racing, you knew he was right.

you eventually left the meeting with a folder full of contracts, a dozen potential collaborations swirling in your head, and hinata’s hand still comfortably entwined with yours. the hallway buzzed with agency staff and interns sneaking glances, whispering to each other, probably already texting their friends about seeing you two together in person.

as the elevator doors closed, hinata leaned against the mirrored wall, watching you with that lazy, satisfied smile.

“you good?” he asked, voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

you looked down at your reflection, then up at his. “i don’t know. i think so? it’s a lot. but also kind of… exciting.”

he tilted his head. “scary?”

“a little,” you admitted.

hinata reached out, brushing your hair behind your ear. “well, don’t worry. we’ll figure it out.”

“you sure about that?”

he leaned in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “you’re stuck with me now. might as well enjoy it.”

you laughed under your breath, eyes fluttering shut for just a second, letting the moment settle. the doors opened with a soft ding, and the sunlight poured in once more, casting that same golden glow that started this whole thing.

you stepped out together — not just into the lobby, not just into a brand-new set of projects and headlines — but into something that felt, for once, completely right.

you didn’t look back.

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #2

Strange Candy

kinktober day two | aphrodisiac | 18+, cw: intoxicated sex (all consensual), female reader. both of them hella sassy, book-ish!thran because no angst in my house. this is very silly, just like the author. don't eat funny mushrooms you find in the forest! | wc 3,7k | want more kinktober? click here |

“Strange indeed.” Said the King thoughtfully. The group of hunters who'd led him to the newfound development traded a long look. Crouching down, the King's majesty eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead as he studied the newfound addition to his great Elven forest. “And the beasts have returned seemingly unharmed, you say?”

“Yes, my Lord. The bears had retreated into a den and so did the foxes, emerging approximately three days afterwards. All seemed in good health and very hungry.” The Silvan hunter replied.

“Then these must be harmless.” Deduced the King, taking out a thin blade to poke at a dense cluster of brightly coloured fungus.

At least, he guessed it was a fungus. Upending one cluster, he found no roots. The flesh of the mushroom was white and fragrant, pleasantly earthy and rich, with subtle floral undertones that made his mouth water slightly. The smell intensified tenfold upon cutting the mushroom down the middle. The King brought it closer to his nose, carefully scenting for any bitterness or rot.

“My Lord...” A concerned Feren piped up from his spot behind the King.

You offered the Captain a glance full of genuine compassion, without a doubt considering his job to be the most complicated and tedious in the whole of Thranduil's kingdom. Minding Greenwood's fiery monarch was not for the faint-hearted.

“Surely you are not thinking of putting it in your mouth?” You added a dash of sarcasm into your question, equally concerned.

You were sassed right back, eyeroll audible. “It is a mushroom, where else would I put it?” Thranduil straightened up, holding the newfound addition to the flora of the forest impaled on his knife. As soon as his eyes zeroed on you, you gulped. Thranduil gave you a nasty little grin. “What is the worst that could happen? I have the best healers of my realm at my disposal.”

Feren's fingers twitched, a tell-tale sign of his withering self-restraint. You sighed and contemplated the best time to begin backing away.

Thranduil simply raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. “Worry not, the Kingdom has forgotten of your and Feren's...” Elegant pause, Feren's sigh. “Accident.”

“'twas no accident,” you said defensively. “You gave us your Ada's moonshine to see if it was still good. On purpose.”

Thranduil shrugged as the mushroom was evenly divided into two parts with the help of his knife. A perfect picture of innocence, he held up the treat in his palm, grey eyes sparkling.

“I am NOT doing it, my Lord!” Exploded Feren, and gave into his urge to take a step back. He, more than anyone, knew how insistent Thranduil could get. A seven-thousand year old elf giving huge puppy eyes! And it worked! The Captain shielded his own face with his palm. “Throw me in the dungeons for a fortnight, I care not!”

Contrary to your expectations, Thranduil simply rolled his eyes, and swiftly stuck one part of the colourful fungus in his mouth. Everyone gasped, including you, but the old Elvenking remained completely unbothered.

“Hm,” he blinked after a second. “That is not bad.”

Waves of impending doom washed over you with each contemplative movement of Thranduil's jaws. Looking first to the left, and then to the right, you found no immediate means exit of the situation. It was you, the resident human, and the tree behind you, which your King had no problem with crowding you against. Not that he moved or anything. He was just... Large. And very handsome. And spectacular at rounding his shiny, bottomless eyes with great purpose.

“We must know if this fungus is harmful to Edain,” he said, honey-sweet. You hated that he was right. “According to hunters, there is an abundance of it, and, knowing how curious you Edain are...”

“Ugh!” You shook your head. “Just give me the mushroom. If I die, I will haunt your halls for all eternity.” Obediently and with no small worry, you snatched the piece and stuck it in your mouth, chewing quickly, not even taking note of the taste.

Thranduil's last experiment that involved you and Feren still fresh on your mind, you turned back towards the Halls before you'd even finished chewing. You'd rather be in the privacy of your rooms least intoxication has you do something embarrassing... Again. Thankfully, the King conceded, and after giving the hunters a command to gather more of this mystery fungus, the party set out back home.

It was Feren's turn to offer you fleeting looks of compassion. You quietly smiled back, not feeling anything out of sorts. The ride back was pleasantly uneventful. Not a creature was stirring: even the ever-present spiders were absent in their bothersome scuttling.

Too smug for his own good, Thranduil entered his halls with a spring in his step. “The haunting of halls of Greenwood has been postponed indefinitely, I see,” he said in passing as he shrugged off his outer travel robes. A maid immediately offered him a silver robe of heavy satin which he politely declined. “Nay. The discovery has warmed me plenty.”

You noticed that yes, the weather has turned rather warm indeed and bowed before departing back to your daily business. Mid-way through your chores, a thin, translucent sheen of sweat glistened on your brow as you silently cursed the Vala responsible for such unusually pleasant weather. The Halls had already began to prepare for a long winter with covering unnecessary exits and patching up drafty areas.

What wouldn't you give for a gulp of fresh, cold air! Chores forgotten, you hurried to the nearest balcony. There was one not frequently visited by Elves as it was hidden behind a clever alcove; stepping aside and squeezing through the narrow opening, you sighed happily and deeply as your clammy skin finally felt crisp late night air.

Your shoulders dropped as you exhaled, finally shaking off some of that uncomfortable heat. A tranquil scene of swaying treetops and budding stars over a darkening sky emphasized the calamity of your solitude.

“Hm.”

“My Lord,” you greeted without turning, familiar with the timbre of voice and soft swishing of expensive fabric coming from behind you.

Thranduil's profile appeared within your field of view as he posted up next to you and demurely placed a hand over the stone railing of the balcony. “I was unaware someone had found the secret entrance to my private balcony.”

“Oh,” you froze. “I apologize... I was simply...”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “I take no offense. Indeed, it was quite clever. Even keen Elven eyes miss the opening behind the alcove.” Sans outer robe and clad in a simple but rich ensemble of sateen shirt and velvet breeches, it became evident you'd caught the King in a private moment of relaxation. His brow, usually tinted with concern with kingdom, was pleasantly warm.

You swallowed, looking away. He was a beauty even among his own kin, and like this - relaxed and comfortable - bordered on irresistible. A flash of heat spread through your body at the realisation. It took no small effort to squash these thoughts and steer them towards some semblance of propriety.

“The Valar have blessed us with good weather this autumn, my Lord. I was doing my chores and nearly felt faint from the heat.” You said, noticing Thranduil's eyebrows rise. “And the construction of your halls is incredible! Not a single drafty corner.”

“Heated, you say?” He interrupted suddenly, turning to face you fully. Etiquette (whenever you remembered it) dictated you should, too, and you two faced each other. Thranduil radiated curiosity, eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks and the warmth crawling down the neckline of your clothes. “Strange.”

“What is, my Lord?”

“I have said the same thing to Galion but he gave me a very pointed look and gestured towards Lady Anariel, who had been complaining to her maid about not lighting a fire in a timely manner.”

You frowned, too. The Lady Anariel was as Northern as Elves come and was fairly tolerant of wintery weather. When others wore furs, she got by with an outer dress of wool and, perhaps, a pair of gloves.

“Do you feel... Strange, my Lord?” You had a slight suspicion. Just a teeny-tiny one, that boiled down to those Eru-forsaken mushrooms.

In response you received an impish sort of shrug. “Not necessarily so. Do you?”

Your face blanched. Aside from suddenly finding him irresistible and feeling a little hot under the collar, nothing was amiss. But the longer you lingered on those two thoughts, the stronger they became. It was as if you were an adolescent again: barely any impulse control and all feeling.

‘twas a delicate situation. You could speak to a healer, of course, or let the strange circumstance run it's course. If it even could do that. Thoughts growing jumbled by the second, you said the only clear thing on your mind.

“Those cursed mushrooms.”

Thranduil was unperturbed. “I do not believe they are cursed. Potent, yes, but not cursed.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “... You too?”

He sighed. “I came out here in hopes of clearing my head from this fog of lust.” As you prepared to mutter- what, exactly? Apologies? - Thranduil's finger reached out for tour face to trace the curve of your jaw. “And in the process I found something much more exciting.”

Your bottom lip trembled. Such a simple gesture felt heavenly. Wherever his skin came in contact with yours, the heaviness receded briefly. Your breath caught in your chest as your heart picked up a hare's pace.

“Am I being propositioned?” You wished to say to yourself but in the fog, managed to sputter out loud.

“We could help each other out...” The King, unfurled to his full height and radiating heat equal to that you felt on the inside, grinned a crooked grin. It sat youthfully on his timeless features, just the right amount of flirtatious and reassuring.

You pretended to think about it. No, you really did, out of concern for your dignity. Throwing yourself onto the King was simply uncouth. Such was your next course of action, but the necessary amount of time had passed and the need, having been brought to the forefront or your mind, took hold of your sense. Slowly, you leaned into the touch and brought your hands to Thranduil's forearm, tilting his fingers to your mouth. Hot breath caused them to twitch.

“Does this answer your question?” You tilted your head, lips brushing against the multitude of rings he wore on his persona. It was most exhilarating to see his pupils widen and his mouth tremble.

Adam's apple bobbing, Thranduil swallowed. “No.” And smirked, the stunning bastard. “I need a clear, straightforward statement.”

You sighed, feigning annoyance. “I enthusiastically consent to having uncouth, untoward and potentially nasty things being done to my body by my Lord and King...”

You did not even get to finish. In a flash, Thranduil's hands had encircled your face and he bent himself over you, pushing your body into the balcony as he devoured your mouth with his. There was no grace and no finesse; something heavy and hard poking your stomach showed you just how much self-control your King had.

Seconds ago, you'd been having a perfectly normal conversation and now you found yourself airborne, having been unceremoniously picked up by the tall Elf and carried towards his chambers like the most coveted spoil of war while he devoured your mouth. You hummed into the kiss and responded with a groan, tearing the back lacing of your clothes clean off.

Your back connected with the mattress of his bed. Blinking at the rapid change of pace and scenery, you moaned out in frustration regarding your ruined clothes.

“I will commission more for you,” he said carelessly, throwing his own shirt Mordor knows where. His bare chest, chiseled with lithe muscle and pale as fresh milk, captivated your attention.

Previously having contended yourself with the occasional glance at the tiny window of bare skin where the sides of his robes met, you used your newfound opportunity to drink yourself full of Thranduil's fair skin. It felt as soft as it looked when he laid upon you, the weight of his body offering a delicious momentary reprieve from the tension building up in your muscles. Gossamer hair shielded you from the outside world as he leaned in towards your mouth again, this time capturing yours in a sensual dance of tongue and teeth.

A nimble hand took care of your bottoms, sliding inside your underwear as slick and cunning as a snake, to cup your mound. Thranduil groaned into the kiss, finding you soaked and willing, fingering the cleft of your lower lips with practiced gentle moves. The tenderness of it drove you crazy. Your need flared as a wall of standstill fire and you were surprised you did hadn't noticed it earlier. If the pulse in your cunt was anything to go by, you would come undone the very moment your King would finally allow you to feel full.

He was fairly content with sucking your soul out through your mouth and mapping the fat outer lips of your cunt. Never quite breaching and wholly avoiding your throbbing pearl, Thranduil simply basked in the amount of sticky juice your cunt was capable of producing.

The first loud moan of the night broke free if your lips and it was one of frustration.

Thranduil smiled into the kiss, your teeth clashing together. “What is it, mm?” He queried in-between wet pecks.

“I want to come.” You whined.

He chuckled. “And what's in it for me?”

Thankfully, your eyes were closed and he did not see your eyeroll. “You'll get to come, too?” Cringing at how lame it sounded, you were nonetheless powerless beneath him and overwhelmed from your desire.

“I prefer to play with my food.” He grinned a predator's smile, all shiny teeth and lidded eyes, but tugged down on your bottoms nonetheless. “Try harder.”

That became difficult as you were now bare; shivering in your King's arms, you cracked open a hazy eye to see him settle himself closer to your dripping center. It captivated him. Sliding two fingers along your lips, your eyes closed and head fell back as every nerve in your body came alight. Rewarded by a long moan, Thranduil gathered ample amount of moisture on his fingers and brushed over your quivering entrance.

Your back arched as he plunged them deeply within your aching cunt. The sticky noise it made was positively scandalous.

“I will-ah! forgive you for gathering the entire -ahh! King's guard to look at Feren and I!” You managed to form a quasi-coherent sentence through the moans and gasps spilling from your lips and were rather proud of yourself for it.

Thranduil's laugh echoed in the room as it did in his chest, a pleasant rumble vibrating through your core. “Whether Galion forgives you two for barking at him remains to be seen.”

Genuine amusement briefly overshadowed your shame at the situation of the past and at your own current neediness. The combination of emotion startled a laugh out of you, causing your core to clench around Thranduil's fingers and coat them in your wetness. He groaned low in his throat and rubbed your inner walls, reveling in the resulting moan. It did nothing to bring you closer to the peak.

“Sadist!” You accused and attempted to grind down on his hand, fisting the crumpled sheets.

“Slander!” He punctuated the rebuttal with an expert curl of his fingers. You arched. He smirked. “You should learn patience.”

There was no strength in your mind to formulate another witty comeback. Sensation, low and insistent, built up in the pit of your belly, an ache so sweet and tender you were sure it would be any second that you'd burst with it. Every pore on your skin open and receptive to touch, even the slide of silk sheets as your body bent with pleasure was overwhelming. You panted wetly through parted lips as a third finger joined in, the stretch of it making your eyes roll back into your head.

Thranduil would kill you. You were sure of it now. He would end you with a blinding smile and clever fingers never ceasing to move within you, the movement just shy of where you needed him most.

“Mercy!” You moaned. “Mercy, my King!”

You should have known his idea of it would be no less torturous than the ‘kindness’ that led you to your current place writhing atop his bed. Slowly, his tongue traced a path around your outer lips before dipping inside; it was hot and wet, like a summer storm, when it connected with your engorged clit and flicked it from root to tip. Electric feel of sensation pierced your body in a lightning bolt as your leg muscles seized. The King gave a pleased rumble and went for seconds and thirds, effortlessly holding your thighs open with one strong, long arm, palm digging into the soft meat.

Even the pain of it echoed with pleasure.

While the need within your loins kept steadily climbing with no end in sight, your King treated himself to a leisurely late night snack. His tongue delved in and out of your cunt, lapping up the waterfall of arousal. You would have been mortified, really, for the mess had you glued stuck to his face, your hips attempting to follow his mouth in circles.

Coupled with the digits slowly but surely stretching the entrance to your channel, brushing over the sensitive fornix, you knew the night would be long. Dark, but not cold. Hazy.

“Ngh!” You articulated through gritted teeth, feeling him pull away from a particularly sensitive spot in favour of sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh. Thranduil followed a path only he himself knew, marking your flesh with pulling, precise bites that left discoloured spot damp with spit. They pleasantly ached.

Over your stomach and at the underside of your bottom rib. The sides and bottoms of your breasts, all the way up at the root of your nipples. He took each one in into his mouth, suckling on it like a hungry babe, before releasing them with a wet pop just blow a gentle breath onto the pebbled nubs. Through parted lashes, you watched him, aptly fascinated by the lack of colour in his eyes, pupils blown wide and deep with lust.

You tasted your cunt on his tongue as he made way back up. Risking a glance downward, you saw Thranduil's cock hard, flushed and heavy, hanging out of his breeches. He hadn't bothered with removing them and that single detail had you nearly undone. How the King himself could not wait to he inside of you!

An understanding of his previous games had come too, for he was rather proportional everywhere. Just the slide of his weeping tip against your bruised thigh invoked a shudder in you, back arching. You presented yourself to your best ability, eyes shining with pleading as he rested his forehead against yours.

Thranduil held himself above you, weight on his elbows, as his cock nosed at your sopping entrance. Immediately, it tried to suck him in, coaxing his lips to bend into a smirk. Such proximity was putting your sensibility directly into negatives. With a wild look mirrored in his own darkened pupils, you petulantly stuck out your bottom lip and panted with all the sarcasm that you could muster:

“we'll get to the good part... About tomorrow?” You wished to add more, something about him being old, but that remark and many more drowned in the absolute extasy flooding your body as he slid into your cunt in one single smooth stroke. “Aah...” Left your lips instead, and with it, any remaining oxygen departed from your lungs as well.

“Mouthy,” Thranduil remarked, sounding unfairly put together for someone who's mouth was as slippery as wet stone and cheeks brighter than a ripe beetroot.

You forgave him then and there. In awe, you watched him give you another one of his impish grins and nudge at that spot deeply within you. And he did it all over again, plush mouth releasing the sweetest, quietest of moans as he did so. Time got lost in the tug of war tour cunt played with his cock; like this, your release was imminent and fast approaching.

You grabbed Thranduil's arms, rubbed his shoulders as your legs wound up around his narrow waist while he contentedly and systematically unraveled you apart with rapid, smooth snaps of his hips. For a while, there was nothing in the room but the two of you and the lewd noises of damp skin slapping against skin. Clutching harder, you felt yourself tighten around his girth. Each measured stroke abused your engorged clit, heavy sac adding extra sensation on your perineum.

A low, feral groan joined the thrilling cacophony of sex. Thranduil fucked you through your first orgasm with gritted teeth, barely slowing with the new resistance of your cunt attempting to milk him for his worth. Hair hanging over your faces like a curtain, he claimed your lips in a searing kiss as you whimpered with overstimulation. Evenly, his thrusts became shallow, grinding.

Having become a acquainted with your bearings somewhat, you made a confused noise. The King just grinned. His palm connected firmly with the side of your hip as you squealed. He withdrew.

“Present yourself to your King.” He ordered, both smug and slightly breathless, helping you along onto all fours.

You chuffed into the damp bedding and obeyed, arching your back at a sinful curve. Within seconds, you were once again blissfully full.

a/n: I am way too horny of a person to write anything LACE compliant. Or is that my commitment issues talking? Anyway, ELVES FUCK SEVERELY! At least this October. mwah 💋

I once ate like 12 grams of cubensis and was a cat for 3 hours, so Feren barking at Galion with the help of some 3k+ year old mushroom infused moonshine isn't that far-fetched.

[healedlover]

CLICKBAITED!

summary: in which your co worker ends up inside you... in front of the camera. pairing: nanami kento x fem!reader cw: camboy!nanami, p in v, dirty talk, Masturbation, Sex toys, one night stand, perv nanami, cumming inside a/n: not proof read and finally wrote camboy nanami

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“Today is going to be a quick stream, alright?”

The chat sent sad faces and other messages showing their disappointment and Nanami just chuckled as he unbuckled his pants.

“My first day of work is tomorrow, I…ngh…won’t have time to get ready.”

His fingers continued the slow movements on his cock as he watched the chat donate and send a bunch of messages. Nanami adjusted his mask before changing the video on his second monitor, so he could cum quicker.

But nothing was working, he let out a small whine as he continued clicking to the next page, quicker and quicker so he could find an appealing video.

"Keep the donations...going"

guest1 donated $500: strip plz!!!

"Yeah? You want me to take off my shirt, hm?" Nanami teased, his free hand roamed on his tight collared shirt and he plucked each button off, one by one.

"Is this what you wanted?"

guest127: yesss

guest2: faster! yes!

"Oh? the last button is stuck." Nanami frowned, glancing at the chat before ripping his entire shirt off, revealing his bare chest. The chat exploded with excitement. Nanami grinned as the praises and compliments started to roll in.

His fingers tightened around his cock as he movements grew quicker, more intense, and now, finally, he was close to release.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He moaned.

with one final stroke a streak of cum spurted all over his stomach. He left out a few breathless pants as he slumped down on his chair. The stream continued to donate and chat amongst themselves as he watched Nanami's tired state in the chair.

"Thats it for today. Tomorrow, I'll be trying something different, okay? Goodnight."

stream over.

Nanami cleaned himself up and shut off his computer for the night.

The next morning rolled along and it was his first day of an actual job–outside of fucking himself in front of a camera–and he was nervous.

After a stressful ten minute drive, Nanami walked in the building and headed to the correct room. He fixed the tie on his suit before walking in.

-

The door clinked open and you glanced up from your desk and noticed an unfamiliar face walk in, and god, he was gorgeous. You peered at the man longer than you intended to, until your eyes met.

You flinch and avert your gaze away from him.

"Yo, Nanami Kento, right?" The boss's voice interrupted the silence filling the room, the so called man–Nanami, nodded and glanced at you one more time before turning his body to the boss.

He was led to a place to an office desk and of course, he was two seats away from you. You sigh and sit back on your chair before getting back to your work.

-

Nanami felt like his cock was going to burst, he didn't expect to see someone so...good looking on his first day of work. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, imagining your outfit again.

The way your breasts fit perfectly in your tight shirt, showing a good amount of cleavage, and how your beautiful eyes stared right at him...Oh, Nanami needed you as soon as possible.

He opened his eyes and looked around the room before getting up and making his way to the bathroom. He walked past your desk and took another glance at you before stumbling into the bathroom.

"Fuck.. I feel like 'm gonna explode" Nanami muttered to himself. He brought his trembling fingers to his belt and quickly unbuckled it, soon pulling his pants down, revealing his throbbing, hard cock.

"Damn y-you!" He whispered as his fingers curled around his creamy mushroom head, he deliberately continued to loudly stroke himself while thinking about you and he felt like he was going to cum in seconds.

“Shit, shit shiiiittt” Nanami sighed and removed his fingers from his dripping heat, he stared at the huge mess coated on his fingers and let out a quiet groan before grabbing some tissues and cleaning himself up.

After an excruciating five minutes of trying to get himself—and the stall—cleaned up he finally finished and walked out the bathroom, praying nobody heard him.

Nanami headed back to his office desk, walking the same direction from before and took another quick glance at you… how was he going to talk you into getting in bed with him?

When the work day ended Nanami packed up his things and was so close to talking to you…but you seemed to have already start leaving so instead Nanami just headed home.

He had another stream planned tonight and decided he was going to use sex toys for it, the problem was, he had none. So after he put his stuff away at home Nanami was planning to buy some at a store nearby.

Some time passed and Nanami was leaving the house, half dressed, to go pick up some sex toys.

He walked to the store and was met with a variety of different types of toys. Nanami scanned around the room before picking a couple of his interest and left.

When he got home he placed his things on his desk and put his mask on before logging into the site and started the stream momentarily.

stream started

Nanami sat back on his seat and watched as people started to roll in the stream. The chat was already blaring with a bunch of messages, asking him what he’s gonna do and such.

“Calm down, today I bought some toys..and im not sure which one to use so I need your help okay?”

guest127: ohh yes, show us!!

Nanami nodded and flipped the bag over the table, letting all the toys he bought scatter on the small space.

“Highest donor will choose which one I use, how is that?”

The chat agreed and he nodded, unbuttoning his shirt as he watched the donors start donating.

“Ten seconds…”

The money started getting larger and larger and finally at the last second a random person donated a good three thousand dollars.

Nanami let out a whistle and lowered the camera showing the toys on display.

“Choose any.”

guest127: pocket pussy?

“Mmh… I’ll try.”

Nanami shoved the other toys off his desk and stood up from his chair and slowly pulled his pants down, aligning himself with the toy.

He slowly shoved his dripping tip in the silicone pussy and let out a groggy moan. He continued thrusting himself deep inside it and immediately his mind wandered to you again.

Dazed at the pleasure he was feeling he also imagined this stupid toy was you. Nanami tried imagining how your tits would bounce at his immense thrusts he’s giving you.

Or how his cock would fit perfectly in your tight cunt,

Well fuck. He needed you, bad.

guest2: fuck this is hot

Nanami was close to release and he tried to hold it in, he really did, but after one final thrust a wave of shock jolted through him.

Out of instinct, a moan of your name slipped out of his lips and silently scolded himself before pulling himself out of the toy, watching all his cum spill out of it.

Nanami plopped on the chair, absolutely drained from the embarrassingly good sex he had with his toy and stared at the screen which was filling up with donations and such.

He told the stream he'd see them tomorrow and ended it off for the night.

The next morning at work, he swore he was going to talk to you and someway drag you into his bed, or stream, whatever it was he was going to do it.

The thought of your cunt wrapping around his throbbing cock as he pounded into you, turned Nanami on before he even walked into the workplace.

when he stepped in he noticed you were sitting at your desk, and glanced at the other two cubicles next to yours and noticed nobody was sitting next to you, yet.

So he hesitantly walked up to the front of your desk and stared at you for a few moments before you lifted your head away from your phone and looked up at him, with the exact same eyes from yesterday.

Nanami twitched at the sight and cleared his throat before greeting you.

And so the conversation went exactly how nanami expected it to.

It went perfectly.

-

"Alright, I'll see you tonight then?" you ask one more time. Nanami nodded and said his goodbyes before heading back to his cubicle.

You ponder in your seat for a moment, he was awfully good at flirting and the way his smooth voice talked you into meeting up with him tonight was something you couldn't resist.

Though you both barely know each other it was difficult to deny a pretty face like that, and yet again just one night wouldn't be bad. I mean like he said, it was only going to be a one time thing.

You let out a nervous sigh and stare at the paper where his address was written, dreading for the time to come.

Hours passed and work was already over. you were sitting down in your kitchen, already ready with the outfit you were planning to wear to Nanami's house.

After a ten minute walk you finally get to Nanami's place, which was surprisingly a decent looking place. You knock on the door and a few seconds pass and the door flung open revealing Nanami who had no shirt, but a mask on.

"Hi Kento"

"Hey, come in." Nanami dragged you inside his place and led you to his room. The second you walked in you were met with a huge desk with a couple monitors lying on it. the screens showed a reflection of the two of you in the room.

"you're okay with this, right?" he asked, pointing his fingers towards the set up of his live streaming stuff.

you nod and he smiled in response. Nanami then grabbed onto you and pressed you against the desk. His large figure loomed behind you as he rocks his hips back and forth against your ass.

"wai–mmph we're already starting?"

"sorry, I've been waiting for this moment since I laid eyes on you...fuck. c'mere." In a quick second Nanami flipped you over and grinded himself on you again.

moans and whines filled the room as he increased the pace. eventually his fingers ended up under the waistband of your pants and he slipped them down, revealing your bare legs in your laced panties.

Nanami almost came at the sight, he was trying to hold himself back from taking things too quick but you were making it ten times more difficult.

Nanami glanced at the screen behind you and chuckled, "look at that, the donations are going crazy."

You then felt your panties being removed and Nanami brought his fingers to your soaking cunt, which was already dripping from the situation happening right now.

"Shit." Nanami muttered, slipping his fingers out of you and removed his pants, aligning his cock with your soaking entrance, slowly thrusting himself inside you.

The chat was going crazy, and Nanami wasn't even focused on anything except you. He grabs onto you and pulls you closer as he quickens the pace inside you.

Nanami leaned over you and he pushed his full length inside you, leaving you to arch your back in pleasure. A scoff escaped his lips and he was already going insane.

This was way better than the fake one.

"'m gonna c-cum!" you moan as you grab onto his arms, he nodded and his mask started slipping off slowly but he didn't care. Instead, he took his mask off and placed it on your face.

guest127: ohh shit hes hot

"You look so good with my–mask–mghh...on.. 'm gonna cum! fuckk.."

A wave of shock sparked through you when white beads spurted out of Nanami and he pulled out, watching as his and your mixture coat his cock perfectly.

He sighed and plopped on top of you, breathing heavily. He lifted up the mask on your face and leaned in closer giving you a small kiss before pulling away and glancing up at the stream.

"thank you for the donations... see you guys next stream, yeah?"

stream over

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