#plush pass case

[tamapalace]

Rakuten Japan Lists Tamagotchi Drawstring Bags, Plush Pass Case & Sitting Plushies

New Tamagotchi merchandise has just dropped on Rakuten Japan! It just seems like there’s more and more merchandise arriving daily, and we love to see it.

First there are the Tamagotchi drawstring bags which are shipped after Mametchi, Kuchipatchi, Mimitchi, and Oyajitchi. Their heads open up to you can store items inside then close their heads with the drawstrings. These are really cute, priced at ¥1,861 with a release date of June 30th, 2024.

Second are the plush pass cases, these are available in botch Kuchipatchi and Mimitchi. They feature the head of each character that opens up with a zipper to store small items, along with an expandable keychain that you can clip to your belt. On the back you’ll see translucent plastic that will hold your ID! Priced at ¥2,181 with a release date of June 30th, 2024!

Third are sitting plushies! These plushies are adorable and meant to sit up on their own. They’ve got Mametchi, Kuchipatchi, Mimitchi, and Pochitchi! Roughly about 15-18 centimeters tall and they’ll stand on their own. A perfect desk mate! Priced at ¥2,075 with a release date of June 30th, 2024!

[7emperance]

my giant gengar plush i bought today watching me work myself into a tizzy rn

[thebuttsmcgee]

so. um. 👉👈

hi guysies.

Ig I should just say like. Hi

I haven't been posting here as much cause. Idk. Might be depression? I keep thinking its cause I've been so busy, which also wouldn't be not untrue, but these past, like, 3 weeks I think so far? I've had some free time but I haven't cause. I dunno, then again, I haven't been doing too much in general? I gues, besides very mandatory things, hell I've even been lacking in my regular skyrim hours of playing.

That, and as said, I get super melancholic when I remember just how sad and bittersweet it is that t0h is. Actually legit over. The show and experience, that is.

Oh all that and also becuz my headphones broke! Fuck! That's like number 2 in my bare necessities for when I post, do almost anything really! It's seriously been painful this past month going without headphones holy shit. Dude I've been scratching at the bit for some relief for headphones, I NEED music legitimately. Even right now, as I'm typing this on my phone, my music is on low levels.

But yerp. Its been. Rough. Really rough. I really do appreciate yall, everyone of yall. Have a sweet week everyone, ✌️!

[slut4sugu]

⊹ ࣪ ˖౨ৎ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮 <𝟑

𐙚. get used to being manhandled 24/7; though not in the way that you think. gojo will toss you over his shoulder, throw you onto beds, pull you into his hugs like you're weightless — because to him, you are. meanwhile, suguru is more deliberate: one hand at the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, pulling you into his lap like you were always meant to be there.

𐙚. having full fashion shows in your shared walk in closet; toru insists on rating your outfits like a chaotic fashion critic (“9/10, would die for you in that.”), while suguru just watches from the ottoman with a lazy smirk and says, “You know what you’re doing.”

Bonus: they both model for you if you ask.

𐙚. having your lip combo swiped off your lips as soon as you put it on; toru's the type to kiss you right as you finish applying gloss, smearing it just so he can say “Oops.” Suguru kisses the corner of your mouth, wipes it away with his thumb, and says, “You didn’t need it anyway.”

𐙚. Gojo sends you selfies from every mirror he passes; Public bathroom mirrors, elevator mirrors, cursed object glass cases — if he can see his reflection, he’s posing. Suguru? He just takes photos of you when you’re not looking. His gallery is 90% candids you didn’t know he took.

𐙚. they treat your body like art; satoru's will grab your hips and say, “you know I live here, right?” while suguru is kissing the stretch marks on your thighs like he’s reading scripture.

𐙚. suguru is obsessed with your skincare routine: watches you do it, asks about every product, even helps apply your oils and butters. “you smell like heaven,” he murmurs into your neck while he wraps his arms around your plush middle. gojo steals your body butter. daily.

𐙚. your bonnet collection is a household treasure; toru will wear one just to match you (its always the hello kitty one dont ask him why he likes it sm) suguru will help tie your scarf if your arms are tired. bedtime turns into a ritual — oils, silk, kisses, and being pulled between both of them as they mumble goodnights into your skin.

[karmicmortal]

content warnings stepcest, noncon, oral sex, munch!jake, somnophilia, petnames (princess, baby), sex dreams, slightly rushed and abrupt ending

don’t like it? don’t read it!

notes this drabble was originally posted to istjisung. i am istjisung. if you see my drabbles posted on any account other than istjisung or karmicmortal, or the ao3 accounts of the same name, that is not me.

you’re not sure when the dreams started, but oftentimes lately, you find yourself having sex dreams. the kind of sex dreams that, weirdly, are all surrounding jake. jake, your stepbrother. the kind, gentle, energetic, wholesome jake. the one who always treats you like royalty. calls you princess or baby. would never step out of line and do something as dirty as this, with you of all people. you feel disgusting and perverted and disgustingly perverted for even allowing your subconscious to go that far.

but something about these dreams feel too real, too…much to be just a product of your imagination.

you feel like if you focus hard enough, you can smell jake, the scent of his shampoo and cologne flooding your nose, feel his touch. more often than not, you wake up with panties so sticky and wet that you couldn’t believe it was just from leaking while you dreamt about your stepbrother. perhaps you had touched yourself in your sleep, or angled your hips a certain way in which you could grind them and soak your panties. somehow, though, you have a gut feeling that that’s not the case.

the dreams never went much further than some touching, a bit of fingering, or oral at the furthest. the image was fuzzy, but it felt real. again, too real to just be a figment of your imagination. you’d never confirmed your suspicions, though, until now.

you’re having one of those dreams again. this time, you were laying on your back, the blankets thrown off of your body and the cool air of the night was chilling your body. but you felt hot. your legs were spread, knees bent to angle your hips, and he was buried between your plush thighs. his soft hair tickled your skin as he dives deep into your pussy, tongue licking over the slit, collecting your juices before he closes his lips around your clit and suckles. you swore you could feel the shock waves of pleasure as he alternated between flattening his tongue against your whole pussy, and tightening the muscle to a point, flicking it over your clit or fucking it into your tight and wet hole.

rocking your hips, you feel the tip of his nose bumping against your hard and sensitive bud, sending a jolt of electricity through your body, causing you to begin to stir awake. you were sure once you wake up, the pleasure would go away, but the more you regain you consciousness, albeit fuzzy, the more you feel it. you can hear the wet noises of the slurping, saliva mixing with your messy arousal, and they keep getting louder.

you open your eyes one at a time, staring up at your ceiling. sleep still blurred your eyes, so you tried blinking it away. when you finally feel that you can see well enough, you start to look around the room. nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for the fact that your door was cracked open when you thought you’d closed it before going to sleep. maybe you didn’t latch it, so the draft throughout the house pushed it open. but then you looked down.

and there he was. jake, your stepbrother, between your legs.

you can see him clearly through the small stream of light from the hallway light seeping through the cracks in your door. jake is laying on his stomach between your legs. his large hands have your thighs pushed apart, knees bent so he can have full access to your cunt. it feels like ten minutes have passed as you take in the sight before you realize that this shouldn’t be happening. this is wrong.

with a gasp, you try reaching heavy, tired hands down to push him away from your center. unfortunately, his lips were wrapped around your clit and the attempt at shoving him away only made him suck deliciously on the delicate bundle of nerves.

“jake,” you whispered, voice hoarse with sleep. “stop…you can’t do this. it’s wrong…”

jake looks up at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. he smirked as he pulled away. he breathes out a laugh. “you’re dreaming. go back to sleep, baby. jakey will take such good care of you.”

[heavenlybodies333]

Mile High Club -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader | fwb |

The jet was obscene. A floating mansion in the sky.

You gaped as the BAU team boarded the aircraft parked on a private tarmac in D.C., your heels hitting the polished wood floor with a hesitant tap. Leather seating, marble bar, private suites. An attendant handed you a glass of champagne before you even made it down the aisle.

“What the hell is this?” you muttered, spinning in place to take in the sheer scope of it. “Is this what profiling gets us now?”

Hotch gave you a rare smirk as he passed, briefcase in hand. “No. It’s what tracking a fugitive across thirty states and two continents gets us.”

The team had been summoned by the American embassy in Dubai. The unsub they’d been chasing for months—one who’d left thirty-two bodies and three different crime scene signatures in his wake—had been identified on surveillance across multiple embassies in the UAE. A rare international assignment, fully funded and far from home.

The suspect vanished two days ago. Now intel pointed to him hiding out, most likely going to kill again.

And someone—likely someone very powerful—had arranged this flight.

"Still feels like overkill," you muttered, slipping into the seat beside Reid. "We're profilers, not diplomats."

He gave you a small smile. “Well, if the killer fled to an oil-rich nation that wanted to avoid an international scandal, they might be motivated to… expedite things. Quietly.”

“Expedite,” you echoed. “Right. With lobster rolls and Egyptian cotton.”

Reid’s hand brushed yours where it rested on the seat between you. His pinky hooked around yours for just a second—barely noticeable. But you noticed. And so did Morgan.

“Damn,” Derek said, appearing out of nowhere with a bourbon in hand, eyeing the two of you with a smirk. “Either this plane’s making everyone real friendly, or I’ve missed something.”

Reid’s hand snapped back like he’d touched fire. You rolled your eyes and took a sip of champagne to hide your smile.

“Missed what, exactly?” JJ asked, raising a perfectly arched brow as she slid into the seat opposite yours with Emily.

“I think Morgan’s bored,” you said smoothly. “He’s making up romance novels in his head again.”

Emily grinned. “As long as it doesn’t end with someone getting murdered, I’m in.”

The banter helped. It always did. You’d needed it this time—God, had you needed it—because this case had been a living hell. But Spencer had been your quiet anchor the entire time. Late-night reports shared in silence.

An hour later, most of the team had dispersed. JJ and Emily had locked themselves into the in-flight spa shower suite, probably out of sheer curiosity. Rossi was drinking brandy and reading a dossier. Morgan was in the gaming lounge—yes, the gaming lounge—trying to beat a VR flight simulator and laughing too loudly. Hotch had disappeared in the private meeting suite at the front of the jet, reviewing files.

And you were standing at the open door of the bedroom in the back of the plane, staring at the bed. Plush, king-sized, with crisp sheets and ambient lighting that looked entirely too romantic for an FBI-sanctioned flight.

You didn’t turn around when you heard him step in behind you.

“I’m going to hell for what I want to do to you in there,” you said softly.

“I think about you like this,” he whispered hoarsely. “On planes. In cars. In the fucking briefing room. I think about your legs around my shoulders while Hotch is assigning tasks.”

Spencer moved fast. Faster than you thought he would—quicker than he ever did in public. One hand gripped your waist, the other tangled in your hair, and his mouth was on yours with a force that stole the breath right out of your lungs.

God, you loved it when he stopped pretending.

You kissed him hard, fingers twisting into his shirt, until the press of your bodies wasn't enough. His hand slid beneath your blouse, up your spine, over the lace clasp of your bra, and you moaned into his mouth—quiet, but not that quiet.

“Shh,” he whispered, grinning against your lips.

“I hate when you do that.”

“No you don’t,” he murmured, pushing you back onto the edge of the bed. “You love when I tell you to be quiet.”

That made you whimper. Loudly.

He hovered over you, hips pressed between your knees, and you felt the hard line of his cock against your thigh. God, he was already so worked up. For you.

“Spence,” you breathed, nails biting into his shoulders. “We shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

“They could hear.”

“I know.”

You dragged him down again, desperate. His hands roamed everywhere—over your breasts, your stomach, under your skirt. You rolled your hips and ground against him, hungry now. He groaned like you’d short-circuited him, fingers sliding your panties to the side, and the moment he touched you, everything else disappeared.

He dropped to his knees, pulled you to the edge of the bed, and buried his face between your thighs like it was the last thing he’d ever do. You had to bite your wrist to keep from screaming his name. His tongue was unrelenting—years of theoretical knowledge applied in all the right places, all at once. When he slid two fingers inside you and curled them just right, your whole body tightened.

“Spence—Spencer, I’m gonna—”

He groaned low, desperate, then licked a slow, torturous path along your inner thigh, teasing the wetness already dripping down your legs. “You’re soaked.”

“Maybe I like planes,” you said, voice shaking as his tongue flicked over your clit.

He laughed against your skin. “Or maybe you like me like this.”

And when he stood, eyes wild and lips glistening, he didn’t ask. He just kissed you again, harder this time—messy, filthy—before turning you around, bending you over the silk-covered mattress, and pulling himself free from his pants.

The first push of him inside you knocked the breath from your lungs.

You both gasped.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to your shoulder. Thrusting into you over and over, hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat over your mouth when you got too loud.

His hand muffled the broken moan that ripped from your throat as he snapped his hips harder—deeper—each thrust shaking the frame of the bed beneath you. You were gripping the silk sheets so tightly they might rip, your knuckles white, your legs trembling.

You whimpered, hips rocking back into his.

“Spencer,” you cried out, muffled by his palm. “Oh my God, I—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. His fingers dug into your hips as he snapped into you harder. You were shaking, sweat slicking your skin, and when he moved his hand to your throat, gently tilting your head back so he could kiss your jaw, you came, moaning as he thrusted you full of warm cum making your eyes roll back.

The only sound in the room was the distant hum of the engines and the obscene panting of your wrecked lungs. Spencer’s weight slumped against your back, his arms wrapped around your waist, still inside you.

Then he kissed the base of your neck. Soft. Gentle. Too intimate for something that was supposed to be casual.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. His curls were a mess, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide. You’d never seen him like this. You’d never seen him more beautiful.

And it hit you like a punch to the gut.

This wasn’t casual. It hadn’t been casual for a long time.

“Spence…” you whispered, suddenly breathless for a different reason.

He brushed your hair away from your face, brow furrowing like he’d heard it in your tone.

But then—like a cruel twist of fate—the door handle rattled.

Both of you froze.

“Yo, Pretty Boy?” came Morgan’s voice, way too close. “You in there? I need your brain. JJ says I can’t bet on whether or not Rossi’s gonna fall asleep with the brandy still in his hand, but I need the odds anyway.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. Spencer’s eyes went wide, then narrowed, then he slowly—very slowly—pulled out of you and reached for his pants.

“I’m—uh—give me two minutes!” Spencer called, voice cracking like a damn teenager. You shoved him off with a panicked squeak. He caught himself on the coffee table, grinning like a lunatic.

You scrambled to fix your dress. He tried to tuck in his shirt.

“I swear he has a sixth sense,” you said, cheeks still flushed.

Spencer exhaled through a laugh, brushing his fingers over your thigh, then your waist, lingering like he didn’t want to stop touching you.

“This thing between us…” you started, hesitant.

He looked at you, all trace of laughter gone. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s not nothing.”

You nodded, throat tight. “But it can’t be something.”

His jaw flexed. “Not yet.”

You looked at each other for a long time. Words unsaid crackled in the air. This was dangerous. It had been dangerous from the beginning. But now it was more than just lust in conference rooms and stolen moments in hotel elevators.

You weren’t sure what it was becoming. But you knew it wasn’t casual anymore.

a/n: FBI stands for Fucking Barely Incognito

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[cheollipop]

𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 (𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙)

navi | taglist

pairing: woosan x fem!reader x song mingi

w.c.: 6.4k

tags: smut, boyfriends!woosan, implied criminal activities, standalone sequel to heists and celebrations.

rating: mature

Weeks passed and the stolen necklace—your only tie to the museum—had long since been pawned away. And yet buzzed, pink hair continued to haunt your fantasies. Until you remembered: Wooyoung was incapable of denying your requests, no matter how sticky they were.

warnings: semi-public sex, van sex, really fucking filthy sex, voyeurism & exhibitionism, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, fingering (f & m receiving), handjobs, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, dom!wooyoung, switch!san, switch!reader, ??!mingi, he's just happy to be there tbh, lots of mxm between all three of them, so much kissing holy fuck, jealous!san, some begging, restraints, everyone gets a little overstimulated, nicknames, san's a cutie when riled up, and he's got a potty mouth, I think that's it ^^

A/N: this one was a wild ride. I'd recommend grabbing a bucket and a mop, just in case. happy reading~

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!! 🔞

“I’m surprised, (y/n). It’s been how long since that day? You’re usually quick to move on,” Wooyoung said with a smile on his lips, pouring hot water into his mug.

“Woo,” you whined, leaning your upper body over the kitchen island, inhaling the fresh scent of instant coffee wafting from Wooyoung’s direction. “You should’ve seen him. I mean, how many men have you seen rock pink hair, let alone a buzzcut?”

“Have you seen Park Seonghwa?”

“Who?”

“Shame. You know Hongjoong? Anyang Group’s boss?”

“Ah, Seonghwa as in that Hongjoong’s sidepiece?” Wooyoung nodded as he sipped his coffee. “Mm,” you mirrored the movement in agreement, lips curling, “wouldn’t mind seeing more of him.”

“Damn right,” he laughed.

He brushed away the image of a slender frame and plush lips to redirect back to your conversation. “You seriously want this?”

“Can you do it?” Tilting your head sideways, you peered at the man before you with wide, hopeful eyes.

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot upwards, and he walked around the island to where you were sat on a stool, placing his mug down to cup your nape, his voice raspy as he spoke, “you know better than to ask me that, darling.”

You smiled, snaking your arms underneath Wooyoung’s baggy shirt and around his waist, pulling him closer to press tender kisses over the line of his jaw, moving up to his lips while he leaned down until you were at eye-level and giving him a firm kiss.

Pearly whites peeked at Wooyoung, “then I really want this.”

“And you’ll get it,” he moved your head towards his with the hand at your nape, his nose pressing into your cheek as he kissed you until you ran out of breath, pulling away with a kitten lick to your upper lip.

Fingers scratched lightly at the back of your head, Wooyoung leaning closer once again, this time nuzzling your temples, taking in the scent of your shampoo before exhaling contently. “But,” he started, moving back until he could meet your eyes, “what about San?”

“What about him?” You feigned ignorance.

The corner of Wooyoung’s lips tugged upwards at your darting gaze. “You know how he gets. I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled watching you devour another man.”

You pouted, arms retreating from Wooyoung’s waist to cross at your chest. “He can deal with it.”

Wooyoung chuckled, moving to kiss you again, frowning when you stopped him with a hand to his chest. You spoke before he could question the movement,

“What about you? Or do you not get jealous”

His frown melted away, expression softening as you avoided his gaze, hands immediately seeking yours to guide them over his shoulders. “My love,” he peppered kisses over your cheek. “You know well how I treat bastards who dare touch what’s mine,” he craned his neck to follow your gaze, until his dark irises met yours.  “You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

You nodded, flashes of gore and spattered red rushed through your mind and your heart warmed at the memory of his dedication, but you weren’t convinced. “Then why—”

Wooyoung interrupted, “but, my darling, since when have you known me to turn down any of your requests?” Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pressed your foreheads together. “While our precious Sannie might want to keep you all for himself, I certainly wouldn’t mind watching you use another man to satisfy a craving,” he moved to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, “especially if he’s as hot as you described.”

You heard San’s ringtone go off, followed by a short exchange of words before his voice echoed through the suite, “jagi, Youngie’s on his way.”

San’s socked feet padded over the carpet when you didn’t reply, stopping at the bathroom doorway to admire your form, leaning over the sink while blinking into your mascara wand. He leaned against the doorframe, watching you move back to examine the drying coat of black for a second before using the tip of the wand to brush over the outer corners of your lashes.

You dropped the tube into your makeup bag and zipped it shut. Meeting San’s gaze through the mirror, you smiled—almost shyly—while smoothing down your dress, its hem resting just below your behind.

“Who are you all dressed up for?” San teased, eyes flitting down to the burgundy colouring your lips.

You turned to face him, smile still stretching your lips as you leaned back against the counter behind you. “Woo said he had a surprise for me before your match tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer, “a surprise? He didn’t mention anything to me.”

You simply shrugged, hoping he’d let it go before the excitement in your eyes betrayed you.

“Ah, I forgot to wash this for you last night,” you shifted the subject, hooking a finger under the hem of San’s singlet, the drops of dried blood staining the collar a memoir of his victory a couple nights ago.

The suspicion in San’s gaze faded, replaced with fondness. His hands reached for yours, balling them in his palms and bringing them to his lips. He pressed a kiss on each of your knuckles, “my perfect girl.”

You frowned; eyes fixed on the flaking blood smirching the white.

San breathed out a laugh, craning his neck to meet your eyes. “I’m serious, my love. It’s okay. It’s gonna get dirty again anyway.”

Seemingly unconvinced, San took your chin between his thumb and pointer and tilted your head upwards. He muttered a breathy “jagi” before his lips crashed over yours—desperate, hungry, wanting. Hands roamed up and down your sides, squeezing at your waist and ass and pulling you impossibly closer to his body. You felt dizzy, arms wrapped around San’s waist and palms splayed over the toned muscle of his back. His breath was hot as it blew over your skin, tongue moving with yours and spit melting the burgundy off your lips.

San’s ringtone sounded in the other room just as strong arms lifted you onto the counter, a disgruntled groan vibrating over your lips before he pulled away to answer, planting a quick peck on your mouth before scurrying out the bathroom.

Giggling to yourself, you slid off the marble to fix the makeup San kissed off you, wiping the product that bled past your lip-line before sliding the applicator over the slightly stained skin.

San showed up at the door once again, hopping on one foot while squeezing the other into his sneakers. “C’mon baby, Youngie’s waiting for us down the street.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you packed your makeup. “Why not pick us up from here?”

“Fuck if I know,” San sighed, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and grabbing his keycard.

The elevator ride was tense, the other passengers averting their gaze upon noticing San’s unabashed groping, a blank expression on both your faces while his hand disappeared under the back of your dress. You elbowed him when the landing doors opened at ground level, finally letting out an airy laugh as the other guests scurried out with hung heads, a cocky smirk forming on San’s lips.

‘Down the street’ was a much longer walk than originally anticipated, San’s grumbling indictive of his irritation, and yet his hold on your hand remained gentle, fingers tangled with yours and squeezing softly with every few steps he took.

After what felt like hours, you took a sharp left into a dark alleyway—tall buildings on either side blocking the sunlight—vivid graffiti overlapping on the damp walls, mould forming where they met the cracked pavement. The familiar white van appeared as you turned the corner, newly painted to refresh the previously peeling lettering, though the various dents in the metal remained.

Wooyoung stood leaning back against the van with a lit cigarette hanging off his bottom lip. The lit edge burned bright orange as he sucked in a breath, pushing off the cold metal to face the two of you.

“Why’d you fucking make us walk so far?” San spat, swinging his arms outwards for emphasis.

Lidded eyes met yours from a few feet away, and you attempted to maintain the faux irritation furrowing your eyebrows.

“Relax, I didn’t want anyone seeing our special guest,” he smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Even if he came here voluntarily."

San looked as heated as he was confused, “the fuck are you talking about?”

Sensing another series of string of curses coming his way, Wooyoung put his hand up to stop him. “Calm down, kitten. Here, see for yourself.”

He exhaled a final cloud of smoke, dropping the expended tobacco onto the pavement and crushing it with the toe of his boot. He stepped towards the van again, pulling the back handles until the double doors swung open. Faded pink hair peeked at you from the back corner of the small space, longer and less vibrant than you remembered, though his defined features were just as captivating; though, you’d argue the full lips looked far more alluring spread apart by the rag Wooyoung had gagged him with.

Your gaze lowered, checking him out while he sat there, staring back with his wrists tied behind his back. You wondered whether Wooyoung had surprised him while getting ready, eying the top three undone buttons of his white shirt, and those missing from his open vest.

A snicker sounded behind you, “sorry, darling, I couldn’t help but inspect the goods while waiting.”

Your shared laughter snapped San out of his trance, turning to face Wooyoung. “Isn’t this the security guard from the last museum? Wooyoung, what the fuck is this?”

Wooyoung’s calm demeanour only seemed to irritate San further, as did the dry chuckle he gave towards his alarm. “Seems like distracting the dog wasn’t enough for our pretty (y/n), she wanted to take him on a walk.”

San’s eyes widened, his head snapping to your direction only to find the space you’d occupied beside him empty.

Your knees dug into the mattress laid on the floor of the van, the used, stained fabric holding the round indent you’d left behind for a few seconds before returning to its original shape. Crawling towards your target, you realised just how much the pink had faded since you last saw him, roots retouched but his grown-out locks closer to being blonde now. He didn’t seem afraid or confused—and you’d thought Wooyoung was only trying to enrage San by hinting Mingi wanted this encounter to occur. The doe eyes that checked you out in the museum were instead replaced by a sharp gaze drowned in an unknown emotion, something sultry, dangerous. But despite the thoughts churning in Mingi’s mind, the fact remained that he was helpless in his current predicament, tied up and unable to touch the woman he so desperately wanted, the threatening presence of her two partners lingering only a few feet away.

Wooyoung watched you closely, both his and San’s eyes shifting to the exposed, pretty black lace of your panties as you crawled towards the bound man. He could sense San’s jealousy simmering beside him, his eyebrows in a deep furrow and fists clenched at his side.

“Want me to untie him?” Wooyoung poked his tongue out between his teeth as a failed attempt to hide his growing grin, awaiting San’s beratement.

Though, your voice stopped the unkind words at the tip of his tongue.

“Uh-uh,” you turned down his offer, settling on your knees, “no need.”

Turning to face the two men still outside the van, you extended a hand towards San, smiling as the crease between his eyebrows softened and he scurried towards you. Grabbing your reaching hand, he led the open palm up to his mouth and pressed five kisses onto the soft skin, inhaling deeply with each one. You smiled, waiting until he’s had his fill before leading him closer. San’s arms wrapped around your waist, his body attaching to yours like it was second nature: front flush with your back, his face buried into the side of your neck until he could smell nothing but your scent, and a faint hint of your shampoo.

You felt the van dip slightly as Wooyoung climbed into the driver’s seat, the engine sputtering before coming alive. You craned your neck to the side to meet San’s eyes, smile dripping with mischief as you spoke, “just want him to watch for now.”

—

San almost couldn’t keep up, his knees digging into the mattress to keep himself steady, arms around your waist keeping you both upright as you threw yourself onto him, lips hungry and desperate as though you’d been craving his taste for days. Teeth clashed against each other, content hums and breathy moans vibrating in the air between you, your hands squeezing at the exposed muscle of his biceps, moving over his chest and down his abdomen.

Moving a few inches back, you dragged the white tank over San’s head and threw it to the side. “C’mon, Sannie,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, hooking your fingers into his waist belt to tug him closer, “don’t you wanna show our guest how good you can be for me?”

Fingers tangled in the hair at your nape, pulling roughly until your neck craned backwards. San’s voice had a rasp to it, dripping with lust he desperately tried to conceal, “don’t push it.”

The corner of your mouth curled, “that’s not being good,” a choked scoff blowing against San’s face, “maybe Mingi here can do better?”

You twisted your head sideways despite the resistance, meeting Mingi’s wide eyes for merely a second before your gaze was forced forwards once again.

“(Y/n),” his tone dripped with warning.

You swiped a finger over San’s bottom lip, protruding yours slightly to egg him on further. “Sannie,” you purred, smiling at the faint flutter of his lashes upon hearing the pleasant sound. “C’mon, baby, show Mingi how good you make me feel.”

Your eyes locked on Wooyoung’s through the rearview mirror while San manhandled you onto his lap, perhaps a little too calm as his gaze travelled over your bare skin and the thin sheet of sweat reflecting the sunlight peeking through the windshield. Your dress tossed somewhere behind you, back stuck to San’s chest and your legs hooked over his thighs, you could feel a flush creeping up your chest upon noticing your position—sat in San’s lap, spread open and bare while Mingi’s eyes roamed over the expanse of smooth skin.

Two fingers circled your clit, and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden touch, exhaling a content sigh when he didn’t waste time sliding them past your pulsing hole. San leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into the junction of your neck as he pumped his fingers slowly.

Sensing the unusual warmth of your skin, a smile stretched his lips. “Oh darling, isn’t it a bit too late to be feeling shy?”

“Shut up,” you moaned, tilting your head to the side to make room for San’s peppered kisses.

Your cunt squelched with every thrust, and you kept your eyes trained on Mingi while it spat slick around San’s fingers. He curled them into your sweet spot, soft ‘ah’s leaving your parted lips as pleasure soared through your body, eyes lidded and head lolling to the side, San’s fingers fucking you open and simultaneously dragging you towards the edge of your release.

“San, Sannie, right there, baby—hnngh, yeah,” his name dripping like honey off your lips.

You grabbed onto his wrist, tight yet not restraining his ministrations, your back arching off his abdomen when his free hand slapped your clit.

“So close already?” San teased into your ear, though his eyes were sharp and contemptuous upon meeting Mingi’s over your shoulder. “I see the audience has got you all worked up.”

His palm landed onto your clit again, and again, content watching your hips jump then fall back onto his lap with each slap.

“Sannie, please,” you panted, hips rolling towards his hands as he played with your cunt, nearly crying out when he pinched your clit between his thumb and pointer, vision blurring when you finally came.

San’s fingers continued pressing your g-spot, languidly to extend your orgasm, his other hand cupping your inner thigh and taking in the tremors shaking your form. His lips found their way back to your neck—blossoming bruises of red and blue scattered over the delicate skin—while his eyes remained on Mingi, as though an unspoken challenge was being communicated between the two men.

Slipping his fingers out from between your clenching walls, San readjusted your position on his lap, moving you sideways so your legs dangled off one of his thighs, an arm around your back holding you upright with your head resting on his shoulder. Mingi watched silently as San leaned down to press a delicate kiss to your lips, checking up on you through whispered questions while massaging the tired muscles of your thighs. It was like he was non-existent, merely a prop in the small bubble enveloping the two of you.

It wasn’t until your tired eyes met his that the bubble popped, and Mingi snapped out of his thoughts. You sat up, your gaze suddenly alert and glimmering with hints of mischief, beginning to crawl towards the man merely a few feet away after San had begrudgingly let you go.

With just a few inches separating your faces, you pulled the wet rag between his lips down to hang around his neck, “did you enjoy that?”

Mingi began nodding before you could finish the question, “yes,” he cleared his throat, the rasp in his voice sending a wave of heat down to your core, and San could see your pussy clench from where he was sat behind you.

“Mm,” you hummed, “I could tell.”

You smiled, tilting your head down to drag your attention to Mingi’s crotch, his cock hard and straining against the constraints of his dress pants. You brushed your fingertips over his zipper, smiling wider at the displeased groan sounding behind you, looking back up at Mingi when a chocked moan left his full lips, a thick gulp following it.

He rested his head against the back of the driver’s seat, taking you in wordlessly through hooded eyes, watching as you reached between your legs to swipe your fingers through your sopping cunt only to bring them back to hover in front of Mingi’s face.

“Be a good boy,” you whispered, and pushed your fingers past his plush lips.

Mingi didn’t need to be told twice, taking them like a starved man and moaning unabashedly as your slick met his tastebuds, rolling his tongue around the digits and sucking them deeper into his mouth. You felt yourself getting wetter, squeezing your thighs together while running your fingers down Mingi’s tongue until he gagged. His whine when you slid them out nearly made you cum, his head moving to chase your retreating fingers, your lingering taste alone driving him halfway to madness.

So, you brought them back, this time hovering around and over his lips despite his attempts to take them inside his mouth. Brushing your thumb through the spit soaking his lips, you shoved it past them to hook behind his bottom teeth, tugging his head forward and removing your hand just before your lips crashed. It was sloppy, way too much teeth and saliva and tongue, and yet your pussy ached, skin buzzing and your need growing the longer your mouth moved against Mingi’s. Lust guided you, your fingers squeezing around Mingi’s cock through his pants while your tongue ran across his teeth, the raspy moans reverberating against your skin fanning the fire burning within your core.

Warmth spread against your back, San’s body covering yours and his hand closing around your chin to pull you off Mingi, pausing to take in the gloss covering both your lips before his irritation grew once again, “don’t slobber on another man’s face when I’m the one fucking you.”

You visibly shuddered at his words, arching back against his torso and leaning forward to catch his lips, barely brushing against then when Mingi’s voice startled you away,

“You’re cruel, miss,” he mumbled, as though talking to himself, yet his eyes fixed on your flushed face. Noting your confusion—and San’s glare—he continued, “I called that number so many times,” he breathed deeply between each of the last three words, his voice dropping at octave as he mumbled the rest of his sentence “’kept wondering whether you tasted as sweet as you smelled.”

San felt the shiver shaking your body, and your pussy getting wetter against his cock where it lay slotted between your legs. He was so occupied with this sultry exchange he didn’t notice the engine’s silence until the doors behind him swung open. A quick peak over his shoulder calmed his reflexes, arms relaxing around your waist as Wooyoung crawled towards him.

Just as he turned his attention back to the pink-haired man admiring you with heart eyes and a tongue heavy with honey-laced words, the string of curses nearly leaving San’s mouth got interrupted,

“Oh come on, Sannie, loosen up a little,” Wooyoung ribbed, dragging his fingertips up San’s spine. “Our friend Mingi here was so excited when he heard (y/n) wanted to see him.”

“Youngie, stay out of this,” San growled, feline eyes narrowing in warning.

Scoffing, Wooyoung left San’s side with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder and a whispered “suit yourself,” moving towards your guest. You both sat back and watched as Wooyoung grabbed Mingi’s defined jaw and smashed their lips together. It was almost like watching your prior kiss from a new perspective—Wooyoung was clearly leading, sucking the plush of Mingi’s lips into his own, digging his tongue into his mouth to seek out more of him, and sneaking his hand lower to palm over his cock. His touch was rough, rendering Mingi unable to do anything but groan against Wooyoung’s mouth, the gravelly sound travelling right to your core.

“More,” he recited, tugging against the restraints at the small of his back while simultaneously fucking up into Wooyoung’s palm. All the while, Wooyoung’s kisses remained relentless, teeth digging into Mingi’s bottom lip and tongue roaming within his mouth, wanting nothing but to manhandle the taller man and take him however he wanted. He held back, though, your excitement in the back of his mind while he enjoyed what he could have.

San was starstruck, his irritation with Mingi long since fizzled away, wholly incapable of moving his eyes off the scene before him, so turned on he imagined a fire would burn less than the heat spreading under his skin.

He hissed as your fingers wrapped around his length, bringing him back to the present and aligning him with your entrance, a nonvocal appeal in the lookback you’d given him. So he slid inside you with a muttered curse, throwing his head back as your heat engulfed him, pleasure soaring through his body at the tight squeeze of his throbbing cock between your walls.

You felt so full, satiated with San finally inside you. Lowering yourself onto your elbows, you allowed your head to hang limp while San thrusted experimentally, jolting you forward with an airy ‘ah’ leaving your lips.

Wooyoung finally parted from Mingi’s now-swollen mouth, glancing behind him at the sound and missing how the other man had leaned in for more. Pretending as though he hadn’t shaken Mingi’s world and possibly given him a sexuality crisis, Wooyoung moved his attention to you and San. He watched shamelessly as San’s hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing and pulling until you sat upright on your knees, tits jumping and lips parting as ecstasy blurred your vision. He was so deep, so heavy where he sat within you, sheathing his full length inside your cunt before pulling out once again.

Following the minute shifts in your expression—brows furrowing then relaxing, lips parted and spit pooling at the reddened corners, your lashes fluttering each time San drove his cock into you—Wooyoung couldn’t stand still any longer. His lips were on yours before you could even register him moving, fingers tangling with the hair at the back of your head to push your faces impossibly closer. He inhaled deeply where his nose dug into your cheek, pulling away slightly only to press wet kisses onto your mouth, allowing you to breathe while he continued satisfying his hunger.

Mingi gulped, also sat up on his knees now and staring directly at San. And as much as San attempted to look away, to focus on his partners making out in front of him, he couldn’t take his eyes off the other man’s lips—somehow fuller than ever, red and slightly chapped from Wooyoung’s relentless nips. Walking a step forward on his knees, Mingi now sat a few inches away from San’s face, and he took the opportunity to lean even closer, frowning when San flinched backwards on instinct.

Noticing the exchange in his peripheral, Wooyoung untangled a hand from your hair to wrap around San’s head and push him forward, successfully ending his resistance when his lips touched Mingi’s.

San could taste you both on Mingi’s lips, nearly shying away them as the other man towered over him, acting as though he’d wanted to put San in this position ever since he’d gotten in this van. Spit-soaked teeth closed around his bottom lip, dragging it with them as Mingi pulled away, only to move back in for more.

You could feel San throbbing inside you, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, losing his rhythm while Mingi was on him. They sounded downright sinful, and one look over your shoulder clamped your pussy down around San, a throaty moan vibrating over Mingi’s lips.

Wooyoung left you with a tender kiss, sneaking around the tangled bodies to reach San’s posterior and bending forward to graze his lips against the shell of his ear, jolting him away from Mingi.

“Seems like our dear Sannie is finally enjoying himself,” he sneered, running his pointer over San’s pert hole and smiling wider at his startled gasp.

Drowning out the conversation behind you, your eyes fell on the tent in Mingi’s pants. You peeled San’s limp fingers from your throat and bent at your waist, placing your palms on his thick thighs to push him into a seated position. It didn’t take long to free his cock from its constraints, Mingi’s eyes wide and wanting, leaning his body back on his elbows, wrists violently tugging against the cloth around them until Wooyoung’s dark glare over San’s shoulder ceased his attempts.

You pumped his length once, taking in Mingi’s rough groan while in awe at the sheer amount of precum coating his reddened skin. You paused before taking him in your mouth, squeezing your fist around the tip and forcing Mingi’s eyes to roll back momentarily, though your head hung low and an elongated moan dragged off your tongue as San adjusted his angle, fucking up into your g-spot until splotches of white spread across your vision.

“Fuck, Sannie— So good,” you tilted your head back, lips parted as another moan slipped past them.

Mingi’s cock jumped in your hold, and you didn’t waste time lurching forward to suck the tip into your mouth. The tang overwhelming your tastebuds goaded you to take him further, flattening your tongue against the underside of his length and lowering yourself until his cockhead nudged your uvula.

“Fuuuck,” Mingi moaned on an exhale, his hips moving upwards in light thrusts to meet your mouth halfway, eyes fluttering shut each time he bottomed out within your tight channel.

You felt lightheaded, Mingi’s taste on your tongue and the deep baritone of his voice driving you to take him further inside. You could barely breathe, the backs of your thighs on fire, San’s slamming against your skin as he fucked into you like a crazed man, pushing you forward until Mingi’s cock bumped the back of your throat.  Tears blurred your vision, gagging around his length before pulling off to rest your head over his quivering thigh, but San remained relentless, pumping his cock inside you until your moans went quiet, your mouth open helplessly while burning pleasure overtook your senses.

It took you a few seconds to regain your breath, and you were sucking Mingi’s cock back into your mouth before he could even check up on you. He fought against his restrains, wanting nothing but to tangle his ringed fingers through your hair, to guide your head over the length of his cock until your spit ran down the sides.

“You can do better,” Wooyoung’s voice startled San away from his thoughts, noticing his hand going limp around Wooyoung’s cock. “Look at our pretty girl taking the both of you so well,” he compared teasingly, curling his fingers inside San while he spoke.

“Youngie, ah—fuck, ‘want a turn?” San asked, ignoring the provocation in Wooyoung’s tone and squeezing around his leaking tip.

“Mm,” he hummed into his ear, leaning some of his weight on San’s side and planting a kiss over his shoulder, “fill ‘er up for me,” another kiss on the back of his neck, “I’ll have my fun with you later.”

The purposely harsh thrust Wooyoung gave prodded right at San’s prostate, his cock jumping inside you at the stimulation and his mind going hazy.

“Fuck me, ‘m gonna cum,” San panted, squeezing around the other man while he jerked him off before letting go, instead reaching back to grab his wrist to stop his fingers from driving him off the edge.

“Ah, Sannie, feels so good,” you mumbled while kissing over Mingi’s cockhead, digging the tip of your tongue into the slit to watch his eyes roll back.

You clamped down around San when Mingi spoke suddenly, “please, please, please, miss, oh god—I’m so close,” his head hung sideways to rest over his shoulder as he watched you swallow his cock through lidded eyes.

Your pussy squelched loudly around San, slick running down the inside of your thighs, and jealousy panged painfully within his chest as he watched you deepthroat the man sat in front of him. He let go of Wooyoung, bowing forward to wrap an arm around your shoulders and pull your body towards him, Mingi’s cock slipping out of your mouth with a whine and falling heavily against his lower belly.

“San, what—”

“Don’t you even think about coming in her mouth,” San interrupted to address Mingi, balancing on one hand with the other tucking you closely against his chest. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

Yet.

The word alone made precum drip down Mingi’s cock, his voice a higher pitch as he whined disgracefully, “please, ‘wanna cum so bad,” he thrust his hips in the air involuntarily.

San paused inside you, as though contemplating for a few seconds before his hips stuttered and regained their previous pace, your hand flying to wrap around San’s hand where it dug into the mattress. And just when you’d thought the pleasure had completely dumbed you out, San slowly withdrew the arm around you and waited until you settled onto your elbows, pressing his lips to your crown before shifting his attention back to Mingi.

Wordlessly, he reached towards him and wrapped his fingers around his cock, Mingi’s sharp hiss sounding in the stuffy van as San began getting him off.

“Go on then, cum.”

Despite the animosity in his tone, you could feel San grow thicker inside you, stretching your cunt out even further. Squeezing San’s free hand, you laid your top half on the mattress and waited until Mingi absentmindedly scooted closer, resting your head on his thigh to watch San’s fist pumping his girth. San’s pace slowed while he focused on the cock in his hand, and you couldn’t complain, Mingi’s rasp in your ear and his thighs shaking underneath you, thick ropes of cum spurting from his angry tip and splattering onto the side of your face.

San waited until he’d drained Mingi completely before letting him go, his eyebrows raising when your hand took his place, squeezing around his base to hear him hiss in sensitivity. But you kept going, lifting your head and squeezing his wet cock until he began spasming, the overstimulation stretching his vocal cords until he sounded thoroughly pathetic. He panted like a dog even after you’d let him go, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he’d act when pussydrunk—your hole dripping with his load, his airy begging echoing in your ear while you slid down on him yet again, fucking yourself full of his softening cock.

An abrupt change in position paused your forming fantasy, eyes fixing on the van’s roof before San slipped into your field of vision, dimpled cheeks and warm smile lighting a gentle fire in your chest.

“Where were we?” He whispered, your familiar bubble forming around you once again as he leaned down to kiss you.

His lips were soft, moving leisurely over yours as though you were a hallowed treasure, an invaluable jewel he’d set out to heist. His cupped your jaw, burning palm against your heated skin tilting your head so he could move impossibly closer, deepening the kiss until you feared he’d devour you. Reaching between your bodies, San aligned himself and pushed inside you once again, his groan and yours mingling in the negligible air between you.

He started off slow, letting out a shuddered moan as the tight heat of your pussy sucked him in, so deep he considered never pulling out. San fit inside you like he was born to fuck you dumb, his cockhead pressing your sweet spot every time he buried himself within your cunt, pushing more of your slick out and down past where he stretched you out.

San’s hips stuttered just as he’d built up his pace, the feeling of sneaky fingers prodding at his hole again dragging his attention off your face, his features contorting when Wooyoung easily slipped two fingers into his ass. A guttural moan left his lips, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut as he got stretched open, his hands squeezing around your waist while he adjusted.

“Is it too much, Sannie?” Wooyoung provoked him, and you knew it was his own wicked way of getting back at San for leaving him out. You could tell by the violent throbbing between your walls that San was close, and Wooyoung loved playing with San when he was desperate to cum. “’You gonna cum before our girl?”

San snapped his head towards him, glaring despite his predicament—two fingers pumping inside him and your pussy squeezing around his cock. He was in no position to glower at anyone, and yet your small giggle set him off further. He turned his attention to you, moving back to meet Wooyoung’s fingers and forward to piston his cock into your sopping hole. You sensed your orgasm building back up, arching an extra inch off the stained mattress each time San drove into you, lowering himself even more to wrap his lips around your nipple, biting and sucking it raw before licking a strip up your cleavage to the dip between your collarbones.

“Need you to come, baby, let go for me,” he wrapped both arms around you, whining between desperate groans, the stimulation from both sides almost too much for him.

You nodded wildly, a repetition of his name falling off your lips like honey-laced poison; San’s heart nearly arrested.

He untangled one of arms from your quivering form to reach for your clit, frantically flicking and rubbing until you began spasming in his arms, the whites of your eyes showing before you’d squeezed your lids together, jerking away from San’s touch yet rolling your hips towards it. Fiery pleasure blinded your senses, oxytocin rushing through your veins while your orgasm crashed into you like a cyclone wave, twitching uncontrollably within San’s hold.

It didn’t take long for San to follow, deep, breathy ‘ah’s leaving him while your pussy clenched around his cock, barely able to move as you held onto him while you came. Behind him, Wooyoung remained mostly impassive, humping San’s hip while his fingers massaged his prostate, opting to hurriedly jerk himself off instead when San’s thighs began shaking.

San could feel his sanity slipping away, Wooyoung’s fingers milking him of all he had. His cum spurted out of him in hot ropes while he hysterically grinded into you, stuffing your womb full of his seed. His moans lowered an octave, dropping himself over you while still coming, a stream of liquid squeezing past his cock and down to seep into the mattress below you.

At the first uncomfortable whine from the overstimulated man, Wooyoung pulled his fingers out, fucking his slick-covered fist until white ribbons painted San’s back, a few drops landing over his pulsing hole. He could help but reach forward to run a rough thumb over it, pushing his cum inside until San reached back to swat him away with a curse.

Wooyoung took you in from where he towered over you— sweat covered your entire body, skin sticking to San’s as he laid on top of you, head resting on your shoulder; your tits were bitten and bruised from his rough mouth, a bitemark circling your nipple, and cum dripping out of your cunt which San’s softening cock still resided within. Moving his eyes back to your face, they softened at your relaxed features, hooded eyes peering back at him and a warm, grateful smile on your lips. His cock twitched in interest upon noticing Mingi’s drying cum splattered over your face, his tongue poking the side of his mouth, aching for a taste.

Wooyoung grabbed San’s discarded singlet to wipe off the slick wetting his fingers, figuring the man wouldn’t mind another fluid staining the fabric. It was only then that he noticed your guest’s presence, fucked-out with flushed skin and blown-out pupils slowly lifting off your stretched hole to meet Wooyoung’s. Mingi’s own cum coated his toned abdomen, the muscle shaking as he took a shuddering breath in.

Wooyoung’s lips curled with something dangerous, and Mingi nearly flinched. His words, however, lit a treacherous wildfire within him and spread to his core.

“Be good, Mangi,” the nickname coming naturally, “and who knows? Maybe you’ll get the chance to taste her someday.”

please reblog/leave feedback if you enjoyed~ ^^

[szarina]

Hi I really like you yandare! Zayne so much and I kinda want to know what would happen if yandare! Zayne getting jealous.

❆ ₊⋆ content warnings. jealousy + hints of possessiveness

“How's the married life with Zayne?”

A man about the same as your husband's height had joined besides you but the similarities ends there. A glass of champagne in his hand and you were bit distracted at the bubbles fizzing in his drink before your sight drifting to look at his face.

This charity event was meant for patient care especially children that at such a young age is being ravaged by diseases. A crystal chandelier were hung in the middle of the room and waiters passing by like ghosts with trays of refreshments for the guests.

“Excuse me?” You slowly stepped to the side.

“Apologies, where's my manners.” He chuckles to himself. Forgetting himself in front of his former junior and laboratory partner's wife. “I'm Carter. Zayne's former senior while we were in Skyhaven.” He raised his hand for you to take.

Hesitating, you take his hand of your husband's former classmate and firmly shakes it. You thought it was formalities until he leans down and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles. Surprised at the sudden gesture you withdrew your hand, the slight twitch giving it a result of nervousness and covering the awkwardness. You couldn't be so more obvious.

The corners of his mouth lift into a smile. The kind of smile that is knowing and he was enjoying every second of your reaction and it left a rather distasteful feeling to yours.

You were starting to wish Zayne was already done after being taken away by Dr. Noah for related research studies in the development of a treatment for the rising cases of heart diseases and being the guest of honor of this gala. He could have refused it but with his reputation and profession and a rather personal reason. It was your first time to be introduced in this white coats and charity event as his wife.

This man, Carter — gave you the creeps. It was rather blatant to ask you first of your marital life with your husband instead of greetings. You don't judge but you heard stories, a fallout with this man and your husband. Zayne was more compassionate with his work and a selfless one — doing more for the masses gain rather than his own. There's still exceptionalities to be considered.

“I apologize for the rather personal question. It's not like I would have known that Zayne had settled down and a surprise that it was you.” You can hear the amusement in his voice with a hint of smugness. “His hidden treasure. I thought he's going to end up with her. I guess not.”

A rather triumphant smirk appeared on his face at your reaction. This man was rather sadistic and was enjoying your visible discomfort and knows what buttons to push when getting on someone's nerves.

“Such a waste, rotting and failing to thrive in his presence. You could have bloomed in someone's arms rather than his.” The words were rather unbelievable and was spoken with such confidence like he was implying that you were much better with him than your husband.

He takes a sip of his champagne. He was about to speak when a voice interrupts.

“Carter.” Zayne greets him emotionless. A formality but you can feel the weight of his words. Your husband rests his hand in the small of your back. Holding you in a firm grip like he was telling you he got this. Your husband presses you to his side.

“Zayne.” Carter expresses with a grin. His gaze raking your plush figure and it didn't escape the watchful gaze of the cardiac surgeon.

“She's beautiful, what a shame she's married to you. She can do much better.” Carter started, trying to get a rise from your husband. It wasn't enough cause when you glanced there's only the same stoic expression on his face but his eyes tells another different story.

A dark cloudy kind of gaze swirls around those sharp hazel green eyes of his. Flickering in the gold tints of his eyes. “Is that so?” His voice flat. No amusement hinted nor challenging his words for he doesn't care and it doesn't matter. His opinion were equivalent to a discarded surgical gloves. Unnecessary and filthy.

Carter scoffs, amused. He was about to say something but was stopped by Zayne. “Have a good night, Carter. My wife and I need to be left alone.”

Carter just tips his champagne like he was asking for a toast before leaving. You breath a sigh of relief and was meet with your husband's gaze.

“Are you alright?” He says in the same calculated voice.

“Yes.” You answered and his silence greeted you before whisking you to dance in the middle of the ballroom. Where guests with their plus ones had curtsied them for a dance.

He discreetly scans the sea of crowd before his gaze had landed on you. His wife — that can rather be clueless about her surroundings and is a magnet for men who wanted her.

Zayne pulls you closer to him. His hand resting on the small of your back while the the other holds your hand. A simple waltz in the middle of the dance floor. His eyes never leaving yours. He's troubled when he looks at you like that but held the softness and the darkness in those eyes of his.

“What did he say?” He asks. Studying the slightest falter in your rounded face.

“Asked how's the married life with you.” You murmur. “And?” He continued. “Said that he thought you're going to end up with her.” Your voice drops into a whisper and your gaze lower. You can feel the familiar stinging of the hot tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Of course, they always thought it was her and even with this marriage and the offsprings you had with him.

“He's wrong. She doesn't matter.” He gently lifts your chin with his index finger. Forcing you to meet his gaze. Assuring you that she was no longer part of her life and it was you that holds his heart.

Putting your feelings aside to her. “Carter said that I was better if I was with someone else and not you.” You revealed and you can see the sudden tensing of his jaw and his darkening.

“He speaks of nonsense. He's unworthy.” The coldness of his voice is enough to send shivers down your spine.

“You're not better with someone else. You're mine. I'm the only one who can love you. Protect you.” It was a silent declaration coming from him and you believed him.

It wasn't insecurity but a threat of someone who was trying to worm in your life. As if he will let them. No one's deserves you except for him. He only belongs to you and you belong to him.

“Zayne, everyone's looking.” You whispered. Your back facing his chest and you can feel his breath fanning in your nape. “Let them see.” He answers and presses a chaste kiss to your nape. Shivers creeping up on you at the contact.

Affection in public wasn't his kind of thing but when a time comes like this, when it's not enough even when you're by his side. A kiss is enough from him to show that you are his and nobody would dare to question it.

[yieldtotemptation]

ALWAYS ft. Hanni

hanni x male reader smut

9k words

This used to be your least favourite part of the day.

Waking up alone, to nothing but an alarm that’s far too loud, a bed that’s way too firm, a dorm room that mocks your financial instability with its harsh coldness. 

And that somehow, was the best-case scenario.

Beating getting kicked out of a library after passing out face first in a textbook, or booted off your best friend’s mouldy couch when his girlfriend wanted some alone time.

Or even, in your worst moment, getting yelled at by some stranger when you’re discovered on their bathroom floor in a pool of what you prayed to God was your own vomit.

All things of the past, since her.

Since Hanni—waking up was everything.

-

It starts, like it always does, in a tangle of limbs.

Most mornings, with Hanni’s face buried in your chest, cradled in your embrace, small puffs of breath tickling your neck. Others, with her back to you; pulling your arms around her, using the heat of your body like her coziest blanket.

One time on top of you; an exhausted smile plastered on her face, still basking in the afterglow of the night before.

She wrapped herself around you, refused to let go. Like there was a possibility that if she held you tight enough, she could bring you into her dreams.

That was the first day you truly saw her.

You talked about your pasts, your futures, shared your deepest vulnerabilities, made a million quiet confessions.

And when Hanni whispered: “I never want to go back.”

You pulled her closer, kissed her, and answered: “You’ll never have to.”

Since then, every morning always started with you holding her. Feeling her softness, her warmth, the calm rise and fall of her chest, as her exhales became your inhales and your breaths mixed together and synchronised.

This is how it had to be—how you both needed it to be.

So—now:

Nights and mornings since that promise; the sound of a guitar slipping into your ears.

It’s a recording she made for you, setting it as your alarm to make waking up a little more pleasant, to make sure the first thing you thought of when you opened your eyes was her.

Unnecessary, ultimately, seeing as the first thing you see when you wake up is her. Or, to be precise, her arm poking out from under the blankets, flailing about blindly.

“Off,” Hanni mumbles, fumbling around the bed, the nightstand, your face, seeking the offending device.

You stretch over her, a blanket on top of her blanket, and hunt down the invisible enemy that dared to interrupt your girlfriend’s peaceful slumber.

A muffled “thanks”, and she takes the opportunity to snuggle even closer.

There’s the smile quirking at the corner of her lips. Her nose, nuzzling closer into your chest, searching for your heartbeat. That pleased hum she’s making, letting you know there’s no place she’d rather be, like she’s completely content to stay all cozied up and warm for as long as you’ll let her (forever, if possible, please).

It’s hardly a tough sell—face the cold shower, the crowded buses and trains, the boring lectures that the rest of the day holds.

Or, stay wrapped up in the sanctuary of your (Hanni’s) bed. In fitted silk sheets, weighted duvets, plush pillows. Wrapped up in Hanni; in her very soft, very warm, very naked body.

It’s a no-brainer, really.

The rest of you, the more honest part of you that’s resting somewhere between her belly button and her thighs, seems to agree. It’s got a mind of its own, stirring to life, responding to the heat of her skin and the gentle pressure of her body; the familiar lines of her curves and the lavender scent of her hair.

She notices, of course.

It’s hard not to feel it, nudging against her, steadily growing with each passing beat, saying, ‘Hey, remember me?’

A kiss over your heart, a giggle into your sternum, and she’s up—sort of. She rolls onto her side, still in your embrace, but enough so that you can see the wry smile gracing her face, her sleepy eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

Chalk it up to whatever you want—relationship goggles, the honeymoon phase, or just the sheer joy of finding someone who actually cares about you—but when Hanni's looking like this, it's hard to believe you’re not dreaming.

The morning light kissing her rosy cheeks. The gentle pink of her full lips. Midnight silk hair curtaining her face. Her eyes.

A sweet, completely innocent question: “Having a good morning?”

She shifts, slightly.

An oh-so-incidental move that has the blanket sliding off her shoulder, down to her waist. It’s an invitation that you take, a proper wake-up call, from her collarbone to the curve of her hip. Softness and warmth, a stark contrast to the cold that whispers from the edges of the bed.

Hanni—your Hanni—leaving you with the implication: ‘Can I make it better?’

“Classes,” is all you say, because you have to at least acknowledge the responsibility, play the farce that you would actually abandon your (again—very warm, very naked) girlfriend for the sake of academia.

“It’s cold outside,” is her astute observation.

“Mhm.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“Right,” you nod.

“So,” she starts, bringing her hand up to your cheek, walking you through the incredibly simple, blatantly obvious logic. “Do you need any other reason?”

“Are you offering me one?”

Lips purse then pouts in that endearingly cute, Hanni way. “Does it help that I’m naked?”

“One would think that more clothes would be appropriate, considering the weather,” you posit, like you weren't already convinced long before she even opened her mouth. But, it’s still fun to pretend that her persistence doesn’t melt you every time. 

“One would be wrong.” Hanni edges closer, her bare skin gliding over yours, so you can properly assess the merits of her argument. The tip of her nose brushing against your own, the softness of her breasts passing along your chest, and her hand at your cheek, then your neck, your stomach, and moving lower, and lower. “Body heat, you know?”

Her hand gets lower still. You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Like when it’s freezing and people get lost in a snowstorm.” She finds you, reaches into the waistband of your sweatpants, wraps her fingers around you, wakes you up.

“Or when girlfriends are trying to convince their boyfriends to stay in bed all day long,” you groan out. “Again.”

“Exactly,” Hanni says, a breezy air of finality, proud of herself for making you see reason—or rather, feel it.

You kiss her forehead, conceding the victory to her, and she scrunches her nose; preens. It’s a subtle movement, the kind that you’ve come to recognise as her victory dance. She squeezes your body closer to hers, her cheek squishing into your chest, her other hand wrapping around your neck, her legs curling up around your calves. It’s like she’s absorbing your affection, turning it into warmth she’ll keep with her for the rest of the day.

Her hand winds up and down, these long, lazy motions. Smooth and tender, stroking the length of you, her thumb tracing the vein that pulses along the side. She’s not in a hurry; not anymore anyway. Just, enjoying the moment, enjoying being with you, enjoying how obvious you are with your sighs and shivers.

“‘sides,” Hanni adds, taking a break to kiss around your jawline, your neck, your shoulder. “You deserve it. A perfect day of nothing.” She sounds so hopeful, so earnest, and there’s a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the friction of her hand on your skin. “We can order junk food, watch awful horror movies, and…”

“Just us.” A finger under her chin to tilt her head up, to capture those half-moon eyes with yours, to kiss her sweetly, deeply, remind her that she’s all you need to make a perfect day. “I wonder what I’ve done to earn this.”

“Not what you’ve done,” Hanni says in the breaths between your kisses. “What you’re going to do.” 

With that, she uses all her weight to push you, rolling you onto your back, climbing over you with a grace that leaves you breathless.

She straddles you, legs draped over your hips, small breasts bouncing just a little with the motion. There’s mischief lighting up her eyes, that playful glint that precedes all good things. The blankets fall completely off her with a dramatic flourish, leaving her bare and exposed for your eyes to drink in.

A pause to appreciate her—to really look at her. From her flushed cheeks to the tips of her toes. Every curve, every darkened freckle, every soft, sweet inch of her—yours to adore, to touch, to explore.

And then, she winks.

You can’t help but laugh.

Hanni joins you, giggling in uncontrollable fits.

It’s the ridiculousness of it all, of Hanni—the girl who blushes when you hold her hand in public—straddling you with a wink and a promise of a day of pure carnal indulgence.

You both laugh until your cheeks hurt, until the tension breaks and you’re just two people in the cozy bubble of her bed, sharing a stupid, silly moment.

It takes a beat, but you both somehow recover, gasping for air between giggles. She settles herself, placing her hands on either side of your face, looking down at you with all the adoration in the world. Her touch grounds you, brings you back to the present.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” You ask, when you’re finally able to speak. “This is what you really want to do all day?”

“Well…” Hanni muses, sinking down to your waist, running her fingers over your t-shirt, stopping when she has the hem in her clutches. “A bit of this.”

She starts rolling your shirt up, sliding the cotton over your stomach. The cold air of the room kisses your skin before the warmth of her mouth replaces it. Her soft, plump lips meet your body, the small indent of your belly button.

Simple, innocent, playful. Hanni.

“A bit of that,” she continues, her hands keep moving, lifting the shirt higher, tugging it up and up, exposing your chest to her eyes, her lips.

She finds her target, a tongue over your nipple, paying you back for what you’re no doubt going to be doing to her later; flicking over your chest to make you hiss.

“A bit of me,” she adds, words vibrating against your chest, leaving goosebumps as she rises higher.

You lift your arms, allowing her to pull your shirt off your body, trapping you for a moment so she can suck at your neck, mark you as hers, and hers only. As if you didn’t already wear it on your face whenever she’s around.

“Doing a lot of you.”

Her eyes rake over you—your chest, your stomach, your abs. Lingering a touch too long, making her cheeks warm; colouring them with a soft blush that spreads from her neck up to her ears, hinting at the thoughts racing through her mind.

And then you're kissing her.

It’s gentle (your kisses always are) but that doesn’t make it any less passionate, any less intense.

She kisses you back, lips sliding over yours, the softness of her tongue tracing the line of your teeth, moaning your name in short stutters into your mouth.

It feels so right, so natural. The way she fits against you, feels on top of you, the perfect puzzle piece you’ve been desperate to find in a world full of mismatches.

It’s far too early to say it, but you know it—have known it.

You love her. Love how she lives in the moment; how even when you’re worried about the future, about deadlines and tomorrows, she can bring you back to the present and make things simple. In the least selfish way possible, she makes it about her.

(And that’s all you need).

It builds and builds; these slow, dragging kisses, these admissions of things that you’re not quite ready to say. Until you’re both well and truly needy for a touch more heat, as much of each other as you can possibly get.

You can’t hold it anymore, so you don’t bother trying.

With a firm grasp, you take Hanni’s hips in your hands, your thumbs pressing into vanilla skin as you pull her upward. It’s strategic, pull the best parts of her (which could be any part, really) closer, prove her earlier guess right by introducing her breast to your lips, her nipple to your tongue.

A million times you’ve repeated it and it won’t be enough—she’s so soft. Melting at your touch already, so responsive, letting you know she’s feeling it with every hushed gasp and shiver of her tight body.

One hand is filled by her other breast, a supple handful, spilling between your fingers, carelessly massaging as your mouth latches onto its twin. Her heart races, hammers against your palm, quickening with every passing flick, with each chaste suck between your lips.

Your other hand snakes lower, caressing the smooth plane of her stomach. You drag your fingertips over the ridges and valleys of her abs, down towards the juncture of her thighs.

She squirms.

Moans a little louder.

Scrapes the back of your scalp and pulls you in.

You’re insistent, your touch feather light as it grazes over the whispers of hair; trailing all the way down, down, where you ghost over her mound, tease her clit to make her gasp.

“Like that,” Hanni moans her approval, answers you with hips rocking against your hand. “So, so… nice.”

Your hand dips down further, parting her folds, sliding through her slick, greeted with the warmth and wetness of her opening. Soaking your hand, inviting you to delve deeper.

“Hanni,” you mouth around her nipple, “you’re so wet.”

“O-of course,” she manages, shuddering as you dare to ease a finger inside, pushing into her and pushing out a cry that fills the room. “It’s you.”

“It definitely is,” you confirm, stroking her walls with slow, deliberate care, feeling her tense around you with each movement. “And I’m just getting started.”

Her body arches, curves into you, tilting her head back and feeding you more of her; her breast into your mouth, her pussy on your fingers. You look up at her, feel her, memorise every little noise she makes, every twitch of her body as you touch her. Her breath skips as you start to move your finger in and out, a quiet pace to make her hips dance.

“This is a good idea.“ You’re pushing in deeper, adding a second digit to the mix, stretching her just so. She’s tight around you, always so tight, enveloping you in her heat, and there’s the urge to go even slower, to savour every moment. “Staying in all day. Making you feel good.”

Her legs tense, toned thighs flex as you curl your fingers up, pulling towards you just right to hit that spot that makes her mouth hang open, that makes her whine. There’s a plea in there, a silent request for more, for everything.

And you give it to her, because it’s what she deserves, because it’s what she’s asking for, because she’s yours.

She’s getting tighter around you, walls squeezing in. A prelude to something beautiful, something only you know how to give her, a skill you’ve picked up in this very same bed.

“God,” Hanni’s breaths are turning into short gasps, she’s so needy for it, for you. A slight tug of your hair, pulling you off her breast, forcing her nipple to ‘pop’ from your lips. She sinks down, further down onto your hand, her breasts dragging against your chest, her skin sticking to yours. “You’re such a tease.”

Her lips hang in front of yours, pillowy cushions begging for its partner—needing you to kiss her, now. You claim her mouth, let her be as loud as she wants on your lips; these delightful sounds when your hand moves faster, more insistent.

Arms hold you, wrap around your back, hugging you tighter, needing you to be as close as humanly possible. Hands everywhere—massaging your back, gripping in your shoulders, tangled in your hair, grabbing at your biceps—no matter how much of you she has, it’s just not enough.

Pliant is the other word to describe Hanni; so easy in your hands, like clay waiting for your touch. Waiting for you to mould her into whatever you want, even though you prefer her as she just is—all her perfect imperfections, beautifully flawed, wonderfully Hanni.

Another finger pushes into her; three now, moving in a steady rhythm, that slow, cautious manoeuvre that’s become so familiar. Sure, you could do it with your eyes closed, bring her to the brink and back with touch alone, but you’d miss the way she looks at you—the tears at the corners of her eyes, the tremble in her lips; like you’re her saviour, her everything.

“Hanni, you’re so—” you can’t put it into exact words—gorgeous, pretty, lovely—you test them out, but they all fall short, leaving you hanging until—

“Yours,” Hanni finishes, and that’s all you need, all you need to hear to make a vow to do everything in your power to keep her happy, to keep her here, to keep her—“always yours.”

She’s rocking on your fingers now, taking charge of her own pleasure, setting the pace that you so willingly match. It’s a give and take, and you take the chance to kiss at her neck, to nibble on the shell of her ear, to whisper to her all the things that create these little tremors in her thighs, that make her grip you tighter and tighter with each stroke.

She feels so good, so warm, so wet. Your hand is soaked, knuckles coated in her, making these noises. The muffled pop of skin on skin; the soft, sticky sound of wetness being parted; that satisfying squelch as you go in deep.

Hanni’s so close. So, so close.

Unwinding, melting in your palm; and that look. The way she smiles when she’s on that edge, because she’s so happy to be there, so happy that it's you that has her to be feeling this good.

But then—it’s the suddenness that gets you—she goes rigid, stops moving, begs, “Wait, wait, wait.”

It’s so unexpected, but you still do stop, fingers lodged inside her, pulsating with the urgency of her orgasm that’s just a heartbeat away.

She needs to hang onto you, to hold onto something as the world starts to spin again. Her pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed a rosy pink; there's sweat glistening across her face, bathing her in this glow.

You look up at her, a soothing kiss on her cheek. “Problem?”

“No,” Hanni manages a gasp, reassuring you with a shaky smile, still doing her best to catch her breath. “I mean yes. I mean… It feels too good.”

You tilt your head. You smirk. “That’s a problem?”

“You always do this, you know?” Hanni chooses her words carefully, trying to break out of the haze of having almost been there, so she can properly articulate. “Make it about me when it’s supposed to be about you.”

You stifle your laughter against her neck, letting it vibrate through her skin. It’s her earnestness, really, that gets you sometimes; her concern for you, even now is too much, almost comical.

“I’m serious!” Hanni protests, though she’s betrayed by the wobble in her voice, that part of her begging to just let you do your thing and push her past the precipice. Her eyes flutter shut and she breathes in deep. Trying, nearly failing, to compose herself. “I want to make you feel as good as you always make me feel.”

Logic that you can’t argue with, not when it’s wrapped up in that sweet, sweet smile. You still attempt, though, “Hanni, making you feel good—”

“Makes me feel good—yeah, I know how it goes,” she finishes the line for you. “But, just. We have all day, so—"

There’s a point that’s finished by her kiss, specific in its tenderness, stealing whatever witty reply you had ready from your mouth.

“Let me start by taking care of you.”

It’s like you said—Hanni Pham, making it all about her, in the least selfish way possible.

You relent, bowing out to her whims.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” Hanni nods, satisfied with your compliance. She takes your wrists into her hands, guides them away from her body to keep them at your sides. “Just relax.”

It’s a strange feeling, letting go, letting her be the one to dictate the pace, the rhythm of your morning. You watch her, watch the way her eyes wander over you. She’s fascinated, like she can’t make up her mind of where to start.

But she does, eventually.

Her gaze settles on your arousal, standing proud and waiting underneath your sweatpants.

“How about I start—” a light kiss on your lips, and she’s slinking down to your waist, tugging at the string of your pants, “right here?”

A kiss on your stomach, just above your navel, her fingers slipping between your waistband and your skin. They pull at the fabric, dragging it down with care until it’s pooled around your thighs. Your cock springs free, and there’s this gasp she makes—like she hasn’t seen it a hundred times before.

“You’re so big.” Hanni’s in awe, her voice hushed, reverent almost. It’s always been something she says, something that makes you blush—swells the ego that you like to pretend you don’t have. “I still have no idea how this fits inside me.”

“It fits perfectly, remember?”

“Mm, I know, but—" she can’t find the words, so she settles for the next best thing, “damn.”

She’s smiling—always smiling—and you can feel her breath on you, light and sugary, these little pulses of anticipation tingling through your skin.

You hold your breath, waiting for her touch, waiting for her lips, waiting for her to finally take you in.

But she doesn’t. She’s just looking.

“Hanni,” you say, giving your cock a teasing flex, brushing it against her cheek. It’s a light prod to break the spell, to remind her of the task at hand.

“Oh!”

It’s getting unbearable, your cock just inches from her mouth, straining to reach her lips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good.“ She presses another kiss to your skin, a little nibble to your inner thigh that makes you jolt. Her hands skim over your legs, pushing your sweatpants down further and further, down your thighs, over your knees right until it’s stuck at your ankles, thwarting her attempted sensual seduction.

She makes this frustrated 'argh!’ at the minor struggle. Very cute. Also a little ridiculous.

"Help, please?” She looks up at you, expectantly.

You acquiesce.

“Aha!” Hanni cheers, slightly louder than she may have intended, having won her battle against your pants. She catches herself, blushing, flashing a cheeky smile.

God, you’re going to fall in love with her all over again.

“Oh right. I mean, are you ready?”

So casual in how she says it, covering for her fumble. It makes you want to laugh—except you can’t, because before you can even open your mouth, she’s already leaned in, pressing her plush lips against the tip of your cock.

Lightly, so light it makes your hairs stand on end. A calculated tease, right hand around your cock, stroking your length. Her left reaches up, laces her fingers with yours. A squeeze, a preview of what’s to come.

You can’t help but twitch under her.

It's her lips, mapping a trail of kisses down your shaft, leaving a warm, sticky mess of pre-cum that she’s quick to lick away. It’s how she’s looking at you—so focused, like she’s been learning, been studying you, creating a personal database of everything that makes you tick.

But above all else it’s just the simple fact that she’s doing this for you, because she cares about you. Because she wants to make you feel good.

It’s all of it and it’s working.

“This is much nicer, isn’t it?” She asks, not really expecting an answer, because she knows it’ll be a resounding yes.

She’s playing with you, not giving you exactly what you want, but just enough. Her hand wrapped around the base of your cock, stroking you from root to tip, thumb circling your head with enough pressure to drive you insane.

It’s pain and pleasure wrapped up into one perfect package, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.

You let her know as such: “Actually quite torturous, to be honest.”

“But it’s the good kind of torture, right?”

“There’s a good kind?”

“We’ve got all day to find out,” Hanni teases, taking a fistful of her own hair in her hand, looping it into a tight, messy bun; preparing herself—giving you a final chance to do the same.

Hanni takes you into her mouth.

It’s not a sudden plunge, not a surprise attack bringing you straight to the back of her throat—it’s a slow, slow descent that has you gritting your teeth and biting back a groan.

It’s hot. Wet. Heavenly. You can feel every inch of your cock being coated in her saliva, her tongue dancing around your shaft, her cheeks hollowing out, her lips creating the most exquisite suction.

When she reaches as far as she can go, fills her mouth with as much of you as she can take, she starts to move back up. Slowly, so you can feel every little bump of her tongue, every little drag of her teeth.

Her hand joins in, moving in tandem with her mouth, stroking the parts of you she can’t reach. She’s trying to find the perfect balance, trying to find that sweet spot between too much and not enough.

Hanni’s no pro at this, her technique is in no way perfect—but she’s so willing, so keen to please. Taking her time, getting used to the feel of you in her mouth, eyes peeking up at you every so often to gauge your reaction. Studying your face for any sign that she’s doing it right, that she’s doing it well.

It’s adorable, really.

And oh, so hot.

You give it to her again, reassure her, “So good, baby,” because it is—your hips buck involuntarily, pushing deeper into her mouth.

It takes her off guard, but she does her best to adapt; she’s trying not to gag, trying to take it all in. She’s a fast learner, your Hanni.

Your compliment serves its purpose—she’s getting more confident now, tongue gliding along the underside of your cock. Tentative, exploratory. It’s clumsy, yes, but it’s cute, and most importantly—it feels good.

She’s concentrating, her attention entirely on your cock; her lips sealed tight. Each time her head bobs down, she takes you in deeper, millimetres, but still, deeper and deeper.

And it’s the sound of her sucking you in, getting sloppier, filling the room with those noises, the soundtrack to your morning. She’s getting bolder, finding her rhythm, building her pace. It’s not precise in any way, shape or form—sometimes she’s a little too rough, sometimes she misses the beat—but the effort.

A harsh suck has your cock popping out of Hanni’s lips, strings of her saliva still connecting her mouth to you. She looks up at you, wanting to check in, still needing that hit of validation, “Is this—is this good?"

You stroke her hair, let her lean into your touch. "Unbelievably. You’re doing great.”

“But I can make it even better, can’t I?” She asks, the determination setting in her features, and she’s staring straight into your eyes, hopeful, “Tell me. Tell me how you want it.”

It’s not a demand—it’s a question, a plea for guidance; she’ll do whatever it takes (whatever you want) to get you there. And it’s the sight of her, straddling your thighs, kneeling before you; those full lips hovering just about your cock, her hand lazily pumping away, keeping you there.

Somehow, you manage to get the words out, a rough whisper, “Take me deep, Hanni. As far as you can go. Take me all in. Show me how much you want it.”

It’s the instruction she’s been waiting for; she’s nodding before you’ve finished, so willing to oblige. It’s that part of her that you’ve discovered, the part she might not even know herself. But it explains so much.

(Hanni: the teacher’s pet, always needing to excel. Competitive, desperate for the highest grades in school, the top evaluations in training; desperate for you to tell her that it’s her and only her.

That’s what makes her successful. That’s what makes her eager.

And now that you’ve put the challenge before her, she can’t wait to prove herself.)

She takes a deep breath, swirls her tongue around the tip of your cock, dipping her toe into the water before she dives right in. Like she’s playing it out in her head, memorising the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you. Mapping out the best way to take you all the way in right before she does her best to break you.

“Ready?”

“Always.”

And she goes for it.

Her mouth opens wide, eyes locked on yours, and she takes you in again.

Deeper, throat tighter.

Her eyes water a little, and she coughs, retreating. But she’s unfazed—still smiling, still eager.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s okay.”

You stroke her cheek, act like it’s not already far more than you can handle. “Take your time, baby. No need to rush.”

A deep inhale, and she's trying again.

It’s a process, her getting used to you, your size, your taste, the way you make her throat bulge. She’s slow, tentative, but with every stroke, with every gulp, she’s getting closer. Her cheeks hollow out more, her eyes water a little less, and she moans.

You can feel the anticipation building in your chest, your balls, the sweet ache of your orgasm just around the corner. And she can feel it too, your body tensing under hers, your breaths turning shorter, sharper.

The fifth time, she hits the back of her throat, and she stops—holds herself there, panting. It’s a moment of victory, a declaration that she’s got it right, that she can take all of you, just like you asked. Your cock is nestled at the back of her throat, there’s more tears now, but she’s smiling with her eyes, looking up at you through her lashes.

It’s so intense. You groan. Your hips jerk. “Good, baby, so good—don’t move.”

The look on her face, the satisfaction, the pride.  

She swallows around you, working the muscles in her throat, pressing her tongue flat against the underside of your cock; it’s too much.

“Ha-Hanni—keep doing that—keep swallowing—it’s perfect—so perfect—”

It’s a struggle, but she does it, takes it all in, holds it there—just for you.

Her hands are at your thighs, grasping—not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know she’s there, that she’s with you. She coughs, gags, sputters bits of drool down your cock, but she keeps going.

And then, she pulls herself up, needing the air, pulling back with a long gasp; leaving a mess. Your cock slides out of her mouth, springing from her lips; her cheeks a vivid shade of red, glistening with lines of tears—beautiful, just indescribably beautiful.

“Was I good?” She’s asking out of courtesy, really. You’re sure whatever dumb look you’re wearing on your face is more than enough to confirm it.

But you nod and choke a ’Yes’ anyway, because you’re a gentleman, and words of affirmation are just as sweet as the act itself.

“I can do better.”

And before your mind can even catch up to what she’s saying, she’s sucking you back into her mouth. Now that she’s proven herself, she just has to push it even further, show you just what she’s capable of.

This time, she’s more assured, more confident. Her hands are at your hips now, holding you still, like she’s worried you’ll get away.

You won’t, of course. You couldn’t even if you tried.

Hanni’s bobbing her head; these long, deep sucks that have your fingers tangling in her hair, have you urging your hips to meet her mouth. Her eyes are watering more, she’s gagging more often than not, but she doesn’t stop, she just keeps moaning around you, keeps going and going.

She takes her hands off your hips, sliding one down to the base of your cock, holding it steady as she works you over and over. The other finds your balls, balancing them on her fingertips, rolling them around her palm. She’s figuring it out, figuring you out far too quickly, and it nearly has you coming undone.

And through it all, she’s grinning.

It’s a twisted, slightly pained grin, but it’s a grin nonetheless. She’s found her new favourite hobby, and she’s determined to show you just how much she enjoys it.

“I love this,” Hanni slurs against your cock, not really to you, not really to herself, just saying it out loud because it’s true. “I love being able to do this to you, making you feel so good.”

She’s saying these things, these simple words like they’re not dangerous at all, like whispering them against your cock is so harmless, like they don’t have the power to completely destroy your resolve.

“I love that it’s me,” Hanni keeps going, even when her tongue is occupied with licking you, lapping up your balls, the underside of your shaft. “I love that I’m the one who makes you feel this way.”

Gone is the shyness—she’s so smug now, so proud of herself, so in love with the fact that she has you exactly where she wants you: in her mouth, at her mercy.

It’s in the way she’s sucking you, her eyes closing, her hums of pleasure every time she takes you in—as deep as she can. She’s getting hotter on top of you, just from having you in her mouth, from taking you into her lips again and again.

Grinding herself into the mattress, needing a bit of friction, needing more. And that’s when she pulls away, panting for breath.

“Hanni?” You ask, finding your voice, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“It’s too much,” she admits, breathless, her hand still wrapped around your cock, stroking you gently, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s too much.”

There’s a shift in the air—in Hanni. Usually, typically, soft. Now wild, desperate.

She’s climbing up you, back on your hips, her wetness smearing onto your skin, her thighs trembling on either side of yours.

"I need it, I can’t wait anymore. I just can’t.”

The suddenness, the urgency in her voice (in her body). Hanni, flushed, practically shaking with need.

“I need you—now.”

It’s so tempting—you could give in easily. And yet, there’s something in how she’s asking you, how she’s using innuendo in place of propriety, dancing around saying what she really wants in plain, explicit terms.

It’s not enough.

She’s already got you on the edge, so close you can almost taste it. But you need to hear it from her. Your sweet, adorable girlfriend, saying something so dirty it’ll make your knees buckle.

So, you sit up, shifting slightly so she’s still straddling you, face to face. Cradling her cheek with one hand, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes; so you can look at her—take in all the tiny beautiful inflections that make her your Hanni.

“What do you need?”

Always with the blushes, but she holds your gaze, not breaking it even when you run your hand back down south, reaching to slip a finger through her folds, finding her still so wet and swollen. She gasps, but she doesn’t look away.

“Tell me, Hanni,” you coax, your finger moving in gentle circles, watching her face, watching the way her pupils dilate, the way her breath catches.

Hanni stutters, “You—I want you—need you—". But you just chuckle, slow down the pace of your finger, giving her a taste of the frustration she’s unintentionally been dishing out.

“Not quite specific enough. What part of me do you want?”

She’s biting her lip, squirming under your touch—she’s not used to this. Not used to anything outside of the usual playfulness, the sweetness; the gentle strokes and soft whispers. But something has you feeling different today.

Maybe it’s the excitement of trying something new. Maybe it’s how unusually forward she’s being. Or maybe, just maybe, part of you has always wanted to hear her beg.

She blurts it out: “Your—your cock!”

“And what do you want me to do with it?” You press, stroking her clit now; her chest heaving, these tiny whines escaping her, and the way she’s looking at you. Like she’s getting ready to pounce.

“Please—just—please, I need—”

“Need me to slide it in slow?” You suggest, kissing her neck, her perfect, porcelain skin. “Give it to you nice and deep?“

Hanni’s rolling her hips on you, grinding herself against your hand, trying to get through to your cock, trying to will it to enter her.

“Go ahead, be honest.”

She’s bothered. Annoyed—almost angry, if that’s even possible for her. Like how could you? How could her kind, loving boyfriend go out of his way to put her in such agony.

“Tell me, baby. What does Hanni want?”

“I—I need your cock inside me—I want you to—” Hanni swallows takes a deep breath.

A final push: “Say it.”

“Fuck me, hold me and fuck me. Deep, hard, slow—however you want just fuck me now.”

The words come out in a rush, spilling out of her lips. Even she’s surprised as she’s saying them, in disbelief that she’s even capable of saying something so filthy out loud.

But she’s not taking it back, she’s not apologising.

No, she’s taking hold of your hand, moving it out from between her legs, and replacing it with your cock, daring you to stop her.

Like you could ever.

You push in, inch by delicious inch, watching her face contort, features twist, feeling her stretch around you.

It’s the same every time—it feels like the first time all over again.

Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth parted in a wordless plea, and you’re moving so slow. So slow that she’s whimpering, begging, hips trying to push you deeper. But you keep it steady, setting the tempo, let her get used to the feeling of being made whole by you again.

“Oh, oh, oh—” Hanni pants, trying to keep her voice down, but it’s pointless. She’s failing already, loosening a strained 'fuck' when you bottom out, when your cock is finally, completely inside her.

You hold her like that; your arms around her, hugging her tight, her breasts squished against your chest. She’s so small in your arms, so soft, so warm; her pulse racing against your own, lapping it twice over.

“You okay?” You ask, placing a kiss on her shoulder.

“More than okay,” she sighs, holding onto you, moulding her body onto yours. “More than okay—just need a minute to adjust. Don’t worry about me—you can—you can make me feel good.”

So, you do.

Lifting her body off you, unsheathing your cock from her warm embrace, until only the tip is trapped in her wetness. Then: guiding her back down, a touch quicker, harder, deeper. And there’s that gasp as she takes you back in, as you fill her.

You’re moving with purpose now, her walls tight and wet and hot around you, clenching and releasing in time with your slow, deliberate thrusts.

Hanni’s breasts bounce in front of you, up and down with every pump, small peaks begging for attention. You’re kissing them again, sucking one into your mouth, suckling on the pink tips.

“So beautiful,” you’re repeating it, speaking it into her skin, because it’s all that’s on your mind as she takes you in. “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

And she looks it too, even though she’s not even trying; with her hair falling out of her bun, sticking to her face with sweat and saliva, her mouth hanging open, swollen and red from your kisses, her body writhing and jerking with every thrust.

Yet she remains focused, eyes glued to yours, like she’s afraid if she looks away she’ll miss something. Like if she doesn’t keep watching, she’ll wake up and find out it’s all been a dream.

But it’s not.

It’s you and her, in this bed, the sun peeking through the curtains, her naked body riding yours, hotter and hotter with each pass.

It’s you and her, together, wrapped up in each other making love like the world outside doesn’t exist.

It’s you and her, and it’s—

“So perfect—you feel so perfect,” Hanni finishes your thought for you, finishes each of your thrusts with her own hips; opening her body up to you, welcoming you in deeper with each stroke. “I think I’m gonna cry it feels so good.”

Her legs lock around your back, heels digging into your spine, until you’re fully seated inside her; so deep it feels like you’re a part of her. With a whine that’s half pleasure, half need, Hanni braces herself on you, rolling her hips on your cock, grinding down, taking as much of you as she can.

You grip her tight, one hand around her back, the other under her ass, fingers squeezing into the soft, tender flesh. Bouncing her up and down, watching her face as she takes you, as she keeps repeating ‘so perfect’.

And you know, you know she’s not just talking about the physical—that’s definitely there. It’s how you’re making her feel, it’s the connection. The way you’re looking at her, the way you’re holding her, the way you’re loving her that has her floating.

“I-I think I’m ready,” Hanni whimpers, “I can take it—you don’t need to—don’t hold back anymore.”

With a grunt, a nod, and a choked ‘Hanni’, you’re sweeping her up, keeping your cock buried deep inside her as you lift her. Your hand cushions the back of her head as you lay her down on the bed beneath you, her legs spreading wide on their own to accept you.

A moment to steady herself, to prepare.

A smile. A kiss on her forehead.

And then you’re in, all the way, again. Completing her pussy with your cock; one swift motion that knocks the wind out of her in the sound of your name.

“God—Hanni—”

It shouldn’t be like this—it should be impossible to be this much hotter, this much wetter, this tight.

But she is.

She’s squeezing herself around you, muscles, thighs flexing. Eyes shut, mouth wide open because there’s no way to stop from crying out; and her body, her lovely, perfect body, arching up to meet your every thrust.

You give it to her.

You’re building up speed, stretching her wide, hips moving in that perfect rhythm you’ve discovered together—the one that makes your name echo off the bedroom walls.

Hanni’s whimpering, mewling, whining, “Tell me—tell me how good it feels.”

You tell her everything—how tight, how wet, how perfect she is. You praise her, shower her with very compliment that comes to mind. She eats them up; her lips leaving marks on your neck, your shoulder, her fingers on your back, her hips swallowing you whole.

But Hanni still needs more, needs to hear more. Not just that she’s good, not even that she’s perfect. She needs to hear that she’s only yours.

“Like heaven, Hanni,” you manage, your voice hoarse, strained. “So perfect for me. Only me.”

“Really?” Hopeful. Ecstatic. So turned on.

“Always,” you repeat, the truth echoing in your voice and across her skin. “Always so perfect.”

“Mmm,” Hanni moans, nodding along, soaking in every word that flows freely from your lips.

“You’re so beautiful, Hanni. Your pussy is so perfect.” You kiss her again, a little harder this time, a little more possessive. “I love how you fit around me.”

Her breath catches in her throat, there’s that spark in her eyes, and she’s taking you deeper, urging you on. “Oh-oh. Keep talking—please—keep talking.”

“Made for me, aren’t you Hanni?” You continue, the steady stream of praise and admiration, caressing her as surely as your cock in her pussy. You can’t get enough, can’t get over how perfect she feels, how right it is to be inside her. “Like a perfect glove around me.”

Her eyes meet yours, her smile shy as she whispers your name. Whispers it like it’s a prayer, like it’s the only word she knows (like it’s the only thing that can give her peace).

She’s so close, getting there, it’s in how she’s pulling you closer; with her arms and her pussy. How she’s saying please, with a little quiver in her voice, alternating it with your name when you hit that spot just right.

“This feels so good, but-but-I think—” Hanni’s voice cracks, even now, still so shy, so adorable. She’s gasping, out of breath, trying her best to string the words together. “C-can I? Can I please cum?”

It’s all you need to hear. You kiss her, hard and deep, push into her. “Of course, baby,” you say, “Do it. Do it for me. I want you to cum for me.”

The effect it has on her—how it ripples across her face. She’s so thankful. So, so thankful for your permission, for what you’re doing to her. “Then please—please don’t stop.”

Harder, faster, deeper now—making her unravel beneath you. Hands holding her in place, feeling her, feeling her tense, quake around you.

Keep going, because she’s almost there, because she’s repeating it, that desperate ‘please’, over and over again.

‘Please-please-please’—with every thrust, saying it without saying it, with every clench of her walls, with every little gasp she lets slip.

Because that’s what she is—who she is—at her most honest, her most vulnerable. Pleases and thank yous on her lips, a constant stream of gratitude for you, for being here with her, for making her feel so much.

“Thank you,” Hanni manages, words almost a moan. “Thank you for making me feel like this, for making me feel so—”

But she can’t finish the sentence, can’t find the words to explain the storm that’s building inside her. So she just says it again, rising in pitch each time as the pressure builds. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you—’

Her nails dig into your shoulders, the first time she’s ever inflicted anything close to pain on you; begging you to stay in place, to not move, to not pull out. You feel her need, feel it in your bones, feel it from the heat of her pussy.

“Feels so—” Hanni’s crying, sobbing now, trembling uncontrollably. You’re holding onto her, deep inside her, giving all the time she needs to let it out. “—so good, so deep, so, so much—”

She gasps. She tightens. She screams.

Hanni’s voice breaks off into a keening wail as it all comes crashing over her; and you don’t stop, can’t stop, can’t do anything but keep her tethered to you as she loses herself to her climax.

“Please—don’t pull out—please—don’t stop—please—please—please—”

She shudders, clenches around you, pussy tightening in the sweetest way possible. It’s that look on her face, saying everything she can’t manage to say, everything she can’t put into words—how much she loves you, how much you complete her, how much she needs this.

It’s a wave, pulling you under, and you let it take you, let it sweep you away until you’re drowning in the feeling of her coming apart around you, under the heat of her eyes and the grip of her body.

Her juices all over your cock, her pussy spasming around you, that blissful agony on her face. Hanni’s so sweet when she cums, so damn gorgeous, it just takes your breath away. She’s perfect, so perfect it hurts.

And as she comes down, as she rides out her orgasm and kisses your name into your lips, she begs of you, once last time: “Your turn.”

With strength you didn’t know she still had, her legs pull you in, anchoring you to her. Her walls pulse, her body begs for you to follow.

And you do.

“Give it to me, please, cum for me, love—”

You let go. Let the tension in your body melt away as you thrust into her one, two, three more times. Until you’re releasing, until you’re cumming, until everything’s white-hot pleasure and Hanni on your tongue.

Load after load inside her, a hot, deep stream that leaves you groaning, that leaves her sighing, panting, joyful. Filling her up until she’s complete, until she’s overflowing.

You cum hard and fast, and Hanni tries her best to keep up, tries to take it all, and she’s smiling—laughing even, the joy of making you feel this good lighting up her features.

“H-Hanni—” you try, your cock twitching inside her, your cum spilling out of her and onto the bed, onto your thighs.

She’s kissing you, kissing your neck, letting you make your mess; your glorious mess of cum and sweat and saliva and her.

It feels so good, everything feels so good about her, everything she’s doing. She’s holding you so tight, so greedily, shivering with every throb of your cock inside her, savouring every moment of your release.

There’s a moment of silence, where you just lay there, bodies entangled, hearts racing, breaths mingling. Just looking at each other, basking in the thickness of sex and satisfaction.

And Hanni smiles, so wide it could split her face in two, a smile that says she’s never been happier.

Then, with a sigh, she relaxes, her legs loosening, ankles unlocking behind you. You roll onto your side, pulling her with you, keeping her close. She’s still with you, still keeping your cock inside her, and you can’t help but feel like this is it.

This is home.

“Best. Morning. Ever.”

She laughs. “I don’t want to get up. Don’t ever want to leave this bed.”

“I don’t think I can get up,” you admit somewhere into her hair.

And then it hits you. Something in the air, something in the light hitting her naked body, something in that blissful expression on her face.

It spills out of you before you can stop it: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, to read your face. “Careful, we’ve got all day for that kind of talk.”

But she doesn’t protest as you hold her tighter, feel the warmth of her body, the smell of the skin, the way she nests into your side. Fitting perfectly—like she’s always been there.

So yeah, you may have said it too early, but whatever.

Today’s the day for breaking normal rules and codes of conduct.

For breaking routines. For her.

For the promise of a long day filled with nothing but lazy kisses, whispered secrets, the sweet taste of her skin.

For staying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, forgetting the outside world.

For more of this. Of Hanni. Of this perfect, perfect feeling.

So, you stay there. Not moving, not speaking. Just holding onto the moment, as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky.

And as your eyes start to drift close, as you sink into the comfort of the mattress, with her in your arms and on your mind, and you’re thinking this day couldn’t get any better, Hanni whispers:

“Idiot. I’ve always been in love with you.”

[t1red-twilight]

hold me close

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, cuddling, no plot oops, avengers tower new era, probably spelling mistakes (i’m falling asleep)

wc: 2k

masterlist r. r. masterlist

the rest of the team had left about twenty minutes ago to go on a mission. you hadn’t really caught onto why they were leaving, but currently you couldn’t find it in yourself to care that much. to be honest, it just sounded like: “blah, blah, blah, guns, blah, blah, blah, the power of friendship.“

bob, of course, stayed behind. and while you were always upset that he couldn’t join the team on these important missions, currently you were enjoying spending time alone with him. somehow, someway, when he was alone he was even softer and gentler than he was regularly.

plus, it helped to have a alone time with him. especially when the two of you weren’t quite ready to tell the team that you were, well, together. you knew that they wouldn’t mind. not at all, in fact. there was already some teasing on a regular basis.

but the both of you reveled in the privacy, for as long as you had it. eventually, you would tell the rest of the team. but right now, this felt perfect.

as for why you were staying behind, it was because you had gotten injured on the last mission. you had gotten shot through your abdomen, and while you insisted that you were perfectly fine the rest of the team insisted that you stay behind.

you remembered bob’s reaction when you had to came back from that mission. you had been stitched up at that point, but that did not stop him from panicking. his breath had quickened in pace, and his hands were shaking violently. it took you, yelena and ava to calm him down.

ever since then, he had been even gentler with you than before, and you hadn’t even considered that physically possible. you reassured him daily that the pain medication was working, and just him being around was medication in and of itself.

when you had told bob that you were staying behind on this one, you could tell that he was definitely upset about your injury. but, there was an underlying feeling that you both caught onto. you staying behind meant that you could have more alone time together without having to hide. his small, giddy smile, never got old.

so, the team had left quite a few minutes ago. you and bob waited just in case alexei or john had left something behind and needed to double back. after enough time it passed, you could finally be as close to him as he wanted to be.

you laid down on the couch. the plush of the couch caressed your back and provided comfort that you needed for what remained of your injury. you were fine, you swore. no one seemed to believe you, though. after some negotiating, you had successfully convinced bob to lay on top of you. if anything, the pressure on what was left of your wound was quite comforting and provided relief.

some rerun ran in the background. all you could focus on was bob’s soft breathing that brushed against your collarbone. you ran your fingers through his hair. you always found yourself able to relax when you were around him. you hoped and prayed that it was the same for him too. you knew he wasn’t asleep, just retreating into a relieved, calm state.

his arms were encircled around your waist, and you would’ve asked him if his blood circulation was being cut off, and he had casually and honestly told you that no, they weren’t, and he didn’t really care.

you felt bob inhale deeply. you were sure that if you looked at him, you could see him smiling widely. “this is always my favorite.“ he inhaled deeply again, “being with you. it’s the best part of my day.“

your thumb began to caress his cheek. “i don’t know what i would do without this. you’re always able to ground me.“

he craned his neck up to look at you. this time, you could see his smile in all its glory. “mhm. i agree completely. not in a way that i want you to think that i need you around constantly – i don’t want you to ever feel like you’re obligated to –“

you chuckled slightly and cut yourself off quickly. “you could never make me feel like that, bob. i wouldn’t want to be around you so much if i didn’t like you. you’re one of my favorite people on this planet.” you paused for a moment, then continued. “perhaps in this galaxy and every single multiverse. i’m never gonna leave unless you want me to.“ you matched his smile.

bob’s eyes softened. the slight tension in his jaw released; you caught onto the fact that he clenched his jaw often, and ground his teeth in his sleep. (not that you snuck into his room, and vice versa, and left before anyone could find out. never. there was also, never, any sort of pleading that either of you should stay longer. of course not.)

bob returned his head down on your collarbone again. his hand on your waist, dragged up to your upper back. you leaned down and kiss the crown of his head. you could’ve sworn that you felt slight shiver up his spine. you hoped that the effect that you had on each other would never lessen. you knew for a fact that his effect on you would never lighten.

all your partners before bob had not treated you in the nicest way, and occasionally his kindness and softness surprised you. bob nuzzled his nose into the spot where your neck met your collarbone. you could’ve sworn that you felt him smell you, but honest to god, you didn’t mind. after all, bob always smelled nice to you. it was flattering that it seemed that he felt the same for you.

“are you enjoying the show?” bob murmured it into your neck. the vibrations from his voice sent shivers through your body, and you tried to suppress them. he still had an effect on you, and you were trying to get used to not hiding that despite your embarrassment. the embarrassment just stemmed from a place of being embarrassed of liking him as much as you did. you had never liked someone like you had him.

you chuckled mischievously. “i’m not really watching it, to be honest.“

bob laughed with you. “yeah, me neither. i’m just too lost in how comfortable you are.“ you laughed again, louder this time. you pulled his head closer to you and kiss his forehead this time.

bob responded by pulling you closer to him as well. you traced circles on his neck with your fingertips. you sighed contentedly, it was so easy to get “lost“ (to match his phrasing). he was just so perfect for you. he understood you when you were hurting, and so did you for him.

when you first started your rendezvous, you hadn’t expected him to be so touchy. but the more time you had with him, the more you realized that physical touch was something that he longed for. you didn’t like to think how much of that he had denied himself, or that he had been denied.

and while you weren’t super fond of physical touch from other people, you craved it so very deep deeply from him. he would kill a man just for one hug from him, as dramatic as that was.

bob was just teddy bear heart. a large teddy bear, and a traumatized teddy bear, but neither of those bothered you. you’d give him all the reassurance and comfort that he needed because he returned that when you needed it.

“how long do you think it will take for them to get back?” you whispered, teetering the edge between being awake and falling asleep.

bob tried before responding. “i don’t know. i just hope it takes a while.” you snorted.

you bit your lip as you held back a smile. “so you want them to struggle? do you want them to be in danger?” you stated with sarcasm saturating every word.

bob looked up again, meeting your eye line. “what? of course, not. i just want to have as much time with you as I can.” his watery blue eyes looked at you with confusion. you couldn’t really tell if he was also being sarcastic or not.

you laughed at his response. “i’m just joking, honey. i knew that’s not what you meant. in the least sadistic way possible, i hope there’s just a tinier bit of trouble more than usual. just so i can have a little more time with you.”

you tucked his head back down again. “i figured.” after a few moments he spoke up again. “should we turn off the tv? we’re not really watching it.” his voice was dropping in decibels, sleep clouding his words.

you shrugged. “i don’t really mind if it’s on or off. if you want it off, we can turn it off though.” he mirrored you by shrugging again. neither of you had really watched the movie.

his breath began to slow, and he once again pulled you tighter to him. “eh, i don’t really care.“ he placed a kiss along the column of your throat, and grinned when he felt you shiver.

you reached to your side to grab the remote off of the coffee table. at this action, bob grunted in faux annoyance. you smiled lovingly and shut off the tv. then, you settled back in and wrapped your arms around him. one of your hands was on his upper back and the other was on the back of his head.

in the back of your mind, you knew that it wasn’t a good idea to be falling asleep on the couch. however, you didn’t really care in the moment. bob was just holding you so closely that you couldn’t focus on what was best, considering your secret arrangement.

you noticed the chill of the room. some part of you wondered if he had lowered the temperature right before the team had left so that when the time came, he would have some excuse to be close to you. you had caught him doing this before. but you didn’t mind; it was kind of cute.

it didn’t take long until sleep overcame you despite you best efforts. bob always fell asleep before you did, and at some point he had mentioned that falling asleep was easier with you around. you too felt more comfortable around him than you did alone.

-

you awoke to the sound of a shutter noise, coming from above you. “shit!” someone, probably ava, hoarsely whispered. “why isn’t your phone on silent?” her tone was filled with vitriol.

“what do you mean silent?“ another voice whisper-yelled. bucky, maybe? “i don’t know what that means. i only have this phone because you and yelena made me get it.” yep. definitely bucky.

your eyes opened just a crack. there was the team, coated in dirt and grime, and hovering above you. bucky’s phone was directly in front of his face, akin to how an old man would be holding his phone. well, that is technically what he was.

you shook bob awake. “bob, we have an audience.” he shook the sleep off, and pulled an arm out from underneath you to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“huh?” bob looked around at your crowd. “oh. damn. i guess we don’t have to tell them now.” he looked back down at you, and he didn’t seem all that upset. and frankly, neither were you.

alexei yelled, making you flinch at the noise. “what do you mean tell us? have you been banging behind our backs? how long?”

you looked at him and confusion. “first of all, no one says ‘banging’ anymore. second of all, this is exactly why we didn’t tell you in the first place.“ while you were being honest, you made an effort to sound not too serious. bob was right though, at least now you didn’t have to sit them down and tell them.

[friendoftashi]

friday night in | spencer reid x reader (nsfw)

summary: spencer gets his way with you--three times.

warnings: fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv, vaguely dom spencer?, one use of "girl"

a/n: this one’s long and i wrote it in the app and lost a really great draft that didn’t get saved!

work had been quiet recently, almost eerily so. when weeks pass on end without an active case, a restlessness settles over the bullpen. you’re all so conditioned to being on the move, it’s difficult to feel truly settled, to relax. it’s one of the reasons you’re so grateful to have spencer. the evenings are easier with someone else around, especially when that someone has his mind set on taking your thoughts as far from work as possible.

spencer doesn’t do quickies. you’ve tried, more than once, but his lust for you isn’t something that can be satisfied by a hasty fuck in the storage closet, not according to spencer. if he had it his way, he would be able to stop time on a whim to be in that space with you. tonight, he was getting his way.

6:43 pm

after arriving home, the two of you had settled into your usual places, reading quietly in the makeshift reading nook spencer had been so excited to craft with you when you moved in together. an hour passed, and the rate at which spencer was flipping pages had slowed as his attention shifted to you, just out of reach. you catch him in your periphery, setting his book on the small table to his left, sinking deeper into the plush on the chair, thighs spreading slightly. your stomach flips with the gentle, gravelly rumble of your name. you’re already unfurling your legs to make your way to him.

draping yourself across his lap, your fingers comb through this hair as he twists an arm around your waist, the other gripping your upper thigh.

“yeah, baby?”

you both hear and feel him inhale deeply against your neck, nose brushing at your pulse point. it’s unclear whether he was taking in your scent or caught off guard by the sultry tone of your voice paired the feeling of your nails grazing his scalp.

that's how you ended up splayed across spencer’s thighs in his reading chair with one leg propped up on the arm rest, back to his chest, head falling onto his shoulder as he fingers you. just barely moving, his fingers curl inside you as you try to catch your breath. with the slightest flick of his wrist and press of his fingers, he can render you useless in under three minutes if he really wants to. tonight, he’s taking his time relishing in your soft mewls, maintaining an easy pace.

10:51 pm

your socked feet rest in his lap as you discuss the movie that had just ended. it took your eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the credits rolling on the screen, but you can feel his eyes on you. his fingers have begun sliding from their place on your ankle up the length of your shin and back down again.

“you tired?”

“nope,” he replies from his side of the couch. he’s looking at you with half-lidded eyes, his mouth pursed in an attempt at suppressing the smirk he knows gives him away. but you can always see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch.

“wanna go to bed?” you ask cautiously, knowing he’s already decided what he wants.

his grip on your ankles tighten suddenly and he’s yanking your body down the length of the couch playfully. you squeal and try to sit up, but he’s too quick for you, slotting himself between your legs and dropping his weight onto your torso. his chin rests against your chest as he studies your features.

“i think right here is fine,” he murmurs as his hands slip beneath the fabric at your hips, just barely kneading the plush skin, sliding lower to grip your ass.

he pauses before continuing, checking in with you, “this alright, angel?”

“yeah, spence” your reply is breathy as you dip your head down for a kiss. his mouth is soft and gentle against yours and it’s annoying. you need more, need him as worked up as you are, and push your hands into the hair at the back of his head, holding him to you and wrapping your legs around him. you whine when he pulls back from your lips slightly and feel, rather than hear, the laugh under his breath. you nip at his bottom lip in response and drape an arm across his shoulders, tightening your grip on his curls. his lips meets yours again, hard, and he slips his tongue in your mouth. then he’s gone as quickly as he came, kissing at your jaw and down your neck.

one hand has begun pulling your panties down your legs as the other pushes your shirt up to expose your chest. he kisses down the length of your body, holding your gaze. you can feel his hands on the insides of your thighs, easing your legs open. one dangles off the side of the couch, foot resting on the floor to give him enough room. he slides his hands under your ass once more before they come to grip your hips.

he takes a moment to admire you, still glistening from your first orgasm. a hand moves from your hip to your mound, spreading you apart. you brace yourself, anticipating the flat drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. when your eyes meet, he spits on it.

"jesus christ," your head falls back onto the cushions. you can't bare the sight of him.

his mouth latches onto you as he swipes his tongue between your folds. the discipline spencer has to take him time fingering you does not extend to oral sex. with each lick to your clit, he increases the pressure applied with his tongue. he listens for your sounds, allowing your body's to guide him. as your moans begin to increase in pitch and frequency, his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard.

your hands are in his hair, following when he shifts his attention lower and breaches your entrance with his tongue. he brings his fingers to your clit, feather-light circles just barely brushing against the swollen bundle of nerves. you can feel his tongue swirling around your walls, only able to cry out in the blinding pleasure of his worship. spencer uses his whole body to eat you out, his mouth always ready to follow the twist of your hips, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pulls you against him, pressing his tongue impossibly deeper inside.

you're already close, still buzzing from your first orgasm of the night, before spencer, you could be sated by a single orgasm. he trained that out of you quickly. his tongue replaces the fingers at your clit and you can hear him mumbling something about how good you taste around kitten licks. your hips buck slightly, either running from or chasing the vibrations of his words hummed against you.

he's loud and messy with it, slurping and lapping at your clit. his hands are all over you. a forearm pinning your hips down, a hand caressing the valley between your breasts, fingers ghosting along the sides of your neck, his palm pressing into the skin of your inner thigh as he spreads you open. when he's between your legs, he's devout.

"gonna come for me, doll?" he pants against you, his pupils blown wide. if you didn't know him better, you might be worried.

your orgasm begins slowly before crashing over you all at once. with your back arching off the couch, hands in his hair, you're sobbing in pleasure, crying his name as he suckles lightly at your clit. on more than one occasion, spencer has considered taking up painting, driven by the need to memorialize your beauty in its rawest form on canvas.

11:17 pm

as your orgasm subsided, spencer had pulled you into him on the couch. he held you, stroking your hair, listening to your breathing evening out.

"ready for bed?" he hummed quietly after a few minutes had passed.

your legs still felt like jelly, the bedroom seemed a thousand miles away.

"gimme a minute," you'd mumbled against his chest.

he moved a hand to your cheek, guiding your eyes to meet his, "okay, love?"

you smiled at the softness in his voice, "yeah, spence. m'alright... thank you"

his head was resting on yours and you felt his smile as he chuckled.

eventually, you made your way to the bathroom, breezing through your nighttime routine with spencer. you were spent, but the warmth that radiated from his body as he hovered around you stoked the fire of your arousal.

as soon as he settled into bed beside you, you were pulling at his arm, urging him to roll on top of you as you leaning in to kiss him. he obliged easily, hovering over you with his forearms planted on either side of your head. you'd watched him brushed his teeth, but could swear you still tasted yourself on his lips. you reached in between your bodies to cup him through his loose boxers. his groan into your mouth is low and throaty and you're immediately wrapping your legs around his waist, ankles locked and heels nudging at the small of his back. he's already half hard when you slip your hand under his waistband. he's practically whimpering with each stroke of your hand. he moves to push the fabric down his legs, his warning that he's not going to last whispered against your lips.

"i know, i know. just need to feel you, baby," you soothe.

his cock is a deep red, the tip sticky with precum. you're sure it's less than comfortable, but when you brought it up once--the orgasm disparity in your relationship--he assured you it was intentional. every once in a while, he enjoyed the ritual of making you cum in as many ways as he can imagine as well as the challenge of edging himself. when you pushed for more details, his cheeks turned red as he sheepishly admitted that you feel different, impossibly softer, wetter, spongier, warmer, after he's been working you up for hours.

he ruts the length of his cock along your slit, the head bumping your clit just how he knows you like it. he'd intended to tease you like this, drawing you to the edge before sinking in, but you're so slick and his hands are trembling with desire. your breath catches in your throat when the tip of his cock nudges past your hole. you can tell by the way his body tenses that he hadn't meant to do it. he needs a moment before he continues. you moan in tandem when his hips met the back of your thighs, bottoming out immediately.

it drives him crazy to think about how well your bodies fit together, how your body opens up for him. he quickly works his way into a steady rhythm, one hand gripping your waist, another twisting in your hair. you're crying out with the pace he sets, the headboard snapping against the wall with the rocking of his hips.

"oh my god, you're fucking me so good, baby. right there," you urge him on.

he's been staring at the places where your bodies meet, mesmerized by the sight of his cock wet from your slick, plunging into you over and over. when he meets your gaze, you can't help the broken moan that slips past your lips. he's absolutely wrecked, pupils blown wide, curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, his swollen bottom lip trapped between his teeth. you cup both sides of his face with your hands and pull him into a kiss. his pace has grown somewhat sloppier as he draws closer to his finish. slipping his arms beneath you, he cradles your body, enveloping you with his own. one hand is pressed between your shoulder blades, the other on the back of your hip, then your ass, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

"need you to come with me, sweet girl. can feel it, so tight," he grunts.

you're arching your back, nails digging into his bicep, so close it almost hurts, "please, touch me, spencer!"

he releases his vice grip on your ass and maneuvers his hand to press circles onto your clit. one, two swipes of his index and middle finger and you're there. your third orgasm happens all at once. legs trembling around his waist, teeth sinking into his shoulder to quiet the scream you can't hold back. lost in the fire coursing through your body, you only register that he's coming with the sharp slam of his hips and moan of your name. his fingers haven't left your clit, his hurried movements drawing out your orgasm. he only pulls away when you shove at his hips, thighs still twitching as they threaten to snap shut.

he's watches you carefully from his seat at the end of the bed. he's given you countless orgasms in your time together, yet spencer still can't seem to shake the momentary twinge of fear that comes with watching you come down from a particularly powerful orgasm, regardless of how many times you've reassured him that you're enjoying yourself. by the time your breathing had slowed and you could open your eyes, he's fetched you a glass of water and settled onto the edge of the bed. you're grinning when your head lolls to the side to meet his gaze.

"welcome back," he teases, hand on your shoulder as he helps you sit up and brings the water to your lips.

from your spot across the bed, he's leaning into you. you look up at him through your lashes as you take slow sips, daring him to slink back over to your side of the bed.

he rolls his eyes, shaking his head with fondness. you finish half of the water and he places it on the nightstand.

"enough," he chastises you playfully, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his eyes. holding your face between his hands gently, he presses a kiss to your hairline before slotting his lips against yours in a slow kiss. you follow his lips as he pulls away, looking into your eyes and whispering a quiet,

"i love you."

[tamapalace]

Kamio Japan Announces Tamagotchi Sitting Plushies, Plush Pass Cases and Drawstring Bags

The Tamagotchi collection keeps expanding at Kamio Japan! Just announced are three new items, first are the Tamagotchi sitting plushies which feature Mametchi, Mimitchi, Kuchipatchi, and Pochitchi that sit on their bottoms, they’re priced at ¥1,980.

Second are the plush pass cases which feature Mimitchi and Kuchipatchi, and feature a keychain priced at ¥2,090. Last are the Tamagotchi drawstring bags, featuring Mametchi, Mimitchi, Kuchipatchi, and Oyajitchi, they’re priced at ¥1,760. All three of these new products will be available June, 2024!

[moonsglare]

“lyney. what is that on your shoulder?”

your words are flat, tone more statement than question, and a sheepish look graces lyney’s expression. the boy—young man, you correct yourself—shifts almost awkwardly on his feet, his eyes darting from side to side as he clearly tries to think up of some explanation for what in the world you’re seeing right now.

“well, father and i went out on a mission,” he begins. “it was supposed to be just reconaissance on a rogue fatui alchemist, but the target somehow figured out we were tailing him. i went after him, but i was careless. he… he managed to get the upper hand and threw some sort of potion at me. father took the hit instead, and i managed to restrain the alchemist. but when i looked back at father after that…”

he gestures awkwardly to his shoulder, whereupon a little black-and-white rabbit toy sits, and you raise a brow.

“she turned into a marketable plush toy?”

lyney scratches the back of his neck. “uh, well. yes, i’d say.”

you sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. today will be a long day indeed. after a beat, you open them again, and study the toy—which is, apparently, the fourth harbinger and more importantly your husband—again.

it’s a little rabbit, about the size of an average child’s toy. its body is mostly white, with patches of black at its hands, feet and the tips of its ears. its expression is one of utter unamusement, eyes half-lidded almost in annoyance. but in truth, it is those very eyes that assure you of the truth of lyney’s story—little crimson Xs that gaze at you with an intensity you would know anywhere.

“arlecchino?” you try hesitantly, the toy’s tiny ear flicks in response. you almost snort—archons above, it really is her. your husband really did get turned into a marketable plushie that you’re quite sure regrator wouldn’t hesitate to mass produce. instead, you shake your head, dropping your hand down to your side. “i take it you asked the alchemist for an antidote already?”

lyney nods. “i did. he said there wasn’t one—“ your eyes flicker briefly with panic, and lyney hastily elaborates, “—b-but he said it would wear off in a few hours! and he’s still alive, so if the worst comes to pass…”

you exhale slightly in relief. “right. well, i suppose i’ll take her off your… shoulder.”

you reach out unsurely to the little toy, palm open. its round head looks down at your open hand from lyney’s shoulder, before standing on its stubby legs and jumping. the plushie is remarkably soft, and you resist the urge to squeeze it. you bring your hand to your shoulder next, and the toy clambers onto it, settling comfortably with one tiny paw braced against your neck.

“comfortable?” you ask, glancing down. you get a sharp nod in response, and another flick of an ear. the absurdity of the situation gets a chuckle out of you, before you reach out and ruffle lyney’s hair. “alright, i’ll take it from here. go ahead and rest, lyney.”

the young man relaxes, nods, then heads off, looking the slightest bit glad he no longer has his father over his shoulder—literally. you, on the other hand, breathe out a slow exhale, moving your hand up to scratch beneath the toy’s chin instinctively, like you would a cat. it softens against your touch, slouching almost, a stubby leg kicking lightly against your collarbone.

you laugh softly. “i suppose i should spend the rest of the day in the office, before the younger children catch sight of such a cute little toy.”

the toy stiffens ever so slightly, ear flicking again, and you take that as an ethusiastic yes with another giggle before heading off to your shared office.

paperwork is, objectively, boring. however, little things can make it more interesting. like having another person to do it with, or in your case today—a sentient plush toy. toychino (as you’ve taken to calling her) ambles around your desk like a little helper, gathering papers and bringing you pens. sometimes she taps her little foot against a specific line, and you make a note to speak about it to her later, when she can actually—hopefully—talk again.

in truth, you’re barely keeping it together. toychino is giving you such vicious cuteness aggression it takes every ounce of self control in your being not to squeeze her senseless. time seems to drag on endlessly, and after what feels like an eternity of torment, the sun finally dips below the horizon, granting you and toychino a moment of reprieve. you bring her back with you to your shared room, setting her down against the pillows as you get changed.

you can feel her eyes on you, ever-present, even as a tiny toy. when you head back to the bed in your night-clothes, her gaze feels intense, despite her expression being almost comically perptually unimpressed. you flop onto the soft mattress, rolling onto your back and taking toychino in your hands, holding her up like a cat from under her small arms.

you can’t help but crack a smile. “you’re quite cute like this, you know. i might miss toychino.”

the toy does nothing but give you a silent, withering glare, ears dropping a fraction. like a pout, kind of. it makes you want to explode into a billion pieces, and you can’t smother the laugh that bubbles from your lips.

“i’m definitely getting a little copy of you made,” you murmur affectionately, rubbing her cheek with your thumb. “my beloved marketable plushie.”

you bring her down to your lips to press a kiss to her soft, cotton-filled head—

—and a plume of white smoke bursts in your face, before a solid weight drops onto your body, forcing a startled ‘oof’ from your lips.

you cough and wave a hand to clear away the smoke (thankfully tasteless, scentless and sensationless), blinking to clear out your eyes. when your vision finally refocuses, you’re looking into bright crimson Xs, shining like cut rubies.

as the final vestiges of smoke clear, there appears your husband—in all her full, human glory. her handsome face is set in an unamused expression as she looks down at you, though you know her well enough to be able to see the fondness lying behind it. she leans in, large, warm hands intertwining with your own and pressing yours into the mattress to pin you down.

“wife,” she rumbles, and you resist the urge to preen and expose how much you’ve missed her voice today. “you’ve had a lot of fun, haven’t you?”

you breathe a small laugh. “most certainly.”

she huffs softly, nosing along your jaw to your neck, and pressing a nipping kiss to your pulse. she’s warm, intensely so, and you feel that heat start to spread throughout your system as well.

“you had your hands all over me today,” she murmurs after a beat, shifting a little higher to whisper her next words into your ear. there’s almost a slight hint of mischief to her tone, but you’re starting to get a little too hot to be sure.

“it’s my turn now.”

(she ends up reminding you for the rest of the night why human arlecchino is a far better option than toychino. however, you still get a replica toy made, much to her utter dismay.)

[knavcsblade]

at last.

+18!

cw: transfem dilf!arlecchino x fem milf!reader. overly descriptive. neither of you are exactly soft personality wise. arlecchino referred to as ‘husband’. reader referred to as ‘wife’, ‘woman’, and ‘mother’. reader a little insecure. praise + degradation (?). RAW lesbian sex. starts off tame, turns rough. overstimulation. creampie, breeding, etc.

wc: 3.2k

summary: arlecchino and you have been awfully busy lately, so a moment of passion was due, no?

a/n: wrote this in a few hours because i was bored and thinking of dilf arle again, so it probably sucks and i hate it!

Everyone knew about the cold Knave—the one all people feared yet respected so greatly. That same one who, with just one look from her crimson eyes, could make an entire multitude grow silent in a matter of seconds.

Yes, that one was your husband.

In spite of her intimidating demeanor, she wasn’t the type to behave so aloof when in private, though you couldn’t expect cuddles, either. However, you didn’t seem to mind it one bit, which was to be expected—you were a busy woman, after all.

You would barely see each other due to work as of late, and it was gnawing at you internally. You missed her, whether you liked to admit it or not. You ached for your old, shared routine in quietude, which only made your case worse. She didn’t notice.

Sure, it had been years since you had gotten married, and you knew just how occupied you would both be at all times from the beginning, but it didn’t stop you from having basic human emotions.

The only times you would both meet would be to take care of your children, and to fall asleep in bed next to one another after a tiresome day. This wasn’t enough. No, no, it wasn’t. You craved more and more each passing night, to the point where you would even catch yourself begging unconsciously for her to wrap those cursed arms around you and relieve you both of the stress you were under.

This never happened, of course.

You would lay beside her in utter silence, yearning for the scorching touch of her firm hands all over your frame as you examined the manner in which her chest lifted and sank gently in her sleeping form. How torturous of her, to rest so carelessly beside you while you tossed and turned trying to get these juvenile thoughts off your head.

After what felt like an eternal few days, you had had enough. Arlecchino would be free for the weekend, and she already had plans of her own—that involved you, obviously—, so she wasn’t expecting you to completely drop your calm act the second you two were finally alone after tending to your children just like every other time.

It was late Friday night, the week having dragged on for far too long—the weariness was evident in the way your husband’s shoulders dropped slightly as she undid the buttons of her suit. Your shared room would have been dead silent if only it weren’t for the clicking of your heels against the hard floor bouncing off the walls.

“Peruere…, do you require my assistance?” Your voice was almost a purr, one so low it would have sent a shiver down the woman’s spine if only she hadn’t been slowly growing impatient due to her attire’s annoying design.

She was used to the way her real name rolled off your tongue with such ease, though it never escaped her when it did. You were trying to be sweet, and she caught on to that just from the sole sentence you uttered.

“No, dear,” she answered almost in an instant, though she gave up the second she realized that she did, in fact, need some help. It was only natural, due to the length of her nails and how eager she was to rid herself of the unnecessary fabric draping her body. “… yes.”

All you did was hum and draw closer, steady hands finding those buttons she was struggling with so you could work your magic. And no, Arlecchino wasn’t the type of person who would have filthy thoughts regularly—however, you had been plaguing her mind in different ways on a daily basis.

Maybe she missed the contrast of your plush skin against her calloused palms, or the way you would squirm beneath her whenever she figuratively pressed the right buttons to inflict the most pleasure upon you. She could navigate your body with effortless precision even in her own mind, but this wasn’t enough for a woman like her.

Now, having you before her as she looked down upon your serene expression, she realized just how much she had been missing out on. It had been almost months since you two had become one—since you two had fogged up the large mirror you had placed on one of the walls in your bedroom with the heat that radiated from your bodies.

Once you were done unbuttoning her suit, she took her time to remove the fabric from her form and set it aside. All she stood with before you now was the black, lightweight undershirt you used to rip off her when you grew bold and impatient a long time ago.

The one which you would definitely tear off that night.

You knew Arlecchino was a poised diplomat. There was no room for her to be impulsive and erratic whatsoever, though one could think otherwise by the way she gained purchase on your hips to pull you closer after staring for a second too long. You would have been confused if only you hadn’t been aching for this closeness for what felt like ages now.

“You look dazzling tonight, my dear. Is there a special occasion I have not been informed of?” She needn’t speak loudly now, not since you were pressed flush against her front as her fingertips buried themselves into the concealed flesh of your waist.

Could this be her lying about your looks through her teeth…? No, she wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t the type to bluff so shamelessly—not to you, at least.

“Not that I’m aware of, no,” your murmur filled her ears in an almost intoxicating way, and the feeling of your hands pressed against her chest made her tingle in response.

Composure be damned. The mere sight of your glowy eyes sent a jolt of unfiltered lust through her that she couldn’t ignore. Those thoughts of her job and duties that overflowed her brain quickly scattered to be replaced by nothing other than you the second her lips crashed against yours.

My, if only she could have you like this twenty-four hours a day, she would. The mother of her children fully in contact with her at all times… that was a blessing of its own.

Her large hands roamed over the curve of your ass, possessively groping and massaging the plump flesh below the tip of her fingers, all the while she forced you to take clumsy steps back towards the bed. She was desperate for a taste, or maybe more than just one. It had been too long since she had gotten you to mark her back with your polished nails—since she had felt your insides squeezing her deliciously.

Your legs spread to give her enough room between them as your back met the mattress, and all you did was cradle her face when she began to rid you of your pants in a way that could only be described as desperate.

It drew a giggle from you, the kiss breaking not only for you both to catch your breath, but also for you to make a comment she wouldn’t find all that amusing.

“Eager, are we?”

“Hush now. You want this as much as I do.” Despite the sharp tone of her voice, it oozed greed. However possible it was for it to drop an octave, it did.

Arlecchino’s experience was obvious as she had you stripped of all clothing beneath her in a matter of seconds, and you could already tell just how hungry she was from the way those crimson crosses committed your anatomy to memory. You couldn’t quite understand why she enjoyed your body so much due to how you viewed yourself, but oh, did she love grasping onto your thicker thighs every time she plunged into you.

You were too lost amidst the distracting ideas that traversed your mind to realize she was already naked on top of you, though she brought you back to Earth with a soft graze of her nails on your hip—truly heartwarming despite her being the one who fueled so many people’s nightmares.

“You are… hm. Such a sight for sore eyes.” Her words slipped out the back of her throat like an alluring melody, capturing your breath as she made sure to lay open-mouthed kisses along your neck. You knew it was hard for her to say things such as that, but you deserved it at the end of the day.

She always had the charm of a siren which rendered you to nothing but a submissive dummy for her to worship and adore silently. This husband of yours always bestowed you with the highest levels of pleasure you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, even after a while of unwanted celibacy.

Those lips that helped you see stars many a time made their way downward, not skipping a beat even once her hands groped you with ownership—one of them massaging one of your tits and the other on your inner thigh the second she managed to hook her dark arm around it. She would keep you in place to devour you until she got what she wanted.

“Darling, I… hm,” your sentence was cut short by the soft kiss she placed on your dripping cunt, and the fiery glow of her gaze was focused on the way your head tipped back at the sensation.

Arlecchino always found it sweet—just how sensitive you were to her ministrations. She could tell your lips were parted from her position and how the small bliss took over your senses even when she solely hovered over you. What a pretty thing you were.

“Eager, are we?”

You knew this was to mock you, to make you see just how hungry you were for her as much as she was for you, and even if she hadn’t placed her tongue between your slick folds, you wouldn’t have complained. You lacked your usual coldness when around her, and she adored it.

The manner in which she now explored your pussy was feral. It was a feeling that could only be described as dizzying, and your reaction was almost unconscious due to this. Whimpering and slowly melting into the bed was all you could do as she did what she knew best, which was to suck on your clit with a thirst that only you could satiate.

Maybe it was the way she knew how to pick up the pace of the flicking of her tongue against you, or the fact that it was her doing this to you, but you were totally out of it. At that moment, your focus solely lay on how her mouth rewarded you for all the distance you had borne until that point.

The minutes dragged on for longer than you could take, legs twitching around her head as she made sure to taste every last inch of your needy cunt which was now more than coated in her spit.

Your words mixed with a loud moan, one which grew even more strident as the palm of your hands rubbed against your sensitive nipples. “P-Peruere… please! Please,” and she just knew what you meant by the way you would plead.

A slight rise of the corners of her lips were her response—something you felt and gave you goosebumps from head to toe. How could you not notice such a thing? Her face was fully buried in your pussy, and she enjoyed every second of torturing you.

Eventually, she hummed and squeezed the soft skin of your thighs. A silent question. What is it that you want, sweetheart? Either you answered to the best of your abilities, or you wouldn’t get it.

“Please, please,” you sounded so pathetic and whiney it flipped a switch in the depths of her mind, “I can’t… I need you, darling. So, so bad…, please.”

She would give you what you wished for, but not before she had you cumming all over her tongue. You couldn’t make a fuss, though. She loved the way you would squirm, arch your back, and cry only from something as simple as having her devouring you so fiercely.

You indulged her in the end, your climax hitting you like a bucket of cold water as you did all she expected from you. She even had to hold you down from how messy you got, as usual, and also to not get squished by your thighs, not yet, at least.

“Good girl… truly.” Her tone was more than sultry after she pulled away from your clit with a wet pop, and even when away from you, she had to lick her lips to taste you again. You had always been her favorite meal, after all.

You panted and tried to recover from the fog that clouded your sight, and even with this you could tell Arlecchino was right above you from the way the mattress sunk at your sides due to her hands. It made her tingle—to have you so fucked out and vulnerable beneath her body. The ache between her legs only became worse at the sight, her erection jerking right against your sensitive folds.

“You still want it, don’t you?” she asked knowing damn well the answer was yes. You needed her like one required oxygen to stay alive. “You still want me to fill you to the brim.”

A sneaky hand found the space between your breasts to trail down in a torturous pace, a black nail pressed so harshly it would leave a mark the next day. She came to a halt on your mound so her thumb could rediscover its usual spot on your overwhelmed clit, so slippery it teased the future of her actions. Vocalization of your desires, that’s what she wanted.

“Yes! Yes, I do,” you were still twitchy, still aching for her in a manner she could never quite understand.

“Mm-hmm… alright, then.”

That’s all you heard from her before you felt the way she shifted over you and the tip of her cock aligned perfectly with your naturally stretched out hole. She wouldn’t use her fingers on you to prepare you—she hadn’t the time to trim her stiletto nails since this was all unpremeditated, and it would be unthoughtful of her to shove them inside you.

The moment she sunk into you, your reactive moan seemed to almost be of relief. You could feel her slowly pushing herself between your poor cunt walls so as to not harm you. My, just the sound of her barely audible groan could’ve made you finish a second time.

“Always so welcoming,” she mumbled through her breaths the instant you finally swallowed her full and coated her cock with your slick. You no longer felt empty, at last.

Of course, she tortured your previously abused clit with her thumb to get you used to her size easier. Considerate without fail, wasn’t she? She rubbed it in soft circles as she awaited for you to give her some leeway to move inside you, but she enjoyed the feeling of the way you wrapped around her.

You met her lascivious gaze after some time—just from the sight of your glossy eyes and nonverbal appeal she felt the sudden urge to pound your pussy until you couldn’t think of anything other than how good she was at fucking you. Making you cry from the pleasure, that was the only thing she could think about at that moment.

This woman reacted almost in the blink of an eye. Her hands made sure to move your legs enough for your comfort before one of them grabbed your face. You could feel the cold surface of her wedding band against your skin as she lost all mercy for you—she wasn’t the type to be kind either way, was she?

“Such a pretty doll you are,” she cooed as her fingers slightly dug into the flushed skin of your cheeks, “how pathetic do you turn just for me.”

That just forced a guttural moan out of you. Her words, mixed with the way her hips met yours with each forceful thrust… it was only making your eyes prickle with tears. You were so loud that every little sound that escaped your lips sounded like music to her ears.

The way your flesh and breasts recoiled because of her movements were like a work of art. Such lewd moans from your lips, the manner in which her flesh slapped yours, the smell of sex permeating the air. It was all a masterpiece crafted by her own hand, and she relished it fully.

The fashion in which she angled her dick to continuously rub against that spongy spot on your insides drove you mad. You had to put your hands on her chest to try and calm down her momentum. Not only were you still coming down from your first orgasm in such a long time, but she was also being so rough she might as well have been tearing you apart right there and then.

You could almost feel her all up in your guts. Her motions were becoming almost primitive against your poor cunt.

“P-please…”

She quickly interrupted your whiny attempt at speaking, her tone borderline scolding through groans and pants.

“You can take it all like the good wife you are.”

Oh, did she know what to say to make you clench around her cock and draw a beautiful noise from the pit of her throat. Arlecchino always enjoyed that pitiful moment where you physically reacted to her words. Such a good toy you were.

The moment arose where both you and her could feel both of your crescendos drawing closer after long minutes of wet sounds, and your husband just couldn’t pass the opportunity to make it even better for the both of you. She always knew how to fluster you even if it was nearly impossible to do it even more.

“In or out?” She asked in a somewhat steady voice, having drawn closer to you as a means to bury her face into the crook of your neck.

You had been sinking your nails in the pale skin of her back, leaving red trails at your wake while you muffled your cries thanks to her shoulder. This question, however, forced you to shut your eyes at the realization of what she meant.

“In… please, just… inside.” She could barely make out your words since you were oh so occupied enjoying the way her dick drilled into your now swollen pussy.

And, naturally, she did as you said.

Your orgasm struck you both at the same time, skins glistening with sweat now pressed flush against each other as she released fully inside of you and all you could see was white. All she could hear from her spot was your loud cry of ecstasy and the soft sound of small raindrops beginning to hit the window of your room.

She pulled away from you eventually, just to watch you through her haze, and hummed at your delicious and new fucked out expression. She knew you were now leaking out your mixed fluids and tainting the sheets, however, she couldn’t find herself caring. She wanted more.

“Turn around.”

“Wh- huh?” You thought you were hearing wrong. You were still amidst the peak of your pleasure—you weren’t understanding her, surely.

“I’m not done with you. Turn around. Now.”

If you hadn’t been broken in half yet, you would be by the end of the long, long night ahead of you.

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely

i was contemplating another one too i hope this doesn’t stress you out !! (please take your time, im quite a patient person) also it’s 3am rn i woke up in the middle of the night so yay

i dont know if it would work but one where it’s a secret relationship but randomly they (reader n spencer) just say eff it and go FULL pda (you can decide whether it’s like holding hands, making out or anything in between !!) in the bullpen / on the jet and everyone else just goes CRAZY

if it doesn’t work just ignore. i’ll get better ideas soon TRUST

yours truly

- 🐚

indifferent — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of being tired from a case, a/n: HIII 🐚 sorry if this took so long i'm not even gonna lie when i tell you i rewrote this like 6 times , i gave it my best - i still hope you like this <3333

You sank into your seat, absolutely exhausted. The case had drained you—physically, mentally and emotionally. You sighed, letting your body melt into the plush leather, barely holding yourself upright.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled, eyes already half-lidded as you shifted in search of a comfortable position.

Just as your eyes fluttered shut, you heard the familiar sound of movement nearby. You cracked one eye open to see Spencer standing over you, carefully stowing your go-bag into the overhead compartment.

“It’s a long flight. You should sleep,” he said softly, settling beside you.

You hummed in response, too tired to argue. You felt the warmth of him beside you before you even opened your eyes again. His hand found your thigh without hesitation, his thumb beginning to trace slow, soothing circles through the fabric of your pants.

It was muscle memory at this point, something he did without thinking—whether you were curled up on the couch at home, sitting together in a car, or now, here, on the jet.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat, letting your body sink further into the soft leather. The jet was quiet, just the two of you. You glanced at Spencer, who mirrored your movement, his head resting against the seat, his warm brown eyes searching yours with a softness that made your heart flutter.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

With a sleepy smile, you mumbled, “Do you want to come over tonight?”

Spencer’s lips quirked up at the corners, a faint smile tugging at his tired features. Without hesitation, he nodded. That was all the confirmation you needed, and a warmth spread through your chest.

He reached up, his fingers barely brushing against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The soft touch sent a shiver through you, and you leaned into it, resting your head on his shoulder.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps—the rest of the team making their way onto the jet. But Spencer didn’t move his hand from your thigh; his fingers continued to trace gentle patterns through the fabric. You turned to look at him in surprise, but he just smiled back at you, an expression so warm it made your heart skip a beat.

The others plopped into their seats in front of you, with Derek and Emily settling into the row just across from you.

“I’m so exhausted,” Emily sighed dramatically, rubbing her temples as she stared at the two of you. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary, clearly surprised by your closeness, the way you were cuddled together so easily. Derek raised an eyebrow, a knowing grin tugging at his lips.

Even Hotch and Rossi, making their way toward their seats at the back, glanced up quickly, their eyes meeting briefly before they turned away. But no one said anything.

Half an hour passed, and you still hadn’t managed to fall asleep. You sighed loudly, letting your head slump slightly against Spencer’s shoulder in frustration. It felt like your body wanted to rest, but your mind just wouldn’t quiet down.

Spencer noticed the shift in your mood. He looked down at you, brow furrowing slightly.

“Can’t fall asleep?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with concern.

You mumbled a tired “No...” and sighed again.

Spencer was already processing this, his brain working overtime, as it often did. His gaze drifted away for a moment and then, just like that, he launched into his usual ramble.

“You know, water is really effective for helping people fall asleep,” he began, tilting his head slightly. “It’s the hydration, really. It helps regulate your body’s temperature and keeps your nervous system functioning properly, which is essential for sleep. The brain needs hydration to produce melatonin. Oh, and the temperature of the water matters, too! Too cold or too hot, and it’ll have the opposite effect. Ideally, you want it lukewarm.”

You couldn’t help but smile, even in your tired state. You always loved how he would share his knowledge, no matter how random the topic.

He didn’t seem to notice how you were still half-dazed, his voice continuing as he leaned in slightly.

“And if you drink it right before bed, it helps slow down the body’s metabolism, which prepares you for sleep.”

"I didn't know that." You smiled, leaning into his shoulder again, your hand finding his.

“You want some water?” Spencer asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded sleepily. “Yeah... that sounds nice.”

Emily crossed her arms, her gaze flicking toward the direction Spencer had walked off in before settling back on you with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed, tilting her head. “We’re not that oblivious.”

You blinked innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Derek, who had been staring out the window with his headphones on just moments ago, now turned his full attention to you, an amused grin spreading across his face. He pulled his headphones down around his neck and glanced between you and Emily.

“So, let me get this straight,” Derek said, leaning forward slightly. “You expect us to believe that you and Pretty Boy over there just casually cuddle up on the jet like that?” He raised an eyebrow. “And that little thigh-touching thing? That’s just friendly behavior?”

Your face warmed, but you did your best to keep your expression neutral. “We were tired,” you reasoned.

Emily snorted. “Right. And I suppose if I go back there and ask Spencer, he’ll say the exact same thing?”

Your silence was enough of an answer.

Derek let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, I gotta say, I’m actually impressed. I didn’t think Reid of all people could pull off a secret relationship for this long.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Before you could respond, Spencer returned, holding a bottle of water in one hand and—predictably—a cup of coffee in the other. He slid back into his seat beside you, handing you the water with a small smile.

“Here, lukewarm. It’s the best temperature for—”

“Melatonin production, hydration, metabolism... I was listening, Doctor Reid. Thank you.” You shrugged with a wink, fully aware of how much he loved to share his knowledge.

Spencer’s eyes brightened as you took the bottle from him and sipped it. He always worried people weren’t paying attention, and it seemed like you’d just passed his test.

With a soft smile, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for just a moment too long before he reluctantly pulled away.

He turned back to face the rest of the team, his posture stiffening slightly as his gaze met Derek’s raised eyebrow and Emily’s wide, disbelieving eyes.

You could feel Spencer tense up beside you, and you couldn’t help but grin, leaning slightly against his shoulder as you watched the reactions unfold.

Derek chuckled, his disbelief evident. “Wow... Since when are you two...?” He trailed off, clearly caught off guard.

You tilted your head slightly, an innocent smile playing at the corners of your lips. The whole team had always been close, but no one had ever suspected that you and Spencer had been quietly keeping a secret relationship. Of course, that secret wasn’t exactly a secret anymore.

You could feel the gaze of Rossi and Hotch from across the aisle, both men just as silent but sizing up the situation. You almost swore you saw Rossi’s lips twitching in amusement.

Maybe they’d already known, maybe they’d suspected it.

"Penelope is going to have a field day with this," Emily muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she gave you a pointed look.

You smiled. Penelope would certainly have plenty of fun with this.

Under the table, your hand reached for Spencer’s, fingers intertwining gently as you squeezed his hand in reassurance.

Derek let out another low chuckle, clearly amused. “You two have been sneaking around long enough. I should’ve seen this coming.”

You turned to Derek, narrowing your eyes playfully. “We didn’t exactly sneak around, Derek. We just weren’t broadcasting it to the whole world.”

Derek’s grin turned mischievous again. “Well, I’ll say this much... if you two are gonna go public, I want an invite to the wedding.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging Spencer with your shoulder. “You’re impossible, Derek.”

You glanced up, meeting Hotch’s usually stoic eyes. For a brief second, you swore you saw the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

And with that, the playful teasing continued, but you didn’t mind. Because, with Spencer next to you, everything felt exactly as it should.

[eraserbread]

𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 part 3 masterlist, listen, nanami tag

god help me be a good wife, cause he needs me even when he's not right, he still needs me read part 2 nanami won't tell you he's hurting, but he can't keep you a secret any longer.

a/n: holy shit u guys... don't say i didn't warn you... this one is, uh... that's all from me. see you on the other side... cw: 18+ mature themes, canon-typical violence

♫ - salted wound - sia

Kento doesn’t wince, he doesn’t even move a muscle as he’s doted on. This time, it’s not by you, it’s by his colleague. One of the only sorcerers at Jujutsu High who can use reverse cursed techniques to heal. Her hands are warm, but her aura is cold, not like yours. Never as comforting as you. 

Facing the aftershocks of a fight against what he deemed to be a Special Grade, his side is gashed. It’s deep, too, bleeding into Ieiri’s silicone gloves as she pokes and prods. 

“I need to make a phone call – afraid it can’t wait, either, so please do not listen.” 

“No promises.” She replies coolly, pushing her rolling chair back to switch out her bloody gloves. In her sterile, white office, Kento leans his back against a plush, reclining chair. His dark blue work shirt is unbuttoned and messy, hanging off his shoulder. Blood is soaking through it, he’s cold, and Kento wants nothing more than to be home right now. 

Home will have to wait, but he can make up for some of it easily enough. He reaches for his smartphone, blinking drearily as his weak fingers stumble upon your contact. It’s well past the time he should’ve been home, now, and knows you’re up, worried sick. A message won’t suffice in this case; he needed to speak. 

Not even a full ring pass until the line clicks. Your smooth, sleepy voice licks the receiver. 

‘Kento?’ 

“Hello, dear.” Kento shuffles, taking a breath as Ieiri rolls back to his side. She has already used her technique; now it just has to settle in. “I know you are worried about me. Don’t be.” 

‘What’s happened? Are you okay?’ The way you sound – so worried and broken against cell static, shatters Kento’s psyche. He just wants to reach through the phone and tell you he’s okay, but he can’t. 

“I was struck by some falling rubble at work. Again, don’t wor-”

‘-fallen rubble? Kento, please come home.’ 

He presses his eyes shut. Your pain is palpable and laced throughout your caring tone. “I cannot come home yet. I’m getting the wound patched up.” 

Out of his sight, you’re chewing over your pristine nails, stewing with angst. He can hear the crack in your voice when you go to speak. ‘I’m terrified… this is the fourth injury this week.’ 

“I understand you’re worried, but I want you to know that I made that promise for a reason. I will never leave you.” He’s lying. He can’t believe he’s lying to you again, but it’s the only way he can keep you. His stupid, selfish nature needs you close when he knows he should cut ties and let you lead a life without constant fear.

‘And I want to believe that so bad.’ You’re crying now, or about to – Kento can hear it in the way your voice, damp with emotion, shakes helplessly. He knows if he were home, you’d play with his hair and kiss his forehead. You’d let him know that you can be his rock if need be – that’s your safeword, it’s his crutch. 

“How about you get some rest, dear? When you wake up, I’ll be right there… just like always.” 

‘No mysterious midnight missions?’ 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s hard to control that.” 

‘Then, just lie.’ You’re desperate for anything, now. Any lie, any amount of reassurance or stability – you were clawing at your skin for it. 

“No missions. I’ll be home with you all night.” 

You take that with a contented hum, sawing your bottom lip over the line. ‘Please come home safe and sound.’ 

“Mhm… okay.” 

‘I love you so much.’ 

“Yes, you too. You know that.” 

‘I’ll be waiting…’ 

Kento hangs up first – knows he has to, or you’ll be shoveling more worrisome phrases into his ear for hours. Then, he feels the guilt hit him like a ton of bricks, weighing his shoulders down as Ieiri finishes patching him up. Silently, she’s been listening – of course, she has. 

Notoriously mysterious, Kento never utters a word about his personal life when he’s on campus. He was aloof throughout his high school years, then just disappeared. It's safe to say that nobody truly knows him here. Not even the apparitional comrades he sees when he closes his eyes at night. 

However, Ieiri is not stupid. That shiny, silver band on Kento’s fingers was not just for decoration. He’s never worn an ornament in his life, save for the thick watch he ties some of his Curse to. She noticed – she could make out your worried ramblings in the quiet, and smiled at who you were. 

“Marriage… It’s definitely your style.” She finally stands, pressing the trash can open to toss away the sterile packaging she used. Kento sits up, following her gaze shortly. 

“I told you not to listen.” 

“Oh, geez – it was impossible not to.” 

“Then just pretend you respect me enough to listen.” He’s standing up, buttoning and tucking his bloody shirt back in his pants. He knows you’ll work your domestic magic on it when he goes home – the next time he’ll see this shirt, it’ll be like nothing happened. “If you don’t mind, I will be running home to my wife.” 

“Don’t… actually run. It’ll exert the site.” 

Kento lets the door swing shut as he leaves Ieiri’s office, not giving her a goodbye or thanks she already knows she has from him. 

Now, he’ll be the first to admit that he’s pulled away since his return. There hasn’t been a Welcome Back dinner like Satoru promised, or those occasional nights out they’d hop into after missions. Nothing is the same this time around, or maybe they just aren’t kids anymore. 

And much to his bad luck, he ends up running into an open conversation in the First-Year hallway. The door is just a stone's throw away, but Ino and Satoru are leaning against either wall, relaxed and uncaring of Kento’s presence at first. 

“If I have to talk to the higher-ups about that, it won’t be pretty.” 

“Satoru, you can’t keep letting them throw me into missions I can’t handle.” Ino grimaces, scratching an anxious hand behind his head. He barely scraped away with his life today, and he’s had enough. He’s gone through two too many near-death experiences this week. 

“Don’t mind me,” Kento mutters as he pushes through their invisible conversation. Satoru stands on the right, giving him the perfect view of the bloodied stain on his pristine clothing. He can also see it in Kento’s face – can hear it in the mumble he gives. 

“Bad mission?” 

“I do apologize – I’ll have to brief you tomorrow.” Kento’s trying everything – scraping by the skin of his teeth to avoid any and all distractions. Satoru could talk for hours about nothing, and Ino would pay to listen in. He can’t let himself be roped in. 

“Nanami, I faced a Special-Grade in Kamakura. Had to flee or die… this is getting out of hand.” 

“Struggling is not inherently bad.” He finally stops, giving Ino a passing look over his shoulder. He takes a few steps, hands tucked in his pockets. “Neither is fleeing. Sometimes it’s the only thing we can do – you have to be okay with that.” 

Ino gives him a meek nod, gazing down at his feet as reality washes over him. “B-but if we all flee… Who will exorcise all these Curses?” 

“Me. When I have time.” Satoru speaks, standing up straight as if he’s planning on walking away. In reality, he’s exhausted. Running on a night of no sleep and constant, back-to-back Special Grades, whilst teaching and lugging around Sukuna’s vessel, marred him to the bone. He was beginning to see stars through his thin, dark-framed glasses. “Thank you for helping with Itadori, Nanami. Saw he got back safely.” 

“It is my duty to put his life over my own. Now, I must be going on-

“Get lots of rest tonight,” Ino adds as Kento begins walking off, standing straight and at attention. 

“You too.” 

Kento can’t face you right now. He knows you’re behind that door, can feel your presence calling his name, but can’t give in. It’s so late now. Well past midnight, and he’s just now shuffling through the front door. He knows, and hates, that you’re not waiting up for him. The house is dark. Lifeless. It’s like you haven’t been in here all day. 

He waits in front of the cracked bedroom door, hand hovering over the knob as he works himself up. He’s still covered in blood – his shirt is stained and he looks like Hell. You’d wake up as soon as he sets foot inside, and he’d have to calm your shaking demeanor again. Selfishly, he’s far too exhausted to exert more energy that way. 

All he wants to do is sleep. He doesn’t want to exist on this day anymore. 

So, he turns around and makes his way to the couch, slinging off his belt and loosening his tie so he can sink into the downiness. He closes his hands over his face, breathing deep, thinking about that pathwork curse, dreaming up ways he can work around the technique, and stewing over it for far too long. Surprisingly, he skated away with his life today, but he knew it was a lucky draw – he needed to be more careful, far more conscious. 

Somewhere, lost in those late hours, he drifts off with his vapid thoughts running circles in his mind. It’s a sour mixture – a foul mood and visions of failure, which is why he dreams that night. 

He never dreams. 

You’re awake when that call comes, stepping out of the bathroom fresh from a shower. Somehow, he can hear you from the serenity of the shared bedroom. He wonders if you can feel him as you approach your wailing phone, looking so meek, wrapped up in a towel the size of him. 

Every step is deliberate as you cross the bed, reaching against the whiteness of the spread to retrieve the device. When you turn the screen over, an unknown number is painted across the top, and he can sense the hesitant dread that crosses your features when you notice. 

Kento knows you want that person to be him – you’re hoping he’s just at a payphone, or using a colleague's cell to update you on his status. His only call home was that evening around 7 – he whispered to you that he was being called into a situation around Shibuya, warning you not to worry and that he’ll be home soon. How soon, he couldn’t promise. Timelines are so flimsy, now. Your life together is built on promises he can’t keep. 

But you understand. You won’t fight him this time; you’ll accept defeat and spend another lonely night wrapped up in his smell. It’s the only comfort you can find anymore. 

“Yes?” With a pruned, shaking hand, you bring your smartphone to your ear to answer the call. 

‘...Is this Mrs. Nanami Kento?’ It’s a voice you’re not used to – feminine, yet powerful as it overtakes you. 

You repeat, “Yes.” 

Then, a broken sigh makes you stand up straight. ‘This is Ieiri Shoko from Jujutsu High.’ She begins, shaking her head where you cannot see. ‘There is no easy way to say this, but we have probable cause to believe that Kento either went AWOL, or is MIA after the incident he was called to in Shibuya. I don’t want you to panic yet, but considering the worst-case scenario… We’ve been able to recover a few bodies from the scene earlier this morning…’

You can feel it – the entire structure of your world falling to its knees as you shake still. Your grip tightens invisibly over your device, eyes lost in the room as you shudder on words you know you need to say. “W-what?” 

Another sigh. Just a sigh for her – you wish you could just sigh. ‘I don’t want to confirm anything I am unsure about, but it is unrealistic for him to shrug off on missions without a word.’ Pacing the morgue, Shoko navigates the chaos of bodies she needs to identify, tag, and store. Only one issue – one glaring, faceless issue. She takes a second to stare at the covered body on her table, bloodied brown shoes lying lifeless, and swallows. 

“I-I don’t… I don’t understand.” You swallow, dislodging a pile of angst from your throat. Your mind has already shut down, and your heart is sure to follow – they’re protecting you. Taking the news and eating it until there’s nothing for your soul to feel. “I don’t understand.” 

‘I know this news… It’s confusing. For us… too.’ Though level-headed and seasoned, Ieiri knows how fragile this situation is – how fragile you are. Tokyo Jujutsu Society would never function the same again, and she’d feel it to her grave. ‘Kento was an integral part of not only the School, but also of our society. We need him more than ever, which is why we won't rest until he is accounted for. I imagine he hasn’t reached out to you since yesterday?’

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. You can’t even fucking move. 

‘Nanami?’

You shake your head, but Ieiri can’t hear it. You don’t care. 

‘I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, so I will not press further… May I ask that you come up to the school to identify some remains?’ 

“If it’s him…” You stop, finally moving even when it’s just a step closer to the mattress so you can collapse in a shapeless heap. “I don’t want to see it.” 

‘Of course, I understand completely. Might I just add that DNA testing is a lengthy process, often taking over a month in this case. I can go ahead and start that for you, but if you need closure sooner, coming in to view the bodies is your best option.’ 

You’re sinking into the mattress, hoping it swallows you whole as Ieiri treats you like a name on a paper. She’s telling you that Kento is missing – he’s gone. She thinks he’s dead and wants you to confirm her suspicions by looking at corpses. You don’t think she understands — you will not be able to function if your eyes fall upon the body you married without an ounce of life in it. It’d be better to twist the knife and take that spot next to him in the refrigerated room than to live anymore.

But, you also prepared for this… In that sick, if it happens, it happens way that Kento shoved down your throat since he took the position. The least he can do, since he’s throwing his life to the curb, is to make sure the transition into a life of your own would be just as easy as falling in love with him. You wouldn’t have to work for a while with the money he has stockpiled. You have this house he fine-tuned for you, a brand-new car, and a free life – you could start over. He wants you to start over. 

But he doesn’t want you to marry again. Not ever. 

Not even once you begin to forget him. 

Over the phone, you whisper to Ieiri, “I will come.” 

Somewhere in a dream-like state, Kento watches you slide on a pair of loose-fitting pants, staring unblinking at the wall as you pull on a baggy shirt. He believes it’s his, it smells like him, and that’s what you needed right now. You wouldn’t drive, Ieiri scheduled someone to retrieve you by mid-morning, and that was quickly approaching. 

The one thing – the feeling that’s playing you in a loop is… emptiness. The bleak wall becomes your mirror as you stare into it, no longer caring to polish the appearance you had kept so pristine for your husband. He never asked for too much when it came to that, knowing you’d be able to steer your self-care the way you need to without much nagging. Now it all seems so trivial. 

If no Kento was waiting at the end of the tunnel, you didn’t want to trek. 

So, you’re swept away. Unshowered, unbrushed – unpolished, into the back of a sleek black, mysterious sedan. A woman in a suit waits by the back door as you leave the home Kento gave you. The air smells like his skin as the door pushes that faithful scent out into the world. It feels as if you’re losing pieces of him slowly. 

Luckily, the assistant understands the gravity of the situation as she ushers you into the vehicle. She sees the look on your face, that shadow in your eyes as you avoid eye contact. Not even a word – just a nod. You’re lowering yourself into the calm, polished leather expanse. 

You just can’t feel anything. It’s so odd, so mysteriously antagonizing, as the city you navigated your entire life starts to feel… unfamiliar. The first time you laid eyes on your Kento, once a small, shy blonde, was shoulder-to-shoulder at a bar in Azabu. Now, that lively night strip is jarring and uncomfortably empty. You have to let your eyes flutter shut. 

You don’t even have the strength to pull them open when the car slows to a crawl, shaking you back to sense before stopping altogether. 

Car bells ding, doors are pulled open, and cigarette smoke is in the air. You steady your shaking hands, finally letting your eyes creep open. 

You’ve never been to campus, Kento never told you where it was, but the whispers of the countryside are vibrant and green, stretching far beyond the traditional campus. From first appearances, it looks like every other private High School, and that’s what you would have clung to if you didn’t know the unfortunate truth. Every one of these selfless sorcerers was working their life away just to meet an untimely end. It’s all shit – the system is shit, but you understand that choice was a luxury. Just like Kento, he didn’t have a choice. You never blamed him. 

“Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” That familiar voice, warm and welcoming, is shadowed against the smog of her balanced cigarette. Standing in front of you, brunette hair, light makeup – you could only deem this reflection as Ieiri Shoko. 

You step out of the car, leaving the door hanging open for the assistant to close. When she steps behind you and lets a gentle hand push it shut, the sound sends a chill up your spine. You shiver. 

“I apologize for startling-

“I-it’s fine,” you rush, voice sounding unfamiliar and meek in your throat. 

Ieiri ashes her smoke with a flick, gaze downcast and red with lack of sleep. Little did you know, last night was one of the most troubling of her career. Bodies upon bodies and injured colleagues stacked upon each other. Some were MIA – a scattered few meeting a supernatural fate that the higher-ups have yet to learn. She figures you haven’t turned on the news and heard about the devastation. She hopes you didn’t, it’d make this showing easier. 

“Nanami…” Ieiri approaches, holding her smoke to her side to stop the onslaught from meeting you. You blink. “I apologize for the chaos, and… for finally meeting you in these circumstances.” 

You’re nodding, too afraid to say more and risk sobbing in a pile on the polished cobblestone. 

“I won’t burden you for too long.” She’s reading your reflection, understanding that baseless words to break the silence will just make this difficult. Ieiri drops her cigarette, stepping on it as she turns to lead you. “Nor will I talk your ear off about formalities, or the fact that I am drowning in bodies and unknowing.” She’s walking fast, swinging doors open for you to pass through. These hallways, although designed for students, seem completely empty. There’s no sound of joyous teenage angst, no chaos that should fill a school – just a veil of blackness, devoid of laughter and emotion. 

You can guess it’s why Kento is so bleak at times, similarly devoid of laughter and emotion. He slaves away all day to this. 

“Now, I won’t tell you much, but this happens sometimes. Shibuya is in ruins, half of our Grade-1s are MIA or are down for the foreseeable future, higher-ups are scrambling – it’s a mess.” 

“And my husband…” It’s the first sentence you speak to her face-to-face. Ieiri thinks it’s as bleak as she imagined it’d be, and it’s not like she could blame you. Poor girl, tied unwillingly to sorcery through devotion. No human is fit to thrive in these conditions. 

“Mixed up in it all, I suppose.” She stops at a heavy set of swinging doors, sending you screeching to a halt. When she turns around, that confident, exhausted gaze is just exhausted. “Now, we found him just after the sun broke, along with some of his few… surviving colleagues.” Ieiri knows – of course she knows, there’s no other sorcerer who yielded a wrapped, spotted blade. It was at the scene, plain as day, and disregarded during clean-up. However, there is a slight, off-putting chance that she could be wrong. It’s why you’re here, it’s why she’s stepping away from your sight, heading towards the corpse. 

You don’t even need her to lift the pristine white sheet. You can smell him in the air – an odd, muted, clean sort of familiar musk. Right there, in that moment, is where it hits you. 

Your husband is gone. 

“I’m so sorry… the state we found him in is…” Ieiri doesn’t finish, she doesn’t even give you a second before she’s peeling the sheet away from clothed, cold ankles. 

Your soul falls. You can’t look. 

You can’t even think – your husband is gone. 

Kento jolts up as if he were being doused in smoldering coals. His heart is hammering in his chest, forcing him awake in a cold sweat. He’s still on the couch, neck sore from the odd position he drifted into. It had to have been hours, now. That dream felt like an eternity… your pain was palpable. He feels like Hell – guilty to the bone. 

With those downcast eyes, he leans his elbows to his knees, rubbing the tension in his face away. Slowly, he’s coming down from that nightmare, focusing his breathing on the late-night hum of city traffic. He can’t find a time, has no idea where his phone is, and is exhausted. There was only so much stewing he could do for the rest of the night, so he decided to call it and climb into bed. 

Except you’re not cuddled on your side when he walks into the room. The bed is barren, with messy covers strewn over the mattress. Kento’s disappointed, but he’s far too tired to think twice. He crawls into his side of the bed, lying on top of the sheets, reaching to clutch your pillow to his face. Perhaps, he thinks it’s you in his sleep-daze, or he knows it’s not you, so he whispers, 

“I’m sorry.” 

You step out of the bathroom three minutes later, hands damp from washing them clean. The bedside clock reads 24:23. Kento is curled up with your pillow. You smile. 

“Sorry. I had to pee.” 

“Come here.” He’s not really asleep, you know he isn’t asleep. His body is still tense. So, you make your way to him, footsteps light in the night before they morph into knee-crawling over the mattress. Kento finally cracks open his eyes, and a smile blooms. He’s happy to see you. 

You won’t mention his injury right now, he won’t mention his burdens as he drags you into his arms. He just holds you, letting you fall back asleep with your head on his chest. 

Like he promised, Kento held you all night until the morning birds awoke. 

Then, it’s the weekend and he’s home. You don’t dare move from this closeness when you wake up before him. It’s just too peaceful, the outside breeze, the beat of his heart, the sound of his breath. He’s a steady, sleepy rock. 

Hours fade, you doze off again. Morning melts into the afternoon, and the sun is hot. You blink awake in the same position, watching hairs of sweat bead against your husband's chest. Leaning forward to kiss him, he stirs. 

Then, mid-afternoon hits, and you’re finally crawling out of your bed with Kento following suit. He’s quiet, yawning into his hand as he cracks an eye open. “You didn’t wake me.” 

“It’s Saturday.” Waiting for you on your closet door, you walk to slide your robe on, pulling the windows open once it’s tied around your waist. “Didn’t talk much last night.” 

“Neither did you.” He’s looking at you over his shoulder, back hunched towards you as he sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re beautiful this morning.” 

“Afternoon.” You correct with a smile on your face. You’re doing nothing to appear more attractive than your half-asleep state allows, but he doesn’t care. “I love you.” 

Kento grunts when he stands, limping slightly as he makes his way to the wardrobe. He’s yawning again, stretching his big arms in front of him. Your eyes fall to his side – the big bandage covering his milky skin. 

You swallow down words, craning your neck when he passes you with a kiss to the cheek. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Lunch, dear.” You remind him, sawing over your bottom lip as he strips in front of you. His movements are hardly sexual, but the way his body bends and moves as he steps out of his pants is adjacent. Wearing no briefs, he reaches for a pair you laundered for him. “Chicken katsu, maybe?” 

“Mm…” He hums, filtering through his hanging selection of casual shirts. He settles on a deep grey one, sliding it over his fluffy hair and his chest. “If that’s what you want to do…” sounds excellent.” 

“Careful – your side, baby.” 

“What? It’s fine.” He's giving you the cold shoulder, like he’s trying to blow you off. What he wants to do is pick a pair of comfortable pants that he wouldn’t have to squeeze into. It’s the weekend, after all. He had no career obligations. “Katsu is good, go do that.” 

“Pick me out something to wear. Comfy like that, it’s cute.” You’re mentioning finally pushing from the wall to head to the kitchen. Kento doesn’t respond, but you know he’ll do it. On weekends, you shower together in the evening. You know he’ll appreciate peeling the outfit he chose from your skin a little extra. 

While Kento gets ready for his rest day, you’re stewing in the kitchen. Starting with prepping chicken, cleaning, prepping vegetables, cleaning, then actually turning around to your hot oil to start cooking. Somewhere in the middle of the process, you turned on music from the house speakers, keeping it low but audible over the sound of the stove. It makes it so you don’t catch Kento sliding into the room, book tucked under his arm as he sits at your counter. Never speaking a word, just watching. 

“Didn’t hear you walk in.” You’re mildly startled when you turn around, heading to the sink to grab a utensil from your pile of dirty ones. 

“You’re just in your own world. Didn’t want to intercept.” Light, down-tempo jazz backs the sound of his words. You’re smiling under his warm gaze, proud like a child at his sweet attention. 

“Thinking about you.” You add, hands scrubbing under running water as you wash. You’re faithful, your chicken won’t burn behind you, so you let this mood carry. You can tell he wants to dote on you right now. “Halloween’s in a few days. Remember, we used to celebrate every year when we were dating.” 

“Mhm… I remember when you forced me to watch that anime so that I could dress as that character. All of our friends seemed to love it, but I don’t think a blonde Yagami Light was very convincing.” 

You’re giggling, fond memories flooding the front of your mind. A peeved Kento, a smiling you, friends, drinks, and love. It was the last time you two celebrated as young adults. “Well, I was very convinced.” 

“I’m sure you were. You had no problem putting on a wig and playing Misa.” Kento opens his book to his marked page, eyes flicking over your shoulder. “My love, your chicken.” 

“Oh!” You jump, turning around with your clean utensil to remove the cutlets from the oil. On your right, rice is cooking – steaming into the air, mingling with the scent of warmth and home. 

Every few seconds, you can feel his eyes bore into the back of your head. It’s like he wants to say something, but comes up empty every time. 

“If it’s not too much to ask, some coffee would be nice.” He mentions briefly when you turn back around. Nodding immediately, you place your things on the counter, wipe your hands, and move to the machine to brew him a cup. 

“Sorry, I’m so distracted this morning.” 

“Afternoon.” He replies cheekily, smirking up at you when you gawk over your shoulder. “And, it’s okay. You woke up later than normal, starting with lunch instead of breakfast, too.” 

“I actually woke up right on time, just didn’t want to wake you by getting up.” 

“You’re extremely thoughtful. I do appreciate it.” 

A few moments later, you’re cradling a steaming mug of black coffee in your hands, blowing over the top before you hand it to Kento. 

“It is sweet, how you do that.” He starts, so soft spoken, putting his book down so he can take a scalding sip. “It’s like a little indirect kiss.” 

“I have no choice, you drink it as soon as I hand it to you, and always end up burning yourself.” 

“Coffee burns are the least of my worries.” You’re stuck staring stars into Kento’s eyes, studying the fine lines, the familiarity, the gentleness. You don’t even realize how much time is passing until he does. Kento clears his throat. 

“Um, dear.” He nods back towards your stove, and you’re flustered, trying to reel your attention back. “I’m sorry, I’m distracting you.” 

“No!” You reply, shaking your head as you remove the too-crispy chicken to drain. You’re lost in your own skin, unsure what to do with your hands and hyper-aware of his presence now. “No, don’t go, I’m sorry.” 

“I won’t go, just don’t want you to burn down your kitchen.” There’s a chuckle there, faint, hidden behind his words. You can hear it.

While it’s still hot, you serve Kento his lunch, taking care to slice the meat against the grain and keeping its presentation as neat as possible.

A scoop of rice, chicken perched perfectly on top. You pick out his chopsticks, his sauces, and a beautiful, fresh pile of grated cabbage on the side. It’s only ready to eat when you place it gently in front of him, turning the plate so he can get the perfect bite of rice first. 

This attention to detail – Kento craves it. He needs it. By now, knowing exactly what he needs is second nature; he never expects you to falter. And that’s your fault for always being so perfect and loving. He expects the world from you, now—one bowl of chicken katsu at a time. 

Early evening comes with Kento’s gentle voice amongst the cracked windows, piercing through the outside noise. You two love the cooler weather – cuddling up close when there’s no other reason to. 

Back pressed to the couch, Kento’s balancing a thick hard-cover book about Japanese Folklore in honor of Halloween. His sweet, gentle voice makes the troubling stories seem like fairy tales. He’s speaking so wholly, stopping to nod you through any questions you had. Little by little, Kento has been explaining bits and pieces of his world – how curses are born, why he has such an overflow of Cursed Energy, and why he chose this life. 

The thing is, he didn’t. Nobody chooses to be scouted, or, in his case, completely abandoned by his family because they swore he was too abnormal to live a regular life. Desperate for normalcy in those first few years of High School, he lived his off-time nose deep in books that couldn’t talk back. 

He’s only recently started to let you in on those years – the darkest in his life. He speaks about them so solemnly, finally starting to tell himself the truth when it comes to what he saw all that time ago. His best friend's warm body sliced in two, blood gushing. Tears. Angst. Sleepless nights, early mornings, and dull breakfasts. 

He’s getting lost in his head again, words are starting to melt together, and your body is too warm. He shakes his head. “Sorry…” 

“Hm?” You look up at him, hand drawing pristine designs on his clothed chest. Being honest, you didn’t notice the minor stutter of his words as he droned on. You’re more focused on the grotesque human amalgamation that exists within the walls of a city school. The description he read made you shudder. 

“Sorry, I just-

Kento is sighing, sliding further on the couch with the intent to sit. You’re sitting up with him, the backs of your thighs pressed into your heels as he swings his long legs off.. He’s clutching the front of his head like a headache is brewing, eyebrows knitting in phantom pain. 

It’s like… ever since that dream he had the other night, he can’t think straight. He can’t get that fucking night out of his head. 

“Ken…to..?” You mutter, reaching to pull his hand from his face. Unfortunately, this has become familiar to you – these bouts he works himself up into. It eats him alive, rendering him speechless and distant even when you’re close enough to touch. “It’s okay.” 

“Just a… It’s been a week.” Is what he lies with, looking down at his feet. There’s a crook in his neck he has to roll out; it’s uncomfortable. Everything around him is on fire; his skin is churning. 

It’s a slip you witness in real time, heart thrumming painfully as his eyes go ghost. You feel so helpless right now, his hand flexes against yours like he wants to pull it back to his body, but he sits motionless. 

You stand, stepping in front of him to pull his limp frame into your chest. “No, come back to me.” You plead, voice as light as a whisper. “It’s not lonely in there? Just you and your thoughts?” 

Seconds pass, and Kento blinks. Then, shuts his eyes and breathes out a laugh. You feel accomplished, beaming with strength and knowing. “You are sweet.” 

“...are you okay?” You try, biting your lip, trailing fingers over his hunched shoulders. Kento finally blinks up at you, sleeplessness showing in the shadows under his eyes. He nods, but it’s not enough. “Hm?” 

“I’m okay. Yes, it’s okay.” Ken’s stumbling over his words like he’s distracted, sighing as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your sternum. His long arms are warm – strong as they take hold of your waist. 

“I wish… You can just stay here with me all the time.” He’s purring like a kitten pressed to you, humming deep in his chest. You’re tangling a hand in his mess of blonde locks. “Never go to work, never sleep, never dissociate. Is that selfish of me?” 

“Very.” His voice is muffled. You don’t care. “That is okay. I tell you often, but I just want to reinforce…” Now, he’s peeking up at you, red-faced and ruffled. A reflection only saved for you in the darkest of nights — the most private of rooms. “You deserve a husband who lives for nothing else but taking care of you. I am so sorry I failed you in that sacred mission.” 

You’re not sure what to say, but you know he’s feeling down right now. You blink at him, eyebrows knitted up in worry. “Would you stop saying such vile things? It’s not true.” 

“I understand that you love me enough to lie, as well.” Wordless for a moment, Kento’s hands find their way under the back of your shirt, thick fingers pressing into the bare flesh. You shiver. “So, we will lie to each other then.” 

When he finally sets his stress to the side, he’s all yours. Kisses start at your stomach, lingering there over your shirt as his hands massage your back. You know this kiss – this feeling, it’s all the love he can’t quite figure out how to say to you, so he’s determined to show it. Each kiss is pressed to you in sloping curves, delicate signatures, and expensive lust. Kento loves everything about you, the way you shudder and whine when he ghosts that ticklish patch under your belly button. He can’t help himself. He has to paw your shirt off. 

Then, it’s like he’s trying to bury himself inside of you. He wants to cut you open and make a little home right under your skin. It must feel so warm in there, like it does when he’s making love to you. All he wants is to feel safe in a space where no one can find him. 

Losing himself in your skin is the only way he can seem to chase that feeling. It’s what he dives into every single day, rain or shine, blood or sweat, fighting or loving – being inside of you is his biggest vice. It’s all he needs to survive in a bitter world unfit for his mind. 

His lips are so hot, slick tongue leaving traces of him in his wake as he trails up your torso. Above him, you’re chewing at your lip, holding your breath when he ghosts over your pelvis. You want him there, but Kento wants to eat you alive. 

He starts at your hip, sinking his teeth through skin and flesh. You whine, a hand falling back into his hair to pull him close, yet he turns away. 

“Ouch.” You complain, breath stalling as his nose drags across the waistband of your loose pants. You’re not wearing any underwear – you’re his. Just a touch away from having it all. 

“I am so eager to be inside of you.” He’s talking through kisses, lips wet and warm. When he pulls away, hands playing at your pants, you’re purring – equally as eager, desperate. Loved. “Have you any clue how much I need you?” 

“Just a hint.” 

Finally, he’s pulling down your pants, letting them bunch at your thighs as he gets that beautiful, warm eyeful of you. Slick pools hot between your legs as he cranes his fingers between them, gasping at the silky feel of your wetness against the softness of your folds. 

Then, he’s muttering, “Wow,” Before bringing those two damp fingers to his lips, sucking them quickly into his mouth. It’s a newly formed habit of his, reveling in the taste or smell of you lingering in a room. It’s as if he’s picking up on something you didn’t know existed. And, it’s so sexy. 

“All this teasing…” You’re dragging a hand back over his face, fingers sliding against his ear, pressing into his jaw. Instinctually, he bares his neck. Now, it’s your turn to dive in. Sliding into his lap in a kneeling straddle, you attack the base of his jaw with feverish kisses, core rocking over his jutted sweatpants. You’re eager like a rabbit, licking and biting just like he did. However, Kento feels no pain from your nipping – nothing like the steady, dull ache that pangs your side every time you grind upwards. But it’s satisfying seeing his pristine skin bloom in pretty shades of red. It’s like he’s showing you off, with his neckful of kisses and marks – it makes you so weak. 

“I just want it,” you catch your earlier thought in midair, whispering against his lips. 

“Come and get it.” He replies, almost like he’s challenging you. His eyes are so fucked and heady when he pulls away. But, when you reach for his crotch, so ready to feel him stretch you full, he catches it. “Actually–

Kento takes over, leading you into a kiss, pressing his hand into your back as he stands, carrying you in his grip. You’re expecting to go far – perhaps to the bedroom, maybe to the kitchen counter. You’re not expecting to be slammed onto the couch, winded as Kento’s bodyweight pins you down. 

He’s so strong now, it’s like he doesn’t know his own strength. But, you won’t tell him that you can’t really breathe with him holding you like this, shoulder to shoulder, warm chest pushing you so far. But he feels so good grinding down on you, letting himself be needy and unrestrained in your presence. After all, you are the only escape he gets. The only home he truly has. You need to memorize every side of him. 

“Want you to put it in.” You’re whispering every little breath you can steal, fingers clawing into the thinness of his shirt. “Take it off.” 

“Demanding. Which first?” 

“Take it off.” You’re fisting grey fabric, pulling it out like it��d make him move faster. Against your nakedness, you want him to be with you. 

He sits up for a moment, letting you get a lungful of precious air. Even better than that, the closest possible view when he tears his shirt over his head, fluffy hair out of place, and chiseled chest rising and falling with need for you. 

You truly think you’ll combust. 

“Put it in.” 

Kento hums, a tiny smirk on his lips, when he reaches into the front of his pants. Your eyes trail down his chest, swallowing at the thin patch of hair that blooms just under his waistband. So sexy, so familiar. 

You’re whining. Sawing your bottom lip when he tugs his cock free. Kento is so swollen, so pent-up and needy for you. 

Just when you think he’s about to drop his guard and fuck you into the cushion, he leans down and kisses you, thick cock grinding right between your strewn legs. He’s never done this before – drawn this out in such intoxicatingly needy ways. Humping your legs, whining your name, pinning you down. It’s like he’s on a mission; something is still in the back of his mind. 

So, you tell him again. “Put it in.” 

Though he laughs, he listens. Finally, finally, he’s pressing into you so gently, getting you into that sweet, familiar stretch. It stings at first, always for him, but you love it. It just means that pleasure will follow, his love will fill you whole. 

And, it’s at that first touch of your strangling warmth that he screws his eyes shut, trembling on a sigh. “Oh, I love you.” 

“Mmfh – thank you. Thank you so much, baby.” 

“Shh…” he coaxes, kissing the small line of drool that falls from your open mouth. “Just take it.” 

Kento doesn’t want you to talk, but he does want you to scream his name. It’s how he fucks you, slamming so deep inside of your weeping hole that you can’t help but choke on a sob. 

“Don’t mean to – mm… Be so rough.” You can tell Kento is overcome, neck blooming a dark maroon as he fucks into you. You’re so wet – sopping, and sticky against his skin when he pulls out every time. “B-but, you’re so…” Sweat’s beading, he’s ignoring your pleading moans, holding you so tight you will definitely be marked tomorrow. “...perfect.” 

“I love you.” You’re crying now, squeezing tears from your eyes as he kisses so impossibly deep inside of you. With every thrust he’s giving you, somehow, he feels deeper than the last. It’s like he’s making a home inside your womb – just like he wanted. 

“Sweet… sweet girl. Just so sweet to me.” 

He’s talking so much, giving you so much, touching you so much. 

Then, you’re cumming, nails scratching deep in his back as your world stops… then, starts again. Kento leans down, groaning obscenly in your mouth as your cunt grips and tugs at him, pulsating milky streams of you everywhere. 

Though your arms go limp around him, thighs quivering as they lock onto his waist, Kento is sure he can milk one more orgasm out of you. So, he fucks you in your favorite way – silently, lips pressed to yours, his tongue slipping over your teeth. One big hand clutches over the back of the couch, leather creaking in the strength he knows he can’t exert on you. 

He wants to break this couch, to pin you through the soil and fuck you so deep until you’re begging him to stop. The only thing is, you never would – He knows that, you know that. And, your bodies know that, it’s why he controls himself. 

Kento lets you cum for the second time to the sound of skin slapping skin. He drinks up your cries and feeds them back to you in a kiss before he’s finally cumming. Still as a statue, he’s breathing through the feeling, Adam’s apple bobbing down moisture, sweet lips parted. 

He’s so beautiful, you’re so taken, life is so perfect. 

It’s all you’re thinking as you come down, eyes heavy and swollen with tears. Weakly, your hand rises to his cheek, pressing your palm there for reassurance. Any moment now, he’ll come back to his senses and ask if you’re okay. This is your way of beating him to it.

Though he knows you’re okay, thorough to the bone, Kento presses his forehead to yours. “Thank you for letting me do that.” 

He can’t see the small smile on your face, but he can hear the way your breath hitches. “I love you.” 

Spending that weekend so entirely trapped with you ultimately did help Kento’s mood heading into Halloween week. It’s a notorious time for curses to pop up – old ones returning, and new ones popping up in decorated, dimly lit alleyways. 

But this year felt different… almost calmer. 

It’s why he’s holding your hand through the late city streets on a Tuesday, watching how those street lights bless your lovely features. It’s a reckless decision. Kento knows that he’ll spend all of tomorrow wishing he slept all night, but the old ramen shop on the corner was calling his name – yours, too. 

It’s a hole-in-the-wall establishment. A married couple moves behind the sitting bar in perfect unison – passing noodles, spooning broth, and grilling meats. He sips over smooth liquor, you’re shoveling him smiling stories about holidays past. He thinks that right here, with you, past two in the morning, is his happy place – his Heaven. 

That feeling is truly the only thing keeping him sane, even when he’s mid-sip, nodding to your sweet voice, when an unmistakable presence, grating as ever, passes through the dinging front door. 

You’re giggling sweetly, he’s closing his eyes, praying Gojo wouldn’t notice. But, he already has.

It’s a lucky gamble, who knew the ever stoic Nanami would be frequenting the only open ramen shop in the neighborhood? So, of course, he has to approach. It’s just in Gojo’s blood. He’s starry-eyed behind his blindfold, fresh off a mission and ravenous for anything. His underclassmen’s attention is just as good as cheap ramen. 

“Dear, I am so sorry,” Kento mutters before Gojo closes in, bracing for impact and suddenly exhausted. The liquor softens the blow Gojo exudes, but it doesn’t make this situation easier. You’re looking at the white-haired stranger like he has you at gunpoint. 

“Wha-

“Nanamin!” Though moderately voiced, Gojo is elated, smiling ear to ear and totally shrugging off any feeling that wasn’t contentedness. “Why are you here!?” 

“It’s a big city… Gojo-san…” Another sip, Kento bears the weight of Gojo’s long arm slung over his hunched shoulders. “And you are in my neighborhood.” 

“Heh.” Gojo laughs, face falling when he notices your piqued attention. Of course, he saw you as he walked in, but assumed you were a diner. After all, Kento never told them about a partner… let alone a wife. “Hi, there.” 

The wave this stranger gives to you is curt, but you take it with a furrowed brow. 

Kento speaks for you. “Gojo, if you’d please take the blindfold off while speaking to her…” 

Then, you finally understand – blaming it on the lack of sleep. This brooding reflection in front of you seemed awfully familiar. “Oh, h-

Gojo takes orders like a god, immediately pulling the black binding from his eyes and over his head. The energy in this room is blinding, but he can hold out long enough to see who you were – this beautifully patient stranger sitting next to Kento. Surely you couldn’t be…

“Nanami, this is… Satoru Gojo, the one I was telling you about.” Kento mutters, losing himself in the rim of his glass. 

“Nan– wait, you tell stories about me? How sweet.” 

“Please, get your food and be on your way.” 

“Satoru.” You smile, bowing lightly in his oddly familiar presence. It’s genuinely like you know him, knowing how much Kento loves and loathes him. He would never say it, but in your mind, you equate their turbulent relationship to love… in some form, perhaps brotherly. “It’s so nice to meet you finally.” 

Gojo’s staring at you with a half-smile on his face, waiting for his colleague to expand, perhaps explain. But, the restaurant is silent save for sizzling stoves and gentle conversation. 

Kento drags his teeth, letting his forehead fall into his stretched palm.

“I do not believe I told you, but Gojo, this is my wife… Please, be respectful.”