#that and something about it made it Not Satisfying to chew

[redwolftrash]

i need. a chewy thing.

i had one back in 2018 but i put it god knows where and i gave the other 2 to a girl i think was named genevieve (god i can’t even remember her face) and...who i’ll call raccoon scrimblo (who i have ranted about on here and online about a lot bc it’s a whole mess so i won’t get into it here).

never saw genevieve again after i said something (??? can’t remember what) while we were walking around somewhere after school ended and she got offended and told me to never say that again, and raccoon broke theirs after like a week of chewing on it

idk maybe it would pacify me or something

[becertainlust]

BIRTHDAY SUIT | Bakugo Katsuki

synopsis: Bakugo never made a big deal about birthdays—just another day in his book. But you're not letting this one slide. As his partner, you know better than anyone that under that explosive exterior lies a man who deserves to be worshipped. And tonight, that’s exactly what you plan to do. Dressed in nothing but a gift-wrapped surprise, you give him a present no one else ever could—you.

content: smut, shameless smut, established relationship, lingerie sex, birthday sex, reader takes the reins, blowjob, sloppy, cowgirl , orgasm,

Bakugo never cared about birthdays. For once, he'd let you celebrate him.

No grumbles, no sarcastic muttering under his breath about “dumb-ass traditions” or “waste of time.” No disappearing off to train. No flinching when his friends shouted “Happy Birthday, Katsuki!”

He actually stayed. Enjoyed it.

The apartment had been buzzing earlier with close friends, laughter, drinks, and too many snacks. But now, it was just you and him. The glow of warm lights filled the room, soft music playing low from the speaker. The scent of buttercream and spiced candles lingered in the air.

“Sit,” you said, nudging him down onto the couch.

He dropped onto it with a tired, satisfied huff, one arm slung over the backrest as he watched you crouch beside the small stack of gifts left on the coffee table.

“Ya didn’t have to do all this, y’know,” he muttered. “Just havin’ you around is—”

“Shut up,” you smirked, passing him the first box. “You can get sappy after we’re done with presents.”

He rolled his eyes, but the blush on his ears gave him away.

One by one, he opened them. A couple of gag gifts from Kaminari, a surprisingly thoughtful book from Todoroki, custom gloves from Kirishima. A shirt from you he’d side-eyed in a store window a few weeks ago but pretended not to like. He’d mumbled, “Not bad,” when he saw it then—but the way he smiled when he saw it again tonight? That soft, flickering look in his eyes?

Yeah. He remembered.

But the last gift made him still.

He turned the box in his hand like he didn’t quite recognize it, even though you knew he did. You watched his fingers move slower—more careful. He lifted the lid and saw it:

A first edition, limited-run All Might training journal.

Something he’d mentioned in passing once during a midnight walk months ago. Something he said he always wanted but could never find. He stared at it in silence, thumb brushing over the embossed edges.

“…You remembered that?” he asked, voice suddenly quieter. His eyes lifted to yours.

You smiled gently. “Of course I did.”

Bakugo swallowed hard, cheeks warming up in a way that had your heart blooming in your chest. “You’re insane,” he muttered. “You know that?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “A little.”

He blinked hard, then cleared his throat.

“Alright, alright—cake. Let’s get this over with before I start feelin’ like a damn Hallmark card.”

You brought over the cake, candles already lit, your face glowing in the soft flicker as you sang the most off-key, dramatic “Happy Birthday” you could manage. He groaned, but he didn’t stop you.

He blew out the candles.

You sliced two pieces, handed him a fork… then stole it right back.

“Say ah.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You really gonna hand feed me right now?”

“Our wedding reenactment,” you smiled, lifting a bite to his mouth.

He opened it, still scowling—but barely—as you fed him a chunk of cake. He chewed, crimson eyes on you the whole time.

“Good?” you asked.

He gave a slow, appreciative nod. “Yeah. sweet.”

"that so..."

You leaned in, swiped a little frosting from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. His lips looked so soft, gilding your frosted coated thumb onto them, then kissed it off his lips, pressing your own into the softness of his. It started soft.

But when your lips brushed his again—slow, and achingly warm, and just a little longer—his hands naturally found your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly in his lap. He kissed back, gentle but hungry, lips parting to taste more of you.

You murmured between kisses, breath hot against his mouth: “Birthday kiss.”

He blinked slowly, his lips still parted from the kiss, eyes dazed and focused only on you. His hands anchored warm on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, thoughtless circles into your skin through the thin fabric. His gaze trailed over your face—your lips, your flushed cheeks, your eyes so full of mischief and adoration.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, almost like it slipped out without permission.

You kissed the tip of his nose, giggling softly. “Thank you.”

And then?

His hold tightened. Just slightly. And he pulled you into his lap.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, voice thick and low, “I’m gonna forget we were takin’ things slow tonight.”

You leaned in, straddling him without hesitation, your thighs hugging his hips as you settled against him. His body welcomed you instantly, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips dragging the fabric of your top slightly—like he wanted less of it between you.

“I was never planning to go slow, birthday boy” you whispered, brushing your lips just barely against his jaw. “especially tonight.”

His breath caught—sharp, audible. You felt it in his chest, the way it stuttered under your palms. His reaction was subtle, but every part of him twitched with anticipation: his hands, his legs beneath you, the slight lift of his hips like he was already imagining how this night would end.

“Got one more present for you,” you murmured into his ear. “The real one.”

Bakugo’s brows lifted, suspicious. “Thought that damn journal was the real one.”

You grinned, climbing off his lap for just a moment—enough to walk toward the bedroom with that sway you knew drove him wild.

He watched, chin propped on his hand, eyes darkening the second your fingers dipped beneath the hem of your top as you disappeared down the hall.

“Oi,” he called. “What kinda present needs you to change for it?”

You didn’t answer.

But when you reappeared in the doorway—lingerie clinging to your curves like a second skin, chosen with him in mind—Bakugo sat up so fast he nearly knocked the fork off the coffee table.

Your name left his mouth like a groan.

“Holy shit…”

You were wrapped in delicate black lace, the kind of thing he never thought he’d see outside a magazine, and even then—never on you. Never just for him.

His mind blanked.

No words, no witty comeback. Just the shape of you silhouetted in the soft golden light. The way the sheer material clung to your curves, catching every dip and swell like it had been tailored with him in mind. The way your thighs moved when you walked, slow and sure, like you knew what that sight alone was doing to him.

His mouth had gone dry.

And still, he sat back—frozen on the couch, like his body had been rooted to the spot. Only his eyes moved, dragging over you with almost painful reverence.

Your presence wasn't just seen. It was felt. In the sudden hush of the room. In the way the air itself seemed to shift as you crossed it. There was a softness to it—like watching a flame flicker behind glass. Dangerous, but so goddamn beautiful.

Something in his chest ached.

It didn’t matter how many times he saw you like this—wanting him like this. That wide-eyed, breath-stolen reaction always snuck up on him.

His gaze caught on your collarbones, then drifted lower—hesitating on the swell of your breasts barely veiled by lace, down the soft line of your stomach, until it settled between your legs, where the thin strip of fabric left far too little to the imagination.

The sight knocked the wind out of him.

One of his hands, resting uselessly on his thigh, curled into a fist. The other—he didn’t even realize—had wiped itself discreetly on his jeans, sweat clinging to his palm.

Not from nerves. No. Never that.

Except maybe this time, it was.

Because you were walking toward him now, hips rolling, eyes locked onto his, and he could feel his body respond before his brain had even caught up. His mouth parted. Breath shallowed.

God, the way you moved. Like you were pouring yourself into every step. Like you weren’t just walking to him—you were offering yourself.

It made his pulse stutter.

And when you climbed back into his lap, warm skin settling over the growing heat in his jeans, he couldn’t think. All he could do was feel. Your nails dragging against the nape of his neck in ghost trails feather-light, his body withered under the touch. Your perfume mingling with his senses what scent was that? and why cant he stop sniffing you.

"You smell really good baby...really good" his nose ghosted your neck, hips pulling you closer. Your thighs oh so soft to him, bracket him so warmly.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He just looked.

Admiration wasn’t something Bakugo handed out easily—not to friends, not to strangers, and definitely not out loud.

But he was looking at you now like you were everything. Like you were a dream made real. Like he didn’t know whether to kiss you, worship you, or fall to his knees for you.

He couldn’t stop drinking you in.

How had he gotten this lucky?

You kissed him again. Slowly, reverently. The kind of kiss that curled toes and short-circuited nerves. You would use a hand to pull him by the shirt, and when you pulled back just enough to murmur, “Happy birthday, Katsuki,” his lashes fluttered low, heat gathering in his face as he let the words sink in.

His breath hitched when your hands found his chest.

Just fingertips at first, dragging over the fabric of his shirt like you were memorizing him all over again. You didn’t rush—just let your palms glide across solid muscle, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath as your thumbs brushed the edge of his ribs.

He was already warm under your touch. And you hadn’t even done anything yet.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss just beneath his jaw.

Then another—lower, slower. Your lips parted against his throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses in a trail that dipped down the curve of his neck. His skin twitched under each one, the breath in his lungs turning shallow, rough.

“who knew you’d do something like this,” he murmured, but the strain in his voice made it sound more like a will to give in than a tease.

You didn’t answer. Just smiled against his skin, your teeth grazing lightly before you sucked. Gently—just enough to make him feel it. And then again, lower. His hands tensed at your waist.

You tilted your head to kiss along the other side of his neck, scattering another series of soft hickies—like you were branding him in lace and affection.

A groan vibrated in his chest.

Your fingers slipped to the hem of his shirt. He didn’t resist. Didn’t even move.

He just watched you. Quiet. Obedient in a way only you got to see.

You peeled his shirt up, inch by inch, revealing the planes of his stomach—warm, lightly flushed, his abs tightening beneath your gaze. You kissed his chest slowly as you exposed it, lips brushing across firm muscle, leaving kisses that lingered just a little too long.

You didn’t break eye contact.

Not once.

Even as you sank further down, mouth worshipping the path beneath his sternum. Even as your nails lightly scratched up his sides, drawing out a low hiss from between his clenched teeth.

His body was buzzing now—caught between restraint and surrender.

And it was beautiful to watch him come undone like this. Strong and scarred and still, somehow, soft for you.

His head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, one hand gripping your hip while the other fisted into the couch cushion. His thighs flexed beneath your hands.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word half breath, half plea.

You hummed softly, letting your lips hover just above his waistband.

“You’re warm,” you whispered, voice sultry and low, like you were letting him in on a secret. “All over.”

And he was.

Buzzing. Flushed. Waiting.

With his chest bare, his breathing ragged, and his eyes glassy with anticipation—he looked up at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Your lips hovered just above the waistband of his sweats, breath brushing against the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the fabric. The muscles in his abdomen tensed again.

And still—you didn’t touch him where he wanted you to. Not yet. Instead, you lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him as your mouth curved in the faintest, knowing smirk. There was power in the way he was watching you. Tension in the way his thighs shifted restlessly beneath yours. Every inch of him buzzed. For you.

“Can I take these off Kats?” you asked, voice honey-slow.

Bakugo grunted, half-dazed. “… yeah.”

I mean what the hell were you asking him. If anything he just wanted on him immediately but it was all for you to watch him be a completely different person He sounded so obedient watching every moment like a patient puppy. His beautiful crimson eyes shimmering under the soft glow of the room.

Your fingers dipped under the waistband and dragged it down slow. The fabric caught on the hardened outline of him, and he hissed through his teeth as you freed him from the restraint.

His cock sprang up, flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. His hips twitched upward involuntarily, like his body was pleading before his mouth could catch up.

You made a sound of appreciation in the back of your throat—soft, reverent—before leaning in to press another kiss, just above the base. Your tongue flicked out, tasting the warm skin there. "You want me this much suki"

His whole body shuddered.

“Y-you're really gonna take your time with this, huh?” he muttered, voice rough, but low with awe.

You didn’t answer.

You just looked up again, lips parted, pupils blown, hands pressing to his thighs to steady him—before licking a slow, flat stripe from the base to the tip.

Bakugo cursed under his breath, his hand flying to the back of your head on instinct—but it never pushed, never forced. Just tangled in your hair, holding on for dear life.

Your mouth closed around him, warm and wet and unforgiving.

And he melted.

His head tipped back, jaw slack, a ragged moan slipping past his lips. You sucked him down slow—sloppy and deep—letting your tongue trace every sensitive vein, letting your spit drip down over your hand as you worked the base.

He was a mess.

Every time you hollowed your cheeks and sank lower, his thighs tensed. His breath hitched. His hips jerked upward before he caught himself, groaning through clenched teeth.

"Fuck... baby… you—goddamn."

You pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, then sank down again, deeper this time.

And he twitched in your mouth, body locking up as you moaned around him.

The sound went straight to his spine—he was pulsing now, barely holding on.

When you pulled off with a wet pop, spit connecting your lips to him in a string, you wiped your mouth slowly with the back of your hand, lips swollen, eyes hooded.

“Wanna ride you,” you whispered, climbing back up into his lap. “Can I?”

Bakugo was panting. Eyes glassy. Completely undone.

He swallowed hard, leaning into your chest to whisper "Please.”

You hovered over him, your hair framing your face so bewitchingly. You lined him up with your entrance, already soaked and pulsing for him. And as you sank down, inch by inch, his eyes rolled back and his hands grabbed your hips like he needed something to anchor him to this earth.

You moaned low as he stretched you open.

“Shit—so full,” you breathed, resting your palms on his chest.

“Look at me,” he rasped, voice trembling. “Wanna see your face.”

You did. And when your eyes met his—when he saw the way you looked at him, like he was the only one you ever wanted—his whole expression softened.

His hands caressed up your waist, slow, reverent.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he whispered, voice shaking.

You didn’t move right away.

Not really.

Instead, you hovered just above him, your entrance brushing the slick, sensitive head of his cock—barely letting him in, just enough to tease. Just enough to let him feel the heat of you. Your thighs flexed slightly, hips rolling in slow, agonizing circles that dragged your soaked folds over the tip again and again.

A soft, wet sound filled the space between you. Your juices clung to him, thick and sticky, smearing across his shaft with every grind.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head thunking back against the couch. “You’re—fuckin’ killin’ me.”

You smirked, gaze flicking up to watch him.

And god… the way he looked right now? His chest rising with every ragged breath, his lip bitten raw, his knuckles white where he clutched your hips. Every muscle in his thighs was trembling beneath you. Twitching with the restraint it took not to thrust up and bury himself in you.

You leaned forward, your chest brushing his while your hips stayed in motion—rocking slowly, teasing him with slick, hot friction.

“I thought this was your birthday,” you purred into his ear. “Shouldn’t I be giving you what you want?”

Bakugo grit his teeth, his jaw tight with tension.

“I do want this,” he growled. “You drivin’ me fuckin’ insane like this—teasin’ me—makin’ me feel like I’m gonna explode just from the tip—shit…”

You giggled, soft and wicked, and sat back just enough for him to watch.

One of your hands reached between you, guiding him so the head rested right at your entrance again. You gave a few slow bounces—just the tip sliding in and out, each time making him curse louder.

“S-shit! Baby—fuck—fuck, just let me in—” His voice cracked, his fingers digging into your skin like he was about to lose it.

You finally pressed your hips down a little more, letting him sink in halfway.

His mouth fell open, a deep, guttural curse ripping out of him. His head snapped forward to look at where you were taking him in, flushed and wide-eyed.

And you just smiled at the desperation in his gaze.

“are you feeling good baby,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly down his chest.

“God—yes—fuck yes,” he hissed, eyes fluttering as you dropped down another inch. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. You always do. Always…”

You leaned in again, letting your breasts press to his chest as you kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Then you better hold on,” you whispered, breath hot, “because I’m not gonna stop until you’re a mess for me.”

And with that, you finally sank down fully. All the way. His entire body jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

He let out a strangled sound—somewhere between a moan and a gasp—his head rolling back, hands gripping your ass like he was holding onto sanity itself.

You didn’t move for a moment.

Just stayed there, so full of him, clenching around him until he twitched helplessly inside you. And then—slowly, sinfully—you started to ride.

Your hips began to move again—slow, like honey melting in warm sun, like a wave building over time until it crashes. You circled them, let your walls flutter around him just to feel the way he shuddered beneath you. His eyes opened halfway, heavy-lidded and glazed, following every sensual sway of your body like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And to him—it was.

“Katsuki…” you whispered, your palms gliding up his abdomen. “You’re so deep.”

A sharp breath hissed between his teeth. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, but his hips bucked once—shallow, needy. You kept your pace measured, deliberate, grinding down into him with that same velvet friction that made his head roll back again.

“Shit,” he groaned, the sound low and desperate. His hands were clutching at your waist now, not to guide, but to ground himself. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, mmm"

You leaned down slowly, dragging your lips across his collarbone. Then lower—pressing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, his nipple. As you moved, your body rolled into his, your rhythm never faltering, hips undulating in a steady, torturous rhythm.

Every time you sank down, he twitched inside you, groaning louder.

“I love the way you sound baby,” you whispered, licking the salt from his skin. “All desperate and sweet. My perfect birthday boy.”

He looked at you like he’d melt.

One of his hands slipped up your back, tangled into your hair, tugging lightly as you nuzzled his neck. You licked a stripe just beneath his ear, then suckled gently at his skin, your teeth dragging slightly—leaving soft, loving hickeys along his neck and collar.

And every one had him groaning, his cock jerking inside you.

“Gonna mark you up tonight,” you murmured. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”

“I already do,” he rasped, voice nearly broken, “fuckin’ been yours.”

You smiled into his skin and sat back again, palms braced against his chest as you began to bounce now—slow, deep, full bounces that had him clenching his jaw and moaning through his teeth. His abs flexed beneath your hands. His hands gripped your hips tighter.

Your name left his lips like a prayer.

Your hips found a rhythm—delicious, sticky, sinful—and the way he filled you, the way he responded to every little grind, made your legs start to tremble.

He felt it. His hands slid down to cup your ass again, helping support your movements as he watched you from beneath heavy lashes.

“Baby,” he breathed. “You’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me come—just like this?”

You leaned forward again, kissed him deep, then pulled back just enough to whisper:

“Yes. Inside. Don’t hold back. I want you to come just like this.”

He let out a wrecked moan, his hips finally thrusting up to meet yours, matching your rhythm.

Faster now.

Deeper.

You clung to his shoulders, your mouth falling open as the coil inside you tightened and tightened—

And then he gasped—eyes rolling to close, mouth open and his cock twitching violently inside you as he spilled, deep and thick and hot, fingers bruising your hips while he cursed your name like a confession.

You didn’t stop.

Not even then.

Still slow. Still steady. Still riding out every aftershock as he moaned beneath you, overstimulated and undone. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and soft as they met yours. His hair stuck to his forehead. His chest heaved. His hands slid up your spine, arms curling around you as he held you close.

Your chest heaved against his, his heart pounding against your ribcage like a war drum. He was still buried deep, twitching, oversensitive—but you didn’t move. You just cradled his face, tilted it up so he had no choice but to look at you.

“Listen to you,” you whispered, voice sultry and sweet as sin. “Mouth full of curses… all because I couldn’t help creamin’ all over this fat cock.”

Bakugo groaned through clenched teeth, face flushed and jaw tight like he was holding onto the last thread of sanity.

“You heard it, didn’t you?” you murmured, grinding just enough to make him jolt, to let another wet, obscene squelch fill the space between you. “God, the noise we made—bet our neighbors think I was drowning in it.”

He groaned louder, head falling back against the couch.

You leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and lingering, then whispered, “Soaked you, Katsuki. You feel how messy I made you? Look at your lap—look at what you did to me.”

He peeked down—eyes glassy—and let out another hoarse, broken curse when he saw the slick still glistening between your thighs, watching how you both were still connected before you lift your hips to show him, with such a sly smile it did something to him, watching his cum dripping slowly out of you onto him.

You guided yourself back in, rocking your hips again, so delicately, and he twitched inside you, helpless. His whole body shivered with a groan, his head collapsing on your shoulder "fuck enough"

You grinned. “You liked it when I sat there and shook my ass on it, didn’t you? Teasin’ you right on the tip ‘til you were cussin’ like you were about to lose your damn mind, yeah?” you grind.

“You’re—fuckin’ evil,” he gasped, fingers twitching against your waist.

You kissed his jawline this time, biting lightly just below his ear. His hands gripped you tighter again, like he was about to flip the script—but he was still spent, still weak from how you dropped your ass on him, He just held you there instead, breathing ragged, letting you purr filth against his skin.

"A little"

[glorifiedagents]

A Distracting Fixation — spencer reid

"LOOK AT YOU — on your knees, drooling for it. You need this, don’t you? Need to keep that pretty mouth busy. So take it — deep, messy, just like that. Fuck, you're perfect."

SUMMARY: spencer notices the way you have to keep your mouth occupied.. and offers a better alternative to help your oral fixation PAIRING: spencer reid & fem!reader CAUTION: swearing, oral fixation, unprotected, blowjob, swallowing cum, creampie, aftercare WORD COUNT: 4.7K AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read - i love spencer sm

Spencer has been watching you for months, noticing things about you that even you haven’t picked up on. He notices everything.

The way your lips always seem to be occupied with something — a pen cap, your fingertips, the straw of your iced coffee that you absentmindedly swirl between your lips. The way your tongue flicks out to wet your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought, how you drag your teeth over the soft skin like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

He’s caught you sucking on the tip of your thumb absentmindedly while reading through case files, your brow furrowed, lips pursed around the pad of your finger. You only do it when you’re lost in concentration, not even aware of how utterly distracting it is.

Then there’s the gum. The way you roll it between your teeth, lazily pressing it against the roof of your mouth before sucking on it like you're teasing yourself with something you can’t have. He sees the way your jaw moves, the way your tongue works behind your lips, and it makes his cock twitch in his slacks every goddamn time.

But the worst?

The absolute worst is when you’re chewing on something — a pen cap, the arm of your glasses, even just tapping your fingernails against your lower lip, like you’re waiting for something to be put there. And when you’re really not thinking about it, when you’re fully lost in whatever you’re working on, you’ll let out these little sounds. Soft hums, barely-there whimpers, like you’re trying to satisfy some need that’s not being met.

And it drives Spencer fucking insane.

Because he knows exactly how to fix it.

The weight of the case pressed down on you, thick and suffocating, curling around your shoulders like an iron shroud. It had been another dead end, another frustrating attempt at deciphering a pattern that refused to reveal itself. The victims — three so far — had been taken with terrifying precision, their bodies left posed with meticulous care. The UnSub was careful, methodical, deliberate. Just like Spencer.

The thought flickered through your mind unbidden as you sat at his desk, your fingers idly tracing the edge of a case file, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The dim glow of his desk lamp bathed the room in golden light, casting deep shadows across the scattered notes and open books surrounding you. The air smelled faintly of old paper and coffee, the scent of late nights and restless minds.

Across from you, Spencer sat hunched over a file, his gaze scanning each page with the kind of intensity that made it seem as though he was reading something the rest of the world couldn’t see. His fingers moved in that absentminded way they did when he was thinking —drumming lightly against the wood, tapping patterns only he understood. His lips were slightly parted, his jaw tight, his focus absolute.

But you weren’t focused.

You were chewing on the end of your pen, rolling it between your teeth, letting it press against your lips in slow, absent motions. It was a habit, something to keep your mouth occupied while your brain worked, though tonight, your mind wasn’t working at all. Instead, it was wandering — lingering on the way Spencer’s hands flexed when he turned a page, the way his mouth pursed slightly in concentration, the way his eyes flickered when something caught his attention.

You bit down a little harder on the pen cap.

A soft sigh slipped from Spencer’s lips. At first, you thought it was just another noise of frustration — another sign of how little progress you’d made. But then he shifted in his chair, straightening slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp.

“You’re doing it again.”

The words sent a jolt through you, grounding you back into the present moment. Your gaze snapped up to meet his, heart stumbling slightly when you realized he wasn’t even looking at the files anymore. His attention was on you.

You let the pen drop from your lips, blinking. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze slow, deliberate and assessing. The air between you thickened, tension creeping into the space that had once been filled with quiet concentration. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way it lingered, dragging over your lips, down to your throat, before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

Then, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping into something quieter.

“You have an oral fixation.”

Your breath caught.

A slow, pulsing heat curled low in your stomach, coiling tightly at the casual certainty in his voice.

“I—”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying you. His face was unreadable, but his eyes… His eyes held something deeper, something unreadable and entirely dangerous.

“You chew on pens,” he continued, his tone impossibly steady. “You sip drinks even when you’re not thirsty. You touch your lips when you’re thinking. I’ve watched you do it for months.”

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t the observation itself that sent warmth rushing through your veins — it was the way he said it. Like he wasn’t just stating a fact. Like he had spent far too much time noticing, cataloging, analyzing every movement, every unconscious habit.

“You notice that?” Your voice was softer now, breathier than before.

Spencer exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I notice everything about you.”

A shiver rippled through you, your fingers curling against your thighs.

He leaned in a fraction more, closing the space between you just enough for the warmth of his breath to ghost over your skin. “Do you even realize how often you do it?” His voice was lower now, more controlled, each syllable measured and deliberate. “Or how distracting it is?”

Your pulse thrummed wildly.

Distracting.

The word settled deep inside you, igniting something restless and needy.

You swallowed hard, your tongue darting out to wet your lips—another unconscious habit, but this time, you did it under the full weight of his stare. His eyes darkened.

“Spencer…”

The name came out softer than you intended, like a quiet plea.

His fingers twitched.

And then ever so slowly, he reached forward, his fingertips brushing the curve of your jaw. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a sharp jolt of electricity through you, your breath stuttering at the unexpected intimacy.

“I think,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, “you need something to keep your mouth occupied.”

The words sink into your skin, lighting a fire deep in your belly. Your thighs press together instinctively, your lips parting slightly as warmth floods through your veins.

He notices. Of course, he notices.

Spencer is a profiler before anything else. He sees the way your body responds, cataloging every flicker of arousal like a scientist analyzing an experiment.

His thumb drags lower, skimming your chin before tilting your face up ever so slightly. His touch is featherlight, teasing.

“If I were to give you something,” he continues, as if he’s simply musing over a hypothesis, “would you take it? Would you let me fill that pretty mouth of yours?”

Heat floods through you so quickly it’s dizzying.

“Spencer,” you breathe, the sound of his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His eyes darken. “That’s not an answer.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening under the weight of his stare. Every inch of your body is humming, aching, the slow burn of tension winding so tight inside you that it’s almost unbearable.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out. “I would.”

His lips part slightly, his breath faltering for just a fraction of a second before he recovers, his hand tightening just a little against your jaw. He shifts in his chair, spreading his legs slightly, and you don’t miss the way his pants have grown tighter, the clear evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric.

“You’re so good at running that mouth of yours,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your cheek, down the curve of your neck. “Always teasing, always distracting. But I think we can put it to better use.”

The words send a sharp jolt of arousal straight to your core. Your nails dig into your thighs, desperate for some kind of relief, but Spencer doesn’t give you a chance to focus on anything but him.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to make you gasp. He watches your reaction, his eyes flickering with something dark and knowing before he tugs gently, guiding you forward.

“On your knees.”

Spencer is already hard by the time you slide off your chair and sink onto your knees between his spread legs, his cock pressing thick and heavy against the fabric of his slacks. He’s aching, barely keeping himself together, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

You press your palms to his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through his clothes, your fingertips digging in slightly as anticipation coils tight in your stomach. The air between you is charged, every second stretching longer, the weight of his gaze burning into your skin like it could set you aflame.

Spencer exhales sharply, his fingers sliding into your hair, gentle but possessive, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he can’t believe this is happening, like the sight of you there between his legs is more than he can take.

But you’re not hesitating.

Your hands move to his belt, undoing the buckle with slow, deliberate movements, dragging it out just to watch him squirm. His breath stutters, his fingers twitching in your hair, grip tightening ever so slightly as you free the leather and let it drop to the floor with a soft thud.

The tease has you buzzing, tension coiling low in your belly as you toy with the zipper of his slacks, letting the moments stretch, watching the way his chest rises and falls faster, lips parting just slightly when you finally drag his pants down, exposing him.

And Jesus fucking Christ...

Spencer is big.

Thick, flushed, his cock already leaking at the tip, veins prominent along the length, pulsing with every ragged breath he takes. He’s achingly hard, the sight of it stirring something hot and primal inside you, making your mouth water.

“You’re already drooling,” he mutters, voice wrecked with desire, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. He drags it down slightly, just enough to make your mouth part, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “You want it that bad?”

You hum, a low sound of affirmation, nodding as your lips part wider, the heat of him brushing against your cheek, teasing the both of you with the softest contact.

Spencer hisses, his grip in your hair tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “Fucking tease.”

A flicker of mischief sparks in your eyes as you glance up at him, and then — finally — you press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue flicking out to catch the salty taste of his precum.

Spencer shudders, thighs tensing beneath your hands, his whole body wound tight with need.

You start slow, dragging your tongue lazily along the underside, tracing the thick vein from base to tip, savoring the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers curl into your scalp. Every reaction is a reward, and you want to drag it out as long as possible.

Then, you wrap your lips around the head, sucking lightly, teasing him with shallow strokes of your tongue, flicking against the sensitive slit, tasting him, moaning softly at the weight of him on your tongue.

Spencer groans, the sound rough and low, his hips twitching slightly forward, like he’s holding back, like he’s trying not to lose himself completely.

“Quit fucking around,” he mutters, voice strained, his hand tightening at the base of your skull. “Take it. Now.”

A rush of heat surges between your legs, your stomach clenching at the command, and you obey.

You sink down, letting his cock stretch your mouth, your jaw already aching as you take him deeper. Your tongue presses flat against the underside, tracing along every ridge and curve, feeling every pulse.

Spencer curses under his breath, his chest rising and falling faster, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, your nose almost brushing his stomach.

You pause there, letting your throat relax, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His chest heaves, his eyes dark and half-lidded, his lips parted as he watches you with barely restrained hunger.

“Jesus fucking—” He cuts off, breath catching when you swallow around him, your throat constricting, your tongue lapping against the underside as you hollow your cheeks and start to suck.

His reaction is instant - his hips jerk slightly forward, a groan spilling from his lips as his body trembles under your hands. His control is slipping, and you can feel it in the way he grips your hair, in the ragged edge of his breathing.

“Fuck, that’s—” His voice breaks, shaking as you bob your head, setting a rhythm that has his cock sliding slick and wet between your lips.

You make it messy, sloppy, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down onto his thighs as you take him deeper, the sensation overwhelming as your throat constricts around him with every pass.

Spencer’s breathing turns erratic, hips starting to move of their own accord, a raw need taking over. He’s close, and you know it.

“You’re so—” He hisses, cock twitching in your mouth, thighs tensing like he’s trying so fucking hard not to lose himself completely, not to just fuck your throat like he’s aching to.

But you want him to.

You press your hands against his thighs, urging him on, and Spencer groans, his hips snapping forward just slightly, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You gag, throat tightening around him, a desperate, choked sound spilling from your lips as his fingers dig into your scalp, his entire body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“Fuck, I’m—” His voice cracks, breath coming in short, shallow gasps, cock twitching violently against your tongue. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t pull away.

Spencer’s groan is guttural, his entire body seizing up as he comes, hot and thick, spilling over your tongue in deep, pulsing spurts. His thighs shake, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps as you swallow every drop, your throat working around him until he’s whimpering from the overstimulation.

When you finally release him, Spencer slumps back against the couch, his chest heaving, a dazed look in his eyes.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tilting your chin up so he can look at you, still catching his breath.

His eyes are dark, but there's still something hungry lingering behind them.

“You,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “are going to be the death of me.”

Spencer’s chest is still rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, his fingers tangled in your hair as he studies you, a flicker of something darker lurking behind his half-lidded gaze. You can see it—the shift from restrained control to raw, unfiltered hunger. He’s not done with you. Not even close.

“Get up,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, rough around the edges with the weight of his own arousal. His fingers tighten in your hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you listen. “Now.”

A shiver runs through you at the quiet authority laced in his voice. You obey, your legs unsteady as you rise, the heat between your thighs unbearable.

The moment you’re standing, Spencer surges forward, one hand gripping the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours. It’s messy— hot, desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation. You can taste him, the faintest traces of salt and heat still lingering. His other hand grips your waist, tugging you flush against his body, and you gasp at the hardness pressing into your stomach.

Already.

Already, he’s hard again.

You whimper into the kiss, your fingers fisting into his shirt, nails scraping against the fabric as his mouth moves hungrily against yours. He groans at the way you melt into him, his fingers digging into your waist before sliding under the hem of your shirt, dragging rough fingertips up your spine.

“Take this off,” he demands, voice breathless as he tugs at the fabric.

You don’t hesitate. You strip your shirt off in one swift motion, and before it even hits the floor, his hands are on you — palming your breasts through your bra, squeezing just enough to make you arch into him. His mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his tongue flicking against your pulse before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn’t stop there. His hands slide behind you, finding the clasp of your bra, and with one deft motion, he unhooks it. Before you can even shrug the straps from your shoulders, he’s already peeling the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

You barely have time to register the sensation before his mouth is on you — hot, wet lips wrapping around a nipple, sucking hard enough to make you arch into him with a sharp gasp.

“Spencer,” you whimper, threading your fingers into his hair as he groans against your skin, his tongue flicking against the hardened peak before switching to the other, giving it just as much attention.

His hands are everywhere, roaming over your bare skin, gripping your waist, kneading your hips before sliding lower, curling around the backs of your thighs as he presses you against the desk.

Your hands move with frantic desperation, tugging at his tie, unbuttoning his shirt with clumsy, eager fingers. You need to feel him— his skin, his heat, the steady thrum of his pulse under your fingertips.

As soon as his shirt is gone, you push it off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Your palms splay across his chest, nails raking lightly over his skin, and he shudders under your touch. His lips find yours again, his kiss even rougher this time, all teeth and tongue and sheer, unrestrained need.

Then his hands are at your jeans, undoing the button in one swift motion, shoving the denim down your hips. You kick them off, standing before him in just your panties, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to the soaked fabric between your thighs. He drags a finger over the damp material, pressing just enough to make you whimper.

“Already this wet?” His voice is almost mocking, but his pupils are blown wide, his own need barely contained. His fingers toy with the lace of your panties before slipping beneath them, and when he drags his fingers through your slick folds, he groans. “You’re drenched.”

Your legs tremble as he teases you, his fingers moving torturously slow, spreading your wetness before pulling back completely. You make a noise of protest, but it dies in your throat when you see him.

Spencer is watching you with dark, ravenous eyes as he unzips his slacks completely, shoving them and his boxers down in one swift motion. He steps out of them, kicking them aside as he stands before you, completely bare.

He wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself slowly, lazily, the head already flushed and leaking. The sight of him — so unabashedly aroused, so shameless in his hunger for you — sends another rush of heat straight to your core.

“Get on the desk,” he orders, voice steady but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for half a second, and then he’s gripping your hips, turning you and guiding you backward until your ass bumps against the wood.

“Up,” he says again, stroking himself as he watches you. “Spread those pretty legs for me.”

The heat between your thighs is unbearable, need pooling low in your stomach as you do as he says, lifting yourself onto the desk, spreading your legs wide, letting him see everything.

Spencer’s breath shudders as he watches, his jaw clenching, his grip tightening on his cock. He steps closer, positioning himself between your thighs, his free hand sliding up your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin, dragging his fingertips closer and closer to where you need him most.

Then he grips the base of his cock and drags the tip against your slick folds, teasing you, coating himself in your wetness. You shudder, hips bucking slightly, but he just smirks.

He slaps his cock against your clit once, twice, the sharp sting sending jolts of pleasure through you. You gasp, hands fisting against the desk, body twitching with each stinging slap.

“Spencer,” you plead, your voice breaking.

He groans at the desperation in your tone, gripping your hips to hold you still as he teases you again, dragging his cock over your entrance, pressing just enough to stretch you open — but not pushing in.

Then he leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers,

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

And then he thrusts inside you.

Spencer’s cock sinks into you in one smooth, unrelenting thrust, stretching you open, filling you so completely that your head tilts back with a strangled gasp. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the desk, nails digging into the wood as your thighs squeeze around his waist.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know there’ll be marks tomorrow. “You’re so goddamn tight.”

He pulls back just enough to drag the thick length of him against your walls before slamming forward again, knocking a breathless moan from your lips. Your body jolts from the force of it, the desk creaking beneath you, but Spencer doesn’t care. If anything, the sound spurs him on.

His rhythm is ruthless - deep, hard thrusts that send pleasure rippling through your entire body, forcing your back to arch, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. Every inch of you is hypersensitive, nerves alight with overwhelming heat, and then...

A sharp slap lands against your breast.

You yelp, eyes snapping open in shock, only to find Spencer watching you with dark, calculating eyes, his palm still hovering in the air. The sting blossoms across your skin, warmth spreading from the impact, and before you can fully process it, he does it again.

The second slap makes your cunt clench around him, a ragged moan spilling from your lips as the sharp sting melts into something heady and intoxicating.

Spencer groans, his hips snapping forward harder, deeper. “You like that, don’t you?” His voice is breathless, edged with something dangerous.

You can’t form words, can’t think past the pleasure consuming you, so you just nod frantically, gasping when he delivers another slap, this one harder than the last.

His free hand grips your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you choke out, your voice wrecked, needy. “Fuck, Spencer—yes, I love it.”

A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Good.”

Then he gives you no warning before he picks up his pace, thrusting into you with a force that leaves you breathless, your legs wrapping tighter around him as he fucks you into the desk.

The wet, obscene sounds of your slick cunt taking him over and over again fill the room, mixing with your ragged breaths, your whimpers, the sharp crack of his palm against your breasts. He alternates between squeezing them roughly and slapping them, watching the way your body reacts, the way you tighten around him every time he does it.

You’re close, so unbearably close, your stomach tightening, your muscles trembling with the buildup of pleasure. Spencer knows it too.

His grip shifts, one hand sliding down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit. The moment he touches you, your whole body jerks, a strangled moan ripping from your throat.

“That’s it,” he breathes, circling your clit with quick, precise motions. “Come for me. I want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave, white-hot pleasure exploding behind your eyes as you cry out his name, your walls spasming around him. Your entire body shakes, thighs trembling as aftershocks wrack through you, pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming.

Spencer groans, his pace stuttering, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic. He grips your hips hard, driving into you one last time before burying himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he spills deep inside you.

A ragged moan rips from his throat, his head dropping forward as his release pulses through him, hot and thick, filling you completely. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding you still as he empties himself inside you, his breath shuddering against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you move, the only sounds in the room your shared panting, the quiet hum of the desk lamp casting light over your flushed skin.

Then Spencer pulls back slightly, lifting his head to look at you, his dark eyes clouded with satisfaction. A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he drags his thumb along your cheek, his voice a husky murmur.

“Messy girl,” he muses, his tone dripping with amusement as he watches his cum drip from your still-throbbing cunt. “I guess I’ll just have to clean you up.”

The look in his eyes tells you he means every word.

He’s careful as he adjusts, lowering himself down to kneel beside you, his eyes studying you with an intensity that’s no longer sharp and commanding but tender, attentive. His thumb brushes along your cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat, and his gaze softens as he watches you blink up at him, slowly coming back to earth.

"Hey," he says softly, voice still rough but full of warmth, "you okay?"

You nod, your chest rising and falling with each breath as the tension in your body gradually unwinds. Spencer’s hand moves to your shoulder, gently massaging the muscles there, as though he can feel the strain of the night’s intensity. His fingers press into your skin, not with the same urgency they had before, but with careful, deliberate motions meant to soothe.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. He stands for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running before he’s back with a damp cloth. He’s gentle as he wipes you down, making sure to be soft around your sensitive spots, taking his time.

Once he’s finished, Spencer grabs a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders like a cocoon. He settles next to you, pulling you close, his arms enveloping you in warmth as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, his voice full of sincerity. "You did amazing."

Your head rests against his chest, and you can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The weight of the night settles into something quieter, more intimate—this quiet aftercare, where words aren’t necessary, but the tenderness in his touch speaks volumes.

Spencer lets you relax against him, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as you both catch your breath. He doesn’t rush you. He just holds you. When you finally speak, it’s soft and a little hoarse from the intensity of the night.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer simply nods, kissing your forehead in response. “Always.”

And for the rest of the night, he stays close, making sure you feel safe, cared for, and cherished. The outside world feels miles away, the two of you cocooned in your own quiet intimacy, where aftercare doesn’t just mean physical, but emotional tenderness that leaves you feeling loved, even after everything.

[kunareads]

brat | track one

360

producer!suguru x popstar!reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 2k

content: smut, fluff, smau / exhibitionism (concealed in a public setting), fingering, drug/alcohol use, ambiguous relationship status / a little scene-setting before we get into it next chapter :)

taglist is closed! 18+ please <3

Variety — YEAR OF THE BRAT: SUGURU GETO AND YN HAVE THE INDUSTRY IN A HEADLOCK (AND THEY’RE LAUGHING ABOUT IT)

Vulture — INSIDE THE CULT OF YN AND GETO: WHY EVERYONE’S COPYING THE CHAOS

The Cut — THE ART OF BEING WATCHED: THE ROLLOUT THAT TOOK OVER YOUR TIMELINE

[ seven days, 14 hours to drop ]

you’re chewing gum when you walk in.

the meeting room is glass-walled, over-lit, aggressively air-conditioned. it smells like money and emails. a brand director is mid-slide, gesturing at a screen filled with words like reach and multi-platform ecosystem. someone else chimes in about vertical integration.

suguru trails two steps behind you with half a croissant in his hand, headphones slung around his neck. he doesn’t say a word—just drops into the chair beside yours and opens his laptop as if the room isn’t full of people.

you don’t take your sunglasses off. their fault for lighting the place like an interrogation chamber.

“the aim is cultural virality,” someone says. “we’re thinking cross-brand utility meets niche rebellion.”

you blink slowly. blow a bubble. pop it.

“is there a slide where you tell us what the fuck that means?”

suguru doesn’t look up, but he does smirk beside you—the silent, crooked kind he gives you when he thinks you’re being mean on purpose. (you are.)

a younger exec tries to pivot. “no, like—we just want to elevate your image without diluting the—”

“please don’t say authenticity.” you cross your legs. “i’ll have to light myself on fire.”

[ six days, 12 hours to drop ]

@/cultyn (instagram post) 📸 : your silhouette behind a sheer curtain with silver tinsel, suguru’s tattooed hand pulling the curtain aside. 💬 : countdown in bio. don’t be late ⏳

@/cultgeto (instagram post) 📸 : same as yours. 💬 : it begins 🔄 360 video friday

[ four days, 22 hours to drop ]

you feel it before you name it—that warm, sparkling edge of visibility. the music’s perfect. the lights are forgiving. everyone’s looking, seeing exactly what you want them to.

but the only eyes that matter are fixed on you from a corner—suguru, legs spread and an arm slung over the back of the couch like the section belongs to him. (it does.)

he waits.

you let it build. air-kiss people you barely remember. twirl a girl’s hair between your fingers, whispering something that makes her giggle. lean into camera flashes, catching light in your earrings, your clothes, your teeth.

and when you’re satisfied, you cross the floor, hips swinging like a threat, and slot yourself between his knees. he leans back and gives you that look—somewhere between dare and devotion.

“having fun?” he asks, amused.

you straddle his thigh without answering. your skirt rides higher, his eyes drop lower. instead of stopping you, he grabs his jacket from the seat and drapes it over your bare shoulders—possession dressed as modesty.

“so fucking spoiled,” he mutters, more observation than complaint. like he’s proud. like he made you this way on purpose.

you roll your hips once. then again, slower, dirtier. a palm settles on your ass to guide you, not stop you. his show now, not yours. every grind hits harder as you fall into the rhythm he sets.

he takes your drink, downs it in one swallow, sets the glass aside. you watch his throat work before that same hand trails condensation up your thigh and under your skirt.

you’re slick through your panties.

“you’re such a fucking handful,” he says with a smirk, planting kisses from your cheek to your jaw. his voice is hot in your ear, close enough to catch between beats. “you know that?”

you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “wanted you to touch me.”

his smirk deepens when you slide your knees wider on the seat for him. he shifts your panties aside and sinks two fingers in.

your mouth drops open as he sets a pace. you arch into him automatically, grinding harder, already after something without permission. his palm presses over your clit with every thrust. it’s sloppy—shallow breath, parted lips, heavy eyelids.

you try to keep the rhythm, to stay composed, but his fingers work in time with the music, eyes pinned to your face. he kisses you when he catches it—the split second where it stops being teasing and starts being need.

“breathe.”

your hips stutter, the warning landing between your lungs and your legs.

“you’re gonna cum too fast.”

you nod, or shake your head—you don’t know. you ignore him like you always do, desperate now, chasing it like you’re not surrounded by strangers. if anyone’s watching, suguru’s already made sure they can’t see anyway.

“you wanna be fucked on this couch in front of everyone?” he asks, voice dropping to something fond and a little mean. “or are you gonna behave?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your forehead drops to his shoulder, breath hitching as his cologne fills your senses. you’re right on the edge—

“i know, baby.” he murmurs it like a spell, dragging his thumb up your clit. “i know. make a mess if you need to.”

you cum on his hand like it was his idea. like you didn’t start the whole thing in the first place.

he keeps you there, fingers still inside, letting you come apart in pieces on top of him. your hips twitch and you whimper into his throat, melting against him. he lets you ride it out. lets your slick flood over his fingers and down his hand, then pulls out slowly. tucks your panties back into place too carefully for what just happened.

then he brings one finger to his mouth, licking it clean. he offers the other to you, and you take it like you always do—lips parted, tongue out, wrapping around him slow in the way you know drives him insane. you suck, humming low in your throat like a thank you.

you start to lift your head, suddenly aware of where you are and the fact that the song’s changed twice, but a hand finds the back of your neck, grounding you as he kisses your temple.

“not yet,” he murmurs. “you’re okay.”

so you exhale and let yourself sink into him fully. your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm snug around your waist, jacket still warm over your shoulders. the music keeps playing and the lights keep shifting, but for a few more seconds, you stay where you are.

[ four hours to drop ]

you’re twenty-five minutes late and only partially dressed when you go live.

you rarely do interviews separately. don’t take meetings separately either, unless you’re trying to scare someone. livestreams are the same—it’s him or nothing.

suguru stands behind you, black shirt half-buttoned with the sleeves rolled up. he’s halfway through lacing your corset, rings flashing as he works the ribbon like he’s tying a gift.

“i told you to start getting ready two hours ago,” he mutters, eyes on his hands.

“you did,” you agree with a nod, squinting at the phone propped against the hotel mirror. the chat scrolls too fast to follow, but you catch a few:

SUGURU HANDS WATCHERS STAND UP he’s doing it wrong but like… sexy?? she’s so calm i would be screaming and crying and biting

“chat says you’re doing it wrong.”

“chat can’t get you out of a corset with one hand,” he deadpans, not even looking up.

you seal the joint in your hands with a slow press of your tongue, dragging it across the paper like you know he’s watching. (he is. he always is.)

he finishes with a final tug, knotting the ribbon tight and smoothing the laces like he’s proud of himself. his fingers trail down your spine in a lazy line as he kisses your bare shoulder once, soft and thoughtless.

the lighter clicks. you inhale, exhale. watch him in the mirror as he disappears from the frame to rifle through the jewelry you’d dumped onto the counter earlier.

he returns with earrings, necklaces, and bangles in hand.

“stay still.”

his fingers are cool where they skim your neck. he hooks the earrings in slow, fastens your necklace, slips each bracelet on one by one and brings your hand to his lips when he’s done.

you pass him the joint.

“we were supposed to be there thirty minutes ago and it’s thirty minutes away,” he says, exhaling smoke.

“mm,” you reply, dabbing on lip gloss. “better hurry up and pick my shoes then.”

i’ve never wanted to be a joint so bad in my whole life HE PICKS HER JEWELRY?????? is this foreplay or a grwm

[ 30 minutes to drop ]

the diesel party is still going by the time you leave. your heels click loudly against the sidewalk. suguru’s hand rests low at your back, half-steering. he smells like weed and your favorite cologne.

someone with a press badge calls your name—matte lipstick, eyes wide like she can’t believe you’re real. she catches you just before the car with a mic, a cameraman, and a hopeful smile.

“just a second—can we get a quick word? you both look—” she hesitates, trying to find the right language. “—unreal.”

suguru stops halfway behind you, not moving his hand from your waist.

“so,” she starts, practically vibrating. “what made you two want to show up together for tonight’s diesel launch?”

“we love a party,” you reply, smiling.

she laughs like it’s charming. follows up with something about your sound, the visuals you’ve been putting out recently. you let suguru answer that one—you’re busy watching the lights bounce off the gloss you left on his cheekbone.

“okay, last one. you probably get this all the time, but—are you two… together?”

suguru grins. “we’re the same person.”

you don’t miss a beat. “worse.”

the interviewer laughs, flustered and delighted. “right. okay. thank you—”

but you’re already sliding into the backseat.

the car door shuts and the world cuts out. no bass, no flashing lights. just dark leather and air conditioning and exhaustion behind your eyes.

you exhale once, sharp, and start leaning forward to unbuckle your shoes.

suguru stops you. “let me.” like it’s obvious.

he pulls your feet into his lap one at a time, slipping the heels off like you’re breakable. his thumb circles your ankle, slow and grounding. your breathing evens out.

outside, cameras flash against the windows, but the tint’s too dark for them to get anything real.

it echoes in your head. are you two together?

“you didn’t say no,” you say softly, eyes closed.

he keeps rubbing. “you didn’t either.”

when you look at him, he’s smiling at you, eyes soft like he’s listening for something unspoken.

you settle deeper into the seat, one hand resting over his.

neither of you has said it.

but he always shows up. always looks at you like you’re the only person in the world speaking his language.

and you do the same.

you’re each other’s. just not in a way you can put in writing.

[ three minutes post-drop ]

the 360 video drops at midnight. it’s trending by 12:03.

the internet does what it always does.

@/bratchive: every brand strategist watching this with tears in their eyes

@/getogirl: brat / tamer dynamic so loud you can hear the leash drag

@/forynonly: legacy is UNDEBATEDDDDD icon behavior

you don’t check your phone, but you feel it—the shift, the buzz, the spin of it all. the world catching up to something you’ve already lived through.

[sleepymarimo]

𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤!

summary: the monster trio's reaction to hearing you say their name in your sleep pairing(s): luffy x gn!reader, zoro x gn!reader, sanji x gn!reader cw: none!

luffy

it was rare, but it happened. luffy had gone off to roughhouse with usopp and chopper on the deck, leaving you with his precious hat. the responsibility was heavy on your shoulders and you barely had time to ask if he was sure before he ran in the opposite direction, laughing and looking back at you with a grin. "i know you'll take good care of it!"

that was about an hour ago, and you had done your damn best to make sure that the sacred straw hat was secure and in prime condition.

at some point though, the gentle rocking of the thousand sunny along with the overcast weather had you nodding off. you fought to stay awake, but ultimately found yourself dozing off against the railing.

with the straw hat nestled in your arms, your head rolled to the side, you slept.

luffy ended up returning to your spot a few minutes later, eagerly yelling your name until his mouth slammed shut at the sight of you sleeping so peacefully with his straw hat. he seems a little confused at first, head tilting as he looked down at you. "hm? you're tired?"

a toothy grin forms on his face as he steps closer, squatting down so he was eye level with you. the sight of his hat in your protective embrace makes him feel especially warm and he knows he made the right choice in entrusting it to you. his hand reaches for the hat, but as soon as his fingers brush against it, your hold tightens. your brows furrow and you grumble something before your face softens once more.

"no..." you mumble, bringing the hat closer to your heart. "s'for luffy... gotta...take care of it."

when he hears your 'no', he wants to pout, because it's his hat! however, when he catches the rest of your muttered words, his expression shifts into one of utter joy. a gleeful chuckle rings through the air and he can't help himself from waking you.

his arms wrap around your sleeping form and bring you in for a bone crunching hug, a yelp of surprise leaving you as you're rudely awakened. "what? what happened?" you ask, still disoriented and confused.

"nothing!" luffy responds, taking the hat from your hands and slamming it onto your head with a child-like excitement. "let's go eat!"

zoro

you had a long day, worse than usual. stressed out and in need of some time to yourself, you made your way up to the crow's nest where you plopped down onto one of the workout benches. your ever racing mind, plagued with what ifs and unnecessary worry, eventually settles down enough for you to fall asleep as you turn onto your side and doze off.

a while later, zoro heads up there to do some training.

when he noticed you sleeping, zoro simply shrugged and headed towards some dummies so he could practice his three sword style. clearly you were just napping, and he wasn't going to interrupt or tell you to get out.

he gets a few hits in, deliberately making his stabs and swings a tad quieter in a bid to respect your sleeping arrangement, when he suddenly hears his name being called. thinking that he had been too loud, he sheathes his swords and lets out a disgruntled sigh. he could only be so quiet as he trained, and he assumed that you were gonna chew him out for waking you.

however, when he turns, he sees that your eyes are still shut. not only that, but your brows are furrowed and your once neutral expression is twisted into one of slight fear. he takes a few tentative steps toward you, unsure of how to handle whatever it is that's happening.

your breaths quicken. "stop it..." you whine, your body tensing slightly as you curl further in on yourself. "zoro... help..."

his brows shoot up in surprise when his name tumbles past your lips, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. he feels awkward and out of place, though he can't deny the fact that he's flattered and a bit satisfied that, even in your sleep, you count on him to protect you.

he clears his throat, gaze sweeping across the crow's nest to make sure it was empty before hesitantly reaching a hand out. "oi, i'm here." he begrudgingly and affectionately grumbles, pink dusting his cheeks as his hand settled atop your head. "quit whinin'."

your response is almost immediate, your breaths evening out and your expression softening. he scowls and looks away, not believing that this was happening. yet, as he gets back to training, he makes sure to keep an ear out for you, occasionally talking to your sleeping self just so you could hear his voice. 

sanji

you didn't mean to fall asleep in the dining room.

something had you feeling restless, so you took it upon yourself to make a cup of tea before sitting at the dining room table to enjoy it. you didn't expect the tea to be so effective, yet here you were, arms crossed on the table and your cheek squished against the wood.

before the sun had a chance to peek over the horizon, sanji was up and preparing to head to the kitchen. with some extra plates and utensils in his hands that he brought from storage, he made his way down to the dining area.

when he notices you slumped over the table, his expression morphs into one of surprise and then to worry. he's quick to set down the silverware and make his way towards you, about to ask you what was wrong when he noticed your even breaths and peaceful expression.

ah, you were just sleeping. his eyes shine with amusement and admiration, his fingers twitching as he fights the urge to reach out and touch you. instead, he focuses his attention on your mug, his hand curling around the handle before bringing it up to his nose to take a quick inhale. the scent of chamomile and passionflower have him letting out a soft exhale of approval.

"you're gonna have to give me the recipe for this one, mon chérie." he smiles, taking a step back to head to the kitchen.

then, he hears it. a tired huff, as if you were debating with someone in your dream. "no... it's sanji... s'the best chef" you sleepily argue. "s'the best food... ever."

oh, he just melts. his head feels so light from your praise. he practically floats back to you, hearts in his eyes as he fights to keep his tone quiet. "mon chérie, do you really like my food so much that you dream about it?"

he continues to swoon over your sleeping self, his spirit light, when the sound of your grumbling stomach echoes throughout the dining hall. the blond is torn between waking you and preparing you something to eat.

he bends down slightly until he's at your level, before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. his free hand plucks the cigarette from his lips and he gently brings his mouth to your ear, lightly saying your name. "what's your favorite breakfast?"

a happy, genuine smile forms on his face when you actually mumble out an answer. when you wake up and your favorite breakfast is served on a plate in front of you, it's like a dream come true.

[sakuraszn]

could I please request a Luffy x fem reader, they’re not together yet but Luffy gets jealous when the reader is around Sanji, Ace, and Law. thank you!

﹒♡ UNSPOKEN FEELINGS, ft. monkey d. luffy

"Luffy, what’s wrong with you today?" Nami’s voice snapped across the deck.

You turned just in time to see Luffy, arms crossed, slouched against the mast with a deep frown. It was an unusual sight—your captain was always beaming, always carefree, but today? He looked pissed.

Not that you had time to dwell on it, because a warm presence suddenly appeared at your side.

"Here you go, ma chérie~," Sanji cooed, placing a beautifully plated dish in front of you. "I made your favorite. You deserve only the best, after all."

A laugh bubbled from your lips as you accepted the plate. "You always spoil me, Sanji. Thank you."

His visible eye softened, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Anything for you, beautiful."

A sudden snap echoed through the air—when you looked over, you saw that Luffy had broken the stick he had been chewing on. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes locked onto you and Sanji with something stormy lurking beneath them.

"Luffy?" You tilted your head, confused by his odd behavior.

"Oi, Captain," Sanji called, not noticing Luffy’s glare. "What’s with the face? You look like someone stole your meat."

Luffy grumbled something under his breath before abruptly pushing off the mast and storming toward the kitchen.

"What's up with him?" You frowned, but Sanji just shrugged, lighting a cigarette.

"Who knows? Luffy's simple, but sometimes he's hard to read."

But simple as Luffy might be, there was something unmistakable about the look in his eyes. Something close to possession.

A few days later, the crew docked at an island to restock on supplies. It was sheer luck that you ran into Ace and Law at the local tavern—two men you had always gotten along with very well.

"Well, well, look who it is," Ace greeted with a grin, throwing a lazy arm over your shoulder like it was second nature. His skin was warm, like a sun-kissed flame, and his cocky smirk made it clear he enjoyed teasing you. "Missed me?"

"You wish," you shot back, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

Ace laughed, but someone else was less amused.

You felt it before you saw him—an unmistakable presence, heavy with silent intensity.

Luffy.

He had been talking to Zoro across the bar, but now? His attention was solely on you. His expression was unreadable, but his body was tense, fists clenched at his sides.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t bad enough, Law spoke up.

"Hmm," Law mused, sipping from his glass, his sharp eyes flickering between you and Ace. "I don’t know what’s more amusing—your ridiculous banter or the fact that someone looks like they want to murder both of us."

Your brows furrowed. "Huh?"

"Look behind you," Law muttered with a smirk.

You turned just in time to see Luffy stalking forward, his straw hat casting a shadow over his eyes. The moment he reached you, his hand curled around your wrist—not painfully, but firm, demanding.

"Let's go," he said simply.

Your heart skipped. "Luffy—"

"Now." His voice was low, possessive.

Ace whistled, clearly amused. "Well, that’s new. Didn’t know you were the jealous type, Luffy."

Law chuckled under his breath. "Interesting."

Luffy ignored them both, his grip tightening just enough to make his point. You hesitated, glancing at your captain, whose expression was unreadable, but his body language? It spoke volumes.

He hated seeing you close to them.

He hated not being the one you gave your attention to.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping up your neck. Was this… jealousy? From Luffy?

Deciding not to push him—at least, not yet—you sighed. "Alright, alright. No need to get all grumpy, Captain."

He didn’t respond. Just held onto you, making sure you followed him.

As he led you out of the tavern, you caught the knowing smirks on Ace and Law’s faces.

And deep down, you knew—Luffy’s feelings for you weren’t as simple as he wanted them to be.

Not anymore.

2025 © SAKURASZN !

[please-destroy]

It Only Takes A Moment

Natasha Romanoff x Shy!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

.

“I feel like shit.” 

Natasha commented out of nowhere from the sofa across the room. 

You startled at her unexpected statement. Your cereal-filled spoon froze halfway to your mouth. You’d never had a one-on-one conversation with Natasha since you joined the Avengers six months ago.

Then, you noticed Clint shuffling bleary eyed towards the fridge. Your shoulders relaxed.

He yawned, rubbing his face as he regarded Natasha assessingly. You were perched at the breakfast bar, unobtrusive as usual.

Natasha was on the opposite side of the large space, feet curled beneath her on the tiny sofa. 

A purpling bruise on her cheek and a split lip were the painful remnants of her last mission. She looked pale too, tired in an almost chronic way, despite the empty coffee mug next to her.

“You look like shit, too.” Clint decided at last with a lazy grin. 

Natasha smirked back, obviously satisfied with his teasing response. You remembered your cereal and took another spoonful. Curiosity always burned inside you when you watched the two of them interact. You’d never had a mission with either of them before. You didn’t understand the lightness of their back and forth.

As you chewed on your breakfast, eyes roaming over Natasha’s injured face, you felt concern build inside you.

Clint gave you a friendly nod as he stacked a pile of snacks in his arms and left the room.

A steady silence returned in his wake. You were unbearably shy around Natasha as a rule. Something about her calm confidence and unreadable expression made you feel nervous. 

You knew the other Avengers just thought you were quiet.

Natasha was staring absentmindedly out the large window, her coffee long since finished. You followed her gaze outside, glancing up at the pale yellow sun that was still new in the sky.

You watched Natasha’s mouth twist into a subtle grimace of pain as she lifted her hands to try and tie her hair back in a ponytail.

You felt certain as you watched her that her injuries were more than just a bruised cheek. The worry bubbled inside you.

Eventually, Natasha gave up, letting her hair fall back down around her shoulders in a loose curtain. She looked entirely unlike herself. Until today you’d never seen her hair out of a braid.

You slipped off your bar stool and cringed at the way it squeaked on the tiled floor. You hesitated as you put your dishes in the dishwasher. Every day usually followed the same pattern. You knew Natasha was paying no attention to you, expecting you to leave the kitchen and go back to your room. 

When you turned instead to the coffee machine, you felt Natasha’s eyes flicker back to you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

.

When you walked over to her, fresh cup of coffee in hand, it was the first time you’d ever surprised Natasha. 

You handed her the mug with a wordless smile.

Natasha’s answering smile was soft but her eyes held a subtle confusion. 

‘Thank you.’ She breathed, blowing automatically on the hot liquid. 

Nerves fluttered inside you. You forced yourself to speak.

‘Are you really okay?’ You asked, as your worry escaped you.

For a brief moment, shock rendered Natasha silent. Her head tilted to the side as she stared at you.

You didn’t know where your bravery was coming from. A burning embarrassment began to build inside you.

Natasha’s expression softened suddenly. She hesitated and then started to speak. 

‘I’m okay. Just had one of those missions.’

You nodded in response, your eyes lingering automatically on the painful looking bruise. From the things you’d overheard about the mission, you knew she was underplaying it. You bit your lip. Natasha watched you silently. 

‘Can I help with your hair?’ You asked at last, in another worried burst that you couldn’t seem to control.

A slight flush caught Natasha’s cheeks. Something like shame flickered in her eyes, gone a moment later.

Your breath caught. She was more human than you’d realised. More beautiful too. 

‘Thank you.’ Natasha replied quietly. ‘I think I’ve hurt my shoulder.’

You nodded again, moving to stand behind the tiny sofa. You lifted her hair tie from the side table and slid it over your wrist. 

You felt Natasha’s body freeze at your first hesitant touch. 

You knew she was expecting you to tie her hair back in a quick ponytail. Instead, hardly daring to breathe, you tried something different. 

Natasha’s breath hitched when she realised what you were attempting. 

You started carefully, twisting pieces of hair together.

‘You don’t have to braid it.’ Natasha whispered after a moment, her quiet voice burning with a sudden rawness. You found yourself wishing that you could see her face. 

‘You like it braided.’ You answered simply. 

Natasha held herself impossibly still as you tried your best to replicate her usual braid. You noticed the light goosebumps raised on her skin.

Eventually, you tied the last piece, your fingers lightly brushing against her neck. 

You moved back around the sofa to face her. 

You weren’t sure if it was the flushed cheeks or your imperfect braid that made Natasha look so young. Her gaze searched yours, her eyes vulnerable.

‘It’s not very good.’ You apologised quietly. 

Natasha shook her head.

‘It’s good.’ She countered simply. There was a raw, raised scar on the back of her hand. You wondered how you’d never noticed before.

Natasha nodded to the space next to her on the sofa. She smiled suddenly, a flash of her usual cool confidence.

‘Do you want to watch some TV?’

You nodded, feeling a warm rush at the familiarity of her tone. A barrier had fallen between you. 

As you settled on the sofa, Natasha switched on the television. The daytime show was familiar, often left playing in the background of the room. 

Natasha touched the end of her braid as she watched. Her gaze stayed on the show, a picture of relaxed attention. 

You couldn’t say the same for yourself. Her light joke to Clint played in your head. The bruises, the scars, the pained movements. 

 After a few minutes, another question fell from your lips. 

‘Was it scary?’ You asked suddenly.

You watched Natasha freeze momentarily, a difficult emotion filling her eyes. You watched her blink the feeling away. She didn’t reply. 

You turned your gaze back to the television, stomach twisting for what she didn’t share. 

Eventually, you settled back against the sofa cushions, finally beginning to relax in her presence. Natasha sipped the last of her coffee.

Your usual shared silence returned.

You hoped you hadn’t ruined everything with one question.

The show ended and a commercial break began.

‘It was.’ Natasha murmured unexpectedly. Your head turned towards her.

‘It was scary.’ She whispered into the air.

This was not Natasha. Not the person everyone else saw. This was someone else. You saw her entirely for the first time.

Unspoken sympathy filled your answering gaze. 

You took her scarred hand in yours and rested it on your lap.

[magical-regical]

Code Red

A Leona Kingscholar x AFAB!Yuu fic

Word count: 781

Yuu is AFAB but is referred to using they/them pronouns. This one goes out to all the girlies (said gender neutrally) whose periods always somehow manage to sneak up on them.

(Period tracker? Never heard of it. My cycle's too irregular for that)

It was a quiet morning. Yuu had their head laying on Leona's bare chest with his tail wrapped around their waist and one of his arms resting on their back. If they looked up they could have seen his handsome face devoid of its usual scowl. A rare opportunity to truly see the lion prince truly at peace.

And yet, when Yuu opened their eyes the first thing they noticed was the dull ache in their abdomen and a familiar wetness between their legs.

'Ah fuck...'

"Leona, hey Leona, wake up." They whispered, patting his cheek and trying their best to wiggle out of his grasp.

Leona stirred, "Shut it... 's too early for this..."

His grip tightened, which only made them panic even more,

"Babe, I swear to the Sevens if you don't wake up right now I will bleed all over your sheets." they hissed practically slapping him awake now.

The word 'bleed' made his ears perk up as his sleep-addled brain tried its best to process what he just heard. As the rest of his body started to wake up he finally smelled it, the faint but unmistakable scent of blood.

Yuu got out of the bed the moment they felt his grip loosen, checking to see if they bled through their underwear and sighing in relief when they found out they hadn't. They had a spare uniform stashed in Leona's closet so they could change into clean underwear but it wouldn't stay clean for long unless they find a pad. They're going to have to make a break for Ramshackle weren't they? Their stomach clenched in protest, making them wince.

A hand grabbed their wrist. Leona had sat up, using his other hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"You see that desk across the room? Open the middle drawer." he said, his voice a rough drawl.

"Huh?"

"Just do it." he growled.

Yuu had half a mind to chew him out for being so crass, especially when he knows it's that time of the month but still did as they're told.

They opened the middle drawer and found a small cardboard box with a familiar design on it.

"No way..." they muttered as they took out the brand new box of pads, "How did you know what my usual brand is? Is Rook rubbing off on you?"

"I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you my wonderful, amazing boyfriend' " He grumbled, "Besides, any boyfriend worth their salt knows to be prepared."

His tone was dry but the swishing of his tail gave away how proud he was of himself. Yuu couldn't help but laugh, gesturing at him to come closer so they could kiss him.

"Thank you, my wonderful, amazing boyfriend who I love very much."

Leona hummed, satisfied with his reward before following them to Savanaclaw's bathrooms.

"You don't gotta follow me you know. You can go back to bed." Yuu said.

He let out a yawn, "Oh I thought about it, trust me. But with how bone-headed some of the guys here are, someone's gonna try to break the door down if they smell blood, especially if it's yours."

Once they were done changing he scooped them up into his arms and carried them back to his room, their protests falling on deaf ears.

"Stop being stubborn. It hurts doesn't it?" he said, carefully placing them on his bed. "You're staying here today. Anything you need, you tell me. Got it?"

"I'm being stubborn? Pot meet kettle..." Yuu muttered.

Another cramp quickly silenced their complaints, the persistent ache growing worse by the second.

"Could you... Go to alchemy for me today?" they said.

"Of course you'd ask for something like that..." He knelt next to the bed, his eyes half-lidded as he stroked their cheek with the back of his hand, "Wouldn't you rather have your lion here, cuddling your pain away?"

Yuu leaned into his touch, "We have an exam next week and Crewel's doing a review today."

He clicked his tongue, grabbing his phone to send some messages, "There. I asked Jack to take those notes for you and I'm getting Ruggie to get painkillers and that ice cream you like from Sam's."

He tossed the phone aside and laid down next to them. Yuu cuddled up to him, their body curling into his. Leona rubbed their back, "Need anything else, darling?"

He felt Yuu shake their head.

"Good. Now go back to sleep. You'll have breakfast waiting when you wake up."

"Are you gonna feed it to me?"

"If you want me to." He kissed the top of their head, "Anything for you, kipenzi changu."

Divider by @/cafekitsune

A/N:

kipenzi changu means 'my love' in swahili according to the wiktionary (they cited this paper, which talks about different terms of endearment in swahili, which I found pretty fun.)

[tbaluver]

Hii! I love your lads fics so so much. They are simply soo good ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡ i wanted to make a request if its okay with ya! As a person who loves cilantro and spicy food (I'm also a caleb and sylus girlie loll)

What if lads boys with a reader who likes the food they don't like.. how would they deal with it? XD

Eating Food They Hate- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader genre: fluff fluff + silly a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ thank you so much my angel MWAH i hope i did your request with justice ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ the way i would gladly eat all the carrots in the world so zayne would never have to see a carrot again and ik sylus would be sick of my ass bc i love eating spicy food .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

xavier always looks at your food suspiciously. your plate is always piled with vegetables and fruits and there was nothing unusual about that—except, it lacked meat. is it possible for a meal to be satisfying with little to no meat?

as you settle into your seat, ready to dig in, he shifts uneasily in front of you. “are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to eat?” his gaze flickers from you to your plate.

you nod, a little puzzled. “yes, i’m sure”

however he wasn’t convinced. you can always expect him to slip an extra plate beside yours or set aside a few pieces of meat that he knows you’ll enjoy, just in case. “here,” he offers, “take some of mine if you’d like. protein is good for you. it’ll help you grow strong and maybe you’ll even catch up to my score with the wanderers.”

Zayne:

zayne would never tell you not to eat vegetables. they’re good for you so why would he discourage you from doing so? he understands their nutritional value and benefits for your health. however you would never catch this doctor eating carrots.

every time carrots are found on his plate, you can always count on him to pick it off and place it neatly on your plate with a look of mild distaste crossing his face. he doesn’t understand why you enjoy eating them but he is grateful he isn’t wasting any food and that he doesn’t have to eat it.

as you pick up the gross orange vegetable to your mouth, zayne can’t bear to watch. he turns away every time as if the very sight of you chewing the most vile vegetable on the planet was too much to bear for him.

Rafayel:

simplicity enhances beauty. he tells himself that, trying to understand why you prefer to eat something as simple as a plain bland salad.

“cutie, do you want to try mine?” he asks, like he always does, holding the spoon out to you. of course, he would never push you to try anything new if you were feeling picky, he would understand and wouldn’t insist.

however, this doesn’t stop him from taking small steps. little by little, he’ll offer you bites of simple, fresh foods, that are nothing too overwhelming but just enough to tempt your taste buds without straying too far from your comfort zone

Sylus:

sylus doesn’t understand what’s so appealing about eating anything spicy. most of the time, it feels like pain rather than just flavor. every bite seems to scorch his tongue, leaving nothing but discomfort behind.

after you’ve had your fill of spice, he’ll look after you— not that he minds, of course. he just worries about the long-term effects of eating too much spicy foods and hates to see you fight for your life on the toilet constantly.

he’ll remind you not to eat it so often. however if you manage to build a tolerance, he’ll occasionally pick up something spicy for you whether it was snacks or finding new places for you to try. he knows how much you love it. sometimes, he’ll even grab a spicy-sour combo that he plans to try with you. perhaps it isn't so bad to try a combo that has a mix of something you both like.

Caleb:

caleb hated cilantro. he hated it so much that when you were both children, he made up a story to keep you from eating it. he told you a story that if you ate too much cilantro, you’d turn into a tree and you would never be able to play with him again. of course, you grew up and stopped believing in his silly story but it still irked him that you actually grew to love cilantro.

maybe it was childish that seeing you enjoy it bothered him. maybe it was the fact that you, the one person he loves, grew to love the very thing he despised.

caleb would never lie to you, except when it came to anything cilantro related. whenever you asked him to make a dish with cilantro in it, you could count on him to whip it up, just without the cilantro. and if you ever asked him about it, he’d always respond with a sweet smile, “they ran out at the grocery store. sorry pipsqueak! try this instead, it’s way better.”

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ thank you as always to my beta reader @ilovemitsuya ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg.2

[gf2bellamy]

hey so this is my first request and i'm a little nervous writing this but i have an idea for a fic that's been haunting me for a looooong time🤍 so here's post!prison spencer x sunshine!reader with an age gap and spencer is veeeery caring and loving towards the reader, he's perfect but sometimes he has little breakdowns and feels like he's limiting the reader from drawing from her youth and that he's not enough for her and she assures him that she wants nothing more than him. total fluff with a bit of hurt. and they are so veeeery in love!!

you can totally ignore this but i'd also like to say that i love your writing!

youth — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, age gap, spencer thinks reader is missing out on things because of him a/n: hi hi hi !! i hope this is what you asked for <3 i rewrote it like 5 times

“Spence?” Your voice rang softly through the apartment as you shrugged off your jacket, hanging it by the door.

You slipped off your shoes, nudging them beside his with a small smile. Something about seeing them side by side made your chest fill with warmth. “I’m in the kitchen,” Spencer called back.

Padding in on socked feet, you turned the corner and spotted him at the counter, buttering a slice of toast. The moment he saw you in the doorway, the knife slipped from his fingers, clattering against the plate.

“God, I missed you,” you sighed, crossing the space between you without hesitation. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. Spencer let out a breathy chuckle, his arms immediately encircling your waist, holding you flush against him. “I missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

When you finally pulled back, your gaze flickered to his plate, then up to him with an unspoken question. He didn’t even need to think before nodding, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You plucked one of the toasts, leaving the other for him, before hopping up onto the counter with a satisfied hum. Spencer stepped between your legs, hands finding their place on your thighs as you took a bite.

“How was work?” he asked, his voice gentle as his thumbs traced absentminded circles against your skin.

You chewed thoughtfully before answering, “Good.” A pause, then you ran a hand through his soft curls, pushing them back with an affectionate touch. “One of my coworkers told me about this new movie, some artsy sci-fi drama. You’d probably love it. Apparently the cinematography is insane.”

And just like that, you were off, rambling about the plot, the actor whose name you could never remember but whose face you recognized from at least three other films. Your hands moved as you spoke, your voice rising and falling with excitement. Spencer listened with an amused smile, nodding along as he took occasional bites of his toast, his attention fully on you. As you spoke, Spencer’s brows furrowed slightly.

“Why’d you say no?” he asked when you mentioned that your coworkers had invited you to see the movie with them.

You tilted your head, blinking at him in surprise. “Because I missed you too much and wanted to hang out with you.”

A bright smile spread across your face as you tugged him closer by the front of his shirt, expecting him to share in your happiness.But something in Spencer’s expression shifted. It was small, almost imperceptible, but you caught it, the way his lips parted slightly before pressing into a thin line.

Your smile faltered as you searched his face, your hands still looped around his neck. “What?” you asked, confused by the sudden change in his demeanor.

“Nothing,” he said too quickly, his gaze darting to the cupboard behind you. “The movie sounds interesting.” His voice had taken on a distant edge, like his mind was suddenly miles away. You studied him carefully, waiting for him to say what he was actually thinking.

“You should’ve gone with your coworkers to see it,” he said, meeting your eyes only for a brief second before looking away again.

Your brows knitted together. “I didn’t want to.” You spoke slowly, as if saying it again would help him understand. But something about the way he wouldn’t quite meet your gaze made your stomach twist.

Spencer sighed, his hands slipping from your thighs as he took a step back, severing the warmth between you. Your arms, once draped around his neck, fell into your lap as confusion settled deep in your chest.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply through his nose before murmuring, “You shouldn’t…” He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should say the words at all. Finally, he settled on, “You shouldn’t miss out on stuff like this because of me.”

You blinked. “Stuff like this?”

"Fun stuff," he clarified, quieter now. "Entertaining stuff. Things people your age should be doing."

Realization dawned on you slowly. This was about the guilt he carried, the way he still sometimes saw himself as something that held you back rather than something that made your life better.

“Spence…” you murmured, hopping off the counter and closing the distance between you.

He shook his head slightly, not pulling away, but not looking at you either. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”

“I don’t feel like I have to do anything,” you interrupted gently, placing your hands on either side of his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I wanted to spend time with you. I chose this.”

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, his expression hesitant, his voice barely above a whisper when he asked, “Why?”

You blinked at him, your heart squeezing in your chest. “Because I love you,” you said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because to you, it was.

But Spencer didn’t respond. His lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders tense beneath your touch. He wasn’t rejecting your words, but he wasn’t accepting them either. It was like he didn’t know how. Your hands slowly dropped from his face, frustration curling in your stomach, not at him, but at the fact that he still didn’t see what you saw. That he still thought he had to be worth loving, as if it wasn’t already a given.You knew him. Knew how his mind worked, how it spun doubts like spiderwebs, sticky and suffocating. So you didn’t argue. Didn’t plead. Instead, you reached for his tie, fingers working slowly at the knot. You knew how he felt sometimes, like the tie was suffocating, like the weight of everything wrapped too tightly around his throat.

“I want to be here,” you said, voice low and sure, “because you make my day better.” The silk of his tie slid loose under your touch.

“Because you make me laugh.” You tugged it free, letting it drape over your wrist before dropping it onto the counter beside you.

“Because you make everything better,” you said simply. “Because you’re the first person I want to tell when something funny happens. Because you listen, even when I ramble about a movie I haven’t even seen. Because you care. Because you feel things so deeply it sometimes knocks the wind out of me. Because you let me win at chess.”

“I don’t let you win,” he muttered reflexively, even as his lips twitched.

You raised an eyebrow. “Spencer.”

“...Okay, sometimes I let you win.”

“You're also the one who tries to make me pancakes in the morning,” you continued, smoothing your hands over his shoulders, down his arms. “Even if they’re burnt.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him, his lips twitching just slightly at the corners. You took that as a small victory.Your fingers trailed down to his wrist, brushing lightly over the bracelet there. The one you had made without thinking. The one he had worn every single day since.

“Because you’re the one who still wears my bracelet,” you said, your voice soft. Spencer glanced down at it, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. “Even though I told you I only made it out of boredom,” you added with a small laugh, tracing the bracelet, both of your initials knotted into the design.

You still remembered the night you made it. Curled up on the couch together, your fingers idly twisting the strands while Spencer read some book. When you finished, you had laughed at yourself, saying it made you feel like a twelve-year-old girl making friendship bracelets at a sleepover. But Spencer had simply taken it from your hands, examined it for half a second, and slipped it onto his wrist, right beside his watch. He never took it off. Not once.

Spencer exhaled softly, his fingers twitching at his sides. You could see the war inside him, the way he wanted to argue, to tell you that you deserved more. But instead, he lifted his gaze back to you. “I wear it because you made it,” he admitted finally.

You smiled, tilting your head. “Exactly.”

Spencer exhaled softly. His lips parted, but before he could come up with a response, you reached out and touched his chest lightly. His hand shot up, catching yours before you could pull away.

“You make me happy,” you continued softly, squeezing his hand. Your voice dropped into something barely above a whisper. “You’re not holding me back. You are the thing I’m running toward.”

His gaze softened.

“And that’s why I want to spend time with you,” you finished, your voice steady, sure.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Spencer’s fingers curled around yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in slow, thoughtful strokes. Then, finally, he let out a slow breath.

“I love you too,” he murmured, like it was the easiest truth in the world.

[willowsnook]

Off Limits Pt. 2

Joe Burrow x Kelce!sister

pt. 1 here

—------------------------------------- Sunlight streamed through the window as you stirred, blinking your eyes open and taking in the unfamiliar room around you. Something heavy was weighing down your stomach, and you looked down to see Joe’s arm tightly wrapped around your waist. As you noticed you weren’t wearing anything besides an oversized LSU t-shirt, memories of the previous night flooded back.

Let’s just say Mr. Cool lived up to his reputation.

Trying to quietly slip out of his grasp, you were almost off the bed when you felt his arm tighten and pull you back into his chest.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled sleepily.

“I need to pee,” you complained, trying to wiggle out of his grip. This only meant your ass was moving against him, causing a groan to escape his mouth. He quickly moved to where he was hovering over you, pressing his covered bulge right against your core.

“Joe…”

He ignored you, bringing his lips down to suck on your neck, leaving new marks over the ones from last night.

“Yes?”

“I need to get up,” you whined, gasping as he ground into you again. “Just come with me into the shower.”

He perked up at that, sliding off the bed and pulling you along with him. Round two was more sensual than the rough fucking that took place last night, so stepping out of the shower, you were very satisfied and clean.

Luckily, you had made Joe stop by your hotel last night to grab a change of clothes for today. You slipped the t-shirt over your head and pulled up your leggings before wandering out into the kitchen, where Joe was making coffee.

“Cream? Sugar?” he offered, handing you a cup.

“Just milk if you have it,” you replied. He turned to the fridge, pulling out a carton to hand to you.

“When are you flying back?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” you said, bringing the mug to your lips.

“Can I have you for the day?” he asked, looking at you hopefully, and you felt your heart flutter.

“Perhaps,” you teased. “You have to come to family dinner tonight, though.”

“Damn, sex on the first date, hanging with the fam on the second. Am I flying back to Philly with you to get married tomorrow?” he joked, and you laughed.

“Last night was not a date,” you said, and he frowned playfully at you.

“You wound me,” he pouted, stepping in front of where you were sitting on the barstool. He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss.

“Let’s go.”

—--------------------------------------

The Cincinnati Zoo was buzzing with activity—families with kids running around, couples strolling hand in hand, and a few groups of teenagers trying to act too cool to be excited about the animals. The second you walked through the entrance, Joe slipped on a pair of sunglasses and tugged a hoodie over his head, attempting to be low-key.

“You look like you’re about to commit a crime,” you teased, nudging him as he adjusted his hood.

“Just trying to enjoy my day without getting swarmed,” he replied, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Unless you want our first real date to be interrupted by a bunch of fans?”

You smirked. “Are you sure you don’t want people to see you with me? Scared my brothers might find out?”

Joe scoffed. “Oh, they’ll find out eventually. I’d just like to delay the execution as long as possible.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh.

As you walked through the zoo, Joe was surprisingly into it. He made you stop at nearly every exhibit, taking his time reading the signs and pointing out random facts like he was some kind of animal expert.

“I feel like you studied for this,” you said as you stood in front of the gorilla enclosure, watching as one of them lazily chewed on a piece of fruit.

Joe shrugged. “What can I say? I like to be prepared.”

You hummed in amusement. “So, what’s your favorite animal?”

Without hesitation, he pointed toward the tigers. “Big cat guy.”

You smirked. “So you see yourself as a tiger?”

“I mean, they’re strong, strategic, and a little intimidating.” He turned to you with a smirk. “Sounds familiar, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “I was gonna say they sleep a lot.”

Joe laughed, nudging you playfully as you continued through the zoo.

The two of you stopped at the orangutan exhibit next, leaning against the railing as you watched them interact.

“I like them,” you said.

Joe glanced over. “Yeah? Why?”

“They’re family-oriented,” you said simply. “They take care of each other.”

Joe was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice softer. “That’s important to you, huh?”

You turned to look at him, nodding. “Yeah. My family’s everything to me.”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like he wanted to say something more. Instead, he reached out and casually took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You looked down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “Joe?”

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “What? Can’t hold my date’s hand?”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t let go.

As you neared the entrance again, you heard your stomach growl, and Joe looked over at you with amusement.

“Hungry?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Gotta feed my girl.”

“Not your girl, Joey,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling.

“Not yet,” he commented, and your mind raced, but he just pulled you along.

A short drive later, you were on the rooftop of a brewery, sipping on a beer while waiting for the chicken tenders you ordered to come out. You and Joe were chatting about how his summer workouts were going when you heard a very familiar voice call out to you.

“Well, look what we have here,” Jason said, eyes narrowed as he looked between you and Joe.

“I tried to keep his attention away,” Kylie told you apologetically.

You hung your head in defeat, as a look of panic stayed visible on Joe’s face.

“Mind if we join you?” Jason asked, already sitting down across from Joe.

“Not at all,” you muttered.

Joe cleared his throat nervously, shifting in his seat as Jason’s intense gaze bore into him. “Hey man, how’s it going?”

Jason ignored the question, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “So, Joe. Mind telling me what you’re doing out with my little sister?”

You rolled your eyes. “Jason, I’m a grown woman. I can go out with whoever I want.”

“Oh, I know that,” Jason replied, not taking his eyes off Joe. “I just want to hear it from him.”

Joe straightened up, meeting Jason’s stare. “We’re on a date. I like your sister, and I’m interested in getting to know her better.”

A tense silence fell over the table. You held your breath, waiting for Jason’s reaction. To your surprise, a slow grin spread across his face.

“Well, alright then,” Jason said, picking up the menu to look over.

You gave him a bizarre look before turning to Kylie, who was trying not to laugh.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you two leaving together last night, though, but that’s just a conversation for me and Joe.”

You groaned, resting your face in your hands.

The rest of lunch went smoothly and thankfully wasn’t awkward. Joe and Jason just talked about the upcoming season while you and Kylie chimed in every once in a while.

Afterward, you ended up walking around downtown, slipping into a boutique with Kylie while the boys waited outside.

You browsed the racks, sifting through the store’s new summer collection while Kylie hovered nearby.

"Just ask what you want to ask," you told her, tired of her silence.

"How was it?" she asked, smirking. You knew immediately what she was referring to.

"He might have ruined the chance of me ever enjoying sex with anyone else for the rest of my life," you said, shooting her a wink.

She laughed loudly, and you tried to shush her.

"What's the deal, then? It’s obviously not just sex if you've spent the whole day together," she pressed, and you sighed.

"I don't know," you admitted. "I like him, but he lives here, and I don’t. We both have crazy work schedules, so it kind of feels like I’m playing pretend until we have to go back."

Kylie nodded sympathetically. "I get that. Long distance is tough, especially with your schedules. But hey, if you both really like each other, maybe it's worth trying?"

You shrugged, picking up a cute sundress to examine. "Maybe. I just don't want to get my hopes up, you know?"

"Well, from what I've seen today, Joe seems pretty smitten," Kylie said with a grin. "And trust me, Jason wouldn't be so cool about it if he didn’t think Joe was serious."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Oh yeah," Kylie laughed. "If Jason thought Joe was just messing around, he’d be in full protective big brother mode right now."

"Oh please, he already is. You know he’s out there scaring the shit out of Joe right now," you giggled.

Both of you glanced out the window. Sure enough, Jason was speaking animatedly to Joe, pointing a finger at him.

"Let’s go save him," she sighed, and you followed her outside.

Joe looked relieved to see you, and you narrowed your eyes at your brother, who was trying his best to look innocent.

You slipped your hand into Joe’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Everything okay out here?"

"Just fine," Jason said a little too cheerfully. "Joe and I were just having a friendly chat."

Joe nodded, though his eyes betrayed his relief at your return. "Yeah, just… catching up."

You rolled your eyes. "Uh-huh. Well, if you're done 'catching up,' we should probably head back. We've got that family dinner tonight, remember?"

"Right," Jason said, clapping Joe on the shoulder. "Looking forward to it, buddy."

As you walked away, you leaned in close to Joe. "What did he say to you?"

Joe chuckled nervously. "Oh, you know. The usual ‘hurt her and I'll kill you’ speech. But he also threw in some creative threats involving the offensive line and the game against the Eagles."

"That’s honestly pretty mild coming from him," you mused.

You glanced at your phone. "I need to go back to my hotel to change and just chill for a little bit. Want to come with me or meet back up later?"

"I’ll come," he said, and you smiled.

"You can’t distract me from getting ready, though," you warned.

He smirked, his eyes flickering down to your lips. "No promises."

Back at the hotel, you were in the bathroom applying makeup while Joe lounged on the bed, flipping through the channels.

Your phone buzzed beside him, and curiosity got the better of him. He glanced over and saw a notification about your flight tomorrow. That’s when it hit him—you were actually leaving.

When you came out of the bathroom, you frowned at the tense look on his face.

"What’s wrong?" you asked, walking over to him.

"I don’t want you to leave tomorrow," he said quietly, and your heart sank.

"I don’t want to leave either, but my life is back in Philly," you said softly.

Joe sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. It’s just… I really like you. And I don’t want this to just be a weekend fling."

You sat down next to him on the bed, taking his hand in yours. "I really like you too, Joe. But we live in different cities, and we both have demanding careers. How would this even work?"

He turned to face you, his eyes intense. "We could make it work. We both travel a lot for our jobs anyway. We could visit each other on off weeks, make time for calls and FaceTime. I'm willing to try if you are."

You chewed on your lip, thinking. The silence stretched between you, heavy with uncertainty.

"Okay," you said finally.

"Okay?" he asked, hopeful.

"I’m willing to try it out," you agreed. "But the second I feel like I’m a distraction to your season, we’re re-evaluating."

"Fine," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. He reached out, pulling you into his lap. "How much time until we have to leave?"

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Wakey Wakey!

Wife Sevika x Female Wife Reader (Fluff)

Waking your wife after a long nap with a surprise (browniesss).

Content: Modern setting. Sevika has both arms :)

Proofread || Note: Hi I’m back… 😅

Neatly placing the brownies on a plate, you carry it to your shared bedroom. The curtains closing off any sunlight from the window, causing the room to be dimly lit. Only illuminated by the light coming the open door, which you closed after entering.

Your wife was laid on the bed, her soft snores breaking the silence as she’d been sleeping for about three hours now. You approached, placing the plate onto the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. A hand brushing hair back from her forehead as you took a second to admire her relaxed face.

Her brows no longer furrowed, her lips parted, and her body still, and limp. Sevika had came come home from work and had knocked out on the couch, you had to prepare the bed for her half-asleep self to crash onto. After a long while, it was time for her wake up. And, to surprise her, you made her favourite. Brownies. She’d sot on the bed and gobble them up in under a minute, always stuffing her mouth while scrolling on twitter.

“Baby? It’s been a while. Wakey wakeyyy.” You lightly tapped on her— causing her to jolt up into a sitting position. “Woah! Baby—“ “What the f— Is something wrong?!”

…

You bursted out laughing.

“No.. no, baby!” A hand over your mouth as you tried composing yourself. “Oh.” Her voice raspy, slightly shaken aswell. Sevika gave you a look of confusion before staring off at the closed door; possibly trying to wake herself up. “I made brownies, and you’d been sleeping for a while so.. I thought I’d wake you up.” You flashed her a smile, brushing your hands against her arm; which made her relax. “Thought someone broke in.” The woman returned a smile before watching you position the plate in her lap.

“For me?” The woman’s lips curled up into a grin, even if she tried masking her excitement it was quite obvious. She took a piece in hand before biting, her brows raised as she chewed. Your eyes met her averted ones as she chewed, looking down at the other three pieces with a fat smile on her face. “You didn’t have to,” “yeah, well I wanted to.”

Sevika always had a soft sport for your brownies, giving you extra affection after seeing you place the tray in the oven. She knew how to make them herself, she had the recipe, but eating the ones you made with your pretty hands? Now that was pure magic. She swore it some sort of witchcraft, how your brownies always turned out perfect.

A groan left her lips, her eyes flickering to you, and then back to the sweet in her hand. “It’s really good, how the hell?…” your wife seemed to be in awe. “Gets better everytime y’make them.” Her husky voice muffled as she took another huge bite. Sevika was really enjoying herself, her attention fixated on the plate in her lap as she munched on each piece. “Glad you like them, baby,” you wipe away a crumb from the side of her lip. “Thought I’d surprise you.” Your cheeky, proud grin making your girlfriend flash one back. “I like them? Holy shit, I love them. Did you make more?” Of course she asked. “A bucket load, I’ll get some.”

“Mm, wait,” your wife took her sweet time chewing, all the while holding onto your hand. “Kiss.” A finger pointed to her lips and you pressed a brief kiss there. “Seriously?” The woman ended up holding the back of your head all the while making out with you for a few more minutes.

Well, making out with you until she was satisfied. Which, would be never.

[tojisdeadwife]

It wasn't a secret that Kento Nanami is a romantic at heart; dreaming of a white picket fence life. A wife, kids, all that jazz. However, how he lived his life wasn't exactly marriage material. He swore that he wouldn't fall in love with anyone. He erected walls around his heart, guarding it behind lock and key.

 And it worked. Until you came along.

 You, with those long lashes and gorgeous eyes. That smile and oh how soft your hands were when they accidentally brushed against his, how you always spluttered out “sorry,” quickly and quietly - his demeanor didn't give anything away, but he felt like he was burning from the inside out whenever he was in your presence.

 He started to linger around you, wishing to just listen to your voice or feel that electric buzz of cursed energy that flowed in and around you - unique, just like anything and everything else about you. Although quiet, he was satisfied. Did you think he was weird? Perhaps you did. But for Kento, being was enough.

 “It isn't worth the hassle,” he tells himself. After all, he'll probably die early. On a mission. He probably wouldn't be grieved if he died right now. And you don't deserve that instability. You deserved a man that could come home, guaranteed, every single day. You deserve someone that could strike up a conversation with you so easily. Just like Gojo—

 The mere thought has him fuming in a way he has no right to. Of course, you could choose to be with anyone you wanted. Still, the mere thought of Gojo Satoru, of anyone that wasn't him, being the only person to have the exclusivity of your affections, of those discreet glances, of knowing you like he wants to, has his heart thrumming against his ribcage at an unsteady rhythm and his jaw clenching like he wanted to chew on his own teeth. No, pulverice his own teeth. 

 Little by little, pebble by pebble, you have, unknowingly, broken down the barriers that Kento Nanami had built around his heart. All with just being there, doing nothing but existing.

 “It isn't worth the hassle,” that's something he keeps telling himself, but he's made up his mind.

 He's completely devoted to you.

Small gestures such as buying your favorite drink from the vending machine because he's seen you drink the same thing every time. Offering you some “spare” lunch because he “accidentally” made too much food yesterday. Giving you a ride home because “it's on his way” (it isn't). Finding little excuses every day so he could spend time with you. So he could get to know you outside of fighting curses or bad-mouthing the higher ups or teaching the students.

 Kento Nanami, as previously mentioned, is a romantic at heart. He fully believes you're the woman that's supposed to be his until death do you part, but he just… Can't bring himself to do this to himself. To you. What if he doesn't come home again? What if he gets too injured by a curse and he's not the same again? 

 But even as the thoughts plague his mind and make his face contort into a worried expression, your presence eases his heart. Your presence, your soft “hey, what's up?” And he can just smile - a tiny one, sure, but a smile nonetheless. 

 “It's nothing,” he replied, “thinking about some curse.” Love is the most twisted curse, isn't it? Inserting itself like a nasty maggot and eating his dead insides and replacing them with a warm fuzzy feeling all over, a crave for you. A need for you, you, you, you.

 Over the course of a couple of months, you've been growing closer to one another. Close enough to know you're not just a friend, but someone he holds dearly. Someone he cares about. Someone he loves against his will. 

 He remembers the first time you called him by his name. Until then, you've only called him Nanami - which is fine. He prefers professionalism while on the clock, but it slipped out of your lips so naturally, so easy. Like it was meant to be.

 A curse had hit him. A Special Grade grade - it was supposed to be a lower grade. Still, he got too careless, and the curse hit him. “Kento!” You had yelled out, and, despite the pain that radiated through his entire body, he could still feel the movement of that nasty love maggot eating away at the last of his dead insides to make space for all of you. The last pebble of the wall around his heart being destroyed like it was never there. 

 “It isn't worth the hassle,” he tries convincing himself but loving you is like second nature to him. Running to shield you from a cursed energy hit, only to see you do the same for him. Loving and protecting you comes like breathing to him - no, like having a heartbeat. It wasn't a hassle. It was in his nature.

 “It isn't worth the hassle,” but as he sees your worried expression and he brushes his thumb along your cheekbone with relief painted delicately over his features, he can't help but give you a kiss to your forehead and wrap two strong arms around you, keeping you close to his chest, listening to his heartbeat, a silent reminder that he was here. Alive. Safe. Just like you were. And he has to remind himself that this isn't a hassle. This isn't a chore. This isn't something he's expected to do - he just does it.

 The silence after the fight settled. The air was crinkling with energy, his entire body was shaking with adrenaline and he could feel you, too.

 “Darling,” he finally murmured against your hair, closing his eyes and allowing himself to relax. "I'm here." He assured you, his caresses on your hair and back a silent confession to his feelings.

 Kento Nanami is a romantic at heart. And only you've been able to know how much of a romantic he truly is. 

[julietsf1]

Ramentic Gestures - Franco Colapinto x Reader

summary: Franco thinks switching bowls is the chivalrous thing to do—until he takes a bite and realizes he’s made a terrible mistake (2k words)

content: fluff, established relationship, tough guy soft moment

AN: Inspired by my uber eats order a couple of minutes ago! really do love spicy food I always carry my habanero pepper w me in my purse, just can't risk it yk

............................................................................

Kyoto at night had a certain glow to it. The kind that reflected off rain-slicked streets, neon signs flickering against glass windows, and the steady hum of life moving through the city. It was the kind of place that made everything feel a little more exciting, like anything could happen.

Franco and I had ducked into a small ramen shop tucked between two buildings, its red lanterns swaying gently outside. The place was warm, slightly crowded, the air thick with the scent of slow-simmered broth, fresh scallions and a hint of chili oil. It smelled incredible.

The restaurant was packed, mostly with locals slurping noodles and chatting over steaming bowls. The kind of place that didn’t rely on fancy decor or gimmicks—just good food.

Franco leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “See? I told you I’d find the best spot.”

I scoffed. “I found it. You just agreed.”

He winked, tilting his head slightly. “Agreeing is part of the process.”

Before I could argue, our bowls arrived, and the conversation immediately paused. The food looked incredible—deep, rich broth shimmering with chili oil, tender slices of duck resting on top, and a generous heap of scallions and sesame seeds. The noodles were thick and slightly curled, the kind that soaked up the broth perfectly.

I picked up my chopsticks, eager to dig in. “This looks amazing.”

Franco hummed in agreement, already reaching for his spoon. “Authentic Japanese ramen. Can’t get better than this.”

I took my first bite, letting the warm, flavorful broth coat my tongue. The spice hit immediately—not too bad, but definitely strong. A pleasant warmth bloomed in my mouth, tingling at the edges of my lips. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was the kind of heat that lingered. Heat that gets more intense with each bite you take.

Franco, however, didn’t seem to notice my reaction. He was too busy tasting his own food, completely unaware of what was about to happen.

“Spicy?” he asked casually, watching me from across the table.

I shook my head, swallowing. “A little, but it’s good.”

Satisfied, he twirled his chopsticks around the noodles and took a bite of his own, nodding approvingly. “Yeah, the broth is insane. Proper depth of flavor.”

I reached for my water, taking a small sip just to ease the heat. When I looked up again, Franco was watching me, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“You sure you’re good?” he teased.

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You always do this thing when something’s spicy—you try to act normal, but you reach for water every few seconds.”

“I do not,” I argued.

“You do,” he insisted, leaning forward slightly. “You did it in Monaco with the hotpot, and in Austin with the—”

“Oh my god, enough,” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “It’s really not that bad.”

He smirked like he didn’t believe me, then glanced at my bowl. “Do you want to switch?”

I hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

Franco scoffed, already reaching for my bowl. “Please cariño, I can handle it.”

I bit my lip, watching as he confidently pulled my bowl towards him, his expression still entirely too smug. “Alright,” I muttered, trading him for his much milder-looking ramen.

He barely hesitated before taking a bite.

And then—

His jaw tightened.

His grip on his chopsticks stiffened ever so slightly.

His chewing slowed.

For a second, I thought he might actually handle it. But then, the first real sign of distress—his ears turned red.

I bit back a smile, watching him carefully. “Good? Not too spicy?”

Franco exhaled through his nose, setting his chopsticks down with a careful precision. “Yeah.”

I squinted. “You sure? We can switch back.”

He licked his lips, blinking a little too much. “Mhm.”

I tilted my head. “You’re blinking a lot, honey.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

He sniffed. Subtly. As if testing the damage.

I gasped. “Your nose is running.”

He immediately swiped the back of his hand across his face, shaking his head. “It’s just warm in here.”

I could barely contain my laughter. “Franco, you are sweating.”

“I am not sweating.”

“There is literal moisture on your forehead.”

He exhaled sharply, reaching for his drink in a way that was almost casual, except for the fact that he drank half of it in one go.

I leaned my elbows on the table, smirking. “Are you gonna admit it’s spicy now?”

Franco cleared his throat, still determined to keep his composure. “It’s… a little spicy.”

I burst out laughing. “A little?”

He shook his head, sighing dramatically. “Dale, me rindo.” He glanced at my bowl, then back at me. “How are you just sitting there, totally fine?”

I shrugged, taking another bite of his much milder ramen. “I told you—it’s not that bad.”

Franco leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “No. This is actually lava.”

I grinned. “Too bad. You tried to show off and the spice humbled you.”

“I didn’t try to show off.”

“You absolutely did.”

He exhaled dramatically, reaching for a napkin and dabbing at his forehead. “I was saving you.”

“You should've saved yourself.”

Franco groaned, running a hand through his hair. “At least tell me I looked cool before it hit me.”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider. “Mmm. I don’t know. You went from confident to crisis pretty fast.”

He groaned again, dropping his head onto the table for a second before sitting back up. “Okay. Fine. What do I get in return for my suffering?”

I raised an eyebrow. “For your self-inflicted suffering?”

“Yes.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “What do you want?”

Franco smirked. “A kiss.”

I rolled my eyes, but he was already leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand like he was waiting.

I sighed dramatically before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “There. Happy?”

He grinned. “I don’t know. I think I need another one to really recover.”

I shoved his shoulder playfully, laughing as he reached for his drink again. Franco Colapinto, world class athlete—completely defeated by a bowl of spicy ramen.

[caxasy]

caleb realized pretty quickly in his life that he had an oral fixation. he would often bite his lip, chew on the chain around his neck, let it dangle from his lips, or even just biting the inside of his cheek. he couldn't pinpoint and tell you where it exactly came from, but he did know he had one.

caleb x male reader : caleb having an oral fixation and using you to relieve that itch in his brain. not meant to be read as something suggestive or sexual, since oral fixations are not inherently either of those things. this was a random thought, but the more i thought about it the more it made sense to me idk. as i said before, not meant to be suggestive or sexual, if you interpret it as so, i can't stop you lol but that wasn't my intention.

hickies are mentioned, but that is its own thing, not entirely connected to or related to the oral fixation aspect...if that makes sense. once you read, i hope it makes more sense and can be intepreted easier than what im trying to say here LMAO ok enogu ramblings, have fun reading about puppy caleb!

— he tried finding ways to curb it, keeping any other part of his body busy to distract from that need to put something in his mouth. but nothing really hit the same as simply sucking on something, like a lollipop or piece of candy.

— so he began carrying around those exact things. and it did work, leaving his mouth constantly busy and putting his mind at ease.

— when the two of you started dating, you noticed that he almost always tasted like apples whenever you kissed. you brushed it off, thinking that it was natural that he’d want to have apple flavored things in his routine (apple flavored toothpaste?, you assumed), but when you caught him popping an apple flavored candy in his mouth, the dots connected.

— you vaguely recalled a conversation you had with him earlier where he told you, “i like to keep my mouth busy.” but he had said that before giving you several hickies, so you just assumed he wasn’t being serious, saying it to set the mood. turns out, him saying that was entirely true and that was him secretly outting himself on his favorite way of keeping his mouth busy.

— caleb found out that there was no better way to keep his fixation satisfied than kissing, sucking, and marking you. this often translated into deep hickies scattered over your neck, even your chest, arms, and stomach. it was not intentional, finding out that way, but once he did find out, oh, he would not stop. it was just a win-win situation!! for him, at least. you had to deal with awkward explanations to everyone you knew why you were so marked up on a random tuesday, when the reality of the situation was never as dirty or naughty as people that saw the markings would think.

“caleb-” you whined, running your hand over your face. you peaked past your fingers and saw that the sun was just rising and shining through the curtains, “what the fuck are you doing?”

“wanted you,” he murmured into your neck before continuing on with his very important task.

it was an amazing plus that whenever he would satiate his oral fixation it would leave you marked up by him. he smirked at the idea and image of you parading his marks around. it only encouraged him to keep going.

too bad you weren't as welcoming to the idea as he was. he pouted when he felt you tug at his roots, forcing him to back off.

“babe,” he whined, swollen red lip jutted out pleadingly, “i was almost done,”

“hell no, last time i went into work with those damn hickies they thought they had to call someone to save me from you,” he rolled his eyes at the explanation.

“okay, not my fault they're idiots. c'mon, i just want my handsome boy to show me off. i worked extremely hard, by the way!”

“nope, not idiots — rightfully concerned individuals are what they saw,” you correct, ignoring his attempts at flattery and begging at the end of his sentence. without giving him a second to think, you were pushing him off of you so could wipe your neck clean of his saliva.

“heyyy, don't leave, i wasn't done yet!!”

“you are now, you blood sucking puppy,”

he just pouts, hugging a pillow as he watches you stress over his markings. then a dreamy smile comes onto his face, “so handsome.”

— starts sucking your fingers. it was a curious part of him that wondered if it’d be like sucking a lollipop. it was genuinely pure intentions behind it.

you two were laying on the couch together, his head on your chest as you scrolled through your moments feed to entertain both you and him.

your hand was resting in front of him and he noticed how well kept your fingers were. cuticles clean, fingernails just trimmed, and hands soft. they were in his mouth before he even realized it.

you blinked at the warm sensation around your fingers. but then you saw how calm and serene his expression was, settling on just smiling at him.

“cute little puppy,” you commented, momentarily dropping your phone on the cushion and petting his hair down.

he leaned into your touch as he held your other wrist captive in his tight hold.

“i’m taking my fingers out of your mouth in five minutes though, no way you're gonna prune me up,” he pouted around your fingers but just rested his head back on your chest.

you pulled your phone back up to entertain you both, the fingers that were resting in his mouth pressing down on his tongue ever so lightly every now and then to throw him off.

hey, if he was going to suck on your fingers as if they were a lifeline, you could mess with him for a bit.

— caleb’s kisses are almost always slow, sensual, and intimate. he likes actually feeling you against him. to him it’s not only a display of his affection for you and vice versa, but also the opportunity to truly feel your presence. closing his eyes and starting off slow, he pecks your lips softly with his own. it’s cute, innocent. then he becomes concentrated. genuinely concentrated on you and the feeling of your lips against his. from there he becomes eager and when caleb gets eager, it turns messy.

he had been straddling your lap for about twenty minutes now. making out the entire time he was situated there. one of his hands was on your chest and the other carded through your hair, keeping you right where he wanted you. yours were resting on his thighs, squeezing every now and then.

the kisses by now were messy. drool glistening on both of your lips and a string of saliva visible each time you broke away from each other. and each time you pulled away, you’d smile seeing the cutely concentrated look on caleb’s face before he too opened his eyes.

“stop laughing at me,” he says, words coming out slightly sputtered due to his breath being uneven.

“’m not laughing at you, pretty boy,” he practically melted at the term of endearment, forehead falling onto your shoulder, “you’re just so cute,”

“shut up, stupid,” he says quietly, feeling uncharacteristically bashful.

then your palm went to his check, forcing him to look at you. your thumb traced his bottom lip, making him even more pliant to your touch. gently, you pressed your thumb inside of his mouth, smiling as his lips closed around you. the rare times caleb was obedient to your touch.

“love you,” you say, smiling when you feel his teeth dig into your skin. not enough to be painful, but hard enough for you to feel the physical affect your words have on him.

he swirls his tongue around you, mixing in the soothing feeling of his tongue gliding over on your digit with the sharp ends of his teeth. then, he’s dropping his jaw and moving his head to draw your wet thumb across the side of his cheek. an act that screams how loudly this man yearns for your touch.

“i love you more,” he says in a raspy tone that makes your grin only grow wider. naturally, your passionate kiss resumes and he's eager to feel you as intimately as possible again.

— caleb loves keeping his mouth busy and his favorite ways of relieving that itch always involved you. no matter how, he wanted to feel you in his mouth. it was an otherworldly satisfaction that he couldn’t even begin to describe in words.

[lemonlover1110]

hi 💓 I really love your blog so much and your writing is so incredible! I saw that your requests were open and I was wondering if you wanted to write something about moments when heianera!sukuna shows he loves reader? like maybe he collects little desserts or something like that? 💕💕

Pairing: Sukuna x f!Reader

Warnings: Fluff

*Thank you so much, dear❤️ I hope you enjoy

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Sukuna isn’t affectionate whatsoever. He isn’t the type to hug or kiss you– And certainly not the type to tell you he loves you. 

But you know he does.

He loves you more than anything else, and you’re quite sure that you’re the only person he loves. Actions speak louder than words, and every single one of his deeds just scream how much he loves you.

“What is this? Chocolate?” You ask one day as you’re brought a tray by the servants. A special treat since they got their hands on cacao beans, and they couldn’t desist from making the sweet treat.

The way your face lit up as you took the first bite changed something in Sukuna. It satisfied him in a manner that made him want to get you chocolates every day. Being fulfilled because of someone else’s joy is greater than love, he’s sure of that.

It’s not an easy feat, but he makes sure that after dinner you’re brought a tray of chocolates. A treat that he tried as well, but he spit it out within seconds. A whole tray just for you to feast on every night.

Sukuna cancels anything and everything just to watch you take that first bite. The little moan that leaves your lips as you taste it just feeds something in his wicked soul. You become more lively after you eat the first treat. Happier.

He fights it off but a smile almost comes to his lips as he watches you taste it. He becomes happy because you’re happy.

He’s sitting besides you, just watching you eat them as if you were a ferocious animal. As if you were him. 

“Here, taste it. You’ll love it.” You bring the treat up to his lips. Your face is covered by it, and you’re chewing like a hungry woman. You’re salacious for more. Though you eat them often, your appetite for it is never satisfied. Sukuna doesn’t open his mouth even though you’re pressing the chocolate against his lips, making you say, “C’mon! It’s so good.”

He complies, and you practically shove it in his mouth. Sukuna tries to not spit them out, just to make you happy. He’ll eat the whole tray if you want, even if he’ll end up throwing up after. But thankfully by the way you eat, he knows that he won’t have to. 

That’s love for him.