#I PROMISED MORE ART AND I FULFILLED THAT PROMISE

[runninriot]

Only Me

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

week 3 prompts: rough, aftercare | rated: E | wc: 2.737 | tags: sub Eddie Munson, mean dom Steve Harrington, restraints, nipple clamps, impact play, mild degradation kink, established relationship | also on ao3

  “Please! You promised!”

Eddie’s eyes are wet with unshed tears, wide and pleading and so goddamn pretty. He always is when he’s like that. When he’s all tied up and helpless, squirming and writhing. Uselessly tugging at the restraints keeping his arms above his head, beautifully exposed, defenceless and at Steve's mercy.

It’s a sight Steve will never get sick of, will never not feast on – especially when his eyes catch all the signs of love he left on pale skin, all the marks, the claims, the trails of colour painting his boyfriend’s body.

Lust reflecting back at him from Eddie’s strained neck that’s covered in bruises, angry red lines revealing where Steve dragged his nails a little too rough over sensitive skin, remains of a greedy mouth baring its teeth – Steve’s art scattered all over this bare perfection in front of him.

Eddie is everything he never thought he could have, submissively offering himself to be used in every way he knows they both enjoy when they indulge in this dissolute act of love.

It’s his favourite game.

   “Don’t think you’ve earned it, yet,” Steve answers his boyfriend’s feeble attempt to make him relent, to give what he’s so desperate for.

Later, not now. Steve isn’t done playing his wicked games and he knows Eddie can take some more; it would be such a waste to skip this part just because Eddie is a little cock slut, needy for Steve’s dick to stuff him and fill him up.

Eddie jerks when Steve pulls at the clamps biting into his nipples, giving each side a rough tug that must send painful ripples of electric shocks through his body.

   “Ow! Oh fuck, Steve! Please, I can’t-“

His voice cracks, words dissolving into an unintelligible sequence of pitiful sounds when Steve grants himself permission to pull again, harder this time.

   “Did you say something? Couldn’t hear you over your pathetic whining.”

It’s his second favourite part of the game, to provoke and be mean, to remind Eddie who’s in charge and who isn’t, let the little Devil inside him take the lead.

   “Keep complaining and I won’t give you anything,” Steve warns and Eddie tries to comply but seems unable to swallow the needy whimpers that break through his parted lips.

   “I’ll give you what you need. I always take care of you, don’t I?”

Eddie nods weakly.

   “Use your words, baby.”

Steve’s thumbs and fingers linger on either side of the clamps, not pinching, not pulling, just resting there as a silent threat Eddie understands wordlessly.

   “A-always. You always take care of me,” he stammers, voice weak but with certainty in his words because he knows Steve will never not give him what he needs.

It’s wonderful, bad for his already too big ego but a treat nonetheless. To hold such power over someone else makes him feel superior, godlike almost, with the way Eddie bows to him. Perfectly obedient, unless he’s being a brat but even then, Steve never loses the upper hand, knows exactly what to say and do, how to create a scene that fulfills both their needs.

   “Exactly. And that’s why you’re going to stop begging like a needy little whore and let me take my time with you.”

Careful, almost gentle compared to his earlier actions, Steve relieves Eddie from the torment, giving the overstimulated nerves in his nipples a moment to relax, letting him shiver through the lingering pain just long enough for him to catch his breath before he continues the teasing torture.

It’s too inviting, the sight of reddened skin and swollen flesh, so he gives into his sadistic nature and lets his thumbs rub in pretend-soothing circles around the sensitive area.

Eddie cries out for Steve to stop but he doesn’t mean it, not really – he knows what to say when he needs Steve to slow down. So, Steve keeps going unfazed, closing his mouth around one of the hardened buds to suck at it, greedy and rough, until Eddie’s moans turn to soft, defeated little whimpers.

   “Sorry, baby,” Steve says, not feeling sorry at all.

His lips curl into a wicked grin when he notices the tear streaks on Eddie’s face and it fills him with a twisted sense of pride that he’s the one responsible for making his boyfriend cry.

It’s paradox. Steve loves Eddie with all his heart, would never hurt him, wants nothing more than to see him smile. But this right here is different, those tears are good tears, this is the good kind of pain, the one that makes Eddie beg for more.

And beg he does, insistent and impatient, needs something inside to fill the emptiness, his loose hole clenching around nothing now that the plug they’ve used to open him up lies abandoned on the side of the bed. Steve crawls further up between his thighs, can’t bite down a mean laugh when he sees Eddie’s eyes widen, probably thinking he’s finally getting what he’s been asking for. He doesn’t, is the thing, all he gets is Steve’s hardness brushing his skin, leaving a trail of slickness on its way when he leans over him, untying the rope around his wrists.

Slowly, he brings Eddie’s arms down, thumbs rubbing over the faint redness he caused by pulling too hard, fighting against the restraints he specifically had asked for. Steve kisses each wrist before he drops them on either side of Eddie’s body.

   “Kiss me,” he demands, and Eddie complies instantly, lifts his head to capture Steve’s lips with his own.

The kiss is deep but slow, some calm before a storm only Steve knows is coming.

   “Turn around,” Steve commands when they part, voice stern and eyes not leaving Eddie’s, who looks at him with a mix of confused frustration and thrilling excitement.

On his hands and knees, Eddie offers a sight that makes Steve’s cock throb, makes it hard to resist the urge to push inside. To take without warning and finally give in to Eddie’s pleas.

Not yet, though. Eddie’s going to have to earn it. And so does Steve.

The thing about playing with Eddie like this, about taunting him by making him wait and beg and then wait some more, is that Steve, too, had to learn patience and how to maintain control over his own body’s reactions. Not wanting to lose himself too early, not wanting to miss out on the reward of falling together.

Steve places both hands on Eddie’s hips, feeling just a little bit bad for making it seem as if he’s aligning himself with his boyfriend’s ass, hole gaping and ready to take him.

   “Will you fuck me, please?”

Eddie opens his legs some more, hips swaying in Steve’s hold – he’s getting impatient, desperate to be filled.

   “No.” It’s such a small word, two letters that hold so much power because it’s all Steve has to say to make Eddie lose his mind.

Before he can complain, Steve’s hands slide down, grabbing his ass with both hands, fingernails digging into tender flesh and burning skin, digging deep enough to leave marks before letting go completely

Eddie cries out a weak little ‘Oh, fuck!’, voice trembling with anticipation. He knows what’s coming, knows how Steve will make him earn his right to be fucked.

   “Are you gonna be my good little whore?” Steve asks and Eddie answers with a nod and a whimper as he braces himself for what’s to come, no doubt already starting to become headless, always getting a little dumb when Steve degrades him with words.

When he calls him a slut. A toy. A stupid, cock-drunk mess.

Baby or whore, it doesn’t really matter what he calls him; Eddie can be both and Steve can say either with love – they’re interchangeable, mean the same thing in the language they share like a secret code.

The first contact of Steve’s palm with Eddie’s ass is barely more than a hard tap, nothing to really cause pain, only to slightly warm up his cheek. So does the second and third, but before Eddie can ask for more, Steve’s hand sinks down again with a loud smack, making rosy colour bloom on pale skin.

   “Ah! Yes, yes fuck, more please!”

One, two, three, four, five more slaps, each one harder than the one before, Steve’s hand striking down in the rhythm to Eddie’s cries, every hit drawing out another beautiful sound that goes straight to his own dick.

Steve loses count but the angry red colour in the shape of his hands is spurring him on to keep going until Eddie’s moans turn into sobbing.

   “What’s wrong, baby? D’you need me to stop? Or do you want me to go harder? Your choice.” Steve grins, tongue licking over his teeth like a hungry hyena, excitement pulsing in his lower half because he already knows what Eddie’s answer will be.

   “H-harder. Please, Steve. Need it.”

Always so polite, his perfect boy.

How could Steve resist when he’s asking so nicely?

Only when Eddie’s arms give up and he falls face-first into the mattress, does Steve stop. He marvels at the art he created on his boyfriend’s skin, red and hot, burning under his fingertips as he lets them trail over soon-to-be bruises he’ll have to tend to later.

He lifts Eddie’s weakened body up, holds him by his hips and then, finally, pushes the swollen, purple tip of his cock into the waiting heat that’s been yearning to be filled for so long.

Eddie’s back arches beautifully when Steve thrusts deeper, doesn’t need to hold back, not when Eddie is so open and willing to let him in.

And then he fucks him. Hips snapping hard against Eddie’s sore ass, pulling cry after moan after pathetic little whimper out of the other man’s throat. They’re both too deep, too far gone already, won’t last long, not after building up all this tension and pressure and overwhelming neediness. Ready to fall and come and burst at the seams, lose themselves to each other.

   “You should see yourself. Fuck, baby!” Steve’s eyes are transfixed on the place between his thighs where he watches himself sink deeper, watches Eddie’s body welcome him, swallow him, stretch around him so perfectly. “Taking me so well, so good for me. Ah! So tight! Shit.”

Eddie comes first, cock neglected and untouched, spurts all over himself and the sheets, and the noises he makes are what tips Steve over the edge, spilling his release into the depths of Eddie’s body, shaking apart as he rides out his own orgasm.

He watches the mess he made when he pulls out slowly, watches the trail of his own cum trickling out of Eddie’s sloppy hole, can’t help but to push it back where it belongs, pumping two fingers inside with no resistance where he’d just been buried balls-deep.

Beneath him, Eddie bucks his hips, moaning and panting – Steve knows he’s had enough, knows he would still let him play with him for hours more if Steve insisted.

It’s tempting, his greedy inner Devil already rubbing his hands at the thought. He could plug him, make him keep Steve’s cum inside, could make him suck his spent cock until they’re both hard again.

But there’s always time for that later, tomorrow, the day after – Steve’s not going anywhere and neither is Eddie. They’ve got their whole lives ahead of them, enough years still left to be young and reckless.

Eddie deserves a break, deserves to be loved in a gentler way after being so good, so obedient, so perfect.

Groaning, obviously wrung out and exhausted, sore in all kinds of places, Eddie turns to lie on his back, hissing when his ass hits the sheets.

Steve’s beside him, eyes roaming over his boyfriend’s body, taking in the state of him. Come stains on his belly, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, his legs still slightly trembling, and his mind probably floating somewhere far away – Eddie is a mess in every sense of the word and Steve is about to make it worse. Just a little. Just as a treat for himself before he’s actually going to take care of his sweet boy.

He leans down, parted lips hovering over stained skin, hot breath tickling his boyfriend’s abdomen.

   “Ste-heeve! Stevie, whatcha doing?” Eddie giggles, sounds high or maybe drunk; drunk on Steve, maybe, wouldn’t that be something?

   “Just wanna give back what belongs to you,” he answers vaguely before darting his tongue out.

Eddie squirms, shaking with laughter that turns into a loud moan when Steve’s tongue trails from his pelvis up to his navel, lapping up Eddie’s cum on its way. When he comes back up so he’s face-to-face with the other man, Eddie is already looking at him with wide, curious eyes.

He nods frantically to answer a question Steve didn’t ask and opens his mouth. Steve pushes two fingers over the waiting tongue spilling over his bottom lip, forcing his jaw to open wider before he lets a string of saliva drip from his mouth to Eddie’s, sharing the taste of his own cum with him. It's filthy and beautiful, makes him feel hot all over, regretting the fact that he can't give him more.

   “Good boy,” he teases, tapping Eddie’s cheek with his spit-coated fingers as he watches his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows Steve’s gift obediently.

Eddie’s eyelids flutter shut, expression soft, and Steve seals his lips with a kiss.

   “God, I can’t believe how perfect you are,” Steve’s heart flips when Eddie opens his eyes again, sparkling, dark, and full of adoration and love.

   “So perfect. All for me, only me.”

   “Only you,” Eddie agrees, says it like it’s a promise and Steve feels overcome with selfish satisfaction at the thought of being the only one who’ll ever get to see him like this. The only one to touch him like that. To love him this way.

   “How are you feeling?”

   “Hmm, perfect. Thank you.”

Eddie sounds sleepy, eyelids heavy and hardly staying open. Steve proudly thinks to himself that he must’ve done a real good job tiring him out. But he can’t have Eddie fall asleep like that.

   “Let’s get you in the shower, baby.”

-----

The water is warm and comforting, easing the strain in Eddie’s aching body. Steve doesn’t stop kissing him while he gently scrubs him clean, careful not to hurt him where his skin has already started to change colour.

Steve loves this part, the after, when he gets to worship Eddie’s body with care, soft and slow, different than before but just as wonderful.

Intimacy comes in many forms and although Steve really, really enjoys the rougher side of it, loves to give in to the raw and brute kind of his own desires, he can’t deny that this, here, is even better. To hold an exhausted Eddie in his arms like this, close to his own heart, gently caressing the skin he blemished before, taking care of the bruises and scratch marks, the shapes, and colours Steve left on every part of him, fills him with a different kind of satisfaction.

To be the one allowed to put Eddie back together after tearing him to pieces, is an honour, something Steve cherishes a lot.

When they fall into bed together, naked, and soft, and tired, Steve pulls Eddie close to his chest, whispering love confessions into his hair until Eddie’s breathing calms and he can feel his body sink deeper into the embrace, slowly drifting as sleep takes a hold of him.

His own heart matches the rhythm of Eddie’s, a slow but strong beat that sounds like a love song written only for them. Because they belong together. There could never be anyone else for Steve; his heart and soul belong to Eddie and Eddie alone. And for as long as he'll let him, Steve will give Eddie everything he needs, everything he wants, and sometimes even more than that.

Eddie is his to hold. To fuck and tease. To hurt in all the good ways and to love. No one else but Steve is allowed to touch him like that.

   “Only me,” he whispers once more, a little selfish and a lot possessive but he knows that’s okay because it’s true. And it makes him smile, content and satisfied, before exhaustion finally pulls him under.

[magmethius]

for today's @theemperorweek prompts: intimacy & promise (above art is a commission i bought from nopu <3)

A chunk of prose for this one. Promises made during intimacy. (emps/illithid tav, tav's second person pov, implied but not described explicit)

---

"An illithid does not claim territory for fulfillment," the Emperor says, "but for power. The gratification is instant, but unsatisfactory."

You stare up at him, trying to read his deeper thoughts, and he lets you. There's a pit of craving inside of him, matching yours, a needy ache that has yet to be sated. The tendril cradling your cheek moves, sensually draping itself around your shoulders instead.

Yes, he wants... connection. Not conquest.

"My sword. My partner. Moss. My bondmate. My stardust."

The Emperor leans forward, digging his claws into the moss by your sides. The tentacle around your neck slips away and slides down your torso, trailing across the ridges on your chest so - provocatively, it makes your heart skitter. It halts just at your belly. "It would be far more satisfying to express one's devotion by choice... Would it not?"

Oh... Your hands twitch beside his. "Perhaps," you say.

He takes a long, shuddering breath, and presses his head to yours. It's comforting, and magnetic, and the rejuvenation you feel is instantaneous, the open flow of psychic energy between you alleviating mental aches that the healing spring couldn't. Your partner's mind is still fiercely heated, still thrumming with leftover vestiges of hormonal possessiveness. It pushes against your own, silently pleading for one last confirmation, a proclamation made consciously, not instinctually, a willing choice -

It's so desperate, his desire to have you claim him - not just in body, but in soul. It tugs at every single one of your aberrant little heartstrings.

He pulls away. "Will you -" promise -

"I am yours," you say, not letting him finish vocalizing the question. "And you are mine."

"Mine," you repeat, confident, and loud, and lucid. You float up, sink your claws into his shoulders, and thread your tentacles around his. "Mine." You barely remember to breathe as you greedily try to shove out every inch of space between your bodies. He attempts to pull back for air, but you chase him, refusing to part until he understands. "Mine." His hands skate up your spine, claws raking electrifying streaks as they go, and when he reaches your neck he nearly drags you both beneath the water's surface. You have to release one of your hands to cup his face and bring him back up and - "Mineminemine!" You bump your forehead against his over and over, kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, projecting short and sweet kisses and long and passionate kisses and desperate kisses and everything in between -

The Emperor purrs his joy into you, the rumbling of it sending more ecstatic vibrations through your tangled tentacles, and returns each of your projections with one of his own. He clings to your devotion, memorizing how differently those same words feel in his mind when thought proudly and wholeheartedly, when laced with love, not with lust. He already knows of your undying loyalty, you've certainly expressed your love for him often enough to have those words permanently etched into both of your beings, but he'll never, ever tire of hearing just how much you want him.

Being needed is nice, but being wanted is wonderful.

"Yes..." he breathes, when you finally part.

"You are mine, and I am yours."

[oblivions-dawn]

why is your writing...like that

It's fucking AWESOME innit??

I love going back and rereading my writing and realising HOLY SHIT. I WROTE THAT. AND IT'S AMAZING. An entire literary world born of words and feelings and emotions and characters and . . . I did that. I did that when some said I couldn't, or didn't believe that I would.

I'm still doing it. Because I love doing it still.

And damn is that something to be fucking proud of

[vongulli]

oh, the good number..

joking aside, thank you guys so so much for all the support and love here!! It’s been so nice having a place i know that’ll be easy to find old stuff, its so reliving. Even when im on someone else’s art blog- when i see like “posted in 2016″ i get happy like, twitter would NEVER show me posts that old. so goofy..

hope everyone’s week has been treating them well!!! Jojolands comes out LIKE WICKED SOON so that’ll be my brainspace for a good while..!! 

[orathearsonman]

my phone focused on Sarah’s face while I was taking this photo which I would consider a win

[deadsetobsessions]

Writing Prompt… kind of? Definitely write more if you want but this was a cute little “fic starter” that popped into my mind.

——

Danny didn’t know the first thing about art. This is an important fact.

“Sam, why am I even here?”

“Suck it up, Casper.”

“The show or the school?” Danny privately thought Casper the Friendly Ghost was the best thing to have come around. It did wonders for improving relations between Amity and inhabitants of the Zone.

Sam smacked him on the arm. “You know which one. You’re just here to be the normie judge. You don’t need to know anything about art.”

“Everyone here is like an art acolyte or something, Sam! I’m an engineering newb in a room full of people with art PhDs!”

Sam rolled her eyes and checked her manicures. “If you call Fenton Works newb level, then the rest of the world would be Neanderthals. Seriously that’s why you’re here. The art’s gotta appeal to the untrained eyes too. I trust your judgement.”

Danny gave in. “Thanks, Sam. That means a lot.” He followed after Sam but after a moment, he whined, “But couldn’t you have taken Tucker? Dude’s got four untrained eyes!”

“He’s busy with his internship. And you were already in Gotham.”

They reach the exhibition, Sam and Danny being welcomed in. Sam’s parents, while not the richest of the rich, were known art connoisseurs and respected people in the communities that dotted around the world. On top of being the descendants of the man that invented the deli toothpick cellophane twirling device, that is. Sam was standing in their place today- begrudgingly- because they’d promised to pay for an entire month of Gotham architecture tours and a trip to Japan. After all, Sam had much of their knowledge too. If anyone could say anything about the Masons, it was that they were passionate in their chosen field. L

“The contestants are in the room next door. The judge panel is beginning.” The person at the door informed them. He gave them a slip of paper and a pen to mark their choices in each field. Danny breathed a sigh of relief and began wandering around.

After he wandered between the oil paintings- “oo, this one. Reason why… the vibes are nostalgic. I like it.”- and the various depictions of a specific ship, Danny was pulled to a stop by his core reaching out. He looked up and what he saw took his breath away.

It was just a photo.

But it felt like he was there, on that rooftop, crouched among the shadows and watching the early rays of muffled light hit the tops of his city. His core thrummed. It felt like protection. It felt like he was being fulfilled, like Danny was once more becoming Phantom and that he was watching over this city he’s beginning to understand.

Danny, almost fevered, scribbled down the name [A Robin’s Nest- by Tim Drake] as his number one choice to win the contest over all. And, at least, to win the first in the photography division.

——

“Oh, Ancients, are you okay?”

Danny had wandered around in the interim as the votes were tallied. He hadn’t been paying attention when he smacked into a little kid that could have been his little brother.

“Uhm. I’m good.”

Danny helped the kid up. “I’m Danny. I’m sorry I smacked into you. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“Yeah. I’m Timothy Drake. I’m good.”

Danny’s smile widened in shock. “Like the photographer? Oh, wow! I really loved that photo! It was amazing! It felt like I was up there with the vigilantes!”

As he spoke, Danny glanced around for the kid’s designated adults. Hm. That’s odd. Everyone and their parental figure was accounted for.

“Oh.” Timothy flushed. “Thanks! I hoped the judges liked it too.”

Danny smiled, a small secretive thing. “Oh, I’m sure they will. Will you tell me more about your photography?”

“Oh, if you want!”

——

[vultbae]

hot boy delivery ✩

college!art donaldson x female reader

↳ summary: Tashi's handsome alleged boyfriend knocks on your door and asks for her since she's your roommate. But she's not there, so you'll borrow him for tonight.

↳ warnings: smut (minors dni), tipsy sex, mentions of cheating but isn't, porn with plot, mean!reader at the beginning.

↳ notes: yall know the drill english is not my first language! so sorry if anything doesn’t make sense

word count: 5.7k

Stanford isn't what you would call a party school; there isn't an endless rage circuit or binge drinking regarding students –or at least the ones you know. So when you decided to enroll in college, you knew any unpleasant symptoms like headaches or fatigue would be caused by academic all-nighters and no hangovers as you believed years ago. It was a deal-breaker, but it was Stanford at the end of the day.

Your parents had enough funds to bring to the table independence privileges most college students don't have, for example, living off-campus."¿Why would I decline this unusual offer?" you thought at the time, giving in to the advantageous idea of complete autonomy and no supervision—you had seen places around the Palo Alto area, cozier and more stylish than any archaic-looking dorm room Stanford had to offer for a few thousand dollars a year —six to seven, to be exact.

Somehow, you had ended up on the shithole you had been attempting to dodge for so long. Your best friend, Diana, had gaslighted you into believing that coexisting in the same place with other young people is one of those stimulating aspects of attending college. Heck, rowdy dorm parties, popping Plan B's, snorting coke from someone's fake boobs!

Bullshit. Diana had gotten into Stanford, too, and all of your thrilling anticipations of rooming with her vanished when she had to rescind her offer due to the scarcity of financial aid. She ended up committing to Virginia State University. At the other fucking end of the United States.

You had promised Diana to go above and beyond to fulfill those wild ideas about college. Guess what? Now, you were forced to live in a rusty dorm without your extravagant Palo Alto apartment, your best friend, and rooming with a weirdo.

And, of course, you still hadn't snorted coke out of anyone's fake boobs.

"Oh my god," you breathe out with a sigh of annoyance. You let the back of your head fall over the headboard of your bed as your hands reach up to rub your tired-looking eyes; your laptop is lying on your lap, screening the article you have to read for some core course. It's almost seven o'clock, and you are about to surrender and take a twelve-hour nap. 

You can't, though. Your eyes roam around and descend on your roommate's side: empty, noiseless, as if there wasn't someone there two hours ago. The apathy in your facial expression is prominent as you notice the cluttered desk, bed blankets hanging off, and wrinkled clothes over the floor. "How disgusting," you think, shaking your head and facing your laptop again, pushing it off your legs this time.

Your roommate was indeed something else. After swallowing against your will the miserable fact that you wouldn't room with Diana, your parents had already paid for Stanford on-campus housing, and it is what it is. A month before moving to California, you had seen the name of your designated roommate for the freshman year, Tashi Duncan.

You are not confident about the sort of woman Tashi is. Although you had been cordial and accommodating with her —even though you didn't want a roommate, she is not what you would call a friend. Tashi is a tennis player, apparently a very talented one, since many people around campus ridiculously fangirl over her  —but you don't know if it's because of her model-like physical complexion or her sports talent. Well, it's not like you care. But despite sharing a dorm room, Tashi's interactions with you are minimal and curt, and conversations with her are typically one-sided. She rises early and evaporates for the rest of the day.

Doubtful, you pick up your Nokia from the nightstand and quickly text her, "Wya?" to feel responsible –she has never done it, though. Since you live in an on-campus residence, entry isn't monitored until eight p.m. during the week, and you already know she won't arrive by that time. She probably won't arrive at all.

The anxious chewing on the bottom of your lip ceases when your phone vibrates with the "I'm staying at Art's x" message popping on the screen. A mix of relief, bliss, and sovereignty surges from your body's core. You don't know who Art is, but you've heard Tashi talk about him a couple of times, so you assume he is her boyfriend, sneaky link, or whatever freaky shit she would be up to. You briefly contemplate the text, instantly replying, "take care :)" and waiting for her not to respond.

You sit there, stunned for a hot minute, considering the countless activities you could do now that you are —and will remain—all alone. Mild daylight peers through the opened curtains, although it's getting dark. Your head slightly turns to the two-lite slider window between both beds, revealing the distinctive greens of the trees that reach your view—a typical Stanford campus panorama. 

The bedroom is ample; the floor is covered with cheap deep blue carpeting, and the walls have been sealed with a matte layer of pearl white. Your mural side is preciously decorated: polaroids, stickers, and decorative leds shimmering in a warm yellow tone adequate for winter, while Tashi's side is... three posters: two from random tennis players and a large Spider-man one. "What are we, ten-year-olds?" you murmur, eyes rolling back, exasperated as you sit in the sight of the oversized picture.

You really can't get what is so amusing about Tashi.

Your phone rings suddenly, and you sense your muscles twitch at the unexpected ringtone clashing against the lifeless four walls. A big "Diana" is written in black letters, blaring at you, which is a good sign of an enjoyable night. With no second thoughts, you pick up.

 "¡Hey girl!" are the first words you hear from your best friend. 

You haven't seen her since the summer break –four months ago–and time hasn't been your ally in terms of missing your friends. Diana and you always intended to attend college together; nevertheless, you can't predict anything about college. Now, she resided in Virginia, while you did in California. 

"I've missed you so fucking much," you grin against the phone, talking with enthusiasm. You stand up to walk to the shared kitchen, "how's everything been in Virginia?"

Diana scoffs at your question. "Do you for real think I called you to talk about boring-ass Virginia?" she mockingly complains, sarcasm dripping out of her voice. "The real question is, how's everything been in Cali?" she adds, half screaming the last two words.

Your humorous facial expression morphs into a disgraceful one. "Well, mediocre if you take out the fact I live in this dorm. Otherwise, pretty shit."

"At least it's a Stanford dorm," Diana points out, giggling.

"Well, you are partly right," you answer, now supporting your arms over the kitchen table, "I just wish it was my dorm at least and not Tashi's, you know."

"Right, your roommate; what's the deal with her?" she asks.

¿What's your deal with her? If this were a frankness competition, you'd undoubtedly roast her without needing to lie. Sharing an apartment with an entitled asshole who thinks she owns the place makes it challenging.

"She's not my type," you let out, sighing. "I've been trying to talk to her for God knows how long, and she doesn't give a shit," you pause to breathe through your nose, trying to keep your cool. "Like, I can't understand. Do you know how many people would love to room with me?"

Diana's gasp nearly pierces your eardrum, "She's such a bitch!"

"Yes! She is," you interrupt her, squeaking out your words. "Also, she brings dudes or the same dude, I don't know, like at least twice a week. She doesn't even care if I'm sleeping; what if I throw water at them next time?" you inquire decisively, not caring if your words sound nonsensical.

"You do you, girl," your friend says, slightly chuckling, "I assume she is not there now, isn't she?" 

You hum. "She isn't. She is at some dude's place. So that means I have the dorm for myself."

"Don't you care if she is safe or something?" Diana queries, almost instantly biting back a groan in response to your silence. "Yes, I know she's an asshole, but at least you should know. Some guys nowadays are creeps."

"I do, I do..." you hastily assure, your voice tone appeasing your friend's worries. "I do know the guy's name is something like Art, and I could find out his last name if I scroll through our chat. I'm pretty sure it's her current boyfriend. I've heard her talk about him."

"My God, that girl has some real action!" she hollers; a burst of mocking laughter spills out of her lips. "What about you, though? I miss hearing hookup stories from your side. Don't waste your time; Stanford has hot ass guys!"

And she was right. The amount of handsome guys around campus was not minor.

"You know what?" you say, pointing at the air as if you were talking to Diana in person, "I'm not even going to reply to that comment. I've been so focused on-"

Your words are cut off by urgent, loud knocks coming from the main door, "The fuck?" you think. Your jaw clenches but abruptly loosens as you realize Tashi can't be here after her presumptive schedule; you don't expect anyone.

And also, there's a rainstorm outside. 

"Was that knocking on the door?" Diana asks, and your attention goes back to the call. You hum in response.

"Yeah, and I'm not expecting anyone." you reaffirm while your hand reaches out to your little notebook, where you keep all the emergency numbers. You sigh out a frustrated "fuck" when you realize you don't have the number of the security guard downstairs. "I should check through the peephole; it's probably a dumbass mistake anyway," you add, trying to sound unbothered.

¿Who the fuck would sneak into an all-student residence? For what, to steal? You haven't bought groceries for two weeks. It would be a shitty investment of skill.

And obviously, you curse yourself under your breath for being such an exaggerated bitch. But, seriously, who would visit you?  Not even the wildest of your friends would wander across campus at night with this weather.

"Call me when you do it. I have to do some homework now," Diana demands, and you are snappy to obey and hang up the phone. 

You stay still, eyes stuck on the main white door. A minute passes with absolute silence encircling you until you hear the identical frantic knocking again. Same tempo, everything.

"Goddamn, relax," you murmur to yourself.

 It takes a couple of steps forward for you to approach the door and a single step to the front to see through the small peephole.

Your eyes wince slightly at the sight of a boy you've never seen in your life standing outside. You even feel the need to comically scratch your head as you notice a short-arm cast dressing up his right arm; how bizarre. "¿Is this mother-fucker trying to rob me?" you talk to yourself, making sure he doesn't hear you. Obviously, he'd predict any regular person to open the door without a doubt –"Poor boy, he's wearing a cast."

"He's too hot to be a thief," your mind suggests. And yes, he is. If you are one hundred percent honest, he seems like he would study at Stanford. He looks kind of familiar, even. You can't clearly analyze his features due to the lack of lighting in the hallway, but when his head tilts to the side, a sharp shadow forms under his jawline, and his blonde curls bounce along with his moves. 

You text Diana again. "hot boy at my door x"

Although suspicion is gnawing at the back of your mind, you open the door. With a gentle twist of your wrist, you turn the knob clockwise and cautiously swing the door inward. The hinges creak softly, and the chilly air from the hallway rushes in, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes narrow in recognition —and confusion—for a beat. A lightbulb suddenly flickers on in your mind.

"Hey..." the guy in front of you greets you softly and politely, his voice barely above a whisper.

You have seen his face around, but you can hardly remember his last name—Dawson, Davidson? Something like that.

"...Is Tashi around?" he asks, his voice carrying a note of desperation.

Your gaze rakes down his figure. He's wearing a Cardinal performance polo from Stanford and thin black polyester shorts, both soaked—presumably from the storm roaring outside. His chest rapidly rises and falls with each breath, and as if by carnal instinct, your eyes delineate the muscles of his abdomen tightening; the outline of his six-pack is visible through the soaking polo clinging to his torso. Tiny water beads accumulate along the strands of his blonde hair, glistening, growing heavier, and descending onto your doormat with soft plops.

He's hot as fuck, you think. Straight out of one of those cliché Teen People magazine covers. But it's not only his physique. Something about how he stands there, dripping wet, vulnerability mingling with his athletic build, piques your interest. It's sort of contradictory and sexy as fuck.

Your eyes drift down to your own outfit—pajama shorts and a crop top. It's not too practical, considering the chilliness from the residence hallway drives your nipples to react against the thin material of the top. His gaze falters for a second, lowering to your bare midriff, and you catch the way his cheeks redden. You hear how he chokes with his saliva.

But it’s bizarre, too. His functional—left—hand is grasping a large Smirnoff Ice bottle by its neck. Your features smooth out at the sight of the clear glass bottle containing one of your favorite low-alcohol cocktails.

It's a raw lure, just like the owner of the bottle.

But it's still bizarre. Because why is this hot-ass guy holding a delicious-ass drink standing outside of your dorm?

You pull your gaze away from the Smirnoff bottle. "Aren't you supposed to be hiding the booze?" you blurt out, raising a finger to point at the bottle.

Maybe your tone was too sardonic, or it was the uncaring disregard of the Tashi question because the blonde guy's face reddens in a deep shade of crimson —again—spreading rapidly from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. Aw, he's embarrassed. His eyesight shifts to the bottle, and he acts as if the bottle magically spawned in his left hand.

But you don't wanna spook the doll away.

You audibly clear your throat, trying to rectify your rudeness. "And no, Tashi's not here," you add, attempting to depict kindness and capture his attention again.

He stays silent. As the rosy hue of his cheeks vanishes, you can sense he's building up the courage to keep interrogating you. "Do you know where she is?" he timidly asks, gliding the bottle under his left arm as if trying to hide it now that his plans are ruined.

The guy's smoking hot but fricking awkward. It doesn't make sense. He's six feet tall, lean, handsome, and muscular; why is he acting all timid? He's standing past your doorframe, practically asking for clearance to trade words with you. It doesn't make sense.

"Yeah, she's staying with this Art guy. Maybe you know him," you say, gaze unconsciously disembarking again on the Smirnoff bottle.

The guy's eyebrows furrow and his blue eyes dart back and forth as if digging for an answer hidden in your dorm. His facial expression gradually shifts from puzzlement to realization and then to frustration.

"Son of a bitch..." he mutters under his breath, his voice laced with malice.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning amazement. "Sorry?"

It makes you wanna chuckle at the sudden, humorous switch in his expression.

He inhales sharply, his blue eyes scintillating with sadness and something deeper, perhaps a sense of betrayal? You don't know. "Are you sure Tashi's not here?" he questions again, the tone of his voice hardening. "I'm Art."

The prior flickering lightbulb turns into one illuminating your memory's dim corners. His facial features now have a name: Art Donaldson, another celebrated first-year tennis player. There aren't many Art's around, so the first time you heard his name —even before Tashi— falling out from one of your closest friends' lips on campus, you should've known it was him.

So if he’s Art, that means Tashi lied.

Shit. Tashi's cheating on this guy.

You hope he doesn't notice because you know a flicker of darkness is dancing across your eyes as the seed of an idea takes root in your mind.

A smirk curls your lips as you relish the scrumptious irony. "Oh, you're Art? The one Tashi talks about all the time?" you say, voice dribbling with mockery.

He doesn't respond; he just looks at you with those piercing blue eyes. But then he speaks, "Yeah, I guess..."

You seize the moment, reaching out and stealing the bottle of Smirnoff from beneath his arm. "Well, I guess I'll take this," you say, twisting the cap open and taking a long sip. "You won't need it, right?."

You know exactly what chord you want to strike.

Art's jaw tightens, his face a mix of irritation and helplessness, but he doesn't oppose. You can see his struggle and even sense how his mind races to make sense of the situation. He was expecting Tashi, who was not his girlfriend yet, but he had arranged this to get to know her better. Instead, he's faced with you—an unexpectedly attractive challenge.

And, of course, he wanted it. There was the initial shock at finding you instead of Tashi, but an undeniable attraction stirred something profound within him —a foreign sensation he hadn't felt before. And he's by no means a virgin or a "lame-ass," as Patrick would call him from time to time. Art knows how to have fun. But he's used to the upstarting idea that women must be salivating over merely hearing his name. That's why he obsessed over Tashi Duncan; she is dominant.

But of course, fucking Patrick had to take her tonight.

You lower the bottle, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "Or maybe you shouldn't go back to the rain," you say with a shrug, "you could come inside in case Tashi comes back, and I'd think about sharing the Smirnoff with you."

He hesitates.

You step aside, holding the door open wider. "You don't wanna go back to the rain, don't you?" you add with a mischievous grin.

For a heartbeat, he stands there, his resolve wavering. Then, with a resigned sigh, he steps forward, crossing the threshold into your college dorm like a lost puppy.

You close the door behind him, drawn to let out a scream when he's not looking after how things were interestingly evolving. The room grows warmer for Art and you, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken intentions from both sides. You take another sip of the Smirnoff, savoring the lemony taste. 

"Make yourself comfortable," you express, gesturing to the modest common area where the kitchen is. Art follows your lead, his movements stiff from the water and his arm cast.

He's about to push back the strap of his black Adidas duffel bag to roll it down his right arm —cause he was holding THAT and the Smirnoff bottle, when he turns to you and, contemplating his words, he speaks, "Do you think I can use your shower?"

"You would do it anyways if Tashi was here instead of me, so..."

Art takes that as a yes.

-

The bottle of Smirnoff sits nearly empty on the wooden night table beside your bed. Although you had explained earlier to Art that Smirnoff ice was "inoffensive alcohol," it hadn't failed to cultivate an effect of tipsiness in both of your warm bodies. Art's initial awkwardness had been disbanded by the bitterness of the alcohol coursing through his veins. And your mean facade had shifted into a more loquacious, sarcastic, and bold one.

The common area had grown colder. In one instance of exorbitant bravery, you offered to move to your room— Art had said yes way too fast. The space was cozier and filled with your personal touches.

Art is sitting on your bed, the back of his head supported against the wall, while you lie on your stomach beside him, propped up on your elbows, attentively hearing as he converses about another obscene anecdote of his. The dim yellow lighting from the led lights from your side of the wall casts a soft glow over both of you, making you equally horny and exhausted —the calming sound of the rainstorm outside didn't help.

Art had changed into a grey T-shirt with "Stanford Tennis" printed across the chest. His strawberry blonde hair is nearly dry and slightly tousled...

The rich, warm sound of Art laughing fills the room and clocks you out of the trance. "...I swear, I walk in and see Tashi doing some nasty, weird thing to him. The next morning was hell for him. I couldn't believe he was into that type of shit."

"God, was she pegging him?" you giggle, covering your eyes with the palms of your hands.

Art chuckles, shaking his head. "You don't want me to get more explicit."

You pout playfully. "Don't be an asshole. Tell me." 

Art raises an eyebrow, intrigued, half-smirking. "Why are you so interested? Are you going through abstinence?"

The truth is yes but against your will. The bad thing is that you can't filter the information spilling out of your mouth whenever you drink.

"Depends. Are you gonna bully me if I say yes?" you ask, looking up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

The rhetorical question prompts Art to tilt his head, confused. "I'm not a playboy myself. And also..." he slightly lifts his right arm with the cast, alluding to it. "After my injury, I can't do much."

Your thoughts started tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. You started picturing too many scenarios where Art would still be able to fuck with the arm cast on. The amount of vivid, fleeting mental scenarios internally summoning the attention you couldn't provide right now makes you feel physically ill and euphoric.

"That is not true."

He giggles again, a sound that causes your heart to flutter despite your mind warning you about potential word vomiting. "Well, I can't even jerk it off. Is that enough for you?"  

"Not really. There's plenty of stuff you can still do. Ask someone to give you a blowjob or something," You suggest, way more convinced of your comment than you should. 

Art’s natural smirk fades as he processes your sentence, his eyes squinting as if he's about to test something. He's holding back a chuckle, "That's a wild thing to say to someone you met two hours ago." 

You roll your eyes in feigned annoyance, "Don't tell me you are one of those people who think sex is taboo."

"Hey, no, I'm not." He raises his left hand in front of you, palm open and facing outward. "Asking someone to suck my dick is just gonna give me a fat restraining order."

At this point, the notion of reality has altered for you. Not much, but to the extent things that would commonly make you pause and reconsider your life choices now seemed perfectly reasonable, even hilarious. "Asking this guy I just met to fuck me? Awesome!" You think. You feel an overwhelming sense of camaraderie, a genuine tie to Art, fueled by the shared silliness of the circumstances and nasty anecdotes of this so-called Patrick. 

"Oh, please..."  You wave your hand carelessly as if waving away his absurd comment. "Who would put a restraining order over that?"

"What would you do if someone asked you to suck their dick?" 

But, before replying, you push yourself up onto your knees. The bed creaks softly as you shift, and you slide your legs out from under you, moving to sit cross-legged on the bed. 

"So?" he insists as you finish changing your position.

"Oh my god. Well, it depends on who's asking." 

Your last words hang in the air between you and Art, electrifying and charged with suggestive tension. Predisposing yourself to Art's potential lack of boldness, you let the tipsiness strip away your remaining self-respect. "If you asked me, I wouldn't say no," you add.

Your words cut through the alcohol-induced haze like a sharp blade, leaving Art momentarily sober. It's difficult for him to think properly. It feels like a thick fog full of thoughts and bitter rememberings encircles him, but you cannot see it. 

He helplessly daydreams about the scenario where this is Tashi instead of you, tossing salacious remarks at him and attending to whatever crap he chooses to say. But it isn't. He doesn't know you properly; he hasn't seen your serve or even how you hold a tennis racquet. And you haven't seen much from him either.

Patrick doesn't know about you either. His Patrick, with the captivating smile and the big-dick aura. The one that has been setting him up with women forever, as if he couldn't do it on his own. 

That's how he realizes the attraction towards you —even if purely carnal, is authentic and unpretentious. It's not polluted with anything else. You aren't flirting with him because you eventually want to mess around with Patrick. 

There's bone-deep curiousness humming through Art's veins, but he won't fuck up the first time a gorgeous girl wants to fuck him.

"Then I guess I should ask you," Art states, attempting to maintain his voice steady as his heart plummets.

You lean in closer, your faces now inches apart. The dim glow of the led lights casts a golden hue over your skin, making the moment feel even more surreal for Art. “Good, 'cause I have wanted to do you since you knocked on my door." 

The familiar aching warmth starts to pool at the bottom of your abdomen as Art's lips attack yours, parting them with easiness; you kiss him fiercely, savoring a mixture of Smirnoff Ice and spearmint. Art kisses you like he's starved of it; he slips his tongue inside like he has been patiently deferring his devilish invasive thoughts. He is, damn, a wonderful kisser. Flawlessly proportional: immodest, licking into your mouth, so sexually arousing, at the same time so tender, holding you close with such courtesy it makes you want to scream.

With the strength of his left hand, he draws your body closer to his, deepening his mouth as much as possible on yours. The contact makes your stomach jolt, tardily falling into account you are blending Art's masculine scent with yours. Art's upper-body muscles harden at the ecstasy, and the subtle contour of the veins on his arm arises on his skin, popping out as he possessively grasps your waist.

Between wet kisses, his mouth quakes as he lets out a hushed chuckle, "Wait, is it true... what you said?" he mutters into your mouth and raises your chin, taking a pair of hot seconds to look at you straight in the eye.

You relish the sensation of his fingers racing down your waist and descending on your hips, gently squeezing; your hands are holding onto the nape of his neck, caressing his skin. You kiss him again and roll his bottom lip between your teeth, "I've never wanted to fuck anyone so bad," you husk into his ear, words purring as you teasingly lick his ear lobe, lowering the wet kisses until you end up licking down his throat. You trail soft, open-mouthed kisses down his skin; your nails scratch lightly over his back, folding at the sensation of his warmness capturing yours.

Art swears he's about to pass out.

You swing one leg over his lap, carefully straddling him. Art wastes no time, lining his hips with yours, pressing and grinding, compelling your body to feel small in his presence; the mean grip of his hand drops to the end of your back, slowly running down your sides to cup your ass over your pajama shorts, slowly plunging his fingers on your skin. Quick, discreet moans slip out of your mouth, each one driving Art to his edge. The hardness of his cock pushes against your pussy, making you gasp between kisses. 

Your cheeks prick with heat as you hear a clap sound, a slap against someone's skin: your skin. Art spanked your ass rough, and you could anticipate the red handprint remaining in your butt for a couple of hours. His hand smacks again, grasping the over-sensitive plush of your ass at the end, making your muscle throb, "Art!" you whimper, squirming.

"Don't be too loud," he whispers against your neck, demanding.

Art's lips trail down your jawline; his breath catches in his throat every time the aroma of you transits to his chest. You tilt your head back to grant him better access, and your vision goes fuzzy as you discern Art's teeth sucking and biting on your neck, "...d-don't mark my neck," you add between whimpers, piercing his eardrum in the most sensual way imaginable.

"Can I mark this, then?" he snaps back, his right-hand cupping one of your tits over the material. The lustfulness creeping through your body evolves into dizziness, changing how your heart palpitates.

You overtake him and take your crop top swiftly without wanting to see him making extra effort. You audibly gasp when he determines to bury his face between your tits, his thumb and pointing finger skillfully rubbing and then rolling your nipples between his fingertips. 

You are so fucking overwhelmed. Art realizes, and with a wicked smirk plastered on his face, he gives a low coo, "You are so sensitive-"

"Shut the fuck up," you cuss softly, thrusting your chest out, slightly arching your back at the filling sensation. A slimy coverage of saliva grows over your left nipple; Art's mouth works over your bud, flicking with his tongue, making you impossibly wet, "Art, please, I need-"

"Need what?" he glances up at you, neglecting your nipples coated in spit, the cool breeze clashing against your skin and prickling your dermis with goosebumps. 

You pant under your breath as his fingers play with the waistband of your shorts. You grab his hand and put it away, "I'll take care of you."

Your gaze descends to admire the outline of his cock, pushing against the thin fabric of his shorts.  "Let me taste you," you beg, tracing a finger down his chest and reaching the waistband of his shorts.

"Pretty convenient since I can't do much, huh?" Art suppresses a laugh. 

You don't say much. You come off his lap to drag him to the end of the bed, feet touching the carpeted ground. As you sink lower, you unconsciously smile at the things you will tell Diana tomorrow. 

You squat down on your feet, your hands positioned on Art's thighs, supporting your body in case you lose balance. You palm his clothed dick, rubbing your fingertips against the slim layer of clothing, anticipating how much you'll be able to fit in your mouth; you shoot Art an incredulous look, enjoying his heavy-lidded, lustful grimace. 

Your fingers hook around the waistband of those goddamn shorts, sliding them down, along with his underwear. In one fluid motion, his cock springs free with his reddening, glistening tip slapping against his stomach. 

You think this is the perfect situation to overpraise him. You assume these guys love it. Tennis players with a big ego —and a big dick.

"You are so big, Donaldson," you praise, prolonging the word so seductively and not breaking eye contact with the blonde guy. You admire him, captivated by how his Adam's apple twitches; he gulps.

Your fingers wrap around his length, gripping his base, starting to stroke, gingerly moving from base to tip, stopping to rub his swollen tip and spread pre-cum along his shaft, simulating lube. His muscles tremble at the touch, yanking at your hair. You dart your tongue out, flattening it, licking his cock up and down, kitten-licking his thick tip and sweeping your lips across it, loudly slurping the shiny, gooey substance leaking from his dick. Art's torso feels deficient in oxygen as you lock eyes with him, simultaneously stroking his cock mercilessly, sucking on his head; his lungs ache for air.

You bob your head slightly, and your mouth opens wide, taking him further and increasing your pace. Your mouth is warm and wet; he can't wait to stretch other holes if you feel exceptionally good like this. 

"How does it feel?" you take a look at Art's journey, who has his head thrown back. You want him so bad to praise you back. When his head returns to its place, you meet eyes with him and give a tantalizing squeeze to his cock, eager for more reaction. His fingers jump to run through his hair, exasperated.

You don't —and can't know that Art is holding it back already. He's been holding it back since the moment you straddled him, and he could feel the warm wetness of your pussy over his throbbing dick. 

In desperation, he pushes your head, positioning your lips straight over his dick, "Please, princess," you obey and put it inside your mouth again.

He lets out a groan when his tip hits the back of your throat, making you gag. You try to relax and breathe through your nose, allowing him to hit it constantly, deep-throating his length, drooling over his cock, swallowing around him. He strains his hips forward, tugs your hair, and essentially fucks your throat without requiring you to do anything but suck and be good for him.

His breathing becomes erratic, and you feel the muscles of his legs unconsciously twitching. He's close.

When his hand on your hair pushes you up, you resist and stay there for longer, anxiously waiting for his cum to hit your throat. With a rough jerk of his hips, you finally taste his sperm filling your mouth. You swallow it.

"Shit," Art mutters, hyperventilating and staring at you with heavy-lidded eyes. "You just made me reconsider if I'm still precocious."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Or maybe I give good head?" 

After catching his breath, his eyes fall over your figure. There's something so amusing about you, and it's definitely not the remaining mix of cum and spit over the corners of your mouth.

It's just you.

The rain continues to fall outside, a steady rhythm that matches the pulse of his heartbeat. It wasn't the post-nut clarity that made him philosophical, but he can genuinely feel that the only thing that matters is how amazing he has felt around you.

Art breaks the silence. "Let me take you out tomorrow night." 

-

[zweiginator]

i crave inexperienced art like air. he’s never touched anyone except himself so his first time with you is a flurry of questions. “is this good?” “there?” “too much?” he’s so sickeningly sweet about it to the point you have to just take control. whether it’s his hand or his dick, you forcefully grab either and show him how while getting yourself there. he’s moaning and spilling in his pants like he’s 15 again. (i’m ovulating and going INSANE rn.)

mmmm art who is repressed. art whose grandma is very traditional and wants her grandson to be respectable, kind, and masculine in the chivalrous, soft way as the young men in her generation were.

so while she never outright said art should save himself, he would be far too guilty if he had sex. so he doesn't.

and as a twenty year old sophomore in college, he has done a good job at fulfilling this promise. he's only touched himself a handful of times; he doesn't remember how each time began--he just felt like he had to.

but after each time, each desperate thrust into his fist, each pass of his thumb over his aching cockhead, each time he came until he was shaking and out of breath--he felt so guilty. just dirty.

he can't imagine how bad he will feel after having real sex.

and he doesn't even worry about the possibility until he meets you. a pretty girl in his class who is so kind. you're so airy. he doesn't know how to explain himself or exactly what that means--he guesses that you're just sort of like a big breath. you feel good, natural, easy.

he can't help himself, looking at your body. his eyes pass over you and he wonders, like a pervert--like a bad, bad boy--what you look like underneath your clothes. the perk of your nipples, the curve of your breast. he wonders how your waist would feel. and he is really, really curious about your pussy. he's never seen one. but he doesn't just want to look it up to quench that thirst, that desire. he only wants to see yours.

you come over to his house to study quite a bit. you like how sweet he is. so hospitable; he always has drinks and a snack waiting for you. always listens to your ideas. always compliments how smart you are.

but art feels like a monster. he feels like a wretched excuse for a man. because whenever you leave, he has to touch himself. he gets that same ache in his stomach, his balls. he needs to cum. he hates that word, but it's true. he spits in his hand and fucks his fist and dreams of it being you. dreams of you taking from him, taking his virginity. having him all for yourself. whatever you fucking want, he would give it to you. your name spurts from his mouth like the ropes of cum that coat his hands.

and he scrubs his body raw afterwards. hates himself.

but soon, touching himself isn't enough. the more you come over to study, the more he gets those evil aching sensations but not to touch himself--to touch you. your skin looks so soft. you smell so good. your lips are glossy. he likes how they curl up when you smile.

he cuts you off as you're talking.

"can i please kiss you?" his request is quiet, his voice full of trepidation.

"yes. i was wondering when you would."

art didn't realize you were waiting for him. he launches forward. to hover on top of you on the couch. he's lazily made out with a girl before, but it wasn't anything serious, and they both sucked at it.

art's kisses are eager, his lips ache for more the second they close upon your own. he wants to do it again and again. so his mouth opens wider and he experiments. pushes his tongue against yours. he moans into your mouth, moans your name again and again. he's so desperate to touch you, but he doesn't know how. you push his hand under your shirt; you're not wearing a bra.

he feels the impossibly supple skin, the peak of your nipples.

"fuck--" he whimpers, rolling it between his fingers.

this time you moan. it makes him so hard. he doesn't know how someone could be this hard.

"is this good? do you like this?" the way art asks it isn't in the sexually charged way, it's a sincere question; he's worried he's doing a bad job. that you don't like this.

but you pull him back in. a 'yes' rolls from your lips as you nibble on his and your hand snakes down his torso. he's toned an hard there. he's harder when you feel his cock, straining.

and when you palm him, it's lazy. but art mewls against the corner of your mouth; he's basically drooling. his mouth falls open and you realize he's cumming. his hips jerk and he hides his face because god, that's embarrassing.

"we gotta get your stamina up." you whisper against his neck.

art nods and bites back a smile because you said we and not you.

[buttercuparry]

Siraj's campaign is stagnating!! At $25,435 CAD and with the collection of only $280 CAD in 10 hours we are far behind the schedule if we want to collect 30k within this week!

Siraj does not have time. Yes, it is true that he is not evacuating but you do realize that, this puts him in more of a danger right?? Anything can happen to him at any moment! In fact let this be a reminder that he can only get online after travelling 3km everyday to reach an Internet point, where he can access a hotspot connection in exchange of exorbitant amount of money.

His daily route puts him in the way of scrutiny of occupation forces. And Siraj has said that there already have been shellings and death on that route.

This fundraiser has been set up, so that Siraj can start rebuilding his home. This is his dream, and in Gaza where we all know that there is no safety, the peace of a steady campaign is all Siraj has!

Once again I remind you that being in Gaza is dangerous! Gazans cannot afford endless time. Anyone can be targeted at any moment. Every second during which a campaign stagnates, it pushes the end goal farther away and anything can happen in this the time!! What use an unfinished campaign will be for Siraj, if something happens to him? Who will fulfill his promise to his family?

Siraj's son is currently sick. He cannot campaign like he has been for past however many months. Everyday is a struggle for Siraj- everyday life in Gaza is becoming more and more expensive due to an engineered scarcity! Everyday Siraj tries his best to race against time to collect the funds that would help him rebuild.

Siraj does not want to leave Gaza. He wants to survive and rebuild! Please do not let this campaign stagnate anymore than it already has!!

If it is incentive you want, then I can tell you there are 2 art commissions going on for Siraj.

1. @sheplaysbassdotmp3 is doing art commissions for every $10 CAD donated to Siraj. Any character/ship sketches of your choice- barring nsfw. Please check out her pinned for more details.

If you are into music, then she also has her beautiful drawings of artists like Chappell Roan!

2. @imjustheretotrytohelp also has opened art commissions for Siraj. You will get half body sketches if you donate $15 and bust sketches for $9. Characters, OC, fanarts- barring nsfw. Check out her pin for more details, about the commissions.

Both of these artists are trying their best to help! Please do your part too. Boost and Donate! There has been very very little donations as compared to the posts going around for Siraj. This cannot happen!! We need to reach 30k by this week!!

( vetting from Hussein and nabulsi on their spreadsheet at no:219)

[eamour]

the significance of the now.

we already know that the past is what we assume it was, the future is what we believe it will be and the present is what we currently think it is. but the present is a lot more meaningful than past and future. why? because we can only exist NOW.

you are, now. 

you may change who you are, but not the fact that you are. you may change what you have, but not the fact that you have. see, you can never escape your "I AM". you are, all the time and every time. it is important to keep in mind that you always ARE, something or someone. you are consciousness, conditioned. you are self-defined awareness. and thus, you re-invent yourself daily. you shouldn’t just "change" your now, you should OWN your now. if you, however, want to change it, you can trade it for a NEW and BETTER now whenever and wherever you want. 

be it, now. 

in order to be who you want to be now, in order to have what you want to have now, you need to be PRESENT. you need to be HERE. you need to be in the MOMENT. to be present means to experience your imagination the way you wish to experience it. it means to accept your imaginal acts as the CURRENT reality and view the imaginative act as the PRESENT truth. it means to feel as if it’s really happening to you right now, as if it’s taking place on the inside, almost as well as on the outside. and once you feel your act in imagination to be present, you will naturally feel fulfilled, satisfied and secure. you will feel complete because you have filled the void of desire. 

new, now.

i want to share to something edward art told in one of his lectures. he said that instead of being afraid to change, be more afraid of not changing. be more scared of remaining the same. because there’s one undeniable principle: if you change, you will change. if you try to change, you may change. but if you don’t do any of these, you will stay as you are. that’s guaranteed. that’s promised.

you can change, now. 

you can be anyone, now. 

you can have anything, now

with love, ella

[lepiota-cybe-yippee]

THE NARILAMB ART IS HERE! I got caught up with life stuff, sorry for the delay- then again I'm inconsistent af so LMAO. I hope you guys enjoy~!

Lamb: "I brought you a flower Nari~!" Narinder: "Why have you brought me this?" Lamb: "Well, you said it was pretty dull in here. saying you're bored seeing only limbo, aym and baal, and the tome crosses everywhere- so I brought you a flower so you can have a little change in scenery." Narinder: "hmph.. it would take far more than a simple flower to be considered.. a 'change'." Lamb: "then- I'll get you more flowers! I get a hold field of them and bring it here to you! I promise!" Narinder: He scowled "Do not promise me something you cannot fulfill." Lamb: "Hey! I mean it! I'll get you that field of flowers!" Narinder: "I doubt that." he vanishes lamb back to the living realm "That damned foolish lamb..." he stares at the flower the Lamb left behind, and would crush it with his thumb "....They are a mortal, and I am a god. Do they take me for a fool?"

[metranart]

♡Masterlist♡

Helloooo, I'm Metranart! I write smut with plot/fanfiction and draw spicy art for my own stories. You can find me on the next plataforms:

✅ Patreon: patreon.com/Metranart

✅ Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/metranart

✅ Twitter: https://twitter.com/metranart

✅ Subscribestar: https://subscribestar.adult/metranart

✅ Email: metranart@gmail.com

A couple of my faves are: jjk, tokyo revengers, my hero academia, demon slayer, Naruto, one piece, genshin impact, among others. Tumblr doesn't let me put my naughty stuff here (since they already shadow banned me once lol) so you'll have to go to my Patreon for a more fulfilling experience, there you will find complete stories with nsfw art and animations (like this one). If you got some extra cash that you can spare, I promise you won't be disappointed ♡

I love getting comments on my content and I highly appreciate every single reblog (those make my day!)

So don't be shy and reblog your ass out lol By the way if you are a minor do not interact with my blog, I don't allow minors since the stuff I write its pretty much, adult content.

——————————————————————————

♡ TOKYO REVENGERS ♡

MIKEY X READER X DRAKEN: PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / PART 5 / PART 6 / PART 7 / PART 8 / PART 9

MIKEY X READER: PART 1 / PART 2

MITSUYA TAKASHI X READER: PART 1 / PART 2

VAMPIRE AU! MIKEY X READER X SHINICHIRO: PART 1 / PART 2

ALPHA! MIKEY X OMEGA! READER: MY OMEGA

MIKEY/DRAKEN/BAJI/MITSUYA/SHINICHIRO X READER: LEARNING TO SHARE

♡ SHORT DRABBLES ♡

MITSUYA TAKASHI X READER: CHOKE ME

♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN ♡

SUGURU GETO X READER: MINE

TOJI FUSHIGURO X READER: OH BABY

YUTA X READER: YOURS

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO X READER: LOVE ME

KNIGHT! SUKUNA X PRINCESS! READER: MY PRINCESS

SATORU X READER X SUGURU: OURS

ALL! JJK MEN X READER (ISEKAI): BE OUR WORLD

GOJO X READER X GETO (My one and only wants you, so he’ll have you)

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / PART 5 / PART 6 / PART 7 / PART 8 / PART 9 / PART 10

♡ SHORT DRABBLES ♡

Jealous! Gojo Satoru

How would the JJK guys react to you getting their lips tattooed on you

Obsessed! Yuji and Sukuna

Obsessed! Nanami Kento

♡ MY HERO ACADEMIA ♡

HAWKS X DABI: JAIL TIME IN MY LAP

HAWKS X READER

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / PART 5 / PART 6 / PART 7 / PART 8 / PART 9 / PART 10 / PART 11 / PART 12 / PART 13 / PART 14

BAKUGOU & DABI X READER: CHOOSE ME

♡ SHORT DRABBLES ♡

Things they say when in bed with you (Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Shigaraki)

[headlines-headlines]

NEVER-ENDING FOREST.

𝐆𝐢𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫! 𝐟! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

★ 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲! Ubuyashiki sends you and Tomioka on an important mission. However, you both need to get... creative... to fulfill your task and make it back in one piece.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! female bodied reader, smut, intoxication (sex dust), fingering, pet name use (baby), rough + raw sex, creampie.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.3k words...

𝐚/𝐧: i had the bright idea of Tomioka turning into lowk a soft dom with the help of an aphrodisiac ;^). enjoy! (divider: @cafekitsune)

"Be well my children, please return to us safely," Master Ubuyashiki replied, dismissing the two Pillars in front of him to begin their journey down to the Garment District. 

"Yes master, of course," You answered, both you and Tomioka rising from your deep bows.

Currently, at the Ubuyashiki estate, you, [L/n] [F/n], and Tomioka Giyuu, were summoned by Master Ubuyashiki due to a troubling alert from a village near the Demon Slayer headquarters. The threat entailed a demon who wiped out several smaller villages nearby, each in the span of a night, simply with the ability to reduce multitudes of people into a trance-like state. This time, it found its way to a larger village crucial to the garment supply for the Demon Slayer headquarters, already devastating a handful of other closely connected communities. 

Many slayers were dispatched in earlier stages of the threat, but none have returned from their missions. The common result was dismembered slayers deep within the forest, or locals dropping dead to the ground from sheer exhaustion first, before being eaten unconsciously. Villages would report signs of a sweet-smelling scent and barely translucent fog emanating from deep in the forest, with even slight ingestion of it causing overwhelming heat and physical excitement. It was a tricky task, not only wiping out a notorious demon but fighting an invisible foe, its blood demon art. 

It was decided that two Pillars, close in rank would go investigate the issue and dispose of the threat immediately before the demon made its appearance by nightfall. Knowing you were already acquainted with your fellow Pillar, Ubuyashiki decided Tomioka's calm and calculated attitude complimented your quick initiative and undying drive. Over the past few months, you had begun to bring him out of his isolated shell. By befriending him, it led him to open up more,  having a noticeable effect on the other Pillars as well. Leave it to Light Pillar [F/n]'s radiating beauty, and soft, bubbly demeanor to finally melt his cold exterior. 

This was not the first mission the two of you have gone on, however. A similar, and even longer tactical mission preceded this one, so naturally, you held no qualms about working with Tomioka once more. He was super thoughtful and charming, albeit a bit quiet, but never gave you any glaring issues to worry about. Despite you both bumping heads from time to time due to your more extroverted personality, Tomioka came to appreciate the friendly dynamic you shared. 

Exiting the premises, your eyes pointed to the sky, watching both of your crows circle around each other before calling out to you, directing your path. At your side, Giyuu set a brisk pace while you matched him, turning back to wave a cheery "Goodbye!" to a few of the other Pillars gathered at the gate to send you off. 

You were prepared to complete your duty as a Pillar, ending the incessant destruction of the Smoke demon that hid in the forest.

• • • 

It was 30 minutes before midnight, the exact time when the first waves of translucent fog would start to seep into the village. After reserving temporary lodging, you and Tomioka had gone into the forest, listening for the hissing whispers that would urge locals and Slayers alike deeper into the looming trees and dense foliage. The demon would coax its victims into the darkness, promising their sweetest desires whilst intoxicating them with smoke. By the time they would reach the owner of the voice, it would be too late. The once straight path would become eternally long, with no discernible way out. One would have already lost control of their limbs and basic motor functions, unable to fight back, or even tear their eyes away from the horrifying sight of a ravenous demon.  

The plan was to entrap the smoke demon during its preparations to disperse the poison. The safety of the villagers came first, so eliminating the demon's ability to use its blood art was key. After locating it, you were to disable and behead the demon without casualties and make it out of the supposed never-ending forest. You and Tomioka concealed your breathing techniques in order to mask your presence, diving straight into combat from the shadows. You watched as the figure of a woman morphed into a creature built from the forest terrain. It was a disfigured humanoid shape, with vines slithering up her body, full of flowers you assumed held the contents of that sweet-smelling fog.  By catching it off guard, you were able to render quick slices with your blade along her limbs, severing not only the flowers but whatever body part was unlucky enough to be underneath. 

Your attack proved to be effective, but not without consequences. Instead of regenerating a new limb, the gaping hole swole up with a giant flower, shooting its mist directly into your face, and throwing you several meters back. Breathing it in so densely almost paralyzed your lungs from shock. You coughed and sputtered, as you hit the ground. Driving your sword into the dirt, you steadied yourself to rise to your feet, keeping a faint eye out for any further strikes, but watched as Tomioka swooped in to sever the newly formed appendage. It caught on, sending a few puffs of smoke his way as he effortlessly weaved between them, closing the distance. Finally finding an opening, Tomioka drove his nichirin sword into the shoulder of the demon, using his water-breathing form to slice across, effectively taking its head off its shoulders. However, hoping to make a grand exit, the demon's fallen limbs burst into smoke, shrouding the area with airborne poison before vaporizing. Tomioka had already taken a heavy couple of breaths before slamming his haori to his nose, trying to prevent further smoke inhalation. 

"Curse you Slayers... I would have torn apart your headquarters by now... if it weren't for your meddling swordsmen," The demon spat, choking bitterly from being beheaded.  

Her body began to burn and vaporize underneath the bright moonlight, the poisonous secretions from her skin dispersing into the air. There was soon nothing left of her, not even the long, extravagant, robes she adorned herself with.

Tomioka's chest heaved from fatigue, drops of sweat running down his temple. He watched sternly as all traces of the demon disappeared, before releasing a long exhale. It was now eerily quiet, the long assault finally over. You both had succeeded, protecting a village from total annihilation once more. 

Before getting a chance to celebrate, he felt a certain light-headedness seize him, forcing him to take a step back to regain his balance. The mist that was now vanishing had managed to up the temperature of the surrounding area by a few degrees. It was a little unnerving, but he realized you both would have to endure whatever effects may result from ingesting various amounts of the demon's blood art. It was non-lethal, with the worst side effect reported to be dropping unconscious. He would stay in close proximity to you for the rest of the night, deciding it was better to monitor your reaction since you took most of the damage.

Pulling himself together, he turned his attention to you in the distance. 

You stood several feet away, hunched over, unable to move as the stiffening heat encased every fiber of your being. 

Your knees buckled underneath you as you felt your body's heat intensify. There was a sinister warmth pooling between your legs and shooting up your spine. You knew it was too late to hope to reverse the demon's blood art, so you doubled down, deciding to bear it. You tried your best to steady your breath as you sank to the ground, your heartbeat hammering in your ribcage while the effects of the fog settled into your body. 

"[F/N]!" Giyuu's strained voice called out to you, regardless if you could hear him or not. He had missed most of the demon's final smoke attack, but started to feel his chest tighten at the sight of you on your knees, breathing heavily. He was nearly exhausted making his way over to you, but after seeing you ingest so much smoke, there was nothing more important in this moment than making sure you were okay. He would get you out of here safely if it was the last thing he did. Protecting you was the final part of his mission. 

It was then as if the temperature of the area skyrocketed. As Tomioka approached you, the air grew thick, and time slowed down as everything grew hazy around him. He could only really hear how hard he was breathing, and his focus was lasered in on your figure, wanting to make it to you as quickly as possible. As his footsteps grew closer, you hurriedly outstretched your arm towards him, aiming to halt his advances.

"No! Don't come any closer!" You cried out, panicking because you knew what was happening to you. This poison... resembled the effects of an aphrodisiac, however, almost hundreds of times more potent than a natural one. You didn't want to embarrass yourself in front of your fellow Pillar, the state you were in could put you both in a very compromising position. Regardless, Tomioka ignored your warning and pushed on, soon dropping to his knees with a 'thud' at your lefthand side.

"Are you alright?!" His sturdy hands came up to grip your shoulders, a worried expression all over his face. "Do you feel anything?" He questioned you. 

Your body felt hot all over, and his touches were scalding, you needed him away from you before it was too late. You tried to turn away from him, avoiding his eyes, but his grip was unwavering, holding you in place. 

"Get away from me. ...Please Giyuu," you quietly begged him, unable to explain what was making you so flustered. You brought a hand to his chest, slightly pushing him away to maintain your distance. A shade of pink dusted your cheeks as you felt his eyes scan your body, examining you so closely. 

"Not until you tell me what's happening," he insisted, suddenly fixated on the way your chest heaved as you took in deep breaths. 

"It's just, really, really hot," you half-lied. A light layer of sheen was starting to gather on your forehead, and you reached up to unbutton the first few buttons of your collar. 

"Here, take this off," He insisted, quickly reaching over to slide off your haori, and placing your sword with it on the ground next to you. His haori joined yours as he too, tried to escape the heat creeping up his legs, spine, and into his face and chest. 

You fanned yourself to no avail, closing your eyes to ignore the growing pulsating feeling of your nether regions. Taking off your haori proved to be useless, as you expected. You would do almost anything to relieve this maddening sensation all over your body and just prayed that Giyuu was in a better position than you right now. What good would it do if you were both like this? You couldn't help but let your mind wander, giving an inkling of attention to the idea of how you both could help each other out.

"I feel like... it's getting worse," Giyuu interrupted your thoughts, his breaths becoming more and more labored as seconds passed on. He scanned the area looking for any signs of life before it hit him that the never-ending forest path you two were stuck in must've been tied to the demon's blood art as well. Although the demon's life had been taken, and all effects should have ceased by now, it still persisted, locking the both of you in a trance-like state, still affecting your perception of your surroundings. Until it wore off, there was no escape for either of you. 

His eyes darted back to you, still full of concern. If he was unable to get you both out of here, he could at least find some way to help you.

"[F/n]. You need to tell me what you're feeling, maybe there's a way to reverse this. But, I don't... I don't remember there being an antidote...," Giyuu was unable to piece any of his thoughts together. It was starting to become increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything at all. Anything other than how... how beautiful you looked right now. Your eyes were trained on the ground, but he still lingered on the way your lashes fluttered open and closed. And the way your pretty lips were agape, sucking in short breaths. Your quiet whimpers triggered something sleeping deep within him, with the sound of your voice making his dick twitch to life in his uniform.

'It can't be....,' a very suggestive thought flickered in Giyuu's mind as he started to vaguely grasp what he was feeling. If the effects of the poison turned out to be what he thought it was, it would be an embarrassingly long amount of hours before the two of you made it out of this forest.

"It's the blood demon art... it's supposed to make you...," You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence. You were starting to not trust your own voice. You didn't even know what to say. You couldn't bring yourself to tell him, 'by the way Tomioka, this might be sex dust. we're supposed to start fucking to get rid of it.' Poor dude probably thinks there's an antidote somewhere. Unbeknownst to you, it just clicked in his brain what he needed to do. And as the water Pillar, it was his duty to do what he must to protect others. Especially a friend like you, a beautiful swordswoman at his side.

"It's alright, we can figure this out. I just need you to trust me." He cut you off calmly, moving behind you and leaning against a tree a couple of inches away. 

"Huh? What're you...," you started, squeaking as Giyuu pulled your back taught to his chest in a tight embrace, knees on either side, effectively trapping you. Reaching around to your front, he began indiscriminately popping open the rest of the buttons to your uniform jacket. You were only in your bindings underneath, which barely held up after the intense fight with the demon. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the way he was glued to your backside. You knew the effects of the aphrodisiac had finally caught up to him, feeling him clench his teeth as his jaw was pressed to your temple. He slipped your jacket off, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes on the ground. 

"Hold on!" You wailed, nervousness choking you up completely. What was he doing? There was no way the quiet, stone-cold Giyuu Tomioka would participate in such erotic acts, even if it meant failing to return from a mission. You honestly didn't even think he had it in him to be so boldly sexual. You underestimated the level of carnal lust he had been holding back, simply to not disturb the peace of your friendship.

"I know I can help you, [f/n]. Forgive me," He exhaled, propping a finger under your chin to tilt your head back up toward him. His eyes were a shade darker, but you could see the traces of concern and desperation etched into his features. He leaned forward to lock his lips with yours, snaking a hand behind your head to nestle in your hair. His lips were soft and warm as he kissed you. You hesitated but moved your lips in sync as his tongue licked your bottom lip. Your mouth parted almost immediately, allowing his tongue to enter, tangling with yours. His tongue pushed into your mouth, hotly sucking on yours as he lightly moaned into the kiss. Seconds later, he pulled away with a quiet exhale, drinking in the sight of you with your face flushed and lips now swollen and pink. 

"These need to come off though," he sighed with disapproval, motioning towards your feet.

A hand slid down your leg, lifting it up to slip off your Geta sandal. Reaching over to your other leg, he popped off your remaining shoe.

"Are those...?" his breath was caught in his throat as he trailed his hands up your legs and lifted up your skirt, revealing the thigh-high socks you wore under your uniform.

You groaned as you felt Giyuu's palms slide over the tops of your thighs and slip underneath your uniform skirt, hands finding their way to the cotton material of your socks. 

"And definitely these too..." He sighed by your ear, his voice so deep it almost held a growl.

Your breath hitched as you felt two thumbs hook under your socks, intent on pushing them down your legs. Even in your hazy, lust-drunken state, you realized your socks were still connected to your panties by thin garter clips. By pulling your socks down, he could end up pulling your already-soaked panties down with them. Your resolve was already crumbling in this compromising position, but the risk of being exposed would shatter it completely. You were fighting off this 'poison' the best you could, but Tomioka's heated breath right next to your ear and slowly hardening length against the curve of your ass wasn't making it any easier. 

"G-Giyuu! Enough! 'Hng... you- you can't!" You panted frantically. Your hands wrapped around and strained against both of his wrists, heart thumping wildly as you watched him struggle to inch your socks down. 

"Just... Just let me take these off. You're overheating," Giyuu breathed, lowering his chin into the crook of your right shoulder. "It'll make you feel better... I can make you feel better." 

Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Tomioka found himself somehow falling deeper and deeper into intoxication, the remnants of the perfumed poison wafting off of you in sickly sweet-smelling waves. He couldn't help but inhale your scent deeply, quickly becoming addicted to it. His eyes were low, clouded in a dark lust as he felt his self-control splintering the more you pressed up against him, trying to preserve your dignity and hide your embarrassment. His tongue snaked out from between his lips, dragging a small stripe from the crook of your neck to your ear. He felt you shudder harshly beneath him as he kitten-licked the shell of your ear. 

"Please... you can't..," you whined, your pleas falling on deaf ears as the water Pillar had his way with you, already successfully dragging your socks down more than halfway. Your strength was no match for his, which had you biting your bottom lip frustratedly, feeling the effects of the poison diminish your motivation to resist. You watched as your garters moved down your legs from underneath your skirt, tightly fastened to your panties as they were pulled down with them.

"B-But my underwear-!" You helplessly stammered, as Giyuu lifted one of your legs after the other, slowly peeling the items of clothing off one by one. A patch of wetness could be seen dead in the center of your undergarment and caught his eye immediately as he watched it be pulled along. A trail of your slick coated your thighs, Giyuu's mouth watering at the sight.

"Oh. But you're already so wet down there... just let me help [f/n]... please," he softly groaned into your ear, his voice so desperate, full of need. You shivered as the air hit your barely covered cunt, and you snapped your knees together, trying to conceal yourself the best you could.

"Giyuu..." you started, feeling his large, rough hands slide back up underneath your skirt. Snaking his hand in between your thighs, he spread them open, allowing him more access. There was nothing to separate him from your bare pussy, and he let himself drag a hesitant finger up your quivering slit. A strangled moan escaped you as his fingers gathered your slick, and used it to rub smooth circles around your clit. 

"Oh! Fuck...," you quietly cursed, feeling yourself jerk and twitch from sudden pleasure as Tomioka gave you attention exactly where you needed it the most. You couldn't hide how badly you needed him to touch you, knowing how embarrassingly quick it would be for you to come undone. You arched more into him, lolling your head to the side as his slow circles on your bud brought you deeper into madness. Against your wishes, your hips ground into his fingers and into his erection behind you, chasing your high.

"That's it [f/n], I got you," he purred, moving his other hand that he used to steady your hip to trace your slit once more. You felt a finger breach your entrance, and you grabbed his forearms to steady your jolting body. 

"'Hng,... Ah!" you moaned loudly, gasping as he curled his finger inside your dripping heat, pushing it deeper until he found a spongy spot along your velvety walls. You almost leapt out of his arms, the way he prodded your g-spot so fiercely, your mind melting into a hazy goo, unable to think straight. You were practically immobilized with pleasure, letting out a whine when he added a second finger, and soon a third, stretching you out. His pace around your clit quickened, never faltering even with the added stimulation. Your pussy was drooling around his fingers, the squelching noises so vulgar to your ears. However, it was music to his. 

Tomioka nipped and sucked at your exposed neck, shuddering as your sweet cries reached his ears. You were almost at your limit, he could feel you squeezing sporadically around him. It was almost devilish how much he enjoyed you falling apart in his hands. He just wanted to help you feel better, of course, so happy the way your swollen pussy clung to his fingers. With a few more rubs of your clit, you felt it. The pressure that was steadily building up in your abdomen was careening over the edge. 

"W-Wait! Giyuu...! 'm cumming... gonna...!" You couldn't finish your sentence as the pressure exploded, sending you straight into the clouds. Your eyes rolled upwards, and your pussy spasmed and gushed around his fingers as you came hard. You shook in his arms, quietly cursing and moaning his name. Tomioka continued to finger-fuck you through your orgasm, relishing in the way you moaned his name as you came. He was rock hard, his cock straining painfully now against his uniform pants. He wanted nothing more than to feel himself inside you, hoping it could relieve the unbearable sexual frustration you were both suffering from.

As you panted, slowly coming down from your high, Giyuu slipped his hands away from your cunt to tear off his jacket, now allowing the both of you to be skin-to-skin. You still had your bindings halfway on, but you were soaking through your skirt, even creating a damp spot where the curve of your ass met his print. Giyuu had already slipped off his shoes, finding a place for his hands around your waist. You released a shaky breath as you felt his hands rub circles at your sides. 

"Are...are you feeling better?" He asked lowly, peering over your shoulder at the bindings that were slowly unraveling around your tits. His hands mindlessly came up to grope them softly, palming them in slow circles.

"Y-Yes," you breathed, unable to wrap your head around how hard he just made you cum with his fingers. The heat momentarily dwindled, before returning with the stimulation at your chest. You had the shortest window of relief before being reminded that you needed more. It wasn't enough. You needed to help him too, the only way you knew how. His method was working after all. 

"Giyuu... I think I need more," you mumbled, relaxing into his touches. His fingers came up to peel off your bindings, exposing your nipples to the air. He took each one in his index and thumb, lightly pulling and tweaking them. You jerked, shock and pleasure shooting through you. 

He was at your earlobe licking, then sucking and kissing the soft skin down the side of your neck.  

"I know baby, ...how much more? Tell me what you want," he sighed, drunken on how perfect and sexy you were like this. He almost wasn't sure how much of himself was being influenced by the aphrodisiac, you already drove him crazy internally. Eventually, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back anymore. The way you regarded him so sweetly always, he found himself drawn to you, appreciating your friendship. He could only yearn for you, wanting to take you every time your touches lingered on his arm, or sparred with him, or was in his presence. He wanted to show you just how much he wanted you. 

"I want you... to fuck me," you moaned, ignoring how desperate your request may have came out. You just couldn't bear it any longer, you needed him to make you feel good. You needed him inside you until you couldn't think straight.

Giyuu wasted no time and brought his legs in, lifting you into his lap with a strong arm. He turned your head to collide mouths, hastily deepening the kiss. His tongue was back inside your mouth fiercely, mixing your saliva with his, and pulling back a bit to run it over your puffy lips. With an arm still supporting your back, he placed you onto his outstretched haori on the ground, him now on top of you. He broke the kiss, a thin string of spit connecting your lips before snapping. Giyuu slid his hands up the back of your thighs, placing both of your legs over his shoulders. Reaching down, he popped open the buttons of his trousers and hooked his thumb underneath, pulling them down with his undergarments and freeing his cock. You glanced into the space between your bodies, watching as his dick, long and heavy with considerable girth, twitched to life. It slightly curved, and his tip was angrily flushed, precum dribbling from his slit. Your mouth watered a little at the sight. You could feel how big it was from his print, but seeing his dick in all its naked glory was a different story. You were calculating if it would even fit, unaware that Tomioka watched your expression morph into one of dumbfoundedness. He lowered himself, placing an arm next to your head, to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, and one on your lips.

"You can take it... right?" He whispered into your ear and gave a tentative roll of his hips, sliding his tip over your slick folds. His cock dipped lightly into and out of your entrance and slipped right over your clit. 

"Ah...! Yes-!" You gasped, feeling the head of his cock breach your entrance. He pushed a few inches into you, your pussy already squeezing him tightly. You felt him groan, drawling out your name in a soft whisper. 

"So fucking... tight...," Tomioka shuddered, tensing up to keep him from creaming inside your needy cunt so quickly. "How could you keep this from me..?" He closed his eyes, enjoying every second his cock slowly pushed an inch inside of you. 

"Ohh...! Keep going p-please!" You babbled, needing him to hurry and fill you up, even if the pressure opening up your little hole was overwhelming. The effects of the poison still craved more and more, having no regard for logic, just urging you to be pounded into. 

"Gods...," he breathed, with quick two thrusts fully splitting you open and seating him deeper than you could have imagined inside you. He stilled for a moment, letting you feel every twitch, as you throbbed around him. You were situated in a mating press, thighs to your chest, as Tomioka angled his hips to kiss his tip at your cervix. Your head reeled from total satisfaction, despite the painful stretch, and your voice was caught in your throat as you felt him, finally, filling up your aching pussy. You almost couldn't get enough of his body being on yours, wrapping your arms around his neck and screwing your eyes shut. Slowly dragging his full length from out your pussy, you felt every vein on his cock as he moved, already whining and nipping at his neck to be stuffed again. He couldn't bare to turn to show you how wide his pupils were blown, beads of sweat forming at his temple as his last strings of self-restraint started to snap. 

"I'm gonna start moving now," Giyuu murmured lowly, almost as a warning to brace yourself.

"H-Hurry, Ngh-!" you cried as he snapped his hips forward, plunging into your velvety heat once more. With a firm grip on your calf, he set a brutal pace, pounding into you with every sharp roll of his pelvis. Your pussy drooled and creamed around him as he rearranged your insides, echoing obscene skin-slapping sounds when his heavy balls met the curve of your ass. 

"Fuck... you keep sucking me in like that...," he hissed, losing himself in your pretty cunt. 

His cock head continually prodded your cervix, constantly rubbing along your g-spot, sending you barreling towards your second release. His head rose to watch your face, long wisps of jet-black hair running awry. He loved watching your tits bounce as he roughly fucked you, the sight fulfilling his most carnal desires. He watched as quiet praises fell from your lips, barely coherent with how cock-drunk you became, and your eyes fluttered open and closed, unable to hold eye contact, your nerves firing off on every end. His eyes flickered to where your two bodies met, eyeing the creamy ring your pussy pushed down the base of his member the deeper he thrust into you. He let out staggered grunts feeling himself approach his high quickly with the way your cunt swallowed his dick relentlessly. He wanted you to cum again, all over his dick this time, and felt the urge to breed his seed deep into you, only if you would let him. His hand abandoned the back of your knee to snake down your abdomen and find its way to your puffy clit. After rubbing several quick circles on your nub, he felt the siren's call of your approaching orgasm, your cunt starting to spasm around his length.  You peered up at him through teary eyes, mouth falling open.

"I-I think I'm... 'm cumming... 'm cumming... fuckk, " you braced yourself as your vision exploded with stars, your mind-numbing climax tearing through you with a strangled cry. Your pussy squirted your release, dripping down your ass and wetting him from his balls to the tops of his thighs. You called out Tomioka's name with a sob as he fucked you steadily through your orgasm. His resolve finally cracked as he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"Just like that baby... I'm almost... almost there," he stammered, clenching his teeth as he watched you come down exhaustedly, your doe eyes low and tired. 

"Inside... n-need you to cum inside me...," you whispered up at him, using the last of your strength to urge him impossibly deeper. It was such a filthy request that he was more than happy to oblige, as his thrusts morphed into, deep, sultry rolls of his hips. He ground into your cunt a few more times before pushing inside you one last time, his tip spurting warm cum up against your cervix. His body shook, chest heaving hard as he breathed out a string of curses, drowning in the intensity of his climax. You both panted heavily for a moment, feeling the brain fog finally start to dissipate. 

Sliding out of you with a quiet "damn," his eyes locked on your pussy as his own semen spilled from your hole, trailing down your sex. The two of you had just gone at it like rabbits, both sheepishly smiling as Tomioka lowered your aching legs. There were no words to describe how utterly satisfying it was to succumb to the urges of the aphrodisiac.

"I think," you said in between breaths, "We might have to just continue this later... indoors...," suddenly reminded of your place on the forest floor. 

"Yeah, ... I agree."

® 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬-𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

[miguelswifey04]

Miguel x his spidey wife very morning lmao

Art Cred:@jude_devir on Insta

Plis write a Drabble ab this 🙏😭 ur litterally my fav writer atm

miguel o’hara x spidey! wife reader

miguel finds himself in the early morning, dressed in his spider suit and ready to face the day's challenges. as he prepares to leave, his wife, with a gentle pout on her face, clings tightly to his back, refusing to let him go.

you, miguel’s loving wife, bury your face in his back, feeling the warmth radiating from him. the coziness and security of his embrace tempt you to stay just a little longer, urging him to delay his departure. you cling to him, playfully begging for "5 more minutes" while coaxing him with your warmth and affection. your voice is filled with an endearing mix of sweetness and determination.

“just 5 more minutes, please? you’re so warm and comfy," you implore, your voice muffled against his back. miguel chuckles softly, his voice filled with both adoration and a hint of a teasing reluctance. he tries to gently untangle your arms from his torso, aware of his responsibilities awaiting him outside the comfort of your embrace.

“darling, as much as i would love to stay here with you, i really need to go to work," he responds, his voice a blend of warmth and determination. "the city needs me, and i have a responsibility to protect its inhabitants." you let out a playful whine, but your grip on him weakens as you reluctantly release your hold on his back. the reality of his duty sinks in, and while you understand his commitment, a part of you wishes you could keep him by your side a little longer.

“miguel, you're such a hero," you murmur softly, pride and admiration coloring your voice. "i know you have to go, but promise to come back to me safely, okay?" miguel's expression softens, his gaze meeting yours as he places a hand over yours, offering reassurance. "i promise, sweetheart. i’ll always come back to you. you are my anchor, my motivation. you mean the world to me."

in that moment, you realize the depth of miguel’s love for you, his unwavering dedication shining through his words and actions. with a tender kiss and gentle caress, he assures you that no matter the challenges he faces, you will forever be his priority. with a lingering embrace, you grant him the release he needs to fulfill his superhero duties, knowing that when he returns, his warmth and love will be waiting for you, creating an unbreakable bond that empowers both of you to face the challenges that lie ahead.

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @emiemiemiii @sabcandoit @astro1bloom @sabcandoit @obi-mom-kenobi

[b0r3dtod3ath]

LITERALLY anything for Art PLEASE I need him so desperately. Maybe something with an argument that leads to fluff? idk

Thanks for the request!

The living room is illuminated by the soft glow of lamplight, casting shadows across the walls. You pace back and forth, your frustration reaching its peak. Art, your boyfriend and a professional tennis player, sits on the couch, his tennis racket leaning against the armrest, his expression tense. 

“I just don't get it, Arthur! Why do you always let your coach push you around? You never stand up for yourself!”

"It's not that simple," Art says defensively. "She knows what's best for my game."

You stop pacing, almost speechless. "Your game? You have been losing for the past months! What about you? And don’t lie, you don’t even enjoy it anymore! When was the last time you did something for yourself without worrying about what your coach or your sponsors might think?"

"You know it's not that easy," he responds, frustrated. "Tennis is my career. I have to do what Tashi says to succeed."

Your voice softens. "I understand that, Artie. But at what cost? You're constantly sacrificing your own happiness and well-being just to please others."

He sighs. "It's not just about pleasing others. It's about fulfilling my dreams, about making something of myself."

"It’s her dream and not yours! You know it. She just uses you to achieve what she’s not able to! Remember when we used to talk about having a family, about living together? You always wanted to be a dad! And now, you don’t even spend half a day at home."

Art looks at his hands. "Maybe I sometimes forget that there’s life beyond the court. Tennis has been my life for so long."

You take a step closer, standing between his legs, you stroke his hair as he wraps his arms around you. "I know. And I admire your dedication, I really do. But you have to remember that you're more than just a tennis player. You're a person with feelings and desires that matter too. And I don’t want you to quit because of what I said. I know it's hard, Art. But you don't have to do it alone. I'm here for you, always. I just want you to be happy and not devote your life to someone else’s dream."

He smiles weakly, bullying you even closer. "I'm lucky to have you. I'll try to find a balance, I promise. I will call Tashi, tell her I want to retire soon. I have been thinking about it but I guess I didn't have the guts. I just want to spend time with you. Well, maybe still occasionally play tennis."

"Whatever you want to do we'll figure it out together."

You don’t move from this position, in comfortable silence, the tension slowly melts away as you hold onto each other. In the warmth of each other's presence, Art finds peace and stability.

May 1, 2024

[lcvemiyuki]

"nostalgia and night patrols" | daichi, hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: after years apart, a chance encounter with your childhood crush, daichi, leads to a night that opens up a box of unspoken feelings for you; welcome home, y/n.

warnings: fluff, high school classmates to ??, timeskip!daichi, f!reader, y/n is clingy+touchy while drunk, drinking, light cursing

character(s): daichi

word count: 2878

a/n: rewrote this 3-4 times...but timeskip!daichi mmmmm. (not proofread!)

art cred: @/W4W7o (on twt)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

the moon gleams down onto miyagi as you and your friends celebrate your success in opening up your own business. it was only a matter of time before you built something from the ground up, fulfilling a promise you made to yourself to visit your hometown once your shop opened. its been five years since you’ve last been home. you were determined to come back and make your friends and family proud.

keep pushing forward, even when it gets tough.

it pulls at your heartstrings every time; what was he up to these days?

𓇢𓆸 later that night

the bell chimes once more as customers pour into the chaotic restaurant; dishes piling up on each table as work ends for every adult.

“i think that's enough for tonight, y/n!” your friend exclaims in concern while rubbing circles on your back.

what started with light drinking and bubbly laughter ends with your face down on the cold, metal table. your friends worryingly nudge you, fearing the last round might make you hurl.

your raven-haired friend nervously laughs, and you only make groaning noises as a sign of life. “okay! are you ready to take this lightweight home?” she claps her hands together, directing the conversation to the girl with curls framing her face, whose eyebrows furrow in worry for you.

the three of you soon exit the busy restaurant, and you wave your hand in the air, hoping your words reach the owner. “thank you for your service!” your friends stifle a chuckle as they cage you in and hold you up.

“i hope she wakes up and gives us a hundred bucks each for this tomorrow,” the raven-haired girl jokes as she struggles to hold up her end. a sigh heaves on the other side as the curly-haired girl tries to blow her curls out of her face.

as you stumble down the quiet, moonlit street, your intoxicated state makes you a challenging companion. you occasionally mumble incoherent words, your legs wobbling and causing your friends to adjust their grip frequently. you are a comical sight, half-laughing, half-struggling, as you make your way through the sleepy town.

“maybe we should have just gotten a cab,” the curly-haired friend mutters, her breath visible in the chilly night air.

“no way, we’re almost there,” the raven-haired girl replies, though the strain in her voice suggests otherwise.

just as you turn the corner, you almost bump into a tall figure. the streetlight illuminates his familiar features—daichi sawamura. his eyes widen in surprise, then soften in recognition.

“daichi!” the curly-haired friend exclaims, relief washing over her. “perfect timing. can you help us get y/n home? she’s, well, had a bit too much.”

“oh yeah, suprise! y/n’s home.” the other one chimed in, her free hand doing jazz hands.

at the sound of the oh-so-familiar name, you lift your head just enough to peek through your eyelashes.

he looks so grown up now. the light blue uniform clings to his form, the short sleeves seemingly inadequate for the freezing night. yet, he stands unbothered by the cold, a picture of unwavering composure. his broad shoulders fill out the fabric with ease, and the muscles of his arms bulge slightly, pressing against the tight sleeves. in the dim light, his presence is commanding, a blend of strength and tranquility, as if the cold air dares not touch him.

you audibly gasp, a hiccup or two crawling out of your throat.

“desk-mate!” you slur, your words slightly muddled as you throw yourself at him, intoxication evident in the lack of coordination in your movements.

daichi's muscles tense momentarily at the unexpected weight crashing into him, but he quickly steadies himself. his fingerless, black-gloved hand finding its place on your head with a gentle pat. an awkward laugh bubbles from his lips as he glances at your amused friends, one of whom is already lifting her phone to capture the hilarious scene, while the other attempts to push the phone back down.

“hey, easy there,” he chuckles softly. his tone, slightly raspy and warm, makes you straighten up slightly as he tries to guide you to compose balance.

“it’s nice to see you too, y/n,” he adds with a warm smile, his hand continuing to smooth your hair out in a playful yet reassuring manner. his gaze flickered briefly to your friends who are now fully engaged in their mock make-out session; hands crossed and on their backs rubbing all over the place as if it were someone else's.

you don’t say a word as if you could even make out any of the conversation—your heart drumming is to blame.

despite his attempts to help you stand up straight, you droop your head back down. your giggles mixing with the chilly night air as you lean heavily against him.

with practiced ease, daichi catches your stumbling frame once more, positioning himself for you to climb onto his back.

“all right, y/n, can you hop on? i can hold your heels if you want,” he offers gently, mindful not to speak too loudly given your state.

you respond with a playful salute, your movements exaggeratedly dramatic. “aye aye, captain!” you chirp, swiftly kicking off your black wedges before wrapping your arms snugly around his neck.

as daichi hoists the giggling, slightly wobbly you onto his back, he gestures for your two friends to walk in front of him, ensuring they remain within his line of sight. you four navigate through the dimly lit streets.

a few minutes into your impromptu piggyback ride, you, in a moment of drunken clarity, peek over daichi's shoulder and lazily poke his cheek.

“are you the real daichi? like, really?” your words slur slightly, carrying a curious lilt. “i thought i was hallucinating when i first saw you, mr. officer,” you ramble on, your train of thought not allowing daichi a chance to reassure you.

“oh my god, did i just randomly hug you? what if you aren't the real daichi?” your expression shifts to one of concern, teetering on the edge of tears. “it’s okay, you can arrest me, mr. officer. i've been inappropriate with law enforcement,” you add with a serious expression, offering your wrists for imaginary cuffs in shame.

this has daichi turning his head in the opposite direction to stop the laughter bubbling up his throat; a small grin curls upward. you squint at him a bit harder to see and can’t find the answer as to why it’s so funny.

your curious mind once again spoke out loud, “huh? what's so funny, mister? does this mean i’m not going to the slammer?” you reach out, placing your hand over the officer's heart, and sigh in relief as if it were your own.

his footsteps falter for a moment as he clears his throat, “y/n, you don’t have to worry. it’s me, daichi,” finally finding an opening to reassure you.

a few deafening seconds pass by as the cogs in your brain turn. “…oh,” a few more seconds pass, “oh! daichi!” your palm departs from his chest, and snakes upward to squish his cheeks.

the touch of your cold hands once again startles the officer, but they soon warm with the use of body heat.

you ramble on, your palms gently turning his head to face yours. “well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?! ah, it feels good to know i won’t get arrested after all.”

his smile widens, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you know i wouldn't arrest you, even if you tried to talk me into it." he replies, his voice teasing.

he had always been the sensible one in the class, the steady presence that balanced your more pessimistic tendencies. despite your different aspirations—his to excel in nationals and yours to make something of your own—you both found a middle ground through your shared ambition. you admired his dedication and often found yourself inspired by his drive, feelings that blossomed into a secret crush. even though your paths diverged, you continued to support him quietly. however, emails changed and no phone numbers were exchanged making it inevitable to lose touch; yet, the memory of him remained, a constant whisper in the back of your mind.

𓇢𓆸 five years ago

it was a sunny spring day, and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom; their petals gracefully drifting past the glass-paned windows.

our last day together.

you wanted to say it, to let those three words spill out and maybe change everything—but something inside you held your tongue. perhaps, it was the fear of being rejected.

‘you’re leaving for tokyo after graduation. why confess now? and have him wait for you for who knows how long? what if he doesn’t even like you back?’

the more you thought about all the possibilities, the more you convinced yourself against it.

a calloused hand rested on your shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts. “y/n,” he said, drawing your attention to his familiar short, coal-black hair. “are you worried about something?”

his eyes innocently searched yours.

‘about you, actually.’

“…yeah. i think i might get homesick, you know?” you played along—it was too late anyway. you didn’t want to ruin this happy moment right now; not when it’s the last day before everyone moves on to the next chapter of their lives.

“keep pushing forward, even when it gets tough.” his eyes were filled with concern.

you knew he wanted to say more, but was cut short by the class photographer passing by, wanting a picture of the two of you.

“daichi! y/n! let me get some pictures!” the enthusiastic classmate aligned the camera with you both as you smiled for the picture—daichi’s arm snaked toward your waist, his touch light and almost hesitant.

“say cheese!” the camera clicked twice with flashing lights.

it was a memory you wanted to hold onto forever, even if your heart ached with the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

𓇢𓆸 present day

some things never change.

ten minutes pass as daichi ensures the other two ladies make it back to their house safe and sound. both give him a good luck pat and wiggle eyebrows—he only rolls his eyes in response, a tiny chuckle escaping his lips as he watches them disappear into their house.

turning back to you, he notices your eyes drooping. his black boots clack softly on the cement as he continues the trip. “come on, let’s get you home,” he says softly.

the night is quiet, save for the distant sounds of crickets and the occasional car passing by. daichi can feel your breath against his neck, a steady reminder of your presence.

“daichi, you’ve always been there for me,” you mumble, your words barely audible breaking the silence.

just like in old times; he would always stick up for you and be the voice of reason whenever you got too much in your head.

his eyes flicker to the side to check up on you. “i’ll always be here for you, y/n,” he replies, his voice filled with sincerity.

“officer daichi to the rescue,” you tease, your voice filled with playful cheerfulness.

as you approach your front door, daichi pauses, his brows furrowing with apprehension. before he can speak, the door swings open, revealing your parents standing there, worry etched on their faces.

“oh, thank goodness,” your mother sighs in relief—a hand held to her heart as if she had gotten a big scare, “come in, both of you.”

your father steps aside, allowing daichi to guide you inside. “thank you for bringing her home safely, daichi,” he says, patting him on the shoulder.

inside, the familiar warmth of your home wraps around you. daichi gently guides you through the hallway to your bedroom, his touch steady and reassuring. your parents follow, watching with concern as he helps you sit on the edge of your bed, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary.

“thank you, daichi,” you mumble, your words slurred with exhaustion. “once again, saving my ass.”

he smiles, patting your head. “get some rest, y/n.”

as he turns to leave, you reach out, your hand catching him. “daichi, wait…”

he stops, looking back at you, his eyes filled with concern. “what is it?”

“daichi, i...” you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper. the words are on the tip of your tongue, but the exhaustion and alcohol make it hard to form them. “i...”

before you can finish, sleep overtakes you, your head falling back onto the pillow. daichi watches you for a moment, a mix of emotions playing across his face. he carefully tucks you in, making sure you’re comfortable.

your mother steps closer, her voice soft. “she’s lucky to have a friend like you, daichi.”

he nervously scratched the back of his neck, the weight of the moment dawning on him as he realized this was the first time meeting your parents. "of course," he managed, a hint of awkwardness tinging his chuckle as it slipped out.

“ah, i’m going to run to the store mrs. l/n. just to get her some remedies for tomorrow morning.” she simply nods with a heartwarming smile.

𓇢𓆸 the following morning

soft morning sunlight filters through the cream-colored curtain, casting a warm glow in the room.

you groan slightly and squint to see daylight once again. your hand lifts, reaching your forehead to pinch the pounding in your head. blinking slowly, you try to piece together the events of the previous night.

as you push yourself up, a wave of dizziness hits, and you groan again, cursing your choice to drink so much.

your eyes catch sight of a bottle of water and a few painkillers on the bedside table, alongside a neatly folded note. curiosity piqued, you reach for the note, recognizing daichi's familiar handwriting.

good morning, y/n. i hope your hangover isn’t too bad. i left some medicine for you. take it easy and rest up. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. - daichi (xxx-xxx-xxxx)

you read the note twice, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment flooding your senses. memories of the previous night begin to surface—your friends struggling to take you home, running into daichi, him carrying you to your bed.

you cringe inwardly, recalling drunken ramblings and how you almost confessed your feelings.

“dear god…” you whisper to yourself, the reality of your behavior sinking in. “what did i do?”

you flop back onto the pillow, groaning loudly.

“why did it have to be daichi? after all these years, and i act like that?” you cover your face with your hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to your cheeks.

images of daichi’s concerned face, his gentle reassurances, and his steady hands guiding you through your house flood your mind. you remember leaning into him, nuzzling his neck, and calling him "officer daichi" with a teasing cheerfulness.

“why did i do that?!” you mutter, your hand repeatedly hitting your pillow as if that could erase the memories.

your heart races as you recall the moment you almost confessed, your drunken state allowing you to voice the feelings you’ve kept buried for so long; thanking the universe sleep had taken over you beforehand.

“what does he think of me now?” you wonder aloud, anxiety creeping in. “i acted like such an idiot.”

you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. unscrewing the bottle of water, you down the painkillers, hoping they’ll at least take care of the headache. as you do, you glance at the note again, daichi’s words providing a small comfort.

“always helping everyone still,” you whisper to yourself.

you couldn't help but glance over again at the digits scribbled at the end of the note; your heart fluttered once more like a teenager giggling over a crush.

𓇢𓆸 last night

with the small box of headache medicine in hand, he approached the counter, fumbling for his wallet. as he pulled it out, something fell from one of the inner pockets—a small, slightly worn photo. daichi paused, staring at the picture that had slipped out.

the photo was from high school, a candid shot taken by one of their classmates. in it, you were smiling brightly, your eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine happiness. daichi was right beside you, but his gaze wasn’t on the camera; it was on you. his expression was soft, a quiet admiration in his eyes that he had never voiced out loud.

a soft smile tugged at daichi’s lips as he remembered the moment. he could almost hear the laughter of that day, and feel the warmth of your presence beside him. tucking the photo back into his wallet, he felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with something more—a longing that had never quite gone away.

‘you’re finally home’

a surge of emotion washing over him. it was as if he had been waiting all these years, silently holding onto the hope that one day, you'd return.

the weight of unspoken words and hidden glances pressed heavily on his heart.

he was set on making sure you saw him more than just a lingering memory of the past.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

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